by Ruskin, JD
The large screen at the front of the theater was showing a commercial for some kind of chewing gum. The high ceilings and empty space around him seemed to stretch out for miles. A powerful urge to turn around and make a break for it swept over him, but he fought it back. Logan was enjoying his popcorn too much and was clearly looking forward to the movie. He had chosen it. It was something to do with comic book superheroes. After a quick glance in Logan’s direction, Caleb lowered himself into the seat.
“Here,” Logan said, “take the popcorn.”
The giant tub came at Caleb, and he had no choice but to lift his hands for it.
“And these napkins,” Logan added.
Caleb glanced down as a giant wad of napkins slapped down onto his thigh. A family-size package of candy landed on top of it. Beside him, Logan maneuvered his giant self into a seat obviously designed for mere mortals. This apparently could not be accomplished without a certain amount of huffing and swearing, which brought them a disapproving glare from a bespectacled elderly man who had just entered the cinema.
“I don’t think we’ll be sitting anywhere near these young hoodlums, my dear,” he announced to his female companion and led her away, his back very erect. The woman glanced back at them curiously, as if she had never seen a hoodlum before.
“Good! Get lost, why don’tcha,” muttered Logan under his breath, and he settled deeper into his seat. It made alarming creaking sounds under his weight.
“Logan, are you sure that seat can hold you?” Caleb wriggled experimentally in his own seat, but unlike Logan’s, it didn’t make any noise.
“Yeah, probably. Never had one break on me yet.” Logan reached for the popcorn and crammed another handful into his mouth. He winked at Caleb and crunched away happily. “Man, there’s nothing like movie theater popcorn,” he said after a minute. “Feels like forever.”
Caleb handed him a napkin, thinking there probably hadn’t been much popcorn in prison. Apart from using surprisingly lyrical descriptions of his love for popcorn, Logan had also played the “I haven’t seen a movie since before I went to the pen” card. It had been effective. Caleb was here. He would just have to try to make the best of it. He snuck a quick peek at his watch. If it really was a ninety-minute movie, he just might be home in two hours. He hoped he could get through them without embarrassing himself.
“Sure you don’t want some?” Logan shook the tub of popcorn at him.
“Maybe later.” Caleb clutched the huge packet of candy and took a couple of deep, calming breaths.
“You sure?” More crunching. “’Cause it’s still warm right now. And it’s making my fingers all… slippery and buttery.”
Caleb’s eyes snapped open. Sure enough, Logan was busy licking butter off his fingers in a most provocative way. His eyes shone with mischief, and Caleb felt his cheeks getting warm. He couldn’t look away.
“Oops, forgot my thumb,” Logan murmured and turned his head to offer Caleb a side view as he slid the whole length of it into his mouth. His lips closed over it tightly, and he moved it in and out several times while watching Caleb sidelong.
“OhmiGod!” exclaimed a soft female voice nearby, and both Logan and Caleb jerked, startled, as they realized that a trio of teenage girls had just come in and stood stock still, staring at them.
“Kelsey, don’t just stand there,” hissed the tallest of the three. “Let’s go sit down.” She attempted to nudge her friends forward.
The one called Kelsey seemed reluctant to move. “But, Anna, did you—I mean, that guy, he was….” She glanced back at Logan and Caleb, her eyes very round.
“I think we should sit right here,” said the third girl in a decisive tone of voice.
Caleb heard the rustle of her jacket and felt a slight bump against the back of his seat as she entered the row directly behind them.
“Fine with me.” That was Kelsey’s breathy voice as she hurried after her friend.
“Shove over, you guys,” snapped Anna. “I am not sitting behind the Incredible Hulk here. How am I supposed to see the screen?”
“Shh, he can hear you,” insisted Kelsey as softly as possible, but she obeyed Anna.
