Boys of Summer

by Steve Berman

  “Whoa, man!” Rickie called out in shock. No matter what Brenda had said, Preet’s dick looked beautiful to me. I couldn’t help but stare. Rickie was gazing right at Preet’s pecker, too, as gushes of urine pumped out of it and poured into that hateful goddamned trophy cup. As Preet’s stream slowed to a trickle, I wondered if I could get over my pee-shyness and fill it up the rest of the way myself.

  Right then the bedroom door pushed open. Brenda’s little sister Becki, her head barely reaching the doorknob, stepped into the room, pointed at Preet’s penis, widened her eyes, and screamed. Preet stuffed it back in his pants and darted toward the window, Rickie lumbering directly behind him, Becki screaming all the while. I heard a rumble from behind her as someone started up the stairs.

  I looked over at the now-full trophy cup and its specially inscribed square base. I took two steps toward it, then stopped. I felt a moment of inner calm. With the inside of my right foot, I kicked the trophy’s base as hard as I could. With immaculate aim, it arced into the air toward the corner of the room and landed, upside down, on the bear right where its head used to be. As it came down, a torrent of piss soaked the giant teddy bear’s white Styrofoam guts. Then, like an avalanche descending the side of the mountain, the trophy toppled downward, rolling in circles with the effect of gravity till it landed upright at the bear’s feet. Right on top of its chopped-off head. One edge of the base stabbed the smiling stuffed animal directly below its black plastic nose.

  A wave of euphoria I’d never experienced before passed through me. I felt like the star football player who’d just kicked a fifty-yard field goal and won the game. Becki continued to scream. I took one more look at the yellow-stained bear and the trophy at its feet, the rim of its cup still wet with drops of Preet’s urine. I bolted for the open window. I heard Rickie’s voice call upward from the ground below, “Dean, hurry up!”

  That’s when I heard Brenda’s voice in the hallway, calling out Becki’s name. Fuck. I’d just been ready to hop out the window and climb down the rope. I stuck my head out the window and hissed, “Guys, just leave. Do it.”

  My stomach was doing flip-flops just like yesterday when my handsome boss Ed put his hand on my back. But I willed myself to stay calm. I can handle this, I thought. In the distance, I heard Preet and Rickie pull away in the car.

  I turned to face her arrival, but Brenda didn’t even notice me. Her straight platinum hair spun as entered the room, her eyes boring a hole into tiny Becki where she stood, dwarfed by the enormous defiled bear. I noticed that Brenda’s perfect white uniform skirt was soiled with the green and brown smear of a mint-chocolate fudge stain. She addressed her baby sister coolly.

  “Why would you wreck my tired old stuffed animal, you little twat? I’m sick of that thing anyway. I would have just given it to you, greedy bitch.”

  Becki, who looked about five, howled as if she hated her sister as much as the rest of us did, then she pointed to where I stood on the other side of the massive bedroom, my skinny frame next to that of the window. Brenda glanced at me and then stared her sister down once more. With a look of supreme menace, she snapped her fingers and screaming Becki went silent.

  An adult male voice called up from downstairs. “Is Becki all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Brenda called out in a loud, crisp voice. Then she shut her bedroom door. Still mute, Becki crouched down behind the remains of the large stuffed animal.

  Brenda turned to me and our eyes met. She smirked at me, self-possessed as ever, as if her enemies broke into her home all the time. “Dean the Queen. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have the balls.”

  “What are you doing here?” My nostrils finally tweaked at the smell of all that sodden piss. Why wasn’t Becki plugging her nose?

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I live here.” Brenda affected an imperious tone, like she was a princess or the star of her own TV show. “Some American fag in a purple T-shirt barfed all over the front of the fudge stand. We shut down early. I got a ride home from the parking-lot manager. I assumed he was gonna grope my legs, but he didn’t. Another fag. Just like you and your friend Preet.” She paused, looking around the room dramatically. “Sometimes I feel like I am surrounded by fags.” Brenda looked at the bear, and she looked at me. “Like right now,” she taunted.

