They leave the stage as the bullhorn comes back. “The Gator Baiters, everybody.” She turns and gestures to stage right. The guys come back and bow again to deafening applause. As they turn to leave, she says, “Give us fifteen to reset, and we’ll bring on the Madmen. Thank you, guys and gals.”
The lights in the club brighten a bit. The noise of conversation increases. I can overhear teeny boppers going wild over the Gator Baiters. Jeep and the guys come on to cart their gear off. And the crowd roars again. The guys stop what they are doing and give a quick bow.
When the stage is cleared, the Madmen start their setup.
Jeep’s way to the table is blocked by girls pawing him, asking for his autograph. And yes, a couple of them grabbing his face and planting big kisses on him. Flustered, he sits. “They liked us, didn’t they?”
I’m surprised he’s not crowing, shouting from the rooftops. But I look at him, and I realize underneath his Jeep-ness, he was worried about how they’d be received. He may be on most of the time, but deep down, there’s a sensitive side.
“Like?” I say. “Try love. Try adore. Try worship. You didn’t get that from all that noise? From those girls just now?”
He smiles, an almost bashful, aw shucks smile. “Thanks, Dew. That means a lot to me.” He touches my hand, and an electricity flows from his body into mine. “By the way, like I said before, you’re quite the snappy dresser tonight. What gives?”
“All for you, Jeep. All for you.” I like pleasing him. I like saying nice things to him. Simply put, I like him.
“Let me get you another Coke, Dew.” He jumps up, and before I can give him money, he bounds away. The other guys have joined their girlfriends or wives. One of them leans over and says, “Whud ya think?”
“You guys are great,” I say. “Jeep’s riding the clouds.”
“He should be. He’s behind all of this. He got us the audition, picked our name. And that song he introduced as written by one of the band members? It’s his.”
“Wow!” I say. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t. Jeep is very humble. I’d bet he’s never told you how much he thinks of you.”
“What?”
“He never stops talking about you, Dewey. Never.”
I think about what I just heard as Jeep comes back with a Grapette for himself, another Nehi for me. He plops them on the table, then sits.
“Wait till they hear the next set. If they liked the first one, they’ll go insane when they hear us again.” He is so pumped I want to reach out and touch him. Like all those times in class when I had those crushes on other guys. Weird.
“Jeep, did you write that song you just sang?”
He looks at me like I’ve dropped a dump-truck load of bricks on him. “Who spilled the beans?”
I point to his bandmate at the next table.
“I don’t like to toot my own horn, Dew. I just let the music speak for me.”
“Well, it really spoke. That song was better than any of the Beatles numbers you guys did. Lennon and McCartney have nothin’ on you, Jeep.”
He impulsively leans over and pecks my cheek. “Thanks, Moonbeam.” Then he gets all flustered. “I mean Moon Dew. No, Mornin’ Dew. Ah, shit! I’m sorry, guy.”
“Sorry? What for? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I’ve never been kissed by a guy, but it was just a little peck, and with Jeep’s sense of humor, I’d bet he thought he was being funny, then he got embarrassed.
He sits, quiet. A look of confusion darkens his face. In one gulp, he swigs off his Grapette bottle. Holding the empty up high, he spouts, “Some good stuff, huh? Get you another one?” And he rises.
I hold up my three-quarters full bottle and say, “No, I’m good.”
He comes back to the table and immediately says, “How was last night’s rehearsal?”
I truncate the rehearsal so I have time to tell him the diner story. As I talk, his eyes grow misty. When I finish, he says, “That’s the most beautiful story I’ve heard in a lifetime. I know all the black cast members were over the moon happy. When you’re an outsider in this world and something like that happens, you never forget it.”
The woman announces the Madmen. They come on, do their set. They are good, and the crowd goes wild, but somehow, it seems like those kids are just biding time until the Gator Baiters’s second set.
