ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
There was a special sauce story like that in my home town, growing up. I certainly hppe it wasn't true, either.
The Original Gay Porn Community - Free Gay Movies and Photos, Gay Porn Site Reviews and Adult Gay Forums
-
Welcome To Just Us Boys - The World's Largest Gay Message Board Community
In order to comply with recent US Supreme Court rulings regarding adult content, we will be making changes in the future to require that you log into your account to view adult content on the site.
If you do not have an account, please register.
REGISTER HERE - 100% FREE / We Will Never Sell Your InfoTo register, turn off your VPN; you can re-enable the VPN after registration. You must maintain an active email address on your account: disposable email addresses cannot be used to register.
The Lights in Room 42
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Eutropius Prynne, Abbot of the Monastery of Saint Mary of the Holy Angels, did not step down from the pulpit but turned the page in the dark chapel beyond the chapel. He opened his mouth and sang the first antiphon of the day.
“Blessed is the man who does not lose faith in me!”
The men in the stalls echoed it back and when he nodded to his right, there Prynne saw Herulian and Reed, yawning his head off besides Brother Gillian, their hands folded into their white robes as they sang:
How good God is to Israel,
to those who are pure of heart.
Yet my feet came close to stumbling,
my steps had almost slipped
for I was filled with envy of the proud
when I saw how the wicked prosper.
On the other side of the night chapel, the other brothers sang:
For them there are no pains;
their bodies are sound and sleek.
They do not share in men’s sorrows;
they are not stricken like others.
The abbot did not always lead, and tomorrow it would be Herulian’s turn and the day after, old Abbot Rodwin. The first time Prynne had led them in prayer he was twenty eight years old, and now he was forty-four. He had started out nervous novice with a voice who had been commanded to sing. But the nerves had not lasted long. He had as much confidence in his voice and his ability to lead as he had in the knowledge that his place was in this abbey.
He had come as a boy, very much like Swann and Doug, but he was the first Black border and black was something it took a long time to get people to call him. He remembered when Herulian was just Benji, and he had a mop of that orangish hair in his face. He had frowned and said, “Black. That doesn’t sound very nice. Are you sure?”
The newer school quarters weren’t up then. The whole place seemed like an old castle and Abbot Prynne, then Tommy Prynne, had asked, “What’s his story?”
“That’s Andy Reed?”
“Does he ever smile?”
“Does he eat is what you really wannna know,” Ben had said. “He’s thin as a rail.”
Abbot Eutropius Prynne waited for the east side to finish the last verse, and then they all sang together:
“Blessed is the man who does not lose faith in me.”
Andy Reed, now Father Paul AndrewReed, always had that slightly nervous, lip licking look to him. He had been a track runner. Tall and rawboned with eyes blinking through his wide spectacles, the principal of Saint Francis had never been able to sit still for long, not even now. As Prynne moved to the next psalm, he was sure his old brother was tapping his foot furiously behind the stall.
On that first day, while they both sat on a cot in their dress pants and white shirts, Ben had whispered, “He’s an orphan.”
“Oh,” Tommy Prynne was embarrassed by the sound of his pity and hoped no one could hear him and that Andy Reed wouldn’t look back.
“They say his mom is the abbot’s neice.”
“The abbot,” Prynne murmured, sucking on a tooth. “I haven’t met him yet.”
Ben said, “You will.”
Thirty years later, Chris Navarro hung off the rooftop, supported by Swann and Pete Agalathagos, coughing up smoke from the cigarette he’d tried to smoke.
“Are you?” Pete began, but Chris kept gagging up phlegm.
“Fuck!” Chris swore, and finally they pulled him back up.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Swann said.
“Maybe I’ll just not acquire it,” Chris decided.
“You guys good?” Pete asked, rising.
“Yeah,” Swann said for Chris, “No one’s falling off a roof tonight.”
“I have an idea,” Chris decided, “why don’t we all just leave the roof.”
“Why don’t we all just leave the part that slopes?”
Swann loved a good roof The best things happened to him on roofs.
“We could all camp out here.”
“I’m not camping on a roof,” Pete said, decisively. “My parents pay too much money for me to sleep on a roof. Goodnight guys.”
“Well, I don’t mind a roof,” Chris said. He had a broad voice, almost like someone off TV. “I could look at the stars all night.” Once over the parapet and off the slope, the tar roof was long and broad, “Safe as a house”, Chris would say, and now the tall white boy in the numbered jersey sat down, stretching his blue jeaned legs in front of him, and slowly took off one sneaker and then the other. Swann, in his shorts and tee shirt, already shoeless—his feet didn’t mind the roughness of the sloping roof tiles beyond the parapet, sat down beside him, then lay out, stretching his arms past his head. He looked up at the stars where he could almost name constellations, almost tell what was what, and then gave up only to treasure the beauty of white and blue and some red points in the almost black sky.
“I’m so sorry about your dad,” Chris finally said. Chris had stretched out and lay next to Swann. For a long time neither of them spoke.
“I know that’s stupid. I know it isn’t much, but I’m sorry. If it was something I could do… I would.”
For some reason that meant a great deal. Chris’s finger’s touched his and Swann felt suddenly strong. He didn’t know he’d needed to feel strong. Lying there under the breeze, suddenly the stars were a little brighter, the breeze not colder or stronger, but more itself. Tears sprang up and he shook a little while something held together broke, something that needed to break. That was all. There was no sobbing, no loud wailing, just the touch of Chris Navarro’s fingers.
“You can’t see these stars in Chicago,” Swann said. “You can see some of them, but not really.”
“Benton’s no Chicago,” Chris said, “and you can’t really see them there, either.”
Chris had turned over on his side, so Swann could feel the other boy learning over him, halfway see his pile of blond curls silver in the night.
“I think as much as I like stars I would still miss Chicago.”
“I don’t know if I’ll miss my father,” Swann said, suddenly.
He sat up and he faced Chris.
Chris’s face was serious. Most of Swann’s life he had preferred the company girls, and he had found boys awkward, but since he’d come here, especially in the last year or so he’d found boys to be something different. Not that they were all great, no, but there was a sadness and a seriousness to them. Like, at this moment, Swann felt that somehow Chris’s face, set and sober, was even sadder than he was.
“I don’t know that I liked Dad. I keep looking back at things he did, how he was. I have a few nice stories, but…. He was always very busy. Always a little too busy for me.”
“I know,” Chris said, pressing his foot over Swann’s, pressing his toes to Swann and leaning a little closer. “Half the time I feel like my parents are too busy for me too.”
Chris raised an eyebrow and his face was so close to Swann’s, Swann could feel his breath. He had felt so separate from everyone, like he had to be separated, and now Chris’s hand, his toes, the closeness of his face, his breath, unfroze that separation.
“Remember last year… The end of last year?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And after the funeral?”
Swann nodded.
“Things were about to happen, right? Something was about to happen.”
“I guess so,” Swann said. Then, “Things did happen. I mean, we said… Yes.”
Then Chris said, “Are you going to stay up in that old nurse’s station tonight?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Swann!” a voice hissed out of the dark. “Swann!”
The two boys parted, looking around, and Swann, with a vague irritated feeling saw his cousin walking across the roof to them.
“Pete said you guys were up here.”
Doug sat down between them. They made room for him.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Swann said, rubbing his cousin’s shoulder.
Duck shook his head.
“You can’t stay on the roof,” Chris told him, nudging him in the side.
“I know.”
“In ten minutes you’re going to bed,” Swann said. “We’re all going to bed.”
“Me and Mike went exploring,” Doug said.
“And?” said his cousin.
“We were in the old nurse’s station. We thought we might live in it.”
“That’s crazy,” Chris said.
Swann said, “Whaddid you decide?”
“That we’d rather stay on the first floor in our rooms.”
“Good choice—” Swann began, then said, “The nurse’s station!”
“Huh?” Duck and Chris said.
“The nurse’s station,” Swann said, pointedly, leaning over Doug and looking at Chris.
The other boy opened his mouth in a surprised O, and then said, “Yeah. Uh,” he nodded again and again, “Yes.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great weekend portion! I am glad these guys have each other in times of loss and reminiscing about their childhoods. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
As the world turns, the scrotum burns. Keep on reading!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
When Swann knocked, Joe called, “Come in,” and he was s come in, and he’s was in his starter jacket, patting down his hair. Sal was in a fresh forest green shirt, spraying Old Swann always noticed his wavy hair. He’d been noticing it since junior year of high school and was shocked out of his noticing when Sal asked where Jill was.
“I have no idea where Jill is. Did you want me to get her?”
“No,” Sal shook his head, grinning, “I’m just used to her being with you.”
“The three of us!” Joe declared, thumping his chest. “Men about town.”
Swann was good at putting things out of my mind, and he put what he had just seen out it. After all, he already knew about Joe and Sal, and the whole school knew about him, Joe kept on fixing Sal’s hair and Sal kept smiling at Swann, and Swann thought, “We’re not exactly like men about town… Or maybe we are.” Men were curious creatures. Max Mueller went through his mind. He was for later. Pete was too.
In the Hub, Joe kept reaching across the table, grabbing Swann’s hand, looking at his rings and asking about each one and he turned over Swann’s hands, running his fingers over the rings and a few minutes ago the two of them were talking about soccer and Swann used to live in the soccer dorm and know half the soccer team, and Joe said something about Jack Ferguson falling out of the window and poor Jack was in the English department and has a slight speech impediment, a little lisp, so that his S sound like TH and Swann was telling them about how John used to walk in on him in the shower.
Joe rolled his eyes and said, “I think I’d like Jack walk in on me in the shower if he wanted,” and it shocked Swann because it was the gayest thing he’d ever heard Joe Stanley say. In fact it was the only gay thing he’d ever heard him say, and it never occurred to Swann that there was a whole set of things they never get to say around other people.
So Swann finally said, “Mr Mueller. Do you remember Mr. Mueller?”
“From Saint Francis?”
“He was talking to you,” Sal pointed Swann shyly, sipping from his shake. “I saw it.”
“You were in choir, Swann?” Joe asked, “I don’t remember that.”
“I was in choir for five minutes,” Swann said.
“Then why—?”
Swann reached out and grabbed Joe’s lips like a duck’s, and his eyes sparkled at Swann.
“If you would let me tell you,” Swann said.
“That’s right, Sal grinned. “Let the man speak.”
“He asked me out,” Swann said. “He wants to go on a date.”
“He’s ….” Joe whispered, “gay?”
“Oh, com’on,” Sal said. “That’s no surprise.”
“He’s our teacher!” Joe said.
“Not for almost four years,” Sal said.
“He was our teacher. You’re going out with a teacher!”
The two of them, whom Swann had to remember had been friends forever, at once put their chins in their elbows and gave him twin vapid gazes, grinning.
“Swann,” Sal said.
“And a teacher,” Joe grinned.
“You’re idiots,” Swann declared, and they just kept looking at him idiotically.
“You’ve gotta stop that. For real.”
“We better stop,” Joe said.
“Yup,” Sal dipped a French fry into Swann’s milkshake
“Hey!”
“What?” Sal shrugged, chomping as if he’d done nothing at all.
“Swann! Sal! Joe!”
It was Mike Nichols walking into the Hub with Chuck.
“I wasn’t invited!” Chuck said.
“Well, you’re here now,” Swann said, “So shut the fuck up.”
Joe scooted over. “You guys gonna sit with us?” Sal said.
“We’re going to order food first,” Mike had a very precise and charming way of speaking, “and Jill, Jim and Janette are on their way.”
“It’s going to be a party after all,” Sal said.
“It already was a party,” Joe said. “Now it’s just a bigger one.”
