Though I enjoy myself during the entire encounter, I can’t help but feel that his excitement, his moans of pleasure, his climactic roar, were not really for me.
He sits at the edge of the bed and stares down. “Cute pup.”
“He’s a little shit.”
“Have you trained him?”
“Every day. But he chews things.”
“Then you’re not training him. He your only one?”
“Yeah . . . Gonna take off now?”
“Unless you want me to stay.”
I reach over and rub my hand across his side where his once-toned obliques have turned into soft, lightly haired love handles. “I want what you want. Plus, you drank half that bottle. Shouldn’t drive.”
“You have no clue how much I drink, do you?”
“Well, I do now.” My hand moves to his thigh. “Next time I’ll return the favor.”
Shannon turns back to me. The screen is behind him, so his face is a silhouette that I can’t read. But I think I saw a shadowed smile. “My phone alarm goes off at five a.m. And you’re little spoon.”
He wraps himself around me again and says no more.
IN THE MORNING, SHANNON doesn’t explain what had bothered him so much when he realized who he was kissing in the grass. He doesn’t say anything as he leaves, no forced small talk about meeting again, no awkward goodbye kiss. One moment I was sleeping against a warm, slick body, and then his alarm made him vanish into the still moist air.
I send him a message on the app that first connected us and thank him for his time. The light is no longer active.
Basil’s bed is empty. I step carefully into the living room hoping the little guy hasn’t pissed or shit on the floor. I find him in the kitchen eating, his bowl filled to the brim. It looks like a splash of milk is at the bottom of the brown pellets. Shannon must have done it before he left.
It’s a lazy Saturday and I pass time by training Basil with small chunks of off-brand hot dogs, failing over and over to get “lay down” to stick. My neighborhood is not the best for walking, so I drive back to Geshig. Basil loves car rides, so he can’t stop jumping from the front and back seats.
While walking him, I run into Gerly again. This time she isn’t smoking.
“Hey!” She kneels to pet him and he greets her just as enthusiastically as the last time they were together. “How’s the rezdog?”
“Learning. Slowly. Would you like to join us?”
“Uh, sure. I have some time. Wanna go to the Red Pine Diner?”
The diner is about as small-town stereotypical as you can think of, except instead of white housewives and truckers there are Indian mothers, on welfare or with full-time jobs. Either way, they are often the sole providers for their children. I know from experience with my mother.
Gerly orders for the both of us, insistent that I need to try the frybread/omelet combo. And she talks way more than I’m used to, almost like the pep rally girls back in high school. It turns out she is on the Geshig Elementary PTA, got her spot easily. She lives right in town. Runs a day care. Volunteers at many school events. Adored by the town mothers. If I was half as perfect for this town as she is, I would not still be here.
“So, is Maya’s father in the picture?”
“No.” She takes a small bite of frybread and eggs. “He died about twelve years ago.”
Some quick mental math almost makes me spit out my food. “Oh! Kayden?”
The realization stuns me, where I knew Gerly’s name from. Why hadn’t I remembered that? Kayden and Gertrude had a daughter. I knew that, but I never knew the girl’s name.
“Oh—I—wow, it’s been that long already.” Maya is only eleven and she’s spent her entire life with a murdered father. I have no idea what to say now.
“God, feels like yesterday sometimes,” Gerly says. “You remember all that?”
How could I not? For Geshig, it was a “where were you?” kind of moment. The town, for those few years, existed as pre–and post–Kayden Kelliher. I was thirteen, less than a month left of eighth grade, sitting in my room listening to Souvlaki and staring at the walls. I remember because that’s the only thing I did on school nights, listen to my mother’s stoner records.
Instead of saying that, I just purse my lips, nod, and look at my hands. Much to my relief I find some words. “My mom used to babysit him when he was a kid. She cried. Wouldn’t let me out of the house for months after.”
“Geshig used to be so ghetto. Not anymore. We don’t put up with that shit,” Gerly says. “We chased out all the savs like you to Half Lake.”
