Something Like Winter

by Jay Bell

  Ben shook his head. “You’re too doped up.”

  “And you can’t rollerblade without killing someone,” he countered.

  “You’re not dead yet,” Ben said defiantly.

  Tim laughed. This guy really was crazy. “All right, fine. You can drive. But be careful.” He wasn’t laughing for long. As soon as he was in the passenger seat, Tim braced himself for disaster. He even flinched when Ben jammed the key into the ignition, as if he could make the car explode just by doing this. Instead, the engine growled like it always did.

  Tim relaxed into the seat, but his repose didn’t last for long. Ben drove like he was in a dream, Tim suffering the experience like a nightmare. Ben made casual conversation, twisting the wheel at the last second to avoid bikers, pedestrians, or oncoming traffic. Maybe an ambulance would be taking him to the hospital after all, but only after Ben wrecked his car. Now it was all too clear how he had managed to crash into Tim while rollerblading.

  By some miracle, they reached the hospital without creating extra victims to bring with them. Ben pulled up to the emergency entrance, where he jumped out of the car and snagged a wheelchair. That was a welcome convenience. Once inside, Tim expected a team of concerned doctors and nurses to rush him down hallways on a gurney, like they do in the movies. Instead they sat in a waiting room with other despondent souls and struggled with paperwork.

  When a nurse finally called his name, Ben wheeled Tim into another room… where they waited some more. But first she and Ben helped Tim onto the examination table. He was getting sick of being so helpless. The nurse took his vital signs and promised the doctor wouldn’t be long.

  Tim sighed and glared at his ankle. “Can’t you do that thing where you twist it real fast, I scream, and then I’m miraculously better?”

  “That’s only for dislocated bones,” Ben said, “but I can give it a try anyway.”

  “Nah. Better not. So what did that big medical book of yours say? Think I’ll need a cast?”

  “Honestly, they’ll probably just amputate.”

  “What?”

  Ben exhaled. “I’m afraid there’s no other option, but just think how cool your new peg leg will be. I hear the pirate look is all the rage in Europe right now. A frilly shirt and an eye patch, and you’ll be the most popular guy in school.”

  Tim considered the idea. “Do I get a parrot?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’ve got a deal.”

  Ben’s expression grew serious. “Seriously, though. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Thanks, Doogie Howser,” Tim retorted. “I’m not really scared for my life, you know.”

  “Sorry. I just feel so guilty.”

  “Don’t start that again!” Tim shifted, the paper beneath his butt crinkling. Ben had really loosened up on the drive over, and kept flashing smiles that caught Tim’s eye. Those teeth were perfect, lined up like little soldiers that saluted him every time he tried to be funny. Something about that smile made Tim want to be wittier than he’d even been before, and oddly, that pressure made finding the right words so much harder.

  They were quiet for a moment. Then Ben nodded at the exam table. “Why do they always put paper down? It’s so weird.”

  “No kidding. I figure it’s for sanitary reasons, but how many naked people show up at the ER?”

  Ben laughed. “Huh?”

  “You know. Most people sit here in their clothes, so I don’t see how they could get the table messy.”

  “Unless a lot of people wet themselves.” Ben suggested thoughtfully. “Or worse.”

  “Yuck!”

  “Who knows how many years of fecal matter have soaked through the paper to stain the exam table?” Ben’s grin was wicked. “I dare you to pull the paper back and lick the spot where you’re sitting.”

  “Dude! Shut up!” Tim laughed, even though he was repulsed. “You’re crazy, Benjamin!”

  “It’s Ben.”

  “Yeah,” Tim said, wiping tears from his eyes, “but Benjamin is better.”

  “Better?”

  Tim shrugged. “It’s a nice name.”

