by Jay Bell
Connor stood and pulled up his shirt. David’s eyes moved over the muscles first, then the lightly haired chest, before he noticed more pink scars by the left shoulder. He tried to focus on these, feeling guilty for finding Connor’s body attractive when he was telling such a painful story.
“Must have hurt,” David said when Connor dropped his shirt again.
“Most of it’s a blur. I was in the hospital for a week, Dad for way longer than that. He came out with a couple of pins in his arms and a jacked-up back. He never really recovered from it, so I’m lucky.”
Connor sighed and started digging through a nightstand drawer while he talked. “Mom flipped out, of course, and didn’t send me back to school right away. She still had to work, and Tommy was really little then, so everything was a mess. I think she was scared that something else might happen to me.” Connor found a small box, set it on the nightstand, and closed the drawer. “Long story short, I missed too much school and had to repeat eighth grade.”
“That sucks.” These words, the only ones David could think to say, felt wholly inadequate. “So I guess you know all the stuff people say about you.”
“Yeah.”
“Where did all that come from? Who would make up a story like that?”
Connor shrugged. “Why do people say things about you that aren’t true?”
Except in David’s case the rumors gay, although people probably thought they were insulting him by implying he was. He didn’t like the hate behind the slurs, but in essence, they were right.were true. He was
“People just believe whatever they want to,” Connor said. “You can’t let it get to you.” He opened the little wooden box and pulled something out. “Want to smoke a joint?”
David’s eyes widened. “And here you had me believing you’re a saint.”
Connor shrugged. “I’ve always done whatever I wanted. And yeah, maybe I’ve always been a little nuts, even when I was thirteen, but everything I told you is true.”
Connor handed him the joint and a lighter. David pinched it by one of the little twisted ends and held it away from him, as if it were a firecracker about to go off. “I have no idea what to do with this. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”
“Seriously? Well, all right. Give it back and I’ll get us started. I mean, if you want to.”
David nodded. All those anti-drug commercials had done one thing: They had made him curious. “What about your dad?”
“He doesn’t care. Did you see the mountain of pills they have him on? He’s higher than we’ll ever be. Still, I don’t want Tommy seeing this.”
Connor stood, locked the door, and cracked a window, the joint hanging from his lips the whole time. Then he sparked it up and winked at David as he took a deep drag, holding it in before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “See? Nothing to it.”
He offered the joint to David, who took it and put it to his lips. The paper was wet where Connor’s lips had been. This thought was still on his mind when David pulled on the joint. One second later he was coughing and desperately trying to get fresh air into his lungs.
“Don’t worry.” Connor forced away a smile. “Totally normal for your first time. Did you get any in?”
“I have no idea,” David wheezed.
Connor took another drag while David recovered, then handed it to him again. “Take it slow this time.”
David did, but still ended up coughing.
“You have to inhale or all your suffering will be for nothing.”
Connor left to get him a Coke from the fridge. The cold liquid felt heavenly on David’s throat, but he didn’t think he could smoke anymore.
“Let’s try this.” Connor sat on the bed next to him. “Know what shotgunning is? No? I’ll take a drag, then I’ll blow it into your mouth. Just breathe in like you always do. You’ll get a good mix of air with it, and it’ll be easier.”
The idea sounded silly, but as Connor took a drag and leaned closer to David, he found he liked the suggestion after all. Connor’s lips were just inches away when he started to blow. David inhaled, glancing into those emerald eyes for only a second before breaking contact, afraid of what his own gaze might reveal.
“Good.” Connor said. “Hold it in as long as you can.”
David did, and when he exhaled, smoke floated on his breath. Connor grinned at him and repeated the process twice. David was sure that Connor’s lips were coming closer each time, that something big was about to happen—if only by accident—and he realized just how much he wanted that.
Then Connor leaned away and took a couple of drags for himself before stubbing out the remainder in an ashtray. When he turned on the stereo, David felt like he was hearing music for the first time. The difference was like living in a monochrome world and one day stumbling out into a kingdom of color. Dorothy, eat your heart out!
Then they talked. The subjects didn’t matter because everything they said felt so important. Every thought carried a tremendous amount of weight, and no matter what David said or how odd it was, Connor seemed to be right there with him, understanding exactly what he meant.
David hoped this wasn’t just the drugs, that they really did have such an empathic connection. As Humphrey Bogart was famously misquoted as saying, “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Except for one little issue. Connor had told him the truth, and it was time David did the same. Connor knew how it felt to be an outsider. Surely that would make him tolerant of David being gay.
“Connor—”
“Hey!” The doorknob rattled, then Tommy knocked on the door. “Aren’t you going to get dinner?”
Dinner! The electric digits of the nightstand clock were burning toward seven. His dad would already be home and putting dinner on the table. And what about Gordon? David pictured him still waiting on the front steps, morosely flipping through a strategy guide.
“I need to go home.”
Connor nodded. “I have to pick up something for the brat to eat anyway.”
