by Kim Fielding
“Good to know.”
William decided to begin with one of the cardboard boxes. He lugged it to a desk, sat in a creaky wooden chair, and started to examine the file tabs. Meanwhile, Colby pulled out the bottom drawer of one of the cabinets. He sat cross-legged to peer at the contents.
It was boring and uncomfortable work. William’s back started to hurt from sitting hunched over and from carrying heavy boxes, and his fingers accumulated paper cuts. After a couple of hours, he’d found only two likely files. He and Colby hadn’t exchanged more than a few cursory words.
William replaced the final folder into his current box, stood, and stretched. “Need to take a leak. Want something to drink?”
“More Coke?”
“Sure.”
Colby looked up at him from the floor. He had dirt smudges on his nose, which was adorable. “Could you bring us some music? I could plug my phone into your laptop if it has decent speakers.”
“I have a radio.”
“Low-tech. Even better.”
William walked to his apartment and used the bathroom. He unplugged the radio and pulled a bottle of pop from the fridge. Then, on a whim, he cut a couple slices of pie and put them on plates. He topped them each with a generous scoop of ice cream. He had to juggle pie, forks, bottle, and radio, but he made it back to the records room without mishap.
Colby came close to his usual smile when he saw what William had brought. “Pie delivery!” He leapt up to take plate, fork, and bottle from William’s hands. William put his own snack on the desk and, after searching for a few moments, found a place to plug in the radio. The room filled with the sound of Eric Clapton crooning to his guitar.
“This really is great pie.” Colby had reseated himself and was talking with his mouth full.
William sat down and took a big bite of his own. Colby was right. Delicious.
“I tried to talk Missy into giving me the recipe once, but she refused,” Colby said. “She said it’s top secret.”
“But you’re family.”
“I know, right? ’S not fair.” He scratched his neck with his free hand. “This could take us forever, you know. There’s a lot of files. And God, every one of them is some poor person who got locked up in this place.”
That thought had occurred to William too. It made his heart feel heavy. He knew that, unlike Bill, most of the patients had probably suffered from some kind of mental illness or disability. It was upsetting to know that this bleak prison had been the only option for them.
A folder lay near Colby’s knee. He pointed at it with his fork. “This William was admitted in 1932. But I peeked at the notes anyway. They said he got locked up for melancholia. What’s that?”
“Depression.”
“Oh. I thought so.” He added quietly, “Like my dad.”
“Yes.”
“This William died here at the asylum in 1973. He spent forty years here, Will.” Colby shook his head. “I think I’d rather blow my brains out.”
“There are… there are other options now. Medication and full spectrum light therapy and—”
“I know. And don’t worry. I’ve never felt depressed. I was just thinking…. I used to blame myself for my dad.”
“You were a little kid and he had an illness, Colby.”
Colby sighed. “I know. But you know how kids reason. I used to think that maybe if I’d been a better son—I used to get in trouble at school a lot—or if I’d have come home from school earlier or if I’d given him a bigger hug when he left for work that morning….”
“I’m sorry.” Again, William wanted to fold Colby in his arms. He imagined a little boy with big blue eyes, sitting at home and thinking of all the ways he could have saved his father.
Colby shook his head as if he knew exactly what William was thinking. “I’m cool now. I know it was his issue, not mine. But I was just now thinking that at least he spent his last days with people who loved him. Just a couple days before he died the three of us went camping in Yosemite. He made s’mores and told me ghost stories at the fire, even after Mom told him I’d have nightmares. We had a really good time.” He did that head-tilt thing, like a curious puppy. “How ’bout you, Will? I know your ’rents are disasters, but do you have some happy memories of them too?”
William nodded slowly. “Every Tuesday afternoon when I was little, my mom used to take me to the public library and let me check out three new books. And then we’d stop and have ice cream on the way home, and she’d joke every time that she was ruining my appetite for dinner.” He remembered keenly how much he’d looked forward to those days. He would sit inside the ice cream shop with his fresh stack of books, and as he licked his treat, his mother would ask him questions about his day.
“That’s nice,” Colby said with a small smile.
“It was. And my dad… one time he decided that the two of us should learn to ski. God knows what put that idea into his head. He’s clumsier than me. I was thirteen. He dragged us up to the mountains and signed us up for lessons. Spent a fortune on equipment rental. And about an hour in, when we’d both fallen on our asses for the hundredth time, he just looked at me and started to laugh. We were laughing so hard we couldn’t even stand up. We ended up back in the lodge, drinking hot chocolate and people-watching. And he swore me to secrecy about the whole debacle, so Mom never knew what a bust we’d been. Every so often she’d ask when we were going to ski again, and then she couldn’t figure out why we’d fall apart laughing.”
“Do you miss them?”
The question took William so much by surprise that he unhesitatingly told the truth. “Yeah.”
“And you know that what’s happening between you guys… it’s not your fault any more than Dad’s suicide was mine.”
“I….”
