by Mark Roeder
“Holidays can be rough,” Tristan said, continuing our conversation. “My aunt took Mom out shopping today. Hopefully, that will get her mind off things.”
“Yeah, and I’m here with you, so I don’t have to feel lonely.”
“Looking at the glass as half full, huh?” Tristan asked.
“Yeah.”
“The toughest holiday was Christmas,” Tristan said. “It was really hard on Mom and me last year. Dad died less than two weeks before Christmas. The holidays weren’t the same without him. Dad and I used to pick out the tree together. Suddenly, he wasn’t there to do that. Mom went with me. I still enjoyed decorating the tree, listening to Christmas music, wrapping gifts, making cookies, and all that, but Dad’s absence was…it was something I could feel. I really missed him. I kept thinking about how he wasn’t there and wasn’t going to be there ever again. I think it was worse than losing him in the first place. There it was, Christmas, the family time that was supposed to be so happy, and my dad was gone. I felt as if everyone else was spending the holidays with their families, but mine was broken. You know?”
I nodded.
“Of course. You do understand. Your mom has been gone for a long time, hasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I’m just telling you things you already know, then.”
“No. Well, yes, but you’re putting them into words in a way I can’t. I’m not really all that smart. I’m just a dumb jock.”
“Shawn, you’re a lot more than that. Just because you’re a jock doesn’t make you dumb.”
“I know, but I am a jock, and I am dumb. I mean, I’m not completely stupid, but I have a lot of trouble understanding things sometimes. Like in literature classes. There are all these meanings that are supposed to be in these books, and I just don’t get them. We read The Lord of the Flies. I thought the book was about how certain people will be bullies if they get the chance, but our teacher was talking about the breakdown of society and all this stuff that I didn’t get. I felt as though I’d read the wrong book.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Distilled down to its most basic essence, The Lord of the Flies is about the potential some have for being brutal and savage—for being bullies. You did understand; you just phrase the idea in simple language.”
“That’s because I am simple.”
Tristan gave me a look that said, “quit putting yourself down.”
“I do a lot of reading,” Tristan said. “I love books. What I don’t like is when an author tries to be too lofty and artistic or unnecessarily complicates a simple idea. The whole idea of language is communication, and making things unnecessarily complicated defeats that. I’ve had a few teachers who lost sight of what they were supposed to be teaching because they wanted to put everything in these grand terms that half the class couldn’t understand. Literature has always been one of my favorite classes, but I had this Lit teacher back in Tulsa that…well, I don’t think he really had a clue. He spent all his time talking about grand themes and imagery. It was as though he was trying to add all this meaning that wasn’t even there. He wanted to interpret everything. He seemed to think that nothing in the books we read was what it seemed to be. It was as if they were all written in some complicated code that one had to work for years to figure out. I completely disagreed with his interpretation of every book we read. I have the feeling the authors of those books would have disagreed as well.”
I smiled.
“I’m sorry. I tend to go off like that. I get interested in something, and I can’t shut up about it.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” I said. “You’re so intelligent.”
“The only thing I’ve really learned is that I know nothing,” Tristan said. “Everything I learn opens up all these things I never even knew existed before. It’s as if…it’s as if I started out with the goal of reading every book in a bookshelf, but for every book I read a hundred more appear. They were there all along, but until I read a particular book, I couldn’t see them.”
“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying.”
“I just mean that the more I learn, the more I realize that there is far more out there to learn than I ever suspected. It’s like starting out on a journey that you think is going to take a week and ends up taking a lifetime.”
“Oh, okay. See, I told you I’m dumb.”
“You’re not dumb, Shawn. Everyone knows things that others don’t. I’m sure you know lots of things I don’t. You just think I’m smart because I wear glasses. I fool a lot of people that way.” Tristan smiled.
“The glasses give you an intellectual look, but you’re smart with or without them. You know things I’ll never know.”
“Yes, but you know things I’ll never know. That’s what I’m saying. We all have our own types of intelligence. We all have different interests. Lately, I’ve been getting into medieval history. What I’m learning probably has little or no practical application, but it doesn’t matter, because I enjoy it. Lately, you’ve been learning how to pay bills and be a parent to your brother. I don’t know those things. What you’ve been learning is a lot more practical that what I’ve been learning. You could say I’m wasting my time while you’re doing something worthwhile. I could call myself dumb.”
Our waiter finally arrived with our ice water and menus, so we halted out conversation.
“I’m sorry for the wait. We’re really packed today.”
“We’re in no hurry,” I said.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Coke,” Tristan said.
“Same here.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Do you know why Coke is called Coke?” Tristan asked.
“No, why?”
“Because one of the original ingredients was cocaine.”
“This is a test to see how gullible I am, isn’t it?
“No. I promise. It’s true.”
“Really?”
“Really. They didn’t quite realize what it was back then. I think they knew some of the effects but definitely not the dangers. Anyway, that’s why Coke is called Coke. That’s just another example of the interesting but mostly useless information that’s running around inside my head.”
