A Busted Afternoon (3 page)

He spoke without thought, but he couldn’t
have anticipated Sammy’s reaction. His face collapsed, his bright eyes
darkened, and he leaned back, putting several more inches between them.

“I was just trying to be nice.”

“No, you weren’t. You planned out this whole thing, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The car. I bet it’s not even really dead,
is it? You probably loosened the battery cables or something so I’d
think we’re really stuck here.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’ve admitted it yourself. You’ve been
obsessed with me for like your whole life.” Ed hated every word out of
his own mouth, but they made him feel powerful. Instead of being
knocked off center, he was the one who left Sammy upset and
disoriented. Instead of feeling like the world was out of his control,
like he was nothing but a leaf drifting from unknown place to unknown
place, he had somebody’s destiny in his hands. “Which is sick, by the
way. You need to get over it.”

“Ed…don’t. This isn’t…don’t.”

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not some sort of pervert. Tell me you didn’t sabotage my car.”

“I didn’t sabotage your fucking car!”
Sammy pushed Ed’s shoulder and scrambled to the tailgate, his long
limbs slowing his progress. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“What are you going to do?”

Sammy pulled the latch free and kicked the
tailgate open. Rain immediately swept into the car, like a wave
crashing onto the beach. “I’m going to Wendover.”

“In this storm? You’ll catch your death. Or get fried.”

“I’ll risk it.” He slammed the tailgate
shut before Ed could speak, leaving him alone with the booming thunder
and the constant rhythm of the rain on the station wagon’s roof. It was
pounding as hard as his heart.

Sammy walked along the shoulder of the freeway
blindly, his face burning, his head pounding, his hands curled into
fists. His face was wet, and he tried to wipe the moisture for his
eyes, but no matter how much he tried, it was a losing game. So he gave
up. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, and as far as
Sammy knew, there were only two people left in the world. Him and Ed.
And now he didn’t even have Ed.

It was stupid. He had been stupid. But
when Ed invited him to run away to California, Sammy had thought that
meant Ed knew. Ed knew what Sammy wanted. What Sammy had always wanted
for the two of them. More than that, he thought Ed must have wanted the
same thing. Why else even ask him? They weren’t friends. Despite
Sammy’s best efforts, they had never been friends. So what on Earth had
been going through Ed’s brain when he asked Sammy if he wanted to go to
California?

The cold rain ran down the back of his
neck. His shirt clung to him, and his jeans were so tight, he could
barely move. No matter what Ed thought, Sammy hadn’t done anything to
sabotage his car. But he would sure as fuck do something to fix it. He
didn’t care if took him all night to get all the way back to Wendover.
He could find a garage there, send a tow truck out for Ed, and then
find his own way back to Evanston.

Ed had flung his words like weapons,
carefully choosing the sharpest edges, and aiming them at the most
vulnerable places. Sammy had thought that Ed, of all people, would be
different. Now, he didn’t know why he was so certain of that. Perhaps
because Ed had always been an outsider himself. Maybe because he had
sensed a kindred spirit in the other man—something he had sensed when
they were both boys.

Ed had always seemed to embrace the
element that made him an outsider. That thing that warped him just
enough that he didn’t fit in any one place properly. Sammy had always
felt that way on the inside. Even if on the outside he was perfectly
normal. With a perfectly normal family, perfectly normal friends,
perfectly normal interests and hobbies, and a perfectly normal life.
But he never felt perfectly normal, and fuck Ed anyway for throwing
everything back in his face.

“You hear me?” Sammy shouted with all his
strength, but the words flew back in his face. “You hear me, you
fucker? Fuck you, too!”

It didn’t make him feel better, but he
shouted again and again. The rain ran into his mouth and he swallowed
convulsively, easing the burn in his throat. What was he going to do
when he made it back to Evanston? Maybe he would never make it back to
Wyoming. Nothing stopped him from going on to California himself. Ed
didn’t own the state. And nothing stopped him from continuing east.
There was a whole fucking country out there. He could see some of it
before Uncle Sam called him to ‘Nam. And if Ed got called up, too, then
maybe their paths would cross at some point in the jungle, and they’d
both talk about Evanston and pretend this whole, ridiculous day never
happened.

The thought of meeting Ed in the jungle someday almost—
almost—
made
him smile. Until he realized what he was doing. When or how his stupid
crush on that boy started, Sammy didn’t know. It had just always been a
part of him. He always thought he would outgrow it, somehow. Only, he
never had. Even though Ed was clearly nothing special. Not anything
worth walking in the freezing cold for, in the middle of a painted
desert, dozens, if not hundreds, of miles from civilization.

Sammy wasn’t even entirely sure what he
wanted from Ed. He had heard all the locker room talk about the girls
who were easy, who’d put out on Saturday night, then turn around and be
all fresh and virginal on Sunday morning. He had seen a few dirty
magazines, and there were rumors of films that actually showed tits and
ass, but Sammy didn’t put much stock in those rumors. And he had grown
up on a farm. He’d been watching the animals fuck since he was old
enough to walk. Sex really had no surprises for him.

Except that he didn’t want to have sex with any of the girls he knew in high school.

He wanted to have sex with Ed. When he got
himself off, he thought about Ed working on the farm, without a shirt,
his skin brown and glistening beneath the unforgiving sun. He thought
about the way Ed smelled after a hard day’s work—the strong, musty
scent of his skin, and dirt, and sweat. His hair damp, hanging over his
brow. His full mouth parted so he could catch his breath, his dark
lashes—almost as long as a girl’s—shielding his eyes. Ed had always
kind of reminded Sam of a girl. His features had always been a little
too thin, a little too fine for a boy’s. But at some point after their
junior year, Ed had gone through a transformation. Now the details that
had always been a little off seemed absolutely perfect. He could be an
actor. Sammy didn’t have a hard time imagining him on a giant movie
screen.

