Lisa lowered her gaze while she rubbed her lips together. Then she looked into my face again. “I’m sorry I called you a homo; it wasn’t nice.”
“It’s okay, I—”
“No, it’s not okay. You’re my big brother and I’m proud of you, plus I think it’s kind of cool how two super-cute guys want you so much. Most girls would kill to be in your shoes.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Sis,” I said, “but one guy at a time is enough for me.”
Hours later, when Lane appeared at our house, I led him to our kitchen where Lisa and Mom prepared our Christmas dinner. Already the scent of roasting turkey filled the room. Lane wore a pale yellow sweater and corduroy jeans, and his blond hair brushed his shoulders. He greeted Mom and Lisa with an easy grin, and I suggested he and I take a walk to the shore.
“We’ll have to bundle up,” he said. “The wind’s chilly out there.”
In my room, I put on shoes and my new jacket. Lane retrieved his own jacket from his VW, and then we strolled westward while the breeze tossed our hair into our faces. We walked with our hands stuffed into our jacket pockets. The sun kept disappearing behind puffy cloud banks, and then everything around us would darken.
Lane rubbed the tip of his nose with a knuckle while he kept his gaze on the horizon. “I had a serious talk with my parents last night, right after you left. It lasted till midnight.”
“Tell me what was said.”
Lane pursed his lips and shook his head. “It wasn’t pretty, but at least everyone was honest. We said what we had to.”
“And?”
“I told them we’ve had sex multiple times. I said I wasn’t going to apologize for it and we weren’t going to stop. My mom started crying. She said she was afraid I’d catch some kind of disease or that maybe you might injure me when…you know.”
“So they know what we’re doing in bed?”
Lane nodded. “I told them, ‘Look, if it’ll make you feel better, Jesse and I will see a doctor for a checkup, so you’ll know we’re both healthy. And I promise we won’t do anything harmful to each other. We’re always gentle when we’re together.’”
We walked in silence for a minute or so, until we reached the shore. The Gulf’s hue was battleship gray; it churned like the inside of a washing machine. Angry waves made roaring sounds when they crashed onto the shore. The wind whistled in our ears, and we had to raise our voices to be heard above the din.
“They want to meet with your mom,” Lane said, “along with you and me, so we can all agree on things.”
“What kind of things?”
Lane rocked his head from side to side. “How often we’ll see each other, and whether or not you can spend the night with me or vice versa. And then there’s our trip to Cape Canaveral…”
“What?”
“They seem to think we’ll spend the whole trip fucking. They want us to promise we’ll behave while we’re over there.”
I made a face. “What does ‘behave’ mean?”
Lane rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Who knows? Look, do you think your mom would be willing to meet in the next few days? I know it’s a lot to ask, but maybe if we all talk together, my parents will feel better about things.”
“I’ll ask her,” I said.
Back at the house, we warmed our hands by the fireplace, and then I gave Lane his gift in my bedroom, with the door closed. He beamed when he held the sweatshirt before him. “It’s so cool,” he said, then kissed my cheek. “But now I feel terrible ’cause I didn’t buy you a gift.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Being with you is the only present I need.”
Two days after Christmas, on a Friday evening, my mom and I sat in the Davises’ living room with glasses of Coca-Cola resting on the coffee table before us. I wore school clothes, and my mom wore an outfit she’d worn to work that day. Lane and his parents sat across the table from us; they sipped from their own glasses while they listened to Mom compliment the beauty of their home, and I wondered how the Davises might feel if they saw our home and its modest furnishings.
Lane wore the Endless Summer sweatshirt I’d given him, along with a pair of blue jeans, and he looked so handsome I wanted to kiss him, right there in front of everyone. Each time his gaze met mine, a little shiver ran through my limbs.
The five of us traded small talk for ten minutes or so before Lane’s dad cleared his throat. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, and then he looked at Mom. “Lane and Jesse plan to visit the east coast tomorrow; they want to rent a motel room for one night. Now that we all know how…close the boys are, Bev and I thought this meeting ought to happen.”
