Band Fags! (29 page)

Even though I wasn't mad at Brad for keeping what he did with Bobby a secret, I felt kind of stupid for not suspecting it was going on at the time. Which is why I told him, “I had no idea you were
like that
or doing those kinda things back in 9
^th
grade.”

To which he groaned, “Please! All that talk about ‘If you were a girl, would you think that guy's cute?' and propositioning Mr. Grant so you could get an A in Civics? It was pretty obvious I wasn't
totally
joking, don't you think?”

Not obvious enough. The entire time we were doing all those things, I just thought maybe Brad was trying to figure out if
I
was a Big Fag. I honestly never once thought he was trying to let me know that
he
was.

“I really didn't think you were being serious,” I told him. “I thought you were just fucking around with me.”

To which he laughed. “No…I was fucking around with Bobby Russell.” Then he playfully hit me on the leg. “God, I was sooo serious! I was ready to stand by and guard the classroom door while you had your way with Mr. Grant.”

Sitting beside Brad in the dark, I gave it some more thought. Why didn't Bobby Russell ever invite
me
over to his house? Why wasn't
I
the one he wanted to fool around with? And why didn't Brad ever invite me along to get in on the action?

After I confessed that I secretly thought Bobby was hot despite always saying how much I hated him, Brad replied, “I thought you weren't
like that
.”

“I don't know anymore,” I groaned. “Maybe I am…Maybe everybody was right about me all along.”

“They were right about me,” said Brad. “And you're my Best Friend, so…”

All my life, I thought I was The Only One. What were the odds that one day I'd have a Best Friend who felt the exact same way? And yet, we had so much in common already. Why not this, too?

“How could we have both been so dumb?” I looked down at the floor, smiling to myself. “We were
both
such Big Fags!”

“How did everybody else know and we didn't?” Brad wondered. “I mean, I never even heard the word ‘fag' before we got to junior high.”

“Me neither!” I wailed.

Back at Longfellow, I was always the Most Popular Boy. Even though most of my friends were girls, nobody cared. It wasn't till I got to Webb that people started calling me names and I had no idea why. What was I doing all of a sudden that was any different than before?

“It's like, you turn 12 and boys aren't supposed to do certain things anymore,” said Brad. “Who makes the stupid rules, anyways?”

I leaned my back against the wall. “I don't know. All I know is…Sometimes I do feel like I really am, you know…And then other times I don't.” How else could I explain it? “Like, I really am in love with Hope from
Days of our Lives.
And I do wanna get married and have kids and live happily ever after and all that. Like in the movies and on TV. But then I see some totally hot Chippendales dancer on
Donahue,
or a picture of the Foxy Frenchmen in the
Free Press
and I get totally turned on.”

Like the way I was right then and there, thinking about me being the one fooling around with Bobby Russell, instead of Brad. Being the one forced into doing things with Bobby—
to Bobby
—against my will. Telling him I didn't want to…Even though I really did.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Brad sympathized. “I've just learned to accept it, I guess…And so can you, if you really want to.”

In all the years I'd known him, I never once thought of Brad in a sexual way. How could I? We'd been Best Friend since 7
^th
grade. But I'll be honest…All this talk about Bobby Russell and giving blowjobs was totally making me horny. Wasn't I always complaining how I never took action in my life? How I'd always let the Moments of Opportunity slip by? Like with Joey Palladino.

Which is why I said, “So…What's it like to do that with a guy?”

Brad replied, “Do what?”

I said,
“You know…”
Then I gave his leg a gentle push.

“You mean, what's it like to give a guy a blowjob?” he whispered, not bothering to say anything about the fact that my hand was now lightly caressing his thigh.

At that moment I realized…I'd never touched another boy's leg before. It felt warm and meaty…and hairy! “Sometimes I'll have a dream I'm doing it,” I admitted. “But I can never really tell what it
feels
like.” Which has always been a thing with me. Even in my sleep, I'm sexually repressed.

“It feels good,” Brad told me. “You really just have to do it to know what it's like.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “Oh, my God…I'm sooo drunk.”

So was I…But not enough to stop myself from doing what I did next.

