“Yeah. Sure,” I said. “No problem. See you ‘round.” I dropped the cup in Bammy’s hand and pushed past her rudely into the hall.
“Derek. Derek!” she whisper-screamed, chasing after me down the hallway in her heels. “What was that all about? What happened on Friday after we left? What are you doing? What are you thinking? He’s straight. You know that. Derek!”
“Leave me alone, Bammy. I don’t wanna talk about it.” I picked up the pace and headed across the courtyard towards my first class. Obviously, Luke was choosing to ignore Friday night. He’s all hugs and high fives when it’s the two of us, but in school he’s back to his old persona. Self-loathing asshole. All right, Luke, so this is the game we’re playing, is it?
Well, I’m not interested.
■ ■ ■
I made up my mind that it was all in my mind.
I imagined it. I created it. I needed something romantic and hopeful and exciting after running away from David and my New York life, and Luke Walcott was just the ticket. He was perfect, in fact: yet another hot, athletic, unattainable straight boy for this lonely hopeless romantic to pine after. I always said I suffered from congenital sadness, but this time, I wasn’t going to let “another one who got away” break me down. I’m better than that now. At least, I hope I am.
A week had passed since “The Showdown at the Coffee Corral,” as Bammy called it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I do, but I didn’t want to admit it to my friends, let alone to myself. I had fallen for the wrong guy, and even worse, I fell fast and hard after a single late-night hug. One hug! Was I that desperate for love?
Bammy and Kit talked me off the ledge and I regained my sanity fairly quickly. Luke and I didn’t speak of “the incident,” as I’m sure it was nothing to him. We said our casual helloes as we passed in the hallway, but we didn’t go much further than that.
The weekend came faster than expected, and we headed on down to the Firelight, as we did every Friday night. The Scooby Gang staked out our usual booth, but Luke was nowhere in sight.
“Will you stop looking at the door?” Bammy said as she threw me a meaningful look over her Jack and Diet Coke. “He’s not coming. And even if he did, it wouldn’t be for you. So stop, okay? You’re here with us.”
She was right. I was obsessing while pretending that I wasn’t obsessing. Stalking him was just around the corner, but I was trying to keep that side of myself at bay.
“Whatever,” I said. “He’s a douchebag. No, actually he wishes he were a douchebag. He’s actually just unimportant. That’s worse.” I wasn’t even convincing myself.
“He’s not a douchebag, Derek,” said Bammy. “He’s actually a pretty good guy. He’s just not the ‘good guy’ for you. One hug doesn’t mean he’s a closet case, you know? Not every handsome guy is gay, even though I know you wish that were the case.”
“It has been my experience that men who feel the need to say they are ‘good guys’ are generally trying to convince themselves,” Kit said. She had known her fair share of douchebags masquerading as improved souls. “But that doesn’t matter, any way,” she added. “You want to hate him. I get that.”
“I just feel like I want to run away, again,” I said. “Even though I just did that, coming here. Today I daydreamed that I was a French teacher in some military training facility. Then I realized it was all the men in uniforms that I found most appealing.” I sighed. “Something is very wrong with me.”
Kit looked at me and smiled a knowing half smile. “Derek, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just going to have to learn to deal with all the shit that doesn’t magically fall into place. You have always believed that the universe owes you. You want to run away when things get tough. We. All. Do. That’s normal. But you also want to hate everyone, and you expect all of us to love you while you’re doing it. Not everyone will adore you, my friend. Just the special ones. Like us.” And she winked at me.
Kit was right with her tough love. I wallow in self-pity, throw my accusations and lash out left and right, all the while protecting myself with a mask of vicious laughter. It’s either that or cry? It had to stop. I moved back home to find myself again, and getting hung up on a straight guy and feeling sorry for myself wasn’t part of the action plan. I needed to remember that it’s more important to take care of myself, first. The rest will follow.
“Man, you just need to get laid,” Tommy said and put his beer up to his lips. He took a big gulp, and then set it down with a wide grin. “You know I’m right. That’s just tension speaking, and it’s the kind of tension you can take care of pretty easily. Especially a gay guy. Hell, isn’t there an app for that?”