  What a strange moment. Inside, I felt like I was swimming up a river, and every time Brenda said fag, it was as if my leg felt the tug of the undertow. I wasn’t going to show it, though.

  “Your words can’t hurt me.”

  In the corner, Becki sniffled loudly, and Brenda snapped her fingers in her direction again. The kid paused mid-sniffle.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Brenda sneered. She looked over toward the window, the hook, the rope. “I could push you right back out of my room the same way you came like a fucking burglar.” She paused. “A turd burglar.” Brenda seemed pleased with herself. I knew she was hateful, but she’d never said such mean things to me before. At school, she had such a veneer of respectability and popularity. Was this the real Brenda after all?

  On the floor between us lay my orange knapsack and my dad’s Ginsu blade. I’d almost forgotten it earlier. Brenda followed my glance, her own eyes showing a glint of mania. I was sure she wasn’t crazy enough to try to carve me up in revenge for her hacked teddy. At least I hoped not. I didn’t want to find out. She started to walk toward me. Brenda looked dangerous.

  “Your words can’t hurt me,” I repeated as I pulled her diary out of my back pocket, its lock glinting in the overhead lamplight. “But I think they could hurt you.”

  Brenda froze. “Give me that back.”

  “Maybe my friends want to read what you said about them in here. Maybe your own snobby clique might be interested in your true thoughts about them. Or maybe your parents would like to read it. Why don’t you call them up here right now?”

  “Give that to me. Please,” she said.

  “I don’t have to do anything you say, Brenda. I’m not afraid of you.” In the corner of the room, Becki looked up. And she smiled.

  Brenda stared at me. “Now back up,” I told her, raising my voice and brandishing the diary like it was a Bible and she were a vampire. Brenda retreated several steps. I wondered about the book I had in my hands and the power it clearly held over her. What was in there? Brenda sat down on the edge of her bed and played with the hem of her skirt. She wouldn’t look at me. I snapped my fingers in her direction to get her attention.

  “Where do you get off calling my friend a fag, Brenda? Preet deserves better than you. You messed with Rickie, too. Even if I was attracted to girls—and I’m not—I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. You’re toxic.”

  I waved the book in her face. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what I’m capable of.” I walked over to Becki crouching in the corner and handed her the diary. “Go downstairs now and give this to your father.” Becki took the book, got to her feet and opened the door. She looked up at me. “Don’t let your sister push you around anymore either.” Becki exited the bedroom.

  I slowly walked past Brenda, who had lain down on her bed as if I wasn’t even there, flat on her back. Her bangs sat as straight as the edge of a tombstone. I picked up my knife, put it in the knapsack, tossed it out the window, and climbed out carefully. Before my descent, I looked over at Brenda one last time and surveyed her mess of a room. It smelled like shame. This is not where I belong, I told myself, grasping the rope and lowering myself downward.

  When I reached the ground, I grabbed my knapsack, traversed the yard, and emerged onto the sidewalk. Time to go home. I’d call Rickie once I got there so my friends would know for sure that I was all right. Maybe they were even waiting for me a block or two from here. I reached the end of Brenda’s street and turned onto Portage Road. After a minute, I heard a car pull up behind me on the dark and quiet street. I hoped to see Preet and Rickie, but when I turned around I was greeted by a white Trans-Am. The tinted window o
n the passenger side rolled down, and the driver leaned over. “Dean, you live around here?” Ed still wore his white uniform shirt from the Village parking lot. The top two buttons were undone. I leaned into the car window. In the hot night, I could already smell his sweat, and I liked it.

  “No. I live downtown near Simcoe Street School.”

  “Get in, then.”

  As I opened the door, I saw Ed reach over and turn the radio off. I sat next to him, not bothering to buckle my seat belt. I locked the door next to me though. “What are you doing around here, boss?” I was nervous, but I wasn’t going to let it show.

  “I had to give one of the fudge girls a ride home. A friend of mine from over the river was partying on the Hill, and he ended up barfing all over the Village fudge stand. It was kind of funny.” He laughed awkwardly. Ed seemed nervous for some reason. I wasn’t used to that. “Since then,” he said, “I’ve just been…driving around.”

