Don't Let Me Go
Page 25
“Oh, shit!” Luke pulled away suddenly and folded his hands under his arms. A cluster of costumed preschoolers and their parents made their way past us. Neither of us spoke until they were out of hearing range.
“I closed my eyes,” Luke confessed, a little breathless. “Sorry.”
I grinned and draped my arm around his shoulders. Then I planted a kiss on his temple.
He looked up at me sheepishly. “No harm done, right?”
I looked around me. “Not that I can see.”
“Man, Nate. You’re like nuclear sexy when you do that. I need some dampening rods or something when I get around you. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“Dampening rods?”
He moved back in close to me. “Yeah.”
I laughed and nudged him down the street. “Come on, before I get you in real trouble. Speaking of trouble, where’s your brother?”
“We’ll catch up with them eventually.”
We walked with our hands in our pockets, out of step and bumping into each other because of it. We caught up with the boys at the end-of-the-street Texas Chainsaw Massacre display. A man in the neighborhood was dressed up like the gruesome killer in a little scene between two houses. Kids were gathered around and screamed every time he swung the bloodied chainsaw in their direction. We stopped and watched until the neighbor across the street, Ms. Strohm, shanghaied Luke into lighting all the luminaries along her driveway and sidewalk.
I watched from the street as Luke lit each of the candles in the sand-filled bags, my fingers wrapped tightly around the phone in my pocket. I debated with myself over whether or not I really wanted to listen to my voice mail, assuming there was voice mail.
Finally I slid the phone out of my pocket. One missed call. My heart thudded as I hit the button to view, but then sank when I saw the call had been from Danial. Why was it so hard to let go?
“Are you and my brother dating?”
Matt was standing next to me, peering up at me from behind his wire-framed glasses. He held out a Twizzlers. I took it and looked around for his friends. I didn’t see them.
“Alex said you’re that gay guy from the high school.”
That gay guy from the high school. Yeah, I guess I was.
“His sisters are freshmen. They know all about you.”
I was still trying to decide how to respond to his first question, but he didn’t give me a chance. “So, my brother’s really gay,” he said. He seemed to turn that thought over in his head for a moment.
I felt like I should say something. I went for the Dr. Phil response. “How do you feel about that?”
He shrugged. “It explains why he’s always looking at pictures of naked guys on the Internet. Don’t tell him, though. He doesn’t know I know. He’s not nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is.”
Yeah, that was Luke. I fought the smile creeping its way across my mouth. I was pretty sure Luke and my grandmother were going to get along great.
“He’s still my bro, though, right?”
I nodded.
“It’s okay if you like my brother. Don’t tell my parents, though. My dad hates gay people.” He started to walk away, but then stopped and turned back. “And, it’s not as dark out here as you think.” He grinned and I grinned back and told him I’d remember that.
I unwrapped the Twizzlers and took a bite, watching him walk away. When Luke came back a minute later, I offered him the candy. Instead of taking it, he just bit off a hunk.
Chapter 44
A week later, I watched Luke, sprawled out across my bed, sound asleep, his mouth slightly ajar. On the table next to me, a glass of blue Powerade sat in a puddle of condensation, untouched. I’d only left the room for a few minutes to pour the drink for him. Mom had accosted me in the kitchen with that look. “Nate, he’s awfully young. Do you know what you’re doing?”
I’d screwed the lid back on the bottle and shoved it back in the refrigerator, then picked up the glass and met her eyes. “I’m bringing him a drink. He’s thirsty. That’s all.”
By the time I’d returned, he’d passed out. It had been a long day for him—a four A.M. wake-up call, at the band hall by five thirty A.M., on the bus at six, a two-hour drive, run-through, performance, preliminary contest results, another performance, then back on the bus for a two-hour drive back. I’d picked him up at ten and tried to take him straight home from the band hall, but he’d insisted on doing the Cinderella thing and staying out until the absolute stroke of midnight, his curfew.
I flipped my cell phone around in my hand, stopping occasionally to run my fingers over the keypad. It was already ten fifty, eleven fifty New York time. If I was going to wish Adam a happy birthday, I had to do it now.
It was just a text. Hope you had a great birthday. Or maybe just Happy Birthday. He deserved at least that. He’d been there for me, even when—especially when—I was hard to be with. Like that first day home from the hospital.
I’d been euphoric at first, like I’d been sprung from a long prison term of bland food and constant hovering, not of guards, but of doctors, and nurses, and Mom. My room felt unfamiliar when I entered it, but Juliet and Mike showed up a few minutes later, and their chatter soon bridged the gap between before and after, and the alienness of my room dissolved.
It was great to hang around with friends and talk about normal stuff—music, homework, teachers, cars, movies, anything ... anything but the other. To wear real clothes and sit on a bed without rails. And to look at my walls and see posters instead of white boards with orders scribbled on them. We laughed about nothing, and we laughed about everything. When the conversation reached a quiet, comfortable place, I picked up my guitar and played some familiar riffs.
I was home.