“Can I talk to you?” Chuck asked Swann who looked to Sal and Joe.
“You better talk to the man,” Joe said.
Swann stood up and while Mike went to order he and Chuck stood in the corner by the trash receptacles.
“So…?”
“So what?”
“You look like you’re on a double date,” he said. “You look like you’re on a date with both of them.”
“I don’t. I look like... We look like three friends.”
Chuck gave him a long look.
“What?”
“Salvador Goode is dressed up.”
“Oh, my God, Chuck I’m an idiot.”
“What?”
“I think I have a crush.”
“I know it man. I knew you did!
“But they’re like… with each other.”
“They are, but they aren’t, Didn’t you say?”
“Look…. Firstly, we need to stop whispering in this corner, and…. I don’t know it’s nuts, and we’re not going to talk about it again, but I admit, I definitely, definitely have some sort of crush.”
“On which one?” Chuck asked. “Come on, tell it to your straight friend. Which one?”
When Swann didn’t respond after a while, Chuck rolled his eyes.
“Holy shit. You have a crush on both of them!”
pacing back and forth in the old nurse’s station, Swann Portis trembled with all sorts of things, most of all a sort of shame for the fact that he should be in bed, but here he was, walking back and forth, waiting for Chris Navarro. What if he had changed his mind or misheard or fallen asleep? And then tomorrow, it would just be Swann yawning his head off, Swann having missed sleep and thinking about why he had missed sleep, why he had brought a blanket and sheets to this frowzy place when, he heard the creak of the doorknob and the the door turned and Chris came into the long room. His usual halo of curls was dampened, and he was in flip flops, shorts and a tee shirt.
“I wanted to take a shower,” Chris whispered, coming close to Swann.
“I did too. I mean, I did,” Swann said.
“You smell very nice,” Chris said.
Swann was saying “Thank you,” while Chris turned around and locked the door. He said, “I locked the other door too.”
“No one knows where we are?”
Chris shook his head.
“What should we…. Do?”
“It’s late,” Chris said. “We should open that window and see some stars and go to bed. In the same bed.”
Swann understood what Christ was saying. Side by side, as they had been, things would happen the way they should. He was already letting out a great yawn, and now Chris Navarro went to the window over the infirmary bed he’d put there, climbed onto the bed and opened the window to the bright blue night sky.
Swann turned around to climb into the bed properly and Chris was already naked. A jolt went all the way through Swann, and he almost lost his footing, and then, his heart beat triple time. His hands shaky and nervous, he undressed too, and Chris Navarro leapt on the bed. It was like the feeling when magnets come together, and their arms were around each other and Swann would always say that it was the smoothest thing, that running his hands up and down Christ Navarro’s lean body was like running them through water, was like a river moving through and across you, and Chris kept kissing him, and his mouth tasted like peppermint, and they kept pressing their bodies together, wishing to be close, so close, remembering how they had promised themselves since Freshmen year that one day they would finally be together, that all their nerves and all the static wouldn’t fucking matter and so many things were running through Swann’s mind while Chris made love to him, while bodies moved together and their boy sex rubbed against each other. Chris, the first at his door in jeans and jersey, Chris tonight saying, “I’m so sorry” the light in Duck’s eyes when he saw Chris and how proud Swann had been to know his friend was beloved by his cousin, the gentle way he was with Duck or with any of the other boys, part big brother, part mother, Chris coughing up cigarette smoke, Chris turning red the first time they’d try to drink gin together.
And Chris’s arms flew out and he made a startled noise, and Swann was seized from the inside and the two of them held together while something so powerful was wrenched out of their teenage bodies and they kept trembling, making like stunned sounds. Chris climbing off of him so they lay on their sides facing each other. It was a while before Swann could gather himself, and even then he couldn’t properly speak. He was aware of the exploding feeling in his penis, the gunk all over it, the sticky liquid all over his stomach. He saw now Chris, looking a little breathless and wrecked, his penis collapsed and red, his stomach glossy with semen. And neither of them got up. They were exhausted, but neither of them was bothered. Swann picked the blanket up off the floor and draped it over the both of them. In the same magnetic way they had come together before, they curled into one now, and slept.
“I have no idea where Jill is. Did you want me to get her?”
“No,” Sal shook his head, grinning, “I’m just used to her being with you.”
“The three of us!” Joe declared, thumping his chest. “Men about town.”
Swann was good at putting things out of my mind, and he put what he had just seen out it. After all, he already knew about Joe and Sal, and the whole school knew about him, Joe kept on fixing Sal’s hair and Sal kept smiling at Swann, and Swann thought, “We’re not exactly like men about town… Or maybe we are.” Men were curious creatures. Max Mueller went through his mind. He was for later. Pete was too.
In the Hub, Joe kept reaching across the table, grabbing Swann’s hand, looking at his rings and asking about each one and he turned over Swann’s hands, running his fingers over the rings and a few minutes ago the two of them were talking about soccer and Swann used to live in the soccer dorm and know half the soccer team, and Joe said something about Jack Ferguson falling out of the window and poor Jack was in the English department and has a slight speech impediment, a little lisp, so that his S sound like TH and Swann was telling them about how John used to walk in on him in the shower.
Joe rolled his eyes and said, “I think I’d like Jack walk in on me in the shower if he wanted,” and it shocked Swann because it was the gayest thing he’d ever heard Joe Stanley say. In fact it was the only gay thing he’d ever heard him say, and it never occurred to Swann that there was a whole set of things they never get to say around other people.
So Swann finally said, “Mr Mueller. Do you remember Mr. Mueller?”
“From Saint Francis?”
“He was talking to you,” Sal pointed Swann shyly, sipping from his shake. “I saw it.”
“You were in choir, Swann?” Joe asked, “I don’t remember that.”
“I was in choir for five minutes,” Swann said.
“Then why—?”
Swann reached out and grabbed Joe’s lips like a duck’s, and his eyes sparkled at Swann.
“If you would let me tell you,” Swann said.
“That’s right, Sal grinned. “Let the man speak.”
“He asked me out,” Swann said. “He wants to go on a date.”
“He’s ….” Joe whispered, “gay?”
“Oh, com’on,” Sal said. “That’s no surprise.”
“He’s our teacher!” Joe said.
“Not for almost four years,” Sal said.
“He was our teacher. You’re going out with a teacher!”
The two of them, whom Swann had to remember had been friends forever, at once put their chins in their elbows and gave him twin vapid gazes, grinning.
“Swann,” Sal said.
“And a teacher,” Joe grinned.
“You’re idiots,” Swann declared, and they just kept looking at him idiotically.
“You’ve gotta stop that. For real.”
“We better stop,” Joe said.
“Yup,” Sal dipped a French fry into Swann’s milkshake
“Hey!”
“What?” Sal shrugged, chomping as if he’d done nothing at all.
“Swann! Sal! Joe!”
It was Mike Nichols walking into the Hub with Chuck.
“I wasn’t invited!” Chuck said.
“Well, you’re here now,” Swann said, “So shut the fuck up.”
Joe scooted over. “You guys gonna sit with us?” Sal said.
“We’re going to order food first,” Mike had a very precise and charming way of speaking, “and Jill, Jim and Janette are on their way.”
“It’s going to be a party after all,” Sal said.
“It already was a party,” Joe said. “Now it’s just a bigger one.”
“Can I talk to you?” Chuck asked Swann who looked to Sal and Joe.
“You better talk to the man,” Joe said.
Swann stood up and while Mike went to order he and Chuck stood in the corner by the trash receptacles.
“So…?”
“So what?”
“You look like you’re on a double date,” he said. “You look like you’re on a date with both of them.”
“I don’t. I look like... We look like three friends.”
Chuck gave him a long look.
“What?”
“Salvador Goode is dressed up.”
“Oh, my God, Chuck I’m an idiot.”
“What?”
“I think I have a crush.”
“I know it man. I knew you did!
“But they’re like… with each other.”
“They are, but they aren’t, Didn’t you say?”
“Look…. Firstly, we need to stop whispering in this corner, and…. I don’t know it’s nuts, and we’re not going to talk about it again, but I admit, I definitely, definitely have some sort of crush.”
“On which one?” Chuck asked. “Come on, tell it to your straight friend. Which one?”
When Swann didn’t respond after a while, Chuck rolled his eyes.
“Holy shit. You have a crush on both of them!”
pacing back and forth in the old nurse’s station, Swann Portis trembled with all sorts of things, most of all a sort of shame for the fact that he should be in bed, but here he was, walking back and forth, waiting for Chris Navarro. What if he had changed his mind or misheard or fallen asleep? And then tomorrow, it would just be Swann yawning his head off, Swann having missed sleep and thinking about why he had missed sleep, why he had brought a blanket and sheets to this frowzy place when, he heard the creak of the doorknob and the the door turned and Chris came into the long room. His usual halo of curls was dampened, and he was in flip flops, shorts and a tee shirt.
“I wanted to take a shower,” Chris whispered, coming close to Swann.
“I did too. I mean, I did,” Swann said.
“You smell very nice,” Chris said.
Swann was saying “Thank you,” while Chris turned around and locked the door. He said, “I locked the other door too.”
“No one knows where we are?”
Chris shook his head.
“What should we…. Do?”
“It’s late,” Chris said. “We should open that window and see some stars and go to bed. In the same bed.”
Swann understood what Christ was saying. Side by side, as they had been, things would happen the way they should. He was already letting out a great yawn, and now Chris Navarro went to the window over the infirmary bed he’d put there, climbed onto the bed and opened the window to the bright blue night sky.
Swann turned around to climb into the bed properly and Chris was already naked. A jolt went all the way through Swann, and he almost lost his footing, and then, his heart beat triple time. His hands shaky and nervous, he undressed too, and Chris Navarro leapt on the bed. It was like the feeling when magnets come together, and their arms were around each other and Swann would always say that it was the smoothest thing, that running his hands up and down Christ Navarro’s lean body was like running them through water, was like a river moving through and across you, and Chris kept kissing him, and his mouth tasted like peppermint, and they kept pressing their bodies together, wishing to be close, so close, remembering how they had promised themselves since Freshmen year that one day they would finally be together, that all their nerves and all the static wouldn’t fucking matter and so many things were running through Swann’s mind while Chris made love to him, while bodies moved together and their boy sex rubbed against each other. Chris, the first at his door in jeans and jersey, Chris tonight saying, “I’m so sorry” the light in Duck’s eyes when he saw Chris and how proud Swann had been to know his friend was beloved by his cousin, the gentle way he was with Duck or with any of the other boys, part big brother, part mother, Chris coughing up cigarette smoke, Chris turning red the first time they’d try to drink gin together.
And Chris’s arms flew out and he made a startled noise, and Swann was seized from the inside and the two of them held together while something so powerful was wrenched out of their teenage bodies and they kept trembling, making like stunned sounds. Chris climbing off of him so they lay on their sides facing each other. It was a while before Swann could gather himself, and even then he couldn’t properly speak. He was aware of the exploding feeling in his penis, the gunk all over it, the sticky liquid all over his stomach. He saw now Chris, looking a little breathless and wrecked, his penis collapsed and red, his stomach glossy with semen. And neither of them got up. They were exhausted, but neither of them was bothered. Swann picked the blanket up off the floor and draped it over the both of them. In the same magnetic way they had come together before, they curled into one now, and slept.
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a well done portion! Well between crushes and other parties interested in him Swann has some decisions to make. I am very interested to see what happens. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Swann certainly has a lot going on. Don't doubt it! We'll see what happens.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Swann Portis is sliding off not into sleep, but rather into memory. On the edge of memory are other thoughts, almost happenings, events blossoming from the tree of life and each time he can see one unfurl, and then it goes out like a star, not like a leaf. It goes out like a star before sunrise.
