Swimming to Chicago

by David-Matthew Barnes

  “Twisted,” Robby finished and his words fell on the back of Alex’s neck, causing him to wince a little from the sensation. “Or incredibly lucky.”

  Alex closed his eyes as the rain began to fall. Slivers of it cut through the tiny holes in the screen and cooled the heat in Alex’s face. “Yeah…I feel lucky,” he breathed.

  Robby stepped even closer, invited by the hopefulness in Alex’s voice.

  “Robby,” Alex began. “I’m not sure what we are—you and I—but I’m not scared of it.”

  Robby stood, trembling. He felt the warm October rain cover his hands, his arms. He felt the Southern air wrapping around him tighter and a trickle of sweat shooting down his spine. He stared at the back of Alex’s neck, at the warm and inviting Armenian skin. On instinct, Robby raised his hand, wanting to touch Alex, to feel the burn of his skin beneath his thin fingers. His hand, controlled by lust, moved toward the space between Alex’s shoulder blades, a place where Robby secretly suspected a person’s soul was kept.

  The moment became electric. As the tips of Robby’s fingers made contact with Alex’s black T-shirt, a flash of lightning illuminated the landscape in front of them. In a quick second, the cement patio and the backyard were revealed: the old marble birdbath, the barbecue grill still in desperate need of cleaning, and the cheap patio set with sun-faded cushions.

  The bolt of lightning had struck a nearby power line causing white-hot sparks to dance down from the trees and land like fireworks in the overgrown Georgia grass. The porch light was killed by a sudden power outage, and the two boys stood beneath the silver sheen of a summer moon, with Robby’s right palm pressed against Alex’s soul. Alex’s shoulders tightened and he grew tense, but only for a second. As he exhaled, he felt Robby’s arms sliding around his waist from behind, and the two of them were embracing. Robby placed his chin on Alex’s right shoulder, pressing his body against Alex’s spine, and in a gentle whisper breathed the words, “Show me your island.”

  *

  Alex held Robby’s hand tightly as they ran through the maze of trees behind the house. Exhilaration surged through Alex as he led the way. Together, they dodged hanging tree limbs, jumped over broken branches, kicked up clouds of red Georgia mud as they raced across acres of land, welcoming the rain and the metallic moonlight against their skin.

  Within seconds, they stood at the edge of the small lake. Only about a mile in circumference, the lake ended to the right and led to a larger lake to the left.

  Robby suddenly tightened his grip on Alex’s fingers. “I can’t swim,” he confessed in the dark.

  Alex, empowered by the moment and the raw energy ravaging his mind, replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

  Alex unbuttoned his faded jeans and stepped out of them. He peeled off his wet T-shirt and discarded it like a rag. He stood, peering out to the distant island, in a pair of boxers. He ran a hand through his wet hair and scanned the calm surface of the lake.

  Robby, nervous and panic-stricken by his modesty, fumbled with the button on his shorts. Alex immediately sensed his hesitation and offered, “It’s okay, Robby. It’s only me.” Robby slipped his shorts and T-shirt off and stood before Alex in white briefs, as if waiting for some form of approval.

  Alex moved toward him, his feet sinking into the red clay. “Never be ashamed of who you are, Robby,” he instructed. Without warning, he kissed the side of Robby’s face, his lips brushing across Robby’s left cheek.

  “With you, I feel safe,” Robby stammered. “Does that sound stupid, Alex?”

  “It’s fifty-two yards to the island.”

  “Is that far? I can’t even see it from here.”

  “I want you to hold on to me and don’t let go.”

  “Okay. But what if I’m too heavy?”

  “Are you kidding? I can carry you. Easily.” Alex guided both of Robby’s arms around his neck and without another word, Alex dove into the water. Robby held his breath as he felt the two of them go under. The sensation sent a stinging pain through his veins. He locked his arms around Alex’s neck, but worried Alex might not be able to breathe. He loosened his grip, just a little, as he became aware of his body against Alex’s. As Alex moved them through the water, the front of Robby’s body rubbed and ground against Alex’s skin. Flashes of immense pleasure triggered in both of them. The feeling was so intensely arousing Robby feared he might black out.