“You are a good man, Will. You’re smart and kind and gentle and thoughtful and… and cute as a button. And you’re one of the most moral people I’ve ever met. If your parents can’t see that, they’re blind and stupid. They’re crazier than any of these guys.” Colby waved his arms to indicate the room’s many files.
William ducked his head. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
They returned to their task and worked until dark had fallen outside and William’s stomach grumbled for something more substantial than pie. They’d accumulated a small stack of files by then, so they sat beside each other on the floor, looking through them. To William’s deep disappointment, none of them belonged to their Bill.
Colby looked around and groaned. “We didn’t get through even a third of these.”
“I know. How about if I make us some dinner—”
But Colby was standing. “I need to get home. Sorry.” That distant look was in his eyes again.
“Oh.” William couldn’t help it—he let his shoulders slump.
“I can come back tomorrow, though. I’ll ride my bike so you don’t have to play chauffeur.”
Well, Colby’s plan to return was better news.
They drove back into town in silence. Colby still had that smudge on his nose. He directed William to the store parking lot, which reminded William that after all these weeks, he still didn’t know exactly where Colby lived. Colby paused before getting out of the car. “Bill met my great-grandpa.”
“The man in the store after he escaped.”
“Had to have been him. Grandpa didn’t take over until several years after the war.”
“Your great-grandfather didn’t turn Bill in to the authorities.”
When Colby smiled, his teeth sparkled in the moonlight. “Yeah. I obviously come from good stock.”
Nineteen
COLBY called earlier than expected. William was still in his boxer shorts, sipping his first cup of coffee. “Brought breakfast,” Colby said over the phone.
The fickle weather had turned very warm again, so William tugged on only his shorts and sandals before trudging up to unlock the gate. Colby was wearing cut-offs and a plain red tank top. A plastic bag was tied to th
e side of his seat. “That’s a casual look for you,” he commented with a grin. “You’re shedding layers. Like a snake.”
“Snakes shed skin, not layers.”
“If you don’t get out of the sun you’re gonna be doing that too.”
The plastic bag proved to contain sticky cinnamon buns that Colby’s Aunt Deedee had made. “We could have had more of the pie,” William pointed out.
“We’ll save the pie for lunch.”
“You must do a lot of exercising.”
Colby grinned. “I do. And a little padding on you would be okay.” He poked at William’s bare stomach and then pulled his hand back quickly, as if he regretted the action. “Let’s get to work,” he said awkwardly.
The records room became oppressively hot well before lunchtime. William dragged in one of the fans, which helped a little, but he was still sticky and sweaty and uncomfortable. Colby removed his tank top. William tried not to sneak looks at the glistening golden skin. Neither of them spoke much, although sometimes one of them would call out after encountering a likely file. Colby sometimes got distracted and read aloud some of the papers he came across. William had to admit, they were fascinating. Every one of those files held a story as rich, as heartbreaking, as Bill’s. But for now he only had time for the one.
A little before noon they broke for lunch. William fixed some sandwiches while Colby managed to put together a fruit salad. They each had a beer and, of course, a big slice of pie. They sat at the table as they ate, chatting about some of the cases they’d come across. Colby asked a lot of questions about psychology, so many that William began to feel as though he was teaching a very small seminar, but he didn’t mind. He was impressed with how quickly Colby grasped concepts. He’d figured out some time ago that Colby was bright, but until now he hadn’t had a full appreciation for just how sharp he was.
“You should think about finishing your degree, maybe going to grad school,” said William as they cleared the table.
Colby looked surprised, then shrugged. “Maybe. I tried an online course a while back but I hated it. I need face-to-face interaction.”
“Well, maybe someday.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
They trooped back into the records room, but within a few minutes they both began to yawn noisily. William’s sight grew a little blurry and he almost nodded off over his files.
“Hey, Will? What would you say to a siesta?”
William smiled at him. “I’d say muy bien.”
They lay side by side on William’s bed with their shorts still on. The fan blew air over them, cooling them slightly, and the buzz of the motor and the steady chirp of the birds outside blended into a fuzzy drone. Within minutes, William was sound asleep.
COLBY was inches away, staring at him.
William blinked the sleep out of his eyes and started to say something. But he never got a chance, because Colby launched himself forward—landing half on top of him—and pressed their lips together.
William had gone thirty-two years without the touch of another man. Then he’d had Colby, but only for one night and the next morning. But those two times—that too-short twelve hours—had been enough to spark a hunger in William, and he’d spent the last three weeks craving. Starving for Colby’s kisses and caresses.
Now he feasted.
There had been a gradual, teasing quality to their earlier lovemaking. But there was nothing gradual today. William and Colby writhed together as if each man were trying to squirm into the other’s skin. They fumbled and tore at clothing. They grabbed and pressed, mouthed and sucked. Ragged gasps and moans issued from their throats, and the bedding tangled around their bodies. Pillows fell to the floor—and at one point, William and Colby nearly fell too.
In the end it was William who held their cocks together with his larger hand, who stroked and squeezed and twisted, who watched Colby’s face distort into an expression that could almost be mistaken for agony.
After they’d both spent themselves, they collapsed bonelessly onto the mattress. William thought maybe they’d drift back to sleep.
