Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1)

by Jamie Mayfield

  3

  THE following Monday, I tried all day to speak with Jamie about what I had found during my Internet search. He’d been busy with yard work for most of the weekend, so we hadn’t had a chance to get together, and this was certainly something I wasn’t going to get into on the phone. I wanted him to know that maybe we weren’t broken or wrong, maybe God didn’t hate us. Maybe knowing that even scholars couldn’t agree on whether or not being gay was a sin would help him sleep better at night. Unfortunately, whenever we had a few minutes to talk, we were always surrounded by people. I wasn’t going to risk being overheard, not about this. Finally, during art, I was able to at least have a discussion with him about coming over after school.

  During class, I still felt awkward around Mr. Barnes. Now that Jamie and I have kissed, now that we’ve defined our relationship as something other than friendship, will he know? Do we give off a vibe like he does? We were sitting side by side, working on painting a bowl of plastic fruit. I tried not to notice the symbolism and instead focused on the way Jamie’s brush caressed the canvas, stroke after stroke. When I asked if I could come over, it made him happy. I liked that he didn’t even care why I wanted to come over; he just seemed happy to be able to spend time with me.

  We let our eyes lock for a little longer than was really necessary. When I caught myself and looked around, I realized with relief that no one had noticed. Criticizing myself immediately, it occurred to me that I was going to have to be more careful. After that, we worked on our projects in relative silence, only talking to ask for a different paint color or water. When class was over, we walked quickly to his house.

  “Hi, Brian, you’re looking better,” Mrs. Mayfield greeted us as we came in through the back door. It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about; church had been over a week ago, even though with all Jamie and I had discovered, it seemed much longer. I must have looked fairly ill after the preacher’s sermon for it to have made such an impression on her. Briefly, I wondered how many others of the preacher’s flock had noticed me, pale and sick-looking, practically running from the “queers are going to hell” tirade.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m much better, thank you,” I replied, smiling at her. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with Jamie. I was excited about what I had found and couldn’t wait to share it with him. I wanted to talk to him and see if it answered as many questions for him as it did for me. However, Jamie was perfectly at ease and sat down at the kitchen table after grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. Giving him a meaningful look behind his mother’s back, which wasn’t difficult, as she was a rather large woman, Jamie looked back at me questioningly. Sighing, I pulled out a chair next to him and sat to have chips and a Coke with him. He was right, of course; we didn’t want to seem too eager, and that was his afternoon ritual.

  As his mama tied her hair back with a strip of some kind of cloth, she prattled on about a sweet elderly woman at church she wanted to take supper to. When she moved her hands, I saw the strip of cloth must be denim because it matched her long denim skirt. It never ceased to amaze me how this woman always wore such long skirts, no matter how hot it was. Carolyn was perfectly comfortable in a T-shirt and cut-off shorts, but as far as I had seen, Mrs. Mayfield and a few of her church friends never even wore pants, much less shorts. Apparently, God wasn’t a fan of jeans either. Thankfully, that didn’t apply to Jamie. I wondered if Mr. Mayfield had interceded on his behalf.

  Finally, Jamie put the chips away, and we went upstairs to start our homework. When we walked into his bedroom, I pulled his door almost closed and sat down on the bed near his desk. Jamie started to pull books out of his bag and laid them on the desk, but I put a hand on his arm.

  “I have something for you,” I told him quietly, but before I could open my bag to give him the printed papers, he caught my wrist in his hand. Glancing at the door, I looked back to give him a tentative smile.

  “I bet you do,” he said with a smirk, his voice low. The desire in his voice escalated the nervous excitement in my stomach, and I was too stunned to say anything. Then his lips were on mine. I moaned at the swiftness and urgency of his kiss. It was almost like he had been waiting all weekend to kiss me, to touch me. For all I knew, he had.

