by Susan Laine
“For you or in general?” Will retorted, and was rewarded with a glare from Charlie. Will giggled. “Okay, fine. Pan just means that the physical stuff is less important than the person him- or herself. That’s normal too.”
“I never said it wasn’t,” Charlie shot back, instantly balking at the accusation.
“I know.” Will’s reassuring smile and warm gaze alleviated the weird pressure Charlie felt inside, as if an emotion knotted his innards tighter each passing second—perhaps stress or anxiety. Will squeezed Charlie’s hand. “It’d be an understandable explanation, though, because I’m your best friend and you already have feelings for me.”
Charlie leaned back, trying to process everything. It was tough. “So when I saw you as a girl, I connected my attraction to females with my… fuck, you’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you? Fine, with my love for you.” He whispered the word love through gritted teeth, not because he was ashamed but because it was embarrassing. They were dudes, not chicks having heart-to-hearts.
Will laughed and leaned forward to ruffle his hair. “Aww, you’re so adorable.”
Charlie swatted his hand aside. “Eff off.”
Will snickered, appearing mightily pleased with himself. “Anyway, yes, that’d be the gist of it.”
Charlie sighed and acquiesced. “Yeah, sure, okay. I guess that could explain it. What else have you got?”
It never ceased to amaze Charlie that he needed Will to figure out shit about himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t do this alone. Introspection and self-analysis had never been things he was good at. Will had a more analytical mind. Charlie was more spontaneous, carefree. His learning process consisted mainly of trial and error and consequences of one’s actions. Will thought things through in advance. His plan to elicit a reaction from Charlie tonight was a perfect example.
Will breathed in and out a couple of times. “Like I said, then there’s demi.”
“Which means what exactly?” Charlie glanced out the window. The town had changed into a rural scene of fields, sporadic copses of trees, and a farmhouse here and there. The sky darkened as night began to fall.
Will didn’t notice Charlie’s mental pause. “Demi is someone who doesn’t feel romantic or sexual attraction for anyone until they form a strong bond with a specific individual.”
“Isn’t that, like, exactly the same as pan? Attraction to a specific person?”
“No. A pansexual person could be interested in anyone, but a demisexual person only in a specific someone.”
Charlie blew out a breath and threaded his fingers through his hair in irritation. “Argh, this is so fucking complicated.”
“I know. But sometimes assigning definitions to things allows people to understand and control them.”
Charlie regarded Will for a moment. “So you’re just dressing up like that because of me? You have zero inclinations to actually—”
“Become a cross-dresser or a drag queen? No, Charlie, I don’t. It’s fine for some, but it’s not me.” He smirked and winked then. “I do kinda like this guyliner and lipstick, though. The first makes my eyes stand out, which is cool ’cause hazel eyes don’t often do that, and the other… well, it’s cherry-flavored.” Will waggled his eyebrows.
Charlie burst out laughing. “Jesus, you’re nuts.”
“No, I said cherries, not nuts.”
Will’s attempt at hilarity and flirtation put Charlie completely at ease. Will had a talent for soothing people. In fact, he could talk to anyone and make them feel like he could be their best friend.
Compared to Will, Charlie was socially way more inept. He tended to blurt things out or get belligerent at the smallest slight. Charlie didn’t have serious anger management issues, but when he got a bee in his bonnet, it was usually over a perceived unfairness, and he then blew it a tad out of proportion. But he quickly calmed right back down, usually with the help of his friends.
Will calmed him. He always had.
Charlie caught Will glancing toward the door, his cheeks pink, his teeth chewing on his lower lip, his hazel eyes fraught. All signs of frayed nerves.
“You okay?”
Will started, then offered a shaky smile. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I was just…. I suppose I had a moment of doubt. We don’t know the other passengers on this train, but… what if Mr. Travers or one of the guys makes trouble about me wearing makeup? I’m not ready to have weird talks with my parents. They misconstrue stuff.”
Suddenly scared for his best friend, Charlie glanced at the closed door and wondered if he’d locked it after coming in.
