The Tin Box

by Kim Fielding

  He didn’t often jog, and he was out of breath distressingly soon. He ought to have a better exercise regimen. Not just cardio, but his new weights too. He’d have to work incredibly hard to be as sleekly muscled as Colby, but anything would be an improvement over his current boniness.

  When he was too sweaty and exhausted to continue, he returned indoors to shower. He put on his new shorts and the gray T-shirt. And then he was faced with a dilemma: where to put the grill. The building’s exits were all far from his apartment, and grilling inside was decidedly not a great idea. After a little thought, he ended up dragging one of the wooden chairs to a window, which allowed him to climb out and clamber to the ground. He found a big chunk of concrete among some weeds, which with considerable huffing and puffing, he maneuvered under the window to serve as a step. Not exactly elegant, but the hospital had clearly not been built with barbecuing in mind.

  He made a salad using the veggies he’d bought at the produce stand that morning, and he checked to make sure the beers were cold. Then he pretended to read one of the books Colby had loaned him—this one involving sexy vampires—but none of the words sank in.

  His phone rang at a quarter to eight, just after he’d finished lighting the grill. “I’m early,” Colby said breathlessly. “Is that okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll come let you in.” William jogged down the hallway, out of the building, and up to the gate.

  Tonight Colby was wearing biking gear, which looked a hell of a lot better on him than it had on the man in the store. Even in the moonlit darkness outside, the Lycra left no doubt about Colby’s fit physique. William tried not to stare.

  “I’m not cooking frozen Thai,” he explained as they walked to the main building. “I hope that’s okay. I’m grilling some chicken, which is pretty much the only cooking I’m really good at. But the marinade is really great and I made a nice salad and I think it’ll be okay.”

  Colby chuckled at his babbling. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m glad you invited me. I was a little scared I’d frightened you away yesterday. You know, maybe I went too far.”

  “You didn’t,” William said quietly.

  They were both quiet for a moment, although Colby’s bike wheels made little hissing noises on the pavement. “I’m sorry,” Colby finally said.

  “For what?”

  “That shit I said a while back about you having a stick up your ass. It wasn’t very nice. I didn’t know…. Well, that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have judged you.”

  William waited as Colby leaned the bike against the building, and then they both went inside. The interior was dark, lit only by the moonlight that shone through the windows. But William was confident of the way by now and ignored the switch for the overhead lights.

  “You were right. I did have a stick up my ass. Still do. Look up ‘repressed’ in the dictionary and you’ll probably see my picture.”

  “No way. I mean… okay. You’re still a little uptight. But you’re working on it, Will, and that takes a lot of balls. A lot of guys wouldn’t even try.”

  William sighed. “A lot of guys wouldn’t have spent half their life pretending to be something they’re not.” He was thinking of Bill, of course. Stubborn, loyal, loving Bill.

  William’s apartment was homey and cheerful with the lamps lit and country music playing softly on an old radio he’d found inside a kitchen cabinet. Colby grabbed William’s forearm and looked up at him earnestly.

  “There’s always people who think they have the right to decide who other people are supposed to be. When I was growing up in JV, some folks told me I should tone down. Be more butch. And then I moved to San Francisco and they made fun of me for being a hick. And… I had fun for a while. But then I started feeling like maybe I wanted to settle down. You know, True Loooove.” He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. “And there were people who didn’t like that either. This one friend from school, she gave me this big lecture on how I was caving in to heteronormative values. You’d have thought I was personally undermining every improvement in gay rights since Stonewall.”

  “Gay people aren’t supposed to settle down?”

  “Gay people are supposed to do whatever the fuck feels right to them, just like straight people! If you wanna get married and have kids, great. If you wanna screw everything on two legs, just make sure you’re safe. If you wanna wear a pink tutu, vote Republican, and drive around in a Mack truck, that’s your own damn business!” His voice had risen, but now he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Jeez, you don’t vote Republican, do you?”

