by Noah Harris
“Me too,” Richard admitted, smiling as he remembered. He wondered if he’d bump into his ex-girlfriend when they were in Chillicothe, and decided he didn’t really care one way or another. She was a nice girl, and better off without him. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make a habit of dating closet cases.
“So this guy starts sucking me and damn he’s eager. I feel like I’m getting the Hoover Maneuver.”
“A kid in Kansas City did that and the vacuum cleaner sucked his dick right off!”
“Oh, and you tell your folks I’m going there? Thanks, Country. So as I was saying, this guy is really going to town on me. At the same time he’s whacking his meat like there’s no tomorrow, like he’s really into it but wants to finish in record time. I understand that people get nervous in the toilets but there’s a limit, you dig? So we’re in there having a great time, if a bit anxious. I get right to the brink when suddenly the stall door gets kicked open. Hits me right in the back. The guy from the other stall is standing there. I knew him from his shoes. He flashes a badge and says, ‘Stop what you’re doing, you’re under arrest!’”
“Oh shit!”
“That’s what I said. Just then I cum, and I mean cum like Noah’s Flood. The dude sucking me off jerked back in surprise when the cop showed up and my dick popped out of his mouth just as I shot. The door hitting me on the back made me lose my balance, so I fall to the side and shoot everywhere—on the Hispanic dude, on the stall walls, on the groceries, on the cop, on everything! It was a sight to see. The cop jumps back all horrified trying to wipe the cum off his shirt without touching it. Starts scraping at it with his badge. Then he gets a good look at the Hispanic dude for the first time and his eyes go wide. He shouts out ‘Mañuel, what the hell are you doing?’
“I saw my chance. I tell you, Country, I was out of there like Jesse Owens being chased by a pack of Nazis. As I’m running I hear Mañuel shout, ‘Bob, don’t report me to the precinct! Please!’”
“Whoa! The dude sucking your dick was a cop?”
“Turns out he was. And you know what? I bumped into him at the Everard a couple of years later. The pig did report him, and he lost his badge. The cop who busted us was so angry about the cum on his shirt that he took the case right up to the Chief of Police. And I’m wanted for assaulting a police officer.”
“With cum?”
“Is there any better way to assault a pig?”
“Damn, good thing the cops are so inefficient. It would be a bad trip if they ever catch you.”
“Nah, all the brothers look the same to them. I got out of cruising the toilets after that. Started going to the baths. They get busted sometimes but they’re way safer.”
Tyrone chuckled and looked out the window. “Seems weird talking about this shit while driving through all these fields.”
“Yeah,” Richard replied. “New York feels like it’s on another planet or something.”
“You don’t miss all these open spaces?” Tyrone asked as they passed a farmer driving his tractor across a nearby field. The man waved. Richard got the impression he waved to every car that passed. He knew some folks in Chillicothe who did that.
“I miss my family, and I sure miss the fresh air, but you don’t know what it’s like growing up in a small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business, and one little screw up can chase you for years.”
“Like when you popped a boner at the swimming hole? I remember that story.”
“Exactly. I’ll never completely live that one down.”
Tyrone looked at him, concerned.
“You don’t think those rednecks we got in a fight with called back and spilled the beans do you?”
Richard bit his lip. The previous week one of his old classmates, Brian Jay, had moved to town to attend Columbia College in the fall. There was no way to avoid him and so Richard had invited him over for some beers. What he didn’t know was that Ron Humphreys and George Curran, two other classmates and star football players, had come along for a road trip and they showed up at his house too. Ron had discovered one of Richard’s magazines and the three guys ended up beating the crap out of him and Tyrone.
“I don’t think so, not after I pulled the shotgun on them,” Richard said, glancing in the rearview mirror. His bruises had finally faded, but it still hurt inside. He had a feeling it would hurt for a long time.
Plus they wouldn’t make a long distance call to tell everyone, Richard thought. They’d want the pleasure of telling everyone face to face.
Oh hell, they might even hunt down a copy of Hot Young Virgins.
“Well at least they’re in New York and not Missouri,” Tyrone said.
Richard’s heart did a flip flop. Brian would still be in New York, but the two football players had only been on a road trip. Would they be back in Missouri by now? Would they keep quiet?
Just then, he spotted a sign saying “St. Louis 345 miles.” They were already more than halfway there, and Richard had made a promise. He couldn’t skip his grandfather’s funeral.
But what if Ron and George had talked?
They made it to Chillicothe at eight the following evening, passing over the bridge where the locals had lynched a black man back in the 1920s for nothing more than giving “sass” to a white woman.
Richard’s nerves were on edge. He’d made a call from a gas station to tell his parents that they were almost there. His dad sounded guarded, quiet, and Richard had to convince himself that it was only because of his granddad’s death and the fact that he was bringing a black man home. It wasn’t because the guys had talked. It couldn’t be.