Heavy footsteps fell on the corridor outside their cabin. Deep rumbling voices boomed on the other side of the door. A group of men, maybe three or four, from the sound of them.
Charlie’s heart about stopped dead. He waited with bated breath, expecting the knob to turn any second. He wasn’t even sure who or what he anticipated seeing. A gang of gay bashers?
But no one came knocking or barging in. They were safe in their cocoon of privacy.
Breathing out in relief, Charlie snorted. “Oh please. No one will fucking care. Half the guys in our class alone have dyed their hair or they wear guyliner. I suspect at least one has their girlfriend’s panties on for good luck or shit like that. Everyone’s so metrosexual it’s become the norm.”
“How do you even know that term?” Will asked, laughing, unwound again.
“Oh c’mon. The word’s been tossed around, like, forever. Who the fuck doesn’t know it by now?” Charlie wanted to reclaim the earlier relaxed mood. “Hey, remember when we met?” Charlie asked, reliving the happy day as though it were yesterday. It had been one of the best days of his life.
Will grinned. “You mean back in first grade? I was so shy back then.”
Charlie made a dismissive sound and waved his hand. “No, you weren’t. You were just quiet. And it’s always the quiet ones who’re the freakiest on the inside.”
Will laughed. “Whoa, back up there, dude. I’m not the one who invaded another’s personal space to check ’em out in the bathroom.”
“You were standing at a urinal,” Charlie contradicted. “That’s not exactly private. Besides, I gave you a compliment, not an insult.”
“Oh yeah. ’Cause saying ‘wow, your penis is super big!’ to a total stranger is the height of proper kid etiquette in first grade. You’re damn lucky I wasn’t scarred for life.”
“Yeah, ’cause having a monster dick is such a damn burden.” Charlie rolled his eyes. Then they exchanged glances of similar mind-sets and cackled hysterically. By the time they cooled down, they had tears streaming down their cheeks and were wheezing like beached whales. “Are there, uh, any other possibilities for me?” Charlie inquired.
Will pursed his lips, took out his phone, and started scrolling. Charlie guessed Will was doing research. Deep down, though, Charlie feared the possibility that no list of orientations would account for his blowout—except being in love with his best friend. Which was silly because Charlie wasn’t in love with Will.
He did love Will a lot, but like a friend. Not in the “wanna rip your clothes off and fuck you silly” sort of way.
Only… Charlie recalled having said something along those lines to Will just a week ago.
Did that make him a hypocrite, or oblivious, or plain old dumb as a doornail?
Then, even in the midst of his selfish reflections and identity crisis, Charlie realized he’d forgotten something. It wasn’t a terrible oversight, but it was insensitive considering everything Will had done for him and was doing for him now.
“Shit, babe, now your dinner’s cold because of me. I’m sorry.”
It was only when Will looked up, eyes wide and mouth open in shock, that Charlie caught on. He’d called Will babe.
Chapter 7
“UH, SHIT, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Charlie started to babble, his expression one of pure panic.
“I know. It’s fine. Not the best thing you’ve called me, no
t the worst.” Will smiled gently to show Charlie he had nothing to worry about. “Besides….” He lifted the top of his meal plate, and a cloud of steam rose in the air. “See? It’s still warm. It’s herb-roasted chicken, rice, and veggies, and they taste pretty much the same at any temperature.”
Charlie blinked. Slowly he nodded, and the pink left his cheeks as he seemed to calm down. “You should eat now. They may wanna take the trays back soon.”
His hands twitched again, his fingers fluttering nervously. Will took Charlie’s hand. “Did you bring your sax?”
Charlie snorted. “Of course. Why? Wanna hear me play?”
Will groaned as if pained. “Not if you play that ‘Epic Sax Guy’ tune again. I’ll kill you.”
Charlie smirked shamelessly. “C’mon. You know you love the Cruzo remix same as me. It’s awesome.”
