The Thunder in His Head

by Gene Gant

  I wasn’t sure of the answer to that one myself. Turning the carton up, I dumped the remaining fries in my mouth.

  “My God,” Mom said, frustrated, her eyes back on the road. “What did the Body Snatchers do with my baby boy?”

  EXHAUSTED by the time we made it home, I said good night to Mom and went straight to my room. I pulled my keys and cell phone out of my pocket, put them on the nightstand, and got undressed, which is not so easy to do one-handed. Mom had turned off my cell before I went in to see the doctor. After climbing in bed and propping my funky hand on a pillow, I turned on my phone to check for missed calls.

  There were three text messages from Dwight: Miss u, Where r u? and Call me. Suddenly, memories of him groping me on the couch came rushing back. Damn, that had been so hot, the way he came after me. What the hell had I been so afraid of? If I hadn’t wussed out, if Mom and Reece hadn’t come home, I might have given up my virginity that afternoon. There were any number of sweet little songs about love making the heart go pitty-pat and rum-a-dum. I’d always thought those songs were stupid. But here I was now, not in love, exactly, but just thinking of Dwight was enough to make my chest quicken with excitement. Maybe Ty was right. Maybe Dwight could be my boyfriend.

  The crotch of my boxers seemed to constrict, and for a moment, the exhaustion vanished. I was tempted to call, if for nothing else just to hear Dwight’s voice. But it was late, and my body was getting heavy again with weariness. No, I would most definitely not be calling him—or anyone else—tonight.

  There were two calls from Chain. He left messages, both of them about Jill. Apparently, he had tried calling her and she wasn’t answering. I couldn’t blame her for that. Chain was pretty close to turning into a stalker on her. The dude really needed to get a life.

  There were seven calls from Ty. He didn’t leave any messages.

  Dang. Seven calls. What the hell did he want?

  Twelve

  THE wound in my right hand woke me up at five the next morning. The way it throbbed was akin to the pain you might feel if a two-thousand-pound dude jabbed a hot spike into you and then jumped repeatedly on said spike while wearing hobnailed boots. Out of sympathy, Mom brought me a pain pill and breakfast in bed—Special K topped with sliced strawberries, a banana, a glass of milk, and a glass of cranberry juice. Then she got dressed, kissed me on the forehead, told me to stay out of trouble, and left for her office at the Commercial Appeal’s building outside downtown Memphis.

  After I’d finished eating and the ache in my hand had dulled to a not-so-bad level, I lay in bed like a king. Unable to manipulate the video-game controller, I tuned in the Boomerang channel to watch cartoons from the dinosaur era. I was deep into a show about superhero alien monsters battling it out with space-age, toga-wearing gladiators (I kid you not) when Reece shoved his way into my thoughts.

  And not just plain old Reece. This was Naked Reece, with the body dreams are made of. I could have kicked my own butt. Why, oh why, hadn’t I snapped pictures of Naked Reece with my cell phone? That was followed in quick succession by images of Dwight’s cute face and rippling muscles. God, Dwight had such a fine, strong body. It was crazy how often he just popped into my head. I liked thinking about him. Unlike with Reece, I had actually touched Dwight and been held by him. I had kissed him and had him kiss me back. When it came to Reece, I dwelled solely on wishes and vague fantasies of what could never be. Being with Dwight, however, had been a very vivid reality. And it would be again, if I had my way.

  I could feel my hormones kick into overdrive. There wasn’t much porn available to suit my tastes. Mom and Dad had blocks on their computers and my cell that even Raj, the most tech-savvy dude at school, couldn’t get around. A bookstore near Pemberton had nudie magazines stored behind the register and wrapped in what appeared to be industrial-strength plastic, but they all featured women.

  Thank God for the odd, unsuspecting (or stupid, depending on your point of view) male athlete, rapper, and television/movie star who sexted photos of his hot naked bod to his girlfriend, and who then went on to piss off the girlfriend, thus encouraging her to post the sexts online. Somehow, the parental filters found these postings to be acceptable fodder for a young, impressionable mind, and I printed them off, amassing a nice little collection.