“My God I think you’re both so hot,” he says at the bar.
Joe and Sal look at him, grinning but not in a mocking way this time, and he said, “Why can’t I tell the truth So much of my life has been a hiding. I like you both. I can’t stop thinking of you.”
He says, “I wonder what it would be like to kiss you, Sal. I always wondered about it, even in high school, that little mouth of yours, that bow shaped mouth.”
Sal’s Adam’s apple bobbing, smiles. He leans forward.
“There’s only one way to know,” Sal says, And at the same time he leans across the table to press his lips to Swann Portis’s mouth, Joe’s hand goes to Swann’s knee.
There are almost one creature, almost the same thing. As Sal’s lips touch his, as Sal’s mouth opens, Swann shifts out of this alternate world to the one where none of this has happened, where he parts ways with Sal and Joe with a lame wave and says he’ll see them back at home.
But at home he is by himself, and lying in bed, pressing himself against the mattress under the bed sheets. He thinks of Joe and Sal. Thinks of Joe looking at him so tenderly, then kissing him, one of those long, low lingering ones, their tongues flickering together. Behind him is Sal Goode, his warm breath on the back of Swann’s neck, thigh pressed into his, his sex—
“You know I’ll always love you,” he says in his reedy voice, only Sal does not have a reedy voice, Sal’s kisses are not like this, his touch isn’t like this. How would he know? He’s never been with him, not even in a dream. These are the words, the kisses, the fingertip touches of Chris Navarro. He looks at him, surprised, and Chris laughs before his blond hair and blue eyes fade back to Sal.
Swann is sitting up in bed in the dark grey light of early morning, warm and too warm, embarrassed and passionate, wondering what would happen if he were to just get up, get up and cross the hall and go to that room with those boys.
He sits up staring hard at the door, waiting for it to give decision or permission.
Being a door, it does neither.
Chapter Ten
“So,” Max Mueller rubbed his hands together, “I hope you Greek food.”
“I actually do,” Swann said. “Besides, I did say surprise me.”
“Have you had ouzo?”
“Yes, and we should have it again.”
“Absolutely.”
“Just don’t forget you’re driving. And by the way, thank you for traveling this far out to meet me.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Max blew out his lips and waved it aside. “I’ve been thinking about this night since we talked.”
The waiter approached and he looked like Harry Proestos from school.
“Can I start you guys on drinks?”
“Absolutely,” Max said, and he ordered a bottle of ouzo.
“And water,” Swann added. “We’re going to need water.”
“Can I interest you in an appetizer?”
“Max is paying,” Swann said, “so yes you can.”
What was the good of having an older man with a job ask you out, if you couldn’t get a good meal out of it?
Max laughed and said in his precise voice, “I absolutely am. What can you recommend?”
The waiter had several things to recommend, and Swann remembered three of them, knew he’d had them with Pete, but couldn’t be sure what was which. The waiter, black haired and reddish skinned, looked nothing like Pete but reminded Swann of him. He wanted to ask him questions about Greece, if he had ever been? Greek people weren’t like Italians. Someone who was Italian could have been here for the last hundred fifty years and if you asked them about the mother country, they’d say Taylor Street and Racine. Every Greek he’d met had been to Greece. Every Greek he’d ever known acted like they were just a generation from the motherland.
“How are things at Saint Francis?” Swann asked, thinking of another motherland and tired of being the one asked all the questions, who made Max Mueller ask all the questions.
“Well, the boys are enthusiastic as always, but it’s still early in the year and their enthusiasm outweighs their skill.”
“I remember that,” Swann said.
“That wasn’t a problem with you.”
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I remember you having a very good voice.”
“Me? I was in choir for about a week.”
“And then you left.”
“A lot was going on at the time,” Swann said. “I remember. I was sad a lot.”
“Oh.”
Max looked so interested and so full of sympathy, Swann almost felt guilty.
“I mean, this was years ago.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“I mean, I guess it was six or almost seven years ago.”
Then Swann said, “Also, I was on choir in my old school, K through 8. I thought choir was the thing I could count on to be good, and I hated choir at Saint Francis. I think it’s cause before I was one boy with a bunch of girls—who I preferred—and my voice was an alto, not quite a tenor, and all of us could really sing. We were in choir competitions. The way we sounded together…. The way we sounded. And here,…”
“You all kind of sounded like shit.”
“Well, there is is,” Swann spread his hands out as the waiter arrived.
“Thank you,” they both said to him as he set down cold water, glasses, the wine.
“We had practices with bad singing. We had one engagement which was singing at the school mass. And then we had that day when everyone else was off school, but the band and choir had to come to school and then go out on the streets and fundraise, and really were fucking fundraising for the band. And then I was just like, I hate this. I look back, and I really fucking threw myself into everything, just like in college. Only I loved college and I really just hated the first few months at Saint Francis.”
“That makes me sort of sad to hear,” Max said. “I always thought you were a really contained, mature person.”
“I was. You just now know that I was a very sad one.”
“Well, then can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot?”
“Why the hell did you come back for the funeral?”
“I….” Swann folded his hands and frowned.
“Not because I was close to Garett. I didn’t know him, not really. But my neighbors, in college, across the hall from me, they told me, and we decided to go because…. Well, Saint Francis was my home, wasn’t it? Eventually I lived there, made friends there. Not right away, but eventually. It has a hold on me, a weird stamp. Some places do.”
“Places of camaraderie,” Max said. “Like the military. Or the monastery.”
Swann shrugged.
“Or concentration camps.”
“I think we had a really wonderful night,” Max said as he drove up the long road into campus. He turned in, passing Merlini hall and arrived in front of Dwenger.
“I would have to agree.”
The music teacher sat in the driver’s seat looking at Swann through his brass rimmed spectables.
“About the concentration camp….”
“You’re not Jewish are you?” Swann said.
“Do I look Jewish?”
“I’m not answering that,” Swann said, “and no, Saint Francis probably wasn’t like a concentration camp. I’m going to say probably because I was one of one Black borders in a white school and I underwent a lot of bullshit from people.”
“You’ll have to tell me about that.”
All through the night there were moments when Max looked at him like he was either a lecturer or an experiment.
Max had a beak of a nose and dark curly hair. He looked like a thirty year old teacher in chinos and a checked shirt.
“I just did,” Swann said.
“Can I kiss you?”
“I think you’d better.”
Max had been so polite. There was a strange electric in fumbling around in the dark of his car, retreating to the backseat and feeling his tongue thrust into Swann’s mouth. When headlights shown through the window and they stopped, Swann, thinking it might have been campus police, Max’s hair was disheveled, his shirt open and out of his pants.
“I should—” Max had lost his voice and cleared his throat. “I should walk you to your door.”
“I would like that.”
The car passing by was not on patrol, and whoever was in it did not care about this little car with the steamed up windows. In the cold night again, they walked side by side and Max caught Swann’s hand.
On the porch he said, “Can I see you again?”
“Yes. I’m going home for Thanksgiving. But… afterward. Yes.”
“Would you call me when you get back?”
“Yes. Could I call you before?”
Max pushed up his glasses.
“I’d like that.”
“Goodnight,” Swann said.
“Goodnight,” Max said.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Max launched in and kissed him again and this time, while Max pressed him against the door, driving his tongue into his mouth, Swann, reached into Max’s peacoat, into his trousers, and grasped his crotch, feeling his penis stiffen and rubbing it. Max growled and pressed himself against Swann, and Swann, finally saying good night, extracted himself, went inside and walked up the steps swiftly thinking, “Not tonight. You just met the man. Not tonight.”
“My God I think you’re both so hot,” he says at the bar.
Joe and Sal look at him, grinning but not in a mocking way this time, and he said, “Why can’t I tell the truth So much of my life has been a hiding. I like you both. I can’t stop thinking of you.”
He says, “I wonder what it would be like to kiss you, Sal. I always wondered about it, even in high school, that little mouth of yours, that bow shaped mouth.”
Sal’s Adam’s apple bobbing, smiles. He leans forward.
“There’s only one way to know,” Sal says, And at the same time he leans across the table to press his lips to Swann Portis’s mouth, Joe’s hand goes to Swann’s knee.
There are almost one creature, almost the same thing. As Sal’s lips touch his, as Sal’s mouth opens, Swann shifts out of this alternate world to the one where none of this has happened, where he parts ways with Sal and Joe with a lame wave and says he’ll see them back at home.
But at home he is by himself, and lying in bed, pressing himself against the mattress under the bed sheets. He thinks of Joe and Sal. Thinks of Joe looking at him so tenderly, then kissing him, one of those long, low lingering ones, their tongues flickering together. Behind him is Sal Goode, his warm breath on the back of Swann’s neck, thigh pressed into his, his sex—
“You know I’ll always love you,” he says in his reedy voice, only Sal does not have a reedy voice, Sal’s kisses are not like this, his touch isn’t like this. How would he know? He’s never been with him, not even in a dream. These are the words, the kisses, the fingertip touches of Chris Navarro. He looks at him, surprised, and Chris laughs before his blond hair and blue eyes fade back to Sal.
Swann is sitting up in bed in the dark grey light of early morning, warm and too warm, embarrassed and passionate, wondering what would happen if he were to just get up, get up and cross the hall and go to that room with those boys.
He sits up staring hard at the door, waiting for it to give decision or permission.
Being a door, it does neither.
Chapter Ten
“So,” Max Mueller rubbed his hands together, “I hope you Greek food.”
“I actually do,” Swann said. “Besides, I did say surprise me.”
“Have you had ouzo?”
“Yes, and we should have it again.”
“Absolutely.”
“Just don’t forget you’re driving. And by the way, thank you for traveling this far out to meet me.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Max blew out his lips and waved it aside. “I’ve been thinking about this night since we talked.”
The waiter approached and he looked like Harry Proestos from school.
“Can I start you guys on drinks?”
“Absolutely,” Max said, and he ordered a bottle of ouzo.
“And water,” Swann added. “We’re going to need water.”
“Can I interest you in an appetizer?”
“Max is paying,” Swann said, “so yes you can.”
What was the good of having an older man with a job ask you out, if you couldn’t get a good meal out of it?
Max laughed and said in his precise voice, “I absolutely am. What can you recommend?”
The waiter had several things to recommend, and Swann remembered three of them, knew he’d had them with Pete, but couldn’t be sure what was which. The waiter, black haired and reddish skinned, looked nothing like Pete but reminded Swann of him. He wanted to ask him questions about Greece, if he had ever been? Greek people weren’t like Italians. Someone who was Italian could have been here for the last hundred fifty years and if you asked them about the mother country, they’d say Taylor Street and Racine. Every Greek he’d met had been to Greece. Every Greek he’d ever known acted like they were just a generation from the motherland.
“How are things at Saint Francis?” Swann asked, thinking of another motherland and tired of being the one asked all the questions, who made Max Mueller ask all the questions.
“Well, the boys are enthusiastic as always, but it’s still early in the year and their enthusiasm outweighs their skill.”
“I remember that,” Swann said.
“That wasn’t a problem with you.”
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I remember you having a very good voice.”
“Me? I was in choir for about a week.”
“And then you left.”
“A lot was going on at the time,” Swann said. “I remember. I was sad a lot.”
“Oh.”
Max looked so interested and so full of sympathy, Swann almost felt guilty.
“I mean, this was years ago.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“I mean, I guess it was six or almost seven years ago.”
