Andy and I had camped out in my backyard that night. It seemed to me now slightly ridiculous that college students would camp out in a tent in the backyard, but it was easy to forget what it was like when privacy was hard to come by. Living in my own house spoiled me quick.
“We got the idea that it would be great to go skinny dipping in the middle of the night,” I continued. “So we went in our underwear and then let them sink to the bottom.” I said it with the same sort of horrified pride with which I thought about my childhood stunts, like standing with one foot on the seat of my bike, the other leg kicked out in the air behind me as I raced down the street. I couldn’t help but admire my recklessness, but kids could be so stupid. “Anyway, we got frisky. Andy was sitting on the edge with his feet in the water, and I was in the pool with my head, you know, between his legs. My mom had gotten up to let the dog out—”
“Wait—that’s how you were outed? You got caught blowing him?”
“Hey.” Suddenly my cheeks felt hot enough to steam.
“Why’d I think you were only making out?”
“Usually I gloss over the details. But I figure now you can relate.”
“Why, because you caught me getting... blown?”
“I guess.”
“That doesn’t count. When I walk in on you getting a beej, I’ll be able to relate.” He used the mug to cover his smile. “So what happened?”
“She screamed.” It was the same choked gasp she would’ve made if a burglar had sprung from the shadows in our own dark living room.
“No shit.” He was enjoying this. “So what did you do?”
“We ran bare-ass back to the tent. Farley was running around, trying to catch us, thinking it was some kind of game, and somehow he weaseled his way into the tent with us. I zipped up the door anyway as fast as I could, trying to make like a barrier between us and my mom, who in hindsight I’m sure just ran back into the house. So we’re in there, wet and naked, with a huge German Shepherd.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m trying to push him out, and of course this had to happen in early summer—prime shedding time—and in about ten seconds I look like a fucking werewolf. It was disgusting.”
“Wow. That is one hell of a coming-out story. Your poor mother!”
“I know, seriously.”
“But to be fair, she probably would’ve screamed the same way if she’d walked in on you eating pussy, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Figures I’ve never gotten caught doing that.”
He smiled again. I liked that he never had any issues about my other interests.
“Obviously it would’ve been less traumatic if I’d told them outright. Plus, they can always pray for the fifty-fifty chance I’ll end up with a girl.” I laughed and then felt myself instinctively pull back a little. This was feeling too natural, too nice.
“That’s true.”
“They’re uneasy about it,” I said, adjusting my tone from friend to mentor, where it felt more comfortable and somehow appropriate, “but they didn’t disown me, and yours won’t either.”
“That doesn’t feel like a lot of comfort.”
“No, probably not.”
We sat for a while, sipping our hot chocolates and listening to Mogwai. The long arm of the wind-up clock on the mantle traveled slowly around its face, and every so often the front yard lit up in the headlights of a passing car. When the music was replaced by the soft static thump of the finished record, Zane slid his legs off the ottoman and told me he needed to get to sleep.
“Your sheets are still in the dryer,” I said. “I’ll go get them.”
I went down cellar and pulled the blue plaid comforter and yellow flannel sheets from the dryer. They were freezing. I gathered them up into a ball that wouldn’t drag and carried them upstairs.
Zane came into the room behind me. “I borrowed some mouthwash.”
“OK. Griff said he bought an egg-crate. Should be around somewhere. You can check the closet.”
He slid open the closet door. “Oh hi Griff,” he said, peeking inside. “Just kidding.”
He pulled out the rolled-up and shrink-wrapped pink foam, pushed his fingers through the plastic—they popped through one by one. We smoothed the egg-crate over the mattress, which smelled vaguely like the new Jetta, and fitted the sheet over it.
“These sheets are cold,” he said.
“I know. Sorry. The dryer vents to the outside.”
“Yeah. They’ll warm up fast.”
He looked at me and smirked and I smirked and looked down.