“Fuck you,” I said. “And I mean that with love, my friend.”
The girls giggled, then moved in closer as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Tommy was right. Again. One easy search for mobile phone apps and I found my prize: Huntr, for gay men on the hunt. I downloaded it and made a quick profile, not adding anything that could be tied back to me, Derek. I called myself “Duke,” as an homage to Derek and Luke. Thankfully, the girls didn’t make the connection.
“Ooooh, very regal sounding!” said Kit.
I chose a photo that Bammy took of me down by the lake as my profile picture. Shirt off, legs hanging down off the dock into the water. I have my back to the camera and a baseball cap on. Even I think I look hot in this one.
“Now what?” said Bammy. “How does this Huntr thing work?”
“Well, you make a profile,” I explained. “You say what you’re looking for, then you just kind of wait. It’s all based on GPS, so you can see when there are other guys on the app who are near you. Like this one, for example.” I pointed out a picture of a really young blond twink with a cute smile. “He’s less than a mile from us right now, and he’s looking for some NSA fun.”
“Oh! ‘NSA’ means ‘No Strings Attached,’ Bammy,” said Kit. “Men are so driven by hormones.” They both laughed.
“So go for it!” said Bammy.
“Bammy, he’s nineteen,” I laughed. “He’s practically one of our students. I’ll pass. There must be something more my type around here. Well, hello Dolly!” Had I been hanging around Beret too much?
Someone who went by the handle “Cowboy” had posted a picture of his chest, and it was mighty fine: mid 30s, dark blond, no shaving, just my type. And only a few miles away.
“Here we go. I’ll take ‘Hot Pecs’ for a thousand, Alex!” I sent a quick hey, how’s it going? and he offered the same. He seemed cool and we started chatting. I didn’t want to chat too much, and thankfully he didn’t either. We both understood that this wasn’t the kind of app for romance and a marriage proposal.
“Shit.” I froze. “He wants to meet. What do I do?”
“DO IT!” the girls screamed, in unison. Tommy just laughed and took another drink.
“Okay. Here goes.” I replied and hit send, without over analyzing for the first time in my life. “Shit. He answered. It’s on. We’re meeting in an hour at that gay bar out east, past the old bowling alley.”
“That was so easy,” said Bammy. “Why can’t straight people just hook up like this?”
I paused. Lightbulb. “Oh, fuck. We never traded face pics.”
I just asked a torso out for a drink.
■ ■ ■
Bottoms Up was located a few miles east of downtown Parkville in a derelict part of town. Just your average gay Southern white boy dive bar, it was known for its cheap drinks and even cheaper clientele. I’d only been there a few times in college when they had dollar nights, and back then we were pretty scared for our lives, but the super low prices helped to calm our fears. Did I mention how cheap the drinks were?
I parked Willie next to an old hearse that looked like it was straight from the set of Six Feet Under, and walked in the door. The jukebox here was nowhere near as good as the Firelight, and some shitty hybrid hip-hop pop crap was blaring through the speakers. “Cowboy” had informed me
he would be wearing an orange and white baseball cap, but I didn’t see him yet.
I figured I might as well get a drink while I waited, so I walked up to the bar. “Jack and Coke, please,” I ordered.
“Just one?” the bartender asked. He was wearing blue jeans and a leather vest with no shirt and had a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He looked down his nose at me with his one good eye.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m waiting for my friend.”
“Y’all want a pitcher?” he said. “Eight dollars.”
God bless you, Bottoms Up. I gave him a ten and took my pitcher of Jack and Coke and two glasses back towards one of the smaller tables near the pinball machines. I pulled out my phone and started up Huntr again. I took another look at “Cowboy,” and he did, indeed, have a beautiful torso. But what about the rest of him? Unfortunately he was offline, and since we were both so averse to chatting, we hadn’t traded any other information.
I poured a drink from the pitcher and took a look around. The vinyl seat beneath me was held together by duct tape, and the entrance to the bathroom was of the swinging half-door variety. I felt dirty just being here.
