Suddenly, as he leaned into the sitting-up position, I put my hand behind his head, brought his face all the way to my own, and kissed him on the lips. Then he was receding again, leaving me with my head spinning, not quite sure I had really done that since it had happened so fast.
Harper did a few more sit-ups, saying nothing, staring at me, his expression changed. Then he stopped and put his hands behind him for support. I released my grip on his ankles and switched to a more comfortable position.
Still we said nothing. I knew I was red in the face. Had to be. Couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to say. Finally, Harper broke the silence.
“You shouldn’t have come looking for me,” he said, picking up a rock and throwing it into the distance. “Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because either way, you’ll be going away disappointed. If I don’t turn out to be who you wanted me to be, then you go away disappointed. And if I’m exactly who you wanted me to be, you’re meeting me just as I’m leaving town, so you’ll still end up disappointed.”
“You are,” I said. “Who I wanted you to be.”
“Then it’s worse. That kind of disappointment is much worse.”
“You’re not going away until the end of summer, are you? We’ve still got the summer.”
“It’ll just make it worse for you, getting to know me better right before I go away. Just as you’re feeling comfortable with me, I’m gone.”
“I already feel comfortable with you?”
“Why are you turning all red then?”
I’m sure my color of red only got brighter.
“You know.”
Harper just stared at me.
“Yeah, I guess I do. Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“Why do you think?”
Harper looked serious.
“Look, Nathan, you can’t go around kissing guys like that, okay? Some dude’s going to pop you one if you surprise him like that.”
“I don’t go around doing it. There’s no one else I’d kiss.”
“So I’m the lucky one?”
I didn’t say anything. He sounded a little sarcastic.
“Look, I didn’t mind it,” he said then. “You’re so young and hairless, kissing you is almost like kissing a girl.”
I didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t a compliment either.
“It’s just that guys don’t do that, you know? Unless they’re gay.”
I kept my silence. Harper kept staring at me.
“So are you gay?”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew what he meant, and I guess it sure seemed that way to both of us. But I didn’t want to say it. I wasn’t ready.
“Look, forget I asked that,” Harper said then. “You are or you aren’t. It doesn’t matter. You obviously like me, remembering me for three years after seeing me once in a bowling alley. Maybe you’re gay, maybe it’s just a crush. Those things happen. Doesn’t matter to me.”
I still could think of not one thing to say that wouldn’t just make the situation worse for me.
“I’m glad you like me,” Harper said then. “It’s flattering. Like I said, you’re a cute kid. Nice, too.”
I could see he was trying—hard—to make me feel better.
“Thanks,” I said.
Harper smiled. “No problem, amigo.”
He looked at the sky, at the position of the sun, and said, “Come on. We better get going.”
So this is it, I thought. Now he gets rid of me and ditches me forever. I have it coming I guess.
I followed him back down the trail. Harper still had his shirt off when we reached the cycle, and he produced a box of baking soda from within a compartment and began rubbing it under his arms. I supposed this was his idea of deodorant, but asked anyway, “Why do you keep that in there?”
“For the battery. It helps prevent corrosion.”
“You think getting kissed by a boy corroded you?”
Harper mussed my hair. “Wise guy. Because I think the time has come for people to rub baking soda under their arms. Hey, you want to come over and watch TV?”
I was so happy that he wasn’t just going to drop me off at my bike and say, “See ya.”
I called Mom on Harper’s phone to let her know where I would be.
“At a friend’s house?” she repeated, making me sound pathetic. But she was right; that never happened.
We retrieved my bike, and I followed Harper to his house, where I met his mother. She seemed just as pleasant as her son.
“Who’s this guy?” she asked Harper, looking at me. But it was a friendly question, and her smile was the infectious kind.
“Found him by the side of the road,” Harper answered.
“Well, be nice to him then,” she said. “He could turn out to be an angel. You never know.”
“Come on,” Harper said to me. “Let’s go watch TV.”
“You might have to wait if you want to watch the big screen. Glynn and Stacey are watching a movie. But I think it will be over soon.”
“No problem. The one in my room is fine.”
Glynn and Stacey turned out to be Harper’s younger sisters. Glynn was nine; Stacey, six.
“How’s the movie?” Harper asked, rubbing Stacey’s head and sitting down beside her. I took a seat in a nearby chair.
“Great!” said Stacey.
“Boring!” said Glynn.
“Blink your eyes really fast,” Harper advised her, “It’ll seem more like MTV.”
“It is not boring,” Stacey insisted. “I like it.”
“Yes it is boring,” said Glynn. “I want to watch something else.”
Glynn threw a small pillow at her sister, muttered “scrotum,” and left the room.
Stacey just looked at Harper and smiled. He put his arm around her, and they continued to watch the movie for a while. There was a girl in the film who screamed so incessantly and so loudly and, at times, so unnecessarily, that I found myself quite happy when Bigfoot ripped her head off, though I normally am not a fan of violence. And I continued to be happy when Harper said, “See ya, Sis,” and headed for his room.
“Want something to drink?” Mrs. Clements asked as we passed the kitchen. “I think we’ve got some apple juice.”
