by Jenn Cooksey
So the fact remains; I am affected. I’m all over the place with how I feel and I don’t think I can hide it. I’m not even too sure that I should. This whole interaction reminds me of playing a strategic board game like RISK, and analyzing my position and next move, another thought occurs to me…there’s the outside chance that he’s doing what I’m trying to do and just succeeding far batter than I am. With that in mind, I decide to give him a little more truth to see how he handles it.
“Doubt you would’ve enjoyed being there, though…I called you a bastard in the eulogy.”
Up until that day, it’s a word I’d never used in conjunction with Cole. Ever. And he knows it. I know his feelings about how he was conceived and therefore his upbringing, and being a legitimate bastard isn’t something I would ever poke fun at him about. But, I wasn’t making light of it during his funeral. I was mad. And, I was heartbroken.
He sort of slowly nods in acceptance, and finally, he gives me a response that rings with authentic feeling. “Yeah, I’m sure you probably said a lot of things that are true, and I probably deserved every word. Please tell me you didn’t sing ‘Candle In The Wind’ though…”
I laugh. I mean, for the first time in what feels like forever, I actually laugh out loud. I’m not sure if it’s because his words didn’t come out sounding cold and distant, or if it’s because he’s finally warming up by teasing me or what. Whatever the case, it doesn’t matter because I’m able to see that the Cole I thought I’d buried isn’t gone completely, and the relief I feel is inordinate. It’s empowering and gives me the confidence that I feel I need to drop my guard even further so that I can hopefully unearth more of the person I thought was gone forever.
“Are you kidding? I’m not sacrilegious enough to risk being haunted by your umbrageous ass for the rest of my days, and I’ll have you know your funeral playlist made it onto a CD so I could listen to it in the car, it was so good.”
“I got a whole playlist, huh?”
“Yep.”
“‘Dream On’ make the CD?”
“Of course.”
Like I wouldn’t include Aerosmith? Come on. It was the opening song for crying out loud. The closer was The Fray’s “Be Still” though and suddenly, I have to force myself to swallow and take a breath before I start hearing the lyrics in my head and remembering details…like the incredibly supple petals and exquisite shading of the blood red-tipped yellow roses I buried in place of him, and the way the heavy fog landed and pooled into drops on their lush leaves before I threw them into the shallow grave I’d dug. Giving in to those memories would result in crying my bereaved eyes out just exactly as I did that day when I recounted a lifetime of both the good and the bad, as if he weren’t actually alive and well and right in front of me now.
“You know, Cole, I did know you fairly well and the whole service wasn’t hateful…some of it was rather touching and you probably would’ve shed a tear or two. I mean I even mentioned your damned car.”
I’m rewarded with yet another nod of acceptance, this one tinged with humor, and then he asks, “What’d you wear?”
The question catches me off guard; my first thought is to lie though and say I wore a trench coat, a red thong, and nothing else, but um… I might currently be okay with riding this ridiculously emotional roller coaster in my head, but if Cole or anyone else were to catch on that I’m zooming up and down at this breakneck pace like I am, I’ll probably have to start promising that I’m really and truly not bipolar or off my meds. Also, I’m not sure why he’s asking. Like is he trying to call my bluff in thinking that I’m making up this funeral thing or is he genuinely interested?
Honestly, this whole showdown has been beyond odd, in addition to the fact that it’s taking place right in front of his stupefied friends whom I’ve yet to be introduced to. And make no mistake, they’re clearly uncomfortable listening to us, but they’re too intrigued to interject again or start their own side conversations so that it’s not so obvious that they’re following our banter like a tennis ball being hit back and forth.
“Um, well…to be honest, it was a pretty casual affair and I didn’t put a whole lot of thought or effort into my appearance, because…well, I was the only one in attendance, so I went in jeans and a t-shirt with my uh…high school letterman’s jacket over it because it was cold and rainy, which is also why I didn’t wear any makeup or do anything to my hair except throw it into a ponytail,” I admit and wait for the teasing. He surprises me once more by giving me an honest to goodness smile, one that I haven’t seen in person in over seven years, sparkly white teeth and all.
“Now I’m really sorry I missed it…sounds like a perfect sendoff. Of course I want final say over the music, but other than that, feel free to plan any and all of my future interment services.”
“Okay, but you know, you could just not die again.”
“I didn’t die the first the time, Erica. We already covered that,” he says, the accompanying smirk on his face has me conflicted again between wanting to punch him in the nose or grab his face and kiss it. Then the table practically jumps and Cole only half-heartedly tries to hide the tiresome roll of his eyes. “But, we haven’t covered the introductions…”
He then proceeds to say names as he nods towards each of his friends to indicate them while his hands are busy gathering his keys, and the majority of his attention shifts to typing texts. I guess. All I know is that his phone is in his hand and he’s alternating between looking at it and sort of at me as I say hello to each of his friends, but not, like, really at me. It’s more like he’s looking through me. Although before I can expend too much energy or thought trying to figure out what he’s doing or figuring him out in general, I feel a presence behind me and turn to see the gorgeous brick house smiling down at me with his hand extended.