Then Swann said, “Also, I was on choir in my old school, K through 8. I thought choir was the thing I could count on to be good, and I hated choir at Saint Francis. I think it’s cause before I was one boy with a bunch of girls—who I preferred—and my voice was an alto, not quite a tenor, and all of us could really sing. We were in choir competitions. The way we sounded together…. The way we sounded. And here,…”
“You all kind of sounded like shit.”
“Well, there is is,” Swann spread his hands out as the waiter arrived.
“Thank you,” they both said to him as he set down cold water, glasses, the wine.
“We had practices with bad singing. We had one engagement which was singing at the school mass. And then we had that day when everyone else was off school, but the band and choir had to come to school and then go out on the streets and fundraise, and really were fucking fundraising for the band. And then I was just like, I hate this. I look back, and I really fucking threw myself into everything, just like in college. Only I loved college and I really just hated the first few months at Saint Francis.”
“That makes me sort of sad to hear,” Max said. “I always thought you were a really contained, mature person.”
“I was. You just now know that I was a very sad one.”
“Well, then can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot?”
“Why the hell did you come back for the funeral?”
“I….” Swann folded his hands and frowned.
“Not because I was close to Garett. I didn’t know him, not really. But my neighbors, in college, across the hall from me, they told me, and we decided to go because…. Well, Saint Francis was my home, wasn’t it? Eventually I lived there, made friends there. Not right away, but eventually. It has a hold on me, a weird stamp. Some places do.”
“Places of camaraderie,” Max said. “Like the military. Or the monastery.”
Swann shrugged.
“Or concentration camps.”
“I think we had a really wonderful night,” Max said as he drove up the long road into campus. He turned in, passing Merlini hall and arrived in front of Dwenger.
“I would have to agree.”
The music teacher sat in the driver’s seat looking at Swann through his brass rimmed spectables.
“About the concentration camp….”
“You’re not Jewish are you?” Swann said.
“Do I look Jewish?”
“I’m not answering that,” Swann said, “and no, Saint Francis probably wasn’t like a concentration camp. I’m going to say probably because I was one of one Black borders in a white school and I underwent a lot of bullshit from people.”
“You’ll have to tell me about that.”
All through the night there were moments when Max looked at him like he was either a lecturer or an experiment.
Max had a beak of a nose and dark curly hair. He looked like a thirty year old teacher in chinos and a checked shirt.
“I just did,” Swann said.
“Can I kiss you?”
“I think you’d better.”
Max had been so polite. There was a strange electric in fumbling around in the dark of his car, retreating to the backseat and feeling his tongue thrust into Swann’s mouth. When headlights shown through the window and they stopped, Swann, thinking it might have been campus police, Max’s hair was disheveled, his shirt open and out of his pants.
“I should—” Max had lost his voice and cleared his throat. “I should walk you to your door.”
“I would like that.”
The car passing by was not on patrol, and whoever was in it did not care about this little car with the steamed up windows. In the cold night again, they walked side by side and Max caught Swann’s hand.
On the porch he said, “Can I see you again?”
“Yes. I’m going home for Thanksgiving. But… afterward. Yes.”
“Would you call me when you get back?”
“Yes. Could I call you before?”
Max pushed up his glasses.
“I’d like that.”
“Goodnight,” Swann said.
“Goodnight,” Max said.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Max launched in and kissed him again and this time, while Max pressed him against the door, driving his tongue into his mouth, Swann, reached into Max’s peacoat, into his trousers, and grasped his crotch, feeling his penis stiffen and rubbing it. Max growled and pressed himself against Swann, and Swann, finally saying good night, extracted himself, went inside and walked up the steps swiftly thinking, “Not tonight. You just met the man. Not tonight.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a well done weekend portion! Swann sure continues to have a busy love life! His date with Max seemed to go well. Between him, Chris, Joe and Sal his situation is complicated. Great writing and I look forward to reading what happens next!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, Swann does have a bunch of men in his life and a lot of stuff happening. I think this is the full number and now its time to sort out some things.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
IT'S TIME TO GO ON VACATION
“Thanksgiving makes me sad,” Joe reported, sounding almost dramatic.
“Sad?” Swann said. “Good food, sleeping in late Why be sad?”
“Because we just got into the swing of things. We’re all friends and having a good time, and then we break it up and go home.”
“And,” Sal added, “there’s only like a few weeks, and then we go home for Christmas.”
“I’m gonna really miss you guys,” Joe stated.
“Joseph,” Swann said in a let’s be sensible voice, “don’t you both live in Calverton?”
“Yeah…. But all you guys won’t be there.”
Swann stood up, crossed the room, and threw an arm around Joe Stanley.
“Joseph, I promise you, we’ll all get together and have a big…. Get together on Sunday night when we get back. How’s that?”
Joe was in one of his sentimental moods and he said, “Guys, can we promise to stay friends forever?”
It was later, when Swann had shut the window against increasing cold, and Chuck and Jill were gone that Sal tapped on his door and entered.
“You know,” he said in his quiet voice, “when Joe says all that stuff, when he says he’s going to miss all you guys, he really means you?”
“Huh?”
Swann stopped packing, thought it was best to pay attention.
“He meant you, Swann. He meant he’ll miss you.”
“Oh! Well,” Swann thought about this a moment. “I’ll miss him too. I’ll miss you both.”
“Great,” Sal smiled. “I’ll miss you too.”
“Sal, it’s only a week,” Swann said.
“I know,” Sal said, his voice deepening. He stepped back and scratched the back of his head. “But…. It’s going to be boring without you. You keep stuff interesting.”
“I think Jim’s going to propose to me,” Jill said at their last dinner.
“I really don’t want him to.”
Jim Hanna had gone to Saint Anthony with them and been one of the several Tonies who ended up at Saint Damian’s. They both went back to Indianapolis where he was manager of a movie theatre she worked at in the summer time. For some reason Swann pictured it as a slightly run down old theatre with thick old red carpet and beige colored walls. He had really thought this place out, down to the unpleasant smell of the urinal cakes in the surprisingly clean but old bathrooms. It was the kind of place where you could get free refills on popcorn, and just now, Swann wondered why he had invested so much of his imagination on this place. He’d only been to Indianapolis once, and he hadn’t really known what to think of it.
“You’re going to tell him no?”
“I might have to.”
“If you’re thinking might you’re thinking yes.”
Jill frowned.
“You’re right.”
“I hate the last day,” Jill said. “I wish you lived in Indy so you could drive home with me. I kind of don’t like the idea of leaving you on campus to just wither after me and Jim leave.”
“I’m hardly withering. Joe and Sal don’t leave till tomorrow.”
“You should have sex with them.”
“What?”
“One. Or the other. Or both.”
“I’m going to forget you just said that.”
About an hour later, Swann got a phone call.
“Hey, if I came to get you tonight would you be ready? Or do you want me to come tomorrow?”
“It’s feeling like a ghost town. I would love if you came tonight.”
“Cool. It’ll be at about eight.”
“Are you going to eat first?”
“Nope. Just drive straight to you. We could eat there.”
“We couldn’t. Unless you mean Grandmas. The campus restaurant will be closed. The whole commissary building closes after dinner.”
“Okay…. Well, fuck Grandmas. If you can wait, we can find a restaurant that isn’t a truck stop.”
Swann was about to be offended for Grandma’s sake when he realized he was tired of chicken strips, biscuits and gravy and burgers and said, “I can do that.”
When Swann was off the phone he immediately went next door and said, “I’m leaving tonight.”
“Really?” Joe put down his Game Boy. “Then we’re leaving tonight,” he jerked his thumb at Sal.
“Yeah,” Sal said. “When are you going?”
“About eight.”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“We can stick around till then.”
“Wait,” Swann started. “Were you guys staying for me?”
“Uh, yeah,” Joe said. “It would suck to stay here by yourself.”
“You still wanna get dinner?” Sal said, reaching for his jacket, which meant he had already decided. “I’m starving.”
Thunder clapped from the sky, and then let down a dreary rain into the early night.
“Hey, Swann!” Joe called out from his room. “I think your ride’s here.”
Swann Portis crushed out his cigarette and looked around to make sure he had packed everything, and then grabbed two bags and was bringing them to the door when Sal came in.
“Can we meet your family?”
“You could, but they’re not picking me up.”
Joe was kneeling on the chair by the window, looking over the eaves that Swann had been walking on with Katey not long ago, and he said, “Well, who is that? That’s not Duck and it’s sure not Pete.”
Sal had picked up one of Swann’s bags, but put it down.
“Oooh, let me see.”
“I’m going down to let him in,” Swann said.
“Not fair,” Joe said, “I thought we were your only white boys. Who the hell is he?”
Swann was already gone and a few minutes later, he was coming up the steps with a tall, red lipped boy with short hair, blue eyes and a beaky nose. He was a little Italian looking, and Joe kept looking at him.
“You really don’t know me, Joe?” he said.
“Oh shit,” Joe laughed, and then he embraced him and as they hugged they kept laughing.
“Where’s you hair?”
“Back at Saint Anthony,” Chris Navarro ran a hand over his buzzed head.
“You look like a Republican or something,” Sal said.
“Swann, we used to all play soccer together.”
“I know,” Swann said. “I went to Saint Anthony too.”
“We were just hanging out with Swann till his ride got here. Then we’re headed back to Calverton,” Joe said.
“Well, we’re going to Benton,” Chris said.
“I thought Chicago. Cause ….”
“No,” Swann said. “I’m staying with Chris for a few days, then he’s staying with me.”
“Well, like, we’re going in the same direction,” Sal said. “Mostly.”
Chris, whose eyebrows were darker and heavier without his halo of blond hair gestured between himself and Swann.
“We were gonna grab dinner some place, so if you want,we should all do that.”
“Yeah we should.”
“You all just ate,” Swann said.
“And you ate with us,” Joe said.
“Or were you sick of us?” Sal said.
“Not yet,” said Swann.
“Alright then,” Joe decided. “Give us ten minutes and we can all get the hell out of here.”
“Thanksgiving makes me sad,” Joe reported, sounding almost dramatic.
“Sad?” Swann said. “Good food, sleeping in late Why be sad?”
“Because we just got into the swing of things. We’re all friends and having a good time, and then we break it up and go home.”
“And,” Sal added, “there’s only like a few weeks, and then we go home for Christmas.”
“I’m gonna really miss you guys,” Joe stated.
“Joseph,” Swann said in a let’s be sensible voice, “don’t you both live in Calverton?”
“Yeah…. But all you guys won’t be there.”
Swann stood up, crossed the room, and threw an arm around Joe Stanley.
“Joseph, I promise you, we’ll all get together and have a big…. Get together on Sunday night when we get back. How’s that?”
Joe was in one of his sentimental moods and he said, “Guys, can we promise to stay friends forever?”
It was later, when Swann had shut the window against increasing cold, and Chuck and Jill were gone that Sal tapped on his door and entered.
“You know,” he said in his quiet voice, “when Joe says all that stuff, when he says he’s going to miss all you guys, he really means you?”
“Huh?”
Swann stopped packing, thought it was best to pay attention.
“He meant you, Swann. He meant he’ll miss you.”
“Oh! Well,” Swann thought about this a moment. “I’ll miss him too. I’ll miss you both.”
“Great,” Sal smiled. “I’ll miss you too.”
“Sal, it’s only a week,” Swann said.
“I know,” Sal said, his voice deepening. He stepped back and scratched the back of his head. “But…. It’s going to be boring without you. You keep stuff interesting.”
“I think Jim’s going to propose to me,” Jill said at their last dinner.
“I really don’t want him to.”
