Cupid Painted Blind

by Marcus Herzig

  Grateful for the lifeline, I say, “Oh, okay. That’ll work. Give me a second …”

  I type a quick message, then I ask for his number.

  Chris tells me the number. I punch it into my phone and hit send.

  Me:

  Hello, it’s me.

  A few seconds later, his phone chirps. He looks at the screen, reads my message, and chuckles. Then he taps a reply into his phone and sends it. Moments later my phone chimes.

  Chris:

  Your cute!

  Oh no. He’s one of those people who don’t know the difference between you’re and your. And I’m one of those people who find it too embarrassing to point out other people’s embarrassing mistakes, so I just smile sheepishly and say, “Thank you.”

  We walk in awkward silence for a while. The sky is the darkest shade of blue by the time we turn into Vine Street.

  “So how far is it?” Chris asks.

  “Not far,” I say. “Three blocks. You can almost see it from here, or you could if it weren’t so dark.”

  “Is it before or after the intersection with Hill Street?”

  “It’s right on the corner, actually.”

  “Good. I have to turn into Hill Street to get home.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  We reach the intersection, and I walk Chris a few steps down Hill Street because our dining room is facing Vine, and I don’t want to put on a display for my family as they congregate around the dinner table.

  “All right then. I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” I say.

  Instead of a reply, Chris raises his arm, puts it around my neck and pulls me toward himself for a close, tight hug. His body feels soft and warm, and when he rubs my back, a tingle runs down my spine.

  Fireworks.

  Birds and flowers and rainbows and all that crap.

  In my head.

  “Oh,” he whispers in my ear, “you smell nice.”

  Clearly, this is a blatant lie. I haven’t taken a shower after Track & Field, so I must be reeking of sweat. Nevertheless, I accept the compliment because it’s making me melt away, and I’m feeling dizzy because all the blood is rushing from my head to a lower part of my body where it is needed more.

  “You too,” I say.

  I figure if he gets to lie about my odor, I’m allowed to lie about his. His shower gel smells nice all right, but the nicotine stench lingers. It’s quite repulsive, really, but I’m not allowing myself the luxury to be picky.

  When Chris finally retracts his harm and our bodies part, I nearly pass out. He smiles his wonderful, enticing smile and says, “Good night, Matty. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Matty. How I hate that name! Except when Chris says it. When Chris says it, it sounds cool and manly and powerful, like waves breaking on the beach.

  He is already walking away down Hill Street when I say, “Good night!”

  He turns his head one last time and smiles.

  I look after Chris for a minute until he disappears in the dark. As I turn back toward Vine, I see something move behind one of our upstairs windows from the corner of my eye. When I look, Greg’s bedroom is dark, and he’s nowhere to be seen.

  When I open the front door, Mom is on her way from the kitchen to the dining room, carrying a steaming pan with sizzling pork chops.

  “Oh, there you are,” she says with a bright smile. “Right in time for dinner.”

  “Good. I’m starving” I say.

  Nothing against cheesecake, but I really need something savory now.

  “Go wash your hands.”

  I sigh. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Greg!” she calls up the stairs. “For the last time, dinner is ready!”

  “I’m coming!”

  But he isn’t. When I make my way upstairs, I find him waiting for me on the landing. His back toward me, he’s hugging himself, his hands caressing his own back, and he’s making kissing noises. Blind with anger I drop my bag and push him against the wall.

  “Not a word to Mom and Dad!” I hiss.

  “Or what, faggot?”

  The slur is enough to push me over the brink. I cover his mouth with my hand and wrestle him to the ground. As he’s trying to writhe free, I twist his arm and he yelps in pain.

  Attracted by the noise, Dad comes storming up the stairs.

  “What the hell is going on here?” He says as he grabs my arm and yanks me away from Greg. Greg tries to kick me, but with his other arm Dad grabs him and pushes us apart. He looks at me. “Well?”

  “Nothing,” I say, panting heavily, avoiding Dad’s angry look as I glare at Greg.

  Dad turns to my brother. “Greg?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Right,” Dad says, “well, then nothing is what you two will be having for dinner tonight. Go to your rooms, both of you!”

  “Thanks a lot, asshole!” Greg spews in my direction as Dad pushes him into his room.

  “It’s enough, Greg!” Dad scolds him, but the door already slams shut.

  Dad finally lets go of my arm, and he’s about to say something to me, but I’m not interested. I stomp into my room and slam the door.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the door. I’m in a horrible mood, but I appreciate that even when there’s a fight, my parents still respect territorial sovereignty.

  “Yes!”

  The door opens and Dad sticks his head in. “May I come in?”

  “It’s your house,” I say and shrug. I’m sitting at my desk, reading 2-b-pretty’s latest message, and I was just about to reply to it, but this has to wait for now, so I close the lid of my laptop and go and lie down on my bed.

  Dad closes the door and sits opposite me on the loveseat. He looks at me and says, “You want to tell me what that fight with Greg was all about?”

