by Todd Young
“You got some glasses?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
He led him through to the kitchen a pulled a couple of tumblers out. “You want to sit in here, or in the living room?”
“The kitchen’s fine,” Ben said, so they sat at the table, though James would have preferred the comfort of the living room.
Ben poured each of them half a tumbler of bourbon and James looked at his with something like dismay. Half his problems in the past could be put down to this stuff — to alcohol. All that time with Tina. Hell. The fights.
Even so, he took a sip of it, but winced.
“A little hard on the throat?”
Yes, James thought, and he really had to say something. Otherwise Ben and he would be having some sort of fight in an hour or two, and he didn’t like his chances against Ben. He was bigger, stronger, but maybe not so strong. James took another sip. He winced again, but he could get used to this. It was more than a year since he’d had a drink. Even so, he’d stop at one.
Ben threw his back and poured himself a second glass. “What? You’re not ready?”
“No, and Ben, I don’t really want more than this.”
“Oh, come on, it’s a celebration.”
“A celebration?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Oh — really?”
Ben nodded seriously. “I’ve been over to the folks, but I got no joy there, so I thought I’d come and see you. Haven’t seen you all day.”
No, Ben thought, he hadn’t. He couldn’t have. And he relaxed a little. The thought that Ben had seen him smashing that obsidian into his nuts had been awful to him, but that hadn’t, couldn’t have happened.
He took another glass of bourbon.
And then something strange happened. He began to feel merry. He grinned at Ben and said, “Your birthday?”
Ben nodded.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
James was twenty-three. And he felt it. Felt young sitting across from Ben, who surely knew things he couldn’t know at his age.
He had a third bourbon and began to feel silly.
“Oh, you’re a foolish drunk, are you?” Ben said.
James nodded, a smile lighting his face. He felt hot now, and peeled his T-shirt over his head.
“I wish I had pecs like those,” Ben said, and James felt something like pride.
Then things began to get weird. He began to consider how Ben had been watching him, or how he thought he had, and the thought began to drive him crazy. Was it happening or not? He guessed he could ask Ben, but really, what would Ben say?
Then he decided to do it, to just simply come out with it.
“You know that shower?” he said, nodding in its direction.
Ben nodded.
“You haven’t ever — oh, don’t worry.”
Ben looked confused, and James knew he had it all wrong.
“Are you leaving now?” he said.
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
“I thought we might sit here for a couple of hours.” He raised the bourbon and swilled it. There was a quarter or so left.
“I really don’t want anymore and I need to sleep.”
“Sleep?”
“Yes. Sleep. Don’t you sleep?”
Ben nodded, slowly and deliberately.
“Well, come on, then. Leave.”
“Give me a moment, will you? I’ll have another one.”
James nodded, but he felt angry now. And he was so hot. He got up and took his shorts off. He was wearing a pair of boxer briefs, a white pair, so he figured this was okay.
“I’m so hot,” he said.
Again, Ben nodded. He poured himself bourbon and began to sip from it. “You don’t want anymore?”
“No. I don’t — drink. Not normally.”
“Oh — right. You should have said.”
Ben was looking at him oddly now and James felt like punching him. Only he’d come off second best, he knew that. He might be “built” but he couldn’t fight. Only with Tina, and that had hardly been fair. It was more than a year since he’d seen her.
Ben swilled his bourbon back and got up from the table. He swayed a little and grinned maniacally. “Not bad,” he said.
James agreed, but really, Ben had to leave. He had to go now. James got up from the table and wondered why he was in his underwear. He picked his shorts and T-shirt up and put them back on. Ben spied him with something like suspicion, and James seethed.
“Are you going?”
“Sure. Sure. In a moment, but why don’t we finish it off?”
“Finish it off?”
“Come on, it’s my birthday.”
“Okay, okay,” James said. “Sure.”
He watched as Ben split the bourbon between them and then picked his up and swilled it back.
“Woh!” Ben said. “You want to be careful.”
“I can handle it.”
“You’re red in the face.”
“It’s the heat.”
“Wait till winter. You’ll miss it then. There’ll be snow on the mountain.”
James nodded. Right now, snow would be welcome. “You want to play some sort of game?” he said, and then wondered why he’d said it.
“A game. You mean, like Monopoly.”
“No. I don’t know. Truth or dare. Or spin the bottle.”
“I’m a little old for that.”
“Oh — right,” James said, but there was anger in his voice. He wanted to punch Ben now. If Ben really had been watching him then he would punch him, but he told himself for the umpteenth time that that hadn’t happened.
“Oh, well, I’ll be going,” Ben suddenly said.
“Right.”
“Right.”
He got up from the table and swayed, and then grinned mischievously. “You know, James, I really like you. If you did want to play some sort of game, something adult, then I’d be up for it.”
Something adult? What the hell did that mean? Did Ben think he was a child?
He got up from the table and moved threateningly toward Ben. “I really think you should go,” he said.
“Yeah. I am. I’m going. Some birthday!”
