Mason's Run

by Mellanie Rourke

  “I was kind of hoping we could do something… different,” I said smiling at him. “I’m kinda hyper this morning. Not sure what to make of that,” I smiled ruefully at him.

  I offered to help with dishes, but he wouldn’t let me. I walked into the living room to wait for him to be ready to go do something.

  Looking around the room, I noted multiple pictures of him and his fiancé. I’d seen them before, but hadn’t really had an opportunity to study them. As I did so now, I realized, looking at the pictures that Lee’s appearance had changed subtly over the years, which made sense, I guessed. His younger pictures all seemed so carefree; I could almost taste the joy that was bubbling off of him back then... a lot like he was today, to tell the truth. The Lee of the last few days, though, had been different. Even with his lighthearted mood today, he still had little worry lines on his face, at the corners of his eyes. I remembered being able to see the weariness in his eyes, hidden behind his smile.

  In the photos, Mack seemed like the older of the two. In some of them he looked on at some crazy stunt Lee and his brothers were into. The warmth of love and pride practically glowed out of the pictures.

  “I’ve got it!” Lee said, loudly enough to make me jump. “I know what we are doing this afternoon.” He grinned evilly at me as he walked into the living room and settled down next to me.

  “So, what are you thinking?” I asked.

  “Well, first, we take you to your art class, then…”

  “Then, what?” I asked.

  He looked at me impishly “…It’s a surprise.”

  “Seriously?” I asked, both intrigued and annoyed.

  “Yep. I could tell you, but if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?” he teased, and I groaned.

  “Really? You’re going to tease me about this, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Well,” Lee said, his voice low and rumbly in his chest as the hand that had been laid across the back of the sofa came down to take my hand in his. He ran his thumb softly over my knuckles. “I could tease you about something else…” he winked.

  Damn it, he was so damn cute. It wasn’t fair.

  “You don’t play fair, do you?” I asked, laughing.

  “Nope. I play to win,” he said, lifting my hand to his mouth and laying a gentle kiss on my palm. My breath hitched in my throat and suddenly my cock decided to stand to attention. Fuck.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, trying to catch my breath. Any progress I’d made toward recovering my equilibrium was lost as his tongue snuck out of his mouth and teased at the skin between my fingers. Oh, my fucking zebra gods, that was hot…

  I might have jumped him then and there if my phone hadn’t buzzed in my hand. Startled, I dropped it like a hot potato. We both seemed to have registered it was falling at the same time, as we both tried to grab it, but all we managed to do was flip it around back and forth until it landed on the couch. Luckily it was unbroken, but the call kind of broke the mood, and we both burst out laughing.

  The phone had a message from Professor James White, my contact at the school, asking if I could come an hour or so early to sign some books for his students. I showed it to Lee, who eyed it like a snake.

  “I’m beginning to hate that damn phone,” he said, sighing. “But I guess we should head out then,” he sighed ruefully.

  This signing went as good as, if not better, than the first one. There weren’t nearly as many people at this one, which gave me even more freedom to chat with the students.

  I gave my prepared speech on the history of art in comic books. The hall was about half full, maybe sixty or so students. I was half-way through when I noticed yawns on the faces of some students and saw there were a couple of kids scattered throughout the lecture who had their heads down and were obviously sleeping. Was my presentation that bad?

  The sight threw me for a minute, and I stumbled in my speech, losing my place. I felt my heart rate and breathing speed up. Shit! Shit! Shit! Not now… I glanced around wildly.

  My eyes wandered frantically over the room until they landed on Lee, seated in the front row. We locked eyes for a moment then he just nodded at me. Okay... I cleared my throat. I could do this, I thought, grabbing hold of his gaze as though it was a lifeline.

  My therapist and I had practiced for this. My eyes remained glued to his. All I had to do was just pretend I was talking to Lee, only Lee. I took a deep breath and finished the lecture in record time. I almost ran off the stage at its conclusion, ignoring the half-hearted round of applause.

