Common Sons

by Ronald Donaghe

  “A dance?”

  “We didn’t stay very long, because.”

  “What? Something happened. You got upset. Over what?”

  “Just the dance.”

  “Nonsense, sonny boy.” His father looked at his wife as if to say Listen to that will you! Tom hated the way his father’s profile looked. Like a slab of meat with just the bead of one eye showing. But the look was gone in a second as he swiveled his head around to face Tom fully, again.

  Tom jerked.

  “I know that was wrong, and what happened, I mean, what I saw.you know, drinking, fighting.” His voice sounded lame, like a child telling tales, and he shut up.

  His father’s face remained unchanged. “God only knows what kind of wickedness took place. You could have been upset, Thomas, but you were hysterical. And I happen to think your behavior needs a rational explanation.”

  He watched his father across the table, but kept his head down while he toyed with his egg. He attempted another bite, but as he brought it to his mouth its bland smell made him almost gag. He put down his fork and folded his hands in his lap like his mother’s. His father was composing some sort of statement, rule, something that would further demonstrate his power as the head of the household.

  “Is the Reece boy the sort you should be hanging around with, then?”

  “Oh sure, Father! It was my fault.” Relief flooded through him. “Joel is a great guy.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. If he doesn’t respect your—”

  “I said it was my fault, Father!” Tom felt his stomach lurch realizing he’d just snapped at his father. He saw his father’s face become angry. His lips were quivering as though a nerve was jerking involuntarily, and his dark eyes held Tom’s like a clenched fist holds the seat of an errant child when the parent is angry enough to hit.

  “You have just bought yourself home detention, young man!” his father shouted. “Grounded until I say otherwise!”

  Tom sighed. “May I call Joel, so he won’t wonder what’s wrong? We were supposed to—”

  “No, you may not, Thomas!”

  “Yes sir.”

  * * *

  After breakfast his parents left the house, leaving it quiet. He did the breakfast dishes, looking out the window over the sink, looking at the dark brick walls of the church across the way. When they had moved to Common nine months before, the Allen family quickly demonstrated to the congregation their active interest in the church, and for all their strictness at home, Tom respected his parents. They really did work hard to make a decent home. In several cases, their visits had brought whole families into the fold, where before only the wife or a child had been attending.

  They had lived in Common only since the end of the previous August, and until this summer, Tom’s weekdays had been spent in school in his senior year. Rarely did he have so much free time during the week, and until last Friday, he had intended to spend most of the summer on Joel’s farm, but now things were upset. Because of me…because of Father too! he thought, feeling resentment rise in his chest, feeling like an idiot for losing his temper at the breakfast table.

  He felt a relentless stirring of sexuality too (Joel would say “horny”), which was directed back to Joel, the masturbation in the shower and his bed, the boys at the park; but drumming in his head were passages from the Bible he knew by heart. “Sins of the flesh,” “reprobate mind,” “unnatural lusts.” And on top of that he had committed the sin of omission talking to his father under his oppressive gaze, wanting only to get him off his back.

  He cleaned his room and shined his scuffed wingtips, placing them neatly back in his closet. He rearranged his clothes, dividing his dress clothes from his few casual ones. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of Levi’s. And in spite of the nagging tugs of shame about masturbating, he was nowhere near as crazy as Saturday. He felt clean, even. It was strange, finally yielding to sex, bursting through some membrane of self-discovery; it forever alters you, he thought. He stood in front of the mirror staring at his reflection, to see if it showed.

  He looked into his own eyes. The dark irises reflected miniatures of his face. He looked frankly at himself. What would Joel see? He felt his looks couldn’t compare with Joel’s. He was the most beautiful guy he’d ever seen, who had so captured his secret feelings that he had forced their friendship. Even in this small town of a couple thousand people, he and Joel had nothing in common, and Tom had no pretext for even meeting him at school. But then Joel had responded, and what did he see in me, if it wasn’t the same longing? He shivered with pleasure, remembering.

