by Vivien Dean
“And the best they could manage was that? If they were going to pick a western, they could’ve at least shown you Hombre. Now that was a good movie.”
With a shrug, Ronnie settled back on the ground to eat one of the bologna sandwiches. “I like George Peppard.”
Jim settled next to him, their legs brushing against each other as he reached across Ronnie’s lap for a sandwich of his own. “You always did have weird taste in movies.”
Lunch flew by. So did the afternoon. They still had one more stump to finish when Grandpa called them to come in and wash up for supper.
“We’re not going to pull that out after we eat, are we?” Ronnie asked as they trudged up to the house.
“Nah. I’ll get it tomorrow. It’ll be a breeze after today.”
They hadn’t talked any more about their lives. Ronnie knew just as little now about what Jim did as he had when he arrived. “What about work?” he tested.
Jim was silent until they reached the back step. “This is my work.”
From the grim set of his mouth, Ronnie knew not to press. But as they cleaned up and then settled in to devour the beef stew Grandpa made, his questions compounded. It was easier to wonder about the changes in Jim’s life than to think about his own, after all. He knew his own ugly story. But what could’ve changed the confident Jim he’d grown up with? The bold Jim he’d loved? That Jim had dreams about going to the stars, of devoting his life to studying what was out there staring back at all these tiny humans.
This one seemed content never looking up.
Why?
Ronnie needed those answers more than anything else. Because Jim had proved one thing to him today, the most valuable thing he could’ve imagined.
He’d shown that he could still regard Ronnie as an equal, even when the disparity was all too obvious. Nobody else in all the time he’d left Vietnam had done that. Not the doctors, not the nurses, not his family. People only saw the brace or the scars or both. All they heard was the story about the explosion. They had no idea about the terrible things he’d been forced to do, all in the name of Uncle Sam. They didn’t live with the knowledge that they were actually capable of doing such horrific acts or becoming immune to the ugliness of death. They saw a broken man—or in Mom’s case, a broken boy.
The worst part was, he agreed with them a lot of the time.
He hadn’t today. That was due to Jim.
All the best parts in his life had always been due to Jim.
If Jim could help him, the least he could do was help him back.
Chapter 3
In a perfect world, everything would’ve gone back to normal. Ronnie would stop limping with the brace, they’d laugh and wrestle and fall asleep sated and spent like they did as teenagers, and Jim would be able to look in the mirror without a shred of disappointment.
But the world wasn’t perfect. People got hurt. People became afraid. People learned things about themselves that would forever change them.
One day working in the yard didn’t wave a magic wand and heal either one of them. All it did was open the door to the possibility.
When Jim drove Ronnie home that night, he waited for Ronnie to bring up seeing each other again. But Mr. Mayer opened the front door as soon as Jim pulled up, frowning down at the curb like he’d kept Ronnie out after curfew, and Ronnie had scuttled out of the car without mentioning anything.
He didn’t call or show up the next day. On Wednesday, Jim swallowed his pride and rang the Mayer house, but nobody answered. He did his chores in a fog and went to bed early.
By the weekend, he’d given up hope that anything had really changed, so of course, that was when Ronnie rang him up. Jim should’ve expected it. After all, he’d discovered a long time ago that things happen as soon as you stop looking for them.
“Are you free today?” Ronnie asked.
Jim gazed out the window at the hill they’d cleared. “Why, are you afraid to stop by and get put to work again?”
Ronnie made a sound that could’ve been a laugh, but the line was too fuzzy to be sure. “I want to go to the movies, and I’d really rather not go with my mom. That’s sad, even for me.”
Though his pulse accelerated at the request, Jim fought to keep his voice under control. He’d look ridiculous if it cracked with excitement. “Only if you keep your hands out of my popcorn.”
“I’ll even buy your popcorn if you’ll just get me out of here.”
“That bad?” It was Saturday. Mr. Mayer would be home. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d ever put up with it if their roles were reversed.
“I’ll be stuck in the basement all day if you don’t come get me.”
That wasn’t really an answer. “I thought you preferred it down there.”
“I do. But…” Silence. Jim couldn’t even hear him breathing. “It was nice out at the farm.”
The only explanation necessary. “What time’s the show?”
They made plans for him to pick Ronnie up at eleven to make the eleven thirty matinee. He didn’t ask about lunch or the rest of the day, but if the movie wasn’t too awkward, he would find a way to keep Ronnie to himself for as long as possible.
When Jim pulled up to the house, Ronnie rose from his seat on the porch step and hobbled as best his brace allowed to the car. Mrs. Mayer appeared in the doorway as he was climbing in, and he leaned out the window to shout, “Don’t worry about dinner, Mom! I’ll eat at Jim’s!” He sat back with a huff and rolled his hand at Jim. “Go, go, before Dad figures out a reason to keep me home.”
“I guess that answers the question whether I’m just a convenient ride or you really wanted to hang out with me today,” Jim said after they’d left the house behind.
“Yeah. You’re both.”
