by Kent Bushart
All this time, I noticed Kevin keeping an eye on me.
Finally I had to take a break, and headed off to find the bathroom. As I came out, Kevin was right at the door, and pushed me back in, closing and locking the door behind us.
“Hey, bro, having fun?” He asked.
“Uh, sure. Thanks,” I said. I wanted out of there.
Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Ziploc bag, filled with white powder. “Wanna do a line?”
At this point, I really wanted out of there. I didn’t want anything to do with anything stronger than pot, for a lot of reasons. And I’d never been that excited about pot, either, but that was another story.
I didn’t want any part of whatever drug that was, probably coke, because of what my family had gone through with my brother’s best friend.
My brother is four years older than me, and closest in age to me in my family. It goes my married sister, my other sister, my brother, and then me. I’m the baby. And when you’re young, four years is a pretty big gap.
But my brother’s best friend all growing up was a guy named Blake, whose family lived down the street from us. I never remember a time Blake wasn’t around. My brother and he went to school together, and were often in the same class. I clearly remember, before I was old enough to go to school myself, waiting for my brother and Blake to come home from school and play. They wouldn’t let me play with them, of course, being a bratty little brother, but still, Blake was nice to me. I loved him, my whole family loved him, and my brother adored him. They did everything together. All day every summer they played together until dark. He was a fixture at our house. That’s the way it was forever, right up until my brother’s senior year in high school. It was then we saw less of Blake. I was only in eighth grade, so I didn’t find out the whole story until later. Blake became tight with the wrong crowd, was getting into trouble, and doing drugs. He had been a good student before, but ended up graduating high school only by the skin of his teeth, and then drifted. He’d come around to say hello every now and then, but it was clear he was a different person. My brother went to college, Drake University, and acted like everything was okay, but it was obvious to me that his missed his friend. Then, not long after my brother got his degree, we got the word. Blake had over-dosed on something, and was dead.
My family was devastated, but nothing like his family. We went over there, took food to his parents, offered as much support as we could, and I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget the look of absolute despair on his mother’s face, his father’s dead eyes. We went to the funeral, and there were a lot of people there, Blake was such a popular kid. But I remember looking at his parents at the funeral.
They were hollowed out.
And my brother, my brother was crushed. I’d never seen him cry like that. That was five years ago, and he’s still not completely over it. I don’t think he ever will be.
I swore to myself at Blake’s funeral that I would never, ever come close to doing anything like that to my mom. Not for anything.
I also sat there, watching the slideshow of pictures of him, and listening to people talk about what a great guy he was, and thought: What a selfish prick.
So as Kevin stood there, waving his little bag like a prize, I said: “No, thanks. Save it for somebody else.”
“Hm. Well, okay,” he said, and put it back in his pocket, looking disappointed. I moved to walk around him and he stopped me. “Wait a minute.”
I waited.
“I heard about your little speech in the coffee house,” he said. “Very militant.”
When I thought about it later, I realized that some people would think I was making some political statement by publicly declaring my boyfriend. Did Kevin think I was trying to out-gay militant him?
“When I asked you if you two were an item, how come you didn’t own it then?” Kevin asked.
I didn’t have a good answer for him, outside of it was none of his business. Now it’s everyone’s business.
“I was just trying to keep it private,” I said.
He nodded sagely. “I get it. Patton is kind of an unusual guy. There’s a lot about him you probably don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, without thinking. Then I kicked myself. It wasn’t his concern what we told each other.
“Just that he’s a full-on nerd. He plays role-playing games every Sunday night, in one of the rooms of the Student Union, with his big nerd club.”
It occurred to me I’d never done anything with him on Sunday nights. I usually just went to evening Mass, keeping my promise to my mom, then back to the room to study.
“Everybody needs a hobby,” I said.
“That’s not all. Last semester they were running around campus in costumes, fighting with plastic swords and looking like idiots. Some kind of game.”
LARPing, I think it’s called. I’d heard of it. Kind of an in-person Dungeons and Dragons. I only knew that because I’d watched the movie Role Models, with Sean William Scott, whom I think is hot. Sue me.
“Yeah?” I said. I was thoroughly pissed now, but I hid it. Kevin was trying to smear Patton with whatever he could think of, and I was going to let him hang himself.
“Yeah,” he said, like we were conspirators sharing intelligence. “Ever hear of a guy named J.T. Thompson?”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s probably not even on campus anymore. Last semester he came to a few LGBT meetings. Patton jumped on him like a starving dog, made his life miserable.”
“How so?” I asked.
Kevin shrugged. “Just chasing him around. Stalking him, practically. Really went after him hard. Finally he told Patton to fuck off, and never came to another meeting. Everyone was pretty pissed. People liked him, but Patton drove him away.”
“I see,” I said.
“He was a good-looking guy, kind of like you. Dark hair, kind of tall, good body.”
He paused, and I waited.
“You could do a lot better than Patton, you know,” he went on. “There are a lot of guys here who think you’re hot.”
I’d had enough. “Well, thanks for the information,” I said, and slid around him to the door.