  “Your friend. A guy in a purple shirt?” The fag had Brenda mentioned.

  Ed raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, his name is David…do you know him?”

  “Nope. I just heard about him.” I looked closely at Ed’s face for what felt like the first time. Other than when he made me say uncle alone in the office that time, we’d never been this close before. Such short, short hair. Perfect eyebrows. Seal brown eyes. “That girl you drove home, what did you think of her?” I searched his expression.

  “Nothing. I didn’t think anything of her at all. You want a ride home?” Ed put his right hand on my knee. Inside, I felt like everything I understood about the world was being turned upside down. But I wasn’t going to let him know. I turned to face him.

  “The schoolyard near my house is nice and quiet. Maybe we could drive there, then take a walk together. Let’s go,” I said and placed my hand on top of his.

  Cave Canem

  Dia Pannes

  From our porch, I could see clear down to the corner. There hadn’t been much traffic all afternoon—we don’t exactly live on the way to anyplace, unless you count Collin’s Feed and Tackle Shop, which I don’t—and things showed no sign of picking up. I’d been waiting for Dad for almost two hours.

  “I’m sure something came up.”

  “Something always comes up where your father is concerned.” Mom snorted. “Are you going to waste your whole night waiting on him to show up?” She shook her head. “That’s the trouble with bad boys, Wyatt. They break your heart.”

  “I guess not.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started to text. “Maybe Jacksie wants to do something.”

  “Not the best idea you ever had, but better than this.” Mom smiled. She always talks like she doesn’t like Jacksie, but deep down, I think she has a soft spot for my flamboyant best friend. Four years ago, she won a radio contest, and the prize was two tickets to see Hairspray on Broadway. She insisted Jacksie and I should go—paid for the train trip into New York and everything, and called the whole thing a rite of passage. We’d just turned thirteen at the time. I hadn’t really known what she was talking about then—Mom knew I was gay before I figured it out myself. Jacksie’s known since forever. “Our fabulous adventure!” was how he’d referred to the trip.

  My phone buzzed. Sorry, Jacksie’s text read. Stuck w /  gruesome 2some. Jacksie had two younger brothers, Hunter and Steve. They were seven and nine, and completely annoying. Even their own parents couldn’t stand them, which I suspected was why they went out all the time.

  “That stinks,” I muttered.

  “No luck with Jacksie?” Mom asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Sometimes you have to make your own luck.” Clyde, my mother’s idiot boyfriend, spoke up. “They’re getting things set up for the fair. I saw lots of kids hanging out there. You should check it out.” He glanced at my mom, sideways, real quick. “Lots of pretty girls.”

  I glared at him, but he kept right on talking. “Here’s some money. In case you want to get something to eat.” He handed over a twenty. “Or whatever.”

  “That’s a good plan.” Mom sounded relieved now that the great mystery of what Wyatt was going to do with his Thursday night had been resolved. “Don’t worry about your father. If he decides to show up—”

  “Doubtful,” Clyde said.

  “I’ll deal with him,” Mom continued. “You go have a good time.”

  What the hell, I figured. I might as well go. Twenty bucks is twenty bucks, you know? And it was obvious they didn’t want me hanging around the house. I didn’t even want to begin thinking about why. “I’ll go check it out.”

  I hopped off the porch.

  “You want the car?” Clyde asked.

  Mom and I both turned to stare at him. I’m not what you’d call the world’s best driver. I’ve had my learner’s permit for fourteen months now. In that time, I’ve gone maybe fifty miles. Mom hates driving with me, and I’m not exactly thrilled about having her screaming in terror every time I go faster than thirty miles an hour.

  “He can’t, by himself,” Mom said. “I can drive him down there and he can walk back on his own later on…”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to do that.” I walked everywhere that summer anyway—to my job, to the animal shelter where I volunteered, back and forth from Jacksie’s house. Since school let out, I’d probably put close to a thousand miles on my sneakers.

  What was another three or four miles to the fairgrounds? And if Clyde was right, and there were pretty girls hanging around, chances are that there’d be guys there too. Some of them might be worth looking at.