He didn’t have a hard time imagining Ed in any situation. Which was part of his problem.

“Fucking jerk. Fucking asshole. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Sammy started to walk faster as he spoke,
until he was moving at a brisk jog, his feet splashing through
deepening puddles and sending tiny droplets of water flying every
direction. Not that they made a big difference in the rain. Lightning
danced around him, splitting the sky into ragged pieces, like a jigsaw
puzzle barely held together. The air buzzed with electricity, making
his arms and the back of his neck itch. Thunder boomed again and again,
until all the sound rolled together and there wasn’t a moment of
silence. Nothing was still. Sammy could barely hear himself, or the
litany of curses falling from his mouth.

That was why he reacted on instinct when
he felt a sudden hand on his right shoulder. He swung with his left
fist, his knuckles connecting with the soft skin at the corner of Ed’s
mouth.

“What the fuck was that for?” Blood was already rolling down Ed’s face, turning pink as it smeared with the rain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

The words were cut off by five hard
knuckles slamming into his lips. The rich, bitter coppery taste coated
his tongue, and he spat into the water at his feet. One hand curled
into a tight fist, and he knew if he took his swing, he would lay Ed
flat. Right there on the side of the road, with the lighting slashing
the air around them. Ed might have seen that very thought on Sammy’s
face, because he dropped back in a defensive position, arms raised in
front of his face.

Sammy raised his fist again, but he didn’t strike. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to get you. You’re not going to make it to Wendover before dark. And it’s too dangerous out here.”

“I’m fine. Get back to your car.”

“Come on. You can dry off at the car.”

“Fuck you.”

Ed wiped his mouth, but there was still
more pinkish liquid welling up over his lip. It stained the front of
his shirt. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Just come back to the car.”

“I told you I’d get the car fixed.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Ed, okay? You’re going to get sick out here. You should stay with your car.”

“You want me to get back to the car, then you’ve got to walk me back.”

Sammy spat on the ground, leaving a small crimson pool that quickly washed away. “Why are you so fucking stubborn?”

“I’m not the one who… Look, I’m sorry, all right? Shit.”

“Get back to your car, or I’ll knock you
out and drag you back there.” Sammy didn’t know if he meant it or not.
He never wanted to hurt Ed, but sometimes he couldn’t exactly think
clearly around him.

“I’d like to see you try it.”

“Aren’t you bleeding enough?”

“You’re the one with the split lip.”

Sammy growled and took a swing. It was
supposed to be a warning, but the pressure of flesh against his fists,
the warmth of skin beneath the cold rain, pushed him too far. Heat
flashed through his body, and he wanted more. He wanted his muscles to
burn. He wanted to exhaust himself.

Ed hit the pavement, water sluicing over
him. As soon as Sammy looked down, the urge to fight drained from him.
Despite his recently acquired muscles, Ed still seemed smaller than
him. Still seemed like somebody who needed his protection. The heat of
the fight was overwhelmed, washed out, by cold terror.

“Ed? Jesus. I’m sorry. I am. I…are you
okay?” He bent, leaning close to continue his apologies over the roar
of the thunder. “Ed?”

Ed moved without warning, slamming his
head into Sammy’s face. It wasn’t quite enough to draw blood, but the
pain was immense. Sammy caught his breath, and each time he blinked,
more pain roared through him. He stumbled backward, into the road, and
Ed jumped to his feet like the previous blow had barely been a sting.

“You want to fight me?” Ed demanded.

“I want you to go back to your car!” The words were muddled by his swelling lips.

“I already told you I’m not going to go
back by myself.” Ed put his hands up, bent his knees, and squared his
shoulders. “If you want to fight about it, then let’s fight. I’ll drag
you back to the car if I have to.”

“You wanted me to go. I’m giving you what you want. So get off my ass.”

“You scared I’m going to kick your ass?”

“No.”

“Then what are you scared of?” Ed
demanded, his fists still in front of his face. The set determination
on Ed’s face, the way he held his shoulders, every line of his body,
told Sammy that Ed was ready for a real fight.

“Fuck. Everything.”

“What?”

“Every fucking thing, okay?”

“What?” Ed blinked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Aren’t you afraid? Isn’t that why you took off without a fucking word to anybody? Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I…”

“Just be honest. You’re fucking terrified.”

“Stop acting like we’re alike. We’re not. We’re…”

“What’s your number?”

Ed’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t lower his fists. “I told you. I’ll go when they call me.”

“What is it?”

“My birthday is the eighteenth of February. Eighth in the draft order.”

Sammy winced. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“What’s yours?”

“January eighth. Three-hundred and forty-first in the order.”

“Well,” Ed sneered, “that’s just great, isn’t it?”

“Fighting with me isn’t going to change anything.”

“What will?”

The question stopped Sammy. They stared at
each other for a long beat before he finally said, “Nothing. Nothing is
going to change this. This shit…all of it…is out of our hands.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

The corner of Sammy’s mouth lifted. “Be smart enough to get out of the rain, maybe?”

“Yeah.” Ed released a shaky breath. “Yeah, maybe that would be a good start.”

The second time they wedged into the back of the
station wagon, Ed didn’t have any thought of leaving again. The cold
had seeped through his flesh, spreading like icy spiderwebs, until his
joints were stiff. Even though they were sitting in the middle of the
desert, he was quite sure he’d never be warm again. Goose bumps covered
his arms, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from chattering.
He had a jacket in the backseat, and there was an old blanket, but
neither one of those things would actually be helpful in making him dry
and warm. He shouldn’t have left the relative safety of the car, but
the thought of Sammy wandering off into the wet night drove him out of
the station wagon.