“Sure, anytime,” he said.
I didn’t want to do anything but get Patton and go, but I didn’t want Kevin to think that anything he’d said upset me, so I headed for the kitchen, thinking one more beer wouldn’t hurt.
There was a little jog into the kitchen, kind of a corner you had to go around, and there I stopped, because I heard something. Two guys talking.
“. . . little guy in the living room.” One was saying.
“Oh, yeah. What a douche!” The other one said.
“More like a douche-let,” the first guy said, and they both laughed.
“Did you see the guy he came in with, though?”
“Yeah, I did. Hawt.”
“Yeah. What the hell is he doing with him?”
I was about to back away, but I decided to go in and see who was talking. When I did, they shut up, and glanced at me. I helped myself to another beer and exited without a word, but I marked them. Marked them, so that if I ever saw either one of them again, I’d know who I was dealing with.
Marked. Them.
What with Kevin, and the guys in the kitchen, my Cuban blood was up, but I tried to stay cool. Patton was still in the living room, talking to beat the band, trying to be the life of the party. I interrupted his conversation and pulled him to the couch, dropping down and settling him in my lap, my arms around him.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey buddy,” he said, and slipped his arm around my shoulders. I could tell he’d had too much, and I wondered what beer he was on now, his third or fourth. I took his bottle and set in on the end table beside us, where I’d put mine.
He wasn’t heavy, probably only about one-hundred and thirty-five pounds, and he felt good in my arms. I nuzzled his neck.
Like I said, public
displays of affection weren’t my gig, but it was a gay crowd, and I didn’t care. We kissed, lightly. I wanted everyone to see that he belonged to me.
I guess I get where they’re coming from, Kevin, and the guys in the kitchen. As good-looking guys, they think they’re entitled to other good-looking guys, as hot as they can get. And I probably could put the moves on just about anyone there, and go home with them, have sex. But then what? When it’s over, what do you talk about? You just move on, if you haven’t caught anything, that is. Some of the tricks I had last summer were just like: “Okay, bye now,” when it was over.
Also, it’s a status thing. If someone sees you with someone not hot enough, it diminishes you, in the image crowd. Kevin would never consider someone like Patton; he wasn’t cool enough, hot enough, tall enough. Being involved with Patton wouldn’t increase Kevin’s status, and that’s what matters to him. I thought I could be shallow, but if I’m ever as shallow as Kevin, just kill me.
I like Patton. I didn’t ever think I would be into a guy like him, but I am. I’ve already given the reasons, strange as they are.
I guess I’m different because I know what’s coming, and what’s been. My family could be back in Cuba, if we lived through the revolution, having nothing except what the government let us have, having to worship assholes like the Castros and Che Guevera, or else. Of course, I’d be a different person entirely, since my dad met my mom here. Here, where my dad and grandfather worked as carpet and floor installers for years, saved their money, and finally opened their own store.
I know what’s coming because I’ve watched my sister and brother meet great people, fall in love, and get married. I was in both of their weddings. Then I watched my sister’s husband lose his job, right when they were expecting their first baby, and have to scramble. That’s real. That’s life. That’s not college, where some people just want to have fun, and not think about what’s coming.
I want to have fun, too, but I know what’s coming. I could go from guy to guy, and always have somebody, but it would just be exactly that, some body. I’m pretty sure I want some one, not somebody. Someone who matters, someone important. I want to have someone to share life with, to help me through it, and live it with. That may not be Patton, we’re both young, with a lot of school ahead of us, but I know I want someone.
The music was loud, and some guys and a girl were moving to the music. A new song came on and Patton climbed out of my lap.
“This is my jam! Come on, let’s dance,” he said, tugging my hand.
I joined him, and did my best, but I know I dance like a straight-guy with a stick up his butt. Patton busted some funky moves, totally uninhibited.
“You’re a good dancer,” I said in his ear.
“Get used to it,” he said.
After about another half-hour of this, and some other little conversations, I whispered in his ear: “Let’s go.”
“Aw,” he said. “But it’s early.”
“Don’t you have another test tomorrow?”
His face fell. “Yeah. Western Civ,” he said.
“I do too,” I said.
He went off to get our jackets, and to say good-bye to Kevin, while I stood by the door. I gave Kevin a head flick, all he was getting from me, and we left.
On the way back it was clear Patton was over-served. I’d only had about a beer and a half, but I was still nervous, and tried to concentrate on driving.
“Man, that was a good party,” Patton enthused, bouncing in his seat. “A lot of nice guys.”
Yeah. Nice guys.
I wasn’t going to say anything to him about what happened, not now anyway, but I thought about this J.T. guy. Maybe that was why Patton looked through me at the meeting. Maybe he didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.
This time I walked him all the way to his door, being as he’d had too much, and we paused in front of it.
“Will I see you tomorrow, before you go?” I asked.
“Eh, maybe not. The people I’m riding with are planning to leave late afternoon.”
“I’ll try and catch up with you,” I said. There was no one in his hall at that moment, so I kissed him, but I broke it off when I heard a door open.
