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From: "Ryan Sylander" <ryansylander@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Looking Through The Lens Ch.01 Pt. 1/3 (rom)
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Date: Mon, 27 Feb 2006 14:10:01 -0500
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A new long story.  Check out my asstr web page for the latest.

   Cheers, Ryan ----------------------

   Looking Through the Lens By Ryan Sylander
/~ryansylander/

   Chapter 1



   There are a million untold stories in the world.  Why do I think I
should tell mine?  Nostalgia for that which is lost?  To remember those
people who shaped my life for a time, and then drifted away like a drop on
a windshield?  To share my past and thus relive it along with someone new?
All of those and more I suppose.

   My name is Matt.  (Hi, Matt.) Despite my best attempts to the contrary,
I now lead a relatively normal life.  Well, maybe.  Somewhere between now
and way back then, when I thought I would party hard and die young, I found
a soulmate to guide me out of what was quickly becoming a living hell.  Oh,
there were great moments, for sure, but the downward spiral staircase was
about to become a neck-breaking freefall, until she stepped in.  For that I
will always be deeply indebted to her.  Fortunately for me, we have
committed to each other for life.

   Everyone has a screwed up family, including me.  But that's life.  I
have little memory of my life early on.  It just isn't accessible.  My mate
can remember many things from age two.  I think I may have three or four
memories from before age six.  The rest of it is buried somewhere deep. 
Since childhood is where you first start being molded into a person, for
better or for worse, that's where I should start.

   I don't know when I realized I didn't have a normal family.  Somewhere
back in elementary school, I think.  Kids start asking questions when you
have two moms, and then that makes you start asking questions yourself. 
And the answers aren't easy (or at all complete) at that age.

   Sometime back in the heyday of the late sixties two women and a man
found love between them.  In the summer of 1975, Sarah Birch and Melissa
Jackson each had a child fathered by Chris Garibaldi.  That would be me and
my sister Lara.  The full version of this compelling story is one I only
found out much later in life.  But that's another tale altogether.  Still,
a brief history would be helpful.

   Soon after my sister and I were born, Sarah and Melissa moved from the
hustle of New York City, where Chris had a wildly successful business in
art and antiques, and they took Lara and me to the Catskill mountains about
three hours north of the city.  Four days of the week, Chris stayed in our
New York apartment for work, and made the commute home each weekend.

   My father died on the highway one night when Lara and I were almost two.
By all accounts it was a quick death.  He was 30.

   I can't imagine what it was like for Sarah and Melissa.  Lara and I have
no recollection of that time.  By the time I came out of my childhood fog,
my father's death was a wound that had already been healing for a while. 
After a short court date, the woman who had hit my dad's car settled, and
between that, the proceeds from my dad's business and insurance, and a
sizeable monthly rental check from our New York apartment, my parents were
able to raise Lara and me only having to work part time.  My mother, Sarah,
worked as a ski instructor at a local resort.  Lara's mother, Melissa, was
a chef at a nearby hotel during the winter and summer seasons.

   There are a million beautiful places on the earth.  But the Catskills
hold a special place for me.  No matter where I've been or what I've seen,
when I come back to these mountains and their woods, I feel more alive than
ever.  I am fortunate to have grown up there.

   Our cabin was buried in the middle of 80 acres of quiet forest.  A
stream ran by the house, fed by a pond about a quarter mile up a trail from
our house.  The cabin was rustic but well-built.  Lara and I each had our
own bedrooms on one side of the house.  On the other side, my parents had a
giant bedroom, and there were two guestrooms.  A large high-ceilinged room
served as our kitchen, living room, and dining room.  We also had a decent
sized guest house in the woods about 50 yards behind the main house.  That
had two bedrooms and a common room with some couches, and a small kitchen.

   As we grew up, we went to school like everyone else.  Though having a
200 yard long driveway means you don't really have neighbors, we found kids
our age to play with.  Life was normal to me.

