Thankfully our sex that night didn’t disappoint. Kevin, of course, was limited in the positions he could assume, due to his knee and the elastic brace he wore on it. But we got creative and it all worked out amazingly well. I felt like a starving man who’d wandered into a banquet hall. I couldn’t get enough of Kevin’s body, and when it was over, I lay beside him on the sweaty sheet. I listened to him breathe while a breeze sang in the needles of the Australian pine beyond the windows.
“What’ll I do if this knee doesn’t heal?” Kevin asked me. “If I can’t play ball or dance, I’ll be a nobody, just like one of those kids at school who no one notices or cares about.”
“I’ll still care about you,” I said.
Kevin ran his fingers through my hair, then kissed my cheek. “Thanks for letting me stay here this weekend; it means a lot.”
Kevin’s words took me back to that night on the beach when he’d told me he wished he could live at my home forever. Back then, his words had swept me off my feet, but I wasn’t fourteen and innocent anymore. I’d been down this path with Kevin too many times to think more of his words than I should. Kevin was vulnerable right now, as he had been after his mom’s surgery or when his dad died. I thought back to the night when I’d visited the Keating campus and how awful I’d felt after Kevin walked away from me, and now I knew I would never let Kevin hurt me that way again.
Enjoy the moment, Lockhart, but don’t expect a whole lot more. This may be all you’ll ever get from him.
Saturday morning, I woke up shivering. A cold front had swept across central Florida during the night, and when I checked the thermometer on my bedroom wall, it said the room’s temperature had plunged into the low fifties. Kevin lay next to me on his back, and I snuggled as close to him as possible so I could savor his body heat. The time was around seven and the sun had already risen. In the kitchen, my mom banged pots and pans. I smelled freshly brewed coffee and the pleasant scent of bacon frying.
I smooched Kevin’s shoulder, and then his eyes fluttered open. After his gaze met mine, he ruffled my hair, and I was just about to kiss Kevin on the mouth when Mom’s voice rang out.
“Jesse and Kevin, you boys need to get up. Breakfast goes on the table in ten minutes.”
I rolled my eyes. “All right, Mom,” I hollered. We both shivered when we crawled from beneath the covers and slipped into our clothes.
I had three lawns to care for that day, and though Kevin accompanied me to each job, he wasn’t able to help much. You can’t run a mower or a power edger when you’re leaning against a cane. You can’t rake leaves or hoe weeds. The best Kevin managed was hedge trimming. We both wore blue jeans and flannel shirts, and a steady breeze tossed our hair to and fro as we worked.
When we groomed the yard at Spencer’s home, Kevin joined Spencer on the back door stoop. The two smoked Marlboros and chatted, about what I couldn’t hear. After I finished the job, I wheeled my mower home while Kevin hobbled alongside me, pulling the edger behind him.
When I told Kevin how Spencer had made sexual advances at me, Kevin snickered and shook his head. “He’s not shy, is he?”
I looked at Kevin and frowned. “Don’t tell me…”
Kevin nodded while he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. “He gave me his phone number.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I had a girlfriend. Then he asked me about you; he wanted to know if you were gay.”
Shit.
I told Kevin about the day I’d purchased the tube of jelly at the Rexall, when Spencer stood behind the register. “I think he’s onto me,” I said, “or at least he suspects.”
Kevin shrugged. “I told him you were straight, but why do you care what he thinks anyway?”
I grimaced and shook my head. “I don’t want him spreading rumors. People in this neighborhood gossip like crazy, and I don’t want them talking about me.”
Kevin’s cane dragged along the concrete as we walked. “Have you ever thought about moving someplace where you could just be yourself, like New York? I hear people there don’t even care if you’re queer.”
I made a face. Me leave Florida?
“It gets too cold in New York during winter,” I said. “I don’t think I’d like it.”
“But you and I could live there together,” Kevin said, “after we finish high school. No one would think twice about it if we did.”
Kevin’s remark jolted me so hard I felt like he’d knocked the wind out of me. My voice squeaked when I said, “Are you seriously thinking about that?”
