Charlie, Winter Senior Year
This is the day we hoped would never come. Here we sit, stiff in chairs in Mr. Matkins' office. Our folks will be here in minutes, and this precious moment of privacy is spent affirming commitment and me holding him. He never talks about his dad and I have a sinking suspicion we're about to find out why. "Come on, we'll get through this," I wish I believed my own words. God, it was still so fresh on my mind.
It all started out with Cisco wanting to go out on a real date. That's a reasonable thing, we'd been together for a few weeks. After careful thought, we decided to go to see a movie in the next town, Four Fields. We didn't know anyone, except the lacrosse dudes from our rival school, St. Thomas. But what were the odds that those guys would be there? I mean, that's where we took our girlfriends. Cisco seemed happy enough.
Overall, it went spectacularly well. It was a rare occasion that I ever saw him dressed up more than jeans and a T shirt, nevermind a blazer and nice shoes. Dinner beforehand was awesome, steak and shrooms. The restaurant was nice, temperate and dimly lit. I felt secure enough to squeeze his hand under the table with no one any the wiser. The theater was only about a block away. So far, so good. Nobody recognized us at all. The experience at the theater was what you'd expect...long lines, high food, mediocre movie. He spent most of the movie with his head on my shoulder, not paying the flick much attention. After so much contact, we were able to be comfortable leaving the darkness for the light of the outside world, laughing about something stupid in the movie and holding hands, like it was completely normal.
So comfortable, in fact, that we were oblivious to the two St. Thomas' guys tailing us. I heard snickering behind us, and somewhere in the back of my mind I was screaming blue murder. I knew it was over. All the blood in my body rushed to my face. "Charlie?" Cisco's hand was quickly becoming slick with sweat. He'd heard it too.
"So what have we got here, Ray?"
"Looks like a couple FAGGOTS from MVB!"
"Which ones, though? There are so many," more giggling.
Cisco turned around, which was a huge mistake. His physique is pretty unmistakeable, being the only guy on the team with dark hair and a deep tan. Shit.
The dudes cackled. It was Ray Bennett and Wayne Phipps. Big men on campus at St. Thomas' High School for Boys. Second-in-state lacrosse team, first in crew. Ray played center, Wayne midfield. Please, God, just let me die and get it over with.
"Oh my effing lord, dude, is that Francisco Kala? And apparently his little blonde bitch Charlie Mellon?" Ray was practically pissing himself with glee. "I don't know, man, looks to me like some epic QUEERS," Wayne spat.
I looked down, noticing for the first time that I was still holding his hand. Where were my clever comebacks and razor wit? Something? Anything? In my mind, I sized up my options. Fighting these jokers would have earned us nothing but suspension and definately benching for the next game (against Westbrook, crucial) and there were few things that irked Coach Mackey more than deliberate violence. Fuck, we had no choice but to bolt.
Thank God our sprint was short and we made it quick. Wayne and Ray were left standing stupidly, as if they expected us to stay and fight. I was hating myself with a plain unhealthy level of loathing. Why did I not consider that? Wayne and Ray were the hugest assholes ever...they'd tell somebody, for sure. It would be everywhere by Monday. We could trash them on the field but until then? Fuck.
The drive home was long and silent. Cisco was shaken. Staring off into the window, serious and hurt. He stretched across the seat and rested his head on my thigh. He took things so hard sometimes. It was worrying. Ache beat into my stomach for this sad person in my lap. I was sorry. This overwhelming feeling spread outwards from my chest, compelling me to comfort him somehow. God, it slayed me. This...tenderness, almost. Was this what I wanted from Christa? Stephanie? Ashlee? The others? Was this...?
Dad's silver Lincoln was gone from his spot when we got home. Probably back at the office. He'd always come home complaining about how useless his legal aids were lately. Nobody really cared that it was late, then. They were used to it. Every weekend got worse, every "date" more like just another duty of being popular. Could Mom tell how unhappy I was, bringing home Barbie dolls every weekend? I killed the engine and reclined the seat so I could hold my boy. No more fronting.
The grass was wet. Outside cats crawled across the lawn, hunting. Crickets chirped. The sounds of quiet, secure suburbia late at night. I rooted around in his blazer, looking for skin. Any skin would do. I found neck first. "Will anyone believe it?" he mumbled.
"Let's hope not."
I hate always having to be strong. Right now would've been a great time to fall to pieces.
