“I’m not stopping you.” Nick stood in front of my locker.
“You kind of are.” I pointed out that fact to him.
He blushed. “Oh. Why don’t I go wait outside?”
“You do that. I’ll hurry.”
Nick baffled me, he and Morgan both. In one sense, they were legends, especially to any gay CalPac rowers. I wasn’t the only one, only the noisiest. But meeting legends sure took the shine off them, and both had been acting squirrely since I reached the dock. As much as I’d enjoyed racing Nick, I needed to bring this holiday back under my control. Right then I didn’t even control my own schedule.
Maybe I’d built the weekend’s escape up to more than any four days could reasonably be expected to support, maybe not. Whether or not that was the case, I didn’t think asking for basic respect made me a diva. I’d run it all by Michael for an outside perspective when we next spoke. I frowned. How spooked did I have to be that I no longer trusted my own perspective?
“Some time before Ruth Bader Ginsburg dies, Remy? She’s not getting any younger, you know!” Morgan called from the human-scaled side door of the boathouse. “I think she’s already had a cancer scare.”
“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?” I said to Nick as I exited the boathouse.
Morgan smirked at me. “Maybe, but you’re finally out here, aren’t you?”
With Morgan all but pushing me and Nick walking alongside like this happened every day, I was herded back to the Cap City boathouse, where I found a complete picnic waiting for me, and there I froze. Not even Morgan could budge me.
Brad turned around and greeted me with sad, knowing eyes. He held his arms open, and I broke. I fled into the sanctuary of his arms, my eyes filling with tears.
It was like… somehow Brad understood something that I couldn’t name myself. He got being the cat who walked alone, if I wanted to get all Kipling about it. Or maybe Brad knew what it was like not to be understood.
“That was me all through college,” he whispered. “I didn’t even understand myself.”
“It’s not that—”
“But it’s close, isn’t it?”
I paused, then nodded. “Close enough.”
I felt surrounded by the safety he offered, he and Drew. Then Nick and Morgan joined, followed by Heath and Jerry. I looked up, and Fred rolled his eyes. I laughed. I had to.
That seemed to smooth things over, and we got on with the holiday. Back when it rained in the Sacramento Valley, Thanksgiving could be foggy and wet or cold and crisp, but the rest of that day shone sunny and bright, without even a hint of breeze to spoil things. I could tell who the rowers were. We were the ones looking out at the glassy water and sighing. Even though I had more than satisfied the rowing gods lately, a part of me twitched at the thought of not being out there to show my gratitude, but enough was enough. I needed to rest some time.
Didn’t I?
For the rest of the weekend, however, Heath and Jerry hovered over me like I was made of porcelain. What they didn’t realize was that porcelain was surprisingly strong, whether it was a translucently thin plate or something like a toilet. Ever break a toilet? I didn’t think so.
Such a flattering comparison.
But Heath and Jerry were both nurturers and my fairy HIV-fathers. Something called them into nursing, after all. Heath and Jerry, two of the best people I knew, Jerry’s occasional prickliness aside. They were nurses, and I a biology major with an interest in health sciences. Nursing. Suddenly I couldn’t pry it out of my mind with books, video games, or Michael. It was something to think about. I already knew I didn’t want to go into medicine, or rather, I knew I didn’t want to be a doctor. I already knew nurses worked hard—damn hard—but it seemed to me that doctors worked far longer and took their work home with them, and I wanted a life.
But nursing.
I was intrigued enough to talk to Heath and Jerry about it when things died down.
FORTUNATELY FOR me, Thanksgiving, regardless of how fraught it was, helped to diffuse some of my tension. I still worried that on some level, my critics were right and that maybe I was a bad influence on my boyfriend. I couldn’t say anything about it to Michael, if only because we’d never have a rational discussion on the subject. No, he’d go from zero to furious in seconds flat, angry at me for thinking such things and angry at our parents for daring to suggest anything of the sort. Neither option fostered productive discussion, but not telling him weighed heavily on me. We’re only as sick as our secrets, right?
Speaking selfishly, when it came to my performance on exams and labs and the rest of the head races left in the season, I was glad I compartmentalized like there was a prize for it. I shoved all of the nonsense aside and focused on what was most important to me. Sure, Coach Ridgewood called me out for hunching my shoulders more than she used to, and food never really did sit right, at least not until the end of the semester, but I did well in school and rowed my seat in the boats. That was all I had, that and Michael. Anything else I wouldn’t let distract me. Anything else that bothered me, I set aside and got on with life.
And to think, people gave me crap for being oblivious to anything that wasn’t made of carbon fiber and manufactured by Vespoli Racing Shells or Hudson Boat Works. It was not that I was oblivious so much as I immersed in something to the point at which it became totalizing, so all-consuming that I had little time for anything else, and that anyone who shared my life would also need to share that all-consuming passion. It struck me that evening, as I readied myself for the Junior Prom at Davis High, that anyone I shared my life with would also have to share that all-consuming passion or be willing to share me with it. No wonder rowers tended to pair up. I would need to find a man dedicated in his own way to something equally consuming. It wouldn’t even have to be another athlete, only someone with a major obsession of his own. Otherwise, I realized, I would face a relationship full of strife and jealousy without actually cheating or dicking around. It would take a special man to fit that bill.
