by Steve Berman
“Thanks, but no. I know where I’m going. You can have a turn on the way back, if you want.”
The hull whispered through reeds and lily pads. They reached a shallow place where cattails and arrowleaf reached over their heads. Chase put out the anchor and handed Shane a headlamp with a red filter over the lens. Shane remembered those from star-watching expeditions with his father.
“Sorry I only have the one light,” Chase said. “You can use it. Take my notebook and check off the frogs as I call them. You’ll get the hang of it pretty soon.”
Shane didn’t hear anything at first. Then he became aware of an intermittent chirping and trilling.
“Those are the Gray Tree Frogs,” Chase said in a low voice. “Now hear that ‘plunk, plunk’? Kind of like a flat guitar string? That’s a Green Frog.”
Shane listened harder. “That one?”
“No, that really loud one, like a honk, those are the Bullfrogs. But put a check mark for the Bullfrog. There! That was the Green Frog.”
Shane got interested in spite of himself. It turned into a Frog Jeopardy game, with the two of them competing to push an imaginary buzzer first and name that frog. But even with liberal applications of Deep Woods Off, the mosquitoes located them and passed the word.
Shane stood it as long as he could, but when he had to spit out bugs, he reached his limit.
“Jesus H., how do you do this every night? I’ll be covered in welts.”
Chase shrugged. “Used to it, I guess. Maybe they don’t like me as much as they like you.” He glanced at his luminous watch. “Just another fifteen minutes and we’ll be done for the night. I think we’re doing pretty good. I was hoping to maybe hear a Pickerel Frog. They sound kind of like marbles clicking together. But they’re rare. There are actually only thirteen species of frogs in Michigan, and really only the big three I told you about are mating right now.”
“Mating! You didn’t tell me that’s what we were listening for! You mean the frogs are getting it on and we’re listening? That’s gross.”
“No, no, we’re just listening to the frog singles bar. Those calls are what they call ‘advertising.’ The frog is trying to lure potential mates. They’re like, ‘Here I am! Where are you?’ Or maybe, ‘Hey, I’m a Green Frog. How ’bout it?’”
Shane realized he’d been hearing a low buzzing noise for the past few minutes. It was getting louder. Then his heart jumped and he yelled involuntarily, as a bright light seemed to be coming right at them and the sound became unmistakably the noise of a motor right next to them. The other craft swerved around them at the last minute, leaving a wash that agitated the reeds and rocked the rowboat wildly. He heard laughter fading away into the dark, and a motor revving in the distance.
“What the fuck,” he gasped, clutching the gunwales.
“Assholes,” Chase said.
“Jesus Christ, what was that?” Shane said.
“Jet Skis,” Chase said. “That’s the second time they’ve done that. If I had a wild guess, I’d say it was Jason Simms and a couple of his guys. He’s got the new Jet Ski. It’s totally illegal to ride them at night, but I can’t report him because I never know if it’s really him. Who else would be that big a douche, though. Assholes.”
He reached for the notebook. “We may as well quit now. We’d have to wait too long for the frogs to come back. They’ve been scared straight, for now.”
Shane laughed shakily. “Scared straight? Are there gay frogs? The Gay Tree Frog? Is that what you said?”
As he packed up and reached for the oars, Chase’s legs tangled clumsily with Shane’s. Their fingers brushed as Chase grabbed the notebook. He jerked hastily away.
“Homosexuality is not uncommon in the animal kingdom,” he said repressively. “But I don’t believe it’s been observed in frogs. They don’t have mammalian sexual organs, you know. Both sexes have a cloaca, which—”
“Jesus, stop now!” Shane said. “I almost got run down by a rogue Jet Ski. I don’t need a lecture on frog reproduction. Gross.”
Homosexuality in the animal kingdom, he thought. Who talks like that! His cheeks burned, from the shock and from suddenly wondering if Chase was trying to tell him something. Like, that he knew Shane was gay. Who would have told him? Probably most of the kids at school knew, but Shane had never bothered to announce it to anyone up here. Maybe Scott talked, and it got around. Scott never did know when to keep his mouth shut.