“Well …”
Ben nodded and then left, walking through the house and letting himself out. James waited for a moment, and then took all his clothes off. Five minutes later he was jacking off, sitting on his bed with a pile of tissues in his hand.
[] [] []
That night, James had the dream about the ghost again. Or it wasn’t a dream, because he wasn’t asleep. The old man seemed to be leaning over him, berating him, telling him he was a fool, an idiot, and that he wanted him to leave.
When James was fifteen, he’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Even now, he was supposed to be taking medication, but it was more than a year since he’d seen a doctor.
“It’s simply moodiness,” Tina had said. “You’re a moody person. What else is there to it?”
He’d taken this in and agreed with her, and had stopped the coffee and the alcohol. Beyond that, he believed he’d been cured. The only thing he knew he needed was sleep. If he didn’t sleep properly, then things went strange, and he certainly hadn’t slept properly last night.
He had an old cross on a chain, a present from his mother, and in the morning he put this on, thinking it might offer him some protection from the ghost, if there was a ghost, which he doubted in the bright light of morning.
He utterly forgot that it was Tuesday. And when he heard Miranda’s tires crunching on the gravel, he got a shock. He peeled back the curtains, realized it was her, and all but ran out the front door. Scott was in the car, which put a falter in his step, but even so, he managed to reach them before they’d even got out.
Miranda stretched. “That’s quite a drive,” she said.
“My God, you’re isolated,” Scott said. He hadn’t seen the house yet.
“It’s what he wants,
Scott,” Miranda said.
Scott looked at him as though he was crazy. “This old place. It looks like it’s falling down.”
“It’s nice inside,” James said. “I put some curtains up — used that old machine you gave me.”
Miranda nodded. She stretched again, and then walked to the rear of the car. As usual, she’d brought everything with her, a complete picnic lunch. It sometimes occurred to James that she held the whole family together. She phoned everyone on a regular basis, all the cousins and the aunts, and her concern seemed boundless. It made him sad for her, because she had no one herself. She was in her fifties and had her hair cut short. It had gone grey, but she’d put some blond highlights into it. She was thin, wearing jodhpurs and a blouse, and he thought she looked fantastic. It had occurred to him once or twice that she might be a lesbian, and that that was why she was alone, but he didn’t like to think about gay people.
Scott, on the other hand, had a failed marriage and three lazy children. They were grown now, and he didn’t seem to take much interest in them. He lived with Miranda and their mother, a strange sort of family given their ages.
Miranda suggested they take a table outside, into the garden, and James agreed. He and Scott hefted it out, and they sat beneath the fig tree. Ten minutes later, they were pulling leeches off them, and Miranda smiled ruefully.
“Not such a great idea,” she said.
James laughed.
Scott flicked a leech at James and he flinched. This was the sort of thing he didn’t like about Scott. He was always having some sort of thing with James, as though he thought he was there to be toyed with.
After lunch, James showed them through the house. With the enclosed veranda, it really was quite big. In the living room, Scott said, “You’ll need that,” pointing at the fireplace. Then it started to rain.
“Bet you get a lot of that,” Scott said.
James nodded.
“You can’t live near a mountain and not expect it to rain.”
“I guess we’ll have to get going,” Miranda said.
James felt his face fall. They’d barely been here two hours. But then, they had the drive back.
“Oh, well, thanks for coming.”
“Yes. Well. We won’t be making a habit of it. That’s a long way to travel.”
“Yes, but I’m fine,” James said. “I like it here on my own.”
“And you’ve got school starting in a couple of weeks,” Scott said.
“Sure. I know,” James said.
“That’ll keep you grounded.”
It was another fifteen minutes before they made it to the car. Then James waved them goodbye, and Miranda tooted her horn. He walked back into the house and was suddenly aware of how silent it was. There wasn’t a sound to be heard.
[] [] []
The rest of the day was awful. He didn’t feel like training and didn’t even want to jack off. He knew it was because he hadn’t slept properly, and he was still feeling the effects of the alcohol. He wondered how he’d appeared to Miranda and Scott. Probably not at his best. At around four, he wandered into the kitchen in search of another book. He found something called Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith. He’d never heard of her, but it sounded interesting. A few minutes later he was engrossed, but by five thirty or so, he realized the main character was a psychopath and he laid it aside.
He felt too tired to make himself anything for dinner. There were some leftovers from the picnic, some sandwiches, and he ate those. Then he went to bed.
[] [] []
In the morning, it dawned fine once again. This seemed to be the pattern, the rain coming in the afternoon more often than not. He glanced at his clock and realized it was after ten. Hell, he really had slept, and he felt a lot better.
Then he heard a knock at the front door.
He was dressed in his underwear, so he quickly pulled some shorts and a T-shirt on. It was Ben.
“I came to apologize — about the other night.”
“Apologize?”
“Well, maybe not apologize. I mean, yeah, apologize. I’m sorry if I got you angry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Okay then,” Ben said, and he grinned widely. He was dressed in a short pair of shorts, a pair of work boots, and the same plaid shirt he’d been wearing the other night. Once again, James got a whiff of his scent, and he felt himself sway. Then he realized he could see Ben’s penis, swinging beneath the shorts.