  William laughed at the look of horror on his friend’s face. “Nope. My parents do.”

  “Yeah, well that’s a given. Anyway, my point is you need to be yourself. You’re not me, Will. If listening to Beethoven and wearing ties is who William Lyon is, then I shouldn’t be telling you any different.”

  “What if I don’t know who I am?” Wow, that came out sounding really forlorn and pathetic.

  Colby reached up and stroked his cheek. “Then I guess now you have the chance to find out.” He let his hand drop. “We’re friends, Will. I like you a lot. So, you know… don’t be afraid I’m gonna dump you if you don’t turn out exactly like I want.”

  William smiled at him. His skin tingled from Colby’s touch. “Thank you.”

  “God, and here I am preaching at you, as if you haven’t had enough of that already. Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind. You’re better than Pastor Reynolds any day.”

  “I bet Pastor Reynolds didn’t have dimples and an ass like this.” Colby waggled the body part in question before slapping William on the arm. “I’m starved. Didn’t you promise to feed me?”

  Colby laughed when he saw the setup William had rigged for accessing the grill. Peering out the window, Colby said, “I don’t think I’d be able to get back inside without a boost. How about if I stay inside and hand you things?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  William climbed out the window, jumping a little when Colby gave his butt a gratuitous pat. He checked on the grill and saw that the coals were ready. “There’s a baggie full of chicken in the fridge. Could you get it for me?”

  Colby disappeared, then reappeared a few seconds later and leaned out the window with the food in his hand. William arranged the chicken on the wire rack as Colby watched. “You sure you don’t want to come out?” William asked.

  “No, I’m good. Man, I hate being short.”

  “How tall are you?”

  “Five ten. No, okay, that’s a lie. Five seven.” He sighed. “And you’re what? Six two?”

  “Six three.”

  “God. I am so jealous.”

  William looked down at his long skinny legs and knobby knees. He’d always been tall and thin, and he’d hit his growth spurt early. The kids at school used to call him stork or string bean or, in a play on his last name, Cowardly Scarecrow Lyon. Which didn’t even make any sense, but still used to piss him off. He looked back at Colby. “Why would you be jealous of this?”

  “Because extra inches are always a good thing, honey,” Colby said with a wink. Then he rolled his eyes. “Jeez. You are completely unaware of your geeky charm, aren’t you?”

  “Geeky charm?”

  “Totally.”

  William tried to hide his embarrassment by fussing with the chicken. It was already smelling good. “You want a beer?” he called over his shoulder. “They’re in the fridge too.”

  “Sure. You?”

  William nodded. Colby must have found the bottle opener, because when he passed the bottle out the window, it was uncapped. “You didn’t buy these at my store.”

  “Um, no. Sorry. You don’t carry—”

  “Anything but pisswater. I know. Another bone of contention with Grandpa. I swear, the man’s culinary tastes are frozen in 1972.”

  “My parents don’t drink at all.”

  “Of course they
don’t.”

  William poked at the chicken breasts before turning them. A jay landed on a nearby branch. Maybe it was the same one from yesterday. Maybe it was planning some sort of avian revenge now that it had caught him cooking a bird. A moment later, a yellow-and-black butterfly flitted by, reminding him of the signs he’d seen in Mariposa. “What’s the deal with the Butterfly Festival?”

  “Oh, that. It’s basically a street fair with bugs. And way less gratuitous nudity than I like. There’s a parade, booths, music… stuff like that. Why? Were you thinking of going?”

  William shuddered. “No. I was just curious.”

  “Cowboy Day is more fun anyway.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Social event of the year in JV. Few years back, Aunt Deedee tried to change the name to Cowhand Day ’cause that’s gender neutral, but nobody listened to her. It’s in September. The whole town gathers in that little park near the school and pigs out on tri-tip and linguica. There are a lot of Stetsons and chaps involved. Kids get their faces painted, grown-ups gossip, and there’s fireworks after dark. Even Grandma goes, and she’s hardly left the house at all for a few years.” He rubbed his nose. “I’m not sure she’ll make it this year, but Grandpa says he’ll drag her, no matter what.”