  “Shhhhh…. Mama’s right downstairs,” he said quietly as we broke apart. My body’s response to his kiss took me by surprise. The attraction was definitely there, but to get so involved in the kiss with his mother downstairs was dangerous. I didn’t really know what had gotten into me. It seemed that with Jamie, I just lost track of my surroundings. Are all relationships, all attractions, so intense? Jamie didn’t seem to lose his control with me. I didn’t have time to really ponder what that meant.

  “Sorry,” I whispered and then cleared my throat as I pulled the papers out of my bag. “I really do have something for you.” He looked sheepish for a moment, and it was my turn to smirk. Taking the papers from me, he sat down on his bed and started to read. I did not interrupt him as he took his time getting through all the pages. I just sat quietly and watched his changing facial expressions. Mostly, he looked puzzled, but a few times, he smirked at the content and even outright smiled. I couldn’t help but smile with him. When he was finished, he handed them back to me.

  “Well, that helps. I mean, if the pastors and priests and such can’t agree, then it’s really a matter of interpretation,” he remarked quietly. “Did you find anything else?” I knew he meant something like the reference materials I’d given him, but I couldn’t help but remember all the images from the site I’d found, and I blushed scarlet. He looked at me wide-eyed. “What else did you find?” I looked at the floor, and he pulled me to stand just behind the bedroom door so that if anyone opened it wider, it would hit him and stop them from walking in on us.

  Pressing his body against mine, he whispered in my ear, “Did you find something naughty, Brian?”

  I swallowed once and nodded. My heart was pounding, and I was more than a little embarrassed talking to him about this. I mean, I’d kind of admitted to looking at porn on the Internet. Only creepy guys in their basements did that, right? Before I could feel too weird about it, he asked, “Will you tell me about what you found?”

  In a hushed voice, I told him about the images I had seen on the screen, not mentioning the fact that the blond boy reminded me so much of him that I’d masturbated to the image. I felt ashamed talking about it in the first place without telling him I wanted him to do those things to me. Being purposely vague, I described the boys and their positions. As I spoke, I felt his breathing start to accelerate on my cheek. With his body against mine, I felt him getting hard as his erection pressed against my stomach, which tightened in excitement. He was several inches taller than I was, and standing like that, he was pressed right against my navel.

  “Jamie!” Mrs. Mayfield called up the stairs, and we jumped apart as if on fire. Our faces flamed slightly in embarrassment and guilt when we looked at each other. Then, he moved so I could come out from behind the door. As he opened it, he called downstairs.

  “Yes, Mama?” His voice was a little higher-pitched than usual, excited. I took several deep breaths, willing my erection to go away.

  “Will Brian be staying for dinner?” He looked at me, and I shook my head vigorously, as I didn’t think I’d be able to stand being at the dinner table with Jamie and his parents after what had just happened. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my face impassive; I’d blush and stammer, and they’d know that something was up. I was probably being paranoid, but I was still hard and wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “No, he’s gonna head home,” he yelled back and then pulled the door closed again after hearing her acknowledgement. He looked at me for a long time. “Are you going to run again?”

  I shook my head slowly. Sure, I was nervous. Our relationship was moving to a whole different level. But I couldn’t pretend to be saddened by it. He took my hand and led me over to his bed. As soon as we were seated,
he let go of my hand, and the disappointment flared within me. We sat there, side by side, neither of us apparently willing to break the silence. He was looking at his hands in his lap. I turned slightly, pulling my knee up between us so I was facing him, and then he did the same.

  “Jamie, you and I have been friends since we were eleven. For a while now, I’ve been feeling something else for you. I like you, as more than just a friend, and that scares the hell out of me. It scares me because if I like you that way, it means I’m gay, and I don’t want to be gay. It scares me because if this doesn’t work out, I could lose you, and I don’t want that to happen. I have to guess you feel the same way about me, since you kissed me on Friday?” I paused, and he nodded, and I felt a wave of happiness wash through me at his admission. He still looked nervous, almost anxious, like what I’d said hadn’t truly registered. “We have to hide this from everybody. If anyone finds out, it could be really bad for us.” Then, to my surprise, rather than being more upset at the thought of things going badly for us, he looked relieved, and maybe even a little shy. It really looked like he wanted whatever it was that was happening between us to work, and for the first time since I’d started to suspect I was gay, I felt some measure of hope.