  I was standing off stage with my head against the wall, trying to regain my composure, when Professor White walked up, followed closely by Lee. Professor White looked like the quintessential crazy professor. He was a little on the shorter side, his white hair and beard just a little bit tousled. His tie was slightly askew, and his suit coat unbuttoned.

  “So, um, what’d you think,” I asked as they got near, forcing some normality into my voice. “How’d it go over?”

  Lee looked torn, like he was unsure what he should be saying. Professor White’s shrewd eyes locked with my own.

  “Mr. Cameron, that was a very…” he coughed and cleared his throat, “…informative speech. I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite that much information compiled and shared so… completely,” he said, one hand clasping his coffee mug, the other a folder with papers inside.

  I groaned.

  “So, you’re saying it was long and boring?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth at his discomfort.

  “I wouldn’t say that…”

  Nope, I thought, you are way too polite to be honest.

  “Mr. Cameron, if I might share a little advice…?” the Professor asked.

  “Of course,” I said, feeling about two inches high. I knew he was going to rip into me and uncover what a fraud I was. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t do this or be this person. Mason Malone didn’t deserve to be here. Mason Malone was just a jumped-up prostitute, a son of a whore. What had made me think I could do this? I couldn’t, obviously…

  My thoughts began spiraling downward so fast that I barely heard what he said next.

  “Mr. Cameron, your lecture was about comic book art history, right? Is comic book art history something you are… passionate about?” he asked, cocking his head questioningly to one side. His gesture reminded me oddly of an owl.

  “Um… well, sort of…” I lied. “I mean, those who don’t study history are bound to repeat it, right? So… um,” I paused as he eyed me, both eyebrows now raised skeptically at me. “Okay… No. Not really,” I finally sighed. “It was the only thing I could think of that I knew enough about to give a sixty-minute lecture on,” I said, a bit shame-faced at my disclosure. “I guess I kind of think…” I paused, not wanting to offend him. “I kind of think art history is boring and early comic art sucked.”

  “Hrmph.” He muttered, shaking his head at me. “I thought not,” he said, smiling at me. “Successful teachers know that if you want to teach a student, any student, you have to be willing to share something of yourself with them,” he continued. “It can be something you love…” I could have sworn his eyes glanced over at Lee behind me when he said that, but I might have been mistaken. “…or it can be something that you despise or fear. But above all, it has to be something you are passionate about.”

  I shifted from one foot to the other, some of what he said starting to sink in.

  “You can teach anything, if you feel strongly enough about it!” He exclaimed. He started pacing a bit, his hands picking up speed as he became more involved in his mini-lecture. I jumped back to avoid a splatter of coffee.

  “Say you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. If you want to teach someone about PB&J, you don’t just give them cold hard facts. Don’t tell them about calories or fat content, or how much time it takes to make one,” he said, shaking his hands dismissively, sloshing more coffee as he gestured.

  “Tell them what it is about PB&J t
hat makes you passionate. What is your emotional connection to it? Was it a snack your mother made you when you were sick? Was it the first meal you learned how to make for yourself? Was it all you could afford to buy when you were a struggling young artist? Share the things they can connect with. Share what is in here…” he said, tapping my chest. “Not just here.” He finished, tapping my forehead gently.

  I looked at him, comprehension finally dawning.

  “Thank you…” I whispered. “That… that’s exactly what I was afraid to do. I guess if you are teaching, you’re going to have to share some of your... your heart with people. It just makes me a little uncomfortable. It makes me feel... vulnerable,” I said, squirming inside.

  “It does,” he agreed. “That vulnerability is what makes you relatable. If you are relatable, your student will understand your emotional connection. That understanding will mean more to them than ten thousand ‘facts’ ever could.” He grinned at me, the years chased away from his face for a moment. “And don’t even get me started on strawberry over grape jelly. Countries have warred over less!”