  Colby sounded a little sad and wistful, and he leaned his elbows on the windowsill.

  “You’re close with your grandparents,” William said. “I mean, aside from just living with them.”

  “They pretty much raised me. I was only eight when Dad died, and then Mom remarried pretty quick. But Grandma has Alzheimer’s and most of the time she doesn’t even know me anymore.”

  William had been about to transfer the chicken to a platter, but now he paused to look at Colby. “I’m sorry.”

  Colby shrugged. “Yeah, it sucks.” After a moment his bright smile returned. “But she still has Grandpa. They’ve been married for almost sixty years. Can you imagine?”

  No, William could not imagine that. He hadn’t lasted even six with Lisa.

  He carefully moved the chicken, then balanced the platter in one hand while he replaced the lid on the grill with the other. He handed the plate through the window to Colby, who took a deep, appreciative sniff. “Oh man, that looks and smells fantastic!”

  A few minutes later they were seated at the table, digging into their meal. Colby made small groans of happiness as he ate. The sounds reminded William of the ones Colby had made the previous evening, which of course made William blush. “You are really good at this,” Colby said with his mouth full.

  “Thanks. It’s one of my few skills.”

  “Well, it’s a useful one. I would totally not vote you off the island if you cooked like this.”

  William thought for a moment, then stood and fetched them each another bottle. He sat down and took a long draft. The beer tasted wonderful. “My dad taught me how to grill. He takes it almost as seriously as his religion.”

  “Grandma used to do all our cooking and never taught me anything. She was real territorial over her kitchen. So Grandpa and I mostly eat stuff from the store—stuff we can nuke. Sometimes Aunt Deedee takes pity on us and brings us a casserole or something.”

  “Couldn’t you learn from a cookbook? I saw a bunch of them in the library.”

  Colby grinned. “Tried that. Things burned. I tend to get distracted.”

  William could easily believe that. In fact, even as Colby ate, he’d often pause with fork in midair to say something, and his gaze was constantly wandering around the room and out the window, landing frequently on William’s face.

  It was a really good meal.

  Colby helped clean up afterward, both of them crammed together in the tiny kitchen. Then William said, “Do you want to hang out for a while? We could watch TV or something.” He was a little apprehensive, worrying that Colby would want to watch more porn. And William wasn’t exactly opposed to watching porn, not even with Colby, but tonight he just wanted relaxed company.

  Maybe Colby did too. “Love to.”

  They sat on the couch, which looked big enough when it was empty but turned out to be on the small side when occupied by two adults. Colby somehow ended up with possession of the remote. He turned on one of those terrible talent shows where vapid pseudo-celebrities made snarky comments about contestants who’d spent more time on wardrobe and makeup than on singing practice. But William didn’t mind because Colby made snarky comments too, which was fun, and he sometimes sang along.

  Colby bounced around in his seat a lot, and each bounce seemed to take him a little closer to William, until they were squashed up against each other. The night was warm, so their arms were sweaty where they touched, but Colby didn’t seem to notice.

  On the rare occasions when William and Lisa had watched television together, or maybe threw on a DVD, he’d sat in the armchair while she stretched out on the couch. She liked to knit while she watched, and if William got too close she complained and he risked losing an eye to a knitting needle.

  The talent show ended and was replaced by something with detectives. Colby seemed happy enough until a murder scene came on, and then he hastily changed the channel. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I hope you weren’t really into that show.”

  “No, this is way better,” said William, waving an arm at the current program, which was in Spanish.

  Colby tipped against him. “Blood. I told you I’m a complete wuss about it.”

  “You’ll want to avoid the Surgery Channel then.”

  Setting the remote on William’s lap, Colby sighed. “I hereby promote you to Clicker-in-Chief. Anything but blood.”

