by J. Warren
EIGHTEEN
I don’t know how long Kevin’s hand had been roaming over me when I finally woke up. I’m not entirely sure why I reacted how I did, either. I got lost in his touch and didn’t come back to myself until long after we were both lying side by side, panting and damp. His smell was all over my skin.
Night streamed in from the single window in the room. The blue curtains were still, and each individual blind let one thin line of light through. Even in the dark, I could see his head was turned, and he was staring at the pulled blinds as if he could see right through them. I wanted to get up and leave right then, and at the same time, I wanted to pull him to me and hear his breathing against my chest once more.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?” I asked, surprised at how tender my voice sounded to me.
“Taking care of me.”
I didn’t say anything. He was coherent and together. I’d never seen anyone have a—a—what? I know all the television shows called what I’d just seen a “bad trip”, but what did that mean? Usually, something like that was followed by a scene of everyone gathered over the troubled teen in the hospital. He turned over on his side, and put his head on my chest. I breathed in and then out; my whole body hummed with stillness.
“Did you ever sit in your room, look out the window, and wonder if maybe the whole world had died, only you didn’t know about it, yet?” Kevin asked.
“No.”
“Some nights, after dad had—whatever—wailed on me—I’d just sit in my bed and stare out the window. Just sort of think about what I’d do if the world was over,” he said, and curled his knees up against me. The gesture was so feminine it made my chest hurt. I looked at his body, all the skin and bone and muscle, and felt sad.
“I spent so long—” He turned his head up and away, staring at the ceiling. I could tell he was trying not to cry.
“It’s—” I realized I didn’t know what I was going to say, “—late.” Too late, I knew that was the exact wrong thing to say. He blinked at me. “We should maybe get some sleep,” I said. Outside the window, the wind howled.
“It could all be over out there, in a movie or something, and we wouldn’t know,” he said.
“Does that scare you?”
“No.” He snuggled under the covers. “It makes me feel heavy and tired, like I don’t have to worry anymore.” I heard him breathing for a while, and I started to drift. “What would you do?” he whispered.
“Hmmm?”
“If the world was over, like if it had already ended and you were—I don’t know—left behind or whatever—what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “you?”
“Get on a boat and go way out in the ocean where no one is. I’d go out there and stay,” he said. The last words came out in a low murmur, “people fuck me up.”
I felt his hand begin to roam over me, again. There were just a few taps, at first, like someone testing ice on a lake with a pole. Then, the touch moved across my shoulders. My head pounded, and the room had a high-pitched electricity running through it. The touch went away, then I felt the bed move behind me.
A touch started at my waist, somehow more insistent, more conscious than before. It ran up my side to my rib cage, and moved slower over each of them, as if counting. I could tell this was a hand, and I felt it move forward. It came down from my ribs to my stomach. There it went from the brushing of fingertips to an open palm and warmth.
“Mikey?” Kevin whispered.
I didn’t want to respond; I wanted to become a stone. “Yeah?”
“Move closer; it’s cold.” His hand gently pressed on my stomach. I moved until my back touched his chest. He moved upward until his elbow sat on my stomach, and his flat palm rested just over my heart. I felt him breathe. My head pounded with white pressure; I felt as if I might pass out.
His hips moved against me; nothing horrible, just a tiny pressure. I exhaled, and again felt close to passing out.
“Mikey?” His breathe felt so warm against my neck.
I didn’t want to answer; I wanted to be a rock.
“Are you cold, too?”
I wasn’t; my whole body felt hot enough to explode. “Yeah.”
“Turn over,” he said.
I did. His arm circled around behind my back, the flat palm between my shoulder blades. I felt his muscles, huge and thick against my side. His jaw was there, next to mine, and I felt the warmth of his breath. His eyes were open in the dark, too. Something in the middle of me was warm, and liquid. My whole body vibrated. “Kevin,” I said, “I’m not really cold.” It sounded like a radio broadcast in another room.
“Me either,” he said. I felt the pillow move, and then felt his lips against mine.
Morning peeked in just under the blinds the next time I paid any attention. A loud sound from the bathroom, and the sound of water running brought me back from where I’d been. I hummed from fingers to toes. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t think my body and me; I thought I. Parts of me felt sore and used and alive, and I was tired; hungry.
The bathroom door opened, and Kevin crawled back underneath the sheets. I turned on my side and felt him against my back immediately. His nose moved against my neck lightly. I smiled, “that tickles,” I said. I wanted the smile to stay, but it faded quickly.
“Still awake?” he asked. I heard the grin in his voice.
“Yeah, but I need some sleep.”
Quiet fell between us, and my mind tensed for a second; the quiet was nothing like the huge spaces that opened up between Susan and I. This was closer; warmer. I didn’t feel like I had to fill this. I could leave it. I decided to. I became aware that my hand was over Kevin’s, both resting on my chest.
“Was this the first time for you—?” he asked.
“What?”
“First time you—you know?” Kevin whispered.
