Every year, the end of February meant Spring Break season, and that year was no different. We depended on tourists to make our living, and the Spring Breakers brought in a whole lot of money. We loved them. Spring was a very active time for the boys. Kyle had his play to keep him occupied, when he wasn’t organizing a party or running some kind of event at school. Or learning how to be a Catholic. All of that took up a bunch of his time. Brian was developing into a bona fide dog man under the tutelage of his friend, Mr. Mack, and he was actually earning money working with the dogs. Brian would have cheerfully done it for free because he loved the animals so much, but he didn’t turn down the fifty bucks Mack gave him every week to be his assistant. Even though Brian was working, we didn’t cancel his allowance. He was still our son, after all, and Rick and I thought he deserved to keep for himself whatever money he earned. Besides, Brian was such an incredibly sweet kid we thought he deserved to be spoiled a little. He had never been spoiled by anybody in his life, and he had been through a lot. Tim and Brian were the best of friends, and they spent a lot of time together working on their science projects for school. They each had placed in the regional science fair, and they were both scheduled to go to the State Science Fair in Gainesville at the University of Florida in late April. At first they thought the state fair was the same weekend as Grease, and neither one of them wanted to go if they had to miss the play. It turned out, though, that the state science fair was the next weekend. They had obviously done outstanding jobs with their projects, but they continued to work on them to refine them for state. Denny was beginning to develop an interest in writing. He still read everything he could put his hands on, and his interest in reading led him naturally to an interest in writing. He worked on several short stories to submit to the annual creative writing contest that the English teachers of the school district sponsored. One of his stories won first place in the Ninth Grade-Tenth Grade division, and he submitted it to the school literary journal. The sponsor liked it so well that she asked him to work on the journal staff. Justin continued to plug away at his job and at his college courses. He had never taken science before the biology course he was taking that spring, and he was full of interesting revelations from his study. "Did y’all know there is a scientific word for cum?" he asked one night. We were all in the den, and most of the kids were quietly doing homework or reading. He was reviewing notes or something for biology. He was basically talking to Kyle, but he included everyone with his use of "y’all." "Yeah, I knew that," Kyle said. "I can’t remember what it is, though." "It’s semen," Jus said. "It means 'seed.'" "Oh, yeah. That’s right," Kyle said. "I had never heard it called anything but cum. Turns out, that’s a slang word," Justin said. "Scientists don’t call it that." "A lot of people call it ‘semen,’ Bubba. Polite people," Rick said. "If they’re so polite, why are they talking about it?" Justin asked. "It would be like these two people are making love, and one says, ‘I’m going to suck the semen right out of your balls.’" Kyle said. "Now how dumb is that?" Justin said. "It’s testes, not balls." "I thought it was ‘testicles,’" Kyle said. "The man called them testes," Justin said. "He wrote the word on the chalkboard, even." "What’s the difference?" Kyle asked. "I don’t know. I think they’re pretty much the same thing. I’ll try to remember to ask my teacher what the difference is. I know they ain’t called balls or nuts, though. I think those are slang words, too," Justin said. Rick and I were listening to that conversation, which they were having in all seriousness, trying our hardest not to howl with laughter. "Do you know the word ‘penis’?" Kyle asked. "Yeah, I knew that one. That’s a pretty common word," Justin said. "Do you know what a hard-on is?" "You’re teasing me, right?" Kyle asked. "I know you know what a hard-on is, but do you know what the real word for it is?" Justin asked. "Yeah, of course I do. Erection. I think everybody knows that, Bubba. You didn’t know it?" "Yeah, I knew it," Jus said. "I was just making sure you knew it. Do you know what your vagina is?" Kyle put the tip of his thumb into his mouth, with the nail between the bottom middle teeth, a gesture he typically used when he was thinking. "I don’t have one," Kyle said. "Do I?" "I hope not," Justin said. "It’s your pussy, if you do." Kyle laughed. "I knew that," Kyle said. "You did not, Goodson," Justin said. "I heard it before. I couldn’t call the word to mind, but I knew what a vagina was. The song ‘Greased Lightnin’ in the play has a line that says, ‘She’s a real pussy wagon,’" Kyle said, "talking about the car." "No shit? For real?" Justin asked. "Yeah, but we have to change it to ‘a real woman wagon.’ It also says, ‘The chicks’ll cream for Greased Lightnin'.’ We have to change ‘cream’ to ‘scream.’ Another one says, ‘With new pistons, plugs, and shocks, I can get off my rocks.’ I have to change that one from ‘rocks’ to ‘socks,’ which doesn’t make much sense to me," Kyle said. "Man, that play’s dirty," Justin said. "I know. Philip said he’ll give me a hundred bucks if I don’t change the words when I sing it in the play at the last performance," Kyle said. "Are you going to do it?" Jus asked. "I’m thinking about it," Kyle said. Oh, no, you're not, I thought. "Kyle . . . " I said, threateningly. He laughed. "I’m not going to do it, Kevin," he said. "You better not," I said. Knowing that he had the option and had actually thought about it was kind of frightening, though. "I respect the ultra-rightwing bigots too much to do that," he said. Rick, Justin, and I laughed. I think Tim chuckled, but he and the other boys weren’t really paying attention to Justin and Kyle. "What are you studying, Jus? Sex?" Kyle asked. "No, the male reproductive system. So, yeah, I guess I’m studying sex, in a way. Do you know what your perineum is?" he asked Kyle. "Is it that the little wad of skin right behind the head of your dick?" Kyle asked. He was just guessing; I knew he didn't know. "No, that thing is your frenulum. Your friend, in other words. That’s why it feels so good to rub it or have it sucked," Jus said. "Your perineum is the part between your balls and your asshole. You get off good and hard when Tim rubs that place, don’t you?" I was hearing way more than I wanted to know, but, at the same time, it was interesting to hear them discuss male anatomy from their perspective as gay men. "Yeah, I do. That’s as good as my sweet spot, almost," Kyle said. "That sweet spot is called the prostate. But I know you know that," Justin said. "Yeah. I knew that. We just call it the sweet spot, though, like the sweet spot on a baseball bat or a tennis racquet or a golf club or something," Kyle said. "Yeah, we call it that, too. I think we got that from you and Tim," Justin said. They continued talking about the male anatomy and the male reproductive system, and it was hilarious. They obviously knew those anatomical parts intimately, both on themselves and on their partners, but it was funny to hear them talk about it so seriously. "Have you got a test on this stuff?" Kyle asked. "Yeah, next week. This and a whole lot more. He told us this part would probably be pretty easy because we had learned it in high school biology. I thought to myself, yeah, if you went to high school. That’s why I’m studying so far in advance," Justin said. "You study a lot, Bubba," Kyle said. "I know. I’ve got to, though. I’ve got a lot to catch up, you know?" "Yeah, but you’re doing a damn good job of it. You’re going to be the valedictorian," Kyle said. "What does that mean?" Justin asked. "That’s the one with the best grades," Kyle said. "Is that what you are?" Jus asked. "Shit, no. No way, man," Kyle said, laughing. "Did you ever look up your rank in class?" Tim asked. "No, I didn’t. Why would I do that? I don’t care what it is," Kyle said. "Babe, you’re a National Merit Finalist. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?" Tim asked. His tone of voice said it obviously meant a lot to him. "That’s a mistake, and you know it," Kyle said. "I don’t think it is, Kyle, and if it is, you can't do anything about it. I took the PSAT, and that’s not an easy test. You did your best on it, didn’t you?" Tim said. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore," Kyle said. "Yeah, but I do, Kyle. I want to be a finalist more than anything," Tim said. "I am so proud of you, I could bust, Babe, but you won’t let us celebrate that. That’s wrong, Kyle. You’re wrong about this." Tim said that with a good bit of emphasis. "Are you pissed off at me?" Kyle asked. "I’m not pissed off at you, but I’m pissed off at your attitude. God made you smart. Accept it, man. I think rejecting the way God made you is like rejecting God," Tim said. "Yeah? He made me gay, too," Kyle said. He said that to challenge Tim. "Yes, and that’s exactly the same thing. If you reject being gay, you’re rejecting God, because that’s the way He made you. That would be like telling God He’s wrong. Don’t you see it, Babe?" Tim asked. Kyle was very quiet, and he knew Tim was right. He started picking at those front teeth with his thumb nail, so I knew he was thinking. "What’s your rank in class, Tim," I asked. "First," he said quietly. "What about you, Brian?" I asked. "First in my class, but I’m going to graduate when Tim does, so the best I can be is salutatorian. Are you all going to be ready for Tim and me to give back-to-back speeches at graduation?" Brian said. "We’re going to have a damn cheering section in that stadium when that happens," Rick said. "I can’t believe I’m hooked up with somebody who is first in his class," Kyle said. "You? What about me? I don’t even know what those words mean, Kyle, and I’m hooked to one, too. Feature that, dude," Justin said. "I know. Me, too. I think we got some keepers here, Jus," Kyle said. Justin laughed.