“It was. Then, after you played it a thousand times in the span of a weekend, it became less so. Way less.” Will was relieved to see his tactic of relaxing Charlie had worked. “And… that’s not really a train song, now is it?”
“Oh, now you wanna listen to the train medley after all?” Charlie had his usual twinkle in his eyes. Their friendship appeared fine. But appearances weren’t everything. “I got lots of killer melodies there.”
Will ate his lukewarm meal as he watched Charlie fiddle with his phone, speakers, and cord. When Charlie gave his full attention to things, it was as if he closed off the outside world and entered an action-oriented mind-set. It never ceased to fascinate Will, who’d never mastered the ability to turn his mind completely off. Will always took in signals and sensations from the world, unable to stop the flood, only diminish it. But Charlie had a unique ability to work with his hands and thus shut off everything useless to that task. Perhaps it was the secret behind his skill as a musician.
Heavy rock guitars started a fast, raspy melody, deep drums followed, and last but not least, a hoarse male voice. Will cringed at the sharpness, then chuckled.
“What the heck is this?”
“‘Train of Consequences’ by Megadeth.” Charlie placed the speakers carefully on the edge of the foldable table and lowered the volume for Will’s benefit. “Listen to that guitar solo.”
“What? Van Halen never wrote a song about trains?” Will joked, knowing full well Charlie loved rock from the seventies and eighties, viewing them as the epitome of great rock and roll. But at heart the boy lived for jazz and blues.
Charlie took the question seriously. His brow creased and his eyes grew glassy. “I don’t know. Damn, gotta find out now.” He rummaged in his backpack, fished out his tablet, switched it on, and did an online search. “There’s ‘Dreams,’ which mentions trains off the track. Hmm, not quite it, huh.”
“I was kidding.”
Charlie looked up and blushed. “Ah.” He set the tablet aside, reached for his fork, and ate as well. He hadn’t finished before Will had exited the shower stall on stilettos. After a moment of comfortable silence, Charlie asked, “Did you bring your camera?”
“You know it. Like I’d leave it at home. Gonna take me some awesome pictures of the fine mountains of Colorado.” Will chuckled. “If I manage to breathe so high up. Remember when our class hiked on the Appalachian trail and I had that fit?”
Charlie’s lips turned down and a concerned look replaced his composure. “Don’t even joke about that. I was fucking worried you’d die up there, gasping for air.” He shuddered visibly.
Will’s heart missed a beat. Charlie was a great friend. His emotions weren’t fake. His love was real. “Love you too, buddy.”
Charlie didn’t look up from his plate. But his lips turned up again and his cheeks reddened cutely. Will liked looking at Charlie, who was a handsome devil. Not that Will would tell him that and give him an ego boost that’d send him skyrocketing.
On some level, not a purely chummy one, Will acknowledged that he found Charlie attractive, at least to some extent. Heck, who wouldn’t?
A softer guitar began to play in the next song.
“That sounds really familiar,” Will commented, racking his brain to remember the tune.
“It’s ‘Runaway Train’ by Soul Asylum. It plays a lot on those old-time radio stations. Kind of cool.”
“Golden oldies? Jesus, it wasn’t that long ago.”
Charlie looked at Will like he’d gone mad. “Neither of us was born yet so… yeah, ages ago.”
Time flew, that much was true. Will had to admit that. His parents, same as Charlie’s, had been kids in the eighties. That really wasn’t an eternity ago. A mere generation.
Time intrigued Will. That was one of the reasons he’d taken up photography. His plan was to go to college and study the field. He was going to make his career with photographic art, like nature or science photos. Charlie would study music and play his saxophone. They’d discovered an art college where they could go together and study their respective subjects. They’d already been accepted and would start in the fall. They’d live together in a dorm room.
Memory was perfect, but the retrieval system was imperfect. It seemed to be an aspect of time, Will thought, how their memories faded. Things repeated themselves in cycles, and Will saw that as something he could draw inspiration from. His pictures would reveal this repetition, but always from a new perspective. Change the context and the period, and the message of a picture would also change.