The girls and their purses and backpacks bumped and smacked against the backs of Logan and Caleb’s seats as they all shifted over by first one seat, and then another after Anna made the discovery that she didn’t want to get stuck behind “Blondie,” either. Her friends grumbled and complained but did as she said. Caleb wished they didn’t have to sit so close to him. But on the other hand, he couldn’t blame them after Logan’s little performance. He became aware that Logan was refraining from eating any more popcorn. Maybe he was feeling self-conscious. Caleb gave in to the desire to rib him a little.
“Afraid to get more butter on your fingers?”
Logan grinned back. “I ain’t never been afraid to get butter on my fingers, baby.”
The whispering behind them abruptly stopped, and Caleb had a sense that three pairs of teenage ears were waiting to hear his response. Suddenly he wanted to laugh.
“Oh?” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about some of those other times when you got butter on your fingers?”
There came the sound of a smothered giggle followed by a brief admonitory “Shh!”
“Well, there was this one time,” drawled Logan, and the little tilt of his head told Caleb he was playing to the gallery, “when it was really late at night, and I was in a real adventurous mood….”
“And you needed some butter?” Caleb tried to sound encouraging.
“Well, we needed something. And butter was all we had.”
“‘We?’”
“Uh. Yeah. It’s not like I had this butter adventure all by my lonesome.”
“I should hope not,” said one of the girls in a very low voice. Caleb wasn’t sure which girl it was, but judging by the way his seat was shaking, she was getting smacked by the other two.
“So,” Caleb said in the most casual tone he could muster. “Who did what, and to whom, with the butter?”
Logan cleared his throat and then said, “Hey, it looks like the trailers are starting. Guess we’d better stop talking.”
A collective wail of disappointment went up behind them, but it was almost immediately drowned out by the noise of music and explosions from the speakers. The sudden increase in volume made Caleb flinch, but when Logan winked at him and dipped his fingers back into the popcorn, he relaxed a little.
The movie was okay. Logan had assured him it would feature hot guys with their shirts off, and it did. The male lead was handsome enough, although not quite Caleb’s type. The plot was predictable; the special effects exciting. But the most enjoyable part of the movie for Caleb was the snarky commentary being delivered in undertones by the three teenage girls behind him. They had something to say about almost every scene, and Caleb found that between the movie and the girls, he was sufficiently distracted to forget to panic most of the time.
About twenty minutes into the film, his stomach settled down enough that he felt he could try the popcorn. The peanut gallery remarked on that too.
“Whoa, you guys, butter alert.”
“Huh?”
“Blondie’s goin’ for it.”
“Shh!”
Caleb ignored them and pushed a few greasy kernels of popcorn into his mouth, savoring the salty taste and light, crunchy texture. Logan was right. Theater popcorn was way better than the microwave popcorn he sometimes made at home.
“Good, huh?” Logan held out the tub. “What’d I tell ya?”
“Gimme that.” Caleb took the whole tub. “I think it’s my turn to hold it for a while.”
Logan relinquished it with a good-natured smile and tore open their package of Twizzlers.
Behind him, Kelsey was being scolded for texting her boyfriend during the movie, and the third girl, whose name Caleb had learned was Megan, was excitedly drawing everyone’s attention to the perfection of Captain America’s ass.
“Bet he’d love to get it rubbed down with butter,” remarked Anna, and this time when the other girls erupted in laughter, Caleb did too.
Logan turned around in his seat. “Would you guys just let up on this little butter fixation you got going?” he demanded.
“Dude, you started it,” said Anna.
The next round of giggling was drowned out by a burst of music that was evidently supposed to be stirring, but as soon as it got a little quieter, the whispering started again. By the time the movie was in the final stretch, Caleb knew that all three girls were out of school on a Friday because it was a teacher institute day, but all three of their moms thought they were studying at Anna’s house. He had endured some rather lurid speculation about his and Logan’s relationship, heard a few observations about Captain America’s pecs and abs with which he heartily agreed, and had accepted a shyly proffered stick of gum from Megan. She had written “U R hot!” on it with a fine black marker.