   At some point, I started growing conscious of the fact that I had two
mothers and no father.  Lara and I didn't know any differently at first,
but the other kids in school did.  At first it was curiosity.  Then over
the years it grew into teasing, and then there were the typical comments as
we grew into an age where we started losing the innocence of youth.

   When it comes to teasing, if it's not one thing, it's another.  And as
with all things among the young, eventually things get old and something
new is more interesting.  And admittedly, as I youth I was pretty clueless.
So because of all those things, I somehow got into a state of denial about
my parental situation.  I loved both my mothers as my own, and they were
incredibly caring for both Lara and me.  But I avoided thinking about what
it meant to have two mothers, as I started becoming aware of what it means
to be with someone.

   Every summer from as early as I can remember, Lara and I would go down
to Montauk, a town on the tip of Long Island, and live for three weeks with
my aunt and uncle, Beth Jackson and Hans Birch.  Hans was my mother's
brother, and a good looking bon-vivant.  He taught tennis at a few of the
large hotels to the rich city folk that came out on vacation.  Beth was
Melissa's sister, and had the same adventurous streak that her sister had.
They had a small house on the beach a few miles out of town.  Hans and Beth
had met through my mothers' relationship, and the four of them were close.

   It was in Montauk in July of 1989 where I would offer to start my story
in earnest.

   "Turn that crap off!" I yelled at the guy in my dream.  I rolled around
for a minute and figured out I wasn't dreaming.  Music was vibrating my
room like a cheesy dance club.  I threw a shoe across the room at the wall
in frustration, as sleep slipped away.  It was useless.  Lara was blasting
her new Madonna "Like a Prayer" cassette which Aunt Beth had gotten for her
birthday.  I can't listen to this crap, I thought to myself.  My tastes ran
towards Led Zeppelin and Hendrix, and most of the music from the last few
years wanted to make me throw up.

   It was early.  I looked at my watch.  Too early.  I lay in bed for a few
minutes hoping it would stop, before giving up and trudging over to Lara's
room.

   "Hey!" I banged on the door.  There was no answer, so I opened it and
walked in.

   "What the hell!" I yelled.  "I was trying to - Oh, hey, Julie.  Didn't
know you were here."

   Lara and Julie were sitting on the floor in their bathing suits staring
up at me.  I was suddenly aware of my near-nakedness as well, standing
there in just my boxers.  I shifted uncomfortably for a few seconds.

   "Hi, Matt," yelled Julie after a second.

   "Don't you knock?  We could have been changing," said Lara, irritated.

   "I tried to, but you couldn't hear with all this noise."

   "What?"

   I went over to the tape player and turned it down.  Much lower than
necessary, but I was trying to make a point.

   "I said, I knocked but you couldn't hear with this crap turned up so
loud."

   "Big words coming from someone who just last year asked to borrow my
True Blue album," said Lara, reaching for the radio and upping the volume.
Julie looked down and giggled.

   "What are you talking about, that was like three years ago, and it was
for school," I said, suddenly wishing I had stayed in bed.  I pretended to
yawn, but felt my cheeks reddening.

   "Whatever.  That's why you played it like a hundred times a day."

   "No I didn't so shut up," I said.  Julie was still giggling.  I decided
to make an exit before I turned any redder.  "Anyways I guess I'll get some
breakfast since sleeping is obviously over."

   "Bye.  Close the door."

   I slammed the door and returned to my room.  If I had known Julie was
there I would have put on a shirt and shorts.  I looked in the mirror.  My
latest growth spurt left me tall and thin.  Too thin.  I needed to start
working out more, I thought.  I had gotten my dad's Italian sharp-cut looks
and olive skin, but was missing his powerful build.  People told me I had
his body, but I just didn't see it.  To me I looked like a stick, nothing
like the broad-chested and well-proportioned man in the pictures we had at
home.  I sighed.  It didn't matter how I ate or worked out, I couldn't keep
up with the vertical growth.