Jim Hanna had gone to Saint Anthony with them and been one of the several Tonies who ended up at Saint Damian’s. They both went back to Indianapolis where he was manager of a movie theatre she worked at in the summer time. For some reason Swann pictured it as a slightly run down old theatre with thick old red carpet and beige colored walls. He had really thought this place out, down to the unpleasant smell of the urinal cakes in the surprisingly clean but old bathrooms. It was the kind of place where you could get free refills on popcorn, and just now, Swann wondered why he had invested so much of his imagination on this place. He’d only been to Indianapolis once, and he hadn’t really known what to think of it.
“You’re going to tell him no?”
“I might have to.”
“If you’re thinking might you’re thinking yes.”
Jill frowned.
“You’re right.”
“I hate the last day,” Jill said. “I wish you lived in Indy so you could drive home with me. I kind of don’t like the idea of leaving you on campus to just wither after me and Jim leave.”
“I’m hardly withering. Joe and Sal don’t leave till tomorrow.”
“You should have sex with them.”
“What?”
“One. Or the other. Or both.”
“I’m going to forget you just said that.”
About an hour later, Swann got a phone call.
“Hey, if I came to get you tonight would you be ready? Or do you want me to come tomorrow?”
“It’s feeling like a ghost town. I would love if you came tonight.”
“Cool. It’ll be at about eight.”
“Are you going to eat first?”
“Nope. Just drive straight to you. We could eat there.”
“We couldn’t. Unless you mean Grandmas. The campus restaurant will be closed. The whole commissary building closes after dinner.”
“Okay…. Well, fuck Grandmas. If you can wait, we can find a restaurant that isn’t a truck stop.”
Swann was about to be offended for Grandma’s sake when he realized he was tired of chicken strips, biscuits and gravy and burgers and said, “I can do that.”
When Swann was off the phone he immediately went next door and said, “I’m leaving tonight.”
“Really?” Joe put down his Game Boy. “Then we’re leaving tonight,” he jerked his thumb at Sal.
“Yeah,” Sal said. “When are you going?”
“About eight.”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“We can stick around till then.”
“Wait,” Swann started. “Were you guys staying for me?”
“Uh, yeah,” Joe said. “It would suck to stay here by yourself.”
“You still wanna get dinner?” Sal said, reaching for his jacket, which meant he had already decided. “I’m starving.”
Thunder clapped from the sky, and then let down a dreary rain into the early night.
“Hey, Swann!” Joe called out from his room. “I think your ride’s here.”
Swann Portis crushed out his cigarette and looked around to make sure he had packed everything, and then grabbed two bags and was bringing them to the door when Sal came in.
“Can we meet your family?”
“You could, but they’re not picking me up.”
Joe was kneeling on the chair by the window, looking over the eaves that Swann had been walking on with Katey not long ago, and he said, “Well, who is that? That’s not Duck and it’s sure not Pete.”
Sal had picked up one of Swann’s bags, but put it down.
“Oooh, let me see.”
“I’m going down to let him in,” Swann said.
“Not fair,” Joe said, “I thought we were your only white boys. Who the hell is he?”
Swann was already gone and a few minutes later, he was coming up the steps with a tall, red lipped boy with short hair, blue eyes and a beaky nose. He was a little Italian looking, and Joe kept looking at him.
“You really don’t know me, Joe?” he said.
“Oh shit,” Joe laughed, and then he embraced him and as they hugged they kept laughing.
“Where’s you hair?”
“Back at Saint Anthony,” Chris Navarro ran a hand over his buzzed head.
“You look like a Republican or something,” Sal said.
“Swann, we used to all play soccer together.”
“I know,” Swann said. “I went to Saint Anthony too.”
“We were just hanging out with Swann till his ride got here. Then we’re headed back to Calverton,” Joe said.
“Well, we’re going to Benton,” Chris said.
“I thought Chicago. Cause ….”
“No,” Swann said. “I’m staying with Chris for a few days, then he’s staying with me.”
“Well, like, we’re going in the same direction,” Sal said. “Mostly.”
Chris, whose eyebrows were darker and heavier without his halo of blond hair gestured between himself and Swann.
“We were gonna grab dinner some place, so if you want,we should all do that.”
“Yeah we should.”
“You all just ate,” Swann said.
“And you ate with us,” Joe said.
“Or were you sick of us?” Sal said.
“Not yet,” said Swann.
“Alright then,” Joe decided. “Give us ten minutes and we can all get the hell out of here.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great portion! Swann has some very good friends making sure he isn’t alone during the holiday. It is cool that Joe and Sal got reintroduced to Chris when he came to pick Swann up. This dinner will be very interesting indeed! Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, I do like this scene a lot where Sal and Joe stay back just for him. It's really lovely.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
WTF! THE WEEKEND PORTION IS HERE: AGAIN????
The first time Swann realized he might be… no, definitely was, gay for Christopher Navarro, Swann shrank back from his feelings, and maybe when Chris felt it, he did the same. They danced around each other for two years, but death has a way of clearing bullshit, and Chris had been with him whehn Swann got the news that his dad was gone. He’d gone with him to Chicago and been near him at the funeral.
Swann had been involved with other boys and Chris always had a girl, but in those last weeks before junior year they made, with touches, and whispers, a pact that finally it was time for the two of them. Their first night back they found the old infirmary Doug had told them about, and the next morning when the birds were starting to sing, they woke up tangled together in the cot in the abandoned sick ward. They’d whispered about getting up and then began hugging and kissing and before it was all over they had made love again. They dressed slowly and went back, hand in hand to their rooms downstairs.
Pete Agalathagos woke up long enough to say, “Where’ve you all been?” but went back to sleep before they could answer.
They were on their way back into the dormitory, about to wind their way into the lost parts of the school, laughing and pelting each other with books when they nearly stumbled into Max Mueller.
“Mr. Navarro, Mr. Portis.”
“Scuse us, sir, scuse us,” Swann and Chris said and, in a goofy mood, tipped a goofy bow, Chris saluted him, his curls bouncing all around his head.
Coming into Latin class, Swann sat behind Chris, palming his head, sinking his hand into his curls, owning him publicly, and no one had anything to say. Chris was popular in that crowd, and while it was easy to insinuate, it was difficult for very parochial little boys to know what to say in the face of actual sex. Swann sat like he often did, low in his seat so that his knees pressed into the firmness of Chris’s ass, and Chris, mock yawning, pressed back. Midway through going over the Aeneid, Chris passed him a note.
“Mind your business,” Swann murmured to Josh Koester, and opened it.
TE VOLO
Swann thought a moment while tall Chris, his long back in his blue blazer, moved so that his ass pressed against Swann’s knees. Swann had to gather himself enough to remember to look like he was paying attention, and then come up with a fitting note.
HAC NOCTE?
He pressed this under Chris’s elbow. A moment later Chris, whose Latin was much better than Swann’s sent back.
Perduint hac nocte! protinus post haec.
Chris Navarro turned around and cut him a glance. Chris Navarro was one of the hottest, most popular boys in the school, Even had they not been friends, even this world being the way it was, all twenty of their homophobic class mates would have lined up to blow him, but Chris was shifting in his seat and asking for him, no, demanding him, Swann, in Latin.
“I want you”
“Tonight?” Swann had asked, and now Chris wrote:
Perduint hac nocte! protinus post haec.
FUCK TONIGHT. RIGHT AFTER CLASS.
Swann leaned forward and whispered: “Sic.”
Sometimes it is more blessed to look than to be looked upon, especially in the night, especially. Swann becomes an eye, going from one friend to the other. He doesn’t try to add to the conversation or make himself more interesting. He knows if wasn’t already loved, he wouldn’t be here.
They stop at the Crab Shack in Nolan, a half hour from Calverton and Benton. They drove for nearly two hours and in the car Swann said nothing. Chris has been in his life since he was fifteen years old and speech isn’t always necessary. As they drive, one radio station fades out for another and, at last, Swann reaches into his bookbag and pulls out Liz Phair. She’s easy for him to sing to because she’s found the ease in her own voice, and though Chris rarely says anything about, he likes to listen to Swann sing.
“The earth looked like it was lit from within
Like a poorly assembled electrical ball
As we moved out of the farmlands into the grid
The plan of a city was all that you saw
And all of these people sitting totally still
As the ground raced beneath them, thirty-
Thou-
sand
feet
down
It took an hour, maybe a day
But once I really listened the noise just fell away.”
The first time Swann realized he might be… no, definitely was, gay for Christopher Navarro, Swann shrank back from his feelings, and maybe when Chris felt it, he did the same. They danced around each other for two years, but death has a way of clearing bullshit, and Chris had been with him whehn Swann got the news that his dad was gone. He’d gone with him to Chicago and been near him at the funeral.
Swann had been involved with other boys and Chris always had a girl, but in those last weeks before junior year they made, with touches, and whispers, a pact that finally it was time for the two of them. Their first night back they found the old infirmary Doug had told them about, and the next morning when the birds were starting to sing, they woke up tangled together in the cot in the abandoned sick ward. They’d whispered about getting up and then began hugging and kissing and before it was all over they had made love again. They dressed slowly and went back, hand in hand to their rooms downstairs.
Pete Agalathagos woke up long enough to say, “Where’ve you all been?” but went back to sleep before they could answer.
They were on their way back into the dormitory, about to wind their way into the lost parts of the school, laughing and pelting each other with books when they nearly stumbled into Max Mueller.
“Mr. Navarro, Mr. Portis.”
“Scuse us, sir, scuse us,” Swann and Chris said and, in a goofy mood, tipped a goofy bow, Chris saluted him, his curls bouncing all around his head.
Coming into Latin class, Swann sat behind Chris, palming his head, sinking his hand into his curls, owning him publicly, and no one had anything to say. Chris was popular in that crowd, and while it was easy to insinuate, it was difficult for very parochial little boys to know what to say in the face of actual sex. Swann sat like he often did, low in his seat so that his knees pressed into the firmness of Chris’s ass, and Chris, mock yawning, pressed back. Midway through going over the Aeneid, Chris passed him a note.
“Mind your business,” Swann murmured to Josh Koester, and opened it.
TE VOLO
Swann thought a moment while tall Chris, his long back in his blue blazer, moved so that his ass pressed against Swann’s knees. Swann had to gather himself enough to remember to look like he was paying attention, and then come up with a fitting note.
HAC NOCTE?
He pressed this under Chris’s elbow. A moment later Chris, whose Latin was much better than Swann’s sent back.
Perduint hac nocte! protinus post haec.
Chris Navarro turned around and cut him a glance. Chris Navarro was one of the hottest, most popular boys in the school, Even had they not been friends, even this world being the way it was, all twenty of their homophobic class mates would have lined up to blow him, but Chris was shifting in his seat and asking for him, no, demanding him, Swann, in Latin.
“I want you”
“Tonight?” Swann had asked, and now Chris wrote:
Perduint hac nocte! protinus post haec.
FUCK TONIGHT. RIGHT AFTER CLASS.
Swann leaned forward and whispered: “Sic.”
Sometimes it is more blessed to look than to be looked upon, especially in the night, especially. Swann becomes an eye, going from one friend to the other. He doesn’t try to add to the conversation or make himself more interesting. He knows if wasn’t already loved, he wouldn’t be here.
They stop at the Crab Shack in Nolan, a half hour from Calverton and Benton. They drove for nearly two hours and in the car Swann said nothing. Chris has been in his life since he was fifteen years old and speech isn’t always necessary. As they drive, one radio station fades out for another and, at last, Swann reaches into his bookbag and pulls out Liz Phair. She’s easy for him to sing to because she’s found the ease in her own voice, and though Chris rarely says anything about, he likes to listen to Swann sing.