Logan, upon being shown the wrapper, again turned around to take the girls to task for hitting on his friend.
“‘Special’ friend, I bet,” said Anna.
“Butter friend,” Megan added.
“She doesn’t mean that!” exclaimed Kelsey, laying a reassuring hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
“Now you guys are groping him!” protested Logan. “Paws off!”
“Shh, we’re trying to hear this incredibly original dialogue.” Anna indicated the movie screen.
Logan scowled and went back to the popcorn.
Finally the closing credits rolled, and people started to get up and file out, leaving wrappers and trash behind them. Anna, Megan, and Kelsey seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time gathering all their belongings, dropping things, and bumping against Caleb’s and Logan’s seats.
Caleb’s anxiety started to rise. As much as he wanted to return to his quiet, familiar apartment, he didn’t want to have to deal with any crowds out there in the cineplex lobby. There was also the trip home to be endured. He felt his hand creep into Logan’s, seeking support.
Logan squeezed his fingers and said, “I hope you don’t wanna jump up right away. Let’s just relax a little longer. I’m dying to find out who the ‘key grip’ was on this movie.”
Anna stepped out into the aisle and snorted. “That’s code for ‘I’m dying to make out with you.’”
“Have fun.” Kelsey waved cheerfully and left with her two friends.
“You,” Logan said to Caleb, “are quite the chick magnet today. I’m almost jealous.”
“Well, I’m jealous that you got called the Incredible Hulk and Shrek, whereas all I scored was ‘Blondie’.” Caleb could hear the slight tremor in his own voice.
“You’re forgetting the gum,” said Logan.
“Oh yeah.”
“Not gonna switch teams, are ya?”
“Not if this team has butter.”
Logan leaned back and grinned at the ceiling. “Can’t wait to get you home.”
Chapter 8
CALEB entered the bathroom and pulled off his clothes. Reaching around the shower curtain, he adjusted the spray to hot. After six weeks, it was such a relief to wash without having to worry about getting his cast wet. Removing the cast yesterday had been stressful for everyone. When the doctor insisted he take a sedative rather than risk a panic attack while the cast was being sawed off, Logan looked on the verge of swooning, likely infected by Caleb’s amputation fears. It was sort of nice to be the one patting Logan’s hand and reminding him to breathe.
Tonight, they were going out. Logan had insisted on being responsible for purchasing tickets for the Cubs versus the Marlins, refusing to let Caleb help pay for them. Caleb stepped into the shower, letting the heat relax the tense muscles in his back and neck. He hadn’t slept well last night, his brain refusing to quiet. He had longed for the feel of Logan pressed against him, the heat of his body warm and welcome. A game was three hours long and until now, they had only managed two hours, and that was to a matinee movie, where less than a dozen people attended. Not like Wrigley Field, where there would likely be over forty thousand fans packed into the old ballpark. God, what if I have an attack during the game? How will we get out?
“Stop!” Even after over a month of successfully working with his therapist, it still felt weird to talk to himself aloud, but he couldn’t argue with the results. He had managed two brief trips out on his own. Dr. Ryan apparently knew what she was talking about. “Logan got us aisle seats. He’ll be able to haul me out of there if I freak out.” He squirted a dab of shampoo on to his hand and started lathering his hair. “No one will notice if I end up racing out of the stadium. They’ll just think it’s the nachos making me sprint to the nearest bathroom.”
Leaning back his head, he rinsed off the soap. Regaining control was harder since he had reduced the dosage of the anti-anxiety medication, but it needed to be done. He didn’t want to depend on the highly addictive pills as a long-term solution. He finished washing and got out of the shower.
Wiping off the mirror, he looked at his reflection. His most recent trip out had been to a hair salon to get his mop of hair cut short. Logan had goaded him into getting the cut by buying him a hairnet, claiming it was to keep hair out of the food. Caleb had refused to cook for him for a week, but he still booked an appointment. In revenge, he found the glitziest, most posh place he could find, where the stylists were fab-u-lous and charged more than a month’s worth of groceries for a wash and cut. Seeing Logan sit on the trendy leather couch surrounded by the Chicago chic, looking wide-eyed and frantic, had been worth the price.