  I got up and retrieved from the closet shelf the manila envelope containing my stash of homemade porn. Settling in bed again and ready to get started, it dawned on me that, in addition to taking class notes and working video-game controls, there was something else I could not do with my stapled right hand. Cursing, I put my porn back in the manila envelope, returned it to the closet, and found an old sci-fi novel to read.

  AROUND ten, after reading, sleeping, and reading some more, I got up, went to the kitchen, and made myself a peanut butter, banana, and pickle sandwich on honey oat bread. Using a paper towel as a plate, I sat at the table and ate my midmorning snack. Finished, I crumpled the paper towel and tossed it into the garbage, thus cleaning up behind myself. My breakfast dishes were another matter. Those were still on the tray in my bedroom. I could hardly wash dishes with a bum hand, now could I? (Automatic dishwasher? What’s an automatic dishwasher?)

  For a change of scenery, I went into the family room and watched TV. Thirty minutes later, tired of TV, I lay down on the sofa and closed my eyes but could not fall asleep for the life of me. I was so bored at that point, I pulled my World History textbook from my backpack and started reading the chapter assigned for Monday night’s homework.

  My cell phone rang. I grabbed it and saw that I had a text from Dwight.

  Dwight: In Trig. Ugh. Where r u?

  Thrilled at the diversion, I texted back: At home.

  Dwight: Playing hooky?

  Me: Not exactly. Long story.

  Dwight: Wish I could see u.

  Me: Wish I could see u 2. (I found myself thinking of all the wonderful things he could do for me with those strong, uninjured hands of his.)

  Dwight: Can make that hapn.

  Intriguing. Me: Who can? Me or u?

  Dwight: Me. Cut class. Now.

  Me: U get in trouble.

  Dwight: Worth it 4 u.

  That gave me pause. And the pause probably didn’t play too well on Dwight’s end. As much as I wanted to see him again, I didn’t want there to be trouble for either of us. In the midst of my frantic mental scramble to come up with a noncommittal response, Dwight sent another message.

  Dwight: At mom’s or dad’s?

  Me: Mom’s.

  Dwight: C u soon.

  And just like that, I repeated Saturday afternoon’s transgression of having a hot gay muscle boy over to Mom’s house while she was away. Who says you learn from your mistakes?

  THE doctor had given strict instructions to keep my wound dry, but I couldn’t greet Dwight in day-old underwear with peanut butter on my breath. At the basin in my bathroom, I gave myself a one-handed sponge bath and brushed my teeth. After throwing on fresh jeans and a T-shirt, I went back to the family room to wait.

  Dwight showed up about forty-five minutes after his last text. He was decked out in the Somerset Academy boys’ uniform—tan chinos, white polo shirt, brown jacket, and black loafers. “Hey,” he drawled in greeting as he stepped into the living room, his smile genuine but nervous. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She went to work.” As I closed the door, Dwight took my left hand. My body tensed and I froze, afraid to turn to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I’m sorry about Saturday. I tried to call you yesterday. Hey. What happened to your hand?”

  “I got into a tussle after school. It was nothing major. My mom let me stay home today.” I pulled away, waving for him to follow me to the sofa. “And don’t worry about Saturday.”

  “So your mom didn’t kill you?”

  “You saw what shape my mom was in when she caught us. She couldn’t kill me. She got my dad to do that.”

  “Oh, jeez, man. Sorry—”


  “I’m joking, dude. Everything’s cool.” I pointed toward the spot next to me and waited until he sat. “So. Cut class much?”

  The chagrined smile looked cute on his face. “This is my first time. I was scared to death walking out of the school. I don’t think I breathed again until I was in my car.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve only cut class once myself, back when I was fourteen and wanted to go to this big exhibition game between the Grizzlies and the Bulls. I got grounded for three days and had to scrub down all four and a half bathrooms in this house with a toothbrush, but dude, that game was worth it.”