I stood up, took off my shirt, slipped out of my sweats. Tossing them aside, I positioned myself at the end of Brad's bed, where he lay stretched out. I looked down at him. All the while, he kept his eyes closed, saying nothing.

I'll admit I didn't know what exactly to do next. So I leaned over and kissed Brad's stomach. His skin tasted spicy. Like Lagerfeld. He flinched slightly, let out a soft moan. I could tell he liked what I was doing and didn't want me to stop. So I continued, working my way up the trail of reddish-brown leading to his chest. His body felt strange—yet exciting. With its pads of muscle, I couldn't help but notice how firm it was in places I'd only ever experienced softness.

“Careful,” Brad whispered when my tongue traced his nipple. “Watch your teeth.” Then he opened his eyes, looking into mine. For the first time, I noticed how blue they were. Like the sky over the football field on a cloudless day.

“You still gotta pee?” I asked.

Brad shook his head. “I can wait.”

And with that, I got down on my knees…

Despite the dimness of the room, I could clearly see the effect my actions were having on him. By which I mean Down There. Beneath white cotton, Brad's body sprang to life.

I reached out and touched It—through the fabric. But it was a start. Sliding a finger beneath the elastic waistband, I gently pulled forward, setting him free…

So this was sex?

We slept together.

Okay, not slept together-slept together. But we did start fooling around on a regular basis over the course of the next couple months. Basically what would happen is…Saturday evenings I'd spend at Farmer Jack's. At 11:00 PM when I got off, I'd stop by Big Boy's, where I'd sit in Brad's section sipping my usual large Sprite with lemon. Around Midnight, he'd finish his shift. Then he'd sit down with me, smoking a cigarette, counting his tips.

We'd chat about our respective nights at work…

“Mine sucked.”

“Mine, too.”

What was up with which of our friends…

“Lou finally found a girlfriend…'member Jane? She lives in Royal Oak.”

“With the skinheads?”

Which assignment was due on Monday for what class…

“I've got a paper due for English Lit.”

“You mean, English Shit.”

After bidding farewell to the other waitresses, Brad would tell me, “All set.” Then we'd walk out to the parking lot together.

“You want a ride?” I'd ask.

“I can walk,” he'd reply.

To which I'd remind him, “It's late.” Then we'd get in my car and I'd drive him home.

The entire way, we'd barely say a word. Instead, we'd listen to the radio, staring straight ahead, the hum of the Omni engine filling the void between us. We'd tell ourselves,
Nothing out of the ordinary is going on.
Even though we both knew well and good the scan-jul lying ahead.

Pulling up to a darkened
Dayton's Depot,
I'd ask, “You want me to come in for a while?”

“If you want to,” he'd answer.

To which I'd reply, “I want to if
you
want me to.”

The whole thing was ever so innocent. Best Friends hanging out together. The way we had on how many different Saturday nights over the past 4-going-on-5 years?

Tonight, it's pretty much Business as Usual…

“Be quiet,” Brad warns as we climb the wooden steps to the deck of his back porch. I watch as he takes out his keys and unlocks the door. Ever the Gentleman, he motions for me to step inside first. Then he follows.

“Where's everybody?” I whisper.

“It's almost 1:00 AM…Probably in bed.”

Entering Brad's house like this, I always feel the exact same way. Secretive. Aloof. Like we're up to no good. Which I suppose we are. But the feeling of finally being a full-fledged Sexually Active Adult, coupled with the fear of possibly getting caught…Talk about a Total Rush!

“Be right back,” he tells me. “I'm gonna go freshen up.”

“I'll wait in your room,” I reply. Which is what I always do. Closing the door behind me, I sit down on Brad's bed in the dark, anticipating the Point of No Return.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks, eventually creeping into the room smelling of Lagerfeld.

I notice he's taken off the black work pants and coffee-stained white dress shirt he's been wearing all night. “No, thanks…I'm fine.”

He steps in front of me. “You sure?”

I cast my gaze downward to the pair of gray Gym shorts Brad wears—with nothing else. “Positive.” Then I place a hand on his meaty thigh.

Here we go again!