What was I doing here? Two months ago I was planning my wedding in Central Park to a man I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Then I played Runaway Bride and the next thing I know I’m on a plane to Tennessee. Now my uncle is a drag queen, I’m in love with a straight guy, and I’m afraid I’ll catch something on the wrong side of town.
Wait. What did I just say? I’m in love? Oh, Derek, this is just sad. You don’t want to be here. Tommy was right, I do need to get laid, but “Cowboy” isn’t the answer. I deserve more than a torso.
I placed my drink on the table, stood up and headed towards the exit.
A group of twentysomethings auditioning for roles in a redneck update of Cruising hollered after me. “Hey, you done with that pitcher?” they asked.
“Yep,” I said as I passed their table.
“Can we have it?” they asked.
“Knock yourselves out.” And I walked out the door.
11
FIX UP, CLEAN UP
It’s Monday again, but I’m not as crazy as last week, thankfully. I do not look for his car today as I pull into the lot. I do not run to the teachers’ lounge like a puppy with my tongue falling out and my tail wagging behind me. I do not bring extra coffee and extra cheer for the man I am falling for, because it’s more than apparent that he is not falling for me, as I had hoped and prayed and, obviously, imagined. It’s a crazy man’s dream that is slowly dying as I get my life back in order again.
We have a staff meeting in the morning. Bammy has an announcement to make, so I take my seat towards the back on a metal folding chair. Luke is somewhere in here. I guess. I don’t know. I’m not looking.
“Homecoming is one of the most important weeks here at the school,” she began, “and I’m sure I don’t need to enumerate why. Alumni come from all over the state to reminisce about their days here in Parkville, and we want to make sure that we put on the best face possible. Coach Walcott is getting our team in shape for one heck of a football game, isn’t that right, Luke?”
“Y’all know it!” he said. I could feel him standing somewhere behind me but I don’t look. Remember, Derek. Don’t look.
“Now,” she continued, “just because we’re not all playing in the big game doesn’t mean we can’t contribute. Y’all are aware that the school has seen its fair share of budget cuts, and there’s a lot around here that could do with a little sprucing up. That’s why we’ve asked all y’all to help us out this upcoming Saturday morning. We’re going to split up into teams and do our best to make our school something to be proud of. Now let’s hear some of that Commodore spirit!”
Woo hoo. Sorry, Bammy. That’s the best I can do for you right now.
The week rolled by without incident and suddenly it was Friday. I bowed out of our regular Firelight gig. I just didn’t have the energy. Mom made chicken and dumplings, green beans and deviled eggs, and then she and Uncle Barry and I crashed in the living room in our carb-induced haze to watch Auntie Mame on the DVD player. Barry and I have practically all the lines memorized, and we took turns one-upping each other with quotes. Seriously Mom, if we hit you over the head with this stuff, you may just have to comment on Barry’s sexuality one day.
I woke up feeling fresh and headed on over to the school Saturday morning to help with “Fix Up, Clean Up.” It felt good to get out of bed early without a hangover. Maybe I should consider skipping Friday nights more often? My liver would certainly appreciate the kindness.
There was a card table set up in the main hall with coffee and fresh baked doughnuts. They were still warm, straight from the bakery. They melted like little sugar pillows in my mouth as I greedily consumed one, two, three. Damn. So much for my healthy New York lifestyle.
“I’d like to thank y’all again for coming out here on a Saturday morning,” Bammy started. “We’ve split everyone into groups with specific areas to tackle. Just find your name up here on these lists. To be fair, they’re alphabetical, so we didn’t play any favorites with the tasks. We’ll work until noon, and then we have lunch provided by the Parkville High School Marching Band moms.”
Alphabetical? Luke Walcott. Derek Walter. SHIT. Fuck you and your “fairness,” Bammy. Did you even consider your bestie?
I looked up at the lists posted on the bulletin board and I’m part of the outside crew, helping to pick up any trash in the parking lot, pull weeds, wash exterior windows, that kind of thing.
“Looks like we’re on the same chain gang,” Luke said, over my shoulder.
“And here I am without my orange jumpsuit,” I said.