  I shake my head.

  Dad snickers. “Just what is it with siblings and their parents? You and Greg are exactly the same as John and I were at your age. We used to fight all the time, even violently sometimes, but whenever our dad broke us up and asked what was going on we would both always say, ‘Nah, it’s nothing.’ It was almost as if despite our differences we would stand together against a common enemy.”

  I look at him. “So what did you guys fight about when you were younger?”

  “You know what, I don’t even remember.”

  “See, if you can’t even remember it, you were probably right when you told grandpa it was nothing.”

  Dad smiles. “Well, it wasn’t nothing at the time. Time changes your perspective, and you forget a lot when you get older, but that doesn’t mean that they weren’t things that really mattered to us. So I’m assuming whatever it was that you and Greg were fighting about was something that really matters to you at this point in time. Because it sure as hell didn’t look like you were fighting over nothing.”

  “It was nothing I want to talk about,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

  “I see. Look, I know what it’s like to have an obnoxious and annoying little brother who thinks he’s smarter than you. Someone who keeps bugging you and teasing you and who is simply just a pain in the ass. But you see, if you don’t want to talk about it, I can’t help you. And I do want to help you if I can.”

  “Thanks, Dad. But I don’t need any help.”

  Dad shrugs. “Suit yourself then. I for one would have loved to have been able to talk to a neutral person in a situation like that.”

  I turn my head and look at him. “Well, that’s the problem right there. You’re our dad, you have to be impartial. If I wanted to talk about it, which I don’t, I’d want to talk with someone who’s not impartial. Someone who’s one hundred percent on my side.”

  Dad nods. “I understand. But just so you know, my offer stands, so whenever you feel like talking, I’ll be there, okay? And I’m not just talking about any problems you may have with your brother. You know you can talk to me about anything that’s on your mind, all right?”

  “All right,
” I say. “Thanks.”

  He stands up and I hope he’s finally going to leave me alone so I can get back on my computer and talk to 2-b-pretty. She may be a complete stranger, but at least she’s one hundred percent on my side. But Dad doesn’t leave. He comes to sit on my bed and looks at me.

  “Everything okay with you, son?” he asks.

  I frown at him. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Really? I’m asking because you seem a bit under the weather recently. Ever since you started high school, actually. Is everything okay at school?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, everything is new and different and complicated, but it is what it is. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Dad keeps looking at me. He knows there’s something else on my mind than just school, and for a moment I’m tempted to take this chance and come clean. Just tell him I’m gay and be over and done with it. He’s probably as ready for it as he’ll ever be.

  Problem is, I’m not.

  “All right,” he finally says and puts his hand on my leg. “I’m gonna leave you be. Make sure you eat something before you go to bed, okay? Mom put your pork chop in the fridge.”

  “Okay,” I say. Dad gets up and walks to the door. He opens it, and before he leaves the room, I say, “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  He just smiles and nods, and then he’s gone.

  I go back to my desk and open my laptop. To refresh my memory, I read 2-b-pretty’s latest message again.

  2-b-pretty:

  Hello, Handsome! Have you been missing yours truly? Sorry I couldn’t write earlier, having been busy quarreling with my retarded brother and starting high school, and I don’t know which was worse. But enough about me and my miserable life as Matty’s life is so much more exciting. His awkward attempts to endear himself to Chris without making Jack or indeed anyone else suspicious are very funny. Just be careful though. Don’t turn this into a Hollywood high school comedy for their usually terrible. Unless that’s what your going for, but why would you do that. Sadly, no progress on the other front. Still no attempts to come out to his best friend, what is wrong with silly Matty? Something need to happen. Soon! Or otherwise Matty will create even more problems for himself that he doesn’t need. Unless that’s what your going for, which I think you are because you seem to enjoy tormenting your protagonist. Can’t wait to read the next chapter!

  Yours truly, xoxo

  Even though I’ve read this for the third or fourth time now, it still puts a stupid grin on my face. For some reason, 2-b-pretty’s messages strike a chord in me. I think it’s her silly quirkiness and also the fact that although she’s never met me in person, she seems to understand both my hopes and fears surprisingly well, even though she doesn’t even know they’re actually my hopes and fears. She still thinks Matt is a fictional character. Either way, being understood is really all I want from people. I need people who understand but don’t judge. People like my sister and Alfonso. I wouldn’t mind having another person like that in my life.

  Mattoid2002:

  Dear Pretty! I am SO relieved to hear from you! You suddenly disappeared all of a sudden, and I spent the entire weekend going through our previous conversation to see if it was something I said that may have offended you or put you off or something, LOL. So you have an obnoxious little brother too? Poor Pretty! Anyway, thanks again for your feedback. Yeah, I get it, Matt keeps procrastinating. That’s because he is insecure, and also because he wants to take it one step at a time. The next step is trying to bond with Chris. The chapter is ready, but I still have to hammer it into the computer. I hope I can get it done before bedtime, so I better get on with it. I’m hoping to hear from you soon and I’m dying to find out what you make of the latest developments in Matty’s hilariously miserable little life. Talk to you soon, Pretty. xoxo

  I hit the send button, and I’m about to start typing the next chapter of Freshmen Love when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Zoey.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she says as we sit on the loveseat.