Later in life, I would wonder about all this apple juice being consumed in America. It was something I noticed: When I was in someone else’s house, and they offered me a drink, they generally regarded their refrigerator with detachment, as if they had no idea what was inside, or how it got there. If the offer was to an adult, it usually ran something like, “Let’s see, I’ve got apple juice, water, Coke, um, there’s a couple of beer, uh, I think there’s a wine cooler back here in the corner, and there’s tonic water if you want a gin and tonic.” The alcohol always came last, as if the hosts weren’t sure if it was acceptable to admit having it, or as if they hoped it would be refused so they could drink it later themselves. And if the offer was to kids or teenagers, soft drinks were mentioned last (and alcohol not at all, obviously) as if they, too, were a possible source of embarrassment. The juices were always mentioned first.
I didn’t want apple juice but was about to accept because I thought Harper must drink it. But Harper saved me. “No, Mom, we need some game food. I’ll grab us a couple of Cokes and some chips.”
Game? It was summer. That could only mean one thing!
Chapter 4
Baseball!
I am a baseball fanatic. Ask me any reasonable question about baseball and I can answer it. I can sit for hours, which is what it takes, watching a game, whether it’s professional or peewee league. I love all the strategy. I love the tradition. I love three balls, two strikes, two outs, bases loaded, down by three in the bottom of the ninth. I love no hits, no walks, 110 pitch count, going into the top of the ninth leading 1-0. I love baseball uniforms. I love Grady Sizemore’s naked pictur
es. I love it all.
Although I don’t like wearing shirts in the summer, I do wear a baseball cap—the same one, every day. It keeps the sun out of my eyes, and I just like the way I look when I’m wearing it.
Chapter 5
There are few moments in my early life so clearly etched in my memory as the afternoon and evening I spent with Harper alone on West Mountain and alone in his room watching baseball on his little television.
His room looked like the room of a future astronaut, of an Air Force cadet, of someone with Harper’s body. There were dumbbells, model aircraft, model space stations, posters of fighter jets, and posters of the cosmos. There was an American flag and a photo of the President. There were photos of his dad, his mother, and his sisters, too, but none of himself. I carefully looked at every article of clothing left in view: a black leather belt, a baseball cap, a brown work jacket with torn pockets and a grease stain, a blue sweatshirt, several muscle shirts, a pair of jeans size 28 waist, 34 inseam. I took in the blue bedspread, the reading lamp, and the shiny black sound system that was Harper’s prized possession. I remember everything. When Harper went to the bathroom, I grabbed one of the muscle shirts—one of the dirty ones—and put it to my face. The smell of Harper made me swoon. It was the odor I’d smelled when we were doing sit-ups on the mountain, when I’d kissed him. If I’d had a backpack to put it in, I would have stolen it.
Most of all, I remember Harper, laying back on the bed, looking at ease, watching the action, listening to the play-by-play announcer, groaning or applauding on almost every pitch. I remember Harper jumping in the air and yelling “Yes!” when our team scored their first run. And the high-five that followed.
When Harper drove me home in his truck, with my bike stowed safely in the back, he slowed to a crawl when I told him my house was just ahead. “What’s your phone number?” he asked. I gave it to him, and he said, “I’ll call you sometime.”
“Sure!” I answered enthusiastically. “Give me yours.”
No response.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I just don’t want you calling all the time. You’re very impulsive.”
I couldn’t deny it.
“The Academy is a conservative place,” Harper continued thoughtfully. “Yesterday that appealed to me; now, I’m not so sure. I’ve got more to lose. I’m going to be a cadet, and you’re—well, you’re thirteen. But I’ll call you. Promise.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t want to argue. I never do. My policy is to state my case or ask my question once then drop it. I had asked my question, so I dropped it.
There was another uncomfortable pause as he edged the truck toward my driveway.
“Hey, Nathan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for remembering me, okay?”
“You’re welcome.”
Harper mussed my hair, smiling.
We were at my house now. Harper got out and lifted my bike out of his truck. I watched his muscular arms flex slightly with the effort, wishing I could go to sleep that night with them wrapped around me. Safe. Then I watched him drive off down the road.
Chapter 6
One day Mom announced we were moving to a city nearby. She called it a city to differentiate it from our town. Technically, it is a city, but in my mind, it barely qualifies. It definitely has a small-town feel, but I’ll admit it is different from my home town. The dominant religion is Baptist. Only a handful of people are Czech. Mom said we were moving so she could be closer to work. This made sense unless one knew better like I did. She worked in the larger town—I still can’t call it a city—but I knew she didn’t really mind the commute. She always used to say it gave her time to herself to think. Mom is the kind of person who needs that. She needs space, and quiet, and alone time. I learned early on to respect that. For some reason, my father never had. He used to drive her crazy. And me as well.
We were moving because she needed to get away. That was all. She just needed a change.
So Harper wasn’t the only one leaving town. He would be leaving for Colorado; I would be leaving for Weston.
Meanwhile, we had the whole summer to spend together. At thirteen, that seemed like a lot of time.
