by Gene Gant
Until now, that is.
Carson loomed over me, his face one big snarl, his fists raised, his intent terrifyingly clear. I curled up, closed my eyes, and covered my head with my arms. He kicked me in the side and then rained down blows, his fists pounding in my chest, stomach, and face as I lurched and rolled, trying to minimize the damage. Calling this a fight was a gross exaggeration. A slaughter was more like it.
Carson dropped down, planting his knee in my back, pinning me to the ground. “How could you do that to me?” he shouted. “Huh? How could you do it? My dad saw the fucking pictures on Facebook. Now he thinks I’m goddamned gay!” He broke down, heaving in angry sobs.
I got the hell beat out of me, and the hell-beater was the one in tears.
What’s wrong with this picture?
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry,” I mumbled, even though I still wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.
He grabbed the back of my shirt, pulled me up, and flung me away from him. I stumbled, struggling for balance, trying not to fall again. “Don’t be sorry!” he snapped. “Just get the fuck away from me!”
I didn’t hesitate.
I ran.
ONCE I was in the house, I went straight to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
It was a god-awful sight.
My upper lip was swollen and split. Blood from my nose and lip was streaked down my chin and the front of my shirt. Bruises were darkening around my left eye and along my jaw. My side, chest, and back ached from blows that had landed there. The knuckles on my right hand were scratched up. Hmm. How did that happen? It certainly wasn’t from punching Carson.
My nose was still bleeding. I grabbed a towel, placed it over my nose, pinched my nostrils shut, and became a mouth-breather for about ten minutes. I wanted comfort, but there was none to be had. Mom was at the library. She volunteered three afternoons a week reading stories to preschoolers. Of course, Dad was at work. Not that I wanted him.
Once the bleeding stopped, I got out of my scuffed and blood-spattered clothes, stuffed them in the hamper, and took a shower. Walking naked and damp into my room, I spotted a bow-covered package on my bed. Curious, I ripped open the package and found a box of condoms, along with a note: “Before anything happens, let’s talk about you and Toff and sex. Love, Mom.” If my head weren’t already hurting from Carson’s pounding fists, I think that would have given me a migraine.
After stashing Mom’s little present in my desk drawer, I dressed in clean clothes, sat down on my bed, and grabbed my iPad. I hadn’t been on my Facebook page in a couple of days, and the only pictures Carson and I had ever been featured in together were some of the ones Dad took yesterday. I pulled up Dad’s Facebook page.
And there it was. Under a banner that read “Meet Geordi’s Boyfriend!” was the first picture Dad had taken of Toff and me, the one where Carson jumped in and bumped me halfway to Kentucky. The result was a shot where it looked like Carson and I were joined hip to hip in some weird-ass dance with Toff shuffled off to the background. I could see where Mr. Meyer—and anybody else unfamiliar with the situation—would get the impression that Carson was the boyfriend mentioned above. Dad had told me he contacted Mr. Meyer through Facebook to invite Carson to my coming-out party. Apparently Mr. Meyer followed up with Dad on Facebook, and the rest was the sorry history that had left me bleeding all over the school playground.
While I sat there, staring at the iPad’s screen, I think my vision literally went red.
“GEORDI? YOU home?”
There were the usual sounds of Dad’s arrival from work: the clink of hanging his keys on the peg by the back door; the thump of his briefcase landing on the kitchen table; the clatter of ice dispensing from the fridge’s icemaker into a glass. Every noise added to my growing irritation. I shoved my phone in my pocket and my feet into a pair of sneakers, and I marched to the kitchen.
Dad was standing by the fridge, drinking down a glass of ice water while he stared at the day’s mail spread out on the counter. He looked up when I walked in, and his eyes widened with shock. Choking on that last sip of water, he put the glass aside and came toward me. “Geordi! What happened to you?”
I could barely breathe, I was so angry. “What happened to me, Dad? What happened? You’re what happened.”
“What’re you talking about, son?” He reached out to take me by the shoulders. “You look as if you got into a fight.”
