Graffiti

by Terry O'Reilly

  "Oh, how wonderful," she cried, clasping her hands together. "Praise Jesus!" exclaimed Reverend Blakely.

  "That's great, son," Alan's father said, turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

  "I guess there's no need for an exorcism," Alan's mother went on. "He's not...well...Alan's not possessed after all. The charges were dropped. So it was all a mistake. I'm sorry to have troubled you, Pastor Blakely."

  Alan felt pity for his mother. She was having such trouble facing the fact that he was homosexual, grasping at any straw that would make it all go away.

  "Oh, Sister Martha," the reverend said solemnly, "The mere fact that no legal charges were brought against your son does not alter the reality that his soul is in dire need of deliverance. A higher court is in charge here," he said, raising his hands and looking up at the ceiling.

  "Oh, dear," Alan's mother said, relief vanishing and sadness once more creeping into her voice.

  "So, if you'll be seated, son, we can begin..." the pastor started.

  "He's not your son, he's mine, and there'll be no religious hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo here today," Alan's dad said authoritatively. "I respect you for what you believe, Pastor Blakely, but I don't think my son is possessed. He is what he is because, for whatever reason, God made him that way and I suspect God doesn't make mistakes. So if you'll excuse us, we have some family matters to discuss."

  The pastor looked taken aback. He mumbled something about praying for the entire family, that they may see the light, said goodbye to Alan's mother and left.

  "Now, Alan, Martha, we're going to go into the family room, sit down and Alan can tell us what happened at court," George said.

  Alan smiled. He felt a love for his dad that he hadn't in years. He knew his father didn't fully understand, but his acceptance of this turn of events made Alan happy. As for his mother, well, he would do his best to help her.

  Alan followed his parents into the family room and sat on the couch. Dusty, who had evidently been hiding out somewhere while the minister was in the house, appeared and jumped on Alan's lap. The family complete, Alan began his story.

  * * * *

  Once again Tom was sitting atop his table adjacent to the parking lot at Delph Park. This time he wasn't looking to make contact with just anyone, he was waiting for one person in particular---Alan, hoping he'd have just one more chance to make things right between them.

  In the message Tom had left in the john he'd said he would be waiting at home, but he'd found he couldn't do that. He was too anxious. What if Alan read the note and still decided not to come to the apartment? Tom had made up his mind to wait in the park so he could intercept Alan and increase his chances of being able to talk with him. So, every night for the past three nights he had come to Delph to take up his vigil.

  While there, he pondered whether or not the guy Matt had talked about Sunday afternoon was Alan. Tom wondered, if it was Alan, had Matt truly let him off by not pushing for a conviction? Or, if he had been found guilty, was he now, even as Tom sat here in the park, in jail? Tom shook his head to free himself of that image.

  Several times in the hours he'd sat waiting, he had been approached by men with offers of sex. Some of the men were definitely ones he would have agreed to hook up with; they were hot. But not now, he had turned down every one. How had he come to this place in his life? Why had he decided to forego his resolution to avoid emotional entanglements and keep relationships on a casual, even anonymous level, and take a chance on getting hurt again?

  Tom contemplated these questions as he continued to sit with his elbows on his knees looking down at an ant struggling to carry the remnants of a potato chip down the leg of the picnic table. The chip was probably fifty times bigger and heavier than he or---as Tom remembered from some class he had taken---she was. All worker ants were female the teacher had told the class proudly as if that made a difference in humankind as well. As he watched the tiny creature struggling with its load, he felt as if he could relate to its burden. The hurt he had experienced when Connor had betrayed him and flaunted it to his friends had been crushing. The very thought of having to undergo that humiliation again was almost more than he could take. Yet here Tom was, turning away hot prospects to put himself in a position of having to face those same consequences if Alan spurned him. The struggle between his fear of repeating that experience and his need to see Alan again seemed to him as daunting as the load the tiny insect was carrying. Yet he remained rooted to his tabletop, hoping with the sound of every car that entered the park it was Alan.