I lost myself in the rhythm for a while, relishing the bite of the strings on my fingertips and feeling my heart stir in ways that became increasingly uncomfortable. When I looked up again, Juliet had fat tears streaming down her face. I leaned the guitar carefully against the wall and got up, then slung my duffel bag onto the bed. “I’m tired,” I said abruptly. “Can you guys go.”
It wasn’t a question. She and Adam exchanged a look. I could see the confusion and hurt in her eyes, but I didn’t really give a fuck. I unzipped the bag, fighting the impulse to scream, but they hesitated a moment too long. “Everybody, just go,” I said, pressing my fingers to my temples.
I busied myself unpacking my bag, trying to uncoil the tight anger in my chest while Adam walked them to the landing and said good-bye. When he came back in, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched me. We were alone, finally, the kind of alone where you could lock the door, but neither of us made a move to do so.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head and gritted my teeth. The silence stretched out until he said, “Nate.”
“Nothing ... is wrong.”
“Nate.” He reached out for my hand, and everything I’d been holding back exploded in a white-hot flash. “Why does everybody act like there’s something wrong? Just because I’m a fucking walking cliché.” I yanked the zipper closed on the empty bag and kicked it in the general direction of my closet.
“You’re not a cliché.”
“Gay boy gets butt fucked with—”
“Stop it.” He reached again for my hand, but I spun away from him.
“No, you stop it. You tell me how that’s not a cliché. I’m fucking sick of the pity. I can’t stand the way they look at me. I can’t stand the way you look at me.”
“Nobody’s—”
“Yes, they are.” I pressed my hands to my pounding head again. “I just want to go back to the way things were. I just want to go back.... Dammit! Can’t people just let this go? Why can’t they just let me ...” I couldn’t finish. I didn’t know how to finish. I grabbed the desk chair and flung it as hard as I could at the door. When that wasn’t enough, I swept my desk clean with my arm. A snarl clawed its way out of my gut. I kicked my guitar into the wall and
then stomped it to splinters. Then Adam was behind me, pinning my arms to my side and forcing me to the bed. He held me firmly while I thrashed and clawed at him.
“Nathan?” my mom said, alarmed. She stood in the doorway, her face white.
“It’s okay, Ms. Schaper,” Adam told her.
That’s what he said to me too—“It’s okay”—over and over again until finally, my anger spent, I slumped against the mattress, breathing hard and sweating. My head pounded.
“I just. Want. To move. On.”
“Okay,” he said gently. “Okay.”
He undressed me and tucked the covers snugly around me. And then he lay next to me, shaping his body to mine, stroking my hair and my neck. I pressed my face into the pillow to muffle the sobs.
Later I reached for his fingers and held them to my cheek. “Don’t let me go,” I’d whispered.
“I won’t.”
And he hadn’t. Not for a long time. No matter what had happened between us since, I couldn’t let this day go unmarked.
I sat on the bed and dragged my fingers along Luke’s smooth jaw. His lips drew back in a small smile, then relaxed again as he drifted back into a deep sleep.
I sat up and hit a key to light up the screen. I thought for a minute, then thumbed out a message. Happy Birthday, Adam. I didn’t forget. I swallowed hard. That wasn’t right. I tried again. Happy B’Day! Thinking of you. My eyes burned. I cleared the words and tried one more time. Happy Birthday, Adam. I let out a ragged breath and pushed Send.
After a few moments, the screen went black. I stared at it, willing it to light up. A few minutes later it did. Thank you.
That was it.
I waited, hoping that maybe there’d be another text. Some declaration, some something that would make sense out of all this pain. But there was nothing.
The screen stayed black, and after a while I took a deep breath and set the phone on my bedside table. I lay down on the bed next to Luke and brushed my fingers across his cheek. His eyes flickered, then opened, and he smiled at me sleepily. “What time is it?” he asked hoarsely.
“About eleven,” I whispered back, my eyes pleading with him to make me forget the way he’d promised.
He studied my face for a minute, then scooted close to me and slid his knee up between my legs and rolled into me. He kissed me and I kissed him, and we didn’t stop until we were sweaty and sticky and gasping for air.
It would be the first time Luke missed curfew.
Luke’s flimsy excuse that the band had gotten in late was derailed before he even got it out of his mouth. His dad’s phone call to the band hall earlier had killed that one. So he said he and some of the guys had gone for burgers afterward and then one of them dropped him off. He was still grounded for a week, but it was a price he gladly paid for getting closer to me.
He’d managed to dodge his parents’ questions so far, but according to Luke, they were starting to act a little suspicious. That worried me. I didn’t know Luke’s parents at all except for that brief meeting on Halloween and what I’d seen in the stands at the game. I could tell Luke was his mom’s pride and joy, what with all the photos she was taking. But was her love big enough to wrap around a gay son? And what if it wasn’t? And what was with his dad and that face that looked slightly put out? And those cracks about manly instruments? Luke was so pure and innocent. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt. And I admit, I was a little obsessed with the thought. I felt like I’d earned that right.