“I don’t—I don’t know, really. I hadn’t—umm—I hadn’t thought about it,” I answered. I heard him inhale and then exhale. I felt his hot breath against my neck and down my back. “Let’s—let’s talk about it some other time,” I said.
He didn’t say anything, but pulled me to him again. I felt his hands clasp themselves tighter around my chest, and his lips caressed the back of my neck. I felt my skin prickle. He kissed me on my neck exactly on top of one of the bumps of my spine. His hand began to play with my hair in long, slow strokes. My feet were warm. Every tiny touch moved through my entire body. We drifted off together like that. I have never slept that good before or since.
Somewhere in my sleep, I began walking down Hitt road. The edges of everything were blurry, and I remember thinking to myself “I’m dreaming,” only, it didn’t feel that way at all. I kept getting that feeling as though I were being watched. I felt very peaceful, though. My feet were carrying themselves along without any guidance, and I could focus on the crickets and how bright they sounded. I focused on how the sky was a deep blue at this time of night. My feet hit the asphalt with a steady pulse.
Just up ahead, I saw the stop sign and the four way where Hitt road crossed over Shelby. I said “Old highway 80” out loud, because that’s what Mr. Roger had always called it. He’d get this confused look on his face whenever anyone mentioned Shelby until you called it “old 80;” then his face would relax, and he’d nod.
As I stepped out into the road, I saw that someone was coming south on Hitt. It seemed like a bicycle. Even in the darkness, I could make out the rider’s pumping legs. I stood at the exact center of the four way, and waited. I’d always wanted to do that, but had never gotten up the courage. The bicycle got closer, and after a few minutes I noticed that it was my bike. I looked around for my bike, feeling like I’d just left it a second ago, lying on its side near the stop sign. There was nothing there, though, when I looked. The bike rider was closer every second, and I could already hear the wind rushing through the spokes. “Hey!” I wanted to call out, “that’s my bike!” but I
said nothing.
Whoever was riding the bike was accelerating. The bike was flying at me. I honestly felt like I should move, or be run over. The moment I stepped aside, the bike whistled past me. Funny thing is that, at that exact second, everything went slow motion. I watched as the rider went by me, and felt the wind over my whole body.
The rider’s legs were long, and the torso lean. His shoulders were broad, and his neck long. His jaw was strongly angled, and his hair thick black. When he passed by, the smell of jasmine came over me. He seemed oddly familiar, though I’d never seen him before. I remember thinking to myself I should call out, get my bike back, but I didn’t know what name to call.
I grabbed for the bike to try and stop him. He turned to me with the blurry face of dream creatures, but I knew it was him. I knew he was angry at me for stopping him. He said “I’m just a message,” and tried to pedal away. I wanted desperately to ask him what he meant by that, but instead I felt myself let him go as I said “Be home for dinner,” for no reason. I watched him as he stood up to get more leverage. He and the bike flew off and I thought of a Valkyrie. I watched and watched, my head tilted up into the night sky.
Not that I opened my eyes, though; I became aware that the black space I was in was just my eyelids shut over my eyes. I wasn’t watching Randy anymore and something, something, was important about that. I had to—to—to do something? I was busy inside, trying to figure out what that was. The slow motion ended and, when I looked down again, I wasn’t at the four way anymore. I was standing in front of Delany Hospital. I watched as the boy parked my bike, locked it, then walked inside.
For a second, he stopped at the door, and turned around. He looked almost dead at me, and smiled. That’s when I woke up. The morning light had grown a bit more blue and less gray. I could tell it was getting later. I knew I had things to do, though. I just wanted another hour or so. The second I closed my eyes, I opened them again.
I had taken that long to sink in that the boy on the bike was Randy. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. Dreams are like that.
I couldn’t remember which was the real world. I thought I should close my eyes to get back to reality; that it was bad for me to sit and lounge in a world so wrong. Then I realized. It seemed so vivid; the smell of the rubber tires, the rusted red bike, everything. I felt guilty for being away from Randy when he needed me to help him—help him—help him do something, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I seemed so important just seconds ago, though. I should remember, I thought, in a way. I was still very confused, buzzing inside.
The buzzing slowed down gradually. Names came back for the things I was looking at: alarm clock, window, clothes basket, etc. I cooled off inside. Everything in me slowed down.
I came awake slowly and realized I was alone. Kevin wasn’t in the room. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, and looked around. The covers on the other side of the bed were rumpled and pushed back from the edge. I put my head back down on the pillow, wondering if he’d ever really been in the room with me at all. The door opened.
A jet of cold air burst in behind Kevin. For a stark second, his nearly naked body framed by the lamps above the highway and the golden yellow of the porch light. He closed the door, putting his hands up to his shoulders and rushing to the bed. He wiggled out of his jeans as he came, and sat down hard. He scrambled under the covers and immediately searched for my body with his hands. When they touched my skin, I jumped before I could stop myself.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“You’re hands are cold,” I said. He pulled me to him, his hands around my ribcage. His chest against my back. His skin warmed fast. Our feet tangled around each other. I shivered once, as my body cooled, then warmed with his.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Where’d you go?” I asked, feeling his lips and nose against the back of my neck.
