The real question was simple: how much did I dare to push him to get some more information, some more data to support the hypothesis I was beginning to establish? If I pushed too hard or played it just slightly wrong I would drive away a really great guy that seemed to like me. If I played it right, though, the rewards could be far greater than the risk. Still….
After our calculus tutorial, both Bill and I took showers and got changed. My mom had washed our clothes from yesterday, so we both were able to get dressed in something more substantive than sweatpants, which was good because Bill was a little taller and heavier than me so my clothes didn’t really fit him very well.
The wind outside continued to howl ferociously, occasionally knocking branches off trees and onto the house. I was worried that we might lose our power if the wind took down lines somewhere, or blew over a tree onto power lines. But so far so good.
“You like Wii?” I asked Bill when we were both cleaned up and dressed.
“Don’t know,” he said. “Never played it.”
“You an Xbox man instead?”
“I don’t have any gaming systems,” he said somewhat shyly.
“None? Dude!” Clearly this was a problem that needed to be addressed. I decided we’d start with the Wii. I picked something I thought he might like, got everything set up, and showed Bill how it worked. He was a jock, so I thought that something vaguely athletic might be good. He picked up on how everything worked almost immediately and really got into the game. I was pleased with my idea since he seemed to get totally wrapped up in playing the game and seemed to be loving every minute of it.
After an hour I asked if he wanted to switch to something different. I described the few games I had, none of which he knew since he didn’t have a Wii system. Well, it turned out that my second choice was as good as my first—maybe even a little better. The man loved these interactive games and did really well at them. He grasped the system quickly, he seemed to have an inherent understanding of how things worked, and he had incredible hand-eye coordination. I was pretty good, but he wiped the floor with me on the second game.
“Damn!” I complained. “I’m pretty good at that one, but you just kicked my butt! You’re playing me, aren’t you? You’ve played this a few thousand times, haven’t you?”
He shook his head. “No. Never. This was my first time. You were my first time,” he joked. “Was it good for you?” he asked in a low, sultry voice.
“You just wiped the floor with me, so not so much.”
“I’ll just have to play with you again,” he said.
“Anytime,” I said, and I meant it.
Chapter 4
SINCE we had been starving all day (right!) my mom had made a feast for dinner. She had roasted a big turkey and fixed all the trimmings to go along with it: roasted winter squash, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, several kinds of bread, peas, and more stuff that I’m probably forgetting at the moment.
We all sat down together and had a good time over the meal.
My mother, being my mother, apologized to Bill. “I know this probably isn’t as nice as what you usually have, but I thought turkey was a good meal for today. It sounded like you made some serious progress on your calculus issues, so that’s something to be thankful for.”
“This is way better than what I would ever get at home,” Bill said, although I could tell he regretted saying the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth.
“What do you usually eat at home?” my mom asked, one because she didn’t entirely believe him, and two because she was curious about how other people lived.
“Most nights I make a sandwich if we’ve got anything in the house. Sometimes I bring home an apple from school lunch and eat that.”
“And that’s your dinner?” she asked incredulously.
“Why don’t you eat what your mom cooks?” She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which a mom didn’t cook or provide in some way for her family’s welfare.
“My mom doesn’t cook. I don’t think I’ve seen her do anything in the kitchen except heat up some water for instant coffee.”
“She doesn’t cook dinner? What do you eat for breakfast? What about cookies? Snacks? Cakes for parties?” Okay. She was on a roll now.
“She doesn’t cook anything. She never has. She doesn’t bake. I’ve never seen her bake anything and probably don’t want to.”
“So who makes your birthday cakes?” she asked, incredulous.
“No one,” he said, his eyes cast downward in obvious embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”
I was as shocked as my mother. I couldn’t conceive of a family, even a screwed-up family, that didn’t at least try to celebrate their son’s birthday.
My mother was in shock. My father rescued the conversation by changing the subject. “The news said that this thing might finally blow itself out overnight tonight. The last of the roads should be opened up by tomorrow morning. Bill, since the school has probably plowed your car in by now, I was thinking that tomorrow morning the three of us could go and start to dig it out and see what’s going on with it. Would that be okay with you?”
“More than okay,” he said with a big smile. “But I can’t ask you to do that. That’s a lot of work, and you shouldn’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. We volunteered. And if we didn’t want to do it we wouldn’t have volunteered. And we don’t have to do anything. We want to do it because it will help you. That’s what people do for friends—they help one another out. That’s just the way it works.”
Pretty much the same speech I had given him the other night when I rescued him from the school parking lot. I guess I realized now where I had picked up that speech. Hmmm. While no kid wants to grow up to be his parents, on this part I wasn’t unhappy—they really were good words, and I believed them as much as my dad did.