  For days after first seeing Joel, Tom had followed him around school, keeping a safe distance to avoid arousing his attention. When he saw Joel coming down the hallway, he would arrange his position in the crowd to be pushed near him. He’d excuse himself, or make some trite comment. In a few more days, he was talking to him.

  Joel began showing recognition and occasionally smiled. At first, he had looked surprised to be called by name, and then one day he passed by Tom at the drinking fountain next to the gym. Tom felt a whump on his back and turned around to Joel’s wide toothy grin; Joel had hit him with a rolled-up towel with gym clothes in it, and the air was slightly tinged with the smell of sweat and Zest from the damp towel. “Hey man, what’s your name? I keep seeing you around and you already know mine.”

  Tom allowed himself to look frankly into Joel Reece’s eyes which, in the dull shadowed hallway, were soft and smiling. It was the boldest, frankest stare he had allowed himself. He told him his name. “I met you in September at the Junior-Senior slave banquet.”

  Joel’s eyes brightened and he threw his arm around Tom’s shoulder. “I remember, now! Yeah. How are you, man?” and Joel had walked him down the hall as freely and innocently as if Tom had been a girl. Nobody paid the least attention to them, Tom realized. Joel walked with an easy assured grace and seemed to dominate the space around them, so no one would think it was odd. Nope, nothing wrong here, except Tom was quietly dying from love and embarrassment. This was exactly what he’d often seen in the section of the school near the vocational shops and the agriculture classrooms—Joel animated and joking, cussing and aggressive with the other guys from the country, so much different from the timid friends that Tom had always made. Joel became an obsession. Joel would throw his arm easily over a guy’s shoulders and sort of hug him, completely unconscious of the sexual arousal it might cause. And it was this very unconscious, physical closeness that Tom craved and got, that October afternoon.

  Joel kept his arm around him and walked him to the east end of the hallway, which led out to the bus parking lot. They burst through the double glass doors and Joel finally took his arm off. “You wanna go somewhere later, man? I have chores. But I can get back into town for supper. We can grab burgers or something.”

  “Yeah! Hey, that’s great. Sure!” And Tom gave him the address. His fingers were trembling as he pulled out a pen and tore a page from his notebook. His mind was racing. Telephone number…address. Should I mention Father being a preacher? “I’ll be on the porch waiting. What time?”

  Joel grinned and began walking away. Tom watched the sashay of his hips and nearly died of excitement. “Give me a couple hours?” Joel called over his shoulder.

  “Okay!” Tom called, and turned back toward the school. He bumped into Paul Romaine.

  “Why were you talking to Joel Reece? He’s a clodhopper!”

  “Just because I was,” Tom said, curtly, feeling annoyed with Paul as usual.

  Tom began to walk away, but Paul followed close behind. “I saw you walk out with him like he was your best. like you were his date or something.”

  “We do have a date, Paul,” he said with satisfaction.

  Tom stood in the middle of his room and realized he’d been staring at Joel’s picture. He went over to it and picked it up. “I messed things up this time, Joel. But I promise we’re still friends.”

  * * *

  I
n the afternoon, the Elder and Mrs. Romaine were invited over, which also meant that Paul would be there, but Tom didn’t mind. When Paul came, he would suggest that they invite the usual guys to study for the Bible class on Wednesday. That should satisfy Father, too, he thought. If I can stand it.

  But killing the afternoon took time. Several times after the guys got there, Tom secretly read the clock on the nightstand by his bed. Paul mopped up on Tom’s attention as usual and ignored the others. Kevin Todd, an elder’s son, Mike St. Germaine, a deacon’s son, and little Pete Thompson, the shiest kid Tom had ever met, spent the afternoon in his room. They studied a little, Paul dominating the meeting and nauseating Tom. And time passed like eons. The bright spot was Pete. The little guy sat next to him, and Tom could feel the kid’s adoring eyes on him. Secretly, Tom imagined the kid was like himself, discovering a nameless emotion that he was not yet aware of. Tom envied Pete’s frank, open stare, his innocence, his own gone now—if innocence were virginity or the desire to lose it.