Shane didn’t try to take the oars. This was Chase’s goddamn project. Let him do the work. The Jet Ski encounter had made him forget why he came out here in the first place, but now he remembered. He hadn’t had any time to soften Chase up, but if he didn’t mention it now, he might not get another chance.
“Listen, Chase, I wanted to ask you about that party,” he said. “I really want to go. I wish you’d come with me.”
“But your parents said no,” Chase said.
“Yeah—but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Come on, we could just head up the river into the state park, park the boat and walk over to the beach. Spend just an hour or so, just enough to have some fun. We’d be home before they know it.”
“I don’t want to go,” Chase said. “Your parents have been really cool to me. I’m not gonna lie to them. Anyway, I have my observations to complete. I promised my uncle.”
He sounded as dorkishly deadpan as ever, but Shane could tell he was agitated because he was splashing with the oars.
“Well, okay then, you could just drop me off. Drop me off, do your observations, I’ll call you and then you can pick me up and we’ll go home. No harm, no foul. Right? Everybody’s happy.”
Chase was silent for a long time. Shane kept quiet, hoping he’d talk himself into it.
“I don’t get you,” Chase said.
“What do you mean? I want to go to a bitchin’ beach party. What’s weird about that? I’m normal!”
“No, I don’t get why you want to hang out with those guys, anyway. If you don’t have the clothes and the shoes and the Jet Ski and the trip to Hawaii, they’re not gonna notice you. They think they’re all that. You aren’t like them.”
It stung, it was too close to the truth. It made Shane cruel.
“So who do you think I should be like, then—a Swamp Thing like you?”
He couldn’t see Chase’s face in the darkness, but he felt the boat jump in the water as Chase yanked harder on the oars. Chase’s voice was still steady.
“Just stop caring so much what they think.”
“Oh, right. Like you? You totally care! You suck up to my parents like whoa! Maybe you want to be me, is that it?” He wanted to turn his back and stomp away, but he couldn’t, because he was stuck in a boat.
Chase quit rowing. They drifted in the middle of the lake, like two astronauts lost in a rift, stuck in the same space capsule.
“Yeah, sure, that’s it. I just want to be you, because you’re so cool.”
He was mad now. He was out of breath, and his voice shook. “Yeah, maybe we should switch. You can have my perfect parents and their perfect stuff, and go to the perfect college and be a clone like my perfect brother. And I could have the parents who would do stuff with me and actually notice my existence. But no, that wouldn’t work. They’d never trade Normal Shane for a geek like me. So forget it—you can have my life if you want it so bad, and I’ll just—I’ll just be screwed. Ah, fuck it.”
The boat spun slowly. Shane couldn’t believe he was having a fight with a guy he hadn’t even known last week. Chase kept saying things that actually meant something. It was like he could see into Shane, and knew where to punch him so it would hurt. Why couldn’t he just talk about nothing, like a normal person? This wasn’t normal.
Chase picked up the oars and spun the boat back toward shore. The night was silent, except for the sound of his breath huffing.
“Oh damn, I forgot to text my mother,” Shane said. Chase didn’t say anything.
The boat grated on the pebbly shore
in front of Shane’s cottage. Chase got out without looking back and went into the house. Shane heard him say, “Oh, hi, Mrs. Kerry.” Apparently his mom was still up. When he went into the living room, she was curled in the shabby arm chair. Chase was already gone.
“Mom, hey, I’m sorry I forgot to text you,” he said. “We were just listening to the frogs and stuff and—”
His mother closed her fat paperback novel. “I actually got so wrapped up in this book I forgot to check the time,” she said. “Oh well, it’s not midnight yet and you’re home safe and sound.”
“Okay, cool then, I guess I’ll go on upstairs. I’m pretty tired.”
His mom started to smile and nod, but then peered up into his face and caught him by the arm as he tried to slip past.
“Are you sure everything is all right, honey? You look upset.”
“I’m fine,” Shane said. But he could see he wasn’t convincing her. She glanced up at the narrow stairs where Chase had gone, and lowered her voice.