  He felt Alex guiding them to the surface of the water. They emerged, gulping the sticky October air in unison, catching glimpses of the night’s sky. They slid back down, beneath the water, and continued to swim. Their legs moved in synchronization, jetting them through the murky lake. Alex could feel Robby’s weight pressing against him. He welcomed the feeling, seduced by it, and didn’t fight it or question it.

  Alex brought them up for air again. They were only a few feet away from the small island. He could feel Robby’s heartbeat pulsing against his spine. Robby coughed a little, his mouth only inches away from Alex’s ear. “You carried me the whole way,” Robby said, in a half gasp.

  “I told you we’d make it,” Alex replied.

  At the shore of the island, Alex stood up in the shallow water, took Robby’s hand, and led him to land. Their feet sank deep into the red mud as Alex showed Robby the way to the oak tree, the only resident of the tiny island. “Quercus macrocarpa,” Alex announced, and Robby stared at him blankly. “It’s the name of this tree. It’s a burr oak. It’s been here for years.”

  “This is the island?”

  “My hiding place,” Alex confessed.

  “It’s small.”

  “It serves its purpose.”

  “Is this where you came, the day you found your mother in the garage?”

  The question caused Alex to pull away from Robby a little. “I don’t talk about that day.”

  “You can talk to me about it,” Robby assured.

  “What’s there to say? My mother was very unhappy and she didn’t want to live. She hated Georgia. She wanted to go back to Chicago. Her family lives there. They’re Armenian,” he said, adding, “Like me.”

  Robby stared at the tree, reaching out and touching the bark with his left hand. “Maybe that’s why my mother’s in love with your father. He needs her because he’s so sad. And because she’s always so lonely.”

  Alex shrugged, trying to distance himself from the memory of discovering his mother’s body hanging from a wooden beam in the garage just two months ago. “Maybe,” he said. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Our parents can do what they want. It has nothing to do with us.”

  “I hope my parents do get divorced. They hate each other.” Robby turned back, toward the house, the trees, their lives. “I can’t see home from here.”

  “Exactly,” said Alex, sitting down at the base of the tree. “That’s why I come here.”

  Robby sat quickly next to Alex, shivering a little. “I like it here.”

  Alex’s eyes burned with curiosity as he said, “You know what I’ve always dreamed of? Building a house here. Just a little house, but a place all my own no one can get to.”

  “That sounds nice, Alex.”

  “Maybe we should do it.”

  Robby wasn’t sure what Alex was implying, so he said cautiously, “Build a house?”

  “Yeah. It would be cool. We can borrow my dad’s rowboat and bring the lumber and the tools out.”

  “I’m not much of a builder.”

  “Then I’ll build it for us.”

  “For both of us?” Robby’s voice cut through the darkness and Alex could hear the pleading in it, the desire to be wanted and accepted and loved.

  “That way we can be safe, Robby. We can have a place to come to and no one will ever mess with us. Just you and me. Together.”

  “A house on our own island. That would be cool. We should do it.”

  “We can start planning it tomorrow.”

  Even in the dark a
nd through the rain, Robby could see the excitement flicker in Alex’s eyes. He shivered again.

  “You cold?”

  “A little.”

  “Sit closer to me.” On impulse, Alex wrapped an arm around Robby’s thin shoulders. They both fell silent, hushed by the lull of the water, the rain, the drowning of their hidden fears. Robby sat, mesmerized by the rhythm of Alex’s breathing, watching his chest rise and fall. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. It was then that he felt Alex’s lips against his. Robby opened his mouth, inviting Alex inside. The kiss was gentle and soft and left them both craving more.

  “Are you going to let me love you, Robby?” Alex asked, his words mixing with the rain and falling tenderly onto Robby’s lips. “No matter what?”

  Robby’s eyes fluttered open. Staring deeply into Alex’s, he replied, “I already am.”

  Jillian

  Jillian came up with a plan to finally get what she wanted.