"Cisco," I breathed into his shoulder. "Do you want to, like...be together tonight?"
I fumbled for a better way to put it. There really wasn't any.
But he still nodded.
We crept inside, ditching the squeaky dress shoes. The living room lights were on, probably my brother and his wife. They kept weird hours and visited often. I nudged open the door and flung our jackets on the squashy chair within, followed shortly by shirts and sox. Pants were folded neatly and draped over the chairarm. That left...awww, he'd worn something special. Navy satin boxers, the likes of which I'd never noticed in the locker room before. He was still shook up, reluctant to let me touch at first. He turned and deflected my first kiss. "Dude, wait, please..." He rested his hand against my flat belly. I fell back on the bed, dragging him down with me.
I've never done drugs or anything, but I think I know what it feels like to be high. When I can be with him without the constant paranoia, my heart and pulse race, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. It electrocutes me everytime skin touches skin. I mean...can most people say they love everything about their special person? I like everything about him. Spotless skin, soft dark hair, sometimes in weird places...knobbly knees, big hands...he's perfect. We're a good balance. Light and darker, soft and firm. I laid back and pulled him on top of me, holding his hips. For some reason I felt compelled to spill my deepest feelings:
"Dude, you're so hot."
I was totally serious, testing the slick feel of his boxers. Finally a smile.
"Aw, get out, Chuck."
And an orange blush, starting on his cheeks and collecting on his chest.
After a while he surrendered. He relaxed and our bodies fit into each other. This was what he wanted. He needed my...reassurance? He needed...
"Cisco, I love you."
The words were out before I knew what I was doing with them. But...damn. I just told another guy that I loved him. It was hard to digest. And uhm, oops? I was still talking.
"I mean it. Those stupid fuckers tonight..." I pressed him hard against me. "I don't care."
Still talking, still spilling.
"I don't care if I'm a queer. I'm gay. Whatever. It's real." Goosebumps erupted under my hands on his back. I said it first. That's what he needed, wasn't it? To feel loved and wanted. Before we had to face the music on Monday, at least we had this fucking beautiful, pure, untarnished moment.
"Charlie, I love you too." His sincerity killed me. It occurred to me, though, there was something else I could do to further prove my commitment. Even though I thought I knew the answer, I still went ahead.
"Cisco, how do two guys, like...do sex?" His shoulders flushed from orange to crimson. Of course I knew, but I expected protest. Did he want it?
"Dude, you know," he reached for my hand, sliding it over his ass.
"I don't have to wear a condom or whatever, do I?"
"What, you're getting me pregnant now? Besides, who said I didn't want to give?" I was taken aback.
There was a long pause and I felt his body tense up. "I'm glad you want to give, but...to tell the truth, I'm not ready. Do you want to save that until after the fallout?" I had to lay it all on the table.
"We can if that's what you want. It's no big deal, man."
It was what I wanted.
Both Saturday and Sunday night were sleepless. We stayed awake, kissing and touching and gently probing both secret flesh and our deepest, most confusing emotions. Daytime was spent as usual, being bros on his mom's couch and watching the Patriots kick ass. Finally Monday morning had come. Worst fears confirmed, there were whispers of untold naughtiness. But we stood our ground and acted as normal as possible.
A few classes in, my pocket buzzed uncomfortably. I removed the blue pebble from it and looked at its message under my desk:
plz sav me its to persnal cnt tak ne more room 100 frst lnch
So the pressure was getting to him. Ten minutes crawled by before the bell. I had to find him, save him from himself. First lunch, men's facilities. I'd be there.
There he was, he'd locked himself in the handicap stall. I could tell from his breathing, ragged and harsh, that he'd probably been crying. When he let me in, I hugged him hard. "They were so fucking..." Sputter, retch. God, it killed me to see him hurt like that. "Shh, it's okay. It'll stop. Ice 'em out, just ice the fuckers completely out." He buried his head in my neck. Sobbing. Surely someone had heard. But that wasn't important now. He stopped only for a moment and leaned up. I'll never forget that kiss.
It was our downfall.
Eyes closed, focused on our little universe of issues, we didn't hear him come in. But the squeak of the stall door was deafening. Nope, there was no mistake.
"What in the Lord's name is going on in here?!"
Mr. Matkins. Principal.
Shit.