David found he didn’t enjoy the world outside the trailer. As mellow as his buzz had been inside, suddenly he felt awkward, like everyone they passed, even in traffic, was staring at him, aware that he was high. He didn’t make good conversation, and when it came time to say goodbye, he struggled to find words that sounded normal.
“Doing okay?” Connor asked.
“I think I’m freaking out,” David admitted.
Connor nodded as if concerned before laughing. “You’ll be fine. Just get inside and eat something. That’ll give your head something to sing about. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was right. Being inside did help, but being high around his father was another level of weirdness entirely. When he got the first bite of pasta in his mouth, all was forgotten. How could he have ever tired of this meal? It was pure bliss!
“This is really, really good, Dad.”
“It’s just the same as it always is, although I think I did use more basil than usual.” His father had waited for him, already enjoying a glass of wine. “So tell me about this new friend of yours. Does he do well in school?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t compare report cards on a first date.”
“Is that what this was? You were on a date?”
David instantly felt uncomfortable. He meant it as a joke, but now it had been twisted into another prying question, one that could lead to more academic advice if David didn’t answer correctly. His father knew he was gay, and had reacted to that news with about as much interest as David reporting a sore throat. David could probably claim to be a serial killer and his dad wouldn’t care, as long as he got good grades.
“He’s straight,” David said. “We’re just friends.”
When dinner was finished and the dishes were clean, he went to his room and turned on some music. It didn’t sound quite as mind-blowing as it had a few hours ago. The high was fading, but when David thought of Connor, he found the feelings were just as strong if not stronger. Those h
adn’t been drug-induced. David thought back on the afternoon and smiled. He would happily shotgun carbon monoxide just to get near those lips again.
Chapter Four
Connor fumbled with the cardboard lid of his cigarette box, flipping it open and shut over and over. He had made it almost a day without smoking so far. Maybe he was being stupid. David didn’t like the smell of cigarettes, but so what? He usually wasn’t around when Connor was smoking, so it shouldn’t matter. And yet, it did.
Mr. Wesley, his English teacher, was giving him the eye, so Connor pocketed the cigarettes and stared at the clock until the bell rang. Then the entire class came to life, shuffling their belongings and getting ready to leave. Mr. Wesley cleared his throat, a chorus of groans coming in response.
He always did this. Be it a power play or just plain cruelty, Mr. Wesley would often make them stay behind an extra minute or two, just to reiterate their assignment or remind them of a test. Here it was, Friday, sixth period, and he was trying to hold them back. They should riot, trampling the old geezer as they made a desperate break for freedom.
Finally Mr. Wesley gave a benevolent wave, signifying they could leave. Connor did some mental calculation as he pushed his way through the halls, hoping he could still get to the parking lot ahead of David.
Summer had made an early debut outside, the sun bright in the faded blue sky. People chatted happily to each other, the weekend vibe already working its magic and putting everyone in a forgiving mood. Perhaps this cheerful environment had prompted Chuck to park right next to Connor’s car. Or maybe it was another ploy to get at David. Chuck hadn’t had the guts to stand up to Connor before, so why now?
As Connor came nearer, he heard the Mazda’s engine rev, saw Chuck peering out at him from a barely lowered window. Then Connor noticed his car, and as trained as he was at keeping his cool, he broke into a run. Beige paint ran down the windshield, dribbling off to each side and splattering on the parking lot. A streak stained the car’s top, having slopped up and over the windshield when the paint bucket was tossed—the very bucket that was now sitting upside-down on the hood.
Connor was ready to make all the rumors come true. They wanted to see a murdering psychopath? Fine. Connor ran toward the silver Mazda, but Chuck was already gunning it out of the parking lot. He only braked once, just long enough to yell out his window.
“Hey, Williams! About time you painted your car!”
Then Chuck hit the accelerator, the rear of the Mazda swinging dangerously and almost hitting a row of cars on the way out. Connor grabbed the empty bucket, throwing it after him in a futile act of fury.
Shit! When had Chuck gotten so brave? Not that pouring paint on someone’s car and fleeing for your life was courageous, but for Chuck this was something new. At least he would avoid Connor now, which meant a free pass for David. Chuck would be too busy laying low to give him any trouble.
“What happened?”
Even David’s arrival did little to ease Connor’s anger. “Chuck grew a pair, that’s what.”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned to David, saw the look of guilt there, and some of Connor’s anger melted away. “It’s not your fault. Chuck was an asshole before either of us came along.” Besides, one ruined car was easier to bear than David’s face being bloody and bruised.
Connor sighed, dug the keys from his pocket, and went to the trunk. He found some old towels from the last time he changed the oil. If he was quick, he could get the windshield clean enough to see through so he could drive. As it turned out, all the towels did was smear the paint around.
“What about windshield wiper fluid?” Already David had paint on his fingers and a couple of stains on his green hoody.
Connor felt his anger growing but tried to keep it suppressed. For now. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”
David sat in the driver’s seat and pushed the button to spray fluid. The wipers sent paint flying, but the fluid helped dilute it somewhat. Connor wiped between every spray, eventually clearing a milky spot on the driver’s side.