But Colby suddenly lurched off the bed and began stumbling around in pursuit of his discarded clothing. “Oh God. Will, I’m sorry. I didn’t— Fuck.”
William sat up and squinted with confusion. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“No.” Colby ungracefully pulled on his briefs, almost falling in the process. “I just gotta—I gotta go.”
“Go? But the files—”
Colby buttoned his shorts and looked around for his shirt. He’d probably forgotten it was in the records room. “I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Now it was William’s turn to leap out of bed. He chased after Colby, who was on his way to the door, and caught his arm. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.” He felt ridiculous having this conversation naked but didn’t want to let go long enough to retrieve his clothes.
“I’m sorry, Will. This was a big mistake. I thought I could… I thought we could just be friends, platonic buddies, and I needed that too, and so do you because JV is a godforsaken place in the middle of fucking nowhere and I’m always at work and you’re locked up in here and—”
“Colby!” William waited for the other man to take a couple of deep breaths before he continued. “I thought we liked each other. Were attracted to each other. I thought….” He swallowed. “What’s going on?” He knew he sounded pathetic and lost, but he was pathetic and lost, so that was okay.
Maybe Colby took pity on him. “Let go and get dressed, okay? I won’t run away.”
William wasn’t sure whether to trust him, but he already knew he could outrun Colby, and he wasn’t too proud to go chasing after him stark naked. With a small nod, William found his shorts and tugged them on. He didn’t bother with boxers. “Explain. Please. Why are you shutting me out? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Will. You did everything right. That’s the problem.”
“Um….”
“God.” Colby rubbed his face. “I really like you, Will. A lot.”
“So you run away? There’s a psychological term for that but—”
“It’s not that. I’m… Jesus, this is tough. I’m falling for you, Will. Fallen. Hard.”
William needed to sit down, so he did, plopping onto the mattress. His heart was thudding and he felt dizzy. Colby cared for him. Colby loved him? “That should be a good thing,” William said quietly. “Because I feel the same way about you. You’re—”
“No! See, that’s the thing exactly. I want—I need something lasting. I had enough of the casual shit. I want to go to sleep every night and wake up every morning with the same guy. I want to share everything with him. I want to fucking get into fights over who forgot to replace the toilet paper or whose turn it is to make dinner. I want to consider having kids. I want to grow fat and bald and wrinkled together.”
“And you can’t have those things with me?” William stood and walked to Colby. “We have fun together. And me, I want those things too. I want them with you.”
To William’s surprise, Colby reached up and stroked his face. “But you’re new. You’ve barely even looked at other men. Will, I had years of shopping around, figuring out what I want. You don’t even know your type.”
“You’re my type!”
Colby shook his head. “You don’t know that. It’s like… like you’re a man who’s never eaten anything and is really hungry. He finds a Brussels sprout and thinks, Hey! This is great! I’m going to live on Brussels sprouts. And he has no idea yet that cherries and pad thai and mint chocolate chip are out there, waiting to be discovered.”
“You’re not a Brussels sprout, Colby.” William decided not to tell him he’d been thinking in food analogies himself not too long ago.
“I am. I am totally a Brussels sprout.”
William was getting a headache. “You’re fantastic, Colby. You’re—”
“I know. I’m really cute.”
Colby made a sour face.
“You are. But jeez, that’s not the half of it. I really like being with you. Just hanging out. I’ve never laughed so much or had so much fun with anyone. Ever.”
“That’s sweet,” Colby said sadly, caressing William’s face again. “But you need a lot more time. You need to play the field. If we get together, it’s going to be just like it was when you were married. You’ll try really hard and you’ll be incredibly nice about it, but you’ll be secretly miserable and longing for something else.”
That accusation hit William hard enough to hurt. He took a step back. “No.”
“I’m sorry. I was hoping I could… keep a distance between us.” He chuckled wryly. “You see how that worked out. This is breaking my heart, but better quickly than slowly. I can’t… we can’t do this anymore.”
William had no more words for him. No more words at all, really. He’d experienced disappointment in the past, abuse, rejection. But his heart had never before felt like a shard of cold obsidian nor had his soul ever felt so hopeless.
He stood silently as Colby put on his flip-flops and went to get his shirt. And then it occurred to William that he was going to have to unlock the gate to let Colby out. For a wild, irrational moment he entertained the idea of refusing to do so. He could hide the keys and then Colby would be stuck here with him.
Imprisoned in a mental hospital against his will. Just like Bill.
William put on his sandals and walked down the hall, out into the glaring sun, up the driveway. By the time he’d opened the gate, Colby had ridden over on his bike. “I’m sorry, Will. I fucked up. I handled this really badly.”
“No,” William replied, because that was all he could manage.
He watched Colby ride away.
He relocked the gate and trudged back down the slight slope. He was going to continue looking through the files alone. He was still going to find Bill.
He was so foolish. For a little while, he’d allowed himself to believe that he could get over his shitty childhood and horrible experiences and gloomy, repressed self. He’d believed that he could find happiness with an extraordinary man.