  Putting his hand on my face, he traced the contours of my cheek, his eyes holding mine, and after a while he spoke. “It’s worth it. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way you do. I would rather have this”—he gestured quickly between us—“as a secret than not have it at all.” I nodded, telling him I wanted it too. Then, at the same time, we both leaned forward slowly, and I closed my eyes, feeling the tender touch of his kiss. It was sealing our promise to each other, the promise that we would try.

  I HAD thought the rest of the week would be nearly impossible to endure, but it wasn’t. The knowledge that I wasn’t alone, that Jamie was right there beside me, made things much easier. The week I had spent trying to hide from the one person who knew me better than I knew myself had been exhausting. Jamie and I did, however, spend the week being extraordinarily careful about our interactions, sometimes ridiculously so. When I reached over during woodshop on Tuesday for the sandpaper and our hands touched, I jerked back like his skin was made of hot coal. He looked at me curiously, but then went on with his project.

  I found myself distracted by the way his hands moved over the wood. The pads of his fingertips glided gracefully over the grainy surface, seeking out imperfections and finding none. I had a fleeting image of his fingers inspecting the contours of my body just as thoroughly, and then forced my mind to focus on something else. It wouldn’t have been good to sport wood, even if it was woodshop.

  For the next several days, we continued to avoid physical contact and worked to keep our conversations and expressions neutral. To be honest, it was tiring to think about every step, every movement all day long and wonder how others would interpret it. By Friday, I was ecstatic to be out of school and away from the prying eyes that seemed to follow Jamie and me everywhere we went. I sounded paranoid because I was paranoid; our whole lives could change in an instant if anyone found out. I didn’t know how I was going to live like that every day until the school year ended. Once that last day was behind us, we could hide over the summer, in each other’s arms, until classes started in the fall. We were both juniors; we had one more year until we would be free.

  I came in through the back door on Friday afternoon, and Carolyn smiled at me. I smiled back, still feeling guilty about the previous Friday. The lies I had told her about why I left gym had caused me to not only clean the gutters for Richard but scrub the oven for Carolyn. My sweet foster mother had given me an odd look as I knelt in front of the ancient stove with the oven cleaner and a rag, but she’d long since gotten used to my eccentricities. When I was first placed with them, I used to clean at random during all hours of the day and night. The therapist the state had hired to evaluate me before I came to the Schreibers’ said it was an involuntary reaction to stress. All I knew was that it took my mind off things and made my foster parents happy, which was what mattered to me.

  That weekend was going to be both heaven and hell for me. Jamie and his parents had gone on a church retreat, so I wasn’t going to see him until school on Monday. I hoped that would give me enough time without his ever-pervasive presence to work out what was going on in my head. I was going to try to work out a plan on how to react around him in front of other people without losing my train of thought. Not only did I need to work things out in my own head, but I also wanted to talk to him about both my fears and my feelings. The problem, the hell part of the equation, lay in his absence. I was going to miss him terribly.

  Honestly, I was going to miss his soft breath just behind my ear as he tried to gain control of himself after a meaningful kiss. I was going to miss his quirky grins at the most insignificant things and the way he tapped his fingers in a senseless rhythm on his knee while waiting for me to respond to a question. There were thousands of little things about Jamie that contributed to the incredibly amazing person that he was. I was going to miss each and every one.

  Friday night I passed the time by doing every single piece of homework I’d been assigned, finally falling exhausted into bed around two in the morning. I stayed in bed for a long time the next morning, holding on to the dream of him, the essence of him, for as long as I could. By Saturday night, I was anxious. Even the tremendous amount of yard work I’d volunteered to help Richard with could not exhaust me enough to make me relax. My body was tired, but my mind raced. With everything that had happened in the last week, I felt anxious without him.