  He grinned at me in the saddest way. “Come take a ride with me.”

  HE DROVE to some park down in Collierville. It was a beautiful, sprawling green spot with a small lake that was surrounded by majestic trees waving slowly back and forth in their fall colors. The day was breezy and cool. We walked for what seemed like hours along the asphalt trail that wound around the lake, watching geese and ducks drift slowly across the gently rippling surface. There were few other visitors around at this time of day, and we had the place pretty much to ourselves.

  Although he hid it very well, Dwight was pretty agitated, which I thought was related to the almost-sex we had on Mom’s living room sofa. But he never relaxed, even after I assured him again there was no reason for him to be concerned about that incident, and I realized his present state had nothing to do with me.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “I wish you and I were a million miles away from here right now,” he said, staring at a pair of mallards paddling rapidly along the shore, squawking and snapping their bills at each other, probably over some lady duck. His stare hardened, and I knew his mind was drifting away.

  “Hey,” I said to get his attention. When he turned to me, I gave him that Stephanie look, the one that offered an open ear but no pressure. Something got lost in the translation, however, because he reached up and kissed me on the mouth. And he didn’t even look around first to make sure we were alone.

  “I’m glad I met you,” said Dwight. “I had a relationship last year that didn’t work out so well. But I have a good feeling about you. We should get to know each other and see where this goes. Not that I’m gonna try to rush you again or anything, like I did Saturday. I don’t mean to put any pressure on you. I just think you’re sexy, and nice. You’re into guys, and I like you. I don’t want to go back to school or go home right now, and you’re the only person I can be with, the only person I want to be with.” His expression shifted into embarrassment again. He smiled by way of apology. “Sorry. I’m running off at the mouth, I know. I’ll shut up now.”

  I didn’t want him to shut up. I wanted to know about this relationship that didn’t work out so well and if that was the reason for all his angst. But Dwight shifted his body so we were standing side by side, and he leaned into me, resting his shoulder against mine. He was using me for support, the way some worn out cross-country hiker would rest his aching back against a tree. His body felt good against mine, and his emotional fragility pulled at my heart.

  My questions could wait. I put my arm around his shoulder. He needed comfort, and I offered the thing that most comforted me when I was upset. “Hey, man. You wanna get something to eat?”

  WE WENT to Subway, where I had my second fast food meal in two days. Over Black Forest ham sandwiches and Cheetos and lemonade and oatmeal cookies, Dwight talked up a storm.

  He told me that his best friend and former crush, Curtis, had dropped his girlfriend of more than a year for some bimbette from their school who worked part-time at the Wolfchase Galleria movie theater. He told me that he had to find a part-time job himself, real soon, then abruptly changed subjects and went on and on about how cool the latest version of the Call of Duty game was. He told me that he had decided last year he wanted to be a doctor, and he had started getting all kinds of tutoring so he could pass chemistry, one of his worst subjects. Only now he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to do with his life. He told me that his godfather’s new wife was expecting a baby girl who would be named Sharon Denise, after Dwight’s mother. He told me that his school had a big game against Hazelhurst on Friday and that his team was scheduled for a mandatory practice session after school today that he had to make or his coach would have him running wind sprints until the next millennium.

  He kept eye contact as he spoke, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really saying all this for my benefit. He was like a little kid reading a book aloud to himself. I wondered just how many years he’d been distracting himself this way, because he was exceptionally good at it.

  Not that it bothered me in any way. I could have looked into his pretty brown eyes forever, or at least for the rest of the day. I liked the sound of his voice, rising and falling in a way that was almost hypnotic. I liked the way his lips moved when he talked, and I wanted so very much to just lean over and kiss him.

  Pausing for a breath, Dwight slurped the last of the lemonade from his cup with those insanely appealing lips wrapped quite sensuously around his very lucky straw. “I’m gonna get a refill. You want one?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I slid my cup across the table to him. “While you’re doing that, I’m gonna take a leak.”

  I got up. Just as I reached the hallway that led to the restrooms, I glimpsed a man walking by outside who looked a lot like Dad. Rushing to the entrance, I stuck my head out the door.