Eyes shot open, lips tore apart. Strangely, though, we still held onto each other. "You're coming with me. I don't know what the devil you boys were doing, but it looks to me like 'innappropriate sexual advancements' and an immediate suspension and call to your parents," he was furious. We were furious. Also horrified, scared, and one of us fell victim to a panic attack. Ten minutes later, we're across campus and right where we started from.
I released him, pausing to stroke his burning cheek. The door creaked and we kept to ourselves, awaiting our folks and our falling apart. To our mutual surprise, in strode Coach Mackey.
"Why are you two in here? We have a game in less than a week!"
We looked at each other.
"You guys didn't do that graffiti on the east wall, did you? You idio-"
"Coach," I began, not sure whether this was the best idea I'd ever had.
"Coach, Cisco and I, uhm, well...we're, like, going out with each other. We're...together."
He looked mildly surprised.
"Is Matkins bugging you over this? Is this what this nonsense is about? I personally don't give two hoots about if you guys want to kiss girls or other guys unless it affects your grades or performance. You're not going to be suspended for this, I promise you that. Matkins wants that trophy too much. Get the hell out of here and we're going to talk later, okay?" he was gruff, but the timing couldn't've been better.
We crossed the east parking lot, to my car. Leaving was the only option right now. We'd signed ourselves out, nobody cared. The Impala was right where I left it. You know, it's weird how people think that just because one thing gets turned on its ear means that everything else in life is also. I mean, what the hell did any of this have to do with my car, anyway? Nothing, that's what. Now it was just us.
"So what now? Our lives are pretty much ruined. You want a grinder?" In that moment, I hoped that I could remember that face for the rest of my life. His dark hair flipped into his face, and even though his eyes were a little puffy, they were still bright. He was still smiling. We'd take a spin down 40th and Plum to the grinder shop and have a little brisket on rye for him, and a philly cheesesteak for me. We'd go home and lay on my bed, and do what feels right. Maybe he was right? After the fallout, maybe that would be the best time to explore our options. Love, sex, football, food. Good things, yeah. Our parents would hear somehow. We'd have to deal with that. We could deal with that when it came, no reason to bother until it became a problem. But why think of that?
Hot beef with stringy cheese and crunchy bread. Heart beating so hard and sweat building on the palms, growing faster with every cell touching. The chest-rupturing feel of euphoria when the final touchdown is scored. Wet lips against slippery skin in places normally covered by Lacoste. These were the things we needed to think about right now.
It all started out with Cisco wanting to go out on a real date. That's a reasonable thing, we'd been together for a few weeks. After careful thought, we decided to go to see a movie in the next town, Four Fields. We didn't know anyone, except the lacrosse dudes from our rival school, St. Thomas. But what were the odds that those guys would be there? I mean, that's where we took our girlfriends. Cisco seemed happy enough.
Overall, it went spectacularly well. It was a rare occasion that I ever saw him dressed up more than jeans and a T shirt, nevermind a blazer and nice shoes. Dinner beforehand was awesome, steak and shrooms. The restaurant was nice, temperate and dimly lit. I felt secure enough to squeeze his hand under the table with no one any the wiser. The theater was only about a block away. So far, so good. Nobody recognized us at all. The experience at the theater was what you'd expect...long lines, high food, mediocre movie. He spent most of the movie with his head on my shoulder, not paying the flick much attention. After so much contact, we were able to be comfortable leaving the darkness for the light of the outside world, laughing about something stupid in the movie and holding hands, like it was completely normal.
So comfortable, in fact, that we were oblivious to the two St. Thomas' guys tailing us. I heard snickering behind us, and somewhere in the back of my mind I was screaming blue murder. I knew it was over. All the blood in my body rushed to my face. "Charlie?" Cisco's hand was quickly becoming slick with sweat. He'd heard it too.
"So what have we got here, Ray?"
"Looks like a couple FAGGOTS from MVB!"
"Which ones, though? There are so many," more giggling.
Cisco turned around, which was a huge mistake. His physique is pretty unmistakeable, being the only guy on the team with dark hair and a deep tan. Shit.
The dudes cackled. It was Ray Bennett and Wayne Phipps. Big men on campus at St. Thomas' High School for Boys. Second-in-state lacrosse team, first in crew. Ray played center, Wayne midfield. Please, God, just let me die and get it over with.
"Oh my effing lord, dude, is that Francisco Kala? And apparently his little blonde bitch Charlie Mellon?" Ray was practically pissing himself with glee. "I don't know, man, looks to me like some epic QUEERS," Wayne spat.