  Pete’s face shined up at him. “Are you going to college, Tom?” They had been talking about school, summer plans, jobs. Tom looked down at Pete. His face was small like his body—a teenager in a kid’s body. He doubted that he even shaved. He was red-haired, and a small splash of freckles ran across the bridge of his nose. He looked into Pete’s pale blue eyes and smiled.

  “Yeah. But I haven’t decided where. It’ll probably be Baylor, but I’ve also been accepted by UCLA.”

  “Where’s that?” Pete wrinkled his nose. “UCLA?”

  “You stupid,” Paul interrupted. “It’s in California. Los Angeles. Tom’ll go to Baylor.”

  Tom glanced at Paul, then ignored him. He spoke to Pete. “UCLA is a good school. They also have branches of the university in other cities in California. If I go there, I’ll have to decide on just the right kind of study. They offer better engineering courses than Baylor.”

  “Oh,” Pete said. “I thought you’d be a preacher too.”

  “’Fraid not, Pete.”

  “You’ll be breaking a long history of preachers in your family,” Paul interrupted again. “I don’t think your father will agree.”

  “I have a scholarship for UCLA,” Tom said. “If I go there, it won’t matter if Father agrees or not.”

  Mike St. Germaine whistled softly at Tom’s remark. Paul laughed derisively. “Sure, Tom.”

  Tom looked directly at Paul, then let his eyes slide away and back to Pete. “We’ve talked about it. Of course he wants me to go to Baylor. We have relatives on the Board, but it’s my decision.” He put his arm on the back of Pete’s chair. “What about you, kid?”

  Pete brightened, delighted to be kept in the conversation. “I have another year of high school.” He looked embarrassed, but determined to continue. “I was hoping you’d be close by so we could keep in touch.”

  Paul snorted. “With you, why?”

  Pete’s pale face turned bright red. He frowned at Paul, but didn’t respond.

  Tom said, “Don’t mind him, Pete. It doesn’t matter where I go. If you want to write, or even visit, that would be great.”

  Tom tried to salvage Pete’s feelings, but he drifted out of the discussion. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  Angry at Paul, Tom got up. “Looks like we’ve got Wednesday’s lesson straight. How about meeting at six Wednesday before class?”

  The others got up. Tom said good-bye to them. “Would you stay a minute, Pete?” Then Tom caught Paul’s arm and pulled him out in the hall. He whispered so his parents couldn’t hear. “Why were you digging at Pete?”

  Paul looked surprised. “Oh, him. He’s a nobody, Tom. He’s not one of us disciples, you know even though he’s always there. I don’t know why he hangs around. But you can’t shake him. He was at Kevin’s when I called over there.”

  It was just like Paul to take seriously the name of “disciples” that Kevin or somebody had called their group one day. “Well, you were mean. Why don’t you see if your parents are leaving?”

  “Sure thing,” Paul said. He barely registered Tom’s insult, which he accepted as a normal response to him. “Don’t waste your time on Pete, though. His father will never become a deacon. He’s been trying for years. He—”

  “Bye, Paul.” Tom turned and went back to his room. Pete looked nervous when Tom opened the door. “What’s the matter, Pete?”

  “Kevin was my ride, and he left before I could tell him to wait.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. How far away do you live?”

  “Next door to Kevin on Zinc Street.” Tom tried to remember where Zinc was. “We can walk, if you want. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

  “Sure. That’d be great!”

  “I need to get out anyway. I was going crazy just sitting around, weren’t you?”

  They were by the front door. The Romaines had left. “Is it all right if I walk home with Pete?”

  “Fine, Thomas.” His father looked up from the desk. “Dinner is promptly at six, so be back in time, and no detours.”

  They left the front yard and turned north as Pete indicated. “What’d he mean, no detours?”