  Stranger things have happened. Not usually to me, of course, but you never know.

  *

  I understand that county fairs are big deals almost everywhere. I get it. It doesn’t matter where you go. If there’s a fair, crowds of people are going to show up. Some come for the rides, and other ones come for the funnel cakes and deep-fried Twinkies, and some folks just love the demolition derby.

  It says something about Randsville that our crowds start showing up way before the fair opens. It doesn’t matter that that Ferris wheel and Graviton are still loaded on flatbeds, or that the ticket booths aren’t assembled, or that the bearded lady had, at best, a five o’clock shadow: something was happening, and that’s such a rare event here that people turn out to bear witness. In this part of the state we’re just that desperate for entertainment outside of the single movie theater in town.

  They were bringing in the cattle trailers when I got there. Huge pickups towed perforated silver trailers, moving slowly so the show cows didn’t get their udders in an uproar and curdle their milk. I saw a couple of kids I knew from school riding shotgun with their parents. They waved and I waved, and that was enough—they had things to do, and I was hoping I had people to see.

  Actually, the most interesting thing I saw at the fair was this tall black guy in his twenties reach out and grab the collar of a guy around my age. They disappeared around one of the staff buildings. Out of bounds. We don’t get muggings in this part of New York, but I had to follow.

  So, I have seen two guys kiss before. Jacksie has downloaded a ton of gay movies onto his purple netbook. Nothing nasty—Jacksie has always said that the proof porn’s boring is that no one ever says anything with more than one syllable. But we’ve watched Trick and Were the World Mine and daydreamed about Mr. Right.

  But seeing these two kiss just a few yards away was something else…especially since I crushed hard on the kid the black guy was making out with. He had dark hair, short and spiky. Black tank top that showed off how summer tans love biceps. The silver chain from belt to pocket was simply a loop for the guy to grab on to.

  I had to remember to breathe while gawking at them. And then, because I’m a stupid seventeen-year-old, I took a couple steps back and snapped a quick picture with my phone.

  While cooling my blood with a cherry snow cone, I sent the photo to Jacksie. Check him out!

  Jacksie’s reply
came almost instantly. I love Bad Boys!

  Me too, I sent back. I guess taste in men was genetic. Only, I didn’t really want to end up with the sort of losers my mother had.

  *

  It was later, much later. I’d made my way back home and was almost asleep when I heard my mother’s boyfriend running his mouth. “Well, doesn’t he have a father?” Clyde asked. “He could go stay there.”

  “Get real. Dave didn’t even manage to show up today, after he promised Wyatt he would.” My mom’s voice was steady and almost too calm. I don’t know if Clyde ever heard her sound like that before, but every time I have, I wound up getting in some of the biggest trouble of my life shortly thereafter. In the dark, I smiled. Maybe she’d be kicking this loser to the curb soon. “I promised Wyatt he’d never be in a position where he had to depend on his father for anything, and I’m not about to change that.”

  “It just makes me uncomfortable,” Clyde replied. “With me staying here now…and Wyatt being how he is.”

  “And how is Wyatt, exactly?”

  “You know. The gay thing.”

  “You’ve got a problem with Wyatt being gay?”

  “People have a problem with Wyatt being gay. And if I’m here, a grown man in the house with a gay teenage boy—well, they’re going to talk. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

  “And if I had a teenage daughter, would we be having this conversation, Clyde?”

  “That’s normal. A woman’s got a daughter, everyone knows that situation is gonna go nitro. Any man with a lick of sense keeps 100 percent hands off.”

  “But you’re not going to be able to keep your hands off of Wyatt?”

  I wanted to throw up. It was bad enough to think about Clyde and Mom being together. The thought of him touching me with those bloated, fat hands of his was absolutely revolting.

  “What if he comes onto me? Teenage boys are full of hormones. They don’t know how to control themselves.”

  Mom burst out laughing. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Clyde sounded angry. “I’m not. You have to understand, Irene. This is a small town. People talk. They tell everything they know, and what they don’t know, they’re going to make up. You having that boy here is setting me up to be accused of all kinds of things.”