In Mike We Trust

by P. E. Ryan

  “You don’t get what?”

  “Have I not been encouraging you for months to do something about this?”

  “About Adam? I just met him a week ago.”

  “About peeking your head out of the closet. About calling ROSMY. I’m the one who invited Adam to the river, remember?”

  “You know about the situation with my mom—”

  “Yes, I know about it because I’m your best friend. That’s why I was trying to help you.” She gave Earl a gentle tap from behind, but he leaned backward into her hand, his head bowed. “You need exercise,” she told the dog. “Stop being so stubborn.” She turned back to Garth, who was cleaning Earl’s cage. “I’ve been saying over and over that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you at least made a few gay friends, and maybe even asked one out—and you haven’t budged an inch. What special powers of persuasion does ‘Mike’ have?”

  Good question, Garth thought. Was it because Mike was older? Family? Maybe it was because all this encouragement was coming from a guy who was a near-visual replica of his dad. Or maybe it was simply: because he was a guy.

  Lisa was staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  “Why do you always say his name like it has air quotes around it?”

  She huffed. “Sometimes he doesn’t feel so much like a person as like some…force…that’s taken you over. I don’t know. What have you two been up to, anyway?”

  “We’ve been touring the Museum of the Confederacy,” he said, sailing Mike’s lie and hoping it would float. “He was, you know, curious after we talked about it.”

  “Huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “And what else?”

  “Why does it matter who persuaded me to call Adam, anyway? Maybe all Mike did was stick the phone in front of me at the right moment. Maybe I persuaded myself. Is that a possibility?”

  She walked over and picked up the squeak toy, then carried it back to where Earl was cowering. “I’d just like a little credit, is all.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Everyone gets credit. Everyone gets a gold star. Happy?”

  She crouched down beside the whippet. Showed him the toy. Tossed it again. The dog didn’t move.

  “I’m playing fetch with myself,” she said—to Garth or the dog. Or both.

  Thursday dragged by. Finally, it was evening, and after they’d eaten dinner (pizza—Mike’s treat) and his mom had left for her concierge job, Garth set about getting ready. He showered, brushed his teeth, combed and recombed his curly hair, then pulled out a bottle of hair gel he rarely used and mussed it through the mop. The results were ridiculous; his hair looked plastic. After rinsing the gel out in the sink, he applied a smaller amount and tried to shape it—with the help of the hair dryer—into something that looked at least nonfreakish. As a result, he went from plastic to poodle. Then back to plastic. Finally, he shampooed all over again and surrendered to his usual mop.

  The jeans were an obvious choice: he owned only one pair that sufficiently masked how skinny his legs were (even though Adam had already seen his legs). As for the rest of the outfit, he laid out across his bed a Penguin polo shirt (repro), a Star Wars T-shirt (vintage, from the Salvation Army), and two other T-shirts that were plain but had bright, solid colors. Not enough options, he thought. He added a short-sleeve button-down, then stared at the selection for at least five minutes. Finally, he went into the living room, where Mike was watching television.

  “You going topless tonight? That’ll definitely send a message.”

  “Very funny. Can I use your phone again?”

  Mike reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts, and held the phone out toward him.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m proud of you for finally getting your nerve up, by the way. You’re not nervous now, are you?”

  “Why should I be nervous?” Garth asked, his voice betraying both defensiveness and a slight tremble. He carried the phone back to his room and dialed Lisa’s number.

  “Hey,” he said when she answered, “quick question—”

  “Whose phone are you calling from?”

  “Mike’s. So what shirt do you think I should wear?” He rattled off the selection to her. Because his wardrobe wasn’t exactly expansive, she knew all of his clothes by heart.

  “This is why you called me?” Lisa asked. “For fashion advice?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The Star Wars shirt. Definitely.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck.”

  Barefoot, he stood against the doorjamb and placed his finger against the wood, level with the top of his head, then checked it against the mark he’d made a month ago. He did this every few days, always frustrated, always discouraged. He tried not to extend his spine (which would have been cheating), but tried not to slouch, either. The finger landed on the same mark he’d made nearly six months ago.

  Trying not to think about the apparently permanent stagnation in his growth, he examined himself in the mirror that hung on the inside of his closet door. Okay, so his hair looked like crap and his body sort of resembled a toothpick dipped in pancake batter. But things could be worse, right? His gaze drifted further into the mirror and he saw behind him the flotilla of ships and boats.

  Plastic models.

  Toys.

  He was fifteen, and his room could have belonged to a seven-year-old.

  Don’t freak out, he told himself. The two of you aren’t even going to be in your room. It’s going to be you, Mike, and Adam sitting around the living room watching a DVD. With Mike there, that’s all it can be. A movie date, end of story. Calm down.

  Stop channeling your mom.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Want me to get that?” Mike called from the living room.

  “No—I’ll get it!” Garth hollered. But by the time he’d taken one last glance at his hair in the mirror, tucked and untucked his shirt, and emerged, Mike had already answered the door and Adam was standing in the living room.

  “Hey,” Garth said.

  Adam smiled and gave a little wave.