  Tom looked down at Pete. He was almost a head taller. Pete must have been barely over five feet tall. Even compared with Joel, whose forehead was at Tom’s eye level, Pete was short. “I’m under house arrest.” He tried to make a joke of it, but saw that Pete was startled. He smiled sadly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  The pavement in this part of town was kept in good condition, and all the sidewalks were wide and curbed. The trees in the yards were well established and in some places hung over the fences, shading the sidewalk. Tom was in no hurry to get to Pete’s house, and Pete seemed happy to be walking with him. Tom suspected he was right about Pete’s feelings and wanted to come right out and ask. But Pete was also very shy, and he could mistake Pete’s real feelings. He tried to make his questions sound offhand.

  “Do you hang around with Kevin much outside the fellowship?” Tom asked.

  “Sometimes, I guess. I like Kevin, you know. We’ve been neighbors for, well, all our lives.”

  “Oh, I see. And Paul?”

  Pete frowned. “I don’t like him, and I wish Kevin wouldn’t hang around him, but don’t tell Kevin I said that.”

  “I won’t. Truth is, I suppose, being elders’ sons, they get thrown together a lot.”

  “True,” Pete said. “Their fathers are pretty active in the church.”

  “They run the church,” Tom said. “Them and the deacons. Preachers come and go, but they hold the church together.”

  “I guess so. I don’t know much about it. I’m not very religious. Just Kevin’s friend. You know, where he goes, I go. Like that.”

  “But you’ve been with the disciples, right? You’d have to be pretty dedicated to the church for that.”

  “Of course,” Pete said. “I’m part of the group, but mainly because of Kevin. I’ve been baptized. But religion’s not a strong thing with me, really.”

  Tom considered this. “It’s not important?”

  “It’s not a way of life, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Then why do you come to church?”

  Pete looked up at Tom as they walked. His face was troubled. He got nervous easily, Tom saw, and regretted his question. But he waited for an answer, because Pete was struggling to compose one.

  “Well, the easiest answer is to say that my parents make me,” Pete laughed, and Tom laughed too, thinking it was pretty funny. “But really, it’s because of Kevin. He’s always been nice to me, at least nicer than a lot of other guys. I don’t make friends too easily.”

  Tom saw that this was hard for Pete to admit. They walked along in silence for a few minutes. Although it was hot out, Tom was enjoying the walk. The pace was a lot slower than with Joel. Joel was always in a rush to get where he was going, even if it was across the room. The slower pace allowed him the perfect rhythm for thinking, and getting out of the house was like wakin
g up from a disturbing dream.

  Tom told Pete about the dance. “That’s why Father grounded me. For going. Joel said I was too drunk to realize it, but we were about to get beat up Friday.”

  Pete’s face dropped in horror. “Why!?”

  It was Tom’s turn to be reluctant. “Oh…people were just drunk, and looking for excuses. Maybe because. they. they don’t like preachers’ kids.”

  Pete shook his head. “I’ve heard about those dances out at the air base. I heard about their fights and stuff. I can’t imagine going to one.”

  Tom had to laugh a little. “It wasn’t so bad. Mainly just a bunch of kids from high school. Everybody was drunk, though. I’ve never seen that before. Or a fist fight for that matter.”

  “Well, that’s about what everybody in this town does best,” Pete said. “Drink their guts out, but I guess it’s just an ordinary town; like any place, it appeals to some people and some people hate it because it’s ordinary. Maybe a little too ordinary, like maybe the original mold, like its name, Common.” Pete burst into a peal of laughter, then smiled up at Tom. “But underneath, if you want my opinion,” Pete continued, shifting to a frown, “most people here aren’t very happy.”

  “Not much to do here,” Tom said. “Do you think that’s why?”

  “The schools offer a lot of programs, like the plays and sports, and then there’s the bowling alley and the theater,” Pete said. “But you’re right. It’s pretty dead otherwise. I guess that could be why people seem unhappy. But that’s not really what I think causes it. There’s just something missing.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “You ever been anywhere else?”

  “No. But we shop out of town, you know, clothes and Christmas shopping. And we go to Texas and Arizona some Christmases to visit my grandparents. But I haven’t really been anywhere. You?”

  “I’ve lived in little towns in the south, and some cities like Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Houston, a few small towns in Georgia, even West Virginia when I was a baby. We’ve traveled a lot; that’s just the way it is when your father’s a preacher.”