  Ben didn’t respond, an awkward silence trying to ruin their fun. Tim didn’t want their banter to end. Talking to Ben felt good, maybe because if Tim screwed up, it wouldn’t count against him like it would with his friends. He wasn’t sure how to jumpstart their conversation again, but thankfully a distraction walked in the door and introduced himself as Dr. Baker. The doctor barely needed to look at the ankle to see what was wrong. Ben’s diagnosis seemed to be right. Most likely they were looking at a class three sprain. Tim would need X-rays and probably a cast so it would heal right. He could live with all of that. The words Tim really dreaded came next.

  “I’ll need to inform your parents about this, of course.”

  “They’re in Switzerland.” Right now it was probably late there. Tim could imagine them being awakened in the middle of the night and told they needed to come back home.

  “Any other family in the area?” the doctor asked.

  “Nope.”

  Ben piped up. “My family can take care of him until they’re back.”

  Tim raised his head. Was he serious? If Tim could avoid ruining his parents’ trip, he would get a lot less grief.

  Dr. Baker was less enthused by the idea. With no family to look out for him, Tim would have to stay in the hospital overnight. It was getting pretty late anyway, so that wasn’t a big deal.

  “I have to get home,” Ben said. “Can I pick him up tomorrow?”

  “I suppose,” Dr. Baker replied. “Could you please bring the phone number of his parents’ hotel with you? Or better yet, phone it in tonight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  What was Ben playing at? He didn’t have access to their number—unless he used the keys still in his pocket. “Wait, you’re taking my car?”

  “It’s not like you can use it,” Ben said cheerfully. “See you tomorrow, tiger.”

  “You know,” Tim said to the doctor after Ben had left, “I’m starting to think he did this to me on purpose.”

  “Must be a nice car to go through all this trouble,” Dr. Baker said, helping Tim back into the wheelchair.

  “It is,” Tim murmured, “but it might not be in the best shape when I get it back.”

  Chapter Five

  Tim’s night in the hospital passed in a welcome haze of painkillers. He got his X-rays, then his cast, and flirted with every nurse who came in the room—reveling in the giggles of the younger girls, and the barely-suppressed smiles of the older ladies. As much fun as he was having, he dreaded the next morning. Ben would bring the phone number of his parents’ hotel, and from there, history would repeat itself.

  Tim was thirteen when his parents cancelled a trip to Japan because he had come down with the flu. At first he was glad they decided to stay home, still young enough that it bugged him when they took trips alone. Instead of fawning over him at his bedside and catering to his every need, his parents treated him as an inconvenience, remaining bitter until they were able to reschedule their trip.

  He understood now that the vacations his parents took together were a way of recapturing the childless life they had once planned. As far as Tim was concerned, he was a mistake. His parents never talked of having another child. They still loved him, when they found the time, but he had learned long ago not to ask for too much or get in the way.

  As the morning progressed, he tried to imagine what their reaction to his accident would be. Even worse, what if Ben called them to explain? This was the first question out of his mouth when Ben showed up at the hospital.

  “Did you call my parents?”

  “No,” Ben started to say, but when Dr. Baker came in the room, he changed his answer. “Yes. They don’t think they can change their flight, but they’ve arranged for a nurse to take care of you and everything.”

  That didn’t sound so bad, if it was true. The doctor asked Ben for their number, which he had rat
her conveniently forgotten to bring along. Dr. Baker seemed to share this suspicion, but he checked his watch and gave Ben a quick earful about everything Tim would need. After being presented with crutches and making a quick trip to the hospital pharmacy for pills, Tim let Ben wheel him outside to the car. He insisted they do a loop around the Mitsubishi before they got in so he could check for damages. Amazingly, he didn’t find a scratch.

  Once behind the wheel, Ben was pensive. With Tim starting to feel his most recent dose of pain medication, they didn’t talk much on the way home. When they arrived, Tim made use of the crutches, swinging up the driveway so fast that Ben had to rush to keep up.

  “I feel like Tarzan,” Tim said.

  “Or his chimp,” Ben retorted. “Wait up. I’ll get the door for you.”