That was his design, anyway. A dream. Would it be realized? Maybe. Failure would not come from lack of trying, that was damn sure.
Another country-sounding melody arose into the air. Will kind of liked it.
“‘Night Train’ by Jason Aldean.” Charlie said it without having to look at the playlist on his phone. He’d done his research. That was his gift when he focused on something.
Will smiled. “No more rock?”
Charlie shrugged, pressed the phone screen, and the country song ended. Hard rock guitars and heavy drumming followed. “‘Crazy Train’ by Ozzy Osbourne. Well?”
Will laughed, then continued to eat while half listening. “It’s okay.”
A country song followed, with softer guitars, fiddles, and banjos. “‘Freight Train’ by Alan Jackson,” Charlie supplied before Will got around to asking.
“Are all these songs either rock or country?”
“Surprisingly, those are the main genres where singing about trains sounds normal. In rock they’re a reference to madness, doing drugs, or spirals into hell; in country, folk, or blues, they’re a metaphor about going places or not going anywhere.”
The answer, so unlike Charlie, evoked images and sounds in Will’s mind. Walking along the rails and balancing one’s steps precariously over the railroad tracks; hearing distant whistles of passing trains on the breeze; smelling the smoke, dust, and dirt on the tracks and from around the country. Familiar sensations for anyone, regardless of where they lived.
“History of Americana.”
“I guess.” Charlie grinned at Will. “I just picked songs about trains. No deeper meaning.”
Yet when the next song began and the lyrics became clear from the high-pitched voice of a male singer, Will drew his own conclusions. “Finally some pop. At least I think it is….”
“This is ‘Train To Nowhere’ by Bad Boys Blue.”
“Who are they? Never heard of them. Another boy band à la One Direction?”
Charlie’s expression remained blank. “Hang on.” After a moment of playing with his tablet, he read off the screen, “They’re a multinational pop group, with singers from America, Britain, and Germany.” He stopped and stared at his phone, head cocked in contemplation. “Listen. This is by them too.” He studied the screen. “‘Train At Midnight,’ according to the list.”
Will smiled. “So they wrote more than one song about trains. Must’ve really liked them.” He exhaled and leaned back, shoved his empty plate aside, and locked gazes with his best friend. “Enough small talk. We’ve avoided the real topic for a while now.” Cha
rlie’s fork halted midway to his mouth. Finally he gulped and nodded but said nothing, so Will continued. “Trains are a pretty workable metaphor for what’s happening with you as well.”
Charlie frowned. “Oh?” He sounded more perplexed than irked.
“You’re going from one place to another too, just like this locomotive.” Will grimaced at his choice of words. No one used that word, surely—not in actual conversations. “Anyway, you’re going through some things. Where you end up might be totally different than where you began. Am I making any sense?”
Charlie offered a lopsided smile that reached his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“You might not share my views,” Will remarked slowly, choosing his words with care. “I think that gender and sexuality are… fluid, susceptible to changes over time and within the person. Both subtle and obvious shifts are a normal part of sexuality.”
Charlie chewed on his lower lip, narrowing his eyes. “So you think I’m being fluid? That it’s normal to be attracted to women one day and to men another?”
“I’m saying that it’s not abnormal or unnatural for the objects of our attraction to change. I don’t believe any part of our being is written in stone. If we can change as people, grow and evolve, why not our concepts of gender, practices of sexuality, or physical reactions to sensual signs? Why should one type of change be excluded? I firmly believe our tastes and predilections can change, and it’s totally fine.”
Studying Charlie’s expression wasn’t easy for Will, even after all these years. Perhaps the reason was the unfamiliar ground they trod on. Regardless, Will swore to stand at Charlie’s side no matter what he decided or became.
Unless that person was a bigoted jerk. That kind of relationship would be unsalvageable. Because that would mean Will could never really be himself around his best friend.
Chapter 8
“SCIENTISTS, FOR now at least, seem to be of the consensus that sexual orientation is an innate quality and not a choice.”