I jerked back from him. “A fight? No, I didn’t get into any fight. You took a bunch of stupid pictures of me and Toff and Carson, and you stuck ’em up on freaking Facebook for the whole world to see, and I just got the shit kicked out of me because of you.”
“Geordi… what—?”
“You do this all the time, jump all over my life and make it freaking hell. Why’d you have to put those stupid pictures on Facebook? Huh? Why do stuff like that? Why do you have to make such a big deal out of every single little thing? Why can’t you just leave me alone sometime?”
Dad looked at me helplessly. “Son, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Sit down here and talk to me, let me try to make heads or tails of this.” He grabbed a chair and pulled it out for me.
“I don’t want to talk to you! That’s the problem. You stay in my face so much it seems that I can’t even breathe sometimes. I can’t do anything, period, with you around. I couldn’t decide who I wanted to come out to or when I wanted to come out to them because you decided to do all that your way, not mine. What I wanted didn’t even factor into the equation. You mess up everything for me. Everything!”
“Geordi, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you have to give me a chance to—”
“Just stay out of my life! You hear? I hate you!”
There was a frozen moment that seemed to narrow the space between us, giving every detail of my dad’s slender face a stark and chilling clarity. Over the course of my life, I’d seen my dad in many moods. I’d seen him happy, pensive, upset, excited, sad, disappointed, and surprised. But I’d never seen him look so completely hurt as he did when those last three words flew from my mouth.
I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand him. I couldn’t stand the pain in his face, the woeful quiver of his mouth, the round, pathetic wounds that were his eyes. I dashed past my dad and out the back door.
He came after me. “Geordi, stop. Come back!”
For a man closing in on forty, Dad was still pretty quick on his feet. But he was nowhere near as quick as me.
I poured on the speed and left him far behind in my dust trail.
Chapter 11
I STOPPED at the edge of Jessica’s front yard and dialed her number on my phone, reluctant to knock and risk having Mrs. Sanchez or Javier see me.
“What’s up, Geordi?”
“I’m out front at your place.”
“Okay. I’ll be out in a second.”
I sat down on the grass to wait. My jaw and nose and chest and side ached. Anger made me grind my teeth, clouding my mind and hurting my jaw even more. It beat in my chest, pulsed through my veins, tingled along my nerves. Jess and I had agreed I’d return to her house after I came up with a way to get her, Toff, and me to the intersection of Highway 64 and Route 28Z. I didn’t have any such plan, and I was too agitated to come up with one.
There was motion behind me. Jessica ran over as lightly and quietly as a cat. “Hey.”
I didn’t look up at her. She bent down beside me. “Sheez. What happened to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Your face—”
“You said focus on Toff. So let’s focus on Toff.” I got up and marched off. Jess quickly caught up and fell in step beside me. We weren’t headed in Toff’s direction, but Jess didn’t say anything. I had no particular destination in mind; I just needed to move. Jessica projected her usual calm and confident demeanor. I envied her for that.
My phone chimed. I pulled it out and saw that I had a text message from Jake.
I thumbed in a response as I walked.
LaForge: On my way 2 c friend. Where r u?
ButchJake: At mall. In trouble. Mom found out I took her car.
LaForge: Nice knowing u.
ButchJake: LOL
LaForge: Got things 2 do. Have 2 go now.
ButchJake: OK. Crying here. Lots of tears and snot.
Now I wanted to be in two places at once. That got me even angrier, and I pounded my fist against my thigh. Jess gave me a strange look.
LaForge: Sorry. I promise we will talk soon.
ButchJake: What do u have 2 do? Maybe I can help.
LaForge: U can’t. Have 2 get friend 2 Hwy 64 & Rte 28Z asap.
ButchJake: I can do that. Still have Mom car.
LaForge: NO! U already n trouble.
ButchJake: So what’s wrong with a little more?