  “Big movie night,” Mike said. “Oh—I picked something up for us at the store.” He walked into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

  “So,” Adam said, “having a good week?”

  I’m having one of the strangest weeks of my life, thanks for asking. “Yeah. I’ve been showing Mike some of the local…attractions, I guess you’d say. The Museum of the Confederacy, stuff like that.” How easily the lie came now. But never mind. Adam looked fantastic. His loose white T-shirt somehow still managed to accent his chest and show off his arms, which were speckled with fine blond hair. He’s so out of my league, Garth thought. Though if Lisa were here, she’d probably point out that he didn’t have a league.

  “Garth, can you come in here a minute?” Mike called from the next room.

  “Have a seat,” Garth told Adam. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he got to the kitchen, Mike was standing at the counter holding a box of popcorn. “Um…where’s the microwave?”

  Garth raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “It broke a while back, and we haven’t really gotten around to getting a new one.”

  “Okay, time to improvise.” He tossed the box to Garth, dug under the counter, and brought out a large pot and a lid. “Tear one of those open for me, would you?”

  “What are you going to do?” Garth asked, opening a package.

  Mike dumped the buttered, unpopped kernels into the pot.

  “I don’t think this stuff works that way.”

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Mike turned the burner on and put the lid in place. “The trick is low, low, low heat, and you can’t blink or it’ll burn to a crisp. Hey, Adam,” he called out, “are you a Coke man, a Sprite man, or a Dr Pepper man?”

  “Coke’s fine.” Adam called back.

  Garth winced. “I don’t think we have any—”

  But Mike nodded toward the fridge and
said, “I took care of it.”

  When he opened the door, Garth found several liters of soda sitting on the shelf. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  A minute later, he was carrying two large cups into the living room.

  Adam was sitting on the couch.

  Garth sat down next to him—careful not to sit too close—and handed him his drink.

  “Thanks. I hope this film lives up to the endorsement I gave it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  After a few seconds, they heard the pings of the first kernels hitting the pot lid. “The trick is to keep shaking it!” Mike called out, as if the three of them were having a discussion about his popcorn technique. The television was muted, its glass face filled with helicopter footage of a highway police chase.

  “Oh, I hate these shows,” Adam said. “The guy trying to get away always wipes out after crashing into about a dozen other cars.”

  “I know. Reality TV must be a director’s nightmare.”

  “No, I mean, what about all those innocent bystanders who got hit and ended up in the hospital, or worse?”

  “Oh—right.” Garth fumbled for something to say. “And then they show it ten times in a row, at ten different speeds.”

  “Slower and slower and slower. And, finally, I’m, like, why am I watching this?”

  Garth thought about offering to change the channel, but he didn’t want to call attention to the fact that they had no cable. Had Adam noticed?

  Mike appeared, his own soda in one hand and a large bowl of popcorn in the other. “Who says you need a microwave to make microwave popcorn?” he asked proudly.

  Yep, Garth thought. That’s us. No cable, no microwave. Oh, and if you care to look up, you’ll see a water stain the shape of Texas.

  Then he remembered that Mike had painted over the stain. The ceiling paint—now covering the primer—nearly matched the surrounding white.

  “Smells great,” Adam said.

  Mike set the bowl down on the coffee table. He scooped up a handful of popcorn, dropped into the armchair, and said, “Is it showtime?”

  They weren’t ten seconds into the credits—just past the opening scene where a boy is harassed by his classmates and coach on the soccer field—when Mike bolted out of his chair.

  “What’s wrong?” Garth asked.

  He dug his phone out of his pocket and squinted at it. “I have to take this, but keep the movie going; I won’t be long.” He started off down the hall. “Hello? Lenny! How are you doing?”

  “Who’s Lenny?” Adam asked.

  Garth shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Mike closed the door to his room, muting his voice. When he reemerged a minute later, he had his shoes on and was holding his car keys.

  Garth hit Pause. “What’s up?”

  “I have to go meet someone.”

  “What are you talking about? You don’t know anyone here except us.”

  “Weird coincidence, but this guy I know from Nevada is in Richmond, and he wants to get together so we can go over some business stuff.”

  “Business stuff,” Garth repeated.

  “Yeah. Listen, you guys watch the movie without me, okay? Sorry to bolt like this but, you know, business is business.”

  He was already headed for the door.

  “So where are you meeting this Lenny?” Garth asked, realizing he sounded more like a parent than a nephew. Mike, he suspected, had had this sudden departure planned from the get-go.

  “That same restaurant where I took you and your mom. Really, I’ll be late if I don’t get going, so…enjoy the movie, okay? Nice seeing you again.” He waved in Adam’s direction as he opened the door.

  “You, too,” Adam said.

  Then Mike was gone.

  Garth looked at the television screen—a frozen image of a boy climbing a fence—and then glanced cautiously at Adam. “I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

  Adam shrugged.

  “I really thought it was going to be, you know, the three of us hanging out,” Garth said.

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just watch the film.”