I looked down, noticing for the first time that I was still holding his hand. Where were my clever comebacks and razor wit? Something? Anything? In my mind, I sized up my options. Fighting these jokers would have earned us nothing but suspension and definately benching for the next game (against Westbrook, crucial) and there were few things that irked Coach Mackey more than deliberate violence. Fuck, we had no choice but to bolt.
Thank God our sprint was short and we made it quick. Wayne and Ray were left standing stupidly, as if they expected us to stay and fight. I was hating myself with a plain unhealthy level of loathing. Why did I not consider that? Wayne and Ray were the hugest assholes ever...they'd tell somebody, for sure. It would be everywhere by Monday. We could trash them on the field but until then? Fuck.
The drive home was long and silent. Cisco was shaken. Staring off into the window, serious and hurt. He stretched across the seat and rested his head on my thigh. He took things so hard sometimes. It was worrying. Ache beat into my stomach for this sad person in my lap. I was sorry. This overwhelming feeling spread outwards from my chest, compelling me to comfort him somehow. God, it slayed me. This...tenderness, almost. Was this what I wanted from Christa? Stephanie? Ashlee? The others? Was this...?
Dad's silver Lincoln was gone from his spot when we got home. Probably back at the office. He'd always come home complaining about how useless his legal aids were lately. Nobody really cared that it was late, then. They were used to it. Every weekend got worse, every "date" more like just another duty of being popular. Could Mom tell how unhappy I was, bringing home Barbie dolls every weekend? I killed the engine and reclined the seat so I could hold my boy. No more fronting.
The grass was wet. Outside cats crawled across the lawn, hunting. Crickets chirped. The sounds of quiet, secure suburbia late at night. I rooted around in his blazer, looking for skin. Any skin would do. I found neck first. "Will anyone believe it?" he mumbled.
"Let's hope not."
I hate always having to be strong. Right now would've been a great time to fall to pieces.
"Cisco," I breathed into his shoulder. "Do you want to, like...be together tonight?"
I fumbled for a better way to put it. There really wasn't any.
But he still nodded.
We crept inside, ditching the squeaky dress shoes. The living room lights were on, probably my brother and his wife. They kept weird hours and visited often. I nudged open the door and flung our jackets on the squashy chair within, followed shortly by shirts and sox. Pants were folded neatly and draped over the chairarm. That left...awww, he'd worn something special. Navy satin boxers, the likes of which I'd never noticed in the locker room before. He was still shook up, reluctant to let me touch at first. He turned and deflected my first kiss. "Dude, wait, please..." He rested his hand against my flat belly. I fell back on the bed, dragging him down with me.
I've never done drugs or anything, but I think I know what it feels like to be high. When I can be with him without the constant paranoia, my heart and pulse race, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. It electrocutes me everytime skin touches skin. I mean...can most people say they love everything about their special person? I like everything about him. Spotless skin, soft dark hair, sometimes in weird places...knobbly knees, big hands...he's perfect. We're a good balance. Light and darker, soft and firm. I laid back and pulled him on top of me, holding his hips. For some reason I felt compelled to spill my deepest feelings:
"Dude, you're so hot."
I was totally serious, testing the slick feel of his boxers. Finally a smile.
"Aw, get out, Chuck."
And an orange blush, starting on his cheeks and collecting on his chest.
After a while he surrendered. He relaxed and our bodies fit into each other. This was what he wanted. He needed my...reassurance? He needed...
"Cisco, I love you."
The words were out before I knew what I was doing with them. But...damn. I just told another guy that I loved him. It was hard to digest. And uhm, oops? I was still talking.
"I mean it. Those stupid fuckers tonight..." I pressed him hard against me. "I don't care."
Still talking, still spilling.
"I don't care if I'm a queer. I'm gay. Whatever. It's real." Goosebumps erupted under my hands on his back. I said it first. That's what he needed, wasn't it? To feel loved and wanted. Before we had to face the music on Monday, at least we had this fucking beautiful, pure, untarnished moment.
"Charlie, I love you too." His sincerity killed me. It occurred to me, though, there was something else I could do to further prove my commitment. Even though I thought I knew the answer, I still went ahead.
"Cisco, how do two guys, like...do sex?" His shoulders flushed from orange to crimson. Of course I knew, but I expected protest. Did he want it?