DURING THE course of my text conversation with Jake, I decided I was through worrying about how my dad might feel. But I was sorry for how what I was about to do would worry Mom. I tucked my phone in my pocket, turned to Jess, and said. “Let’s get Toff. We’re going after his dad now.”
WHEN JESS and I reached Toff’s house, most of the neighbors’ cars were in their driveways, and the scent of frying fish was wafting from next door. A bunch of little kids were having themselves a screaming, laughing good time running back and forth through a lawn sprinkler. The sun, still shining brightly, was starting to slide low in the west. The waning day left a sense of melancholy settling over my head. The anger that had driven me from home had mostly receded now, pushed aside by a growing swell of guilt. I wished I could take back what I’d said to Dad. This was why I tried to avoid saying how I really felt sometimes.
God, I am a rotten son. Bad to the core. But I wasn’t about to back out of this now.
Jessica rang the bell. Toff opened the door moments later. He looked tired, his eyes half-closed, and he had a bad case of bed head, his hair smashed flat against his scalp on the left side. “Hi, Jess.” Then he spotted me, and his mouth dropped open in alarm. “Geordi! What—?”
“Please, Toff, don’t ask about the face,” I said. “I’m okay, but I don’t want to talk about it. Can we come in or what?”
“S-sure.” He kept staring at me, the shock and concern in his eyes a good indication that my bruised face and split lip weren’t looking any better.
I clasped my hands together at my chin in a begging gesture. “Can we please come in?”
“Sorry, sorry.” He waved for us to follow, turned, and walked off, heading for the kitchen. I held the door for Jess and closed it once we were inside. We tromped off to the kitchen after Toff.
He opened the fridge and bent down to search the contents. “You guys want anything, a Coke or something?”
“No, I’m good,” said Jess.
“Me too,” I added.
Toff grabbed a can of Coke for himself and closed the fridge. Then he casually opened the freezer, grabbed a bag of frozen corn—as if that weren’t his whole purpose in going to the fridge—walked over and gently placed the bag against the bruised half of my face.
“Thanks,” I muttered as I raised my hand to hold the bag in place. Toff pulled me close and hugged me. That was exactly what I needed, and it warmed my heart even as half my head froze.
When he let me go, I said, “I told Jess everything that’s going on with your dad.”
“Okay.” He gave her a wary look as he popped the tab on his soda. “What do you think?”
“Personally, Toff,” Jess said, “I think we should bring in my mom or Geordi’s parents. We need one of them to talk some sense into your dad.”
“I just want to find him, Jess,” Toff said. “Can we concentrate on that first?”
She shrugged. “Your call.” She turned to me. “So, how’re we easing on down Highway 64?”
Anxiety made my stomach growl. I checked the time on my cell phone. “Our ride should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
WE STOOD on the porch and watched the dark gray Audi sedan as it rolled to a stop in Toff’s driveway. I’d seen Mrs. Butcher’s car a time or two before, and it was still as intimidating as it was when I first saw it. In movies this was the kind of vehicle funeral directors, FBI agents, and IRS auditors arrived in bearing briefcases stuffed with good news. Seeing Jake’s friendly, handsome face behind the wheel didn’t ease my apprehension any. I was on the verge of introducing him to Toff. I was looking forward to that about as much as having a batch of spider eggs hatch in my ear.
Jessica walked out to the car first, followed by Toff, with me bringing up the rear. Jake powered down the driver’s window and flashed a smile. Jess’s eyes lit up with recognition. “I remember you,” she said. “You were at Geordi’s coming-out party.”
Might as well get the fun part over with. I moved next to the driver’s door. Jake looked up at me, and the smile dropped from his face like a rock. “Damn. Geordi, your face… what—”
“Don’t ask, man. Just don’t.” I shook my head wearily and then took a deep breath to steel myself. “Toff, Jess, this is my bud Jacob Butcher.”
“Hi,” Jake said, waving his hand and smiling again. “Everybody calls me Jake.”
“Jake, this is my best friend, Jessica Sanchez.”
Jess stuck out her hand. “How ya doin’, Jake?”