When the fitted sheet was finally secure we shook the flat sheet over the bed and let it settle like a parachute around the egg-crate. We looked at each other from opposite ends of the bed. He had hat-hair and bedroom eyes, and maybe because he looked so tired and sad, he looked mine. I found myself leaning over and then crawling over the headboard; he was doing the same from the other end. Our mouths met in the middle. We kissed, softly at first and then in a frenzy. It was hard and hurt my injured lips.
In a lull that offered us the chance to say something, to acknowledge what was happening, neither of us did and we began undressing instead. He pulled my t-shirt over my head and I fumbled with his fly. His skin was soft and smooth like porcelain. When we were naked we entwined, pushing hard against each other in tangles of sheets. The egg-crate curled up off the mattress and wrapped around us.
Laying my head on his thigh I took him in my mouth and listened to him gasp. After a minute I came up and kissed him and held him, my fingers tight on the small of his back, pulling him against me as though he might come through on the other side. Against his neck I whispered a request and wrapped my legs across the backs of his thighs.
“You want me to?” he said.
“Just be easy.”
“I can do that. Condoms?”
“Medicine cabinet.”
He jumped off the bed and sprang naked out of the room. The bathroom door smacked the wall as he barged in. The loud bang was like a splash of cold water, a record needle screeching across vinyl in the middle of a romantic song, the slap of a teacher’s ruler on a daydreaming student’s desk. It made me realize that we were being noisy, that Griff could probably hear us, that Griff was in fact mere feet away, that Griff was in my bed.
Griff.
I sat up, my heart pounding. I couldn’t find my boxers and instead grabbed my shirt and held it over my dick. Just as I noticed my underwear hanging on one of Griff’s blueprint tubes, Zane jumped over the threshold as though he’d come out of the sky. Instantly the smile disappeared from his face.
“... What are you doing?” The hand clutching the condoms and a little clear bottle of lube fell to his side.
“I can’t do this.” I got off the bed, still holding the shirt against me. “I’m sorry, I want to but I can’t.” I started to reach for my boxers.
He threw the condoms and lube down on the bed. The lube bounced off the rumpled egg-crate and disappeared through the crack between the bed and the wall. “What do you mean you can’t do it? You look capable enough.” He glanced down at the erection I was trying to conceal.
“There’s so many things wrong with this. For starters, Griff’s right there.” I pointed at the wall.
“He fucked Beth when you were nextdoor.” He looked at me expectantly but I didn’t know what else to say. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this, Vince. And I don’t mean just with my dick, I mean in here.” He thumped his bare chest with his hand. “It was as blissful as I always thought it would be, you and me. I mean, until you decided to slam on the brakes so you could go sleep happily with your straight boyfriend instead.”
“Why do you keep doing this?” I squeezed my underwear until my fingers cramped. “Why can’t you just let it go?”
“Because you can’t let it go, Vince. If you weren’t interested, hey, fine. If you only wanted to date chicks because it’s easier, that’s your choice. But I don’t g
et why you insist on jerking me around like this.”
“You think I don’t—” I was shouting, and I lowered my voice. “You think I don’t want to lay with you here for hours and days and have it be blissful? But what about after that? Things, man, things are not as simple as some fucking dream, and things don’t end up that easy, and I’m sorry if you can’t accept that. There are boundaries. I’m your boss. You’re not even old enough to drink.”
He cringed. “I may be a little younger than you but you’re the one who’s totally fucking immature.” His eyes were welling up. He gathered his clothes off the floor and left the room, came back. “It’s him, isn’t it? Has it always been him, even before he even came here?”
“...”
“Are you that hung up on a straight guy?”
“...”
“He doesn’t love you!”
“He does.”
“Not the way you love him. And you know what? He never will. Straight means he never will. So deal with it.”
“Fuck you.”
He flinched, and in that same moment seemed to realize he was naked. He looked down at his belly, at his penis. He turned around and left.
I started to follow him but the doorway felt barred with some kind of force-field. After a minute I heard the front door open, close, and then the grinding engine of his car fading away.