Jim snorted. Ronnie looked better today, less pale than when he’d shown up at the farm, more relaxed than when Jim surprised him with his first visit. He’d looked good when they were digging out the stumps, too, though Jim had to be a lot more careful checking him out then since he was still so unsure about where this new friendship was going. But ignoring the contrast of Ronnie’s fading tan or the muscles that flexed in his arms every time he’d swung the pick was impossible, regardless of what their futures were. Ronnie had more muscles in his back, but they shared the landscape with scars, and Jim was too afraid of drawing attention to them to ogle the new body Ronnie barely seemed aware he possessed.
In spite of the brace, this Ronnie would never need rescuing from bullies.
Jim didn’t know what he could offer Ronnie to help him now.
He parked as close to the theater as he could manage, deliberately adopting a leisurely pace so Ronnie wouldn’t worry about keeping up. “What’re we seeing?”
“With Six You Get Eggroll.”
Jim halted. “You’re dragging me to a Doris Day movie?”
Ronnie continued a few steps up the alley before realizing Jim wasn’t with him any longer. “It’s supposed to be really funny.”
“It’s. Doris. Day.”
“It’s also got Brian Keith.”
“He’s not my type either.”
A twinkle appeared in Ronnie’s eye. “More than Doris Day.”
“Isn’t there something else playing?” The Sunshine Theater only had one screen, but they often did double features or alternated movies to make more money, by drawing in different crowds or encouraging people to buy another ticket. Jim and Ronnie could easily go to lunch and catch a later film.
Ronnie’s amusement faltered. “They’ve still got The Green Berets. I guess if you really don’t want to see Eggroll, we could go to that.”
Before, Jim would’ve jumped at that plan. They both liked John Wayne. But he’d seen the movie when it came out, and its pro-Vietnam stance had been tough enough to stomach before he’d seen firsthand what the war had done to Ronnie. No way was he going to subject Ronnie to it now.
“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to a Doris Day movie,” he groused, resumi
ng his pace.
As Jim came up beside him, Ronnie threw a loose arm over his shoulder and squeezed. “Just watch Brian Keith. That’s what I plan on doing.”
The casual embrace lasted only for a second before Ronnie put reasonable space between them again, but it was the best second Jim had experienced in years. His throat closed as the emotion threatened to overwhelm him, a sudden yearning to stop Ronnie and drag him back to the farm so they could spend the day alone and not surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about them except to judge.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from doing just that.
One step at a time.
* * * *
“You laughed.”
“It’s not like I’ve forgotten how.”
“But it was Doris Day.”
“If you keep that up, I’ll pound you.”
Ronnie stopped teasing then, but that was how their day went, blocks of easy silence broken up by bursts of brief exchanges. No cross words were said, no reference to their troubles. They simply kept each other company, much like they had in the basement when that was all that was necessary.
Around four, Jim headed back to the farm where Grandpa looked less than surprised to see Ronnie. “Good thing I took out that extra hamburger,” he said with a wink.
Jim peered through the kitchen window to see the bag of charcoal leaning against the shed wall. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll cook since Ronnie’s my guest.”
“He’s not a guest. He’s family. Which means he gets to do the washing up.”
They all shared a chuckle, but Jim caught Ronnie averting his eyes. The day had been going too well for emotions to run so high, so he looped an arm around the back of Ronnie’s neck and forced him to bend over to give him a noogie.
It worked. Ronnie laughed in protest and shoved Jim off as he twisted away. They were both smiling when they faced each other again, and a new understanding crackled between them.
“Well, don’t lollygag,” Grandpa said. “Those burgers aren’t going to cook themselves.”
While Jim got the grill going, Ronnie stayed inside and helped Grandpa with the rest of the meal. Jim did his best not to spy, but every time he got a chance, he peeked up to watch them through the window, wondering what they were talking about, wishing he was brave enough to go in and join them. Though Ronnie seemed glad to be here, everything between them still felt fragile. Jim didn’t want to wreck it.
But supper was relaxed, if a little subdued, and afterward, Grandpa excused himself to go watch his programs, leaving them alone again. Jim pitched in to finish the washing up early, but as the last dish got put away, he glanced up at the daisy clock on the wall.
“When do you want me to run you home?” He had to ask, even though it was the last thing he wanted.
“How does never sound to you?”
Ronnie joked without a smile, lending an even stronger sobriety to his query. Jim heard himself posing the offer before common sense could shut him up.
“You could spend the night.”
The towel Ronnie had been drying his hands on stopped moving. “That’s not funny, Jim.”
Though Ronnie’s words were almost too low to be heard, Jim refused to miss anything about Ronnie any longer. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
“We’re not kids.”
“Which means we don’t need anyone’s permission but our own.” He inched closer, an ache settling in his stomach when Ronnie edged away an equal distance. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to leave.”
“No, I don’t want to go back to that house. There’s a difference.”
That hurt more than his retreat. “So don’t.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Why?”
The gaze Ronnie finally turned to him was raw. “Because it’s too soon. You don’t know who I am now—”
“I’m learning.”
“I don’t know who I am now.”
“But today was great. Didn’t that prove to you we can still be friends?”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said. “And I’m not going to lie and tell you that’s not what I was hoping for, but it’s not that easy.”
