by Kent Bushart
I suggested Chili’s, and we drove right to it. I don’t like to be rushed, and I thought I’d allowed enough time, but there was a short wait. It was crowded, but we got a two-top fairly quickly, one of those little two-person booths.
“Are we going to have enough time to make it?” He asked.
“I think so. If not, we can do something else,” I didn’t know what, but I said it anyway. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight until it was time to go home to bed.
“So you’re a jock, huh?” He said, as he looked at the menu.
“I guess. I play soccer and workout.”
“How much?” He asked.
“About three times a week, in the afternoons, usually before dinner.”
“It shows,” he said.
“How do you know? You haven’t seen anything, yet.”
He slit his eyes and looked at me. “I can tell. What I can’t figure out is–“
The server came up at that moment and interrupted him, and we went ahead and ordered, not wanting any delays.
“What can’t you figure out?” I asked, once the server left. We’d shed our jackets, and this time he was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, showing more of his frame. I could see he did have a chest, and shoulders, and his arms did not look skinny. He might not be completely buff, like me, but like I said, nicely formed.
“Oh, eh, nothing,” he said, having thought differently about whatever he was about to say. I decided not to press it.
“Here’s what I can’t figure out,” I said. “I did a search on the student directory, and couldn’t find you. No Freshmen Pattons.”
“You looked for me?” He seemed surprised. Maybe I was over-playing my hand by showing too much interest.
“Uh, yeah, after the mixer,” I lied. I’d actually done it long before that, after the LGBT meeting.
“Well, the University has me listed by my first name. Patton is my middle name.”
Ah. So he was like me. One name on paper, a different name in person.
“So, what’s your first name?” I asked.
“Peter,” he said.
“What’s your last name?”
“Pinkerton. What’s yours?”
“Carreras,” I answered. “Wait a minute. Peter Patton Pinkerton? Peter Pinkerton?” I had to laugh. “Who did that to you?”
“My parents, obviously. My mother’s dad is a Peter,” he sighed. “I don’t think they really thought it through.”
“You poor guy,” I laughed again, then saw his expression. “I’m sorry.”
“Try it backwards, like they do in school. Pinkerton, Peter.”
“Oh, Lord.”
He slowly nodded, “So naturally I was ‘Pink Peter.’ How do you feel about dating a ‘Pink Peter’?”
“I don’t know, I’d have to see it first,” I smirked.
He twisted up his face and flicked water at me from his water glass. I detected a slight blush on his neck.
The food came, and we ate, talking about food, and the differences between the dining halls on campus. Iowa State is so big, they have several.
“I mostly eat at Davis,” he said. “It’s closer to where I have to go.”
“Montclair is where the team eats, generally,” I said. “I usually go there.”
“That’s where all the athletes go,” he remarked.
“Tell me some of the things you like,” I said, as we shared a basket of cheese fries, along with our burgers.
“Pizza, hamburgers, a good steak,” he said.
“I didn’t mean food,” I clarified.
“Oh. Computers, x-box, Bruno Mars, Sci-Fi,” he shrugged. “What about you?”
“You know, soccer, watching sports, x-box, action movies. My brother and I used to watch them a lot. Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Van Damme. Die Hard is our favorite movie.”
“That’s a good one,” he said.
The check came and he complained about me trying to pay it. “You don’t have to pay for everything for me, like I’m a girl.”
So we made a deal, I’d pay for dinner and he’d buy the movie.
We made it in time, and although there was a crowd, being Saturday night, we found a couple of decent seats. After about sixty previews, every one of which he had an opinion about, we settled down to watch the movie.
It was one of those super-hero things, at it was good, once you accepted the premise. But that shouldn’t bother me. Some of those action movies I watch with my brother are pretty unlikely.
I put my hand on his thigh in the dark, when it got slow, and we held hands some.
Afterwards I drove to a drive-in and we got some ice cream. I can’t eat like that every day, I don’t want to be all out of shape when the season starts, but once in a while is okay.
We sat in the car and talked a long time. He went on about the movie, and how it was different from the comic books, and what they had changed, and what had happened to the characters before, and after, and on like that.
“Sounds like you know a lot about it. Read a lot of comic books?”
He looked like the question made him uncomfortable. “Some, not a lot,” he said. “Did you?”
“Not really.”
After that he shut up about the subject, and I felt like I had done something wrong. I asked him about Chicago, and his high school, and we talked about where we were from, and our families.
“My dad is an aircraft engineer, at O’Hare,” he said.
“Really? My dad owns a carpet store,” I offered.
“Yeah? Are you going to take over the business?”
“No, my brother is. I’m going to be a doctor, remember?” I said, as I backed out of our parking space. It was late, nearly midnight.
“I remember. I hope it happens,” he said.
In between shifting, I laid my hand on his thigh again. He put his hand over mine.
In the parking lot on campus, I turned off the car, and turned to face him.
“Hey, thanks for dinner,” he said.
“Thanks for the movie,” I said, and invaded his space.