  Tom was just about to give up and leave for the night, concluding Alan wasn't going to show up, when a large town car pulled up and stopped by the table. Tom recognized it. It belonged to John, the man he had met a couple weeks back. It seemed like an eternity ago. John got out of the car and walked straight up to Tom, who rose from his perch.

  "Hey there," the man said. "Just the guy I was hopin' would be here. You been waitin' for me?" he asked, smiling broadly. "I got somethin' here that's been missin' you pretty bad." John fondled his protruding crotch.

  Tom sighed. He thought of his fling with Officer Matt. He knew that if he went with John now it would turn out the same way. He might enjoy the sex but when it was over he'd still have questions. He needed to clear his head of Alan before he could move on, and to do that he had to see him.

  "Sorry, man," Tom said. "I'm waiting for someone."

  "Looks to me more like you were leavin' cuz the someone you were waitin' for didn't show up," John replied, still rubbing his basket which had visibly increased in size.

  "You're right, he didn't show up...today. But he will. And I'm gonna wait as long as it takes." Tom said firmly, not sure whom he was trying to convince. He gave John's bulge a squeeze as he walked past him and up the drive out of the park.

  "You don't know what you're missin'," John called after him. Tom waved over his shoulder without looking back. Yes, I do, he thought. I'm missin' somethin' I don't think you would understand, my friend. Something that, if I get the chance, I'm gonna try to find again.

  * * * *

  The Friday after his court appearance Alan sat in his red Mustang in the parking lot outside his office building after work. He was in a quandary. As the memory of what he had experienced with his arrest faded, his need to explore his new- found sexuality began to assert itself once more. He contemplated going back to Delph Park. But although the passage of time had taken the edge off the ordeal, he wasn't going to chance falling into that trap again. Besides, he wasn't sure Delph held the answer to what he needed. The men who came to the park were in search of sex. Alan, from his very first experience with Tom, realized he wanted more than that. He wanted the physical act to have emotional meaning behind it, something that took it beyond the realm of mere physical pleasure. He had sensed that extra dimension was there when he was with Tom and had sensed Tom had felt it too. Then...? Alan couldn't imagine what had gone wrong. But in that brief time, when both he and Tom were transcending sex for the sake of sex and entering that realm of emotional fulfillment, he'd realized this was his goal: to find someone with whom he could share a life where the sex was an enhancement of the relationship, and not the basis of the relationship itself.

  But where did a man go to find such a thing? Heterosexual men found mates at work, church or school. But in a world where one's homosexual identity was carefully guarded and hidden, how would he find someone who was looking for something more than just sex? Surely not the park? Everyone there seemed interested in only one thing, getting off as anonymously as possible. Alan thought of the other places Tom had mentioned: the mall, rest stops. Probably they were not dissimilar to Delph. Where then?

  As he continued to sit there, he recalled being in the staff room and overhearing the conversation between Trent and Bob from the week before his date with Tom. They had been talking about the bars they had been to. It reminded him of The Flame, the bar where Tom had taken him. Alan thought, Would a bar be any diff
erent than the park, or a rest stop? But he didn't know where else to go. As he considered this, he remembered the two older men he had seen there, the two that had said they had been together for ten years. Maybe the bar wouldn't turn out to be much different than the other places men cruised for sex, but at least there he had witnessed an example of what he hoped his future would be. Alan decided he would give it a try.

  * * * *

  Tom sat on his bed, looking down at the phone book in his lap. Fuck! Thirty-eight Daniels in this city and only one with the initial A for a first name. Oh, well, I'll give it a try. He reached for his phone, dialed the number and waited impatiently. What would he say anyway, if on the off chance this was Alan? His thoughts were interrupted when a female voice said, "Hello?"

  Tom hesitated; his first impulse was to hang up. Then he remembered Alan had told him he lived with his parents. This could be his mother. "Uh, hello, is Alan there?" He held his breath.