One of the guys at work was named Chuck Jackson. I think he was about 21 or 22, and he was part-time, like me. He was a student at the local Florida State campus. I didn’t know his major, but I think it might have been hospitality. Jeff knew him, too. Chuck was a really nice guy. He was probably about six feet tall, maybe 170 or 180 pounds. He had blond hair, and he was pretty good looking. He wasn’t a show-stopper, though. He was just a nice, ordinary, average guy. He and I worked the bell service before I got "promoted" to the desk. He was still on the bell, but we were friends. We had coffee or cokes together during our breaks, when they happened to be at the same time, and we talked about this and that. Nothing special. One day he and I were taking our break. We always sat in the smoking section of the break room (which was a totally dumb concept, since it was just one room and smoke doesn’t know where to go except everywhere). Chuck didn’t smoke, but I did, and he wanted to talk to me. Out of nowhere he asked, "What do you think of homosexuality?" "What do you mean, what do I think of it? It just is, isn’t it?" I asked. "I mean, do you hate homosexuals?" he asked. I wanted to laugh, but I thought something might be going on here, so I didn’t. If he thought I was gay, why would he ask me that? I would never deny Brian and my love for him, but it just didn’t ever come up. But maybe it was coming up now. "I don’t hate homosexuals," I said. "Why would I? Do I come across like that kind of guy?" "No, you don’t. Just the opposite, in fact. You know Stephen is gay, don’t you?" he asked. "Only because he tells me that about three times a week," I said. He laughed. "Yeah, he is pretty ‘out,’ isn’t he?" "I wonder if he thinks I can’t remember from day to day. Once is enough, you know?" He laughed again. "I know. You don’t have a problem with him being gay?" he asked. "Hell, no. If you’re fixing to come out, it’s going to be all right with me, Chuck. I really would not have guessed it, but if that’s it, it’s okay with me," I said. "Well, that’s it," he said. "Thank you." He put his head down like he was about to cry or something. This is bullshit, I thought. I put the index finger of my right hand under his chin to lift his head. He had a pretty stiff beard, and I could feel it. It was the middle of the afternoon. I put my left finger under my own chin, and did the same thing. I could feel mine, too. I guess that was just something we’d have to live with. "Look at me," I said. "Don’t you cry on me. I like you a lot, Chuck, and I want to be your friend. But nothing’s going to happen, okay?" He did start crying, but I thought it was out of embarrassment, not disappointment. "Justin, I didn’t mean anything by telling you that. I just wanted you to know. I know you’re straight," he said. "How do you know that?" I asked. "Aren’t you?" he asked. "I’m straight first thing in the morning, and I’m straight at night in bed with my boyfriend. Beyond that, I’m not ever straight. Well, maybe now and then. You know how that is. But do you get what I mean?" I asked. The look on his face was classic, and I wished Kyle was there to get a shot of that. "You mean . . ." he started to say. "Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. All my life, man. But if you want some of me, you got to wait for a sixteen-year-old boy to die," I said. I was grinning big. "I feel so stupid," he said. "Why? We just came out to each other. It happens every day. I appreciate the fact that you had that much confidence in me," I said. "Justin, I feel so good right now. My God! The only other person in this town I’m out to is my mom. This is so liberating. I can’t believe how good I feel right now," he said. Him saying that made me feel real good, too. "Would you be willing to hang out with me sometime," he asked. "Oh, hell, yeah. I like you, Chuck. What do you have in mind?" I asked. "I don’t know? Do you like go-carts?" he asked. "I love ‘em. Let’s go after work," I said. "All right," he said. He was grinning and being happy. I knew he was, and I was pretty happy, too. That was a Tuesday, so I didn’t have anything to do after work. I went home to change my clothes to shorts and a tee shirt. "Brian, would it bother you if I went out tonight with a friend from work?" I asked. "Bother me? Of course not. Who is it?" Brian asked. "His name is Chuck Jackson, and he’s a bellhop. He’s a really nice guy, and he came out to me today. You really don’t mind if I go out with him?" I asked. "Do you mind when I go out with my friends from school?" he asked. "Of course not. You know that," I said. "So why would I mind if you go out with your friend from work?" "I love you so much, Little Buddy," I said, grinning. "I know you do, and I love you that much, too. But it’s okay for us to have friends, and to do stuff with