The Leaves of Life

By U. M. Lassiter

Nerdy but gifted Ryan Miyashi has just started what promises to be a stellar academic career at Cal State Berkeley. Just as important, he’s finally settled into a comfortable, loving relationship with his first boyfriend, Tanner Cruz. Ryan can’t quite believe he’s landed such a stud—high school football star, captain of the wrestling team—and puts up with Tanner’s erratic, if somewhat goofy personality. Tanner’s the real deal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Nov 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781487408404

Book preview

People talk about whole lives changing in an instant. For 16-year-old Ryan, it seems his life has been nothing but change for months. Now, that change could turn tragic.

Nerdy but gifted Ryan Miyashi has just started what promises to be a stellar academic career at Cal State Berkeley. Just as important, he’s finally settled into a comfortable, loving relationship with his first boyfriend, Tanner Cruz. Ryan can’t quite believe he’s landed such a stud—high school football star, captain of the wrestling team—and puts up with Tanner’s erratic, if somewhat goofy personality. Tanner’s the real deal.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Leaves of Life

Copyright © 2016 U.M. Lassiter

ISBN: 978-1-4874-0840-4

Cover art by Latrisha Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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Smashwords Edition

The Leaves of Life

Berkley Daze Book Five

By

U.M. Lassiter

Dedication

The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

—The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Chapter One

Be careful what you wish for.

My handsome, tall, strong, Greek-god of a boyfriend could be such a knucklehead. He had an ego as big as Mount Rushmore, but I found out the hard way that bipolar disorder played a big role in his inflated view of himself. After a relatively minor medical setback, the pendulum swung firmly into the major depressive end of the spectrum.

He shut me out.

I was heartbroken when he wouldn’t return my calls or messages, and I blamed myself. Despite my promise not to, I told his dad Tanner had suffered a seizure when we were out together. He was adamant that no one know. Only Lou—Tanner’s dad—had always been so kind and so nice. When I was pressed, I cracked like an egg.

It was understandable why Tanner would want to keep the seizure a secret. He was nearly eighteen and figured he could take care of himself. After all, he was a champion athlete, fiercely independent, and a childhood cancer survivor. When his doctor found out his seizures had recurred, Tanner lost his driver’s license, but far worse for him, he wasn’t allowed to play football.

When days of the silent treatment turned into weeks, my heartbreak turned to anger. Finally, Lou came up to me at school one day and told me what was going on, and why. He said that he’d more or less figured out what was going on, and that my confession just confirmed what he already knew.

So it shouldn’t have surprised Tanner that when he suddenly appeared one day and acted like nothing happened, I’d go just a tiny bit berserk. After the fight of the century, I cried and we made up and I made him promise not to keep anything secret from me. It didn’t matter how bad it was—I could take it.

I hadn’t counted on osteosarcoma.

Your dinner’s getting cold, sweetie, Mom said.

I’m almost done, I said, without looking up from my computer screen. Just a couple more minutes.

Mom sighed and went downstairs. Within seconds I’d forgotten she had ever been there and re-immersed myself into my research on cancer in general and stage-three osteosarcoma in particular. In the two days since Tanner had told me about his cancer, I’d done what I’d always done when I was stressed—I buried myself in work. I couldn’t sleep, so, why not? I was running on adrenaline and energy drinks. There was no problem that couldn’t be solved with enough brain power. I was the boy genius—I had that power to spare. If I just worked hard enough, I could fix this.

I heard heavier footsteps this time.

Ryan, son, Dad said, You have to eat.

Yeah. Uh-huh, I said absently. Before I realized, a pair of firm but gentle hands were placed on my shoulders and I was turned ninety degrees, chair and all, and was looking up into my concerned father’s face.

When did you last sleep? Dad asked.

Oh, um, last night. That was true, mostly. I’d collapsed on my bed, fully clothed, about two-thirty that morning. About five a.m. I’d awoken with a start, slipped down the hall to pee, gone downstairs to grab a banana and a six-pack of energy drinks, and headed right back to the computer.

Give it a rest, Ryan, Dad said. You’re still not too big for me to carry you downstairs.

But Tanner...

You’re not going to do Tanner any good if you’re in the hospital with exhaustion.

Dad took my hands and I stood up. Through bleary eyes, I looked at my father’s care-worn face. It made me think of Lou, and that was my breaking point. I fell forward into his arms and we held each other tight as I was wracked with sobs.

Let it out, he murmured in my ear, and I could tell from the catch in his voice that he was close to crying himself. He guided me to the corner of the bed. When we sat down, I leaned my head against his chest and continued sobbing.

Eventually my tears were all spent and the two of us sat silent and unmoving for a few minutes.

Why don’t you take a nice relaxing shower, Dad said, and put on your pajamas. Then you can come downstairs. Your mother still has your dinner waiting for you, and I can tell you what I’ve heard from Lou. He handed me some tissues from my nightstand.

Okay, I said, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose. Dad gave me a gentle pat on the back and went downstairs.

I hadn’t been back to see Tanner since Sunday night because the pain medication he was taking for his broken leg made him sleep most of the time. This was the same broken leg that had alerted the doctors to the recurrence of the cancer. I was hopeful Dad would tell me Tanner was feeling up to having visitors.

When you hear that someone else has cancer, suddenly all your other troubles seem like minor bumps in the road. Tanner had made up his mind that he wasn’t going to let the fact that he wouldn’t be able to play football his senior year get him down. Basketball was a possibility. Wrestling was iffy, but not unthinkable.

Tanner had seemed satisfied when he could still work out with weights and run with me. He’d even entered a local amateur bodybuilding contest that I thought he should have walked away with, but the judges obviously left their white canes at home.