"Dude, you know," he reached for my hand, sliding it over his ass.
"I don't have to wear a condom or whatever, do I?"
"What, you're getting me pregnant now? Besides, who said I didn't want to give?" I was taken aback.
There was a long pause and I felt his body tense up. "I'm glad you want to give, but...to tell the truth, I'm not ready. Do you want to save that until after the fallout?" I had to lay it all on the table.
"We can if that's what you want. It's no big deal, man."
It was what I wanted.
Both Saturday and Sunday night were sleepless. We stayed awake, kissing and touching and gently probing both secret flesh and our deepest, most confusing emotions. Daytime was spent as usual, being bros on his mom's couch and watching the Patriots kick ass. Finally Monday morning had come. Worst fears confirmed, there were whispers of untold naughtiness. But we stood our ground and acted as normal as possible.
A few classes in, my pocket buzzed uncomfortably. I removed the blue pebble from it and looked at its message under my desk:
plz sav me its to persnal cnt tak ne more room 100 frst lnch
So the pressure was getting to him. Ten minutes crawled by before the bell. I had to find him, save him from himself. First lunch, men's facilities. I'd be there.
There he was, he'd locked himself in the handicap stall. I could tell from his breathing, ragged and harsh, that he'd probably been crying. When he let me in, I hugged him hard. "They were so fucking..." Sputter, retch. God, it killed me to see him hurt like that. "Shh, it's okay. It'll stop. Ice 'em out, just ice the fuckers completely out." He buried his head in my neck. Sobbing. Surely someone had heard. But that wasn't important now. He stopped only for a moment and leaned up. I'll never forget that kiss.
It was our downfall.
Eyes closed, focused on our little universe of issues, we didn't hear him come in. But the squeak of the stall door was deafening. Nope, there was no mistake.
"What in the Lord's name is going on in here?!"
Mr. Matkins. Principal.
Shit.
Eyes shot open, lips tore apart. Strangely, though, we still held onto each other. "You're coming with me. I don't know what the devil you boys were doing, but it looks to me like 'innappropriate sexual advancements' and an immediate suspension and call to your parents," he was furious. We were furious. Also horrified, scared, and one of us fell victim to a panic attack. Ten minutes later, we're across campus and right where we started from.
I released him, pausing to stroke his burning cheek. The door creaked and we kept to ourselves, awaiting our folks and our falling apart. To our mutual surprise, in strode Coach Mackey.
"Why are you two in here? We have a game in less than a week!"
We looked at each other.
"You guys didn't do that graffiti on the east wall, did you? You idio-"
"Coach," I began, not sure whether this was the best idea I'd ever had.
"Coach, Cisco and I, uhm, well...we're, like, going out with each other. We're...together."
He looked mildly surprised.
"Is Matkins bugging you over this? Is this what this nonsense is about? I personally don't give two hoots about if you guys want to kiss girls or other guys unless it affects your grades or performance. You're not going to be suspended for this, I promise you that. Matkins wants that trophy too much. Get the hell out of here and we're going to talk later, okay?" he was gruff, but the timing couldn't've been better.
We crossed the east parking lot, to my car. Leaving was the only option right now. We'd signed ourselves out, nobody cared. The Impala was right where I left it. You know, it's weird how people think that just because one thing gets turned on its ear means that everything else in life is also. I mean, what the hell did any of this have to do with my car, anyway? Nothing, that's what. Now it was just us.
"So what now? Our lives are pretty much ruined. You want a grinder?" In that moment, I hoped that I could remember that face for the rest of my life. His dark hair flipped into his face, and even though his eyes were a little puffy, they were still bright. He was still smiling. We'd take a spin down 40th and Plum to the grinder shop and have a little brisket on rye for him, and a philly cheesesteak for me. We'd go home and lay on my bed, and do what feels right. Maybe he was right? After the fallout, maybe that would be the best time to explore our options. Love, sex, football, food. Good things, yeah. Our parents would hear somehow. We'd have to deal with that. We could deal with that when it came, no reason to bother until it became a problem. But why think of that?
Hot beef with stringy cheese and crunchy bread. Heart beating so hard and sweat building on the palms, growing faster with every cell touching. The chest-rupturing feel of euphoria when the final touchdown is scored. Wet lips against slippery skin in places normally covered by Lacoste. These were the things we needed to think about right now.