After another intermission, Jeep and his band take center stage again. Well, that stage is so little center stage is about all there is. The Gator Baiters take their audience into a frenzy once again. After two amazing, loud rock numbers, Jeep motions for the kids to quieten down. Then he speaks. “My band members just told me backstage I’m too modest. That you guys want to know who wrote that original song in our first set. That I need to ’fess up. It was I—as my English teacher says is proper.” He delivers the last in a British accent, perfect John Lennon imitation. The audience laughs. “Well, this next number is also mine. I wrote it just two days ago. It’s still a little rough, and the guys may forget a chord or two, but it comes from the heart. It’s called, ‘Morning Dew.’”
My mouth drops as Jeep begins the most gentle, beautiful guitar riff ever devised. He leans into the mic and begins to sing, quietly, soulfully. The song is not a love song. But it is. It’s a tribute to the wonders of the world and all its glory and….
One person.
Who graces the world.
Chapter 6
I SIT. Listening. Analyzing every word. I don’t know what to think. Is this song about me? It can’t be. Jeep and I haven’t known each other very long. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough for him to know this much about this guy in his song. But each word, each phrase captures me. What’s going on here?
I’m completely imprisoned in thought as the Gator Baiters finish their set. The cacophony that erupts as they play their final chord is what paroles me back to reality. I recover fast enough to join the applause. I hold my hands up and direct them to Jeep, and to Jeep only. I paste a huge grin on my face, though I’m not sure how I feel. I just know Jeep deserves this praise. That he needs it.
The band bows, leaves the stage, comes back to bow again, and even a third time before the crowd settles down. The lights brighten in the club, and Jeep and his band come back out to collect their gear. Jeep walks directly to me. The girls who accosted him before left right after the set. They couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old, so no doubt they have a Saturday curfew.
“Did you like your song?” He beams. And I distinctly hear him say your, not my song. I guess that settles part of my quandary. But we still need to talk. About the song and about us.
“It’s a beautiful song, Jeep.”
“You do know it’s about you?” Jeep, the eager puppy, paws out, begging for more.
“I figured that out. Jeep, we need to talk.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. The guys said they’d cart my gear for me. Let’s get outta here.”
I stand. I can’t read the look on his face. What is he trying to say to me with his eyes?
The air is brisk and hits us like a blue Norther as we step into the night. Quickly, we head for the Chevy.
His groupies are getting into a station wagon driven by a man—a dad, I guess. One of them sees Jeep and yelps. He keeps walking, doesn’t acknowledge her.
As Jeep jumps in the passenger side after I pull the lock, he rubs his jacketless arms up and down. “Whoa, doggies! I didn’t know it was turning so cold. This afternoon, it was short-sleeve weather.”
“North Texas.”
We look at each other, and for a moment, we forget the song, the talk. In unison, we say, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute. It will change.” And we both crack up.
I start the car so the heater will get warm. Thank God Daddy fixed the heater. He worked on it the other night while I took Mother’s car to rehearsal. “Okay, let’s talk.”
“Not here,” Jeep says quietly.
“I
f not here, where?” I make my voice businesslike. I don’t want to let emotions cloud the issues we need to air out.
“My place. Ma went to Glen Rose for the weekend. Her older sister lives there. My cousin had a baby this week, and Ma went over to see it. She won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Your place it is.”
The heater starts spewing warm air into the coupe. And the silence on the way to Jeep’s intensifies the stifling heat. I could turn the heater down. Or off. But it doesn’t occur to me as I plan my strategy. I like Jeep. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I want our friendship to stay intact. But I’m not that way. And if Jeep is, he can’t be feeling like that toward me. That can’t happen. Daddy would kill me.
I pull into Jeep’s driveway. We exit the car and make our way up the step to his front porch. He takes a key from his pocket, slips it into the lock on the door, turns it, and opens the door. He gestures for me to enter the room. As he follows me into the tiny living room, he says, “Have a seat.” I sit on the sofa, his mother’s bed. “Want a Coke?” I shake my head.
The air is heavy. Jeep seems afraid. We’ve said so little since we left the Box, I don’t know what he could be afraid of. But his fear infuses me. This is unlike any time we’ve been together. I’ve got to make the first move, for Jeep’s sake, for my sake.