“I needed a cigarette.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know he smoked.
“You’re so warm,” he said, nuzzling against me. He pressed his hips into mine from behind, and his stubble tickled against my shoulder. I started for a moment; I wanted to stay in the bed; the two bodies had made it warm in that way only two bodies can. I also wanted to run, to get away from this close feeling.
“I was worried for a second,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I thought maybe I’d—,” I said, but let it drift off.
“You thought that maybe you’d what?” His words tasted like smoke mixed with the sweet smell of fresh sex. His hands roamed my chest, and I found myself relaxing as his fingers warmed.
I closed my eyes. “I thought that maybe I’d dreamed it.”
He laughed under his breath. I knew his eyes were closed, too. We stayed like that for a time, my breathing slowly coming to match his. His hands found themselves along my chest and clasped. He was nuzzled against me so close that it seemed as though we were the same person. I felt warm and heavy. My eyelids drifted downward.
“What now?” he asked.
“Hmmm?”
“What now? What happens to us now?” hespoke to my neck. whispered against my neck.
My eyes opened. I hadn’t thought much beyond what we’d just done and the sleep that was fast approaching. I just wanted to be here, warm and asleep. He was right, though; we’d have to figure out what had happened. The second one of us opened the door to leave, the world would pour in.
“What do you want to happen?” he asked.
“I have to go,” I said, and then feeling his body pull away a fraction, I added “soon.”
“Oh.” His body had already gone stiff against mine.
I felt the bed get colder. “I have to take care of something for my mom and dad,” I said, looking around to see where my clothes were. I found them in a pile near the window. I started to think about how to untangle myself from Kevin and get to them. Some part of me grew angry, though; I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave to do something for them when they’d never done anything for, and I stopped myself at that moment. It felt odd, but I stopped myself; everything shut off for a second. It was like slow motion in a movie. I watched myself from inside, and actually saw the last word, the one I’d been about to say, floating there in my mind. Why had I started to think that?
“What are you thinking about?” he asked in this small voice. I was still “stopped” inside. My eyes rolled over to look at him. I decided to come back to the world.
“I was just thinking,” I said.
“About what?” he whispered.
“This,” I answered, “how hard it is to think about this.”
A little valley formed between his eyes, “What do you mean?”
“Were you—?” I started to say, then stopped. I realized that the question I was about to ask sounded stupid.
He smiled, “I was wondering when you were going to ask.” He shifted around some, getting comfortable. I noticed how little the mattress moved as he did; how light he seemed. “Yes, I was always like this,” he said, “and I always hoped I’d wind up right here; right where I am right now.” I made a sound that I didn’t understand. He looked at my eyes for a second, and I had to look away.
“But you hated me,” I said.
His lips pursed for a second, then he whispered, “Maybe for a little while. I was a kid; I thought it was your fault I—felt the way I did.” I looked back up into his eyes. “I was a kid; what did I know?” His shoulders moved slightly. Just then, my stomach growled. He laughed, and I laughed too. He reached out and put his hand on my stomach; it was warm, and made me breathe heavier.
“Aren’t you ever worried?” I asked.
“Worried about what?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the floor. “Aren’t you ever worried someone will find out?”
“Half the town already knows, Mikey,” he said. He sat up, letting his hand fall from me. “You have been gone a long time, but I’ve been here my whole life,” he said, star
ing forward as if in a trance. “Most of the guys in this town were friends of mine at one time or another through high school.”
“So then why do they—”
He made a small noise in his throat like a laugh. “After one sleepover, Mikey, they weren’t very friendly to me anymore.”
I started to ask what he meant, then it hit me. I felt cold and hollow inside, staring at him.
“The rest of the men in this town know because they know which door to knock on when their wives and girlfriends get mean.” He turned and put his feet on the floor. He stood up, and the light moved over him. Again, my mind saw a skyscraper—tall and thin and flat.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He went to the window, and peeked out of a blind. He let it slip out of his finger and it snapped loudly back into place. He turned his head slightly, and over his shoulder said “It means I don’t say ‘no’ a lot.” Something in his voice was empty.
“So, you mean you—?” I started to ask, but trailed off. I tried to see in him the boy who had so terrorized me. There was something there, the fierce set of shoulders and the ramrod straight spine. Something was gone, though; he seemed more like a little boy standing by that window than he ever had when he actually was small.
“It pays the bills, Mikey,” he whispered, “and that’s all I care about.”
“But, aren’t you worried?” I asked.
“About what?” he whispered.
“You know—getting it?” I asked. He turned toward me.
“Getting—?” he asked, his head moving forward from his shoulder.
“AIDS,” I said.
His eyes closed and he let out a long sigh. “You don’t get ‘it’,” he said, making the marks in the air with his fingers and I felt stupid, “by just being gay.”
“No, I know that, but I mean—well, are you scared you might someday with—umm—as many people as—umm—you say you’ve—?”
“Have you ever known someone who was living with it?” he asked.