“Do you want to come in?” he said.
“No. I just came to say that the old man wants you for dinner tonight. My mother too. Does that sound okay?”
“Sure. Fine. What time?”
“Oh, maybe around seven.”
James nodded. He got a whiff of the scent again and glanced at Ben’s cock. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”
“No. Work to do.”
James closed the door and turned around. He was half-hard, and he told himself he was crazy to be thinking about Ben like that. The guy was a yokel, maybe even a halfwit, though perhaps that was a little unfair. He certainly seemed to have all the smarts. But James wasn’t gay. He knew that much. He’d decided that when he broke up with Tina.
He wandered through the house for a while, at something of a loss, and then did some training. He thought about having a swim, but wanted to get back to the novel. He read for most of the day, amazed at the way the main character acted. The guy was jealous about his wife, and murdered more than one guy who took an interest in her, but he had no plan for himself.
[] [] []
He dressed in a shirt and tie for dinner, unsure whether that would be right or not. He walked up the road, the mile or so to Ed’s house, but it was so far he might just as easily have driven. He rang the doorbell, and was surprised when Julie answered in a casual frock. She didn’t even have any makeup on. Then he saw Ed. He was wearing shorts.
“Oh, you’ve dressed up,” Ed said. “No need for that.”
No? Well, what was dinner about then? Surely people dressed for dinner. At home, he’d always dressed when he went out, when he went out with Tina, definitely. She’d more or less made him, and he supposed he’d picked up the habit from her.
“Take the tie off,” Ed said, “you must be boiling.”
James loosened his tie and undid his top button. Then Ben appeared behind him, dressed in the same clothes he’d been in this morning. Once again, James got a whiff of his scent, and it sent a pulse to his cock.
Julie had cooked a roast lamb, and it smelled delicious.
They sat at the table and Ed carved. There was red wine, but James said he wouldn’t have any. Julie fetched him a Coke.
“So, how are you finding the house?” Ed said.
“Fine. No problems. I really like it, in fact.”
“You like it?” Julie said, as though this was incredible.
“Sure, it suits me to a T.”
“They say it’s haunted,” Ed said. “I probably should have mentioned that when you came to see it. My great grandfather. He lived there all his life.”
James nodded, but said nothing.
“I reckon the old bloke’d like you,” Ben said. “Someone quiet like you. I like you anyway.”
“You haven’t seen anything?” Julie said.
“Seen anything?”
“The ghost.”
“Oh, no. Does that happen?”
“The last couple said they saw him. They lived there three weeks.”
“Yes, it’s not exactly easy to rent,” Ed said. “Every time I find someone, it’s the same problem.”
“I haven’t noticed anything,” James said, but he felt a chill, as though someone was walking over his proverbial grave.
“You most likely won’t,” Ben said. “He’d like you.”
James nodded. If only that were true, he thought. If only he could speak to the old man and explain how badly he wanted to stay. What was the prob
lem with him anyway? What had the old man said, that he was an idiot? He knew that wasn’t true.
“If you do see him,” Julie said. “Let us know. I really want to get a priest in there and see if we can’t move him on.” She paused for a moment. “He can’t be happy.”
No, James thought. He hadn’t seemed happy at all.
[] [] []
Before he left it began to rain. Ed said he’d drive him home, but then Ben offered. His truck was in the drive, an old Ford F-Series. They ran outside together, climbing into the truck and then grinning at one another. Already they were soaked. It was really bucketing down.
“Hell, I’m drenched,” Ben said.
“Me too.”
“I really am sorry about the other night.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“All you had to say was that you didn’t drink. I noticed you didn’t have any wine tonight.”
“Well — no. I drink sometimes,” James said, wanting to feel a sort of camaraderie with Ben.
“Okay then. Well, next time you want a drink, let me know. I have a few beers every evening, and you haven’t seen my house yet.”
No, James thought. But this was moving too fast. Ben was making a friend of him, and he didn’t want friends. He’d made that mistake before.
Ben dropped him off at the door and he ran inside. He made himself a cup of tea and then had a shower. By eleven p.m. he was asleep.
[] [] []
In the morning it was raining again, and not just raining, pouring. James groaned. He’d been dreaming last night about swimming in the stream, about swimming while Ben watched him from the tree. The memory seemed fine at first, then he went further into the dream and remembered what had actually happened. Ben and he had been aware of one another. James had been jacking off and he’d had that piece of obsidian. Ben had said, “Really smash ‘em. Smash ‘em.” And James had done exactly what he said, pounding the obsidian into his balls. He’d smashed them and then come, and it’d had been the best wet dream he’d ever had in his life. He reached into his boxer shorts to see if he really had come, and as he felt the damp patch, he smiled. He guessed it didn’t matter so long as he never did it — not in reality. And he told himself he wasn’t going to play around with that sort of thing anymore — hurting his balls when he was jacking off. It gave him a thrill, but he felt like shit afterwards.