“The earth looked like it was lit from within
Like a poorly assembled electrical ball
As we moved out of the farmlands into the grid
The plan of a city was all that you saw
And all of these people sitting totally still
As the ground raced beneath them, thirty-
Thou-
sand
feet
down
It took an hour, maybe a day
But once I really listened the noise just fell away.”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
It was on the strip in Nolan that Joe’s car pulled aside, and they all got out, well actually Chris and Sal got out and Swann stayed in the car while they convened.
“Crab shack alright?” Chris said when he got back in the car
“Out of everything that will still be open? Yeah.”
“Chilis, Fridays, Apple—”
“Are all the same. Crab Shack.”
The truth was he didn’t care where they went as long as they went somewhere. He wasn’t even really hungry. He just sort of wanted to see what the three of them looked like in one place. Swann wasn’t counting himself. When they got to the restaurant he did count himself because he was going to smoke, so he demanded the smoking section. There was no proper observation without a cigarette. They all got a pitcher of beer which he said he’d defntiely drink from, but Swann ordered a great strawberry margarita and began to watch the boys, which is how he felt about them. They were different with him than on their own. In front of each other they were increasingly wild, animated, loud, full of hand gestures, all wide eyes and backward baseball caps. Even Chris who had no baseball cap. Swann slowly sipped a very cold, very slushy, sweet strawberry margarita and had his delicate fill of biscuits, waiting for the food to arrive, and he was in that pleasant place where he thought thoughts and drifted away from the happening part of life to the part that watched.
When the crabs arrived Joe said, after a while, “Fuck, I don’t really know how to do this.”
Wordlessly, Swann took Joe’s crab leg, shelled it and returned it to him. Swann went on, eating his crab, and when Joe looked at him he shrugged.
“My family’s from Louisiana.”
“I thought they were from Chicago.”
“They are. But before that they were from Louisiana.”
Swann was not sure if that served as a fitting explanation for why opening a crab was nothing to him, but Joe seemed to except this, and Chris said, “When we were in school, Swann used to have an oven in his room and he would cook Creole food all the time.”
“That’s why half the time you were never in the caf,” Sal said.
“Pretty much,” Chris nodded. “Him and Duck. And they would make, shit, everything. Gumbo, jumbalaya. What’s that one thing?”
“Etoufee.”
“Etoufee!” swore Chris. “So good!”
Swann shifted, feeling a little drunk on his second margarita and first beer. Liquor never made him feel uninhibited. It made him sleepy. Attention seemed to be shifting to him, now.
“So….” said Sal, “what can we talk about, and what can we not talk about?”
Swann pushed his glasses up and looking at Sal like a lawyer, said nothing.
Chris said, “Anything you told Swann he told me.”
“Pretty much,” Swann agreed when Sal looked to him.
“Then you know,” Sal gestured from himself to Joe, “about us.”
“Pretty much,” Chris said.
“And you?” Sal said, pointing from Chris to Swann, “And Swann?”
“Yeah,” Chris said, looking a little shy as he nodded. “Me and Swann.”
“Like all the time? Cause you were best friends?”
“More like junior year aftr my father died,” Swann said.
“And then,” Joe frowned, wondering if he should say it or not, “Pete.”
“Fucking Pete Agalathagos!” Chris swore.
“Yes,” Swann said, in a tone that suggested this was not to be elaborated upon, “Pete.”
“But you guys are still friends.”
“Of course we’re still friends,” Chris said, leaning into Swann. “We’ll always be friends. We didn’t work out as… That shit was m fault.”
“It was kind of everyone’s fault,” Swann said.
“No,” Chris corrected. “It was my fault. I had all of these feelings going on at the same time and none of them was mellow. I got to be a real ass, and then we ended up breaking up. And that’s when motherfucking Peter Snuffalupagus snuck in.”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Swann said.
“Alright, Swann. Well, we’ll just agree to disagree.”
“I disagree,” Swann said, “And won’t agree to shit.”
Even in their fighting was playful, Joe observed, and he shot a glance to Sal. He decided not to say what Swann now said straight up.
“Well, Pete came to the funeral.”
“What funeral?”
“Garrett’s.”
“I didn’t even know that dude,” Chris said. “If I came to every funeral for the bad luck Tonies, I’d be in black all the time.”
“Damn!” Sal swore.
“That’s cold as fuck,” Swann said. “That’s colder than me.”
“What?” Chris said. “Keith Battle, dead in a car crash before graduation. Chuck Ellis, shot the day after graduation. Eric Page and his girlfriend got hit by a semi after prom. Nick Novack committed suicide Freshmen year in college—”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Joe started.
“Derek Manner got a football injury, went into a coma and died a month later playing for his college, and that’s just our class, and we didn’t have that many people to begin with. We’re fucking cursed.”
“Now I see why you’re friends,” Sal said, looking at Swann. He said to Chris, “I didn’t know how dark you were.”
“Swann brings it out in me.”
“You were always like this,” Swann said.
“I accept that,” Chris nodded. “But it doesn’t manifest until I’m with you.
“And you know what? Pete Clap the Platypus can bite me.”
“So…” Sal decided, “I guess we shouldn’t bring him up again.”
“You can bring him up,” Chris said. “I’m just gonna talk shit about him.”
Joe shook his head and said, “But like… you guys always knew we… me and Sal were…”
“I think we all suspected it,” Chris said. “Thought about it. We just kind of agreed to protect you guys.”
“Did we need to be protected?” Joe said. “I’d like to think that… that those were our friends, and they would have just accepted it.”
“Well, your friends were your friends,” Chris said. “And we did accept it. But everyone wasn’t your friend. People do horrible things.”
“You heard about that kid our in Kansas,” Joe said.
“Wyoming,” Sal corrected. “It was Wyoming.”
“What was his name?”
“I can’t remember.”
Sal said, “I just remembering hearing it was three guys, like us.”
“Not like us,” Joe cut in.
“You don’t know that,” Sal said. “They offered him a ride, but they drove him out into the country and pistol whipped him. They tortured him and tied him to a fence and then just left him.”
“Who does that?” Chris demanded.
“A few folks at Saint Anthony would have done it.”
“I heard,” Sal said, folding his arms across each other as he laid them on the table, “that he was beaten so bad his face was covered in blood, except where it had been washed by his
END OF PART ONE
“Crab shack alright?” Chris said when he got back in the car
“Out of everything that will still be open? Yeah.”
“Chilis, Fridays, Apple—”
“Are all the same. Crab Shack.”
The truth was he didn’t care where they went as long as they went somewhere. He wasn’t even really hungry. He just sort of wanted to see what the three of them looked like in one place. Swann wasn’t counting himself. When they got to the restaurant he did count himself because he was going to smoke, so he demanded the smoking section. There was no proper observation without a cigarette. They all got a pitcher of beer which he said he’d defntiely drink from, but Swann ordered a great strawberry margarita and began to watch the boys, which is how he felt about them. They were different with him than on their own. In front of each other they were increasingly wild, animated, loud, full of hand gestures, all wide eyes and backward baseball caps. Even Chris who had no baseball cap. Swann slowly sipped a very cold, very slushy, sweet strawberry margarita and had his delicate fill of biscuits, waiting for the food to arrive, and he was in that pleasant place where he thought thoughts and drifted away from the happening part of life to the part that watched.
When the crabs arrived Joe said, after a while, “Fuck, I don’t really know how to do this.”
Wordlessly, Swann took Joe’s crab leg, shelled it and returned it to him. Swann went on, eating his crab, and when Joe looked at him he shrugged.
“My family’s from Louisiana.”
“I thought they were from Chicago.”
“They are. But before that they were from Louisiana.”
Swann was not sure if that served as a fitting explanation for why opening a crab was nothing to him, but Joe seemed to except this, and Chris said, “When we were in school, Swann used to have an oven in his room and he would cook Creole food all the time.”
“That’s why half the time you were never in the caf,” Sal said.
“Pretty much,” Chris nodded. “Him and Duck. And they would make, shit, everything. Gumbo, jumbalaya. What’s that one thing?”
“Etoufee.”
“Etoufee!” swore Chris. “So good!”
Swann shifted, feeling a little drunk on his second margarita and first beer. Liquor never made him feel uninhibited. It made him sleepy. Attention seemed to be shifting to him, now.
“So….” said Sal, “what can we talk about, and what can we not talk about?”
Swann pushed his glasses up and looking at Sal like a lawyer, said nothing.
Chris said, “Anything you told Swann he told me.”
“Pretty much,” Swann agreed when Sal looked to him.
“Then you know,” Sal gestured from himself to Joe, “about us.”
“Pretty much,” Chris said.
“And you?” Sal said, pointing from Chris to Swann, “And Swann?”
“Yeah,” Chris said, looking a little shy as he nodded. “Me and Swann.”
“Like all the time? Cause you were best friends?”
“More like junior year aftr my father died,” Swann said.
“And then,” Joe frowned, wondering if he should say it or not, “Pete.”
“Fucking Pete Agalathagos!” Chris swore.
“Yes,” Swann said, in a tone that suggested this was not to be elaborated upon, “Pete.”
“But you guys are still friends.”
“Of course we’re still friends,” Chris said, leaning into Swann. “We’ll always be friends. We didn’t work out as… That shit was m fault.”
“It was kind of everyone’s fault,” Swann said.
“No,” Chris corrected. “It was my fault. I had all of these feelings going on at the same time and none of them was mellow. I got to be a real ass, and then we ended up breaking up. And that’s when motherfucking Peter Snuffalupagus snuck in.”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Swann said.
“Alright, Swann. Well, we’ll just agree to disagree.”
“I disagree,” Swann said, “And won’t agree to shit.”
Even in their fighting was playful, Joe observed, and he shot a glance to Sal. He decided not to say what Swann now said straight up.
“Well, Pete came to the funeral.”
“What funeral?”
“Garrett’s.”
“I didn’t even know that dude,” Chris said. “If I came to every funeral for the bad luck Tonies, I’d be in black all the time.”
“Damn!” Sal swore.
“That’s cold as fuck,” Swann said. “That’s colder than me.”
“What?” Chris said. “Keith Battle, dead in a car crash before graduation. Chuck Ellis, shot the day after graduation. Eric Page and his girlfriend got hit by a semi after prom. Nick Novack committed suicide Freshmen year in college—”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Joe started.
“Derek Manner got a football injury, went into a coma and died a month later playing for his college, and that’s just our class, and we didn’t have that many people to begin with. We’re fucking cursed.”
“Now I see why you’re friends,” Sal said, looking at Swann. He said to Chris, “I didn’t know how dark you were.”
“Swann brings it out in me.”
“You were always like this,” Swann said.
“I accept that,” Chris nodded. “But it doesn’t manifest until I’m with you.
“And you know what? Pete Clap the Platypus can bite me.”
“So…” Sal decided, “I guess we shouldn’t bring him up again.”
“You can bring him up,” Chris said. “I’m just gonna talk shit about him.”
Joe shook his head and said, “But like… you guys always knew we… me and Sal were…”
“I think we all suspected it,” Chris said. “Thought about it. We just kind of agreed to protect you guys.”
“Did we need to be protected?” Joe said. “I’d like to think that… that those were our friends, and they would have just accepted it.”
“Well, your friends were your friends,” Chris said. “And we did accept it. But everyone wasn’t your friend. People do horrible things.”
“You heard about that kid our in Kansas,” Joe said.
“Wyoming,” Sal corrected. “It was Wyoming.”
“What was his name?”
“I can’t remember.”
Sal said, “I just remembering hearing it was three guys, like us.”
“Not like us,” Joe cut in.
“You don’t know that,” Sal said. “They offered him a ride, but they drove him out into the country and pistol whipped him. They tortured him and tied him to a fence and then just left him.”