  "Yes, just a minute. Who's calling please?" She asked skeptically.

  "My name's Tom, Tom Clarkson." "Okay...hang on, I'll get him."

  Tom could hear the woman calling Alan's name. He felt a flush of joy. Then the question of what to say came back to him. He'd been a jerk. He'd kicked Alan out of the apartment without any explanation. He would have to apologize for that. He hoped Alan would understand when he explained what had made him act that way.

  A small, childlike voice came through the receiver. "Hello? This is Allen," it said tentatively.

  Shit! It's a kid. "Oh, I'm sorry," Tom said gently. "I must have the wrong Alan."

  "S'okay," the kid's voice said. "G'bye."

  "Bye," Tom said and put the phone down.

  Tom looked back at the page of phone numbers. Only thirty-seven more to go, he mused and started dialing.

  Fifteen minutes and eleven unsuccessful calls later, he shook his head. This is crazy, he thought as he moved his finger to the next Daniels on the page: George A. He started dialing. Halfway through the number he stopped. I'll never find him this way. He hung up the phone, put it back on the bed stand, tossed the phonebook on the floor and flopped back on the bed. "Alan, where the fuck are you?" he asked aloud to the ceiling.

  * * * *

  Alan walked into The Flame. Since it was late Friday afternoon, the place was nearly empty. A couple of men sat at the bar, a few of the booths were occupied and the dance floor was deserted. It was a sharp contrast to the night Tom had brought him here. Alan stood for a moment, not sure what to do, not sure he wanted to stay.

  "Hey," came a deep voice. "Can I help you?"

  Alan turned to see Keith, the waiter who had served Tom and him. He was walking Alan's way, smiling his killer smile.

  "Uh...yeah...I guess. I just stopped in for dinner," Alan said. "I remember you," Keith said, his smile deepening. "You were here a couple of weeks ago. Where's your friend? He meeting you?"

  "Um...no he's not," Alan answered regretfully.

  "Too bad," Keith said in a way that made Alan think he wasn't sorry at all. "Take any seat. I'll be with you in a jiffy."

  "Thanks," Alan replied as he watched the handsome young man turn and walk back toward the bar.

  Alan found a seat. In that jiffy Keith had mentioned he was back with water and a menu. "Can I get you anything from the bar?"

  "A beer'd be fine," Alan said. "Anything you have on draft." Keith nodded and started to leave, then turned back.

  "Ah...I'm about to go on break. Would you mind if I joined you for dinner?"

  Surprised, yet somehow pleased, Alan replied, "I'd like that." "Do you know what you'd like? I'll get it for you when I get mine and save some time."

  Alan quickly scanned the menu. "Ah...what are you having?"

  "Burger, fries, coleslaw, not too fancy but---" "That sounds fine," Alan said.

  Keith nodded. "You got it. Be right back."

  After the guy left, Alan looked around the room and took a deep breath. He felt more relaxed and at ease than he had since Tom had asked him to leave after their date. He wondered where this would go.

  In about ten minutes Keith returned, carrying a tray with the hamburgers and beers. He placed the food and drinks on the table and slid into the booth opposite Alan.

  "So," Keith said, picking up a fry, "tell me about yourself.

  What's your story? You can start by telling me your name." He laughed.

  Alan smiled and began his tale.

  * * * *

  Tom got up and went to the bathroom. He decided to take a shower, get dressed and go out to eat. Actually that was about his only choice, as he hadn't shopped for food recently and had nothing much in the refrigerator. As he lathered up in the shower, he considered where he might go. There were plenty of fast food restaurants close by. But he needed more than food. He was restless. He needed something to take his mind off the way he was feeling. He needed to be with other people. Not for sex, just to have someone to talk to. He thought of The Flame, but rejected the idea. He'd been there with Alan. He didn't want those memories to come creeping in. But in the end he couldn't think of a better place. Maybe some of his friends would be there. Yes, despite his reservations he'd go to The Flame. Damn, wish I had a car. I hate the fuckin' bus, he thought. He'd worked extra lately. He had the money. He'd treat himself to a cab.