“It’s not useless. It’s entertaining.”
Tristan and I browsed the menus. When the waiter returned with our drinks, I ordered Mediterranean Chicken, and Tristan ordered a Filet Mignon Salad.
Tim and Dane entered shortly after we ordered. I smiled as I watched my brother and his boyfriend take a seat at a distant table.
“You’re really happy for him, aren’t you?” Tristan asked.
“Yes. He’s so lucky to have found someone. Dane needs someone, too. He’s had a rough time.”
“I heard what happened to him at his old school.”
“Yes, and what made it worse was that the boy who beat him up so bad was a boy that Dane had a huge crush on.”
“He must have been damaged even more emotionally than he was physically.”
“Yes. It was hard on him. That’s why Tim is so good for him. Just being in Verona is good for him. Things are better here for boys like us than they are in most places.”
I spotted Brendan and Casper entering. I couldn’t think anyone in my little circle of friends who wasn’t in the restaurant. The Park’s Edge was definitely the place to be on Valentine’s Day. I was grateful I’d had the courage to ask Tristan out and even more thankful he’d accepted.
We talked until our orders arrived and then talked while we ate. I’d been sorely tempted to order a Fried Chicken Hoagie, one of my favorites, but I liked it with so much Honey Dijon it was a messy business. I’m not complaining though. My Mediterranean Chicken was delicious—grilled chicken with pine nuts, olives, tomato, basil, onion, hot peppers, capers, mushrooms, cream, and bowtie pasta. Mmm. Tristan’s Filet Mignon Salad was huge! It was covered with Filet Mignon, tomatoes, olives, red peppers, and parmesan cheese.
I walked Tristan home. The stars were out by then, so I got my walk in the moonlight with the boy I loved. Yes. That’s right. I loved Tristan. I knew he didn’t love me back, but I hoped that would change. I knew it was far too soon for me to love him, but things like love don’t have to make sense. Love happens on its own terms and in its own time. Okay, so I’m not an expert on love, but I knew what I was feeling.
We lingered in front of Tristan’s door just long enough that I began to hope he’d kiss me. I wanted ever so much to lean in and press my lips to his, but I knew better than to make the first move. As much as I wanted to rush ahead, I had to be patient. Waiting was probably the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, but I’d finally found someone, and for now, that was enough.
Dane
Between my parents and Shawn, my sex life with Tim was mostly limited to make-out sessions. They happen to be way more than what most called a make-out session. There was a lot of rubbing up against each other, groping, and hands wandering into pants. It wasn’t all-out sex, and we had to remain almost completely clothed, but damn it was hot! I even tried blowing Tim once, but then we heard his brother coming down the hallway, so that was the end of that. Talk about frustrating! Especially for poor Tim. Half a b.j. can leave a guy in dire straits.
It goes without saying that my parents and Shawn ultimately failed in their efforts to keep Tim and me from getting it on, but I’m going to say it anyway. Tim and I got it on! One day, Tim and I finished our lunches in a rush and then slipped into the auditorium. We almost got caught by Coach Jordan who was on cafeteria duty. Had he looked in our direction he would have nabbed us, but we managed to just make it into the off-limits auditorium before he turned around.
Once inside, Tim and I found a dark space between the curtains. We grabbed each other and made out like crazy for a few moments. We could make out at Tim’s, however, so I dropped to my knees, ripped down Tim’s zipper and gave my boyfriend head right there on the stage. Tim was so excited it took him no time at all to finish. Tim’s moan turned me on like mad, so when Tim dropped to his knees and gave me head, I didn’t take long to climax, either. We were back in the cafeteria fifteen minutes later. Shawn gave us a suspicious look, but he didn’t know anything for sure. Besides, he had no need to worry; we didn’t mess around on his watch. Even if we had gotten caught, it wouldn’t have been his responsibility.
***
The day I had long been anticipating finally arrived. No, not the day Tim and I finally managed to have all-out sex, although I was eagerly anticipating that, too. I’m talking about the day when we could finally begin to move into our new home.
I had been packing in anticipation of our move, so when I came home from school I was ready to go. There wasn’t all that much to move from our rental home to our new place. All of our furniture and most of our belongings were still back in Marmont. The house there was up for sale but hadn’t sold yet. Dad even lived there part-time while he transferred his business to Verona. Dad was an architect and planned to work from home in our new place, but until now he’d been moving back and forth between his office in Marmont and Verona. It was only about a forty-five minute trip, but I was sure Dad would be glad when his commute was reduced to walking from his bedroom into his office located right in the house.
Dad wasn’t around when I got home, but Mom had the keys to the new place and was already loading stuff in the car. I jumped in and helped, partly because I was eager to check out my new home again, but mostly because I wanted to make sure some of my stuff got in the car. From the looks of the little rental house, I was guessing it would take no more than three trips to empty the place.