  “Thanks.” Tim watched him fumble with the keys. Ben shot him a nervous look, as if concerned about messing up such a simple task. Not that Ben didn’t steal little glances at him at other times. Tim was used to girls finding him attractive, but now he wondered what other guys thought. Gay guys, obviously. Corey had expressed interest, but that whole situation had been weird. Of course, so had Ben’s knowledge of where Tim lived.

  As soon as Tim was inside and seated on the peach-colored couch, Ben stood in front him nervously. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  For a moment, Tim thought Ben was about to confess his feelings. The idea made him both uncomfortable and excited.

  “It seemed kind of pointless to worry your parents for nothing,” Ben said instead. “Or mine. It’s just a sprained ankle, right? A nurse seemed overboard too. I mean, we can call one now if you really want. Or I can just take care of you.”

  Tim stared at him. “So, no nurse?”

  “No nurse.”

  “And you never called my parents? They have no idea I was in the hospital overnight?”

  Now Ben looked guilty. “They have no idea.”

  Tim relaxed. He would have thanked him, if this whole mess wasn’t Ben’s fault in the first place. Ben was more than willing to make up for it. He promised to swing by every day to cook and clean. So Tim would have a nurse. One who would destroy his reputation at school if anyone found out, but for now he was so relieved his parents weren’t involved that he didn’t care.

  But if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. Tim stood with a little wobbling and crutched his way to his father’s den in the back of the house. Maybe the room couldn’t compete with the set-up Darryl’s father had, but it was still nice. Everything was dark wood, brown leather, and most of all, comfortable.

  “I figure this is a good place to make camp,” Tim said, settling down on the couch. He nodded at the wet bar. “There’s even a fridge to keep drinks in.”

  “So what all do we need?” Ben glanced around. “Blankets and pillows obviously… Um…”

  “In one of the hall closets,” Tim said. “I want my pillow from upstairs. And some real clothes. Throw something in the oven too, will ya?”

  “Right.”

  Tim turned on the TV, allowing himself a chuckle once Ben left the room. He would cut Ben loose after today. Tim figured he was trying to make amends or searching for an excuse to be around. Either way, Tim could take care of himself. But for now, he only wanted to kick back and relax. He flipped through the channels, settling on music videos.

  Soon the smell of pizza filled the house. When Ben came into the room with two plates loaded with slices, Tim was nearly drooling in anticipation. They watched videos together, poking fun at all the bad ones and flipping between VH1 and MTV to avoid commercials. When they had finished eating, Ben took the plates to the kitchen, then hurried back and plopped on the couch. Tim was about to change back to MTV when Ben made him stop.

  “Wait! I love this song!”

  Tim had heard it plenty of times already. The radio stations were going crazy playing The Fugees’ Killing Me Softly, but the song had never caught his ear before. Nor had the silky male voice that came in halfway through.

  Tim looked to his left, jaw dropping. Ben was singing, but not how other people crooned along with real music. Ben’s voice was studio sweet, sounding so perfect that Tim wanted to snap at Lauryn Hill to be quiet so he could hear better.

  Instead Tim covertly turned down the TV’s volume, which wasn’t hard since Ben’s eyes were locked on his. Gone was any sign of passive interest or furtive glances. Ben’s full attention was on Tim now as he sang. And it was beautiful. Scratch that, Ben was beautiful. Forget Darryl’s money, Stacy’s cunning, or Bryce’s muscles. Ben had the voice, and that should have made him the most popular guy in school because it was so damn hot! Girls should be heartbroken over him, and guys should be doing everything to be more like him.

  Then the song ended and Ben looked away, his cheeks a little red. Tim stared dumbfounded for a couple more seconds before he clapped and cheered, happy to make an ass of himself.

  “You can sing!”

  “Yeah,” Ben said with a nervous chuckle. “I do all right.”

  “Why don’t you do that all the time? I mean, if I had a voice like yours, I would sing everything instead of talking like normal people do.”

  Ben laughed. “That might get ooooold after a whiiiile!” he sang opera style.

  Okay, so maybe that sounded dumb, but Tim wanted to hear Ben belt out a real song again. “Do this one!” he said, turning the volume up a little.