As Richard drove down Main Street, he broke out in a cold sweat. Nothing had changed—the lone movie theater, the drug store with its gleaming chrome soda fountain visible through the window, the five-and-dime, the Confederate monument in front of the courthouse, the high school kids in their trucks driving up and down the main drag flirting—everything was exactly as it had been when he left.
Everything except himself.
As he changed gears, he felt a warm hand rest on his own.
“Easy there, Country.”
“This was a bad idea.”
“I’m with you right down the line. Don’t freak out when they give me shit. I’ve been dealing with it all my life and I ain’t gonna blame you.”
“I love you,” Richard squeaked as they turned off the main drag onto Richard’s street.
“I love you too. Want to hit a bar and have a few for courage?”
“There’s no bar in this town that would have you.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
They passed along the familiar tree-lined lane. Some of his neighbors strolled along the sidewalk, enjoying the warm evening, while others sat drinking beer or lemonade on porch swings.
Finally, they had arrived. Richard pulled into the driveway, parking right behind Dad’s pickup and Mom’s station wagon. The porch light was on but no one sat on the porch swing.
“Be cool, Country.”
Richard took a deep breath, switched off the engine, and climbed out.
“Richard! Good to see you again.”
Chuck Billings, his neighbor, climbed down from his porch and walked over. He made it halfway before suddenly stopping. Tyrone had climbed out of the truck.
Mr. Billings only hesitated a second. He took the final few steps to reach Richard and gave him a warm handshake.
“I was so sorry to hear about your grandfather. He was a good man.”
“Thanks, Mr. Billings.”
His neighbor’s eyes flicked in Tyrone’s direction and his voice grew tight. “Pick up a hitchhiker?”
“No, a friend from New York. He’s visiting family in Kansas City.”
“I see. Well, welcome back,” he said, his voice going tight.
Mr. Billings turned and left. He closed the door to his house, slamming it.
Richard and Tyrone grabbed their bags and walked to Richard’s front door in silence.
Ju
st as they mounted the steps, his mother came to the door.
“Richard!”
They hugged. His mother was a short woman, her body round from fifty years of country cooking, but still strong enough from housework and yard work to give him a fierce embrace. Richard rested his chin on the top of her head like he always did and relaxed at the familiar smell of her.
“And you must be Tyrone,” she said, turning to his boyfriend and managing an uncertain smile.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know you. We’re all so curious about Richard’s new friends.”
“I guess not too many people from these parts end up in New York,” Tyrone said.
“One of Richard’s classmates did, Brian Jay. He’s the only other one I know of. Imagine, two in one year!”
“Good old Brian. Yeah, I met him,” Tyrone said. He even made his voice come out pleasant, although he couldn’t stop from unconsciously touching his ribs where the guy had kicked him. With his shirt off the bruises still showed, even on his dark skin.
“A couple of the other guys went on a road trip to see him, are they back yet?” Richard asked. He could hear the anxiety in his voice. Tyrone was doing better at all this than he ever could.
Thankfully, his mother didn’t seem to notice. She only replied, “Oh no, I expect they’ll be gone for quite a while yet.”
Good.
Richard breathed a little easier and felt some of the tension seep out of him.
“Come on inside, boys. I bet you’re hungry. I’ve fixed you something to eat.”
His father sat in the living room, a tall, lanky plumber who looked smaller than he actually was as he slouched in his usual armchair with a beer in his hand, watching a baseball game on television.
“Hey Richard,” he grumbled without looking away from the television.
“Hey dad. How are the Cardinals doing?”
“Tied against the Cubs,” he replied, his eyes glued to the screen.
“This is Tyrone, the friend I told you about.”
Tyrone nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Miller.”
His dad took a sip of beer.
After a long moment Richard asked, “Is Traci home?” Traci was his thirteen-year-old sister.
“She’s having a sleepover at Cheryl’s house,” his dad grumbled.
“Sit on down in the dining room, boys. Dinner’s ready,” his mom said, her voice rising an octave.
Within a couple of minutes they were seated at the table with heaped plates of fried chicken and greens in front of them. Richard smiled when she poured them each a glass of milk like they were kids.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m lactose intolerant,” Tyrone said.
His mother’s face fell. “Oh dear, I forgot a lot of you people are. Would orange juice be fine?”
“That would be great, Mrs. Miller.”
As they dug in, she joined them at the table. She sat at the far end and kept moving her hands as if she didn’t know what to do with them.
“I was so worried when that blackout hit,” she said.
“It was pretty scary, but neither of us had any trouble,” Richard lied.
“All those terrible people looting and starting fires! Such a disgrace,” his mom said, shaking her head.
A derisive snort came from the living room. While people of all colors had joined in the looting, the news cameras had focused on the blacks and Latinos.
Richard’s mom acted like she didn’t hear his father.
“So do you have a job, Tyrone?”
Richard rolled his eyes.
Not “what do you do for a living?” but “do you have a job?” Nice one, Mom.
“I’m a pharmacist.”
Richard almost choked on his food.
“Oh, how interesting. And where did you boys meet?”
