Borrowed Boy

by Gene Gant

  I DIDN’T want to believe what I’d just heard. “No you didn’t.”

  Cole nodded. I could see him trembling. “Yes I did.”

  I stepped toward him again and Cole did a major flinch, closing his eyes and ducking his head as he jerked up one of his knees, curled forward at the waist, and threw up his arms like a shield. “Agh! Please don’t hit me. I’ll raid Lolo’s $300 savings account and give you every cent if you don’t hit me.”

  “Stop it, Cole. You know I’m not gonna hit you over this.”

  “You’ve hit me for less.”

  I felt the way my eyes flared at him.

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose, looking miffed. “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”

  I slumped down, sitting on the floor. Cole’s sun-bright room suddenly felt dingy. “I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid, Zay.”

  “Coming back here was a crazy thing for me to do.”

  Cole came over and sat down in front of me. “What was it like, living with that family in Chicago? Did they beat you, starve you or something? Is that why you ran away?”

  “No, Cole. My birth parents were good to me. My brother, BJ, is an asshole, but yesterday I started thinking that even he kind of cares what happens to me.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “I’m so mixed up in the head right now, I can’t even think. Being in that city, with all those people… it was too much. I wanted to come home.”

  “I’m glad you’re back, Zay. But….”

  “I know.”

  “I promised Mr. and Mrs. Beckham.”

  “I know.”

  “My parents have gone to work, but Lolo’s asleep in her room. She knows your mom and dad here are looking for you. She answered when they called this morning. If I don’t do it, she’ll call Mr. and Mrs. Beckham the second she finds out you’re here. So….”

  “Yeah. I get it, Cole.”

  “You want to do something before I call? Have a sandwich or play a video game?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, don’t even call. Let’s just go over there. I want to see them.”

  I stood up, but Cole kept sitting there. He didn’t seem ready to move. “Zavier?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.” I didn’t really think about what I said next. It just came spilling out. “Cole, I’m gay.”

  He did this peculiar thing with his face, raising his eyebrows and pooching his lips together. “Oh.”

  “I don’t know why I told you that now. Is this weird? I just figured it out yesterday, and it actually kinda scares me.”

  “Well, it doesn’t scare me. And it’s not weird that you told me. It’s cool to have a gay friend. If we were still in first grade, I could take you to school in the fall for show and tell.”

  I was still freaked out in the head, but I smiled. It was good to have a friend like Cole. I reached out a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  I started across the room, a guy on a mission, determined to get it done before I lost my nerve. Cole held back. I turned to him. “What?”

  He pointed at his bare bony little legs. “Should I maybe put on some pants first?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  MY HOUSE—my home—looked exactly the same.

  The same red brick walls. The same white shutters. The same little covered front porch with its white metal support posts and two white rockers. The same friendly blue “Welcome Y’all” mat at the door.

  I was amazed. True, it had only been a few weeks since I moved away, but to me, it had felt like a lifetime. For a few moments, I stood on the welcome mat as Cole settled into one of the rocking chairs, letting the simple joy of being back there sink in.

  I rang the bell. It was still pretty early in the morning. In my time away, I’d lost track of my Memphis dad’s work schedule. Was he home now on one of his off days or was he at the fire station on a four-day work shift? Memphis Mom should be here regardless, but I was really hoping Memphis Dad would be here too.

  The door opened. Memphis Mom looked the same, the way she did on any early morning. She had on a robe over her pajamas, her feet in slippers, her hair pinned back in a little ponytail. She looked at me and then shifted her eyes over to take in Cole. He waved at her. She looked back at me. “Charlie,” she called, “get out here.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “My God, Zavier,” she said in a reproving tone. I think she called me Zavier out of habit, and I was glad for it. She stepped out and caught me up in her arms right there on the front porch and hugged me like there was no tomorrow.

  IT WAS just like any other morning at the Beckham home—when I lived there.

  “What would you boys like?” Memphis Dad wore his robe and pajamas as he stood by the stove, tall and lean and smiling. He was in the middle of a three-day-off rotation from the firehouse. He looked at me as if I’d never left and nothing had ever changed in our lives.

  “French toast and maple syrup,” I said, sitting in my usual seat at the table.

  “With sliced bananas and strawberries,” Cole added, sitting directly across from me.

  “And a big dollop of whipped cream on top of it all,” Memphis Mom suggested from where she leaned against one of the counters.

  “Okay. Four orders of french toast with fruit and whipped cream coming right up.” Memphis Dad was all bouncy, practically dancing as he pulled out the griddle and fired it up. Then he started gathering butter and eggs and milk from the fridge and got a loaf of bread and a bottle of ground cinnamon from the pantry. He started looking through cabinets. “Rudi, where’s that big glass mixing bowl with the curved handles?”

  “First cabinet to your right,” Memphis Mom answered.

  Memphis Dad, so full of excitement and eagerness, opened the cabinet on his left, which was where the glasses were kept. He frowned doubtfully. “Here?”

  “Your other right, hon.” Memphis Mom watched, smiling, as he finally found the bowl he was looking for. “Charles, let me make breakfast.”