The fact that she is joking about this assures me that it’s okay to laugh. “Yeah, we have our fair share of shady people.”
She moves us effortlessly into another subject, not exactly an avoidance of the subject. Almost like boredom, as if her grieving for Kayden is completely behind her.
Her latest project is about the elementary school park that has fallen into disrepair.
“We finally got funding for a remodel.”
“Gonna tear it down and start over or just like repaint it?”
“It’s an iconic part of the town. Can’t just tear it down.”
Geshig’s elementary park is modeled after a log cabin. The perimeter is almost a perfect square and the structures are layered wood with plenty of opportunities for splinters. On each corner of the perimeter there is a small totem pole—tall to children—that faces one of the cardinal directions. The eagle faces north. The bear, south. Fish, west; wolf, east. There is no meaning to the icons.
“Lots of good memories there.”
“Lots of safety hazards.” Gerly laughs. “We’re gonna keep as much as we can. But for sure we’re gonna get rid of the merry-go-round and replace it with a maze.”
“Oh . . . That sounds fun.”
“Remember when all the older kids talked about the dead dog underneath it?”
I smile and dig at the eggs with my fork. “Yep.”
“I looked under it the other day. Guess what I saw?”
“Dirt?”
“Nothing but an empty 40-ounce.”
“Classy. No dog bones?”
“Not a trace. I bet they just made that shit up.”
“Maybe. All rumors have to start somewhere.” I break off a small piece of frybread and slip it to Basil. His puppy teeth can barely chew it.
IT TAKES A FEW weeks, but Shannon is finally online again and horny for me.
Or perhaps not me but a body he can explore. A guy who has no reservations about letting him touch every in and out, any way he wants. He nearly wears me out by the end of that session. He stays all night, leaves for work, and comes right back to my place in the afternoon. At first he claims it’s to see Basil but soon enough I’m on my stomach and back again and again.
I am not naive about men. I know this isn’t him growing attached to me. It’s some kind of reaction, but I’m not sure just what kind until he asks, “Promise not to tell anyone?” while lying on my chest.
“I promise.”
“I fuck around with my roommate.”
“Oh? How often?”
“Not like a lot but a few times every couple of months.”
It doesn’t dawn on me right away until I remember who he lives with.
“Tim? You sleep with Tim? Timothy Selkirk?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it good?”
“No.” He runs a hand down my stomach. Gentle, but I can’t help remembering what he tried to do when we first hooked up. “You’re better at it.”
“Crazy odds. That three of us turned out gay.”
Shannon’s chest slowly pulses against mine as he lets out a few bitter laughs. “No, you’re gay. Tim is straight. I date women. I just do this because . . . I don’t fuckin’ know, but I’m straight.”
Not too uncommon, hearing dudes who love dick say they’re straight. Mostly I believe them but after hearing this, I feel the need to press Shannon for more information.
“How did it start then? Someone had to have wanted it.”
“Yep,” Shannon says. “I did, but he kind of got the ball rolling.” He pulls away from me and then tells the story. A normal day. Shannon thought he was alone in the house, started masturbating, and then Tim walked in on him. Shannon figured it would just be a slightly uncomfortable but humorous situation that they’d move past.
“Wrong. Kind of. We didn’t laugh. We didn’t move past it. And it was very uncomfortable.”
Tim had walked right over to Shannon and grabbed his roommate’s erection. He stroked it. At first it was slow and just hard enough to feel great, but Shannon surmises that as soon as he showed the slightest bit of pleasure on his face, Tim changed.
“Roughest hand job ever. I couldn’t finish like that so . . . so he fucked me.”
There is silence between us then. Tim was the tallest kid in our high school. Football and wrestling champion. And known for his anger issues.
“You—you wanted it, right?” I ask.