“Sure,” Kevin said. “Why not?”
I stopped pushing my mower. Then I placed my hands on my hips. Kevin stopped walking too. I looked at him. Then I said, “I don’t understand you sometimes. A month back you told me to go away. I didn’t hear from you again until two days ago, and now you’re thinking we should live together?”
Kevin kneaded his cane’s handle while he looked over my shoulder at something. “It’s just an idea, Jesse.”
“You keep jerking me around and it’s driving me nuts. Make up your mind about what you really want from me, and then stick to it for once.”
Kevin looked at me and scowled. He swatted the air with his hand. “Forget what I said, okay? I didn’t know you’d get all angry like this.”
I wasn’t letting him off that easily.
“But don’t you see? I have a right to be angry. I’d like nothing more than to live with you, but I don’t think it’ll ever happen.”
“Why not?”
I hissed and shook my head. “Because you won’t let it happen, that’s why.”
We walked the rest of the way home without saying another word, and as we walked I told myself, If you had any balls you’d tell him to pack up his things and go home. But of course I didn’t. Our sex the night before had been wonderful, and I was too weak and needy to pass up another round with Kevin.
Sunday afternoon, I took Kevin for a long drive in my Dart, all the way from Treasure Island to Clearwater Beach, a distance of eighteen miles, one way. We drove on four-lane Gulf Boulevard, passing through beach towns like Redington Shores, Belleair Beach, and Indian Shores. This was the pre-condominium era, and most buildings we passed were single-family homes, mom-and-pop motels, luncheonettes, and convenience stores. The day was sunny and cool. We both wore blue jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. Kevin’s cane leaned against the front seat, right next to him, as though it were part of him now. I had the radio switched on, and the Beatles’ song “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” blasted from the speaker.
I stole a glance at Kevin from the corner of my eye. The passenger window was lowered and wind rushing through the car ruffled his hair. His arm rested on the door sill and he tapped a finger along with the music.
The evening before, I had swallowed my anger at Kevin’s casual suggestion that we live together one day. We spent Saturday night at a movie theater on St. Pete Beach, watching The Dirty Dozen, an action film set in WWII Europe, with an all-star cast including Lee Marvin, Trini Lopez, and Charles Bronson. The theater was crowded with couples on dates, so we weren’t able to get affectionate during the movie. But Kevin held my hand on the drive home, and I knew something good awaited me before the evening’s end.
By the time we got home, the hour was past eleven and both my mom and sister were already in bed. After Kevin and I used the bathroom, we headed for my room and locked the door. Moments later, we writhed beneath the covers, and I was so horny I couldn’t keep my hands off Kevin, not even for a second. Twice he told me to change position because I was hurting his knee.
Afterward, while I lay spoon-style with my back to Kevin and his arm draped around my waist, I tried to imagine how it would feel to fall asleep in his arms every night. Hell, I told myself, I would live in stinking New York City if it meant having Kevin all the time. But I knew better; I was pretty sure he’d never have the courage to share living quarters with me.
Now, as we reached Sand Key in m
y car, I parked in a lot just south of the drawbridge at Clearwater Pass. We sat there watching pleasure boats bob in the water, many occupied by folks using fishing poles. Sunlight reflected off waves smacking the seawall on the opposite side of the pass. I left the radio on, and the Doors’ song “Light My Fire” played. I had seen Joel Brodsky’s photos of the band’s shirtless singer, Jim Morrison, and I thought Morrison looked pretty damned sexy with his sleek muscles and pouting lips. I found his syrupy voice seductive as well. Was it possible he might be gay?
Kevin broke into my reverie. He kept his gaze on the windshield while he spoke.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, and I guess maybe I don’t always understand myself or why I do what I do.”
I looked at him and crinkled my forehead, then switched off the radio. “Explain, please.”
Kevin shifted his butt in the car seat. “The way I behaved at the dance, the night you came to Keating, wasn’t right. But I was so scared one of those kids might suspect you and I were, you know…”
“Boyfriends?”
He nodded.
“Are we boyfriends?”