  We all three laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel how right Professor White was. I had to do better.

  “So, now that I have imparted the wisdom of my advanced years, when do you want to try again?” he asked.

  I stuttered a moment. “I... um, I think I’m going to need a little time to come up with a different topic,” I said.

  “Nonsense!” He exclaimed. “I hear you are speaking at the comic convention next Saturday. Why not give it another go then?” He asked.

  Hmmm… He had a point. I really didn’t want to put my audience to sleep at the event. And a lot of the information I'd used in my lecture had originally been intended to be shared at the convention.

  “Um, I can’t promise anything…” I said, but hurried on when his face started to fall, “…but I’ll try.”

  “Good! Good. Then when you give your new lecture next Saturday, I will offer these sluggards an opportunity at extra credit if they attend,” he said.

  We said our goodbyes and Lee helped me wrestle my ever-lighter trunk out to his car. The excitement of Professor White’s words zinged through my body and ways that I could use what he suggested to re-do my presentation percolated in my brain.

  “You look like you have a million ideas rushing around in that hot brain of yours,” Lee said as we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “He made a lot of sense. I don’t really care about comic art history, much,” I said. “But now, I have to figure out what I’m going to talk about at the event.”

  “I have faith you’ll figure it out,” Lee said, still smiling at me. The look grew heated and I squirmed in my seat looking for a change in topic.

  “You have a lot of faith in me,” I said, shaking my head at Lee. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Nope,” he said, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat.

  “That’s cold, Lee!” I exclaimed. “C’mon! What about a hint? It’s only just 3 o’clock. Where could we be going?” I demanded.

  “You want a hint? Hmmm…” he said teasingly.

  “Yes, dammit. I want a damn hint,” I pouted.

  “Okay… How about this?” he began. “It’s been around for thousands of years, and scientists still don’t know for sure how it was made, or what it was for. It goes on and on, never stopping for long. And it’s a great place to go when you want to hit something.”

  I was baffled. “Is it the ocean?” I asked.

  “No, but that’s a great guess,” Lee said. “Unfortunately, no oceans near Ohio,” he teased.

  “Hmmm… How about… A boxing ring?”

  “Nope. I’m pretty sure scientists know what boxing rings are for,” he teased.

  I punched him lightly in the shoulder.

  “Careful! Driving here!” he exclaimed.

  “Shut up,” I said. I sat there for a while as we drove, struggling to come up with some answer that would apply to all three clues, but failing.”

  “…An appendix?” I asked, finally giving up.

  “No… Not sure how exactly we would ‘visit’ one of those, anyway…” He said, his eyes twinkling at me. “Close your eyes, we’re almost there.”

  I put my hands over my eyes and grumbled about people who made their riddles too hard to solve.

  “…If the answer to your goddamn riddle is ‘A Ring’, I promise you, I will end you before the first Dark Rider shows up,” I threatened.

  Lee laughed. “Nope, no Gollum here, I promise. You can open your eyes. We’re here.”

  I pulled my hands away from my eyes and looked around, blinking owlishly in the bright sunlight. Several large stone pillars framed the entrance to a building with a large sign overhead.

  “Stonehenge?!” I read in disbelief. “Seriously? What the fuck, dude?”

  Lee laughed. “Not the Stonehenge, obviously. Stonehenge Bowling Alley and racetrack,” he winked at me.

  “Racetrack? What?” I asked. Lee pointed over to the mini racetrack where racers lined their go-kart style racers up. “I can’t even drive!” I objected as he ran around and opened my door, pulling me out into the sun.

  “All the more reason for you to start learning here,” he said as he pulled me over to the line for the racetrack. “At least here there’s a speed limit no one can break, and everyone will be wearing seat belts and helmets,” he laughed, dragging me over to the line. “I can’t say that for the actual roads.”