“Hi, I’m Payton. I’m gay. It’s all his fault,” She-Ra in He-Man’s body nonchalantly informs me and indicates Cole with his chin.
“Uh…okay. Hi,” I smile back and shake Payton’s outstretched hand, but in my head I’m virtually screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Cole is gay!”
Wait a minute. What does this mean? Was he always gay and just really good at pretending to be straight or…? Because if he wasn’t always gay, then maybe you turned him. Remember Captain America? Not more than three weeks after your pathetic one night stand with him, you saw him swapping spit with a guy in the middle of the quad…
Yeah, but I never found out for sure that his change of heart in gender preference had anything to do with me.
“Jesus, dude, again?” Cole’s friend, Ryan, asks rhetorically and rolls his eyes.
But you always had a question about Cole. Maybe he’d been questioning himself too and that whole summer with you is what helped him realize the answer.
God, that would really suck.
Jerry nods in agreement and tells him, “Yeah, man, you gotta quit introducing yourself like that. A simple, hi, my name is Payton works for most everyone.”
Wouldn’t it though? I mean it really makes a girl second guess herself, not to mention that if you were to have actually kissed him instead of hitting him, it probably wouldn’t have had the same effect as you intended it to. Just saying.
Suddenly becoming not so self-assured in my best bra and lucky jeans, I take my hand back from Payton and look at Cole just as he stands up.
“Hey, yeah, and quit blaming me for your sexual orientation, you queer. I just told you that in my opinion, when a person pretends to be someone or something they’re not, they’re not doing anyone any favors, least of all themselves,” he casually says to Payton, although I find myself not knowing what to do or how to take the pointed look Cole aims at me when he finishes his statement.
“I love it when you get all hateful like that…call me a fag now. Please?” Payton retorts and then turns to me once more to explain, “I just came out so I’m kind of excited about it. I get to use all the terms without looking like a bigot. It’s lik
e a signing bonus for finally suiting up and batting for the right team after pitching to the wrong side your whole life.”
“Way to ruin baseball for me this year…” Ryan intones with a disgruntled shake of his head. Then he crumples the empty pack of cigarettes in one hand before tossing it back down onto the table while glaring at Cole in irritation.
Sean is shaking his head too when he questions the table in general… “Seriously, how am I supposed to coach my kid’s little league team after that?”
“Oh my God…I can’t take you anywhere,” Cole mutters and hands Payton the half-full cocktail, “Here, drink up so we can go home.”
“Well, aren’t you the Debbie Downer tonight,” Payton mumbles into his drink and if I wasn’t paying attention, I would’ve missed it when his head barely cocks to the side in my direction when he continues by saying, “I was kind of hoping we could maybe stay a little longer now. I mean you drank almost the whole thing so you kind of owe me.”
“He’s right, Cole, you guys should stay and have another drink or several…” Jerry wheedles, shyly smiling at me at the same time.
Cole looks at me and then at all his friends and sighs. “Not tonight, guys, I had a long day and I’m beat.”
“You can’t bail on a friend you haven’t seen in seven years just because you’re tired. Only buzz-kills let being tired get in the way of having a good time and making new memories with old friends. Right, Erica?” Ryan scolds and flashes me some kind of smile that I think is meant to be encouraging, like I’m supposed to get in on the goading or something.
But, uh…watching Cole arch his back like he might be in some amount of pain, however slight, I’m thinking I’m not about to guilt him into hanging out when he clearly doesn’t want to be here anymore, despite the fact that this is the most fun I’ve had in almost a year, and regardless of whether I’m starting to feel like God might’ve just given me the gift of reuniting me with the one person capable of making me feel like even though I’m lost to my grandma now, there’s still someone alive who knows me; the one person who tonight has reminded me that I didn’t truly lose anything important in a fire, because memories don’t burn no matter how hot or destructive the flames are.
Cole sighs again and twirling his keys around his finger, it looks as if he’s weighing the decision of giving in to the peer pressure, although he subconsciously shifts and stretches his back again, so I decide to make it known to him who’s side I’m on.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m no one to talk now, but in my experience, some of my most enjoyable and memorable times spent with him was when he was uh…more or less asleep.”
His eyes meet mine for a split second before he looks down to hide the subtle, yet knowing quirk of his lips, telling me he heard my meaning loud and clear when his friends obviously didn’t, which is evidenced by some minor laughter at Cole’s expense.
“Oh my God, that’s hilarious…she even thinks you’re capable of having more fun asleep than when you’re awake,” Ryan openly states, bringing to light his inability to read between the lines, in this instance at least.
Cole cocks his head to the side a little and shrugs. “Well, she would know…since she’s quite able to speak from firsthand experience and all.”
I’ve been so focused on Cole that when I happen to glance at Payton chewing on the pointy end of his cocktail umbrella, I notice that he’s eyeing Cole in a sort of protective or maybe a carefully possessive manner. It makes me wonder if, although he practically emanates open confidence in himself and his relationship with Cole, maybe they aren’t as solid as he would wish them to be. Like, maybe Payton is one of those insecure people who, out of jealousy, try to change themselves or the other person in an attempt to fix something that wasn’t broken to begin with.