Because gay men without damage were thick on the ground? I’d already figured out those were rare. The gay student union taught me that much. There were more men like Brady than like Michael. I glanced over my shoulder while I fussed with the beautiful onyx and mother-of-pearl stud set my parents gave me for one reason or another.
I had put on the Judybats’s Pain Makes You Beautiful CD while I got dressed. Me and 80s music. That would never change. Quietly, of course, because otherwise I could expect a barrage of insults from my charming roommate. Yeah, great party music. But it did. Make you beautiful. Pain, I meant.
I was so not looking forward to tonight.
“Aren’t you getting awfully dressed up for what’s basically a casual event?”
I looked at him, unsure what he meant.
Brady smirked. “Robbing the cradle. I didn’t know that required formalwear.”
I turned and squinted at him with the quizzical look that I’d learned made people squirm. It was part “Wow, you’re that stupid” and part “I’ll carve your tripes out as soon as I figure out the best way to accomplish that.”
“Don’t you have somewhere pathetic to be? Or a test to flunk?”
Brady’s face darkened in anger, but what was he going to do? Kick my foot? I was seven inches taller and a lot more muscular.
“When I join a frat next semester, you won’t be able to push me around.”
Whaaat? I couldn’t even get the word out without snickering. “I’m pretty sure I will.”
“You heard me,” Brady said. He looked like he planned to explode in the very near future. “I need reinforcement after those assholes roughed me up. So I’m joining a frat. Probably the football frat.”
“Roughed you up? This isn’t the Sharks and the Jets.” I rolled my eyes again. I really needed to stop that, if only because I was close to a headache as it was. “First of all, what my teammates did was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you. Second, and in case you forgo
t, it was in response to your harassment. Third, if you’d get over your stupid problems, peace and love and fairy dust would reign supreme in this, our dorm room.”
He pulled out a pretend knife and pretended to cut his guts out. “Yeah, right.”
If only. I smiled like the OxyContin had just kicked in. “You’re probably right, but at least I made an effort after you pierced my veil of obliviousness. Didn’t work, did it? Have you asked yourself why? Have you considered that the common factor in all your failed relationships is you? No? Then it’s time you start.”
Someone knocked on the door, and please let it be Michael. All this clever banter was killing me. I opened the door a crack. You’d think the doors in a new dorm like this one would have peepholes, but no.
I found Michael peering right back at me through the crack and laughed. We certainly thought alike sometimes. It made being with him so comfortable and so easy, like coming home and putting on my favorite pair of jeans, the worn ones that were soft in all the right places. I smiled.
“Hey, you.” I opened the door all the way and pulled him in for a kiss.
Michael looked stunning. While he had looked amazing the last time we had gone to a formal event—my senior ball—he had clearly put on width in the shoulders, height, and muscle in the interim, nearly attaining a man’s frame. We both had. It made finally buying our own formalwear practical. “‘Hey you’? What kind of greeting is that? I get all dolled up for you and all I get is a ‘hey you’?”
“How about, you look delicious enough to eat, assuming I can hold off long enough to get you into the men’s bathroom?”
“Not bad.” Michael swallowed audibly, the fire in my eyes scorching him where he stood.
I stepped toward him. “Or, before this night is over, I’ll bend you over a table and teach you what it means to be a man? Twice.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” I noticed that Michael’s voice wasn’t nearly as steady as it had been.
I didn’t top much, but when I did….
“Jeez, you two. Enough already.” Brady paused with a can of soda halfway to his mouth. “Does anyone care I’m about to vomit over here?”
“Don’t pretend you’re not going to start masturbating furiously at the thought the minute we’re out of the room. Please stay off my bed this time.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “You don’t clean it up nearly as well as you think you do.”
Brady’s jaw fell open. “You are so disgusting.”
“And you are so busted.” It was true, too. I owned a small black light. The evidence showed up quite clearly.
Michael looked back and forth between us. “You’ll have to tell me about this later, Rem. Like the next time I need to make weight.”
He handed me a small plastic box containing a flower wrapped in a purple ribbon. “If you’ll hold this, I’ll pin it to your lapel.”
“Gardenia.” I smiled at him as the heavenly scent reached me. “You remembered.”
After Michael pinned the boutonniere to my lapel, I fetched a similar plastic box from the dorm fridge I kept on my side of the room. Normally roommates shared such amenities, but “normal” no longer applied to me and Brady. The next step would be putting a lock on it, I supposed. Actually, the next step would be speaking to the housing office.
“A purple rose? Where on earth did you find such a thing?” Michael said.
I shrugged. “It’s a new cultivar, but it looks good with our ties and cummerbunds, does it not?”
“It looks fantastic, and so do you.” Michael leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
I made a show of examining myself in the mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Despite the occasional issue with my meds and the fact that the second half of the semester had contained enough stress to kill my appetite, I still cut a dashing figure in my tux.
Actually, we both cut dashing figures. I pulled Michael over to stand next to me, linking our arms as I rested my head on his shoulder. “We look good,” he said. He checked his watch. “We should go if we’re going to meet the others on time.”