“Sit down, Jeep, so we can talk.” He gently sits in the chair catty-cornered next to the sofa. Strange things pop into my head when I’m dreading something. I think, That’s the first time I’ve known you you haven’t plopped, sidled, or landed like a plane plummeting to earth.
We sit in silence. The air is so heavy it is hard to breathe. I wait, trying for deep breaths, clutching the shorter ones. Is he going to say anything? Or is it up to me to bring it up? I want him to just blurt out that the song is about an imaginary friend. I want him to say he loves morning dew, he loves wet grass, he loves the dawn, he loves crickets chirping in the morning, he loves the smell of fresh cool air in the early hours.
“I love you, Dew.” He gets up from the chair. Sits on the couch. Next to me. Does nothing. Says nothing more. Just sits.
I’d been staring at my hands. I look away from them and focus on a spider web in the corner of the room. The spider is still spinning it, high above us. Working his magic, forming an intricate web. In all my eighteen years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a spider actually working before. It fascinates me how very delicate and yet complex a spider web is. Sort of like relationships, I think, but I banish that thought.
“Did you hear me, Dew? I love you.”
He says it again. And I see the spider fall, hanging by a thread. Funny. That’s how I feel at this very moment.
“Jeep.”
The spider makes his way back up the thread. But I can’t. I’m speechless. Millimeter by millimeter, the spider crawls, desperately making his way to his web, trying to reattach what has broken away. I stare at him. I hear Jeep breathe. But I stare at Mr. Spider. Finally, he gets the thread attached and begins work on another that will weave his beautiful web.
“Jeep, you can’t be in love with me. It’s too soon.” I avoid the I’m not that way part. “We haven’t known each other that long.” I continue to stare at the spider. If I look at Jeep, the web I’m trying to weave, the safety net I’m building, will fall apart, I’m afraid.
“You think my asking you for a ride that morning was because I missed the bus?”
“Huh?” My mind reels. I’m falling. Plummeting from my web.
“I planned that. Every morning for months I watched you pass by. That morning, I wasn’t late for the bus, I was early. I had to catch that ride with you.”
“Jeep, I don’t understand. Why would you want to do that?”
“Dew, you remember the day the choir sang for assembly? That parody you did of West Side Story? You played a Russian trying to destroy the US government?”
“The Mad Magazine thing? East Side Story? Yeah, I remember. All the songs from West Side Story were rewritten. It was fun.” The spider is falling again.
“Well, one look at you, and I knew.”
The spider is struggling this time. The thread he’s hanging from is too weak.
“Knew what?” Come on, Mr. Spider, you can do it.
“Dew, look at me.” He takes my chin in his hand and turns my head. Our eyes meet. “I knew you were the one for me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” But I know. I see it in his eyes. And the thread I’m hanging on by is weakening.
“Dew, I’m gay. There, I said it. Ma knows, and she doesn’t care. She says she just wants me to be happy. And you make me happy.”
His mother knows? And she doesn’t care? My mother might understand. I don’t know. But Daddy?
Jeep continues. “I know I’m a goofball. I act crazy. I’m not smart like you. I don’t have much money. I’m just a hippie freak musician. But I can make you happy, Dewey. And you already make me happy. I haven’t been this happy since I don’t know when. Do you know what it’s like to be gay at our f-ing school? At any school in this world we live in? You feel alone. You search for someone like you. There are other guys in school like me. I could have had a date with one of them once. But I didn’t like him. That guy is okay, but he’s not you, Dew.”
I wonder who he is talking about. Charles? I quickly dismiss that notion, ’cause I have something I’ve got to ask Jeep. “What made you think I’m that way, Jeep?”
“I didn’t. I hoped. Come on, Dewey, you walk a little different, your hands are like—delicate. Until a few weeks ago, you carried your books like a girl. None of that means you are gay, but I wished. I wanted. I decided I had to get to know you. To find out. That song tonight? It’s how I feel about you, Dew. And it was just another way to get you to reveal yourself if you really are gay. And I think you are.”
