Authors: Alan Conway
As he walks toward me, huge volumes of confessionary drivel chase through my head. Before I know it, his hand is in mine. I watch it go up then down.
“What's going on, Brian?” Damon asks, letting go of my hand.
“Not too much,” I say. “I had no idea you moved down here. You should have called.”
“Well, things have been a little crazy around the home place.”
“Larry?”
“Yeah, he's still a piece of shit.”
I nod. “How've you been?”
He shrugs. “Surviving.”
Lauren clears her throat.
“Did you hear something?” Damon asks me, looking around, then quickly hugs Lauren before she has a chance to clear her throat again. Smart move, buddy. “Hey girl, got some sugar for me?” He playfully pecks at her cheeks. She pushes him away then cuts a look at me, of course. God knows why.
“Well then,” he says, “looks like we've got a lot to catch up on.”
It's getting hot outside and I'm glad I wore shorts. We follow the trail around the pond throwing around small talk. I tell him about my job at the paper and about college. He briefly goes into how he ended up here with Larry, but he doesn't say much about his mother's passing. I hope he assumes Lauren told me already.
He wants to know how much I'm making as copyeditor (actually I'm an assistant copyeditor but I don't bother with the specifics). I tell him. I don't mind.
Lauren follows close behind us. Listening. Smiling. I know she is. It's like heat on my neck.
“Sounds like you're doing pretty well for yourself,” Damon says.
“I'm getting by,” I shrug. “Just got lucky I guess.”
“Can't help but be jealous. You always got everything you wanted.”
“Not everything.” I play it subtly enough without too much risk. Our eyes meet for a moment and I wonder if he even knows what I mean.
There's a short trumpeting sound from his breast pocket. He pulls the phone out and lets his fingers dance madly across the keypad, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Sorry guys, but I gotta run.” Damon hugs Lauren then he and I shake hands.
I smile and say, “It's good to see you again.”
He returns the smile.
That smile
. Chills. “Yeah, you too.”
He's almost up the hill, but he's still within earshot so I drop another bomb. “Call me sometime.”
Boom.
He turns and says he will, then I watch him disappear into the parking lot, feeling the heat on my neck again. Lauren's staring at me with her eyebrows raised. It's like she's asking me if I'm satisfied. Or perhaps she's about to drag out the mother routine again and spout off
See? That wasn't so bad, was it?
She doesn't and I'm grateful for it.
“What?” I ask.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” I don't know what the hell she's talking about.
“That look.”
“What look?”
Direct heat this time. Was I that obvious? Was that longing look of love painted on my face like some grotesque mask?
“That look he gave you,” she says.
“Oh,
that
look.” Was he giving me a look? “I have no idea.”
She glances up at the hill where Damon had gone then her bright blues turn back to me. There goes that finger again. She's
gently
shaking it at me this time.
“Questionable,” she says. Maybe he is. Maybe he's not. Perhaps I'm just being hopeful in a hopeless situation. She grabs my arm and drags me away. “Come on. Do you play chess?”
There's a shady spot with three concrete chess tables under some trees. Two of them are occupied by old-timers smoking cigars and listening to a raw harmony of smooth jazz on a transistor radio. Lauren and I sit at the empty table and play for an hour or so.
“Do you know what you're doing?” she asks.
“Of course I do. Dad and I use to play this all the time.”
“Could've fooled me.” She moves her rook.
“You just got lucky the last two…three…four games.”
“What's on your mind?” She asks, brushing her hair from her face. I say I'm just trying to concentrate.
She laces her hands in front of her and leans forward. “If you truly want something to happen between you two, something deep and meaningful–”
“Is that even possible, Lauren?” I say, taking her bishop. “Is he even capable of it?”
“We're all capable of everything, hon. Didn't you use to say something about the impossible? How'd that go?”
I sigh and quote myself. “Situations can be improbable, but never impossible.”
She smiles and says, “See! You want answers, but you supply them yourself.”
“I'm a Jamison,” I say with mock pride. “I was born to resolve, negotiate, and strategize.”
“I'm not sure what that even means, but I think you need to work on your strategizing.”
“Why's that?”
She lays my king on its side. “Checkmate.”