Kevin raised a shoulder. “I think so.”
I rearranged limbs so my elbow rested on the car seat’s back and turned toward Kevin. “Boyfriends,” I said, “talk to each other more often than once a month.”
Kevin looked at me and nodded. “I get that.”
“And just because I went water-skiing with my friend didn’t give you the right to cut me off. You do stuff with other people all the time and I don’t get mad about it.”
Kevin turned his gaze back to the windshield. He drew a breath and let it out. Then he returned his gaze to me. “You just watch,” he said. “I’m going to treat you better. Every weekend, from now on, I’ll spend at least one night with you, sometimes two. And I’ll try to remember to call you Thursdays, I promise.”
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at Kevin and blinked. I wanted to believe he meant what he’d just said. In fact, I suspected he did. But that wasn’t the problem.
The Kevin I sat next to in the Dart wasn’t the Kevin who had shooed me away at the Keating dance; he wasn’t the gridiron hero or the guy who could do the Boogaloo and the Mashed Potato like someone on American Bandstand. Right now, he was a guy with a cane and a banged-up knee who could barely walk. And I felt pretty certain his calls and visits, if they happened at all, would quickly wane when he recovered from his injury.
Did I really want to give him another chance?
Chapter Fifteen
The first Tuesday in December, I sat across from Lane at a Formica-topped cafeteria table. All around us students chattered while they dined on pizza, burgers, or spaghetti with meatballs. The din was so loud we had to raise our voices to hear each other. We both wore sweaters and chinos, and a gold wristwatch gleamed on Lane’s wrist.
“Got plans for this weekend?” he asked me in between bites from his burger.
“Why?” I asked.
“The surf’s good in Brevard County right now. I was thinking we could drive over there, hit the water, and maybe spend one night.”
I nodded while I thought about the powerful waves we’d ridden during our last visit to the east coast. Just thinking about them quickened my pulse. “I have a few yards to mow Saturday, but if I do them in the morning, I could get away right after lunch.”
“That works,” Lane said. “We can surf an hour or two before dark on Saturday, and then again Sunday morning before we drive back. It’ll be fun.”
I bobbed my chin, then raised an eyebrow. “Where will we sleep, in your car?”
Lane laughed and shook his head. “I checked my dad’s triple-A directory. There’s a motel in Cape Canaveral with rooms that go for twenty bucks a night. It won’t be as nice as the one we stayed at last time, but who cares? It’s just a place to sleep.”
“I’m in,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Two nights later, only a few minutes past eight, Kevin called me, as he had the previous Thursday. Mom was in our living room watching The Flying Nun, a stupid comedy TV series starring Sally Field, so I talked to Kevin on the princess phone in Mom’s bedroom.
“How’s the knee?” I asked Kevin.
“A little better, but I still have to use the cane. I’m starting to think I’ll never fully heal.”
I felt slightly guilty because, honestly, I didn’t want Kevin’s knee to get better. As long as he couldn’t play football or dance and as long as he hobbled around the hallways of Bishop Keating High, he’d have plenty of time for me.
The Corrigans had left town for Thanksgiving weekend to visit relatives who vacationed in Ft. Lauderdale, and then my grandparents from Pennsylvania visited us the following weekend, so I hadn’t seen Kevin in over two weeks. Just hearing his voice over the phone made my mouth get sticky.
“I thought I’d spend this weekend at your place,” Kevin said. “There’s a British band called the Animals; they’re playing in Clearwater Saturday night. I can get us tickets if you want.”
I fingered the phone’s spiral cord while I studied its illuminated rotary dial. “I won’t be here Saturday night,” I said, then I explained about the trip I’d take with Lane. “But come over Friday,” I said, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “My mom’s volunteering at the hospital that night, and my sister always babysits on Fridays. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”
Kevin didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then he said, “Is this the same guy you water-skied with?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Are you and he…?”
“I already told you: Lane’s just a friend. All we’re going to do is surf, so don’t be jealous. Now are you coming over Friday or not?”