“Who does that?” Chris demanded.
“A few folks at Saint Anthony would have done it.”
“I heard,” Sal said, folding his arms across each other as he laid them on the table, “that he was beaten so bad his face was covered in blood, except where it had been washed by his
END OF PART ONE
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a very interesting end to part one. Great to read some history of these characters and to then get back to the present. I am glad these guys have each other, especially when discussing hate crimes. This is an enjoyable story and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Of course in the late '0s, there was no term hate crime, and Sal has really only just begun to come to terms with that he is. Things were very different twenty six years ago.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
PART
TWO
Chapter Ten
“What are you thinking?” Chris asked once they were on the road again.
“That I’m glad you’re driving because I’m kind of drunk.”
“No,” Chris said. “Everything got really quiet back there. And you didn’t say anything, and you’re the person who always says something.”
They had decided, and the story of the boy in Wyoming tied to a fence and left for dead probably had something to do with it, to stick together tonight, to all go to Chris’s house, which was the closest and the biggest. The Strip, as they called it, was a mingling of expressway and parkway connecting all the towns of the region to each other by belts of hotels, shopping malls, Fridays, Applebees, Haciendas and Dick’s Sporting Good Stores. Heading east they would end up in Calverton. Taking Day Road south, as they did now, they were on their way to Benton.
“We were in more danger than we thought,” Swann said. “All of us. Not just the danger of being made fun of. Who is your friend? Who isn’t? How much does someone hate you? How much does someone hate themselves enough to kill you because they see themselves in you?”
“Whaddo you?”
“Those guys who killed the boy, you could have been that boy, you or Joe or Sal. Maybe me, but Black people have our own issues. But… you could have also been the killers. Why did those guys do what they did? Were they trying to kill something that was in them?”
“You know what Joe said when you were in the bathroom?”
“Huh?”
“He said, do people really hate us? And I never thought of it like that, as an us. I thought that my business was my business and what we did we did and what Joe and Sal did was what they did and we were all just boys, just ordinary boys like everyone else. Except for that. I never thought us an us, a particular us. You know?”
“Well,” Swann said, “I’ve always been a particular us, but I do understand what it means for you.”
For someone who didn’t drive, Swann had an excellent sense of direction when it didn’t come to country roads. He followed the map that told him what they called the Strip was Route 65, and it took a jagged southeast turn leaving behind Calverton and what would have led to Saint Anthony, and landing them in Benton. Benton looked like every other town in Indiana and even more so late at night. It had its own little strip with an all night Steak and Shake near a Comfort Inn as they left the expressway, and Swann watched the road go on over a viaduct of speeding cars and rumbling trucks behind them.
After a while they turned off of this to another busy road and at last turned into an inside street and houses that didn’t look like much that suddenly revealed houses that looked like a great deal. They were stately, the older ones with homes on hills hidden behind trees. If they’d had personalities, and whose to say they didn’t, they would have sniffed at being called a subdivision, but that is what they were. Chris stopped at last at one of the older homes where the garage was built under the large two storied and balconied home of the Navarros.
Joe had parked on the street, and as he and Sal came up while Swann was rolling his bag behind him, Joe looked around the night darkened neignhoood where he could still see the large houses on hills and murmured, “This is one hell of a place, Navarro.”
“I didn’t know you were so….” Sal began as he came under the garage door and Chris pushed the button for it to draw down.
“Rich?” Swann supplied.
“I’m not rich,” Chris said and his voice was free from irritation, but he had placed his foot over Swann’s and slowly ground down on it. In response, Swann quickly slipped his hands under Chris’ coat and squeezed his crotch.
“What time is it?” Joe wondered while Chris jumped in surprise and pleasure, grinning at Swann.
“A little after twelve.”
“I told Mom we’d be home a long time ago. I need to call her.”
“You can use the phone in the den,” Chris said. “I should probably go up and tell Mom and Dad I’m here.”
“They won’t be asleep?”
“Joe, they’re forty-five, not a hundred. Swann, show ‘em the basement.”
Chris opened the normal door off of a garage, and headed up the stairs, but Swann led Joe and Sal down a dark hall and switched on a light which revealed something more than what either Joe or Sal thought of as a basement.
There were several guest bed rooms off the hallway and a granite tiled bathroom where Joe kept flicking the light on and. These ended in a large den with sofas and sound system and beyond that, where Sal though there would be a bar, was a full sized kitchen. This ended in another door and Sal said, “We have to see what’s beyond this. I’ll bet it’s the underground swimming pool.”
“There is no underground swimming pool, Swann said, wheeling his bags to one of the spare rooms, “but that leads to the backyard, and there is an in ground pool.”
“Damn,” Joe swore to Sal, “this is a way the hell different from how we grew up.”
“Hell,” they heard Swann saying from his room, “it’s way the hell different from how I grew up.”
“Why even go to Chicago? Why not stay here,” Joe flopped down on the couch. “We should all just stay here.”
“Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.”
Joe jumped up a little at Chris’s surprise return.
Chris took off his pea coat and draped it over one of the recliners.
“They probably wouldn’t even know you were here.”
Chris offered to put on a movie and Swann was glad Joe and Sal said no. He just wanted sleep and maybe music in the back ground, and Chris would never have mentioned a movie if they didn’t have guests. Strange how Swann thought of Joe and Sal as the guests. Chris had said something loud and silly about how there was a bedroom for each of them, and no one paid that any attention. Swann assumed that two bedrooms would be in use, but none were. There was a huge L shaped sofa with two Ottomans in its armpits and eventually all four of them piled onto it and fell into a messy, open mouthed sleep that was interrupted around two in the morning when Terrycloth, Chris’s black Lab, shoved his snout into Swann’s mouth.
“Holy shit! You know better than that!” Swann reprimanded, grabbing the black snout and kissing it while he affectionately rubbed his head and the dog snaked its snout through Swann’s arm. Swann was surprised to see Sal across the room, shirtless and in red shorts, his hair sticking up, sitting at the great computer screen, the tower still humming.
Swann reached for his glass and slipped them on, as if the unblurring of things would make him able to read that screen better.
“Sal, what are you reading?”
And then, despite not wanting to get up, he didn’t want to wake up Joe or Christopher, so he rolled off the Ottoman and, tail thumping against his leg, Terrycloth followed.
“Listen to this,” Sal lifted his finger.
“On the night of October 6, 1998, Shepard was approached by Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson at the Fireside Lounge in Laramie; all three men were in their early twenties. McKinney and Henderson offered to give Shepard a ride home. They subsequently drove to a remote rural area and proceeded to rob, pistol-whip and torture Shepard, tying him to a barbed-wire fence and leaving him to die.”
Sal turned to Swann, “That is a month ago.”
“I know,” Said Swann.
“Many media reports contained the graphic account of the pistol-whipping and his fractured skull,” Sal read. “Reports described how Shepard was beaten so brutally that his face was completely covered in blood, except where it had been partially cleansed by his tears.”
Swann put a hand over the keyboard.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should stop reading this.”
But instead, Sal kept reading.
“The assailants' girlfriends testified that neither McKinney nor Henderson was under the influence of alcohol or other drugs at the time of the attack. McKinney and Henderson testified that they learned of Shepard's address and intended to steal from his home as well. After attacking Shepard and leaving him tied to the fence in near-freezing temperatures, McKinney and Henderson returned to town. McKinney proceeded to pick a fight with two men, 19-year-old Emiliano Morales and 18-year-old Jeremy Herrara. The fight resulted in head wounds for both Morales and McKinney Police officer Flint Waters arrived at the scene of the fight. He arrested Henderson, searched McKinney's truck, and found a blood-smeared gun along with Shepard's shoes and credit card. Henderson and McKinney later tried to persuade their girlfriends to provide alibis for them and help them dispose of evidence.”
TWO
Chapter Ten
“What are you thinking?” Chris asked once they were on the road again.
“That I’m glad you’re driving because I’m kind of drunk.”
“No,” Chris said. “Everything got really quiet back there. And you didn’t say anything, and you’re the person who always says something.”
They had decided, and the story of the boy in Wyoming tied to a fence and left for dead probably had something to do with it, to stick together tonight, to all go to Chris’s house, which was the closest and the biggest. The Strip, as they called it, was a mingling of expressway and parkway connecting all the towns of the region to each other by belts of hotels, shopping malls, Fridays, Applebees, Haciendas and Dick’s Sporting Good Stores. Heading east they would end up in Calverton. Taking Day Road south, as they did now, they were on their way to Benton.
“We were in more danger than we thought,” Swann said. “All of us. Not just the danger of being made fun of. Who is your friend? Who isn’t? How much does someone hate you? How much does someone hate themselves enough to kill you because they see themselves in you?”
“Whaddo you?”
“Those guys who killed the boy, you could have been that boy, you or Joe or Sal. Maybe me, but Black people have our own issues. But… you could have also been the killers. Why did those guys do what they did? Were they trying to kill something that was in them?”
“You know what Joe said when you were in the bathroom?”
“Huh?”
“He said, do people really hate us? And I never thought of it like that, as an us. I thought that my business was my business and what we did we did and what Joe and Sal did was what they did and we were all just boys, just ordinary boys like everyone else. Except for that. I never thought us an us, a particular us. You know?”
“Well,” Swann said, “I’ve always been a particular us, but I do understand what it means for you.”
For someone who didn’t drive, Swann had an excellent sense of direction when it didn’t come to country roads. He followed the map that told him what they called the Strip was Route 65, and it took a jagged southeast turn leaving behind Calverton and what would have led to Saint Anthony, and landing them in Benton. Benton looked like every other town in Indiana and even more so late at night. It had its own little strip with an all night Steak and Shake near a Comfort Inn as they left the expressway, and Swann watched the road go on over a viaduct of speeding cars and rumbling trucks behind them.
After a while they turned off of this to another busy road and at last turned into an inside street and houses that didn’t look like much that suddenly revealed houses that looked like a great deal. They were stately, the older ones with homes on hills hidden behind trees. If they’d had personalities, and whose to say they didn’t, they would have sniffed at being called a subdivision, but that is what they were. Chris stopped at last at one of the older homes where the garage was built under the large two storied and balconied home of the Navarros.
Joe had parked on the street, and as he and Sal came up while Swann was rolling his bag behind him, Joe looked around the night darkened neignhoood where he could still see the large houses on hills and murmured, “This is one hell of a place, Navarro.”
“I didn’t know you were so….” Sal began as he came under the garage door and Chris pushed the button for it to draw down.
“Rich?” Swann supplied.
“I’m not rich,” Chris said and his voice was free from irritation, but he had placed his foot over Swann’s and slowly ground down on it. In response, Swann quickly slipped his hands under Chris’ coat and squeezed his crotch.
“What time is it?” Joe wondered while Chris jumped in surprise and pleasure, grinning at Swann.
“A little after twelve.”
“I told Mom we’d be home a long time ago. I need to call her.”
“You can use the phone in the den,” Chris said. “I should probably go up and tell Mom and Dad I’m here.”
“They won’t be asleep?”
“Joe, they’re forty-five, not a hundred. Swann, show ‘em the basement.”
Chris opened the normal door off of a garage, and headed up the stairs, but Swann led Joe and Sal down a dark hall and switched on a light which revealed something more than what either Joe or Sal thought of as a basement.
There were several guest bed rooms off the hallway and a granite tiled bathroom where Joe kept flicking the light on and. These ended in a large den with sofas and sound system and beyond that, where Sal though there would be a bar, was a full sized kitchen. This ended in another door and Sal said, “We have to see what’s beyond this. I’ll bet it’s the underground swimming pool.”