  Finished with his shower, he walked back into the other room and opened his closet door. For some reason he wanted to dress up. He couldn't have told anyone why; he just felt the need to wear something nicer than a tee and jeans. He pulled out a long-sleeve blue silk shirt and khaki slacks. He laid the clothing on the bed, went to the dresser and pulled out black socks and tan bikini briefs. These he put on and then went back to the bed and donned the shirt and pants. Taking his one and only pair of black leather shoes out the closet he put them on and went into the john again. He meticulously combed his hair and adjusted the collar of his shirt, leaving the top two buttons open. Stepping back, he surveyed his reflection in the mirror.

  Why are you doing this? You're acting like you're going out on a big date or lookin' to trap yourself a man.

  Tom shrugged. He couldn't figure out his motivation, so just accepted it. Picking up the phone, Tom called for a cab, then went out in front of his apartment to wait.

  * * * *

  "That's quite a story," Keith was saying as he and Alan finished their meal. "This Tom guy must have left quite an impression on you."

  Alan blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on like that. I didn't even give you a chance to talk much."

  Keith chuckled. "No sweat. You've had quite a ride this past couple weeks and you needed to talk to someone. I'm glad I could be there for you."

  "Well, thanks. I did need to tell someone I guess. I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation though."

  "Like I said, not a problem. Maybe I'll have a chance to tell you my story sometime?" Keith said, ending the sentence as a question.

  "I'd like that," Alan said.

  "Look, I gotta get back to work. I'm off at eleven, so if you'd like to hang around...maybe we could do something after?"

  "Okay," Alan said, smiling. "Great."

  Keith got up and cleared the dishes away. "I'll get you another beer and you can relax and enjoy the scenery for a bit," he said, nodding toward the groups of men that were now coming into the restaurant for an evening of fun.

  Keith left. Alan took a deep breath. Keith was really nice. And he was a good-looking man, with a body to match. It'll be good to get to know someone else. But even as the thought was forming, it was tinged with sadness. He'd really liked Tom. Alan watched two men walk by his booth holding hands. He sighed, still not understanding what had happened that night two weeks earlier. But that's over. He didn't answer my note and I don't know how to get in touch with him. Alan decided to let it go. He turned his attention to the other patrons.

  * * * *

  Tom came into the restaurant. What am I doin' here? he asked himself, his date with Alan coming back into h
is mind as he looked around the room. Damn it, Alan, you come into my life and turn it upside-down and then disappear. Fuck! This was a mistake.

  He was about to leave when a waiter came up to him. "Hey. You're Tom, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, I am," Tom replied. "How do you know my name?" The waiter smiled and nodded toward the booths. Tom looked in the direction the man indicated and saw Alan. His heart skipped a beat. He blinked and stood there open-mouthed. Then Tom returned his gaze to the waiter.

  The man smiled again. "Alan and I had dinner together." Tom looked at Alan again then back to the waiter, feeling alarmed.

  It must have shown on Tom's face because the man said, "Hey, there's nothing to worry about. All he could talk about was this guy, Tom. I waited on you guys the other night, so when you came in I recog---"

  "He told you about us?" Tom interrupted, amazed at this turn of events.

  "Yes, he sure did." the waiter smiled. "I think he'd really like to see you again." The man's smile turned a little sad.

  "I don't know," Tom said.

  "I do," said the man. "I know for a fact he'd be really happy if you went over there."

  Tom took a deep breath and started toward the booth. Then he stopped. "You got a napkin or something to write on and a pencil?"

  "Sure," the waiter replied and walked to the bar.

  Tom followed him and was soon given the requested items. Tom thought of the message Alan had left in the john at Delph and wrote on the napkin. Yes, I'd like to try again. How about right now? T Tom handed the napkin to the waiter. "Would you take this over to him?"

  "Sure," he said, reading the message and then looking quizzically at Tom.