  Yeah, it was Dad, all right, strolling along at a rapid clip in one of his power suits, his hand planted firmly in the small of Stephanie’s back. Oh, wait. That wasn’t Stephanie. The hair was too dark, with blonde highlights, and too long, hanging between her shoulders almost halfway down her back, and the woman herself was too short by at least four inches. She had a banging body, though, a classic 36-24-36 package poured into a tight green dress much too mini for this cool fall day. Dad was talking a mile a minute, and she was laughing, a high, lilting sound that carried over the noise of traffic.

  They stopped at a gleaming black Lexus I had never seen before, parked at the curb almost half a block down from the Subway. Dad opened the passenger door and held the woman’s hand as she daintily lowered her fine round rump into the seat, then swung her feet delicately into the car.

  I wondered what this was all about. Dad’s office was in Collierville, but on the other side of town, so it seemed unlikely that he would drive all the way over here for lunch. It could be that he was on a test drive with a prospective customer, but he was a district sales manager now and hadn’t directly sold a car to anyone in almost eight years. Besides that, the woman in the car just didn’t seem to be the Lexus type.

  I called out but Dad didn’t hear me. He hurried around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. The woman reached over and squeezed his shoulder, smiling as if just the sight of him was enough to keep the sun shining in the sky and the birds singing through the treetops. And the eager look Dad gave her in return made him look like a ten-year-old kid about to unwrap a brand-new toy.

  Maybe she was a new employee or something. Dad started up the car and peeled away from the curb a lot faster than he usually drove. I went back inside and headed for the restrooms.

  DWIGHT got me back home at two, a good hour before Mom was due back. He was in a better mood now. We stood in the foyer, kissing each other goodbye.

  It was a long kiss.

  “Okay,” Dwight said, out of breath, when he finally broke away. “That was some goodbye there.” He had left his jacket in the car and stood there in his white, short-sleeved polo shirt, which looked mighty good on him.

  “Yeah. Oh, wait.” I slipped my left arm around his waist. “We’re really saying good night, not goodbye. We should do a good-night kiss instead of a goodbye kiss.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Hell if I know. Let’s find out.”

  It was an even longer kiss.

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning away from him. “That was definite
ly a good-night kiss, baby.”

  “Only….” Dwight squinted thoughtfully. “It’s not nighttime, so we can’t kiss good-night. We should be doing a so-long kiss.”

  “Hey. Makes sense to me. Go for it.”

  The so-long kiss was even better than the goodbye and good-night kisses. Just as I was really getting into it, Dwight’s hands worked their way between our bodies and opened the button of my jeans. Laughing, I backed away from him.

  “Whoa, dude,” I said. “Fun as this is, I think we gotta stop saying goodbye now.”

  Dwight laughed too. “Yeah. Don’t want to give your mom any more surprises.” He gave me a long, strange look. “Thanks, man. You always make me feel better.”

  “You do a number on me too. That’s why you gotta go.” I reached around him and opened the door. “See ya.”

  He looked down at my jeans. “You know, I liked you better in the jeans you wore Friday night.”

  I frowned skeptically and tugged up my baggy pants. “For real?”

  “Yeah. The sagging look is played. You’ve got great legs, and those jeans just don’t show them off like the ones you wore Friday.”

  What do you say when a guy is looking at you as if he’s starving and you’re something hot and tasty? “Oh. Okay. Um… thanks.”

  He grinned. “You’re cute.” He reached up and put a quick kiss on my cheek. “Bye,” he said with a wave and turned to go.

  “Wait,” I said. He looked inquisitively over his shoulder at me. I pulled out my cell phone, switching it to camera mode. “Let me get a picture.”

  “What for?”

  “Why do you think. So I’ll have something to drool over,” I said lustily.

  That got me another grin. “Okay, sure.” He turned to face me squarely, sliding his hands into his pockets, the motion making the muscles in his arms ripple deliciously. His face took on a handsome little smile.