   I was in a surly mood as I ate breakfast.  We had gotten in late the
night before because of thick traffic on the highway, and I had looked
forward to a morning of sleeping in.  My mothers and Beth were chatting on
the screened-in porch.  They pretended to sympathize with me over the
sleeping issue, but a glint in their eyes told me that they didn't feel
that bad.  I rejected their offer of a nice cooked breakfast and instead
served myself a pitiful bowl of cereal and milk, with a side dish of some
throbbing bass drum coming through the walls.

   Finally the music stopped.  I sat back in my chair and looked out at the
Atlantic, feeling anxious.  My heart was still pounding from the music. 
The sudden silence was a relief.

   I'm not much of a beach person.  Sand and saltwater are just
uncomfortable to me.  Still, for a few weeks of the year it was cool to
lounge by the water, breathe the sea air, and get some sea fishing in.

   "C'mon, Matt, we're going to the beach," said Lara as they bounced out
into the kitchen.

   "I'm too tired," I said petulantly.

   "You're such a wuss.  It's after nine o'clock.  We've been up for like
two hours."

   "Well, I need my sleep.  Otherwise I get grumpy."

   "Obviously.  See you later then."

   I grunted and went back to staring at my cereal.  Julie followed Lara
out to the porch, giggling.

   Eventually I cleared my head and decided to enjoy the day, especially
since none of the women in the house seemed to be catering to my bad mood.
I still didn't want to be around Lara and Julie, and Hans was out teaching
lessons, so I decided to go hit the pier and try some fishing.

   There's just something about fishing, be it in a stream, lake or ocean.
Some people like to curl up with a cup of tea, or read a good book, or
watch the sunrise; they use that time to think and appreciate the moment. I
love fishing for those reasons.  It's meditative.  There's nothing like
standing in the stream, casting out a fly at sunset into a deep pool, and
just listening to nature and breathing in life.  Mosquitoes
notwithstanding.

   The pier was empty when I got there.  I walked the 100 yards out to the
end, baited up the line and cast out.  I had a few hours before lunch, so I
settled into my chair and relaxed out of my morning funk.  An hour and a
bucketful of pan fish later, it was getting hot, so I started packing up.
Someone was coming down the pier anyways.  After having some old dog talk
my ear off for two hours last year I usually preferred having the pier to
myself.  If I wanted to hear talking I could go home and listen to my aunt
and mothers go on all day.

   "Any luck?"

   "What?  Oh, hi." I looked up at a cute girl in overalls smiling down at
me.  I quickly stood up, kneeing my bucket and sending it flying in the
process.  A jet of water splashed up at the girl, but she nimbly dodged it.
The fish scattered over the pier boards and started flopping around.

   "Oh, crap, sorry," I said, scrambling for the fish.  Idiot!  I thought.

   "I take that to be a yes," she said, laughing.

   The girl grabbed for them too, and we gathered them up, but not before
half had fallen through the cracks and back to their home.  For the second
time that day I felt my face heating up.

   "Well, there goes lunch," I said, half to myself.  I felt retarded as I
put the last fish in the bucket and stood up, more carefully this time.

   "You can get some more," she said.

   "I guess.  It's getting hot though," I said.  I felt awkward, so I
started busily cleaning my fishing rod.

   "Well, you're in a long sleeve shirt."

   "Yeah, it was cooler when I got here." I looked up at her.  Her eyes...
Her eyes were alight with laughter.  There was so much life in them.  I
stared for a second, or more, and she stared back before I realized what I
was doing.  I returned to packing my tackle box.

   "I've never seen you here before," she said, baiting her rod.

   "Um, I just got here last night."

   "From where?"

   "I live in the Catskills."

   "Cool, I go skiing up there a lot."

   "That's cool."