“I do just fine now that I’ve met you, Jess.” He shook her hand warmly, and I’d almost swear she blushed at the charming bastard. Jess never blushed.
“And Jake, this is Sandor Toffler.” I reached over and took Toff’s hand. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Jake’s smile froze for an instant, the only hint that some less than positive emotion had just floated beneath his pleasure. “Sandor. So you’re the lucky dude,” he said, shaking hands.
“Everybody calls me Toff.”
“Good deal, Toff. It will be my pleasure to drive you guys this evening.” Jake winked at the three of us.
PAST THE town of Oakland, Highway 64 cut through open, yellow-green plains against a backdrop of gently rolling hills and dense forest. There hadn’t been any rain in nearly four weeks, and the grass in those plains was so dry a single spark would set off an inferno. Dots of civilization popped up occasionally—houses of various sizes tucked on carefully tended lots, a small, white clapboard country church, a sprawling redbrick school building. Traffic was very light. The sun had just dipped below the horizon behind us. The windows were down and the sunroof was open, allowing pleasantly warm breezes to blow through the sedan’s cabin.
Under other circumstances, I would have been enjoying the ride.
“You’re a good driver,” Jessica said. She was sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Thanks,” Jake replied. “My dad started teaching me when I was thirteen. My mom had a fit when she found out, but it didn’t stop the lessons.”
“Maybe my brother should’ve started at thirteen. He drives like a maniac. My mom didn’t start teaching him until he was sixteen. He got his license six months later, and right off the bat he forgot everything he learned about speed limits and traffic signs.”
“Well, that won’t be happening with me, not on this trip. I don’t want to get the attention of any cops.”
Jessica froze for a beat, looking at Jake. “Something tells me I don’t want to ask this question, but I’m asking anyway. Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Nope. I’m fifteen. I don’t even have a learner’s permit. I don’t have auto insurance either. And I’m not only driving-while-black, I took this car without my mom’s permission, so technically, it’s stolen. If the cops stop us, I’m going straight to jail.”
Sitting in the back seat with Toff, I sighed. “Dude. Did you have to tell her all that?”
Jake flashed a quick grin over his shoulder at me. “Hey, I may be a lawbreaker, but I’m an honest lawbreaker.”
Jess giggled. “You’re funny, Jake. You just scared the hell out of me
, but you’re funny.” She casually poked her thumb over her shoulder in my direction. “How’d you wind up making friends with Jerko Quintrell back there?”
“Our dads work together at the Pink Palace. They started dragging us to functions at the museum when we were about eight years old. The events were pretty dry for anyone under thirty. Geordi and I sorta kept each other from dying of boredom.” He glanced quickly at Jess. “And how did you wind up becoming friends with Geordi?”
“Somebody put a curse on me.”
“Fun-neee,” I snapped. Toff and I were sitting close together, with Toff’s hand resting on my thigh.
“What about you, Toff?” Jake looked back at us through the rearview mirror. “How long have you and Geordi been boyfriends?”
“Since the day after the coming-out party,” said Toff.
Jake cocked an eyebrow. “You guys fell for each other pretty quick, huh?”
“No, actually I’ve had feelings for Geordi for a long time. I didn’t know he was gay until the party, so I never said anything to him before. It turned out he loved me as much as I loved him, and that was that.”
“Yeah, that’s beautiful. I can understand why you didn’t tell him before. The same thing happened to me. I had a crush on a guy in my neighborhood, but he’s straight, so that was major frustration. When I found out Geordi’s gay, I tried to talk him into making up for my disappointment with a big fat kiss.”
Toff’s fingers tightened on my thigh so hard I thought my kneecap would pop off like a champagne cork. Fighting back a squeal, I pried his hand loose.
Jake kept going, not unlike a natural disaster. “We didn’t know each other all that well, and I figured a kiss would be a good way for us to start getting closer. Plus he’s a lot hotter now than he was when we were eight, which would make kissing a whole lot more fun, so I thought, ‘Why not?’ You know what I mean?”