  Harley made it a point to mention three times in class he’d been appointed the chaperone for the Halloween school dance. He said it was his “punishment for being a newbie.”

  “Do you have a date?” she asked him once they were alone in the classroom, no other student in sight. Outside, in the main corridor of Harmonville High, students shuffled past the door, moving like dazed cattle from class to class. “For the dance?”

  He smiled at her and she fought the strong desire to kiss him. “You mean, am I bringing my wife?”

  Jillian nodded in reply. For a moment, Martha LaMont’s beautiful face flashed in her mind. Her gorgeous blond hair, her perfect smile, those peaceful green eyes. She was one of the nicest people Jillian had ever met.

  How can I do this to her? She’s never done anything wrong to me. She isn’t evil like Sue Ellen Freeman.

  Each time Jillian thought of Martha, she felt a huge wave of guilt wash over her. So she did her best to keep Harley’s wife as far away from her conscience as possible.

  That included never uttering Martha’s name aloud.

  “She’s staying in. Passing out candy,” he explained. “Which really means she’ll find any excuse she can to go visit the lonely widower across the street.”

  Jillian shook her head with disapproval. “She should be with you,” she decided. “I would be…if I were her.”

  “Well, you’re not her,” he said. “And for your sake, that’s probably a good thing.”

  Jillian thought about unbuttoning her blouse, or lifting her skirt to reveal she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She contemplated sitting on the edge of his wooden desk, opening her legs and letting him touch her. She glanced down at his thick fingers, the dark hairs on the back of his big knuckles. She felt her body throb for him.

  I need to get out of here…before I do something dumb.

  Jillian forced herself to regain her composure. She shifted her body, covered her chest with her binder and the assigned paperback copy of Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure. “I’ll be there,” she promised.

  “Oh yeah?” He cracked another smile, and she couldn’t help imagining what his mouth would feel like on her skin. “I’m looking forward to seeing you there.”

  She stood there for a moment too long, gazing at him. She let her eyes lower, stopping for a second to rest on the front of his khakis, his crotch. For a brief second, she imagined him naked, what it would feel like to have him thrusting against her.

  Jillian shook the image away and moved to the door. Her hand was on the knob when she looked back and said over her shoulder, “Look for me…I’ll be the one in the red cape.”

  *

  Jillian was a woman with only one thing on her mind: seduction. She knew she had to look good. And it was going to take a lot more effort than a shower, some shampoo, a little eyeliner and blush.

  Luckily, her mother was working a double shift at Applebee’s before hightailing it to Griffin to spend the weekend with some trucker she’d met named Jackson. She tried to convince Jillian he was her long-lost soul mate. Jillian predicted her mother would be brokenhearted in a week and would demand Jillian help piece her back together with a carton of ice cream and constant reminders that Delilah Dambro deserved so much better than jerks like Jackson.

  Until the next badass came along.

  Jillian spun her plan into motion early Saturday morning. As soon as the neon orange Open sign clicked on in the front window, Jillian rented her adorable (and somewhat slutty) costume from the shop on Jonesboro Road. She popped over to Starbucks for a toffee mocha. She made time for a much-needed mani-pedi at her favorite nail place near Target. She stopped in at Salon La Vie in Stockbridge for some ultra-platinum highlights and a trim.

  At home, she tweezed and plucked for an hour, soaked her body in a coconut lime bubble bath, shaved her legs, slathered her skin with tangerine-scented moisturizer, took the time to put on false lashes, concentrated on every detail of her makeup, and smoked a cigarette on the back porch while a fresh October rain started falling.

  At seven o’clock, Jillian slipped into the leather and lace corset and the crinoline black tutu. She pulled on her mother’s favorite knee-high black boots and slid her arms through the sleeveless red velvet hooded cape. She tugged a pair of elbow-length black satin gloves over her hands before spraying a few blasts of her mother’s imposter perfume on the sides of her neck and breathing in the intoxicating smell of desire.

  Moments later, Jillian stood in front of the full-length mirror hung on the back of her mother’s bedroom door. She smiled at the reflection, impressed she was unable to recognize herself at first glance. She didn’t look like a high school student, and she certainly wasn’t dressed like a virgin.