He was sprung from his punishment just in time for the fall musical the second week in November. Danial had been like a little kid about seeing Juliet direct the play. She was still seeing Mike, but anybody with eyes could see she and Danial had it bad for each other. I wondered how much longer they could pretend otherwise. And I wondered how much longer I could pretend that Adam’s coming home in eleven days didn’t matter to me. I had planned to take Luke to the musical, but when it came time to get in the car, I just couldn’t do it. Luke knew that all things Adam still cut too deeply, and he didn’t push. Instead he came over and we played corny duets, him on the clarinet, me on the piano. He was attentive and funny, trying hard to keep me distracted, to keep me from thinking too much. It was Mom and Grandma’s first chance to really get to know Luke. They warmed up to him easily. It was hard not to.
Adam didn’t come home for Thanksgiving. I had driven by his house a few times after dark. A single light shone through the glass in the front door, but there was no way I could tell for sure if he was there. His bedroom, the one with all the lava lamps, faced the back. I tried to sound casual when I called Juliet Thursday night, but she knew.
“Have you seen Adam?” I asked, without preamble. It was hard enough to get those words out without my voice cracking.
“I’m sorry, Nate,” she said quietly into the phone. “He stayed in New York. His parents and Mea flew up there for the holiday. I’m really sorry, baby.”
I hadn’t expected that to sting so much. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I was just wondering.” It was over, but I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I’d been hoping that maybe it wasn’t.
Luke tried, but there wasn’t much he could do to pull me out of my funk.
“You don’t deserve this, Luke. I just need time to mourn, I guess. Every time I think I’m really over it”—I shook my head—“I’m just not.”
We were sitting on the trunk of my car in the driveway. He held my hand, examining my palm and each of my fingers in turn as if he’d find some hint of our future there.
“I hate him,” he said simply.
“Don’t.”
He scrunched up his brow. “What if he came back right now and wanted you back?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“But what if he did?” He looked up at me, real fear in his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere, Luke.” And that was the saddest truth of all.
Chapter 45
“You guys have got to come tonight,” Juliet pleaded. “Natalie’s Christmas party won’t be the same without you there.” She was perched on the front counter in the music store, twisting her hair into a loose ponytail over her right shoulder, a flirty move she made a lot around Danial, and one that clearly charmed him.
I busied myself hanging the new stock of instrument ornaments on a small tree beside the counter and ignored her.
She growled in frustration. “Come on. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
I gave her a look that I hoped conveyed how much I resented that particular question. Danial just shrugged. “I’ve still got twelve days to choke up some Christmas spirit,” I said sullenly.
She breathed a heavy sigh. “Come on, Danial. It’ll be fun. And you,” she said, looking at me. “You already stood me up once. And you hardly ever go anywhere with Luke. Let the poor kid out of the closet. He’s a nice guy. We want to be his friends too.”
I tossed the empty box into a recycle bin and grabbed my new guitar by the neck. I whacked Danial in the hip with it. “Let’s go.”
“Won’t you at least think about it?” Juliet said as I hustled Danial toward the lesson room.
Without turning back, I gave her a peace sign over my shoulder.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she yelled as we disappeared inside.
“What’ve you and Gary been working on?” I asked, settling into one of the two metal chairs and pushing the door closed with my foot.
“Let’s just play. You lead. I’ll try to follow.” I chose a simple riff, five chords. Danial watched my fingers and caught the chords here and there until he got the hang of it. Once he got the riff down, I played around a little.
I watched his fingers. “That’s good,” I said, nodding. He was a natural guitar player. His hands were broad, his fingers nimble, his fingertips toughening up, his reflexes quick. I bobbed my head to the beat. “You’ve definitely improved.”
“Yeah, well, I have a lot of time to practice.” He stopped
playing and leaned back, then propped his feet up on the edge of my chair. “So, why don’t you want to go to the party?”
His feet were crowding me, so I knocked them off. “Too many memories. You’re paying for this lesson. Play.”
“Good memories or bad memories?”
“Hmph. Good, I guess, but even the good memories are bad memories now, you know. Natalie’s party last year, that was the first time Adam and I appeared together in public. Wouldn’t you agree that showing up there with Luke tonight would be just a little weird?”
“I don’t know. Depends on the party? Is it one of those awkward stand-around-and-pretend-like-you-actually-enjoy-small-talk-while-you-stuff-your-face-with-chips-just-to-give-your-hands- something-to-do parties?”
I laughed a little. “No. It’s karaoke. Dancing. It’s actually kind of fun.”
“Then go. Maybe Juliet’s right. Maybe you’d have a good time.”
“Why don’t you go?”
He shrugged and placed his fingers back on the strings. I picked up a new riff, something a little simpler. He watched my fingers and matched me chord for chord, responding more quickly to changes this time.
I looked up at him as I played. “They broke up you know.”
“Who?”
I grinned, knowing I was about to make his day. “Juliet and Mike.” He dropped the next chord, and my grin broadened. “Last weekend. It was a mutual thing. They’ve never been more than just really good friends anyway.” I waited for him to react. He tried to feign indifference, but his hands gave him away, screwing up chord after chord. Finally, I dipped my head low to catch his eyes. “Sooo, caveman, you going to the party now?”
He rolled his eyes up to me and matched my grin. “I’d say the odds are definitely improving.”
I laughed. “I’d sure put money on that horse.”