Minutes pass. He has nothing else to say about his relationship with Tim, and I’m filled with questions I’m too scared to ask. Even though Shannon is pressed against me, I can’t stop thinking about what he’s told me. Maybe Shannon senses this by how mechanical the motion of my hand rubbing his shoulder has become.
He gets up to leave. This time he manages a goodbye kiss and promises to text “soon.”
I stare at my phone and wonder what soon means to a closeted former high school star.
EVEN A HIGHWAY CAN’T keep Geshig awake. I drive to the town at nearly three a.m., park my car at the grocery store, and watch a few cars pass by. Then I drive to the south end of town and park near the train tracks. Then I park outside the elementary school playground. From my window I can see the merry-go-round, doomed to be replaced, forgotten, just like the rumor.
I open the door and step into the black grass.
In high school, Shannon was the prom king. And Tim, he was the star quarterback. They were easily the most popular guys in our class, and as we neared the end, in the whole school.
I was there too, but I watched from the shadows in the crowd of the other, less talented children. From kindergarten onward, I tried to stay away from attention unless forced.
I stand in front of the merry-go-round and stare at the metal.
Shannon and I both lived on the same bus route. I never realized how much I watched him until he wasn’t there. In seventh grade his seat was empty in the afternoon for a full week.
“Joined football?” I asked him one morning. My voice barely escaped under the confines of the jacket hood that draped over my face.
“Yeah.” He sat up straight and grabbed on to the seat in front of him. “Took my dad years to convince my mom to let me. Now that I’m older she’s not stopping me.”
“Seems like it will hurt. That what she’s scared of?”
“Yeah and that’s why we play. We’re guys. We live to get hurt.”
“By time you get home it’s gonna be dark out.”
“We practice outside.”
“Do you think you’ll be good at it?”
“I hope so. The coaches begged me to join.”
“They asked me too. I don’t know why. Never said I wanted to.”
“We need all the dudes we can get. Even the skinny ones.”
He reached over and pinched my collarbone. Not painfully, but rough enough to jerk my reflexes and make me pull away. “Ow! Stop! I don’t know how to play. And I’m not strong.”
“If you came to hell week we woulda cured you of that right away.”
I shrug. “Maybe next year.”
That was a lie. It was a lie when I said it and it was a lie the next five years when I didn’t join any other groups. Shannon kept at it each season after, and by the time he hit junior year our football team won state. But for all that success, he was more like me when it came to attention. He wasn’t a glory hog or a showboater. He gladly let the more rowdy and wild guys on the team be the center of attention.
And me, through it all, I just watched him until the ride ended and I left Geshig. Still don’t really know why I came back or why I’m still here.
I grab the rusty bar of the merry-go-round and push as hard as I can. The screech of the rust cuts into my ears and the silent town. The bars circle faster and faster until the structure is spinning as fast as it can manage.
No one played on this when we were kids except me and Shannon. Must have been third or fourth grade. He dared me to do it. I sat on the cast-iron platform, held on to the rust-brown bars, and he pushed.
When he had it spinning fast enough, he jumped on across from me and held on tight. We tipped our heads back, laughed, and on the count of three we let go and tumbled into the grass. My eyes jerked back and forth, but I managed to crawl over to him. He was staring underneath the iron. We inched forward, closer, closer, until Shannon screamed and drove his finger into my chest. We got up and ran away laughing.
The memory is burned into my mind, and it still burns hot now. Warm lines run down my face and drip onto the cast iron. Shannon will never be with me the way I’d like, but he’d always be here with me, laughing, spinning.
When I hear the thumping, I stop pushing the bars and let the turning slow to a halt. There is a low whimpering that turns to panting. A train passes through the south side of town, its horn louder than a rusty playground could ever be, and a tawny mutt crawls out from underneath the metal.
In the dark I can’t tell what kind of dog it is. Part German shepherd, part pit bull, part wolf. Probably at least one part ghost.
“Hey, boy. You wanna play? You wanna go for a run? Let’s go for a run!”