  “I got this, Rudi. But you can slice the bananas and strawberries. And Cole, you can set the table.”

  Cole got right up. “Okay, Mr. Beckham.”

  “What can I do, Dad?” I asked.

  “You’re the guest of honor,” he replied. “So just sit there and be a guest.”

  The three of them clattered about the kitchen, gliding past and around each other. I watched for a while, and then I got up and went down the hall to the bathroom to pee.

  The bathroom hadn’t changed. The same Darth Vader towels hung on the rack, the ones Memphis Mom bought at an estate sale because I liked them. The same chipped tile was in the corner over the basin, the one I accidentally damaged when I was ten after firing a marble at a marauding ant. The only things missing were my toothbrush and hairbrush.

  After I’d finished in the bathroom and washed my hands, I stepped into the hall again. I could smell butter melting on the griddle. There was the tink tink tink of Memphis Dad whisking eggs in the glass bowl, a kind of musical accompaniment to him and Cole singing “Gaston” from Beauty and the Beast in this horribly off-key duet. Memphis Mom and Dad once took Cole and me to a special showing of the animated movie and the live-action remake. Dad and Cole were suckers for that stuff. I’m not making this up. Their awful singing brought another smile to my face.

  Maybe coming back wasn’t a dumb thing to do.

  Maybe I could slip into my old life again.

  In that moment it was like my old life was just waiting for me to step back into it. I moved down the hall to my bedroom, eager to feel the welcoming familiarity of that personal space. I hurried through the door and immediately did a double take.

  My bed, my dresser, my desk, the cubical shelves where I’d stored my books and video game cartridges, everything I remembered was… gone. Even the once-blue walls were now painted a warm, woody tan. In place of my furniture were a sofa, recliner, and a
big square coffee table. A television was mounted on the wall. It was like I’d walked into a room in some stranger’s house.

  “It was too painful for us to leave it the way it was.” Memphis Mom stood quietly behind me. “We sold all your furniture and turned the room into a den. I like to come here to read and think. Charlie uses it as a man cave when he’s off duty. It makes a great getaway from the world.”

  I was too choked to say anything.

  She put a hand on my shoulder. “Your parents called here last night after they realized you were missing and notified the police. That’s how frantic they were. I talked with them again a little while ago. They were so very relieved to know that you’re okay. Your brother and one of his friends figured out you hopped a train to Memphis. BJ and his friend left Chicago last night. They drove down to bring you back. I called BJ after I finished talking with your mom and dad. He was at the train station looking for you. I gave him directions to the house. He should be here in another fifteen minutes or so.”

  I nodded.

  “You’ll always have a place in our hearts here. And I have to admit, it is so wonderful to see you again. But you can’t just run away from your life, Zavier. Do you understand that? You belong in Chicago now, with your family. They love you very much, you know.”

  I nodded again.

  “Have your mom and dad arranged for you to meet with a therapist?”

  “They want me to. But I told them I didn’t want to do it.”

  “I think you should. You must. I think it would help you a lot.”

  “Are you and Dad going to adopt another kid?”

  “We haven’t really talked about that. It’s much too soon for us to actually consider adoption now. But one day… who knows?” She squeezed my shoulder. “Promise me you’ll let your parents set you up with a therapist.”

  “Okay.”

  “So I have your word on that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, Zavier.”

  I put my hand over hers and squeezed. “You can call me Dwayne now.”

  “I will…. Dwayne.”

  THE KITCHEN smelled like joy—hot butter, hot syrup, hot cinnamon. The four of us were just settling around the table, ready to dig into the platter piled with toast and sliced fruit, when the doorbell rang. A nervous jolt momentarily took the edge off my appetite.

  BJ was here.

  “I’ll get that,” Memphis Dad said as he got up from his chair. “You guys go ahead and get started.”

  I decided I was going to enjoy what was possibly my last breakfast ever with my Memphis parents and my best friend together. I scooped two slices of thick, spongy hot french toast onto my plate. Cole grabbed four slices for himself, buried them beneath banana and strawberry slices, and smothered it all under about a gallon of syrup. Memphis Mom and I just stared at him.

  He stared right back. “What? I’m hungry.”

  “Cole,” Memphis Mom said, “that plate of food is bigger than you are.”

  “And I’m gonna eat every bite of it, Mrs. Beckham.”

  We joked and laughed as we started eating, and I mostly ignored the voices in the living room, the footsteps that came our way moments later. I could feel the presence of the visitors in the doorway behind me, but I didn’t turn around to look. I’d see more than enough of BJ and his jerk-ass friend on the ride back to Chicago.

  “Hello, Mrs. Beckham.” BJ sounded like a reasonable human being.

  “Hi, BJ. It’s good to see you again. Come on in, have some breakfast.” Memphis Mom had already set two extra places at the table. As she got up to grab the pitcher of orange juice, she said, “Who’s your friend?”

  “I’m Brendan Galloway, ma’am.”

  I flew up and turned around so fast my chair flipped over and slammed to the floor. Everybody in the room jumped half a mile at that.