  The movie was as good as Adam had promised and Garth eventually stopped worrying and let himself get caught up in it. He even forgot about preparing some intelligent remark for when they talked about it afterward—until suddenly the movie was over.

  “Well?” Adam asked.

  Garth hit the Stop button on the remote. The screen went back to another reality show—this one about a pack of ex-childhood stars shouting at one another. He lowered the volume and said, “It was great. Really great.”

  “How about that depressing apartment complex where they all lived? It permeated everything, didn’t it? A great example of setting functioning as character. And what about that ending? The actress who plays the mom is awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Garth said. “The mom was great.”

  “So what was your favorite part?”

  “Oh. The kiss scene in the woods, I guess.”

  “Yes! Fantastic shot, right? The way the camera pulls back so that the forest grows around them—like a metaphor for the world they’re up against?”

  Actually, Garth had just liked the fact that those two cute guys were making out with their bodies pressed together. “Yeah, the symbolism was…great.”

  “And the music is perfect, don’t you think? It’s kind of ironic when you consider the name of the group.”

  “Who was it, again?”

  “The Mamas and the Papas, which is cool, given that the parents had such a key role in the whole thing. I mean, Ste’s dad is obviously an ass who makes his life hell, and Jamie’s mom wants to be laid-back but she’s worried about him getting pushed around.”

  An unsettling—and slightly creepy—thought entered his head for the first time. “Hey, did Lisa give you some information packet on me or something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On my…situation with my mom,” he said. “Did she tell you about that?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because the movie is sort of like what I’ve got going on right now, with my mom. There are similarities, anyway.”

  “Well, don’t worry—there was no information packet. Besides, I picked this off the shelf when we first met, remember? So unless she planted me in the bookstore…”

  “Never mind. Dumb thought.”

  “It’s not dumb. I think that’s just the way it is with gay stories in general. Or gay teen stories, anyway. The parents are mixed in there somewhere, and it’s usually not ideal.”

  “Is it not ideal with you?”

  “Ah.” Adam shook his head. “With me, it’s not my mom who has a problem being laid-back; it’s my dad.”

  “Really?”

  “He has this picture in his head, this paint-by-numbers diagram of how a ‘man’ should live his life. Not for me, thanks. I’d rather choose the colors as I go.”

  “That’s a good way to describe it. So do you and he argue?”

  “Well, sometimes we—” Adam stopped himself. “Never mind, scratch all that. I’m being insensitive.”

  “Why?”

  “I shouldn’t complain about my dad around you.”

  “Because mine’s dead?”

  “Well, yeah,” Adam said.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t complain about your dad. Go ahead.” It sort of did—but in a way that Garth felt wasn’t correct; he couldn’t expect people to go through their lives editing themselves around him.

  “Okay,” Adam said. “So, my dad is sort of like Ste’s, in the movie. Not that he drinks or beats me, but he can be an ass. Let’s put it that way. And when I’m really honest about it, I can be an ass with him, too, so I guess it’s a two-way street. Sorry—I’ll shut up now.”

  “It’s okay,” Garth said.

  “Lisa did tell me a little about your dad’s accident. It sounds awful. She said you were so strong through all of it.”

&n
bsp; “Really? She said that?”

  Adam nodded.

  Had he been strong? His memory of the weeks following his dad’s death were dark and watery; he’d just assumed he’d been a mess. “She was a big help through all that.”

  “She’s crazy about you, you know.”

  “Yeah?” he said, thinking of how irritated she’d been at the shelter the other day.

  “And I can’t say I didn’t at least try to get some info on you, but she wouldn’t budge.”

  “Why?” The idea was embarrassing—but exciting, too.

  Adam shrugged. “I was curious. So what is this ‘situation’ with your mom? Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, I can talk about it.”

  He gave Adam a very scaled-down version, feeling only slightly guilty about breaking his promise, and Adam’s reaction was similar to Mike’s. Only, Adam made a point that Mike hadn’t.

  “It’s kind of a delicate balance, isn’t it? For all of us, I mean.”

  “Who’s ‘us’? Gay people?”

  “Well, also people in general. And families in particular. It’s a delicate balance between what you need and what other people need for themselves, you know? Like with my dad. There really aren’t any one-way streets.”

  Garth mulled this over for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he agreed. “I guess.”

  “Anyway, your uncle seems cool.”

  “Yeah, I’m still getting to know him, but Mike is pretty great,” Garth said. His mind suddenly shifted gears. Had Adam wanted Mike to stick around? So that the evening was the opposite of anything remotely resembling a date? Or was he being paranoid?

  “How long is he here for?” Adam asked.

  “Another week or two, I guess. He’s actually my dad’s identical twin.”

  “That’s got to be bizarre.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes we’ll be doing something, and I’ll look over at him and it’s like this weird glitch, something not quite right with the picture.” Garth stopped himself. The image in his head all of a sudden was of him helping his dad’s twin scam money from strangers. He felt bad all over again about how easily he’d lied when Adam had asked about his week, remembering how Lisa had mentioned that Adam had “honesty issues.”

  Adam paused. “Is he gay?”

  “Lisa asked the same thing. No, why?”