“There is no underground swimming pool, Swann said, wheeling his bags to one of the spare rooms, “but that leads to the backyard, and there is an in ground pool.”
“Damn,” Joe swore to Sal, “this is a way the hell different from how we grew up.”
“Hell,” they heard Swann saying from his room, “it’s way the hell different from how I grew up.”
“Why even go to Chicago? Why not stay here,” Joe flopped down on the couch. “We should all just stay here.”
“Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.”
Joe jumped up a little at Chris’s surprise return.
Chris took off his pea coat and draped it over one of the recliners.
“They probably wouldn’t even know you were here.”
Chris offered to put on a movie and Swann was glad Joe and Sal said no. He just wanted sleep and maybe music in the back ground, and Chris would never have mentioned a movie if they didn’t have guests. Strange how Swann thought of Joe and Sal as the guests. Chris had said something loud and silly about how there was a bedroom for each of them, and no one paid that any attention. Swann assumed that two bedrooms would be in use, but none were. There was a huge L shaped sofa with two Ottomans in its armpits and eventually all four of them piled onto it and fell into a messy, open mouthed sleep that was interrupted around two in the morning when Terrycloth, Chris’s black Lab, shoved his snout into Swann’s mouth.
“Holy shit! You know better than that!” Swann reprimanded, grabbing the black snout and kissing it while he affectionately rubbed his head and the dog snaked its snout through Swann’s arm. Swann was surprised to see Sal across the room, shirtless and in red shorts, his hair sticking up, sitting at the great computer screen, the tower still humming.
Swann reached for his glass and slipped them on, as if the unblurring of things would make him able to read that screen better.
“Sal, what are you reading?”
And then, despite not wanting to get up, he didn’t want to wake up Joe or Christopher, so he rolled off the Ottoman and, tail thumping against his leg, Terrycloth followed.
“Listen to this,” Sal lifted his finger.
“On the night of October 6, 1998, Shepard was approached by Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson at the Fireside Lounge in Laramie; all three men were in their early twenties. McKinney and Henderson offered to give Shepard a ride home. They subsequently drove to a remote rural area and proceeded to rob, pistol-whip and torture Shepard, tying him to a barbed-wire fence and leaving him to die.”
Sal turned to Swann, “That is a month ago.”
“I know,” Said Swann.
“Many media reports contained the graphic account of the pistol-whipping and his fractured skull,” Sal read. “Reports described how Shepard was beaten so brutally that his face was completely covered in blood, except where it had been partially cleansed by his tears.”
Swann put a hand over the keyboard.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should stop reading this.”
But instead, Sal kept reading.
“The assailants' girlfriends testified that neither McKinney nor Henderson was under the influence of alcohol or other drugs at the time of the attack. McKinney and Henderson testified that they learned of Shepard's address and intended to steal from his home as well. After attacking Shepard and leaving him tied to the fence in near-freezing temperatures, McKinney and Henderson returned to town. McKinney proceeded to pick a fight with two men, 19-year-old Emiliano Morales and 18-year-old Jeremy Herrara. The fight resulted in head wounds for both Morales and McKinney Police officer Flint Waters arrived at the scene of the fight. He arrested Henderson, searched McKinney's truck, and found a blood-smeared gun along with Shepard's shoes and credit card. Henderson and McKinney later tried to persuade their girlfriends to provide alibis for them and help them dispose of evidence.”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
They were silent a while and Sal said, “Don’t ask me to stop reading.”
And so he read.
“Still tied to the fence, Shepard was in a coma eighteen hours after the attack when he was discovered by Aaron Kreifels, a cyclist who initially mistook Shepard for a scarecrow. Reggie Fluty, the first police officer to arrive at the scene, found Shepard alive but covered in blood. Shepard was transported first to Ivinson Memorial Hospital in Laramie before being moved to the more advanced trauma ward at Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. He had suffered fractures to the back of his head and in front of his right ear. He experienced severe brainstem damage, which affected his body's ability to regulate his heart rate, body temperature, and other vital functions. There were also about a dozen small lacerations around his head, face, and neck. His injuries were deemed too severe for doctors to operate. Shepard never regained consciousness and remained on full life support. While he lay in intensive care and in the days following the attack, candlelight vigils were held in countries around the world.
“Shepard was pronounced dead six days after the attack at 12:53 a.m. on October 12, 1998. He was twenty-one years old.
Then Sal said, “We’re twenty-one years old.”
“But you already knew this.” He said to Swann
“That we were twenty one?”
“That the world is like this. You already said that. It’s not news to you, is it? It’s news to me. I’m the dummy. You know what I keep thinking about? I keep thinking about that guy that killed Garrett. I don’t think it was an accident. We knew him. He went to school with us. I know you didn’t know him that well, but you came for him, and he’s dead cause he was killed. He was shoved into a fucking trash compactor, and what if it’s because… because someone thought he was gay? Or cause that asshole wanted his credit card. The world is just so shit sometimes, you know.”
Sal stopped himself, weary, leaned back in the chair and stretched, his arms reaching way back as he yawned.
“You’re quiet,” he said to Swann. “What are you thinking?”
And Swann said nothing because he was thinking how beautiful Sal was, how this was perhaps the first time he’d said something directly and seriously to Swann, ever, and the two of them were up together, nearly alone and the lights of the computer shone on Sal’s humble body, never workd out, but obviously strong. Al of him was sweet, the lines of muscle in his arms, his chest, down to the descending V that dove into his shorts, his mussy dark hair, the serious expression on his face.
Swann didn’t want to say nothing. He didn’t want to deny how he felt, and how he felt was he had a tremendous love for Sal right now. He wanted Sal come back to the sofa and crawl on the other side of him, place his arms about his waist. Instead of them all splayed out, he imagined they were all pressed together, arms and legs tangled, faces pressed to backs, lips kissing necks.
“I’d like to draw you,” is what Swann said.
Sal shook his head and grinned, suddenly taken out of his terrible mood.
“You’re honestly one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t even know what to do with that,” Sal said.
“You’re honest and good and pure.”
Sal frowned.
“I’m none of those things.”
His mind flashed to a few weeks ago, the night he’d gone off with Courtney, the things he’d done with her, with other girls, the things he and Joe had done with other boys.
“We’re not what you think we are.” Sal said.
“No,” Swann said. “I think you are. And…. I don’t want to lie, I’m no innocent either. Sal…”
Sal waited for Swann and it was almost as if Swann was waiting for himself.
“Sal, you are one of the most beautiful…. I’ve always thought you were really hot. Since you were a junior and I saw you in the hall talking to Griffin Julius. I ignored you, but I’ve always thought that.”
“I didn’t even knew you knew who I was.”
“I did,” Swann said.
Sal seemed to be considering something, and then he said, “Swann, I’m about to do something, okay?”
Swann Portis raised an eyebrow.
“Okay? I guess.”
“I need you to close your eyes.”
“You’re not going to… expose yourself or something?”
Unbidden came the image of Joe, ballcap turned back, leaning over and sucking Sal came to his mind.
“No,” Sal said. “Just…. Close your fucking eyes.”
Swann obeyed.
Sal kissed him, pressed him lips firmly to Swann’s. Swann felt something open in him, but he didn’t open his eyes, not immediately.
When he did, Sal Goode’s eyes were shining. Sal was grinning and then he looked very serious and nodded.
“Awright,” he said, still nodding. “Alright. We did that. I’ve been wanting to do that a while. You’re right. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
And so he read.
“Still tied to the fence, Shepard was in a coma eighteen hours after the attack when he was discovered by Aaron Kreifels, a cyclist who initially mistook Shepard for a scarecrow. Reggie Fluty, the first police officer to arrive at the scene, found Shepard alive but covered in blood. Shepard was transported first to Ivinson Memorial Hospital in Laramie before being moved to the more advanced trauma ward at Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. He had suffered fractures to the back of his head and in front of his right ear. He experienced severe brainstem damage, which affected his body's ability to regulate his heart rate, body temperature, and other vital functions. There were also about a dozen small lacerations around his head, face, and neck. His injuries were deemed too severe for doctors to operate. Shepard never regained consciousness and remained on full life support. While he lay in intensive care and in the days following the attack, candlelight vigils were held in countries around the world.
“Shepard was pronounced dead six days after the attack at 12:53 a.m. on October 12, 1998. He was twenty-one years old.
Then Sal said, “We’re twenty-one years old.”
“But you already knew this.” He said to Swann
“That we were twenty one?”
“That the world is like this. You already said that. It’s not news to you, is it? It’s news to me. I’m the dummy. You know what I keep thinking about? I keep thinking about that guy that killed Garrett. I don’t think it was an accident. We knew him. He went to school with us. I know you didn’t know him that well, but you came for him, and he’s dead cause he was killed. He was shoved into a fucking trash compactor, and what if it’s because… because someone thought he was gay? Or cause that asshole wanted his credit card. The world is just so shit sometimes, you know.”
Sal stopped himself, weary, leaned back in the chair and stretched, his arms reaching way back as he yawned.
“You’re quiet,” he said to Swann. “What are you thinking?”
And Swann said nothing because he was thinking how beautiful Sal was, how this was perhaps the first time he’d said something directly and seriously to Swann, ever, and the two of them were up together, nearly alone and the lights of the computer shone on Sal’s humble body, never workd out, but obviously strong. Al of him was sweet, the lines of muscle in his arms, his chest, down to the descending V that dove into his shorts, his mussy dark hair, the serious expression on his face.
Swann didn’t want to say nothing. He didn’t want to deny how he felt, and how he felt was he had a tremendous love for Sal right now. He wanted Sal come back to the sofa and crawl on the other side of him, place his arms about his waist. Instead of them all splayed out, he imagined they were all pressed together, arms and legs tangled, faces pressed to backs, lips kissing necks.
“I’d like to draw you,” is what Swann said.
Sal shook his head and grinned, suddenly taken out of his terrible mood.
“You’re honestly one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t even know what to do with that,” Sal said.
“You’re honest and good and pure.”
Sal frowned.
“I’m none of those things.”
His mind flashed to a few weeks ago, the night he’d gone off with Courtney, the things he’d done with her, with other girls, the things he and Joe had done with other boys.
“We’re not what you think we are.” Sal said.
“No,” Swann said. “I think you are. And…. I don’t want to lie, I’m no innocent either. Sal…”
Sal waited for Swann and it was almost as if Swann was waiting for himself.
“Sal, you are one of the most beautiful…. I’ve always thought you were really hot. Since you were a junior and I saw you in the hall talking to Griffin Julius. I ignored you, but I’ve always thought that.”
“I didn’t even knew you knew who I was.”
“I did,” Swann said.
Sal seemed to be considering something, and then he said, “Swann, I’m about to do something, okay?”
Swann Portis raised an eyebrow.
“Okay? I guess.”
“I need you to close your eyes.”
“You’re not going to… expose yourself or something?”
Unbidden came the image of Joe, ballcap turned back, leaning over and sucking Sal came to his mind.
“No,” Sal said. “Just…. Close your fucking eyes.”
Swann obeyed.
Sal kissed him, pressed him lips firmly to Swann’s. Swann felt something open in him, but he didn’t open his eyes, not immediately.
When he did, Sal Goode’s eyes were shining. Sal was grinning and then he looked very serious and nodded.
“Awright,” he said, still nodding. “Alright. We did that. I’ve been wanting to do that a while. You’re right. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
An excellent start to part two. The whole Matthew Shepard crime is still very sad and makes you realise how some people are capable of anything. I am glad these guys have each other and are supporting each other. I am also glad Sal finally kissed Swan. Great writing and I look forward to more soon.