  William picked up the device and spent a moment switching channels. He stopped when he got to a program in which a perky couple was trying to choose an apartment in Sweden. Not much chance of mayhem there, he decided, and put down the remote. Colby seemed satisfied and leaned comfortably against William’s shoulder and arm.

  “When I was in seventh grade,” Colby said, “this boy in my math class got a nosebleed. I fainted. The teacher had to call an ambulance and everything. It was soooo embarrassing. For years kids would pretend to faint at my feet.”

  “I went to a Christian school. Once I stayed up late reading and the next day I fell asleep during morning prayers.” He could still remember the sting of humiliation he’d felt when a teacher had shaken him awake and the entire student body had erupted with laughter.

  Colby’s laughter was soft. William could feel his body shake.

  “I was crashing for a few weeks on someone’s couch in San Francisco. It was a pretty chaotic place. And I woke up in the middle of the night and some guy I didn’t know was sitting on the floor nearby, shooting up. That time I puked.”

  “Is that an improvement over fainting?”

  “Not really. No ambulance, but I had to clean it up. And the guy who owned the apartment kicked me out.”

  They were silent for a few minutes as the couple on TV complained about a flat’s tiny refrigerator and lack of storage space.

  “You could get treated for it, you know,” William said. “It’s a pretty common phobia, I think. They can do… I’m not sure. Systematic desensitization. Anxiety meds, maybe.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s easier just to avoid blood though.”

  The couple looked at another flat that had a big kitchen but was over budget and entailed a long commute from the city center. It also had a pink wall, but at least that was easy to fix. They looked at a third place that had a nice garden and was well located, but had only one bedroom instead of the two they preferred. “We have a lot to think about,” said the woman before the show cut to a commercial.

  “They should go for the first one,” announced Colby.

  William agreed. His arm was starting to become uncomfortable from Colby’s weight, so he hesitantly wrapped it around Colby’s shoulders instead. That made Colby sigh contentedly and snuggle in closer. His gelled hair tickled William’s neck.

  “M
y dad killed himself,” Colby said in an unusually subdued tone. He swiveled his head to see William’s face. “Are you okay with hearing this? I don’t have to tell it.” There was a little frown line between his eyebrows, and his eyes seemed darker than usual.

  “I dumped my parental issues on you, Colby, and I didn’t even ask. Go ahead.”

  A small smile reappeared and Colby nestled back against him. He didn’t speak right away, though. He waited until the TV couple made their decision, which ended up being the second flat.

  “Stupid,” Colby muttered. “Location, location, location.”

  William wondered whether the man who had moved back to Jelley’s Valley realized the irony in his words.

  “I guess Dad struggled with depression most of his life. I didn’t know that then. He was just…. Sometimes he’d go through these times when he didn’t talk much, or he’d get angry really easily. I knew to stay away from him then.” He shrugged. “A lot of the time he was fine. He was funny, even goofy. He spent a lot of time playing with me.”

  Deciding that silence was best, William just gave him a light squeeze.

  “He shot himself in the head. He was a pretty efficient guy, my dad. If he was gonna do something, he was gonna do it right. He did it in the bathtub, I guess for easier cleanup. And he called 911 right before he pulled the trigger, ’cause he wanted the… the mess dealt with before anyone else got home. Mom was at work; I was at school. Only I realized I’d forgotten my math homework that morning—times tables—so I went home at lunch to get it. Our house was only a couple blocks from the school. And when I got there I needed to pee.”

  “Jesus Christ, Colby.” Even though William’s faith was long gone, his habit of avoiding blasphemy was well ingrained. That the words escaped him now was a sign of how shaken he felt.

  “Yeah. So that’s why blood’s a no-go for me. Or anything that makes me think that there might be blood, like needles. There went my promising career as a phlebotomist.”

  “You were eight. You didn’t know what a phlebotomist was.”

  Colby chuckled and scrunched more snugly against him. “I was precocious.”