Good game, sweetheart. I wonder what Damon is up to…
Damon
Jennifer sends me this text. Says she wants to meet up and maybe drive around for a while. All right. No sweat.
Yet.
I pick her up after I leave the park. It's almost noon. We grab some fast food and we just, well, drive around. She's not even that hot. I rate her a six out of ten and that's being generous. She's short. Not very smart either, but I like em dumb. I know, I'm an asshole.
She gets a call from some chick who tells her about a party tonight and she asks me to go and I'm like oh
fuck.
I didn't say that out loud though. I'm not stupid. I might be getting my dick wet after all.
Yeah yeah, so we go to this party. It's lame. Nothing but a bunch of dudes I don't know. There's a few girls hanging around (much hotter than Jennifer) but this one girl, hot damn she is
fine!
Luckily Jennifer drinks too much vodka and pukes all over the couch and someone drives her home. Her friend is fuckin
pissed!
I go talk to that one chick, the fine one. Turns out her boyfriend is some frat-boy tool playing beer pong on the patio. Fuck it. I get out of there.
I get home just after midnight. Larry must be out at the bar. Maybe he'll go right to bed when he gets home. I don't wanna hear any of his shit. I close my door, flip on the lights, and swap my jeans for gym shorts. Now what to do…
I could read some, but reading's for the birds. I got a shit-ton of movies. Surely there's something in my collection that's decent. What am I saying? All my movies and books are still packed up in the closet. I browse the internet for an hour or so, looking for nothing. Maybe I'll just lay down.
I'm curled up in my big blanket, thinking in the darkness. I should've gotten that hot girl's number. I need to erase Jennifer's number. I gotta go shopping soon. I need some new clothes. That shirt I wore today, I wear it all the time. Brian's shirt. I borrowed it like four years ago for some reason. But it's my favorite shirt and he never asked for it back.
Brian. Damn dude, I didn't realize how much I've missed you. You're so awkward sometimes and it's fucking hilarious.
My phone beeps. I'm too lazy to reach for it.
Brian's one of the best friends I ever had. But something went wrong a while back, didn't it? I can't remember.
I do remember what he told me that day at his house when we were still in high school. And what he said before he moved to college. But I try to forget.
I'm an asshole, remember.
Something crashes in the kitchen. It jolts me awake so it must have been pretty fuckin loud. I could sleep through a hurricane. It's early. The sun's still hiding beneath the horizon. I shuffle through the ambient glow and into the kitchen. Larry's on his knees mopping up coffee and broken glass. I can tell he's pissed.
“Coffee pot slipped out of my hand,” he says. “Gimme some towels.”
Fuckin A. I give him more paper towels and step around him carefully, then I feel something bite the arch of my foot. I lift up my leg and see a red smudge on the linoleum. A tiny piece of glass the size of my thumbnail juts out of the bottom of my foot. I hop over and pull up a chair, trying to dig it out with my fingers. It hurts like hell and it's just sinking deeper and deeper.
“You saw me cleaning up the glass,” Larry says. “I don't know why the hell you'd be walking over here barefoot. I got some pliers in my toolbox there on the table.”
I don't argue. I always lose. I find the pliers, hook the bastard, and yank it out.
Larry gets to his feet and zips up his lunch bag. “Guess I'll just pick up a cup of joe on my way in. I'm already late. So, where were you last night?”
“Out,” I say, cleaning the cut with alcohol.
“With who? That Hatcher girl?”
Larry likes Lauren enough, so I might as well go with it. "Yeah and–"
“And?” the piece of shit asks.
“Brian Jamison.” I want to take it back right away, because Larry's heard rumors about Brian and if he knew I was even talking to him–
“Who's that?” He doesn’t make the connection. Good. I just say we went to high school together. That's vague enough.
“Ben and Sheila's kid?” Shit. I can hear it in his voice.
I nod a little and try to walk out of the kitchen, but the pain in my foot slows me down.
“I went to school with his dad,” Larry says. “We use to call him Big Ben. Good guy. Hear his son's queer. That true?” He looks at me. I shake my head like its the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
He's pleased enough.