“Drink a lot of water, and take two aspirin, you’ll be okay in the morning.” A hangover cure my brother had clued me in on, before I went off to school.
“S’okay,” he mumbled, and went in to bed.
III
Late the next day, after my test was over, and I figured his was too, I texted him, hoping to see him one more time. I texted him, but he didn’t text me back. I figured he was probably already on the road, and didn’t have service.
I drove home, getting there just in time for dinner. Yes, mom’s lasagna, with homemade ricotta cheese. I was busy all evening, catching up with my folks, but at bedtime, I texted him again. Nothing.
I kept at it through the weekend, but he never answered me, and I was getting bugged.
Was his phone broken? Did he not pay his bill?
Was he in the hospital in a coma? That had better be it, because now I was pissed.
On Tuesday I was working with my dad’s crew, installing carpet in a little three-bedroom, and I kept looking at my phone, checking it to see if he’d finally messaged me. Nothing.
“¿Vas a trabajar o vas a mirar a tu teléfono, chico universitario?” Are you going to work, or are you going to play with your phone, college-boy? The crew loved hassling me, being the bosses’ kid.
“Dile a tu esposa que pare de mandarme textos, Carlos,” I answered in Spanish. Tell your wife to stop texting me, Carlos. The other crew laughed and hooted.
Finally I gave it up. If he wanted to text me, he would, and obviously he didn’t want to. I’d have to wait to get back to school to find out exactly what was going on.
But it ruined my Spring Break. I worked all week, on the floor crew a couple of days, and the rest of the time at the feed store, where I caught up with all my old buddies.
Saturday I called a friend from high school, and we got together with some other guys, and drank beer in someone’s basement rumpus room.
“What’s wrong with you, Jules? College got you down?” One of the guys asked. I guess I wasn’t being much fun. I’ve always had a hard time hiding my feelings.
“Just thinking of someone back at school, I guess,” I said.
“Girl trouble.” Another guy said.
“Yeah, he’s got pussy on the brain,” another one laughed.
I could have straightened them out then, and come out to them; they probably would have been okay with that, mostly. But I just didn’t feel like talking about it.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, and drank more beer. Finally, late, someone drove me home.
I was ready to drunk-call him when I got home, and I nearly did, but I talked myself out of it. He’d been clear.
Finally it was time to get back to school. I kissed my mom good-bye after dinner on Sunday night, and drove back.
I considered going to his dorm and banging on his door, but instead I composed one more text.
I guess you’re done with me, I typed, then paused. That sounded pathetic. But you know what? I felt pathetic. I hit send.
Carlton banged in later, dragging his huge suitcase. “My flight was delayed,” he said.
“Did you have a good Spring Break?” I asked him, lonely for some company.
“Indubitably,” he answered.
Sheesh.
***
That was enough, though. I deserved some kind of answer from him, not just the silent brush-off. If he wanted to tell me to fuck-off, fine. He could do it in person.
About five o’clock I set up vigil outside his dorm, and waited. Finally he came out, heading to dinner with some other guys. It looked like his nerd crowd.
“Hey,” I said, falling in alongside him.
“Oh. Hi,” he said.
“So, why are you ignoring me?”
He slowed down, letting his
friends go ahead. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said.
“Okay. When?” I asked.
He sighed. I was such a burden. “Tonight, I guess.”
“When?” I asked again.
“I’ll text you,” he said, and walked on.
“So your phone does work,” I said loudly to his back. It felt good.
***
I waited, and waited. Finally Carlton started his bedtime ritual, and I got undressed and lay in bed, but I couldn’t relax. He’d blown me off again.
Carlton turned off the lights. I picked up my phone and texted: You said you would meet me.
I glared at my phone, its light penetrating the darkness.
This time, though, he answered: It’s late now. I’m in bed.
You promised, I sent in reply. Come on.
Tomorrow, he replied.
Now, I texted. Or I’m coming over there.
“Are you going to go to sleep or not?”Carlton said into the dark.
Annoyed, I said: “Just go ahead and do it, Carlton. I don’t care.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffed and rolled over, denied.
I have an 8 a.m. class, Patton sent.
Just half an hour,” I sent.
I waited.
Okay.
We agreed to meet at the fountain, a point halfway between his dorm and mine. I got up and dressed, leaving Carlton to thrash around in bed.
I sat on a bench by the fountain and waited, facing the direction of his dorm. It was a cool night, but the sky was clear, and there was a firm breeze blowing through the trees. I might have enjoyed it, if I wasn’t so agitated.
Presently he came out of the night, and flopped next to me. He was wearing jeans and a pull-over hoodie, and his hair was disheveled.
“Hello,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”
“S’okay,” he mumbled.
There was a silence, so I figured I’d have to beat it out of him.
“How was your Spring Break?” I asked. “Have any fun?”
“It was all right,” he said.
Another pause.
“Well, mine wasn’t, because you wouldn’t talk to me,” I tried not to whine. “What’s the matter, Patton? What did I do?”