“You folks have been so good to me. I can’t believe all that you’ve done. Some total stranger waltzes into your house in the middle of a blizzard after keeping your son out on the roads for hours and you just opened your house to me. You’ve cooked some of the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life. You’ve helped me figure out a calculus concept. You’ve… you’ve just made me feel so welcome. I cannot begin to thank you enough.”
“No thanks required,” my mom said. “You’ll see—that’s just the way we are. We’re all connected in more ways than we realize. You help others because it’s the right thing to do, and sometime in the future it will all work around full circle and someone else will be there when you need help. And face it—we all need help at some point in our lives. That’s just the way it works. We take care of one another.”
“Nice,” he said. “Can you excuse me for a moment?” he asked as he rose from the table and disappeared around the corner out of our sight.
My mom and I started to clear the dishes off the table. When Bill returned a moment later he saw what we were doing and he said, “No. You cooked this feast. The very least I can do is clean up. You go sit down and relax. Watch some TV.”
She was pleased. She secretly believed that this is how things should work, but very, very rarely did others volunteer to help clean up. It was more than a year later that I learned that was why she didn’t want to invite people into her home.
Bill collected dirty dishes from the dining room table and moved them into the kitchen. I repacked things for the refrigerator or the freezer and got things ready to wash. Bill washed, I wiped, and my mother supervised. She did sit down, but she chose a seat at the counter so she could stay and talk with us while we worked—well, no, she stayed to talk with Bill while we worked.
It was a good thing she was there because there were a lot of things I didn’t know where to put. She had hauled out serving dishes I only saw a few times a year, so I didn’t have a clue where they lived between times. She of course knew and got them put away immediately.
The only thing we had left was the carcass of the turk
ey. When I started to move to throw it away, she stopped me and protested. “No! I’m gonna cook the carcass and make turkey noodle soup.” So, per her instructions, we left the carcass. Our work was done so we changed shifts. She moved back into the kitchen and started breaking up the carcass and getting it ready to cook for soup. I do have to say that there are few smells more heavenly than poultry cooking down to make soup. The wind might be howling outside, but it was warm and toasty inside.
Bill and I sat on the couch to let dinner settle a bit. He disappeared into the bathroom, which gave me a moment to look at his sketchpad again—it was sitting in his backpack, which was wide open. I simply pulled it back out and started flipping through the pages. And, oh my! There were sketches I hadn’t seen before. I gasped in surprise. I had found another male nude. No surprise there, but not only was this one naked, but the way Bill had drawn the guy with his eyes closed and his head thrown back was masterful. I felt as if I could feel what the guy in the drawing was feeling. His work was awesome. And inspirational too.
When Bill came back I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice him return. “Put that back!” he ordered. “Don’t look at that!”
“Sorry,” I said, immediately handing the sketchpad back to him. “You do really good work, Bill. You should be really proud of your work.”
“They’re just doodlings. Nothing special. And they’re private. If my dad saw them….”
“He’s not here, Bill. It’s just us. And I think your work is amazing. You’ve got extraordinary talent. Before last week I didn’t know you at all. Sure, I knew of you—everybody knows who you are. I’m glad to get to know you. You’re a pretty awesome guy.”
He eyed me suspiciously, finally breathing a sigh of relief. “They’re nothing special. Just some quick sketches I do when I’m alone. I don’t want anybody to see them. I’m not allowed to do them at home. I should just tear them up and throw them away.”
I didn’t want to continue this conversation so I suggested we watch some TV. Bill readily agreed. We spent a couple of hours watching some entertaining but mindless television. I should more accurately say that Bill watched television and I watched him. I was determined to gather some more data. I studied him discreetly to see who he paid more attention to on TV—women or men. One show featured a number of actors and actresses in beach attire. Some of the guys were just smoking hot, but of course the networks focused more on the women, even though I wanted to see more of the men. Bill’s eyes were glued to the TV when a shirtless guy was on screen, but his attention clearly wandered when a bikini-clad woman was on the screen. I was beginning to get a clear picture of Mr. William Cromwell, and I was surprised.
Chapter 5
ABOUT ten o’clock, I suggested that we move to bed; both my mom and dad had gone to bed earlier. I was tired and knew Bill most likely was as well. After nighttime bathroom routines we both crawled into bed. Bill had shed his shirt but kept his briefs on. I did the same out of respect for my guest, even though when alone I slept naked.
Rather than just turn off the light beside the bed, I left it on and rolled over onto my side, facing my guest. “Bill, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said, probably because he didn’t have a clue that I would ever be ballsy enough to ask the question I was about to ask him.
He was lying on his side facing me, and I was lying on my side facing him. We each had the sheet and blanket only up to our waist. We were no more than a foot apart.
“How long have you known that you liked guys?”
“What?” he practically shouted.
I had expected that sort of reaction so I didn’t move. He had pulled himself upright, but I put my hand on his arm and told him to lie back down. I said it as an order, which seemed to work.