“Is there something—well, you know, going on between you and—” She nodded toward the stairs.
Shane just stared at her. This is one of those moments they describe in books, he thought. Where the blood drains from your face.
“Mom! For God’s sake! No. There is nothing going on. Nothing like that! Nothing at all.” He also lowered his voice, to a venomous whisper. “Except that I can’t stand the guy. Mom, for God’s sake, he isn’t even gay. Just—please, would you mind your own business? This is so embarrassing I can’t believe it.”
He tried again to leave, but she wouldn’t let him go.
“You know you could tell me if there was something like that,” she said. “I hope you would. I know I’m not the best at talking about things like this, and I guess neither is your father, but we know you’re growing up now, and—”
Shane rolled his eyes. This was definitely one of the stranger evenings in his life.
“Seriously, Mom. Not happening. Your houseguest is driving me crazy, but no. Not in a good way! So can I just go to bed now?”
She reached up and gave his hair a little pat. “All right, honey. See you in the morning.”
All Shane wanted was for Chase to be asleep. But he walked in on Chase pulling his shirt off. He had his back to Shane. Shane’s eyes widened slightly. Nice muscles. All that rowing had been good for something. And tan. Shane couldn’t help wondering how far the tan went.
“Bathroom’s yours,” Chase said without turning around. When Shane came out, Chase was rolled in his blanket, under the cowboy coverlet. Shane turned out the light and tried to pretend he was asleep.
“Look,” Chase said, voice slightly muffled by his pillow. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I’ll drop you off at the beach tomorrow if that’s what you want.”
“But you—okay. Thanks.” Don’t ask questions. Don’t make him change his mind, Shane told himself. Maybe this was Chase’s way of apologizing.
Chase rolled over in a great thrashing of blankets.
“I never said I wouldn’t. I just—I was trying to make a point about those guys.” He sighed. He had the blanket pulled almost all the way over his head. Shane could hardly see the shape of him in the dark. It was easier to talk to people you couldn’t see.
“What do you have against them, anyway?”
“I thought you knew, but maybe you don’t.” Chase sighed again. “Before my mom called your mom, she called Jason’s mom. They made up some lame-ass excuse why I couldn’t stay. Not that I wanted to. I used to hang with Jason when we were up here. But the thing is, once they found out I was gay…I mean, the guy’s a douche anyway. It’s not like we were really friends. Those guys are totally shallow. I don’t even want to talk to them. It’s just…awkward. When you talked about gay frogs, I thought you were talking about me. It’s the kind of shit that—”
“Wait, what?” Shane interrupted. He hadn’t thought this could get any weirder than it already was. “You’re gay? I thought you were talking about me. I thought one of those guys must have told you.”
“Told me what?” Chase said.
“That I’m gay, dumbass.” Shane was trying to keep his voice down. Having his parents overhear this little chat would be like the perfect storm of aggravation.
Chase rose up on one elbow.
“You, Mr. Normal? You’re putting me on, right?”
“No, I’m not putting you on. Jesus.”
Chase flopped back onto his back and slapped one hand over his eyes. “Well. That’s…awkward. So you weren’t mocking me with the gay frogs comment.”
“No. For fuck’s sake, I was just joking. Just saying any dumb shit that rolled out my mouth. Because that Jet Ski about scared the crap out of me.”
Chase snorted. “Yeah, I just about pissed myself. That was crazy.”
Shane was quiet for a minute, trying to absorb the latest shock. “You know,” he said finally, “maybe the reason they don’t like you isn’t that you’re gay. Maybe you’re just too weird. Maybe they’re scared of you.”
There was silence on the other side of the room, and Shane wondered if he’d overestimated Chase’s social skills. Maybe he truly couldn’t take a joke. Then he heard smothered laughter. “That could be it,” Chase said. “I like it.” Then he growled “Swamp Thing” in a deep bass voice.
“Yeah, okay,” Shane said. “Going to sleep now.”