Suddenly however, for the first time in my life this little green monster of my own makes itself known. I mean, although I don’t know him hardly at all, I like Payton—a lot actually—but I was in Cole’s life first and even hinting at wanting either of us to pretend like we don’t have a long and even intimate history would fly in the face of accepting who Cole is, and Cole himself used the logic of explaining that it never does anyone any favors when someone pretends to be someone they’re not.
When Payton leans down and whispers in Cole’s ear, though, and follows up his secret communication with a soft smile and wink for me, I’m not sure how to view either of them anymore. Especially when Cole’s response is to get kind of irritated with Payton and at the same time, beckon for my phone while reporting, “We’re gonna get outta here, sugar. It’s nothing personal…it’s just if I get any more tired, I won’t be safe to drive. Twinkle Toes is afraid I’ll forget to exchange contact information though, so before he orders a ninth umbrella or says something to ruin another sport for everyone, gimme your phone and I’ll give you my number so we can catch up another time if you want.”
“Seriously? It’s not even ten-thirty and you’re gonna go home and go to bed? How are we friends? You’re no fun at all. Erica, forget this guy…we don’t need him, right? Stay and hang out with us,” Sean pouts, but in his disgruntled dismissal of Cole, he reminds me of the time and the main reason I ever wandered into this watering hole in the first place.
“Oh, okay, hold on, I need to make a call first,” I tell Cole, pulling out my phone and ignoring the invitation to stay and get drunk with three men who are still virtual strangers to me and who I’m actually starting to think all might be the owners of the eyes that were touching my butt from afar a short time ago.
I’m not sure how to feel about that to be honest, and yes, the thought of asking Cole to help me did cross my mind. I think it might be awkward though to ask for a favor after only five minutes of conversation following a seven-year moratorium on our friendship. Plus, he’s just made it abundantly clear that all he wants to do is go home and go to bed. And not that I really think any of his friends have died once, let alone fifteen times, but…you never know. Additionally, I really don’t think I want to become indebted to anyone whose wife isn’t present to give her consent for her husband to do any kind of favor for another woman. In my opinion, that’s just asking for trouble and all manner of drama. However, it does give me an idea…
“Hey, lemme ask you guys something…what would it take to get you to leave your house and maybe your bed if you’re asleep to come to a bar on a night like this for a woman you’ve never met?”
“Sexual favors,” Ryan answers without any hesitation whatsoever and then looks wide-eyed at everyone at the table staring at him, “What? I’m being totally honest. I don’t care if it’s the real Jennifer Aniston, her doppelgänger, or an overweight chick with a witchy wart on her nose. If I’m asleep already and some woman I’ve never even met wants me to leave my warm bed, risk my neck driving through that shitty slush out there and possibly over some black ice, just to meet her at a bar at ten-thirty at night, I better at least be getting a blow job by midnight.”
Jerry shrugs his shoulders and starts nodding. “Yeah, I guess when you put it like that. Anything Marcy could possibly want me to do that requires getting out of bed deserves a blow job.”
“I’m gonna side with the guys on this one. I think I’d take a blow job too…I’d just close my eyes and think of Mark Wahlberg.”
“So, the consensus is essentially unanimous, then. Nothing short of a blow job?” I joke, and lightheartedly going along with the initial misunderstanding of my question, I give the idea a mock look of consideration.
Sean clucks his tongue and shakes his head though. “You know, I’m gonna be the nay-sayer here. I really think it depends on how good the woman is at ‘em and whether she could offer me a personal reference or some sort of money-back guarantee.”
My eyes automatically flash to Cole’s face even though I told them to look anywhere but at him. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or if I should be concerned about my skills again, in that his eyes studiously ignore me by staring down at the overfl
owing ashtray on the table, which I’m assuming means that if I were to ever need a reference, he, very sadly, wouldn’t be my best bet.
Well, there you have it. You turned the greatest kisser known to womankind gay with a single bad hummer. You should apologize to every woman you meet from now until the end of time for causing him to take his lips away from every person with a vagina.
Noticing that every one of these guys aside from Cole has an expectant look on their face, though, like they’re honestly waiting for me to defend my skills or give them a resumé of some kind, I feel I must clarify why I even asked, because all of a sudden, I’m starting to feel like I should take responsibility for Cole’s sexuality and make Payton thank me, and I mean seriously, all I wanted to do was pee and get someone to fix my car for me, not run into my supposed to be dead best friend and wind up feeling like I belong in an asylum or a remedial sex ed. class.
“Well, just so we’re clear, I was actually talking about how much money I might be charged by a mechanic or tow-truck…”
“Eh, money-schmoney. I’d still want a blow job,” Ryan laughs.
“I’d still ask for references. I mean, I love my wife and she’s really super at a lot of stuff, but…I wouldn’t even get outta bed to kill a daddy longlegs if the reward was one of her blow jobs.”
Well, that wasn’t at all awkward to hear…
With my finger hovering over the call button, my eyes shift around the table to everyone else’s, because I’m not quite sure how to respond, and I notice that pretty much all the guys are nodding in general agreement again. Realizing now that this might be par for the course with these guys, I begin to relax once more and hit the call button.