Caleb made his way into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He had expanded his wardrobe, but he was still more comfortable in his old clothes. He pulled his meditation mat from the closet and placed it on the floor facing the bed. Using a lighter, he lit a large candle in the center of a brass plate. He settled on the mat, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, and closed his eyes. Breathing slowly and deeply, he let the warm, woodsy scent of sandalwood soothe him. He used the words of his therapist as a focus. You’re not trying to stop being afraid. You’re trying to stop fear from controlling you. Embrace the fear and then let it go. It sounded easier than it was, but he had made progress. He couldn’t escape his fears, but he could make peace with them and try to make them useful instead of crippling. He emptied his mind of random thoughts, worries, emotions, and hopes for the future until only the fear remained. He tried to pin down each fear. The embarrassment he felt when others witnessed his panic. The helplessness when he lost control. The feelings of unworthiness. The dread of rejection. He focused on each fear and then tossed it away like a wad of paper.
Taking another deep, cleansing breath, he opened his eyes and rose. He blew out the candle, stashed the mat in the closet, and headed for the main room. He settled behind his desk and booted up his laptop. He needed a distraction and work was usually good for one. As he opened his e-mail, there was a knock on the door. Frowning, he looked at the time. Logan wouldn’t be here for several hours. He hesitated. Who could it be?
OUTSIDE in the hall, Logan waited for Caleb to open up. He listened, but he didn’t hear any sounds of movement. “It’s me,” he called through the door. “I’m early.”
Quick footsteps sounded and then Caleb was gazing up at him with an expression of such shy happiness on his face that it made Logan feel warm all over.
Logan grinned at him. “Surprise.” He stepped into the apartment and secured the door before dragging Caleb close for a brief kiss. When he pulled back, he asked, “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
Caleb looked down at himself. “Have you gotten over your sweatpants obsession?”
“Hell, no.” They shared another brief kiss. “But that don’t mean I want anybody else seeing you in them.” His hand wandered to Caleb’s ass, giving it a possessive squeeze. “You need to buy some that don’t threaten to cut off your circulation.”
Caleb wrapped his arms a
round Logan, hugging him close. “They’ll be too busy staring at you to notice my wardrobe deficiencies.”
“You go right ahead and keep being clueless about how hot you are.” He ran his hand through Caleb’s damp hair. “Much less likely to replace me with Randy the Beautician that way.” Caleb’s hands were caressing his muscles in a very distracting way.
Caleb rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who had half the staff begging to rub oil on your bald head.”
“Hey!” Logan said, lifting a hand to his head. “Shaved, not bald.”
Caleb looked at his forehead dubiously. “If you say so.”
Logan grabbed Caleb around the waist and threw him over his shoulder. “Be nice to me, you little shit,” he said, smacking Caleb’s tempting ass. “I got off of work early just to see you before the game.”
Caleb made a strangled sound. “Let’s sit on the couch.”
Logan complied, sitting on the dark leather couch and hauling Caleb onto his lap. Caleb’s face was a bit flushed, likely from the head rush, as he leaned in for a kiss. He tasted like the chamomile tea he favored, buttery and floral with a hint of honey. Logan liked that he had time to savor the taste of him. Far too often, their encounters were rushed since he had begun working full-time and he still needed to get home for his 8:00 p.m. curfew. He hated crawling out of bed and leaving, but he refused to have Caleb at his rathole. Caleb was reintroducing himself to the world he’d hidden from for years. He didn’t need reminders for why it was safer to stay at home than venture into Logan’s neighborhood.
Logan noticed Caleb’s normally neat desk was covered in papers and brightly colored Post-it notes. “You working?”
“Oh, that. I’m presenting to Daniel’s class next week, so I need to figure out what I’m going to say.”