“You can take comfort from this, Brady. You will never—ever—look this good in a dinner jacket if you don’t start taking care of yourself.”
Brady paused with a doughnut halfway to his mouth. “Fuck you.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” I was so glad I’d never disclosed my serostatus to him.
Michael grinned at me as he helped me into my topcoat. “You’re Cinderfella this time.”
“You do drive a better pumpkin.” It was true. The Castelreighs might be less than supportive parents these days, but when Michael qualified for an unrestricted driver’s license, they had bought him a late model import with more power than was perhaps wise for a teenage male, no matter how responsible. When Geoff and I had left for college, I got our white Civic from high school and a new computer. He got a new-to-him used car and his old computer. Twins were hell on our family’s budget. Michael was clearly an only child.
“Is this some kind of weird mating ritual? Because if it is, leave me the hell out of it.”
Michael glared at him. “You should live so long.”
“Let’s go, before Bratsy here throws a doughnut at us.” I half steered, half pushed Michael toward the door.
“It’s so much different from the last time. No parents taking pictures, no limo….”
I didn’t reply for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “No, you’re right about that. I’m hoping to make it through the evening without statutory rape charges being filed against me.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Rem. I don’t know why they’re being this way. It’s one more reason for us to get the hell out of here next summer.”
“I guess so.” Liar liar pants on fire. I knew I hadn’t said anything because I was afraid and because I couldn’t stand to think about me and Michael not being… well, me and Michael, but at what point did fear turn into chickenshit?
Michael put his arm around me as we walked out of my dorm and down to his pumpkin, in this case an Audi A6. “Your chariot awaits.”
Chapter 11
DINNER COULD have been worse. At least, as Michael had promised, I recognized some of the people who still rowed for Cap City’s junior crew. Not that we were necessarily good friends, but I nonetheless knew the faces, and we had rowing in common. It beat making pained conversation with their dates. Casey and James turned out to be my saviors at dinner. Casey had a wicked sense of humor, and James told a droll story, and the two of them together smoothed over the rough parts. They were the only entirely nonrowing couple, yet I found them the most interesting of anyone there. None of this changed the fact that I felt ill at ease in unfamiliar circumstances, or in any way altered the stark reality that I was two years older than some of these people. It showed, and I felt it.
Michael leaned over to me. “Maybe you should take a picture of them, so you can prove you can talk about something besides rowing.”
“Pest,” I hissed.
He kissed my cheek. “You love it.”
I blushed, but I also had to admit I did, and quite possibly him. The thought scared me. I mean, how would I know? I couldn’t stand the thought of being with anyone else, or worse, him with anyone else. Michael had owned my heart since… well, since the summer before my senior year, and that was a fact. But telling him? The thought scared the crap out of me.
We made it through the rest of dinner without me stammering too much or burping into my soup or some other gaucherie. The other couples were their own problems, and I knew Michael was suave where that was concerned. No, Michael and I only had to worry about me and my innate gracelessness. Hell, there was a reason I rowed and didn’t play basketball. It’s not like I wasn’t tall enough. It was because I could trip over my own feet on flat ground, and that’s when I wasn’t shoving them in my mouth. Oh well, whatever. Love didn’t require a dexterity test, and Michael seemed besotted with me as I was, the poor fool.
&n
bsp; We made it to the prom in due time, and I sweated the entrance like a whore in church. But Michael’s friend Matrixa—seriously, what kind of nickname was that? At least, I hoped it was a nickname—came through, and we sailed right by Cerberus, i.e., the parent chaperone guarding the door. Since we arrived fashionably late, the dancing was already underway, and we melded into the crowd. What I loved was that while you obviously had to dance with your date, sometimes you could dance with pretty much anyone without pissing your date off, which was how I ended up dancing with Casey and James and how Michael ended up across the gym dancing with some other friends of his. I could see him, he could see me, it was all good.
For a short time, anyway.
I didn’t notice anything different about Casey and James, but suddenly they were on me, and I mean on me. They started climbing me like spider monkeys—which was a neat trick, since James was almost as tall as I was—and trying to graft themselves into me.
Odd, but okay. I caught Michael’s eye across the gym and then tilted my head to one side, widening my eyes slightly, a sort of “now what do I do?” gesture.
Michael shrugged and laughed, as if to say, “Go with it, I guess.”
So I did, or tried, at least. I talked a good line, but really, I was kind of a prude. Maybe that wasn’t the term. I’d learned my lesson after that disastrous summer when I’d caught HIV and tried to be chaste in acting on my desires. You know, don’t drool openly, don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, that kind of thing. Secondary chastity? Was that a thing? Michael was my guy, and I was his, and that was that. So this freaking—for that was what it had become—with two other men or boys or whatever? That was—good God! They were hard as rocks, and one of them, Casey, pressed his cock into my ass.
Oh no no, that was it. I shot Michael a panicked look, but he shook his head and rolled his eyes. Why the hell was he not over here pulling these punks off of me? Never mind that, it looked like I would be rescuing myself.
All That Is Solid Melts Into Air Page 11