  “It’s the Beastie Boys,” Ben said. “They aren’t singing, they’re rapping. Or whining. Wait until a song like the last one comes on. Hey, have you ever heard the original Killing Me Softly?”

  Tim shook his head.

  “Roberta Flack! She’s a goddess. I’ll play that version for you sometime. Then you won’t think I have a good voice. I get goose bumps every time I hear it.”

  Tim had goose bumps still, so he tried to chill out and stop acting like a groupie. They watched another couple of videos together until one came on that Ben liked. Then he started singing again, this time with his eyes closed, and Tim felt those same feelings come rushing back. It hadn’t just been the song or the moment. That voice was freaking magical! Tim really couldn’t understand why Ben wasn’t more popular. Maybe it was the gay thing, but surely people would forgive Ben for anything if they could hear him sing.

  Once the song was over, Tim did his best not to gush. “Are you in choir or anything like that?”

  Ben nodded.

  “So people at school have heard you sing.”

  “Yeah, but usually just the people who go to recitals. I also sang in the talent show freshman year.”

  And the school didn’t worship him? Ben sang another song for him—at least it felt that way—and once he was finished, Tim shut off the TV. Then he asked the question that kept popping up in his mind. “So what’s it like being gay?”

  “Like anything else, I guess. What’s it like to be whatever you are?”

  “Straight,” Tim said firmly before getting back on track. “Don’t you catch a lot of flack for it? I mean, everyone at school knows, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t get your ass kicked every day.”

  “I get a lot of crap.” Ben shrugged like it didn’t matter. “But I got crap before I came out for totally different reasons. It’s no different now. Not really.”

  “True, true.” Tim nodded sagely. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Like you would know! It must be hard being a jock with rich parents and a brand-new sports car. People must tease you mercilessly.”

  Tim grinned in response. “When you put it like that, I do have it good, but I still get crap from people. Miss a catch or don’t make it to base and your team turns on you, especially if you lose the game.”

  Ben looked unconvinced. Tim would have to give him more. Being popular wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and if Ben only knew what had gone down in Kansas—

  Tim could te
ll him. Doing so would mean summoning up the past. Speaking those words here, even just once, could mean they were repeated again and again until they ruined Tim. But surely Ben understood what it was like to be an outcast.

  “How about this?” The smile dropped from Tim’s face. “At my last school my ex-girlfriend went around telling everyone that I raped her, just because I dumped her. I had every girl in the school coming up to me and saying the craziest shit. A few even tried to knee me. It was insane.”

  Ben seemed more curious than judgmental. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean? Nothing happened. It was her word against mine, but she didn’t take it to the police or anything because she knew the truth. It blew over after a while, but people never treated me the same afterwards. You don’t know how glad I am to have a fresh start.”

  Ben sighed. “The idea sounds appealing.”

  “Would you still come out? If you moved to the other side of the country where no one knew, would you come out again?”

  “Yeah,” Ben answered immediately. “Are you kidding me? What would I do otherwise? Pretend I’m into girls and start sleeping with them?”

  Tim felt uncomfortable, like he was being accused of doing just that. Maybe because being with Krista involved so much pretending.

  “I’d definitely come out again,” Ben continued. “It’s the only chance I have at meeting another gay guy. It pays to advertise. That’s the theory at least.”

  “No luck in the romance department?”

  “Not really. Not love at least.”

  The cuckoo clock his parents had brought back from Germany sprang to life, the little bird tweeting the hour.

  “Jesus, I should get home.” Ben started pulling on his shoes. “Are you going to be all right? There’s drinks and stuff in the fridge and leftover pizza on the counter. Should I bring it in?”

  Tim fought down a grin. “Naw, I can manage.”

  “I thought I’d come by in the morning to make breakfast and check on you, and then again in the afternoon?”

  “Yeah?” Tim meant to tell Ben that he could manage on his own, but instead he said, “You’d do that for me?”