  “Sorry? About what?”

  “I was trying to get you some alone time with Chris when we left. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to drag Jack away from you two.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “We didn’t stay that much longer anyway, and when Jack finally left, Chris walked me home.”

  “Oooh, romantic!”

  “You have no idea.” I tell her everything that happened, not leaving out any detail, from the back alley cigarettes to Jack’s boozer parents to Chris’s hug and the pork chop that’s still waiting for me in the fridge.

  “Wow,” Zoey finally says. “You’ve had quite the day, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s next?”

  With great confidence I look at her and say, “I have no freaking idea whatsoever.”

  “I mean, we know that Chris is gay, and he probably wouldn’t tell you that you smell nice if he found you, like, totally repulsive, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I get that.”

  “So when are you gonna tell him that you’re gay?”

  “I … I don’t know. I’ll need to wait for the right moment, you know?”

  “No,” Zoey says, “actually I don’t know. What’s the right moment?”

  “I mean, I will obviously want to be alone with him, and you’ve seen how difficult it is to get rid of Jack. And I’m sure as hell not gonna do it with Jack around.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So yeah.”

  Zoey sighs. “If only you had his phone number or something.”

  “I do have his number actually,” I say and immediately bite my tongue. I withheld that information earlier, and for a good reason, too.

  “What? Since when?”

  “He gave it to me earlier.”

  “Well, there you go then. What are you waiting for, you idiot? Call him right now and tell him!”

  “Nah,” I say. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, first of all, I’m talking to you right now.”

  “Oh shut up! You’re not gonna make me one of your convenient excuses.”

  “I’m not making …”

  “Damn right you’re not!” She jumps to her feet. “Get on the phone right now and then … well, get on the phone and call Chris. You can thank me later. Bye!”

  She leaves the room.

  I pick up my phone and hold it in my hand, one minute, two minutes, five minutes. I open my contacts and scroll down to C as in Chris. My thumb hovers over his number, then retreats.

  Rinse, repeat.

  Twice, three times.

  The fourth time, my thumb inadvertently twitches, and the phone begins to dial. My thumb keeps hovering, and I’m about to tap disconnect but it’s too late. Chris answers after the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Matt.”

  “Matt who?” he says. “I don’t know any Matt.”

  I’m at a loss for words for a few moments until Chris bursts into laughter.

  “Sorry, I’m just messing with you! Hey, Matty, what’s up?”

  “Oh,” I say and force a laugh, “you got me there. For a moment I thought …”

  “What?”

  “You know, that you already forgot about me or something.”

  “How cold I ever forget you, Matty?” he says, and I’m melting away. “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Oh, okay then. Well, thanks for your call. Bye!”

  “No, wait! Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Sure,” Chris says, “ask away.”

  “It’s …” I have no idea where I’m going with this, or how to get there. “Look, you went to Littlefield, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Right. So, my best friend’s cousin went to Littlefield too, and …”

  “Oh yeah?” C
hris interrupts me. “What’s his name?”

  “My friend? Alfonso.”

  “No, the cousin.”

  “Oh, right. Alfredo. Alfredo Salazar.”

  “Right! I remember Alfredo. So what about him?”

  “Well, Alfredo says … well, he told Alfonso about … about your last birthday party.”

  “Did he now?” Chris says. “That’s interesting. I don’t even think he was invited, but hey, what do I know?”

  “He wasn’t, but …”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know, word got around I guess.”

  “And what word is that?” Chris asks. He knows exactly what I’m getting at, but he wants to hear it from me.

  “That word would be … gay, I guess.”

  “Gay?”

  “Alfredo says you came out to your friends and family on your birthday.”

  “Is that a question?” I hear him smiling.

  “No, I guess my question is, is that true?”

  “Yeah,” he says, and for some reason my heart starts beating faster, as if I hadn’t known the answer before.

  “Oh, okay.”

  Chris snickers. “So, is that a problem?”

  “Oh, no, no!” I hurry to say. “No problem. Not at all. I was just … curious, that’s all.”

  “All right then.”

  A few moments of awkward silence. Then, before I even know it, I hear myself say, “Listen, um, I had a great time at the Korova today, so thanks for asking me along.”

  “No problem. I had a great time too.”

  “Yeah, it’s just … it was a bit of a crowd, wasn’t it? So I was wondering, um … I mean, maybe we could repeat it some time, but without the entourage?”

  “Why Matty!” Chris says in a teasing voice. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Um … no, I was just thinking … you know, nothing big. Just a quick milkshake and a muffin or … or something.”

  “But just you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chris laughs. “Where I come from we call that a date, Matty.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well then … Yeah, I guess I’m asking you out on a date. So what do you say?”