5
Joe got off work about five-thirty, depending on how many shoes needed to be reshelved. Fake refs raked in $4.55 an hour at the Willowbrook Foot Locker.
After three weeks he found the nerve to ask his manager if they would consider carrying wrestling shoes. The manager hemmed, hawed, saying nobody would buy them, coaches always bought from the catalogs, until Joe told him he knew a few people. A few weeks and twenty sales later, Joe moved to $5.25 an hour.
Before movies, he’d met his mom or dad, or both, or Tom and Alan for dinner and a movie at the mall. Things were pretty contained for a while.
With Tom, their silences sometimes made him nervous with sexual tension, mixed with the unsaid thoughts about Anthony.
Sex wasn’t really an option, since Tom had unloaded some “too much information” about a bit of childhood abuse that Joe was not prepared for, in addition to his “bisexual” claims.
Joe also wasn’t really attracted to him anyway, so they talked around sex and school and the whole Anthony thing, but not much about it. Still, they stayed friends, as survivors of any other calamitous event often do.
Having Alan around provided a buffer. Joe learned to like Alan as a resource. He just didn’t know how to mix him in with the rest of his life. Tom was nice, and Joe eventually got used to hanging with them, even though he sometimes felt embarrassed, like the day they stood in line at a movie and Troy Hilas and two of his non-wrestler friends spotted them while Alan re-enacted a scene from a John Waters movie. They all kept their distance. It seemed the polite thing to do.
Over sodas and pizzas, Alan told them about gay bars, some nearby, even the one where Hunter had smashed the windshield. Joe didn’t tell them about that incident. He didn’t feel like being “read” again.
A gay bar. They’d never let Joe in, even if he remembered how to get there. He didn’t even have a fake ID.
Dink would have. He’d have gotten in on charm alone.
He awoke to music and darkness, then little sounds coming from downstairs. With his door closed, he heard his parents creeping upstairs, his mother giggling, even though the stereo was still on. His bedroom door opened. Through ‘pretending to be asleep’ eyes, he saw his mother checking on him, her hair fallen, soft, the hall light glowing through it.
The sounds continued into their room, the door closed. He thought it would be polite if he just crept obviously downstairs, just gave them some time alone, so he did, and lay on the couch, listening to the stack of albums they’d put on.
His mother’s scarf and his father’s suit jacket lay on the floor by the stairs, but before he hung them up in the hall closet, he pressed his face to each one, feeling the soft fabric of his mother’s scarf, secret pockets of his father’s jacket, smelling the difference, two perfumes, tiny particles that one day had merged to make him.
He lay on the sofa in the dark living room, listened to the bed creak above him, felt happy. Maybe they’d make another baby, maybe another girl this time. He thought their music was funny; old stuff, but it put his parents in a good mood. He wondered how he was going to feel when he was thirty or forty, listening to Nirvana someday, thinking, oh boy, those were the good old days.
As if.
He heard the steps creaking and saw his father startled, standing in boxer shorts. Unlike his magazine studs, Dino had a thinner torso, a bit of a gut, but it was him, a part of Joe, the body a man gets from working, not working out.
“What are you doing in the dark?” his father muttered.
“Listening to your music.”
“Not like your stuff, huh?”
“No, but it’s nice.”
“Gettin’ some water.” His dad padded quietly into the kitchen. The refrigerator light splayed across the ceiling, half-blocked by his father’s shadow. He heard gulps, saw the fridge light disappear, returning the house to darkness.
“You enjoy your movie?”
“Yeah.”
“You getting along with those boys?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So, how ya doin’?”
“Really good.” He didn’t know how to explain it to his father, but he did feel better, hopeful. In addition to his neck, somewhere in himself, fusion had occurred.
“Good. That’s good.” Dino stood, rubbing his belly. “Well, I spose I oughtta call Irene, go get the kids.”
“I’ll do it.” He sat up. “I’ll go next door. I’m dressed. You go on up.”
“You sure?”
His father started for the steps, until Joe called out, softly, “Da?”
“Yeah?”
“Use a glass next time.”
“If you stop pissing in the sink.”
“I never–”
His dad waved him off and headed up.
“Da?”
He figured he’d ask now. He’d never catch him in a better mood.
6
“A no load fee.”
“A what?”
Ed Khors’ condo was nice, but a bit over-decorated in a way that made Dino seem slightly uncomfortable.
Ed Khors was talking about investing in mutual funds, but when Dino was supposed to say something equally erudite, he just gave a quick glance over to Joe that said, ‘sheesh.’
The two men drank sodas, even though it seemed they would just as soon have beers if the boys weren’t there. Joe hoped Dino and Ed Khors would get along to the point of being friends who had beers together. Friends of the family. In-laws. Joe caught himself doing what Richard from the youth group had called “projecting.” Joe found himself doing that a lot.
Dino took Ed Khors by the arm. “Whyncha show me the property? Let the boys here spend some time together.”
“Oh,” Mr. Khors said, getting it. This was more of a chaperoned date.
The two fathers ambled out to the back porch, within earshot, but far enough away so that Joe and Donnie talked softly, on the sofa.
“So, how ya doin?”
Donnie shrugged. He wore a blank green T-shirt, denim pants, sneakers that looked big on his feet. He’d gotten thicker, said he was working out, but in his face, with the scraggly attempt at a goatee, Joe saw fatigue, circles under his eyes. He’d caved in on the inside but then fixed himself.
“How was juvey?”
“Food sucks,” Donnie said.
“I figured.”