I’d been wanting to kiss him again all night, but it was awkward. I had to lean over the stick-shift to reach him.
“Hey, look at the fags!” I heard from outside the car.
I didn’t think we were being obvious, and I’d tried to park away from the lights, but still, a couple of jokers were passing us and had looked in. Enraged, I threw the door open.
“You got something to say?” I barked, approaching them.
It wasn’t a good idea, I was out-numbered, but my hot-Latin temper didn’t think like that. Didn’t think at all.
Fortunately, they were just a couple of wimps. “No, fella. You keep going,” one said, backing away.
“Yeah, get some, buddy,” the other one giggled, but they went on, not really wanting a tussle.
I got back in the car, where Patton hadn’t moved.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought I’d picked a dark spot.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Who do those assholes think they are?” He said, and I could see the cocky Patton trying to assert himself, but I could tell he was rattled.
And the moment was gone.
“Come on, I’ll walk back with you,” I said.
After walking in silence for a bit, across the largely empty campus, I asked him: “Say, who’s your roommate?”
“This guy from Nebraska. An ag student.”
“Is he okay?”
He gave a little shrug. “He’s all right. We don’t have much in common. He’s definitely a farmer. His name’s Daniel Brown, so everyone calls him Farmer Brown.”
I chuckled. “Does he ever go home?”
“Not yet. He did once last semester. What about yours?”
“Carlton, the science geek from Delaware? Never. He barely leaves the room, except for classes.”
“Too bad,” he said. I think he knew where I was going.
We arrived at his dorm, and there were
some people coming and going. I took his hand, and to anyone else it would have looked like a lingering handshake, but I looked down into his eyes. His blue, blue eyes.
“I had a nice time tonight,” I said.
“Me too, Jules,” he said, kind of softly.
“Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
I walked away.
***
I waited. I thought it was his turn to make a move, so I waited. Several times I was ready to text him, but I waited. I wanted him to contact me.
Finally, in the middle of the week, he texted: Thanks again for Saturday. I had a good time.
I’m glad, I texted back. I did, too.
There was nothing after that, so I waited. I went to work out and when I came back, there was another text from him. I don’t take my phone to workout, because if I do I’m always looking at it, and dropping it. Workouts go faster if I don’t bring it. Some guys go to the gym and just stand around in workout clothes, playing with their phones. Plus, it gets sweaty, and that’s not good for it.
Want to meet me for dinner? His text said.
Bingo.
Sure, I texted. Where and when?
He invited me to Davis, and was waiting for me when I walked up. The weather had eased off, it was March now, and although it was still plenty cool, most people had shed their heavy winter clothes. I was wearing my zip-up Iowa State hoodie, and he had on another one of his swallowing sweatshirts.
“Hiya, Pinkie,” I said, in a playful mood, and he made a face.
“Hey, Carreras,” he recovered, and we fist-bumped again.
After standing in line, we finally sat down across from each other.
“What’s been happening?” I asked.
“Not much,” he said. “I’ve got a group project. I have to write a program with these other people. It’s obnoxious. You?”
“Just trying to keep up,” I said, stuffing some Salisbury steak into my mouth. Chem Lab was becoming a bear. My lab partner was a nice girl from Mason City, but she was out of her depth. I was having to spend time tutoring her.
“I heard that,” he said.
“The soccer team is starting spring-workouts, too,” I said. “The first one was yesterday, and I’m out of shape.”
“Impossible,” he smiled, appraising me. I watched as he cut his entire steak into bite-sized pieces. Some guys walked by and said hey to him, but they kept going. They were definitely nerd-types, a heavy one wearing a Star Wars t-shirt. They looked like they might have liked to sit with him, but I think I scared them off.
“Friends of yours?” I asked.
“Just some guys I see around,” he said, non-committal.
We ate in silence for a few moments, while I thought. “Let’s get together again, do something,” I said.
He squirmed a little. “I can’t really afford to go out that much,” he confessed.
“That’s cool. Me neither,” I said.
“We could go to the LGBT meeting,” he offered.
I made a face. “Sorry, not really my thing.
“I get it, too cool for school,” he remarked.
“No, I–“ I didn’t really want him to think that, that I thought I was too good for it, or something. “I’m not interested in their politics, I guess. But there are lots of things to do on campus. I noticed there’s wrestling. Ever go to the meets?”
“No, I haven’t,” he said.
“You can explain it to me. I don’t know anything about it, outside of there are hot dudes grappling.” He looked like he was thinking about it.
“Okay, sure.”
So we made a plan and went.
We sat on the top row of the bleachers, out of ear-shot of the other spectators, and riffed on the wrestlers.
“That guy looks like he could wrestle a grizzly.”
“That guy stuffed a softball in his underwear.”
“That guy eats Kleenex to keep weight.” On and on, and we had each other in stitches. He didn’t get as boisterous as the basketball game, but he still threw out some choice comments.
“This is wrestling, not ball-room dance!” He cried, when a couple of guys seemed reluctant to take each other down.
It was a meet with North Dakota, and he told me the finals were coming soon.