them," he said. "Thanks. I figured you’d say that, but I wanted to check," I said. "Get out of here, and have fun with Chuck," he said. "I’ve got a ton of homework, anyway. If you really like him, I want to meet him one of these days," he said. "Oh, don’t you worry. You will. You trust me, don’t you?" "Completely, Buddy," Brian said. God, I loved that boy. "Well, you have every reason to trust me, and I trust you that much, too," I said. "I know you do. Go have fun. If we ever get to a point where we can’t have friends and do stuff with them apart from one another, I think it might be over between us. Probably because one of us is dead," Brian said. I laughed. "I agree. I love you so much," I said. "I love you more," he said. Chuck and I had a damn good time that night, eating dinner, riding go-carts, drinking a few beers he bought for us. I needed a fake ID in the worst way, and I was going to get Kyle and Jeff cracking on that the next day. They could do stuff on that computer that was so far over my head, I couldn’t even understand it. My brothers would fix me up. Of that I was sure. * * * Over the next few weeks, Chuck and I got to be really good friends. Kyle and I were best friends, and that was very precious to me. But Chuck was really my first good friend that didn’t have anything to do with the family or our circle of friends. He liked me for myself, and that meant a whole lot to me. Making him a friend was like a dog pissing on a fireplug. He was mine. He wasn’t my friend because I was part of a group. He didn’t know them, and he was my friend anyway. Of course, I wanted him to know my family. I wanted him to know Brian. I wanted him to know Kyle and Tim. I wanted him to know Kevin and Rick, too. Kyle had Philip as his friend, and they'd been friends all their lives. I didn’t have anybody like that. I didn’t have any roots, except through Kyle and his family, and I wanted some. "Do you guys mind if I invite Chuck over to watch a movie with us Friday night?" I asked. "Justin! This is your home. This is your family. Your friends are always welcome here, man," Rick said. "We thought you knew that." "Yeah, I knew that, but I never had any friends before. Besides us, I mean," I said. "It’s a fucking miracle you have one now," Kyle said, deadpan. "Fuck you, Kyle," I said. "Name the place and time," he said, and we both laughed. Chuck was sort of nervous at first when he came over. I thought that was kind of cute. I introduced him to Brian, and they shook hands. Then I introduced him to the rest. "Everybody in this house is gay, Chuck," I said. "You just came into the safest and most accepting place you have ever been." He got a big grin and happy tears in his eyes. I loved it. We got pizza, like we usually did on Friday night, and we watched a couple of DVD’s that Kyle or somebody had rented. Kyle wanted us to watch a VHS tape of Grease, which we had already watched several times, but we watched it again, anyway. Kyle sang every song, and I could tell Chuck had a damn good time with us. We ate great big bowls of ice cream, which we often did at the end of the evening, and then Chuck went home. * * * Chuck became a regular at our house, especially on Friday nights. He was over there more than that, but he spent every Friday night with us. Jeff and Kyle made me a fake ID that was almost perfect (everything but the hologram, but not too many people knew about that), and Chuck and I went out for a beer or two a few times. He and me and Brian took the boat out a time or two, with the dogs, of course, and all of us got to be good friends. Chuck was a really good boy, and we all liked him. One day, though, his life got all turned around. He called me on my cell. It was about five o’clock at night. "Justin, it’s me," he said, when I answered my cell. "What’s up?" I asked. He just sobbed. "Are you crying?" I asked. "Yeah. There has been an accident, and my mom is dead," Chuck said. "What?" I said. "You heard me right. My mom is dead, man. The fire department called her to say our house was on fire, and she was going home from work to see about it. There was a wreck, and she was killed. The house burned down, too," he said. "Jesus Christ! Chuck. Why didn’t you call me sooner?" I asked. "I did as soon as I could, Justin. Please come." There was no way in fucking hell I wasn’t going to see about my friend. I told the rest of them who were there what was going on, and they all wanted to go, too. They didn’t know him as well as I did, but he damn sure became a member of that family at that very moment. I knew he would never be alone again, unless he wanted to be, and I knew he would have a home. And I thought he needed one. I was thinking about how they found me. I mean, I was homeless and had absolutely nothing and no place to go. They took me in. Chuck wasn’t like me, though. I had only been sixteen, and Chuck was twenty-two, I thought. That was a big difference. But we were getting us another one on North Lagoon Drive. |