He didn’t go to sleep, though. Not for a long time. He was pretty sure Chase was asleep because he could hear Chase snoring gently. But Shane lay there with his eyes wide open, thinking WTF. Thinking: What else does the whole world know that I don’t? And: Why didn’t someone tell me?
*
Shane thought the next day would be super awkward, but it wasn’t. Chase insisted on cooking breakfast—pancakes and eggs. Shane’s mom gushed over his ability to keep sunny-side-up yolks unbroken.
“Good job, Chase!” Shane said in a perky, teacher-like voice, and Chase actually got it and rolled his eyes at Shane behind his mom’s back.
They spent the day doing things that didn’t require a lot of talking. They took the kayaks out and Shane enjoyed showing Chase that he knew a few tricks Chase didn’t. They landed on the state park side, where the dunes were, and Shane got Chase to pose for some sketches. Chase kept talking, even when he was facedown in the sand so Shane could capture the lines of his back. Shane admitted to himself that he didn’t really mind all that much. It meant that Chase had to listen when Shane wanted to geek out about the difference between art and illustration, and how he wanted to have his own show before he graduated.
“I know this is awkward,” Chase mumbled into the sand. “It’s not like we have to be BFFs because we’re the only gay kids on this side of the lake. Anyway, my parents will get home tomorrow and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to draw you,” Shane said.
Shane captured the fluid lines of Chase’s arms stretched out over his head, as if he were diving. He smudged in shadows to suggest the curve of muscles under tanned skin. It felt as if he were touching Chase with his eyes. He wondered what it would feel like to touch him for real. His skin would be hot from the sun beating down and the gritty caress of heated sand.
“Stay right there,” Shane said. To distract himself, he quickly switched to his watercolors. He captured Chase’s flesh in the warm tones of sand, wavering as if seen through shallow water. He layered blue and green into Chase’s tousled hair, let his hands spear out ahead of him like fins. Instead of the jeans that gapped away from Chase’s hip, casting a blue shadow, he splotched Chase’s lower body with green and brown tendrils like water weed. The rest of the page was the colors of water. What had been a boy was a sleek stripe of movement, one with the lights and shadows.
Chase sat up and brushed sand off his chest. “I’m getting broiled,” he complained.
The paint was still wet. Shane hadn’t had a chance to close the sketchbook and hide it away. Chase reached for it.
; “Let me see.”
He looked, then looked sideways at Shane. His eyes were deep, for sure. Even if he was just Chase.
“Can I have this?” he said.
“No, I made it for myself. Part of my oeuvre.”
“Then you can make another one for you. I want this one. I like it. Portrait of me as a Swamp Thing.”
“I’ll make another one for you.”
“Nope. This one. That’s my price for taking you to your dumbass party.”
Their fingers met on the page, smudging both with the same colors.
“All right, all right—you can have it. When it dries.”
Shane felt hot, breathless. The sparkle of sun on water was too dazzling. He needed shade and a cool drink. He followed Chase to the beached kayaks and paddled home.
*
Before supper, Shane’s mom got him alone on the pretext of having him carry the laundry basket upstairs.
“I had to do some grocery shopping today,” she said. “So I went into town.” She had a plastic bag from the pharmacy in her hand. “And, well, I know you said everything was fine last night. But I just thought—you know, in case—”
She held the bag out for him to take. Shane wanted no part of it. Suddenly he knew what was in there. His mother had little red spots of embarrassment in her cheeks.
“Mom!” Shane said. “This is so totally unnecessary. I’m prepared. Not that I need to be, because nothing is going on.”
“Well,” his mom said, reverting to her normal Mom-voice, “if you’re talking about that condom you’ve been carrying in your pants pocket for months now, I think you should know that you put it through the wash at least once. That thing has been around the block and needs to be retired. Now take this and stop being so stubborn.”
Reluctantly, Shane accepted the bag. “Mom, this is so embarrassing.”
“Oh, honey. It’s normal to think about these things. People didn’t talk about it when I was your age, but I wish they had. I just want to know that you’ll take care of yourself.”
“Okay, Mom, I promise I’ll do that should the day ever come. But this is not that day!”