“Yes,” Lane’s mom said while shifting her weight in her chair, “Lane’s been frank with us about his private life with Jesse, and while we think Jesse’s a fine young man, we’re concerned.”
“And not just about the boys’ health,” Lane’s dad said, “but also about the propriety of what they’re doing. I know times are changing. We’re not in the fifties anymore, and it seems young people do whatever they please these days. Still…”
After Mom took a sip from her glass of cola, she returned the glass to the coffee table. Then she crossed her legs and placed both her hands atop her knee. She spoke to Lane’s parents in an even cadence.
“Perhaps I have a different approach to parenting than you do,” she said. “Jesse’s father disappeared when Jesse was six. I raised my children on my own and I always worked full-time, so Jesse and his sister have enjoyed more freedom than most children. They’re used to making their own decisions.”
Lane’s dad raised his eyebrows. “Do you approve of these boys having sex together?”
Mom blinked her eyes a few times before she answered. “Whether or not I approve isn’t the issue here—not in my view—because what I think isn’t going to change their behavior. They’re sixteen years old, almost adults, and we can’t follow them around all day long.”
Lane’s mom straightened her spine while her gaze drilled into Mom’s. “Would you allow the boys to have sex under your roof? Is that what you’re saying?”
I sucked in my breath, then held it. The room was as silent as an empty church. I glanced at Lane, but he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was fixed on my mom, just like his parents’ were. No one moved a muscle when Mom spoke.
“I’ll rely on Jesse and Lane to use their discretion, not just at your home or mine, but also in Cape Canaveral or wherever else they might be. I think we’ll have to trust their judgment. I don’t see that we have any other choice.”
Lane’s parents looked at each other for a long moment, and Lane’s mom pursed her lips. “I suppose she’s right,” she told Lane’s dad. “We can’t control what they do when we aren’t around, can we?”
Lane’s dad shook his head, and then he turned to Lane.
“You boys be careful in Cape Canaveral.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
On a Saturday afternoon in mid-February, I wheeled my mower and edger down a neighborhood side street. I was headed home after tending three lawns. My muscles ached and my limbs felt tired, but I looked forward to spending an evening with Lane. He would have dinner with my family, and then he and I planned to see Cool Hand Luke, a Paul Newman film all the guys at school were crazy about.
The sky looked like dishwater. A chilly breeze blew from the northeast; I shivered in my oil-stained sweatshirt and holey blue jeans. A loose shoelace on my sneaker flipped here and there. I hummed a tune by the Turtles, “Happy Together,” as I ambled along—I felt as contended as a cat on a sundrenched windowsill—but then I turned a corner and my heart leapt into my throat.
Holy shit, it can’t be.
But it was. Kevin Corrigan’s Mustang sat curb-parked in front of a house I knew quite well: it was Spencer’s home. Right away, my eyes itched and my stomach roiled. In my mind’s eye, I pictured what surely went on inside: a naked Kevin atop an equally naked Spencer; Kevin thrusting while the b
edsprings sang and Spencer’s sighs filled the room.
I felt like crying, and my reaction to the situation stunned me. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Kevin in two months; I thought I’d put my breakup with him behind me, especially now that I had Lane in my life. But while I stood there on the road with my knees wobbling and my eyes fogged up, I knew better. We had a past, Kevin and I, going all the way back to the Jungle. He was my first friend and later my first lover. He knew every inch of my body and I knew every inch of his.
A jealous rage boiled up inside me. Kevin was with Spencer instead of me? How could it happen? I kneaded the handlebar of my mower while I stared at Spencer’s house. Should I bang on the front door? Should I confront Kevin and let him know how ridiculous I found his behavior? Was he so desperate that he’d actually stooped so low? I thought of Spencer in his smock at the Rexall, smirking at me while I purchased the tube of jelly. I had felt a sense of pride when I turned down his invitation that day, knowing Kevin would spend the weekend at my house. But now Kevin lay in Spencer’s bed, not mine, and Spencer was surely having the last laugh on me.