Once we finish—or should I say, Brad finishes?—he slips his underwear back on, along with an undershirt. Then he yawns and stretches. “Man, I'm tired…”

I take that as a Sign. Even though technically I'm not “done,” I still enjoyed myself. “Yeah, it's late…Guess I better go.” Then I'm on my Merry Way.

Brad walks me to the door. “Call me tomorrow,” he whispers, releasing me into the Night.

“I will,” I say from the other side of the threshold. Though for some reason, I can't bring myself to look at him.

The entire way home, thinking about what recently transpired, I'm totally racked with Guilt. Hence the washing of the mouth out with soap, the hot shower, and the Praying for Forgiveness once I finally arrive.

Sunday I work from 11:00 AM to 7:30 PM. Once or twice I pick up the pay phone in the vestibule when I'm on Break. But for some reason, the dimes never find their way into the coin slot.

“Call Brad,” my Mom tells me the minute I walk through the door at a quarter to eight.

“I don't feel like talking to anybody right now,” I reply. “I'm exhausted.”

Come Monday morning, I find myself sneaking into the Band Room. I grab my trumpet case, and take my seat in the second row of risers just as Brad enters with Luanne—who gives me a look, saying nothing. Once again, she's cut her hair even shorter. At this point, she looks borderline Military Academy.

“What's up, Jack?” Brad asks, all smiles.

I quickly run through the B-flat Concert scale. C-D-E-F-GA-B-C. “Nothing,” I answer. Because there isn't. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing out of the ordinary going on between us. It's not like we're
dating
or anything…Are we?

For an actual split second, I stop to ask myself if I'm in love with Bradley Dayton. Can you believe it? I mean, it's not like he's unattractive. I've already said what a nice body he has. He's also funny and nice and he's got an awesome personality—ask anybody who knows him. And let's face it…My choices of finding a boyfriend in the world that is Hillbilly High are pretty Slim Pickin's. It's not like there's an abundance of guys running up and down the halls screaming, “I'm gay!”

But if there's one thing my parents taught me…You don't have S-E-X with somebody you don't L-O-V-E. And I
do
love Brad. But in what way? At first I thought,
Wouldn't it be easy?
I mean, here's Brad. And here's me. If we're both
like that,
wouldn't it make sense for us to be a couple? But I'm finding out it doesn't exactly work that way. For some reason, I can't get past the fact that Brad's my Best Friend. He's like a brother to me. Despite any of the fooling around we've done together, when I look at him, I never quite feel the way I did when looking at Joey Palladino.

Which is why I have to keep in mind what Brad told me the first night…
There's nothing wrong with experimenting when you're young.
Which is exactly what we're doing. I know it doesn't mean
anything
. I've got nothing to worry about…As long as nobody else finds out.

Unfortunately, something happens that just might blow our cover…

After our most recent rendezvous, I wake up the next morning with a slight tingling sensation in the middle of my upper lip. At first I have no idea what to make of it. Till later in the day, when a nice little blister starts making an appearance.

“Looks like you've got a little cold sore,” my Mom concludes when I finally get up the nerve to show it to her.

“A cold sore?!” I practically scream. How the Hell could I possibly have a cold sore? Then I flash back to the previous night's events…
Bra-a-d!

Even though I remembered him coming to school on Thursday with a spot on his lip, in the heat of the moment—and the dark of Brad's bedroom—I guess I got a little carried away.

“I tried to warn you,” he teases me when I immediately get him on the phone.

“What are we gonna do?” I ask desperately, standing in front of the floor-length mirror in my bedroom. The tiny little blisters forming their pustules on my mouth make me want to die! “What's everybody gonna think?”

“About…?”

“I can't just walk into Wind Ensemble tomorrow morning with a cold sore after
you
just had one!” I turn away from my reflection. I feel like that girl in
The Scarlet Letter.
Everybody's going to know what a Total Slut Mr. Goody-Goody Jack Paterno really is, after all.

“If anybody says anything,” says Brad, coming up with his Master Plan, “we'll just tell them we shared a bottle of pop and that's how you caught it.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right! Like anybody's gonna believe that.”

