Trust the Focus

by Megan Erickson

  I jerked my head toward the door to the school and jingled some change in my pocket. “I heard they stocked the vending machine. Wanna get some candy?”

  I’ll never forget the smile he flashed me then. The first smile Landry ever gave me. The smile that tingled down my spine and settled in my gut and spread throughout my body like a drug. A drug that pumped hot and thick into my veins, proving I was different in the same way Landry was. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

  And after that first snack of Twizzlers and Butterfingers, we were inseparable.

  Now I was the only one who could bring Landry back from the brink. When his nerves sent his mind into a tailspin or his anger lit a fire in his gut, I’d grab his hair and slam our foreheads together, forcing him to use me as his anchor.

  And he always stood close to me, in my personal space, closer than I allowed anyone else. But I let him, playing the part of good friend—giving him what he needed. Even the last couple of years, Landry still wanted the touch whenever we were together. I never told him how much I craved that touch just as much as he did.

  The scratch of Landry’s pencil took me out of my thoughts and I glanced at my watch, noting a half hour had passed. I rose and walked over to the canister. I pulled off the lid and looked inside. “I guess I just reach inside and pull out some ashes?”

  Landry flipped his sketchbook shut and stood. “I don’t think there’s a rule or anything on how to do this.”

  “Right,” I muttered. I reached inside, closing my fingers around a sprinkle of ash, the silt slipping through my fingers. And then with a flourish my dad would have been proud of, I pulled out my hand and opened my fingers. A shower of ash sprinkled over the ground, mixing with the dirt that covered the cooled lava, which had blanketed the area decades ago.

  Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, Charlie.” Landry’s voice was soft behind me.

  I grabbed the urn and we walked back the way we came, bumping shoulders in silence.

  Chapter Three

  By the time we made it back to Sally, we were both ravenous. I steered Sally back onto I-5 North and found a little café about forty-five minutes later.

  They had great coffee and every kind of grilled cheese you could want. We stood at the counter and I ordered mine with bacon and tomatoes while Landry chose sautéed onions.

  “You seriously ordered onions?” I said. “That’s not nice to me. Or Sally.”

  Landry huffed. “My farts smell like roses.”

  “Rotten roses.” I grumbled.

  He punched me in the shoulder.

  “What was that?” I darted my head around and batted my hand in the air. “I think there’s a fly. Did you feel that, Lan?”

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  The waitress handed us our plates and we found a corner booth. It was midafternoon, after the lunch rush, so we had the place mostly to ourselves except for two older women in the far corner. The sandwich was amazing. Buttery toasted bread that crunched when I bit into it and ooey-gooey cheese with crispy bacon and ripe tomatoes. I must have moaned because when I looked up, Landry was staring at me.

  “What?”

  “Um, you okay there?”

  “Huh?”

  “Pretty sure you just took that sandwich’s virginity.”

  I sputtered out a sip of coffee. “Lan!”

  “What! That was a pretty intense moment you had over there.”

  “Will you just eat?”

  “My sandwich doesn’t want to do it now. My sandwich said your sandwich told her it hurts.”

  “Oh my God, Lan.”

  He picked up his sandwich and took a huge bite. Strings of glistening, browned onions dripped out the sides. He fluttered his eyes and moaned like this was a porn shoot.

  “Lan, there are honest-to-God people in here. Cool it.”

  He widened his eyes in mock innocence. “I’m sorry. I just had to show my sandwich a good time so she’d tell all her sandwich friends how amazing I was.”

  “You’re on a roll today, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m delirious from lack of caffeine.”

  “Well then, drink up.”

  Now that our sandwiches had been defiled, I found myself wondering whether Landry was a virgin. He’d had a couple of boyfriends, dated a couple of guys, and had gone to some clubs. But he never told me what he did, probably believing I’d be grossed out. I would have been grossed out to hear about him making out with other guys, but not for the reasons he thought.

  But he made sexual jokes all the time. He flirted with me, with our friends, everyone. That was Landry.

  He thought I had sex with my high school girlfriend and a couple of girls in college. The rumors abounded in high school and I never squashed them. I let the rumors continue in college. I hated it, but I didn’t have any other choice.

  The guys in high school and college used to joke that I was leading on my gay best friend. Because to them, I was straight. I drunkenly kissed girls at parties and grabbed an ass cheek or two and leered at cleavage. Like a good straight guy.

  But it was a part I played. My reality was my role as Landry’s anchor.

  And now that our sandwiches had done the nasty, I wondered if I was the only virgin sitting at the table.

  “You feel okay about today?” Landry asked, jerking me from my thoughts.

  I pushed some ketchup around on my plate with a burnt fry. Post-funeral gatherings were interesting to me. People were so drained from sadness and tears that all they wanted to do was eat and laugh and socialize with family and friends. A reminder that they were normal and alive.

  That’s how I felt now. I didn’t want to think anymore about the urn in the RV. About our next stop. And the next and the next until we reached a dozen. I wanted to sit with Landry in this café and laugh over slutty grilled cheese sandwiches. Because I finally felt like we were getting back to us.