He called after a few days, a wait long enough for me to get nervous and anxious, but not long enough to make me a basket case. He invited me to a movie, a science fiction film. We both loved it, and after the show we went for a burger and sat discussing the film.
When he dropped me back at my house, Harper asked, “You want to work?”
“With you?” I asked. “Sure.”
“I’m putting up a new fence before I go. I started on it two days ago, but there’s a lot more to do. I could use some help, but I can’t pay you.”
“I’ll ride over,” I said. “What time?”
“No, no,” said Harper. “If you’re going to help me out for no pay, I don’t want you tiring yourself out with a five-mile bike ride to get there. I’ll pick you up. Be ready in the morning at seven. I like to get an early start before it gets too hot.”
It was just the two of us working. His sisters would show up now and then just to hang out. They obviously loved their older brother, and he loved them. But they would get bored or hot and go back to the house, leaving us to ourselves again.
There was plenty of time to talk, to get to know each other. And there was Harper in his muscle shirt, sweaty and beautiful, and me, shirtless, beside him, both in our baseball caps and wearing work gloves. I wish now I’d gotten a picture of us. I’d like to have that.
Chapter 7
Mom met Harper the first morning he picked me up at seven. She was pleased I’d found someone to hang out with for the summer. With her working, and with my lack of social skills, I was often just left at home alone, not doing much of anything.
Harper had introduced himself to her. I immediately told her he was going to the Air Force Academy and wanted to be an astronaut.
“Very impressive,” she said. “That’s highly ambitious.”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” Harper said. I wasn’t sure he liked the “highly ambitious” remark, but I knew Mom had meant it as a compliment. We didn’t have too many people in our family who were highly ambitious. I could read her mind already; she was hoping some of his high ambitions would rub off on me.
And sure enough, she said it. It was all I could do to keep from groaning.
“Aren’t parents wonderful?” Harper asked once we were safely in the truck. “They’ll embarrass you every time.”
This time I did groan.
“No worries,” he said then. “She was just telling me she hoped I would be a good influence. Parents have a hard time trusting their sons and daughters to people my age because people my age tend to party a lot.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“But I think I’m the one who needs protecting from you,” he said, glancing over at me and winking.
I think he was half serious, though, at that point. I still had some way to go to win his trust.
We worked every day that week on the fence. Harper was starting a summer job the following week and wanted to get it finished. The work was hard, but I didn’t mind at all. I just wanted to be with Harper.
His mom worked, just like mine did. The girls stayed in the house, mostly, out of the heat. We would take a break for lunch. Harper would come up with some food in the kitchen for us to eat, usually something along the lines of a sandwich and chips, although sometimes we ate the family leftovers from dinner the night before. His mom’s chicken and dumplings were great. Then we’d return to work, moving a bit slower in the afternoon heat, and once it got to be about four o’clock, the heat would get the better of us and we would call it a day. Harper would give me a ride home, then pick me up the next morning.
One day while we were working some friends of his pulled up in their truck, got out, and talked for a while. They didn’t offer to help, and didn’t act like they har
dly noticed I was there. I just kept working, as did Harper. By then I knew what to do. And I listened to their conversation, older boy conversation, enticing and off-putting at the same time. They would throw in the cuss words on occasion or mention some part of a girl’s anatomy that I usually didn’t hear discussed. Harper might comment. He might not. But he never cussed, and he never seemed all that interest in the girl talk. One of the guys would look my way from time to time, but he didn’t seem to take interest. He probably thought I was one of Harper’s cousins or a neighbor. When they left Harper resumed talking to me as if there hadn’t been an interruption. He didn’t mention them at all or comment on anything they had said.
They’re not important to him, I thought to myself. He’s glad they’re gone.
That’s how it seemed.
Chapter 8
Once Harper started working his job, I was lucky to see him once a week. I never called him. I had his number now, but after him not trusting me with it at first, I wanted to be sure I earned his trust with it now. So unless he called me, we didn’t talk to or see each other.
We went to another movie once. And two or three times I came over to watch a game with him. We’d sit in his room lifting the dumbbells while we watched. But usually what we did together was get on his bike and ride around. I enjoyed that a lot. Harper knew it and was smart enough to understand why. It wasn’t only the exhilaration of the speed and the wind, it was the closeness of our bodies, once again experiencing his smell. It was sitting behind him with my legs spread around him, holding on to him. And mostly it was the fact that when we were on the bike together, it was just the two of us alone.
We rode in silence, saving our conversation for when we’d stop somewhere, get off the bikes, and talk. Ever since we had worked on the fence together, conversation was easy between us. If we didn’t have much to say, that was fine too. We were comfortable with each other, including our silences.
But summer couldn’t last forever, and as it drew to a close Harper began getting things ready for college, and Mom and I began packing for our move to Weston. If Harper hadn’t been leaving, I would have probably been kicking and screaming to stay put, closer to Harper’s house. But he was leaving, and the thought of being there without him was almost more than I could stand. I was glad we were moving too. I could use a new start.
Nathan's Story Page 2