“Bill, relax. I just asked a simple question: how long have you known about yourself?”
There was a look of absolute panic in his face, but at least he didn’t try to flee again.
I pushed a little harder. “It’s a simple question: how long have you known that you were gay?”
“What makes you think I’m gay?” he asked, clearly terrified.
“Bill,” I said, as reassuringly as possible. “Some people are straight. Some people are gay. Some people fall somewhere in between. It just is what it is. There is nothing to get upset about.”
“My dad would beat the crap out of you if he ever heard you even suggest something like that.”
“Well, I’m quite sure your dad isn’t here right now.” I looked around the room and then made a show of lifting the blankets. “Nope. Not here. It’s just you and me. Just the two of us. No accusations. No innuendo. No condemnation. No guilt. No blackmail. Just one friend asking another friend about something he probably has never discussed with another living soul. How long have you known about yourself?”
Bill didn’t say a word. His eyes were closed, and I was afraid Mr. Super Jock was about to start crying. He was shaking slightly. I had my answer even though he had not been able to put it into words. I didn’t think he would be able to say the words easily, so I was determined to do my utmost to help him out.
“It’s just you and me. And I vow to you right here and now,” I said as I put my hand over his heart, “that anything you and I say to one another will never leave this room. Period. Anything we discuss tonight here in this bed is just between the two of us. Period. Forever. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Bill looked seriously freaked. “What makes you think I’m gay?”
I looked at him and said, “Bill, I know what to look for where most people don’t.”
He processed those words for a moment, and then his eyes went wide with surprise. “Are you…?
“I asked you first,” I said with a smile.
He was quiet for several minutes before he spoke. When he spoke, his answer was barely a whisper. “Forever.”
“So it’s been clear in your mind for a long time?”
“For as long as I can remember,” he whispered. More quiet. “But everything everybody says—all the jokes, all the epithets, everything—tells me that it’s wrong, that there’s something wrong with being gay and that you have to hide it, bury it, cover it up to stay alive, to survive.”
“That’s true,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “It’s sort of hardwired right into who we are, but then society teaches us to keep our mouths shut or risk exile. It’s not right, but it’s survival. But we also survive by finding one another and leaning on one another when times are tough so that we can all survive and thrive.”
He stared at me with eyes wide, as if he had suddenly found himself in the presence of the Buddha or something. “How did you know? I’ve never said a word or given a hint or done anything… I’ve spent my whole life covering up.” He sighed. “My whole life has been a lie.”
“Like I said, I know what to look for. I know the subtle signs that 90 percent of people pay no attention to.”
“Like what?”
“The pronouns you use when you talk about dating.”
“Okay.”
“Your sketches, which are all male—really hot males too, I should add. The one of the erect guy jerking off was about the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing you weren’t in the room when I was looking at that because I had to… um… readjust myself, shall we say.”
He looked surprised, so I was more explicit. “Yes, Bill, your sketch gave me some major wood.”
“What else?”
“When we were watching TV earlier tonight, you only had eyes for the guys in that one beach show.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “What else?”
“Your reaction to the cheerleader that wanted to practically hump you in the back of the truck last week. She would have done you in back of the school in a heartbeat, but you were a gentleman and showed no interest in her whatsoever.”
“What else?”
“Waking up with you wrapped around me t
his morning, which by the way was one of the best experiences of my life to date.”
“You’re joking, right? I was mortified. I was so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be! It was one of the highlights of my life.”
“What else?”
“The general vibe I was getting from you. It was sort like I had radar that was pinging ‘gay’ to me. I’d read that we are supposed to have ‘gaydar’ and be able to sense one another’s presence. I’ve never really believed it, but now I’m gonna have to rethink that whole idea. It was really confusing, because I never thought that someone as smart and handsome and as athletic as you could ever be gay.”
We were quiet for a moment as we continued to stare at each other in disbelief. Him in disbelief that his deep, dark secret had been discovered by someone, and me because this Greek god of a man was nearly naked in my bed and I had just discovered that he was gay too.
“Have you ever…,” Bill started to ask, but seemed too hesitant to put his question into real words. I figured he was asking if I’d ever had sex with a man, or at least that was the question I was going to answer.
“Have I ever been with a man?” He nodded to indicate that I had read his question correctly. “No,” I answered truthfully, “but I’ve read about it and it sounds wonderful. I look forward to the day when I get to try it. You?”
“Kind of,” he said.
“Kind of? Okay, I need more words on that one.”
“A guy gave me a blowjob once. It was dark and he was a stranger. Never saw him before and I’ve never seen him since.” He smiled at the memory. “Felt phenomenal, though.”
“Wow!” I thought for a minute and realized that I had another big question for him. “But you’ve had sex with women, right?”
Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover Page 5