“I’ll come over,” Kevin said. “But I’m not happy you’re leaving town.”
Saturday morning, around seven, I woke next to Kevin. He lay on his side with his back to me, and I studied the freckles on his shoulders. We had spent time the previous night at a Madeira Beach pool hall, where we smoked L&Ms and played eight ball for two hours or so before returning to my house for a sweet round of sex.
Now, in the chilly morning, I didn’t want to leave Kevin, but I dragged my butt from underneath the covers. The morning was cool, so I dressed in a ragged pair of blue jeans and my oldest sweatshirt. I slipped on my beat-up pair of sneakers. Then, after a hasty breakfast, I wheeled my mower and edger to my first job of the day.
Few people stirred in my neighborhood, but my first customers’ German shepherd named Duchess greeted me on their driveway. I scratched her behind the ears while my breath steamed in the chilly morning air. Then I cranked up my mower and got busy. I must’ve worked the job for about a half hour before Kevin drove up to the curb in his Mustang.
I switched off the mower and strode to Kevin’s car. I leaned on the passenger door’s sill and looked in. “Heading home?” I asked.
Kevin wore the same clothes he had the night before. His hair was tousled and his eyes looked puffy from sleep. His voice croaked when he answered. “No sense in me hanging around your place when you’re not there. Guess I’ll go home and get back in bed for a while.”
I nodded. “I’ll call you Sunday night, after I get back from Cocoa Beach.”
Kevin crinkled his forehead. “What for?”
“Just to say hi; and to let you know how the surfing went.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment, then nodded. I could tell he wasn’t at all happy about the trip I was about to take, and I wasn’t all that sure he’d care if I called him Sunday night or not. But like always, I assumed he might.
“When your knee gets better,” I said, “we’ll have to go over to Brevard County, just you and me. I think you’d like it.”
Kevin looked at me and tried to smile, but he couldn’t manage much more than a grimace. “Have fun,” he said and drove away.
Lane picked me up around one p.m. We placed my board atop his on the VW’s roof rack, then secu
red both boards to the rack with a pair of straps. After I tossed my overnight bag onto the backseat, I hung my wetsuit on a hook behind the passenger seat, alongside Lane’s. Then we cruised down Gulf Boulevard, heading for the Treasure Island Causeway that would lead us into St. Petersburg. I had just showered and my hair was still damp. I wore jeans and a flannel shirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt. Lane was dressed much the same. His yellow hair fluttered in the breeze while he gripped the steering wheel with his long fingers.
“I’ve never taken a trip like this without my folks,” he said, “and I think it’s kind of cool.”
I nodded. “I guess this means we’re grown-ups, huh?”
Lane grinned while he bobbed his chin. “You should’ve heard my mom,” he said. He spoke in falsetto: “‘Drive carefully, especially on the interstate, and don’t speed. Be sure to lock your motel room door when you go to bed. And you two eat a decent meal tonight.’”
Then Lane spoke in normal voice, “She even gave me six dollars for our dinners.”
The VW’s engine chugged while we drove across the Howard Frankland Bridge spanning Tampa Bay. The bay was as calm as a mirror. I saw a pair of dolphin surface for a breath of air. Pelicans bobbed in the placid water while cormorants sunned themselves on the bridge’s light poles with their wings spread like war eagles.
We passed downtown Tampa, where several tall buildings created a skyline of sorts, and then took Interstate 4 eastward, toward Orlando. We hurtled past cow pastures, orange groves, and strawberry fields where migrant workers toiled. The road was peppered with billboards advertising tourist attractions like Six Gun Territory and Silver Springs. We passed a Stuckey’s Pecan Shoppe offering pecan rolls, saltwater taffy, and hokey tourist souvenirs.
Just before we reached Orlando’s outskirts, we exited onto the Beeline Expressway, a two-lane asphalt ribbon that ran due eastward, all the way to the coast. The road bisected cattle ranches and pine forests. Lane and I chattered away about school and certain kids we knew there, about our teachers and our school’s lousy football team that had won only two games that fall.
Kevin Corrigan and Me Page 10