We were running laps one morning a couple of days after the contest on the track at Cal when Tanner’s urge to show off got the better of him and he tried a hurdle or three. He’d tripped up on the last one and ended up breaking his leg, just below the hip. The injury snuffed out any remaining ember of his high school athletic career and would probably affect his college prospects.

Even so, Tanner seemed at peace with what seemed a drawn-out but temporary setback. Injuries are just part of the game, he told me.

That was before the c-word.

Mom set a plate of pot roast and vegetables in front of me. She gently rubbed my back before kissing the top of my head and returning to the kitchen. I looked up and gave Mom a little smile just as the aroma of the food hit me like a tidal wave. I realized I was ravenous as Dad sat down beside me.

You feeling better? he asked. Because you look better.

Maybe it was the clean sleep shorts and t-shirt. Perhaps it was the clean, damp hair and lack of b.o.—or maybe it was the fact that I was shoveling back Mom’s pot roast like I hadn’t eaten for two days—which I hadn’t.

Um-hm, I mumbled with my mouth full. I chewed a few more times and swallowed. You said you talked to Lou?

About a half-hour ago.

Why didn’t he call me?

Because I called him. I had to get you downstairs, somehow.

What did he say? I asked before taking another mouthful.

The pain and swelling around Tanner’s incision are a lot better today. Lou said if he has a good night without the pain meds, you should probably go over tomorrow.

Did he say what they’re going to do?

You mean as far as treatment?

Yeah.

Lou said they’ve discussed a couple of options, but he thought it was better that Tanner talk to you himself.

I slept a lot better that night, but even so, I woke up about four and couldn’t get back to sleep. Since I was up and it was hours before I could call Tanner, I decided to try to get some schoolwork done. Dad had spoken to both my professors—much to my chagrin—and when he’d laid out the situation, they’d been understanding. They told Dad that as long as I turned in all my assignments and showed up for finals, I’d be allowed to complete the courses.

The next time I looked up from my desk, it was after eight and Mom was standing in my doorway.

Oh, Ryan, she said with a concerned tone, "did you get any sleep last night?"

Actually, I did, I said as I rubbed my bleary eyes with my thumb and middle finger. But I woke up about four o’clock and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to do some homework.

How are you feeling?

A little more rested, I guess. A little less frantic. This has actually been a nice distraction, I said as I waved my hand over my desk.

Mom cocked her head slightly and gave me a thoughtful look.

Remember, she said, we’ve talked about this before."

I know, I answered. I don’t know if this applies, though.

When I came out to my parents the year before, we’d had a lot of great discussions about the challenges that both I and my family would face. As I suspect is the case for many people, it wasn’t a huge surprise for my parents when I told them I was gay. They told me that they loved me unconditionally and that I should feel free to be who I am. Actually, they did have one condition.

I had a secret bunker. Not a real, literal bunker, but a hiding place, nonetheless—dark, remote, and with a big heavy door that only I could open—and I almost never did. I don’t mean the proverbial gay closet—I had no need for that.

Actually, it wasn’t even all that secret. For a long time, my parents worried that my intellectual gifts would make me socially isolated. I had a history of burying myself in my studies, so when I came out to my parents, they were probably relieved more than troubled. When I actually managed to land a boyfriend, they were thrilled. I can imagine them saying to each other okay, we can work with this.

This is not to say there wasn’t a time when my sexuality scared me. It did—a lot. Sometimes it still does. I won’t pretend and tell you that once I started living my life openly I didn’t have to worry what others thought. Everyone cares what others think. It’s what makes us human.

A few people can crush that care into a tiny ball and push it so far down inside of themselves that it never again sees the light of day. I can’t do that, and I don’t know if I would if I could. For me, the tiny nagging doubt of disapproval will always be there, just out of view.

Being an academically gifted child—my Dad always likes to say that when they gave me an IQ test, I broke it—I was always set apart from my peers, and I used this social isolation to dig my hole and build my bunker, brick by careful brick. I threw my entire being—wholly and unequivocally—into my studies. At the gates of their concentration camps, the Nazis displayed an aphorism—work shall set you free—and for a while, I believed it.

When I was totally immersed in my studies, nothing else existed. Not bullies, not acne, not racism, but especially not the strange new urges and feelings that frightened me—because everyone knew they were abnormal.

The one condition that my parents imposed was that I never, ever went back into the bunker. But my heart was aching, and I was standing outside the door, looking longingly into the darkness.

Breakfast? Mom asked. I’ll make anything you want.

French toast?

Coming right up. Mom’s smile grew broad.

I’ll get dressed and be down in a few minutes, I said.

Mom walked over to where I was sitting and stood behind me. She draped her arms around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head before leaving to make my food. I stood up and took a deep breath. Reluctantly, I pulled shut the door of my imaginary bunker and turned the key in the lock. I wanted to throw the key away, but for now, all I could do was put it in my pocket.

Chapter Two

I’m glad you decided to come.

I was at Elliot’s house for another meeting of the Sigma Epsilon Omega interest group—the first step in forming a local chapter of the fraternity.

Dad said I needed to get out of the house, I said as he led me from the front door and back into the main room of the quirky little Victorian row house in Oakland that he shared with his college roommates. Elliot stopped, turned and gave me a wry look.

What? Costco was closed? he said.

I... I... didn’t mean... I stammered.

Elliot put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a friendly squeeze.

That’s okay, he said warmly. I know what you meant.

I followed Elliot through the stair hall and into the front parlor. A number of young men I recognized from the last visit were lounging about, along with a couple of new faces.

Hey everyone, look who made it! Elliot announced brightly. A roomful of faces turned my way. You already know most of these guys, he told me.

As you might expect, I have a good memory, and I exchanged glances with Bobby, Trent, Ahmet, Michael, Randy and Liwei. I said hi and tried my best to smile, and everyone smiled back, but the vibe in the room seemed just a