“So you do keep up with it,” I said.
“Well, I read the paper,” he answered.
We walked out into the cold night, and away from the others spilling out of the arena. We had a long walk back, and I got bold and put my arm around him. I considered doing my own grappling with him, behind some dark building again, but it seemed seedy.
“I wish we could find someplace to be alone,” I said.
“Yeah, that would be decent,” he said, and put his own arm around my waist. He couldn’t really reach my shoulders very well. It was nice, but when we approached other strollers, we separated.
“I’m not very comfortable with public demonstrations,” I confessed.
“I get it,” he said.
“I guess if I was some rich kid, like that Kevin, I could have my own place,” I said.
“If you did, you’d probably find someone else to hang out with,” he said.
I stopped him and we turned to face each other. “Why would I do that? I like you.”
“Really?” He asked, looking up at me.
“Yeah,” I said. How could he doubt it?
“I like you, too,” he said, kind of wistfully.
Now I really did want to kiss him again, but there were people around, so I just squeezed his shoulder, and we went on.
I guess there are other guys out there, kissing each other in public, but to me, that was like showing off your business, and I wasn’t ready for that. I don’t know that I ever will be.
“You know, you don’t always have to walk me all the way back,” he said. “I could walk you home, sometime.”
“I know,” I said. “But I like spending time with you.” And I liked seeing him home. I felt protective of him, of his hidden, vulnerable boy, that I knew was there, but he didn’t show, if he could help it.
“Okay,” he said.
When we got to his dorm, I thumped him on the shoulder again, and said good-night. When I looked back, he was still there, watching me walk away.
II
Now we were seeing each other more, meeting at the coffee house or for lunch or dinner, and texting frequently. I texted him at night, telling him to sleep well, he texted me after soccer practice and asked me how it went.
Once, as we were walking away from the Student Union building, on one of those newly-minted spring days, we passed Kevin Little. He was deep in conversation with another guy, a good-looking gay buck, but he saw us and did a double-take.
“Hey, Kevin!” Patton called, in the boisterous way he greeted lots of people.
“Hi,” he said in reply, but he wasn’t looking at Patton, he stared at me. As it happens I was wearing my White Sox cap again, so he probably remembered me. Well okay.
Finally, a couple of days later, I’d had enough. Enough of seeing him and those pink, pouty lips, without doing anything about it.
I looked at Carlton’s class schedule, taped on his desk. He had Physics at one, and lab immediately after that. He should be gone two solid hours, at least. I called Patton.
He immediately answered. We’d mostly been texting, not calling, so maybe he knew something was up.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said. “Come to my room.”
“Now? I have Freshman English starting soon.”
“I have Western Civ,” I said. “I’m blowing it off.” Skipping classes was not my style, my parents were paying so much for them, but I didn’t care at that moment.
“Well . . .” I could tell he was weighing it.
“Come on,” I said firmly.
“Okay.”
I gave him my room number, and told him how to find it fast. While I waited I brushed my teeth, and straightened my b
ed. Then I sat on it and waited.
Sooner than I was expecting, there was a knock on the door.
“Hi,” he said. I stood aside and he came in, dropped his backpack by the door and shed his jacket.
I was ready to jump him right then, but he started looking around like he owned the place.
“This is your room, huh? Cool,” he said.
“It’s not any different than any other freshman dorm room,” I protested.
“No, this is yours,” he said, as he took in my Cristiano Rolando poster. Other than that, there wasn’t really much to distinguish it.
He sat down at my desk and started poking around. At first I was bugged, then I calmed down. I didn’t care what he saw.
He opened the top-middle drawer all the way and looked, shuffling stuff around. I figure he was nervous.
“Hey, what’s this? Pot?” He pulled something I’d forgotten about out of the back of the drawer.
“Eh, no,” I said. “It’s a smudge stick.”
“A what stick?” He asked, looking it over and smelling it.
“A smudge stick. Yeah, my sister gave it to me. Not the one with the baby, the other one. It’s dried sage. You’re supposed to burn it and wave it around when you move into a new place.”
“Huh?”
I rolled my eyes and laid back. “It’s a New Age-y thing. You’re supposed it burn it and wave the smoke around, to purify your new surroundings. Good Karma, or something. I don’t know. She’s into that.”
He inspected it. “But you never did it. This has never been burned,” he said.
“I know, I forgot. Whatever.”
He started rooting around in my drawer again. “Oh, no. If your sister wanted you to do it, you should have. After all, sister knows best.”
“No,” I moaned, after he found a book of souvenir matches from Hooters, where I’d gone with the soccer team once.
“Yes. You have to,” he said, lighting a match. I tried to snatch it from him, but he deftly avoided me.
“God, no!” I cried. “Carlton will shit a brick!”
“Screw Carlton,” he said. I tried to blow out the match, but it was too late. The sage was very dry, after a semester and a half in my drawer, and caught immediately. Blowing on it put out the flame, but that was exactly how it worked. The sage smoldered and put off an alarming amount of smoke.