“Well, I'd love to stay here and chat but I gotta get to work,” he says, grabbing his toolbox and bagged lunch. Almost in the clear…
I turn towards my room but I feel his heavy hand fall on my shoulder. “Oh yeah, gimme your keys.”
I spin around. “Why?”
“You're not going out today. I need you to do some cleaning around here. Some of the boys from work are coming by later for a game of poker. Straighten up the living room, sweep, dust, and vacuum. Think you can handle that?”
“Sure,” I answer quietly. “Can I have my keys back when you get home?”
“Yeah, then you can go do…whatever it is you do. And please do your laundry. Christ, I can smell it from in here.”
I say okay and hand him my keys.
Wish you were here, Mom...
“Order a pizza if you want, but leave me some.” He's almost out the door.
Come on, Crazy Larry, get outta here.
“And stay away from that Jamison boy. Got a bad feelin about him.”
My shoulders lighten as the sound of his pickup rumbles away into silence. I don't feel like cleaning a goddamn thing, thank you very much. A quick adjustment of the couch cushions, a wipe of the hand here and there, and voila. That drunk bastard won't know the difference.
I hope.
The hot spray of the shower feels good on my back. I dress and fix my hair. I really don't want to shave (it's such a hassle), but I do anyway. There's one Band-Aid left in the medicine cabinet. I bandage my foot and pull a sock over it. Fuck it, I lose the sock and find my flip-flops. I grab my huge brick of a wallet from the dresser and stick it in my back pocket. Now where's my phone…
Under the bed. Got it.
Call Brian. Dialing.
Ring ring, buddy. Please be home.
Lauren
Brian was my boyfriend once upon a time. We were in kindergarten. I remember kissing him on the cheek when our parents took us to see a movie together. Even as a five-year-old, he was socially awkward. Very shy. On the playground he just wandered around, quietly dreaming to himself. But I liked him because he was very sweet then, and I think he's even sweeter now.
I beat him at chess. It was fun. I probably should have let him win, though. Maybe not. He would have known. We end up back at his apartment and reminisce about old times. Good times. We laugh and hoot and cry. I've missed this guy so, so much. This lovely man.
I slip off to the bathroom and notice Brian has a framed photo of the three of us on a table in the hall arranged between pictures of his parents and sisters. I stand there for a while just looking at it. We were once a happy little trio doing everything together, always at each other’s houses or out in River City looking for kicks. It hits me that our meeting earlier in the park was the first time we'd all been together in years, and Damon skipped out on us. For some girl I'm sure. He's not seeing anybody right now. Not seriously anyway. I would know about it.
Does Brian really have a chance? I want him to have one. Damon is hard to figure out for someone who professes to have a sole interest in women. Call it suspicion, call it wishful thinking, call it whatever you want. Damon is one who only lets you in so far. On the surface he's shallow and doesn't show gratitude or apologize very often. I said something to him about it one time, and do you know what he said? He said all of that is understood between friends. I said no sir, expressing gratitude and admitting your faults are secondary only to expressing affection for those you love. As far as love goes, he's not one to show affection most of the time. His relationships aren't even that complicated.
He
is.
Why would I want that for Brian, you ask? Because I truly believe Brian can
deepen
Damon. He has this almost magical ability to bring out the truth in people, the unbridled raw essence of their soul. I know because he did it to me. He taught me to love myself and to be myself at all times. It's funny because Brian still has trouble with it. He's gotten to a point where he's afraid to be himself. I hope that Damon's acceptance will break down those barriers.
I must help them help each other. Something inside of me whispers it is the right thing to do.
We stay up late and watch Letterman. I'm exhausted and don't feel like driving back to River City tonight. Brian strokes my hair which nearly puts me out. He stops. His breathing slows and deepens. I forgot he snores. Ugh.
I close my eyes and drift off comfortably in Brian's lap as the night crickets sing their lullaby.
Brian
The alarm on my phone goes off at seven o'clock. I wake Lauren and go to my room to get ready for work. She hugs me goodbye and we promise to call each other more often. After she leaves, I shower and realize I need food. I'll stop off at the grocery store on my way home. There's one banana left on a rack near the kitchen sink. I take it and head out the door.