“Actually, it was okay. We had these sessions where we talked. Kinda like confession, only we talk about moving on, y’know, making goals.”
“Yeah, I go to a group like that for…for kids that, you know–”
“Near-death experience?”
“No. How’d you know?”
“Your dad told my dad.”
“Oh. You get my letter?”
“Yeah. Like a month late. I’m sorry. Mom’s all freaked out. She’s not dealing with this very well. I think I’m gonna stay with Dad.”
Donnie looked at him, shrugging, like, it’s out of my hands.
“Maybe you could commute. Your dad could move back.”
“I dunno.”
Donnie’s hand picked at a loose thread in the knee of his jeans.
They shared Parade of Authority Figures jokes. Joe told him about the other kids in his group, how funny some of them were, sad at the same time. Donnie told him about some of the characters in the detention center. After defending himself in a fight with a few simple takedowns, Donnie had achieved a sort of elevated status, one that he tried to shake off, yet it kept him safe in a way. Joe didn’t completely understand, but he nodded, smiled, vibrating inside just to be near him, just to hear his voice again. His hand reached out. They held on.
“It’s weird. Everything’s so…weird.”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “I ain’t seen you in months, man. ‘Cept on tape.”
“Yeah. Weird.” Donnie sighed, then became enthused. “But one thing. We did this Outward Bound thing, like camp. They took us to this place with, you know climb the walls and climb rope over a pit.”
“Like
American Gladiators
?”
“Yeah, right. Supposed to be for our ‘self-esteem. Creating goals.’“
“Hmm.”
“So, what else ya been doin’ with yourself?” Donnie asked.
He told some of it, enhanced gruesome medical details. Donnie just took it in, like he was soaking up the image of Joe’s face to save for later.
“I did it with another guy.” Joe thought he should at least tell him the good news, even if he hadn’t had a good time.
“Really?”
Joe nodded.
“No sainthood for you.”
“Guess not.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So how was it?”
“Jeez… It wasn’t…”
“What? You’re not queer after all?”
“I was … It wasn’t right.” Joe felt the inside of his throat thickening. “I wish it woulda been you.”
Donnie looked at him, half-smiled, shrugged. “Well, we both got a lotta woulda beens.”
“Yeah.”
The boys looked away from each other. Outside, their fathers laughed at something.
Donnie asked, “Was he cute?”
“Donnie…”
“Come on. It’s me. I get lonely. I need somethin’ to think about at night. I mean, I’m like totally porno-free. We get these counselors comin’ in all the time inspecting the house ‘cause he’s–”
“What?”
“You know. Divorced. Single. Hello?”
“What?”
Donnie shrugged, then sang that line again, “What more can I say, everyone is–”
“He better not tell my dad.”
“Bro, get over it, okay? That’s his deal.”
“Okay. I’m… I’m sorry. I’m just...”
“I know. So, ya got laid. Didja fuck?”
“What?”
“Your big second time.”
“No, we didn’t– It was in a car, okay!!”
“Keep it down. Cool. I just…Well, then you’re actually still a virgin.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.” Donnie grinned in a mischievous way that reminded him of that first distracting day. “You know I love you, like a brother.”
“Already got a brother.”
“Okay then, I love you like more than a brother. And when we get back on the mat, I’ll show you a thing or two.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You’re gettin’ fat.” Donnie poked his stomach. “Whassa matter? You don’t work out no more?”
“I… Season’s over.
“Whaddayou now, one-forty?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He’d also grown an inch in height since having his neck remodeled.
“You wrestle my class?”
“Yeah, and I’ll pound ya.”
“Dream on.”
They half-laughed, avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Aw, man, what am I saying?” Donnie muttered.
“Yeah, what happened? You wrestle any?”
“Couldn’t deal. Just grades were hard enough. Besides, I don’t need that bullshit to touch guys anymore.”
Joe had to let that one sink in. “Hey, they don’t letcha, ya still got me.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I’m serious. You come over. We train, whatever.”
“Yeah, I think it’s the ‘whatever’ our parents are worried about.”
They were silent, until Donnie said, “Do you forgive me?”
Joe exaggerated his shock, thinking it would help prove his feelings. “What are you, crazy? Hey, man, it’s over, what happened, you know, I mean, I still wish we could–”
“Well, you know, maybe, it’s just…Do you forgive me?”
Joe stared at him, wanting to tell him what he saw, or thought he saw, a flap of wings, a jolt of light. If anyone on Earth would believe him, this boy would.
Instead, he switched to Sven the Laps Catholic voice. “Of course I forgeeve you! You are my brudder!”
They laughed, hugged, didn’t let go, kissed.
Donnie looked back to the porch, then to Joe. “Let’s go to my room.” Donnie’s eyes sparked.
They snuck to his room, stood kissing, grabbing, licking. Joe had a hand down inside his shorts when Ed Kohrs appeared in the doorway.
“Oops.”
Donnie’s father closed his eyes, pursed his lips, then said, before leaving, “Five minutes.”
“Okay.”
“And the pants stay on.”
“Right.”
Joe stared at Donnie, amazed.
“Yeah, um. Now, where were we?”
“Five minutes.”
Their fathers were waiting outside by the driveway, even more awkward than before.
“Well...”
“Call me.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that. That would be nice. I’m sposed to get every third weekend or something with my mom, but she’s like really touchy about her quality time. Call my dad.”
“Good. Great.”
Misty eyes. Lawn sprinklers a block away. They grappled, which became a mock tie-up, which was stopped because of “the neck,” then allowed, but only in the slow motion form of a hug.