Let it go, Lockhart, I told myself while my chest rose and fell.
Just…turn away and go.
I trekked home to an empty house with my lips trembling and tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t fall apart until I reached my room. I closed the door, then flopped facedown onto my bed. My trembling started in my shoulders; it worked its way through my body till even my hands and feet shook. I sobbed like a baby while scenes of my love life with Kevin played inside my head.
I recalled the night Kevin had first crawled into my bed. He’d opened a door for me; he had led me into a beautiful place I didn’t know existed. I recalled the piney scent of Kevin’s skin and the coconut aroma of the lotion we used as lubricant that night. Then I recalled the Fourth of July when we lay on a bedsheet in our sea oat atoll while fireworks exploded in the night sky. I’d never felt so close to another person as I did toward Kevin that summer. I had craved Kevin’s flesh ever since that morning in his garage, way back in the Jungle, when I was eleven. So why should it surprise me that I still wanted him now? He was a narcotic I’d always be addicted to, no matter how hard I tried to resist the urge, and right now, I needed his touch, just like I needed air to breathe.
My stomach felt as if someone had plunged a knife into it, and now they were twisting the blade. My mouth tasted like it was full of pennies and the back of my throat burned. After sitting up, I seized a metal wastebasket alongside my bed and puked up a torrent of stinky green liquid; it splattered the walls of the basket like split pea soup.
I gasped for air while my brain churned. I felt as if I were reliving the day when Kevin had moved back to Largo after spending all summer with me. But this time was different because I had chosen to separate from Kevin. I had created the entire situation, and what a fool I’d been for doing so, what an idiot.
Go to him, I told myself. Do it now.
After I stumbled into the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed out my mouth. I dragged a brush through my tangled hair and straightened my clothing as best I could. I left the house with my hands balled into fists. The cold breeze hit my cheeks like a pair of slaps when I strode down the sidewalk toward Spencer’s place.
I had no idea what I would do or say when I got there; I just knew I needed to see Kevin. I wanted to hear his voice, no matter what he might say to me when I appeared on Spencer’s doorstep. And maybe, just maybe, if I promised Kevin I’d belong to him and that I’d never touch Lane again, Kevin would take me back and things would be as they once were.
Strangely, I felt almost giddy, like an inmate who’s about to be released from prison. I broke into a run. My sneaker soles slapped the asphalt beneath me while the homes on either side of the street turned into blurs. My breath huffed and my lungs pumped when I turned the corner leading to Spencer’s house. I felt so excited I thought my heart might burst from my chest, but then I reached Spencer’s place and my spirits plunged like an anchor dropped into the ocean.
Kevin’s Mustang was gone.
I froze in the middle of the street while all the energy I’d ginned up drained from me in an instant. I felt as empty and useless as a discarded shoe. There on the asphalt, I hung my head until my chin touched my sternum. I closed my eyes and flexed my fingers at my hips, but at least I didn’t cry. I guess I’d already used up all the tears my body could muster that afternoon, so I only stood there breathing until a car horn tooted, and when I looked up, I realized I was blocking traffic. An old man behind the wheel of Chrysler New Yorker shook his fist at me while his lips formed angry words I couldn’t hear.
I drew a breath, then let it out. After I stuffed my hands inside the front pockets of my jeans, I left the street. My feet felt as heavy as bricks when I shuffled homeward on the sidewalk.
I guess jealousy can make a guy act stupid; he’ll do things that don’t make any sense in hindsight.
The afternoon I first saw Kevin’s car at Spencer’s, I acted really dumb. For several minutes, I forgot how badly Kevin had treated me when I was his boyfriend. I forgot his callous neglect of my needs. I forgot about that awful night at the Keating High School dance when Kevin had so cruelly put me in my place, and I even forgot about Lane, if that makes a bit of sense.
All I wanted was for Kevin to tell me I mattered more to him than anyone else. I’d have killed to hear those words from his lips. But hours later, when I sat at our dinner table, I savored the feel of Lane’s knee resting against mine. I listened to the rise and fall of his voice, and knew Kevin would never be the right guy for me. He was someone I needed to bury in the same emotional graveyard I’d placed my father in.