I was kind of going to miss our rental house even though it was tiny and right across from the creepy Graymoor Mansion. I swore I sometimes heard screams coming from the place at night. I was kind of going to miss the place (the rental house, not the creepy mansion) because that’s where I’d lived since we’d moved to Verona. True, we hadn’t lived in Verona very long, but I was so happy about moving here that anything connected to the move was special to me. Still, I was excited to be moving into our new place!
We pulled up in front of our home after a two-minute drive. I looked up at the old school as Mom and I got out of the car. It was going to be kind of weird living in an old school—cool, but weird. I liked the building. It had a lot of character: red brick, worn stone steps, and even an old bell in a cupola at the top. I wondered if I could find the rope that was attached to that bell—if there still was a rope. Dad had looked into the history of the old Verona School. It had been used for first through twelfth grade from 1874, when it was built, until sometime in the 1930s. A separate grade school was built then, but ninth through twelfth grade continued to use the old building until it closed in 1954. It was odd to think that the building had sat unused for nearly thirty years.
“Do you think you can get used to living in a house this big?” Mom asked.
“No problem. I am so glad to get out of that little shoebox that was called my bedroom.”
My bedroom in the rental place was really small. I swear it was about eight by eight feet, although I never measured it.
“I know you’re eager to get up to your room, but can you help me carry a few things into the kitchen?”
“Sure, Mom.”
I grabbed the box she indicated and followed her as she walked up the steps and stopped to unlock the double doors at the front of the building. We walked into a short but wide hallway, past old, glass trophy cases (still filled with photos and trophies) and bulletin boards. On the right was a water fountain. I heard it kick on as we passed.
Just beyond the water fountain, the short hallway joined a larger one, forming a T. Straight ahead was a wooden door with frosted glass. Old-fashioned lettering on the glass spelled out “Principal.”
We entered the larger hallway, which extended to the ends of the building in both directions. Just to our left was a wide staircase leading to the second floor. We turned to the right.
There were no doorways on the left side of the hallway, but on the right were doors marked “Boys”, “Girls”, and then “107” and “Library.” All the doors had the same frosted glass that the one marked “Principal” had. We turned left at the end of the hallway. This hall had only two sets of doors: one on the left and another at the end. We entered the set on the left. This was our kitchen, the former school cafeteria.
All the tables were still there, as was the serving line. The cafeteria looked as if it was waiting for the lunch bell to ring. The only things missing were salt and pepper shakers and condiment bottles on the tables. I followed Mom into the actual kitchen. We set our burdens down on one of the long, shiny metal tables. The kitchen was rather large, but then that was to be expected. When it was in use, it was used to prepare lunch for all the students and faculty. The school was a lot smaller than VHS, but it still had eighteen rooms. That was a lot of kids!
“This place is going to take a lot of cleaning,” Mom said.
“It doesn’t look so bad.”
“I’ll be cooking in here, so the place has to be spotless.”
“The realtor said everything works, right?” I asked.
Mom turned on one of the gas ranges, and blue flames jetted up instantly.
“Now that the water, gas, and electricity are on, yes.”
The stoves didn’t look as big as I expected. They weren’t much larger than normal size. The kitchen looked quite useable to me, but then I didn’t do much cooking.
I made two more trips to the car for Mom, and then I was free to haul my stuff up to my room.
All the old classr
ooms were much the same: large, mostly empty rooms with blackboards, bulletin boards, and wooden floors. The only exception was room 101 on the first floor. It had been left exactly as it was when the school closed. Everything—desks, the American flag standing in the corner, and even old textbooks—was still there. I guess someone thought the place might be turned into a museum someday.
I chose room 206 on the second floor. I liked that particular room because of the view. The room was located near the center of the building on the front side and looked down upon the lawn and the street below.
I set the first box of my belongings down on the wide window ledge. The windows were huge. They took up one entire wall from waist-high almost to the ceiling. There were no drapes or blinds on the windows, but the room was on the second floor, so they were unnecessary. I suppose someone could peer in at night with binoculars from the houses across the street, but if they wanted to spy on me that bad, they could just go for it. The lack of drapes was another reason I had chosen a room toward the front of the building. My windows faced the west, so I’d have a great view of the sunset. I definitely didn’t want a room facing east. I wasn’t nearly so fond of sunrises, especially when awakened prematurely by bright light.
I turned from the windows and surveyed my room. I almost couldn’t believe I had so much space to myself. The room looked even larger because it was empty—with the exception of my bed and the box I’d carried in. Dad and a couple of his friends had brought the beds from our old home in Marmont only the day before. Everything else would have to wait a few days.
My new room had incredible potential. The wall opposite the windows was almost completely covered by blackboards. The other two walls were bare. I’d have tons of room for posters and pictures! My meager furniture was going to be swallowed up by the room. In addition to my bed, I had a desk, chair, dresser, a table that held my stereo, and a set of bookshelves. I definitely needed some kind of easy chair where I could sit and read or listen to music. I might even get a loveseat or couch. I had the room for it! I was already saving up and planned to hit yard sales and auctions when they began in the spring.