“I didn’t say it would be.”
“You’re pushing too hard.”
“You’re only saying that because nobody’s pushed you since you got back,” Jim replied. “I know you’re unhappy. You don’t think I know what that looks like? But I also know your mom has been coddling you ever since you came home. I’m the first person you’ve left the house for who wasn’t a doctor.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Am I wrong?”
Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “I asked you for that, not the other way around.”
“Would you have asked if I hadn’t barged in last week?”
Ronnie threw the towel onto the counter and turned his back on him. “We both know the real reason you came by. I’m not an eight-year-old stuck in a tree anymore. When is everybody going to figure that out? I don’t want you to rescue me. I don’t want anyone to rescue me.”
When Ronnie made to leave the kitchen, Jim darted around to block his path. “Can we take this outside?” he hissed. “Neither one of us needs Grandpa poking his nose in.”
For a second, he thought Ronnie was going to deck him. His jaw was set harder than Jim had ever seen before. The emotions roiled in his eyes, though, unable to be hidden away. He’d always been terrible at pretending. Jim had always loved that about him.
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“No more mention of spending the night.”
Jim sighed. “Fine.”
Whirling on his heel, Ronnie marched stiff-legged out of the house. Jim followed, catching the screen door to keep it from banging. They didn’t stop until they got all the way out to the rise, at which point Ronnie collapsed onto the broken grass.
Jim saw his grimace of pain before he ducked his head. “I can get you some aspirin if you need it.”
“It won’t help.” Stiffly, Ronnie stuck his braced leg out in front of him and rubbed at his calf through the metal bars. “I hate this thing.”
Though he wasn’t sure Ronnie would welcome it, Jim settled onto the ground beside him. “How much longer do you have to wear it?”
“Fuck knows,” he muttered, then sighed. “The doctors say I should’ve been out of it by now, but the bones aren’t setting the way they hoped. There’s talk about another surgery.”
It was the first mention Ronnie had made of his injuries or his treatment, and it landed like a punch to the gut. Ronnie wouldn’t welcome his pity, so he tried, “Can you have it here, or would you have to go someplace else?”
“I don’t know. Whenever the topic comes up, I change the subject or ask to leave.”
“But won’t it get worse if you stall?”
He shrugged. “Considering there’s days I wish they’d just cut the damn thing off, I don’t think it matters one way or another.”
He tried to imagine Ronnie without his leg and failed. “What about heat?” he suggested. “Coach always made us soak in hot baths when we’d been practicing too rough.”
“That’s probably what I’ll do when I get home. Showers are a pain now, anyway.”
Though they’d come outside to talk, Jim wasn’t sure what to say, and Ronnie seemed to be done. He kept rubbing at his leg, while Jim stared off at the sunset.
Almost ten minutes passed like that. Then…
“Why are you here in Clearview?”
Ronnie posed the question without breaking his rhythm or looking at him. The shift in topic wasn’t completely unexpected. Sooner or later, he was bound to ask.
“I came back here after I graduated,” Jim said.
“But why? What happened to all your plans?”
“They changed.”
But that wasn’t what Ronnie wanted to know, and honestly, he deserved the whole story. Jim just didn’t know if he was ready or capable of tellin
g it.
Abandoning his massage, Ronnie laid back onto the grass to gaze up into the sky. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve loved one thing. Or a few billion if you want to count it like that. All those damn stars.”
Maybe he could do it if he didn’t have to see Ronnie. He stretched out beside him and folded his hands across his stomach.
“Astronomy was one thing.” He took a deep breath and decided the risk was worth it. “But you were the second.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever told Ronnie how he felt. That had been the last day of school of their sophomore year. They’d been out at Big Blue River, celebrating a summer of freedom, and Ronnie had scared him shitless by staying underwater longer than Jim thought was humanly possible. He’d gone frantic, diving beneath the surface trying to find him, only to explode in fury when Ronnie popped his head up twenty yards away and laughed at him. He’d chased Ronnie onto the shore and tackled him, pinning down his slighter form with his greater bulk. When Ronnie continued to laugh at him, Jim broke and told him the truth.
Ronnie hadn’t laughed at him after that. That day had been their first kiss, too.
Was Ronnie remembering that day now? He wished he could read his mind to know. Especially when Ronnie didn’t answer him back right away.
This silence, he couldn’t tolerate.
“Nothing’s changed about how I feel.” About both of his loves, but he left that unsaid. “But all those dreams about going into space are done.”
He felt rather than saw Ronnie turn his head. “Why?”
“Because I’m not good enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not good enough,” he repeated. “NASA only takes the best of the best. I’m nowhere near that league.”
“But you were class salutatorian. You got the math award and everything.”
Only Ronnie would remember such an insignificant detail as that stupid award. “I was a big fish in a tiny pond. You know what I learned when I went away to college? That there were an awful lot of fish out there just as determined as I was to get into space. The difference was they could actually ace the tests that NASA cared about. Me, I had to fight for every decent grade I got, and even then they weren’t A’s.”