  Unable to concentrate on anything specific, I lay on my bed. Jamie’s face swam before my eyes, and I just wanted to touch him and hear his voice. Any doubt about my feelings for Jamie had disappeared that day as I struggled to keep myself from going to his house and sitting in the tree house just to feel close to him. My biggest fear was that he would come to the realization that the risk of us together wasn’t worth it. He was surrounded by people who hated and feared people like us. What if they convince him that what we’re doing is wrong? What if he comes back and doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Or worse, what if he comes back and hates me just like the rest of them?

  By Sunday afternoon I had started to make Carolyn edgy. She gave me ten dollars and told me to go to the arcade down on Fifth Street. When the phone rang on Sunday evening, Carolyn gave me a strange look as I nearly vaulted over a low table in order to pick up the receiver—so much for subtlety. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was going through his head. It seemed what little confidence I had gained in the last few weeks had dissipated in his absence.

  “Hello?” I asked breathlessly before the phone was even all the way up to my ear. Deep down, I had known it would be Jamie. I briefly wondered if he felt the same uneasiness I did when we weren’t together.

  “Hey, Bri, we just got in,” he said jovially, like there was no one else he would rather talk to in that moment than me. My chest filled with a warmth I had never felt, and the anxious knot in my stomach started to loosen. I imagined him reclining on one of his kitchen chairs, his face lit up with one of his brilliant smiles.

  “How was your outing?” I asked with mild interest. If he was calling me as soon as he got home, sounding like he’d really missed me, then obviously they hadn’t changed his mind about wanting to be with me, as I had feared almost constantly throughout the last forty-eight hours.

  “It was okay.”

  I could almost hear the shrug I was sure came with that statement. Knowing Jamie as I did, that meant they had talked about some tough subjects for him, but he was just playing it casual.

  “I was wondering if you could come by before school tomorrow,” he whispered.

  “Sure, is everything okay?” I asked, my heart suddenly in my throat. Maybe he isn’t playing casual; maybe he wants out.

  “I missed you; I just want to see you,” he explained, still whispering. Pure, unadulterated joy filled me a
t his admission. “I’ll meet you in the tree house.”

  “I’d love to spend some time alone with you before school tomorrow,” I told him honestly. Before hanging up, we talked for a few more minutes, at normal volume, about mundane things like homework and a new song he’d heard on the radio. I almost floated up the stairs when it was time to go to bed. In just a few more hours, I was finally going to be in his arms again.

  THE next morning, I rushed through my routine and, before running full speed out the back door, called to Carolyn that I had a project due that I needed to finish. I wasn’t sure she’d bought it, but right then, it didn’t matter. When I got to the Mayfields’, I opened the back gate quietly and sprinted for the tree house ladder, feeling like some kind of spy. Not wanting Jamie’s parents to catch me, to have to explain why I was in their tree house, I bolted up the ladder and was unsurprised to find it empty. Jamie always took more time to get ready for school than I did.

  Glancing around the small space, I noticed a worn quilt lying in the corner that I didn’t remember having been there during our rainy-day revelations. Just as I was about to go investigate, I heard Jamie climbing the ladder to the tree house. Moving back from the entrance, I saw his head pop up through the trapdoor, and I smiled. He smiled back and pulled himself up, careful not to rip his good jeans on one of the exposed nails jutting from the floorboards. Even though that was the style, his mother would have been furious if he had ripped perfectly good jeans.

  “Hi,” he said, almost shyly, like he was as scared as I was about our secret meeting. There was no reason to be scared, of course. Jamie and I were generally described as inseparable, but the guilt I felt, like we weren’t supposed to be doing this, weighed on me. The purpose of the meeting, affection and attraction, and possibly its location were what made it scandalous.