   There was an awkward silence as she cast out her line.  I finished
packing up my stuff, and stood up.  I wanted to stay, but I had just made a
show of putting all my stuff away.  It would look stupid to unpack now and
start fishing again.

   "I gotta go.  Good luck," I said quickly.

   "Bye!" she said without turning.  I stared at her for a few seconds,
hoping I could see her eyes once more.  Then I picked up my stuff and
walked back to my aunt's house.  The whole way I berated myself for not
staying, and cringed every time I thought of knocking the bucket over and
almost getting her wet.

   Hans had the grill going when I got back home and my fish were welcomed.
I left out the part about losing half of them.  I was lost in thought,
replaying the bucket scene over and over as I sat around the table eating.
Maybe everyone thought I was still in a bad mood from the morning, but at
any rate no one said anything.  I'm generally a quiet guy anyway, probably
because I grew up with three females.

   Hans was stuffing himself with fish and potatoes.  He ate like a pig,
but still was very thin.  He looked like a tennis player.  He had short
blond cropped hair, a lean but tough build, and deep green eyes.  His
ancestry, and my Mom's, was German and Norwegian, and they both looked it.
My Mom was statuesque.  She had the same green eyes and blond hair,
although not as much of the sinewy toughness of her brother.

   I looked around the table.  Melissa was chatting with her sister.  They
both were somewhat petite, had long straight hair and well-toned workout
bodies.  Their eyes always looked like they were hiding some mischief. 
Usually they were.  Lara had the same mischief in her eyes, though she
looked more like our father, with black hair and rounder eyes.

   Julie had joined us for lunch.  She and Lara were deep in shallow
conversation, so I took the opportunity to look at her a bit more.  I
avoided looking at her in Lara's room that morning, so I hadn't noticed,
but she had really matured since last year.  Her sandyblonde hair was now
shoulder length and styled a bit wavy, and it framed her face.  In a good
way, I thought.  Last year she had been somewhat gangly and young looking,
but her face and body had filled out in the right places and she actually
looked good.  I took in her features for a few moments.

   "Earth to Matt!" Aunt Beth said.  She looked at Julie and then at me
again.  "Pass the potatoes, please?" she said, her eyes twinkling.  How
long had I been staring at Julie, I wondered.  Luckily Julie hadn't
noticed.

   The next morning I got up at seven.  After a long night of reliving my
clumsiness with both Julie and the mystery girl on the pier, I decided to
go to the pier again and see what would happen.  I rushed out of the house
with my gear, ignoring my Mom's calls of "Did you eat anything?"

   By eight I settled into my chair and started mulling over what I would
do if she showed up again.  A bunch of scenarios that seemed really dorky
were pretty much all that came to mind.  Eventually I decided to just play
it by ear.

   About an hour later I saw someone coming down the path to the pier. 
Part of me wanted to dive into the water and hide, and the other part was
excited.  But as they started walking down the pier, I realized it was a
man.  I decided to pack up and head out.  If I was going to make a fool of
myself again, I certainly didn't want to do it in front of anyone else.  I
packed up, feeling disappointment surge over me.  As I passed the man on
the way back to shore, I looked ahead and felt like screaming.  The girl
was walking down the pier.  I cursed to myself.

   "Hey," she said, stopping by me.  "How was the fishing?"

   "Uh, it was alright." I tipped the bucket and let her look in.  I had
about 12 fish.

   "Well that should be enough for two," she said.

   "Nah, they're pretty big, I think five people,"

   "Well, if you make it home with all of them, then yeah," she said,
suppressing a laugh.  I felt a blush spreading over my face.

   "Thanks a lot," I said, looking at the floor.

   "No, no, I was just teasing you."

   "Oh, OK."

   "Well, I better get them while their out," she said, heading down the
pier.  "Bye."

   "Bye."

   I looked after her.  So much for the cool dialogue I had hoped for.  I
sighed and made the walk home feeling something in my heart I had not felt
before.
   ----------- End Part One, Chapter One 

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