  And yeah, there they were, BJ and Brendan, standing side by side.

  THE GOODBYES with Cole and my Memphis parents were easier this time around, mostly because we agreed it was okay for us to start contacting each other now and again. I’d never seen before the car Brendan, BJ, and I climbed into for the return trip to Chicago. It was some kind of futuristic-looking black BMW sedan. Brendan was driving, BJ rode shotgun, and that left me with the back seat all to myself. We three were quiet until we were on I-55 North, crossing the bridge over the Mississippi River into Arkansas. I broke the silence with, “Whose car is this?”

  “Belongs to my dad,” Brendan replied. “He has a Prius he uses for commuting, but this is his pride and joy. He doesn’t want me driving it without permission, especially when he’s out of town, but this was an emergency.”

  I looked at the two of them. At this range, I would have thought they’d be trying to tear each other’s head off, but they were riding along calm as a pair of old friends. “So how’d this happen… you two, together like this?”

  “When you walked out of my house, your phone fell out of your pocket in the hall,” Brendan said. “I tried to call you back, tried to give you your phone, but you were so upset or whatever that you just kept going. I held on to the phone, figuring you’d come back for it.”

  “The new phone has a tracker on it, like mine,” said BJ. “When Mom and Dad tracked the phone later and saw that it was in the building, they thought everything was fine. I did too.”

  “But after a couple of hours you were still a no-show at my place,” Brendan picked up again. “So I took the phone upstairs to give it back, thinking you were home. Your parents told me you weren’t there, and after I told them how you left my place—”

  “They completely lost it,” BJ took over. “They called the police. They called that FBI agent who’d handled your case. They called your adoptive parents in Memphis, hoping they’d heard from you. I thought they were both gonna crack. I checked the pool and the Community Room and the lobby, but there was no sign of you. So I went down to Brendan’s place to see if he had any idea where you were hiding yourself.”

  “I remembered then that you said something about going home, and it hit me that maybe you were talking about going back to Memphis. That’s when I got my dad’s car and BJ and I went to the bus station. None of the ticket agents there remembered seeing you. So we went to the train station, and one of the agents remembered talking to you. He thought you looked kinda young to be traveling alone. He said you mentioned something about needing a one-way ticket to Memphis, and he sent you to one of the self-service centers. By the time BJ and I heard that, the train had been gone over two hours.”

  “Brendan and I hit the highway. I called Mom and Dad and told them we were going to Memphis to bring you back. They weren’t crazy about that and tried to talk me out of it, wanting to make the trip themselves, but I told them Brendan and I were already on our way and we weren’t about to turn around. And so here we are, taking you home.”

  “But I still don’t get it,” I said, even more confused than I’d been when they started their back-and-forth explanation. “From what I saw, you guys can’t stand each other.”

  Brendan and BJ exchanged a quick look.

  “Well,” said Brendan, “we figured out we have one thing in common.”

  “Yeah,” said BJ, cutting me a sharp glance over his shoulder. “We both worry about your little brick-headed butt.”

  BY FIVE o’clock that afternoon, the BMW was parked in its space in the building’s garage, and Brendan, BJ, and I were facing my birth parents in the Copeland condo. Although there was no longer any legal connection between us, the Beckhams had been Mom and Dad for so long I couldn’t bring myself to call them anything else. This was part of the reason I had such a hard time referring to my birth parents that way. For distinction, I settled on calling my birth parents Ma and Pa. They seemed cool with it, and the fact that it sounded kind of country didn’t bother me. Ma and Pa were pissed and relieved and happy, but mostly happy. They were so emotional they were babbling.

  Ma: “Oh, we are so glad you b
oys made it back safely.”

  Pa: “Brendan, we can’t thank you enough. Before you leave here, we’re going to reimburse you for your expenses. No, don’t you dare brush this off. We want to cover your costs for this trip.”

  Ma: “Sorry if I’m hugging you boys too much right now. It’s a mother’s prerogative.”

  Pa: “Dwayne, we’re going to have a long talk, you and I.”

  Ma: “We’ll talk after dinner, all of us. I’m almost finished cooking. You boys must be hungry after that long trip. Brendan, you’ll stay, won’t you?”

  Pa: “Dwayne, son, please promise you won’t ever do anything like this again. We’ll do everything we can to help you, but you have to talk to us, not just run away.”

  It took BJ to put a stop to it. “Mom, Dad, take a breath. Jeez. You keep going on like that and we’ll all starve to death.”

  “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” said Ma. “Why don’t you boys get yourselves cleaned up?”

  “BJ, show Brendan to the guest bathroom and make sure he has some towels,” said Pa.

  I went to my room, shed my dirty clothes, and showered. As I dressed in a new T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans, I looked around my cluttered room. The boxes holding my things from Memphis seemed to have multiplied over the day and a half I’d been gone.

  Okay, Dwayne. It’s time. I grabbed a box from the stack by the closet, placed it on the floor beside the bed, got a pair of scissors, and cut through the tape sealing the top. There were maybe ten minutes left before the family would be sitting down to dinner with Brendan. But that was time enough for me to start unpacking.