“Would you relax?” he advises. “I get these herpes all the time.”

“Herpes?!” I exclaim, totally freaking out.

“Herpes Simplex 2,” he informs me. “That's what it is, you know?”

“Great!” I throw up my arms and sigh. “So now I've got VD, all thanks to you.”

To which Brad replies, “It's not my fault you're a Dirty Whore.”

“Thanks a lot,” I tell him.

“You're welcome,” he answers. Then he laughs.

But it's not funny…This is serious…I need a remedy and I need it now!

“What do you do to get rid of them?” I demand to know.

“There's not much you
can
do, Jack…You just gotta wait a few days for it to go away by itself.”

“A few days?!”

This is not the answer I want to hear…#1—This thing is in the exact same spot where I place the mouthpiece when I play my trumpet. #2—This week is the last week of April. Which means, #3—MSBOA State Band Festival is coming up
this
Saturday. Now what the Hell am I going to do?

In case you need reminding, MSBOA stands for the Michigan School Band and Orchestra Association. The entire Great Lakes State is divided up into Districts, ours being District 16, consisting of schools from Oakland, Macomb, and St. Clair counties. Each year, bands from all the member schools compete by preparing three musical selections—a march, a song from a list provided by MSBOA, and a choice made by the Band Director. A panel of three judges gives each band an overall rating based on their performance, with V being the lowest and I the highest. In addition, the bands must compete in Sight Reading. Which basically means you're sequestered in a room and given a piece of music you've never seen before. Then after an allotted amount of time—two minutes, I think—you're judged/scored on how well you play it.

Wind Ensemble already competed in the District 16 Band Festival back in March, at our very own Hillbilly High—of all places. Talk about a Band Fag's Wet Dream come true! Mr. Klan was in Seventh Heaven serving as Host School Director. He also managed to con a lot of us into serving as Band Reps for the day. Which consisted of making sure the Band Fags from the other schools knew where they had to be and when. Where the Coat Room and Sight Reading Rooms were…Stuff like that.

This year we played “Emblem of Unity March,” “Incantation and Dance,” and “Festivo,” which is this totally awesome piece by a guy named Vaclav Nelhybel. We actually played it back in 8
^th
grade with Jessica Clark Putnam and somehow all of us former Webb Warriors convinced Mr. Klan to allow us to play it again on account of we're much better musicians than we were way back when.

Of course, we totally kicked ass! Straight I's from the judges and a II in Sight Reading, giving us an overall I rating. Because of this fact, Wind Ensemble has been invited to participate in the Michigan State Band Festival held in Novi.

Which brings me back to the scan-jul of my cold sore…

You should see the look on Mr. Klan's face when I walk into the Band Room on Monday morning and inform him of my predicament.

“B-b-but,” he stammers, biting his mustached upper lip. “Festival is
this
weekend.”

“I know…” And how am I going to participate when I've been infested by herpes?

“You're my Star Trumpeter, Jack…You've gotta play.”

Don't get me wrong, Mr. Klan is a totally nice guy. But the last thing I need is for him to start freaking out on me. The fact that I'm letting everybody down all because I can't control my own sexual urges only makes me feel worse.

“There's nothing I can do,” I say, defeated.

To which he gives me a look. “Didn't Bradley Dayton have a cold sore just last week?” he remembers. “Why don't you ask him what he did for his?”

Hoping he isn't hinting around at anything, I tell Mr. Klan that I've already talked to Brad about the issue at hand. “I'm sorry.”

“Isn't there
something
you can take?” he asks, hopeful. “Some kind of medicine you can put on it?”

“Not that I know of…” Like I've said, I've never had herpes before. This is an entirely new experience for me.

Thank God for Ava Reese's Mom! Being that she's the President of the HPHS Band Boosters, she's got a lot at stake in seeing us do well at State Festival. After being made aware of my predicament, Mrs. Reese suggests I put a little Desitin on it each night before I go to bed. Which, if you're not familiar, is Baby Butt-Rash ointment.

“My Mom swears it'll work,” Ava assures me, first thing the following morning. “She even gave me an extra tube she had lying around from when she babysits my brother's kids.”