  “I’m okay.” I chewed on my fry and gazed out the window. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be. I liked having the camera with me. Kind of felt like he was there. Taking pictures gave me something to focus on.” I turned to him. “And, you know, I’m glad you were there.”

  He smiled, pleased with himself. I waved my hand. “We can talk about something else now. I don’t want to think about it until we’re at our next stop.”

  Landry nodded. “Okay, well, since you brought it up . . .”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Brought what up?”

  He ignored me and kept talking “I was thinking . . .” Lan scraped up the remaining onions on his plate and dropped them into his mouth. “Want to go to an amusement park?”

  “An amusement park?”

  “Yeah, you know, roller coasters, games, cotton candy, the whole shebang.”

  We had a schedule. We’d allowed some wiggle room, but . . . “Where is it?”

  “In Idaho.”

  “Idaho?”

  “We do have to drive through Idaho to get to Wyoming.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Justin, we have time in our schedule. Come on, this is a road trip and . . .” He looked away and took a deep breath. His face darkened with a shadow for a brief moment before he turned back to me.” . . . And we’ll probably never do this again. Right?”

  “Right,” I answered, the sound a croak in my suddenly dry throat.

  He circled the rim of his mug with a shaky forefinger. We both watched it, then he clutched it to his chest, like he wanted to hide it.

  “And we have the money.”

  He was right on that point, too. He’d worked all through college for the university computer helpline, where he made decent money, plus he’d asked for boatloads of cash as graduation gifts—and got it. He also already had a job lined
up come fall, as a graphic designer at a marketing firm back in our hometown.

  My dad had left me his savings—it hadn’t been tons, but enough so I could use some of my savings for this trip and still have a cushion.

  “So,” he said. “I found an amusement and water park. Eastern Idaho. Tamarack Park. I know you like roller coasters . . .” His voice trailed off and he waggled his eyebrows at me.

  I did. I loved roller coasters. I loved that feeling at the top of the hill, right before the big drop, knowing the way down was going to be exciting and uncomfortable, laughing and screaming all at once, but once we hit bottom, it would be all right and the coaster would move on.

  “They have one of those coasters where your legs dangle.”

  Oooh, I loved that, too. Landry was really selling this. “How long’s the drive?”

  Landry’s smile stretched across his face, because he knew he’d won. Bastard. “Like eight hours. I have the directions and everything. We keep going on I-5, then get on 90. There’s a rest stop nearby. We can stay there and then get up bright and early to beat all the little brats in line.”

  “Oh Landry.”

  “It’s going to be so much fun.”

  I smiled as Landry bounced in his seat. “It will be.”

  When we made it back to Sally, Landry sat down on the sofa with his laptop. “C’mere.”

  I picked up some clothes on the floor and threw them in our mesh laundry bag. “What?”

  He patted the space beside him. “Just sit.”

  “I want to get going—”

  “Just fucking sit!”

  So I sat in a huff and folded my arms across my chest. I tapped my foot and gazed around the RV. When Landry’s computer made some beeps I glanced at it and it took me a minute to realize he had Skype open. “What are you doing?”

  He grinned, eyes on the screen as he tapped away. “Wanna see Mom and Dad?” And then there they were on the screen, elbowing each other out of the way as they squinted at their computer. “Oh look, Carl, there they are. Would you look at that. Hi, boys!” Landry’s mom smiled and I was transported back in time, to high school, studying in Landry’s basement, eating pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes and apple pie.

  My mom worked late and we weren’t close anyway, so I spent many dinners at Landry’s house, eating with him and his parents and grudgingly driving home way past curfew.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs.”

  Landry’s parents were older than mine and had adopted Landry in their late thirties after they were unable to conceive. Mr. Jacobs’s hair was grayer than I remembered, Mrs. Jacob’s laugh lines more pronounced. But they were still the same couple who’d saved my sanity many times over the years.

  Landry turned to me. “They asked to Skype after our first destination.”

  I nodded at him and turned to his parents. “Thanks, it’s good to see you two. Did you like graduation? Sorry we took off—”

  Mrs. Jacobs waved her hand and talked over me. “No, no, we understood you have a timetable and wanted to get going. Thanks for spending the evening with us beforehand.”

  They’d treated us to a big dinner, and then Landry and I had gone to a baseball party and drank until we passed out. How I didn’t feel sick at graduation was a mystery.

  “So, how are you doing, son?” Mr. Jacobs directed the question at me.

  When he first called me “son” in high school, I’d bristled. I wasn’t his son. But the more I got to know them, the more I realized their inability to have their own biological children just made them want to take care of every single child they could, influence lives in a way that mattered. So now, when Mr. Jacobs called me “son,” it made me want to lay on his couch and snuggle into the homemade afghan hanging on the back while I watched an old movie.

  “I’m good. Mount St. Helens was beautiful.”

  “Everything go okay?” The concern in his voice wrapped around my shoulders like a wool scarf.