“At a movie theater. We both have the same interest in film.”
Damn, Tyrone, you’re good at this.
“And you have family in KC? That’s a long way from New York.”
“My Uncle Marcus and Aunt Latoya.”
“They must like the Loop. I’ve never been myself.”
The Loop was a famous string of Blues bars. Tyrone obviously didn’t know that because his facade cracked a little. After a second, he recovered and managed to answer.
“Oh, they just moved out there last year. Uncle Marcus got a job in a…warehouse. It’s all new to them at the moment. It will be my first time out there.”
The questioning continued, with his mother remaining nervous and his father obviously listening in but not contributing. Once they finished dinner Richard insisted on doing the dishes.
“I’ll help,” Tyrone volunteered, joining them in the kitchen.
“Nonsense! You’re a guest!” Richard’s mother said. “Why don’t you grab yourself a beer and watch the rest of the game?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, it was obvious she knew she had said the wrong thing, but it was too late. Casting a wary look in the direction of the living room, she fetched a beer for him.
Richard focused on washing the dishes, but the sound of the running water and the clatter of the cutlery couldn’t drown out the thunderous silence emanating from the living room.
Once he was done he got a beer for himself, took a deep breath, and headed for the living room.
Mom was nowhere to be seen. Dad still sat in his armchair, continuing to stare at the television, still with a stony face, and Tyrone was on the couch, sitting as far away from Dad as he could get. Richard sat down next to his boyfriend, taking care to leave plenty of space between them.
The silence lingered on. Richard offered to fetch a beer for his dad and he just about managed to nod a reply. Mom reappeared in the final inning to say that their beds were all made up. She sat down to join them on the couch. Mom never watched baseball.
The Cardinals lost 4-2, which did not improve his father’s mood.
“Well, I guess you boys must be tired,” his mother chirped.
“Yes, I do believe I’ll turn in,” Tyrone said, giving an exaggerated yawn.
“Goodnight then,” Richard said.
“Show your…friend upstairs and then come on down,” his father said, staring at a toothpaste commercial like it was the most interesting thing on television. “We need to talk about the service.”
Richard gulped. “All right.”
They went upstairs to find Traci’s door closed, which it never was, and the old Army cot set beside Richard’s bed. Tyrone put down his bag. Richard poked his head out the door to make sure no one had followed them up the stairs and gave his boyfriend a quick hug.
“Sorry,” Richard whispered.
“Ain’t no thang. It went better than I expected,” Tyrone whispered back.
“We don’t have to stay long.”
“Do what you need to do and don’t worry about me none.”
“I got to go downstairs.”
Tyrone pinched his ass. “Have fun.”
“Yeah. Fun.”
By the time he got back downstairs, Dad had turned off the television.
“You have a lot of nerve bringing someone like that to this house,” his father rounded on him. His voice came out as a harsh whisper.
“Someone like what?”
“Don’t act like that with me, boy. We’ve never had a coon in this house.”
Richard glared at him, “Don’t use that word.”
“Coon.”
His mother intervened. “Donald, Tyrone is a guest. He seems all right.”
His father dismissed her with a perfunctory wave. “Bringing him here when we’re grieving, making Traci have to stay with friends…it’s damned selfish, Richard. Damned selfish.”
“Traci doesn’t have to sleep over at Cheryl’s,” Richard replied.
“You think I’m going to have my daughter sleep under the same roof with one of them?” his father’
s voice rose, pointing at the ceiling.
“Keep it down, Donald. Tyrone doesn’t seem like he’s like that.”
“He isn’t,” Richard told her with more conviction than she could possibly know.
“You’re too innocent,” his father said. “You see what they did to your own city as soon as the lights went out?”
“Plenty of white people were looting and burning. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Dad scoffed.
“I’m glad your grandfather never lived to see this.”
Those words hit Richard like a punch in the gut.
“Donald!” his mother chided.
Richard rallied. “Grandpa never had a bad word to say about anyone. He had plenty of Negro field hands over the years and he always treated them with the respect they deserved.”
“He didn’t—”
Richard cut his father off, jabbing a finger at him. “Tyrone is a friend of mine. He’s a good guy who helped me out when I first got to New York. You’re going to treat him with respect and courtesy or we’re sleeping at the Motel 6.”
Dad paused, startled. Richard had never used that tone with him before. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it, and finally he just shook his head.
“I don’t know what kind of life you’re leading out there, Richard, but I don’t like it. Your cousin is coming down from Galt tomorrow, plus your uncles and aunts are going to be over for dinner tomorrow night. I don’t want any trouble from either of you.”
With that, his father stomped off to bed.
His mother put a hand on Richard’s arm, gave him a sympathetic look, and hurried after her husband.
Richard tromped upstairs, brushed his teeth, and went to his room.
Tyrone was already in the cot with the lights off. Richard closed the door behind him. He wished he had a lock on it.
“Hey, Country. Do I want to know what all that whispering was about downstairs?”