The dog jumps into my arms and knocks me to the ground. He slobbers all over my face and then begins to circle me. He crouches, butt in the air, waiting for me. “Let’s go.”
I run with him all around the field, circling the merry-go-round, and eventually circling the park. He runs with a lopsided gait but he is faster than any dog I’ve ever seen. Two more times he tackles me to the ground and licks my face. He has newborn-puppy breath, like Basil.
My breath soon becomes labored puffs and when I stop to rest, the dog disappears into the darkness of the sleeping town.
He had no collar. No name. No owner. Just a rumor.
IN THE WEEKS SINCE I picked him up from the box marked Free, Basil has grown quickly. He sheds fur all over my house and still chews on errant objects when I’m not looking. He no longer sleeps in the pen on the floor. He is just big enough to jump onto my bed. Sometimes he kicks me in the face, either by accident or to wake me up for food or walks.
Hey . . . you wanna?
The message is from Shannon, this time a text message and not through an app.
It’s been weeks. That’s how you ask?
Yes.
Come over then.
He knocks on my door a half hour later and we walk right to my bed. I’m rock hard and ready to go when he kisses me, but he stops and begins to pet Basil.
“Hey you. How’s my buddy? You got so big!”
“So, how’s it going?” I ask as I wait.
“Okay. Tim might move out soon. Not sure if I’m going to find a new roommate or find another place.”
Before I can talk about his roommate again, he distracts me with his mouth.
I expect him to leave as soon as he’s had his fill but he stays. He suggests we go for a walk in the neighborhood with Basil. As we’re walking, I notice that he always tries to keep the dog between us and takes a step to the side if we get too close.
Basil doesn’t pay attention to us. He just leads us through the streets and doesn’t care where we end up.
“What have you been up to?” he asks.
Resurrecting dogs. “Nothing. Just work and stuff. You?”
“Same. It’s the busy season but come fall it’ll slow way down. What do you do again?”
“Payroll and accounting.”
“For a hospital, right?”
“Sort of. Dental office.”
“Right. How has that been?”
We have had this conversation before. Each time I tell him the small-talk details of my life he’s barely attentive. This time seems no different, but he looks at me more when I speak.
“The dentist office is okay. Tedious and boring but pays the bills.”
“Is it depressing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just seeing so many names and numbers,” Shannon says. “When I’m cleaning out a cabin at the resort and people leave their trash behind I guess I think about what kind of people they are and what they’re doing. Why they chose Nine Isle to stay at. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the same.”
I kick a small rock in front of me and Basil’s ears perk up as he watches it. He sniffs at it when it stops rolling and then moves on.
“It’s not a big deal,” Shannon says. “Sometimes I just think too much.”
“I know the feeling. Hard to stop.”
“What do you think about too much?”
I stop walking and stare at Basil’s neck as he pants. “Just regrets, I guess.”
What I think about is my first boyfriend, Gordon. I think about the last day I went to his place. The last time we hooked up, and how I left feeling ashamed and dirty, and how I wished I would’ve stayed there overnight and maybe we’d still be together.
But Shannon keeps claiming he’s straight, and I don’t think he’d understand this, so I say nothing.
We make a loop around a few blocks and then go back to my house. I stop at the sidewalk and look up at him. He’s changed a lot since high school. The hint of a receding hairline makes him keep it all shaved except for on his chin, lips, and neck. He’s thicker, like most men get, but no less muscular. And his eyes are almost constantly bored unless he’s on top of me.
“Take care, bud.” He kneels and pets Basil on the head. “I’m gonna head back home now.”
He gives me a faint, dark smile in the evening light and hesitates. Is this a cue? I think so. I step forward, rise slightly on my toes, and lean in to kiss him. He loses the smile and takes a few quick breaths. My lips land. He lets it happen, tongue and all, for just a moment before breaking away and turning to leave. I look around as he gets in his truck and drives away.
This Town Sleeps Page 2