“There’s no way I’m going to make it to work tonight.” Connor took the phone from his pocket, the edges wrapped in tape where the casing had broken, and dialed McDonald’s. A dayshift manager he barely knew took his message. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with Mike.
“Maybe we should hit a car wash,” David said. “There’s a do-it-yourself place up on Sante Fe. Think we can make it that far?”
Connor imagined the last ten bucks he had in his wallet disappearing in a puff of smoke. At least payday was tomorrow.
“Okay. Let’s get Tommy first. He’ll think this is funny.”
Hilarious was more like it. Tommy howled halfway to the car wash. Once there he made a nuisance of himself, begging to use the pistol that shot streams of high-pressured water as Connor blasted off as much of the paint as possible. Then he fed his last two dollars into the machine and let Tommy have his fun.
“I want to kill him.”
The words took Connor by surprise since they came from David. His expression was indignant, as it should have been every time Chuck called him a name. Maybe there was hope for him yet. David could get angry and show his claws. Just not for himself.
“We’ll get back at him.” Connor looked at his car. It was a piece of shit, but it was his. “Yeah, we’ll definitely make him cry.”
David kicked at a pancake of chewed gum that had hardened in the sun. “If you want out, I won’t hold it against you. My whole life has been like this. People give me shit all the time. I’m used to it, but I don’t like seeing it happen to you.”
Connor snorted. “Hey, I’m the psycho who tried killing his own father, remember? People have always given me hell too. They call me names behind my back, and instead of messing with me, they avoid me completely. That might not be worse than what you go through, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel good. So don’t worry about it. These are the cards we’ve been dealt. Simple as that.”
Tommy shouted as the water pressure nearly knocked him backward, and they laughed.
“You guys can hang out at my place,” David said quickly, as if he had been rehearsing the words and wanted to get them out. “If you want to, I mean.”
“Sure.”
When they got there, the weird kid was sitting on the front steps again, making Connor wonder if he ever moved. He scowled at them from behind his thick glasses, except this time he appeared to be genuinely angry rather than confused.
David groaned. “Oh man! I forgot to tell Gordon where I was yesterday.”
“And he’s going to make you sleep on the couch tonight?”
“Well, he’s going to be mad.”
As it turned out, Gordon’s anger was soon replaced by curiosity. Connor wasn’t assuming this. The kid wore everything on his face, as if he had never learned to keep all his conflicting thoughts and emotions secret. In a way, this put Connor at ease, since he knew Gordon was more likely to say something rude to his face rather than behind his back. For instance:
“Your car is a piece of junk,” Gordon said after David introduced them.
“Yeah.” Connor nodded. “It is.”
Gordon stared at him before he turned to David. “Where were you yesterday? I thought we were going to fight the brotherhood of dark clerics together.”
“Hey, is that a Dragon Death game?” Tommy grabbed the strategy guide from Gordon’s hand.
Connor was about to yell at him for being rude, but Gordon seemed thrilled by his enthusiasm. Soon they were both speaking in a language that Connor could barely understand, while David unlocked the front door and ushered them all inside.
The condo was nice enough. A stairwell in the entry led up to another floor, but they stayed on the ground level, entering a dining area that bled into a living room. A kitchen was set off to one side, separated by a breakfast bar and a row of counters. Everything was much newer than what they had at home. No surprise there. With Dad’s medical bills, they were
lucky to get by. But while the furniture was in better condition, the place also lacked personality. Sherlock Holmes could spend an hour in here and not deduce anything about the occupants.
Past the living room, a stairwell twisted once on its way down, leading to a small rec room that was empty except for boxes in one corner. David led them to a door here, opening it to a welcome burst of color and personality. The walls were covered in posters and magazine ads. A large bed dominated most of the room, but there was still space around it for a canvas chair and an entertainment center.
Gordon took a seat on the bed, and Tommy plopped down next to him.
“That’s usually where David sits,” Gordon said.
“Maybe he can take over for me today,” David suggested, handing Tommy a controller. “You just have to do what Gordon says. He won’t steer you wrong.”
“Okay!”
Tommy was thrilled with the idea, Gordon less so as he adjusted his glasses. But soon his attention was on the strategy guide, and he and Tommy were chattering about dragons and magic cups or something.
David sat next to them, his attention on making sure this new partnership was going to work. Connor watched them for a while, glancing only occasionally at the screen. Then he grew bored and turned his attention to the magazine pages on the wall. He had barely perused them when David was up and at his side.
“Wanna help me grab some drinks?”
“Only if I get a grand tour of the house as well.”
“All right.”
Connor followed him back up to the kitchen, checking out David’s buns as he rummaged in the fridge. He pulled out three Cokes and a Diet Dr Pepper, squinching up his nose at the diet soda. “Someone’s going to have to drink this.”
“Give it to Tommy. He doesn’t need any more sugar.”
“Okay.” David held out two of the cans for Connor to carry.
He took them, then set them back on the counter. “You promised me a tour.”