  Jillian looked hot, and she knew it. There was no way Harley LaMont would be able to resist her.

  *

  Before Jillian entered the overdecorated gymnasium, she wasn’t sure what reaction her costume would get. She purchased a ticket from Mrs. Potts, her awestruck elderly math teacher, and positioned herself in the open doorway. She was prepared to wait for the response she hoped she’d get—but the anticipation lasted less than a second. The shift in the room was immediate and intense. Heads turned. Mouths dropped open. A few just pointed and stared, enraptured or envious. Jillian giggled on the inside, feeling invincible and victorious.

  Finally, they knew who she was.

  That she was alive.

  Jillian took a step inside the gym and nearly slipped on the shiny wooden floor. She steadied herself and continued to move through the crowd of familiar faces at a slow and sultry pace. She was in no hurry. She wanted to bask in every second of their shock and surprise. Dance lights—electric blue and pink and white—pulsed and throbbed over her body in perfect sync with the rhythm of the song blasting out of the DJ’s enormous speakers.

  At once, Jillian felt their eyes on her, crawling all over her skin like invisible fingers. She was like a goddess, a movie star—I’m their motherfucking queen.

  As Jillian walked past them, she saw their blurred faces in her peripheral vision, but she refused to acknowledge their presence. No eye contact. No words. No recognition at all. For as long as she could remember, they’d made Jillian feel invisible. She was just another girl sitting in the back of the classroom.

  But not tonight.

  Tommy Freeman was there, dressed as a farmer in overalls. His date—a freshman with freckles and braces—was wearing a sequined cowgirl outfit probably once belonging to her country-western singing mother. Jillian heard Tommy say her name—shouting to be heard over the music—but she ignored his voice. “Is Alex with you?” he asked more than once.

  Hunter Killinger was lurking around the dance, looking as ridiculous as ever. He was dressed retro-style like it was 1984, complete with a pair of black Ray-Bans. His idiot followers were wearing similar outfits, like refugees from an episode of Miami Vice. Hunter licked his lips when he saw her, as if she were a dessert cart being pushed through a restaurant dining room. He was starvin
g and wanted a taste of everything she had to offer. Jillian was both repulsed by Hunter’s reaction to her—and proud of it. Not once had he ever noticed her, given her the time of day.

  Not like she wanted to be lusted after by a pig like Hunter.

  “Hey, Little Red Riding Hood,” Eric Lowe yelled in her ear, like a perverted air raid. He was Hunter’s faithful sidekick—half as popular, half as attractive. “I got something for you to ride.” He grabbed his crotch and pointed to it with his skinny fingers—in case she missed it.

  Jillian thought of Alex and ached for him in that moment since the DJ was playing “Help I’m Alive” by Metric. He would be so bummed when she called tomorrow to tell him. She wished he was there with her, if only to witness the incredible response she was getting.

  By tomorrow morning, I’ll be legendary.

  And there he was.

  Harley LaMont was standing near a card table covered with a punch-stained white tablecloth, a bowl half-full of the sweet-smelling fruity drink, and several stacks of red plastic cups. At the sight of him, Jillian felt the air pause in her lungs. She felt the space between her legs dampen and the beat of her heart triple in speed. He was dressed as Dracula, complete with a long black cape, a high-collared tuxedo shirt, and a red silk bow tie. His dark hair was slicked back and he’d penciled in a widow’s peak. His face was ghostly pale, caked with white makeup and powder. His full lips seemed dangerously appealing.

  He took one look at Jillian and the word “wow” stumbled out of his mouth.

  “Hello, Harley,” she purred. As she stood next to him in her thigh-high shiny black boots, Jillian looked him straight in the eyes—he and she were the same height now. In his gaze, she saw hot desire shining back at her. She reached around him, and the inside of her arm—the soft black satin glove—grazed gently across his torso. She lifted the plastic ladle in the punch bowl.

  He turned and placed a hand around her wrist. “No,” he insisted. “Allow me.”