  We raced three times. All three, Lee beat me handily, but the last time only because he cheated. I just couldn’t seem to manage the logistics of shifting gears, steering and accelerating or braking at the same time. After my third loss we were both laughing so hard tears were dripping from the corners of my eyes. Lee tugged on my hand and led me away from the families lined up in the summer sun, and into the dimly lit building.

  As we walked through the doors it took my eyes a minute to adjust. Even though the place was spotless, I couldn’t help but smell the tang of decades-old stale cigarette smoke in the air from years of serving as a bar and bowling alley both. Lee told me Ohio had changed their laws years ago and forbidden smoking in any business, but I could almost see the haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air by the bar or over the fluorescent lights above the pool tables.

  We wandered around for a while until we found a large area next to the pool tables that said “Arcade”. My heart started to race. I’d loved arcades when I was little. My mom and I had spent hours playing old fashioned pinball games in one near our home.

  “Okay if I…?” I inclined my head to the machine that exchanged money for tokens. Lee just grinned and nodded. I slipped a twenty from my wallet into the machine and heard the familiar whir as the machine took my money and the jangle of the tokens being dispensed. I gave a handful to Lee and walked down the aisle, my head spinning at the nostalgic conglomeration of old and new games.

  After an hour or so of playing we got some food from the restaurant attached to the arcade. I watched in disgust as Lee took containers of mayonnaise and ketchup and mixed them together.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in disgusted fascination. He swirled the concoction together, then began dipping his fries in it before eating them.

  “Ewww…” I exclaimed.

  “This? This is amazing! Haven’t you ever tried it?” he asked, reaching for another fry.

  “Um, no, I haven’t,” I admitted.

  “Then how can you say it’s gross? Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he warned.

  “Fine,” I said, leaning my head back. “Hit me.” I said, opening my mouth wide.

  Time seemed to slow as I saw Lee hesitate, a devilish grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Slowly he took the fattest fry on his plate, coating it thoroughly with his devil’s mixture, then dangled it over my open mouth. I laughed when a big drip of sauce slid off the fry and landed on my face.

&nbs
p; “Oops,” he said, winking at me. “I made a mess. Let me get that for you…” He headed towards me, his lips barely grazing my own, his tongue swiping out over my cheek to lick up the drippy concoction.

  “Mmmm… Tasty…” He said, waggling his eyebrows at me. As he leaned back, he dropped the fry into my still-open mouth.

  I felt my cheeks redden, and my mouth automatically closed and started chewing. It took me a minute to realize the mixture was really good, especially with the salty fries.

  “Not bad,” I agreed. Feeling my cheeks heat up.

  17

  Lee

  We stayed in that arcade for hours and it was one of the best dates I’d ever had. We were both thoroughly tired out by the time I got a text from Mama K inviting us to come over for dinner with them.

  MAMA K: CHALLENGE DELIVERED! You & I against D and Mason. It’s Scrabble night at the Devereaux den! You in?

  ME: Let me check with Mason…I don’t know how much my crazy family he can take in one week.

  MAMA D: Well, if I he’s too scared, we understand…

  I groaned and shared the text with Mason. He nodded eagerly.

  “Sure! Sounds like a lot of fun,” he said, grinning at me.

  “Wait a minute,” I paused in confusion. “You know I said ‘Scrabble’ right? Scrabble is not fun. Scrabble is torture. Scrabble is aggravating and mind-numbing. Scrabble is not ‘fun’.”

  “I’m a writer and artist, Lee. I think Scrabble is fun. The only game more fun for me would probably be Pictionary.” He grinned at me. “Did you know I used to play competitively in college?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at me.

  “Bullshit,” I called, eyeing him critically as I drove.

  “No bullshit. I won the Word Boy of the Month award my senior year in college,” he chuckled. “Okay, maybe it was just our apartment building, and the only ones I ever really played against were Everett and Lizzie. After I beat her like, ten times in a row, I made her make me a tinfoil crown that had ‘Word Boy of February’ on it. She’s got pictures, I can have her send them to you If you need proof…”