***
“Get my keys,” I said, thrusting my hip toward Andy. “Front pocket.” Griff’s left arm was around my shoulder; his body hung between Beth and me like a scarecrow.
“Oh, he’s drooling,” Beth said.
A strand of spit hung from Griff’s lips, clear and fine like fishing line. I let go of his arm and wiped the back of my hand across his lips.
“That’s gross,” said Andy. He yanked the loop of keys from my pocket and unlocked the door of room 907.
It was 3:00 a.m. on the first Saturday since our return from winter break. We’d gone with Beth to a welcome-back party in Kenny Grimshaw’s room on Seven. Kenny’s room was half-empty—his roommate had transferred—and he crammed the empty space full of people, alcohol, music—full of college.
Andy pushed open the door and Beth and I hauled Griff into the room, his feet dragging over the splintering threshold. I noticed he was only wearing his socks.
“Fuck. I forgot his shoes.”
“No shoes?” Griff gurgled.
“I’ll go get them,” Beth said, her teeth clenched under Griff’s weight.
We got Griff over to his bed and let him collapse into it. I lifted his legs the rest of the way onto the mattress. He put his arm around his pillow, buried his face in the jersey sheets.
“Jeez, he’s heavier than he looks,” Beth said, massaging her shoulder.
“Hey, I offered to carry him,” Andy said, holding up his hands.
“I know. Now what kind of shoes does he have?”
“Those black Converse ones,” I said.
“OK. I’ll be back.” She glanced at Griff before leaving.
“He’s not going to roll off, is he?” I said, sitting down on my bed.
“He’s not going to roll off.” Andy sat down beside me. He had a Veryfine container full of Jack Daniels in his hand. “So what was going on with the Architect tonight? He’s not usually a big drinker, is he?”
“Who knows.” Normally I was protective of Griff but I’d emptied a juice bottle more than once too and what did it matter, anyway? Everything about Griff was hanging out tonight, for everyone to see.
“He get his heart broken again?” Andy said.
“He spent the entire break online chatting with Tricia Johnson from the second floor. Couldn’t wait to get back to school so he could hang out with her in person.” I pressed my cheek against Andy’s shoulder. He offered me the Veryfine container and I shook my head. “It was all he talked about. Vince, I think she and I are really gonna hit it off—this could be the big one. Tonight he just kept knocking them back every time she sucked face with that guy Steve.”
“Poor Griffin,” he said. “The perpetually broken-hearted Architect. Will he ever find his soulmate?” He put the container on the floor and laid back on the bed, overshooting the edge so his head knocked against the wall. He laughed and rubbed his skull. “Ow. I had too many too. —What if you’re his soulmate?”
It was like a spark. “Me? Griffin isn’t into guys.”
“No, you’re right. But guess what?” He sat up and pressed his lips against my neck. “I am.”
“Are you?”
“One in particular, in fact. Hey—” His voice turned sneaky, conspiratorial, sexy. “Want to do it with him in the room?”
“What?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be hot. Let’s do it while we watch him sleep.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“You’re drunker than I thought.”
“It’ll be so hot, Vince.”
“No.”
“You know you want to.”
“Come on.”
“Then let’s go to my room.”
“I can’t, Andy. I need to keep an eye on him.”
He put his lips on my ear and whispered and whined, sad and deprived like a horny Oliver Twist. “But I need sex.”
“You need to go to bed.” I pinched his shoulder. “Come on, get up. Can you make it back to your dorm?”
“I’m not that drunk, Vince, for fuck’s sake.”
I stood up and opened the door, left my hand on the brass knob. “I’ll IM you tomorrow,” I told him, and I kissed his bristly black hair as he went through.
“I’m going to go jerk off to you,” he said.
I closed the door and rested my head against the molding, listening for the sound of the suite door closing behind him.
I’d wanted to—what Andy had suggested first. And I would’ve, too, if not for Beth’s imminent return. I was sure I would’ve, because I knew it was the closest I would ever get. I could’ve closed one eye and done the trick with the forced perspective...