He let out a small laugh. That was all I needed, and suddenly I was googley-eyed, all over again. I’m hopeless. I really am.
“Tired of avoiding me?” I said. “The freeze out wasn’t so fun, you know.”
“Freeze out?” he asked.
“Well, yeah. You were pretty quiet this week.”
“Derek, you read way too much into things. Anybody ever told you that?”
“Just my whole life,” I said, and cocked my head to one side.
“Well, maybe you should listen, then. And remember, not everything’s about you.” And with that he turned and walked towards the door.
I stood there, not sure what to think. Or overthink. Or over analyze. Or… anything. I was frozen. Do I like him? Do I not like him? Are we friends? Or more? What is real, and what am I imagining? Man, it sucks being a thirteen-year-old girl.
Luke’s voice roused me from my thoughts. “Yo. Dreamer. You coming, or what? We got work to do.”
“Uh… yep. Chain gang. Let’s do it.” And I followed.
We spent the morning clearing cans and errant cigarette butts from the parking lot and grounds before moving on to window duty. Even though it was officially autumn, it was still warm in the South, and it wasn’t long before the sun came out in full force and Luke shed his jacket. I couldn’t help but stare at this man in his white V-neck t-shirt, tight blue jeans and work boots as he hauled buckets of warm soapy water and towels. His biceps and pecs strained the tight confines of the white cotton tee, and soon the splashing water made the material rather see-through.
“Hey. Stop drooling and get back to work.” Bammy laughed as she bumped up beside me.
“Shit! Sorry. Is it that obvious?” I asked, embarrassed.
“You look like a Wall Street banker at an all-you-can-eat stripper buffet,” she said laughing.
“Ack. Thanks for that image. Seriously. I don’t mean to sexualize him, but DAMN. Look at him!”
“Why do you think I alphabetized, silly?” She winked at me, and then moved on to check the progress of the next team.
All right, Bammy. You win this one. I was clearly wrong to be pissed at you.
I took another glance at Luke, and he was up on his ladder, reaching up high to get the top of the window frame.
The bottom of his t-shirt had lifted up to expose his taut stomach, covered in a fine layer of dark blond scruff. My hand was holding the sponge to the window, but I’m sure it wasn’t moving. There were streams of water cascading down the glass, but I was completely frozen, staring at the man of my dreams just a few feet from me. If I didn’t know better, he was exaggerating his stretching and bending and reaching, just to give me the show of a lifetime.
My eyes slowly wandered from his stomach up to his chest, then to his face. He turned his head as if in slow motion, smiled, and paused what he was doing… and winked at me. Busted.
I can’t. I seriously can’t. Dear Lord, if I die right now, it will be enough.
12
AT THE LAKE
We went our separate ways after “Fix Up, Clean Up.” Bammy wanted all the gossip, but my head was spinning. Truthfully, she was pissing me off a little. She can’t be upset with me for chasing after a straight guy, then move all the chess pieces around so that I have no other choice but to chase a straight guy.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling as confused as ever. It’s amazing what you can convince yourself of if you try hard enough. There was no denying that Luke and I had some sort of connection. Was it as simple as a blossoming friendship, or as wickedly illicit as a same sex attraction? To put it plainly, Luke was never going to ride on a Gay Pride float, but was he the kind of Southern gentleman who could find what he needed at the Bears’ Club? Stranger things have happened.
I pulled myself out of bed and picked up my running clothes from the chair. If I didn’t have a relationship, at least I had running, again. I’d kept true to my promise of keeping it up, and I was now addicted to the high. Besides, all these carbs were killing me. How was I not enormous as a kid? Oh, that’s right. All my multiple social anxieties just worried the pounds off.
There was a slight fog this morning as I drove Willie out to the park at the lake. Parkville Community Park was located just a short drive from Mom’s house, and as kids we spent hours there playing on the swing sets and swimming in the large public pool. As teenagers, the park was where we drank our wine coolers and planned our escapes from this place. Funny. I escaped, then came right back. The cyclical nature of life, I suppose.
Home is a Fire Page 6