In my inner turmoil, I search for Mr. Spider. He has fallen to the floor. He struggles to get back to the safety of his web, high above him.
Jeep turns my head again, moves his face toward me. His lips meet mine, and he gently kisses me. It is long; it is sweet. It is love.
As he pulls away, he says, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that? How much it took out of me not to just plant one on you?”
I look at him. Why am I not saying anything? He’s bared his soul. He’s revealed something that, in our world, is forbidden. Dangerous. Is Jeep courageous—or just a fool? I’m trapped in thought. I’m trapped in fear.
I’m trapped in love.
He kisses me again. This time, I join in. His tongue probes mine, caressing it. I feel my whole body shake. Am I having a seizure? “You like that?” he says, not pulling away. “I feel your body tremble.” His tongue moves against mine. And I feel like I’m going to explode.
He stands and pulls me up. Like I’m hypnotized, I follow. He leads us to his bed. He sits me down. I’m in a trance as he leans down. Like a sacred ritual, I see, but don’t see, him remove my shoes, my socks. He stands, and he takes each of my arms from my jacket, pulling it from my body. He is folding it, placing it across the chair in his room. I am fascinated by his performance. He pulls the knot from my tie and yanks it from around my neck. He unzips my slacks, leans down again, slides them from my legs, folds them, and rests them on the chair. One by one, Jeep undoes my shirt buttons, pulls my shirt from me. Then, with care like I might break, he pulls my body from the bed. He pulls back the covers, slides my body onto the sheet. Finally, he removes my underwear. Funny, I am so mesmerized by all this, the thought I am naked is nothing. He tucks the covers over me.
I watch him as he rips his own clothes off, not following the sacred ritual he performed for me. He slips into the bed and pushes his naked body against mine. He kisses me. Again and again and again. And I feel myself grow. My body is alive, it is aching for what is happening. It’s calling out for the love, the attention Jeep is showing me.
He nibbles my earlobe. Slips the tip of his tongue into my ear, and I fee
l its warmth as it flicks across the cavities of my ear. I moan.
“Do you like that?”
I can’t speak. I nod my head. But I’m so lost in this I don’t know if he can get my message or not.
But he does. His tongue is magic. Its tip travels across my entire body. He stops to flick my right nipple. I feel it harden. He sucks it. My body is alive. It jumps, jiggles, almost bounces. He leaves the right nipple and glides his tongue to the left, leaving his hand on the right. As he gently sucks his new target, his hand kneads the other with the precision of someone who knows what he is doing. And he is a master at it.
I feel like I’m going to erupt. But Jeep stops. He lays his head on my stomach. His finger traces my navel. “You’re so cute. I love everything about your body.” He kisses my belly button.
He moves his head to the right side of my body. He kisses my bare skin. Gentle little flecks that send me into spasms. He moves across my body as he administers his little kisses. When he gets to the other side, he starts a new row. Hundreds of little flecks. Tiny pinpricks, each one telling me this is what being alive is like. I’ve never felt like this before. Never felt so free, so connected. So loved. His mouth glides on his wave of kisses as he moves farther and farther down my body. Until he reaches his target. And it is ready, waiting for him.
He takes it into his mouth. I tell myself, Not now, not now, not now. I say a prayer to that God I don’t know: Please don’t let this end yet. But my prayer goes unheard. He swallows it all, moving his tongue, draining me of every last drop. Then he rests his head right there.
I am spent. I don’t know if what we’ve just done is right or wrong. I just know that it felt right. And I don’t want it to end.
“This—this is the center of my universe,” Jeep says, as he kisses my penis. Funny, I’m not sure I’ve ever thought or used that word. I may have read it. But in my house we’ve always called it a tallywacker. I giggle. I can’t help myself. I’ve just experienced the most spiritual moments, employing my own scepter, my staff of life, and I’m calling it a ridiculous childhood nickname.
All You Need Is Love Page 8