There would be no more looking back, no more regrets, and no more second-guessing.
Good-bye, Kevin.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m not sure how long Kevin’s affair with Spencer lasted, but over the space of a few months I saw Kevin’s Mustang parked at Spencer’s house several times, so I know their fling lasted that long. In truth, I didn’t care how long it continued because I didn’t care about Kevin anymore. I had my life to live and a boyfriend who loved me without shame. Why waste time hoping Kevin might become something he never would?
I took the SAT in April, and my combined score placed me in the eighty-sixth percentile of all those tested. Lane scored almost as well—we both received letters of acceptance to the University of Florida in the spring of our senior year of high school—but being independent sorts, Lane and I chose a different path. Much to the disappointment of Lane’s folks and Carmen Valenti, we enrolled at Brevard Community College in Cocoa Beach, where we attended classes with kids whose fathers worked for NASA or served at Patrick Air Force Base.
Lane and I rented one half of a furnished duplex in Cape Canaveral with a weed-and-dirt yard, no air-conditioning, and a beer-swilling carpenter named Wayne as our neighbor. A good surfing break was only two blocks from our front door, so after classes we could hit the water whenever waves were firing. Our apartment sat on the east side of the duplex, and each morning we woke to the cries of seabirds at the shore. We smelled the Atlantic’s briny scent.
I brought my mower and edger to the Cape when we moved there, and it didn’t take me long to build a customer base in our neighborhood. My earnings, combined with proceeds from a student loan, helped make ends meet.
I liked east coast living. An onshore breeze nearly always blew; it kept things comfortable even on the hottest of days. I liked our working-class neighbors and their lack of pretension, and I don’t think they ever suspected what went on privately between Lane and me. To them, I suppose, we were just two college boys who liked to surf. Our two years in Brevard County flew by, and after we earned our associate degrees, we transferred to the University of Florida to earn our bachelors.
I can’t say that I enjoyed landlocked Gainesville; I missed the sound of waves slapping a shore. But I earned an engi
neering degree there, Lane a degree in journalism, and then, after graduation, we returned to Pinellas County. We rented a cottage in Sunset Beach, only a few miles south of my mom’s house on Treasure Island. Eventually, we bought the cottage from our landlord, and we have lived there ever since. Lane and I never made a lot of money in our respective careers, but we’ve done okay; the bills get paid.
There’s actually a half-decent surfing break only a short distance from our house, and a few times each month, Lane and I will dust off our boards. Then we join all the teenagers and college kids on the lineup. We ride a few waves and remember the days when we could surf for hours and not get tired.
Lane and I have been a couple for almost fifty years, which I find pretty amazing. Of course Lane’s put on weight and his hair has thinned, but he still looks beautiful to me when I wake next to him in the morning. Sometimes I rest my cheek against his warm shoulder. I listen to waves crash against the nearby beach and think about how lucky I am to have Lane in my life.
What more could a guy ask for?
I only saw Kevin Corrigan once after our breakup. When Lane and I came home for spring break from the university, during our junior year, my mother told me Kevin’s mom had just died. Her funeral would take place at St. Jude two days hence. Mom asked if I would attend with her, and though I didn’t want to go I said I would.
Kevin was only twenty-two at the time, but he looked older when he stood alone to greet a short line of mourners in the chapel foyer. He wore a rumpled business suit and a necktie, and he kept tugging at his shirt collar whenever he got the chance. His shoulders seemed to sag and the freckles on his nose had faded, but he still looked handsome with his blond hair, square chin, and twinkly blue eyes.
When Mom and I reached Kevin, his face lit up while his gaze traveled from Mom to me. He hugged my mother, then shook my hand while he thanked us for coming, and if he harbored any anger or resentment toward me, he didn’t let it show. I think Kevin was genuinely glad to see us. We had probably known him longer than anyone else present, and in a sense we were all the family he had left.
Kevin Corrigan and Me Page 17