  My gaze rested on the camera bag I’d placed on the table. I loved knowing that by the end of this trip, that little black machine made of plastic and glass and mirrors would hold a summer of memories.

  I rubbed my palms together and focused on Mr. Jacobs. “Yeah, we got some great shots, I think, and spread his ashes and it was . . . hard . . . but at the same time I feel really good about what we’re doing.”

  And I did. Our first stop solidified that in my mind and my heart.

  Mr. Jacobs nodded once and Mrs. Jacobs threaded her fingers through her husband’s, beaming a warm smile at me.

  They chatted with their son. He carried the laptop around, showing them Sally and talked about our upcoming trip to the amusement park. They laughed at his rambling and wished us luck.

  After he hung up with them, I turned to him. “Thanks. It was great to talk to them.”

  He smiled. “I thought that would make you happy.”

  He knew me so well.

  ***

  After feeding Sally with some fuel, we continued north, skirting Seattle, then veered east into the northern tip of Idaho. Using my dad’s camera—which I’d shown him how to use—Landry took shots of the passing landscape, which would probably wind up blurry. He snapped the camera in my direction so I made weird faces until he grew bored of that and amused himself by taking selfies with his iPhone.

  He downloaded the pictures from the camera onto his computer, showing me the ones he thought looked best. Mindful to keep my eyes on the road, I pointed out my favorites and suggested some light cropping and editing, which Landry completed.

  Later, he tapped away on his phone, smiling that shy smile he got when reading e-mails from his boyfriend.

  “Jud?” I said, the name like a bite of rotten apple in my mouth.

  “Huh?” Landry said, not looking up.

  “You sending some shots to Jud or something?”

  Landry looked at me, blinking. “Oh! Yeah, I sent him one. Let him know we’re doing okay.”

  I didn’t know why I kept asking questions. Maybe I had a streak of masochist in me. “You miss him?”

  By now the sun had gone down, his face only illuminated by passing cars. “Sure.”

  “Sure?”

  “Well, we’re busy, Justin. I mean, even when we’re driving, I’m thinking about our blog and where we’re going next and the routes we need to take. So I’m not thinking about him.”

  I stared out the window, the white center lines flashing by Sally’s tires. I wondered if the roles were reversed and he was on a road trip with Jud, would he think of me?

  But all I said was, “Yeah, I guess we are busy.”

  He propped his bare feet on Sally’s dashboard, and I knew I’d never be able to sit in the driver’s seat without picturing him sitting there, bobbing the balls of his feet on the panel, singing along to Fall Out Boy.

  He tapped away on his phone. “So, did you know that Idaho’s state horse is the Appaloosa?”

  “They have a national horse?”

  “And they have a lot of softwood trees.” He snickered. “Softwood.”

  I snickered along with him.

  “And they have wolves and bears.”

  “Oh.”

  He tucked his chin and looked up at me through his lashes in classic Landry-flirting style. “Pups, cubs, and bears, oh my!”

  I knew what he was referencing, but I wasn’t going to fess up to it. “What’s that about?”

  He grinned and shoved my shoulder. “C’mon. You know, stereotypes the gay culture has invented for itself.”

  “What are you?”

  He scrunched his lips. “Um, I don’t know. I guess a twink? Maybe when I actually grow up a little bit, get some hair on my chest, I’ll be a cub. Find me a nice, big bear.”

  Some big, muscular dud
e with his paws all over Landry? Oh no. “I’m not hairy enough to be a bear,” I grumbled, the words out before I could stop them. I resisted clapping my hands over my mouth to draw attention to it.

  Landry’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “What did you just say?”

  “Um . . .”

  “How did you know what bears were like? You seem well versed in something you know nothing about.”

  “I think I heard you talk about them before.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t know. God, get off my back. I just assumed because bears are like, really hairy. And big. Like the animal.”

  Landry squinted at me. “Uh-huh.”

  “Stop.”

  “Pups and cubs are hairy animals, too.”

  “Landry.”

  “Just saying, your logic is flawed.”

  Again with the fucking grilling. “I’m a good guesser.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off my face, but I pointed to something on the side of the road and he dropped the subject.

  ***

  A couple of hours later we crossed into Idaho and pulled over at a rest stop. I parked and then folded out the bed and undressed. I flopped down on my stomach, my back killing me from the strain of manhandling the massive RV. Landry sat on the edge of the bed, clicking away on his keyboard, the only light in the cabin glowing from his screen.

  “What are you doing?” I said out of the corner on my mouth, the other side smooched into my pillow. I didn’t have the energy to raise my head.

  “Oh, just a blog post. The pictures look great.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Definitely.”

  I realized I hadn’t even looked at them yet. He’d showed me the blog design and I approved but that’s about it. I told him I wanted control over which pictures of my dad’s urn he posted, but he could do or post anything else he wanted. “What are you writing in those posts, anyway?”

  “Just about our trip. Where we are. What we’ve done so far. We get comments. Mia e-mailed me to tell you she’s thinking of you.”

  “Cool.” I shut my eyes, the lids too heavy to keep open anymore.