The suite door thumped again and there was a knock on mine. I opened it and Beth held out Griff’s shoes.
“Andy leaving?” she said.
“Yeah, he’s drunk.”
“How’s our patient doing?” She peeked in.
“He’ll be fine.” I took the shoes and tossed them on the floor beside the little fridge. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. He’s such a romantic, isn’t he? It was like he was in a movie or something, watching Tricia making out with Steve. Almost cute in a screwed-up way.” She smiled and the light from the common area reflected in her different-colored eyes. “Anyway, if you need anything, you know where I live.”
I nodded, told her goodnight, closed the door.
I sat down at my desk and put my face in my hands. I read people’s away messages for a while and clicked random icons, highlighting, unhighlighting. After a while Griff groaned and sat up.
“What time is it?”
“After four.”
“Fuck, really?”
He ran his hand through his hair and then panic flashed across his face and he sprang off the bed, pushing past me as he made for the door. He whipped it open and it smacked the wall. He barged through the common area into the bathroom. Luckily it was empty. I followed him there. Griff was the kind of guy who would clean up some random girl’s puke at a party; I didn’t think he should have to throw up alone. He lifted the toilet seat and fell to his knees in front of it, just in time.
“Come on, man,” I told him. “In the toilet, not on the floor. There you go. OK.”
When he was done he sat staring into the bowl. Then he rocked back on his knees, raised his face to the ceiling, his eyes full of regret.
“Better?”
He nodded and smiled weakly and leaned forward to throw up again. He clutched the rim of the toilet, speckled with pubic hairs and splotches of yellow grime, clutched it with both hands, his head disappearing into the bowl. Gags and whimpers echoed off the porcelain.
/>
“Dude, don’t drown, come on.” I put my hand on his back, rubbed fast in circles.
He leaned back on his heels again. He looked pissed off. He would’ve called it orange. Puking was like getting violated by your own body.
“Let’s see if we can find you something.” I dug around in the medicine cabinet, through curled-up tubes of toothpaste and two gnarly toothbrushes and found a bottle of blue Listerine with an eighth of an inch left in the bottom. I unscrewed the cap and handed it to him. He took it, swished half-heartedly, spat in the toilet, flushed.
“Thanks,” he said, squinting now. He closed the lid and put his hands on it to stand up, and only then noticed the yellow-olive puddle on the floor where he’d missed the toilet.
Instead of reaching for toilet paper he rubbed his knee into it, smearing it around with his jeans until it was all but gone and the floor merely glistened in the ugly fluorescent light.
He stood up and looked at his open hands, rinsed them under the tap. He threw a palmful of water at his face. Then he loped back to our room, dragging a wet hand along the wall, leaving a shiny trail on the eggshell paint.
While I closed and locked our door he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down and off, not seeming to notice or care that his boxers went down with his pants. I felt a moment of embarrassed surprise and looked away, but his t-shirt, as usual, was far too big for him and covered everything. He got into his bed and yanked up the covers.
I turned off the light and kicked off my shoes. With my back against the wall I sat on my bed and watched him sleep. Minutes multiplied into an hour, at least. When the smell of his vomit-soaked jeans finally got to me I got up to pick them up. But here, hanging out from beneath his plaid comforter, was Griff’s socked foot; here was his calf and the soft, hairless nook at the back of his knee; past these, his arm and his long thin architect’s fingers. He was lying on his side, facing the wall. His skin glowed blue in the light that came off the street.
I stood beside his bed for a long time and then bent down. From his jeans I pulled his boxers, untwisted them, opened them, held them to my face, felt the cotton against my lips. I unzipped my jeans, pushed them and my underwear down to my knees and knelt on the floor beside his bed. I lifted the covers and could see the small of his back, his ass, blue in the light, fine hairs sprinkled across it.
The Cranberry Hush: A Novel Page 19