If You Really Love Me (6 page)

I can feel the scowl that comes over my face, and I don’t respond.

“
Don’t go getting all pouty, man,” Cary says, his thick face showing both frustration and concern. “Why are you so afraid to ask for what you want? Huh, El? You’ll never have anything, never get anywhere, being afraid. Even I know that.”

He’s turned from the stove and is staring at me. I avoid looking at him because he always thinks he’s right, and most times he
is
right, and that makes me mad. But the staring makes me mad too, so I turn and stare back at him. After a moment, he blinks, and I see it again, that little flash of sadness in his eyes.

There’s the smell of scorched bread. “Shit!” Cary turns back to the stove, turns off the burner, and scoops the sandwich out of the slightly smoking pan with a spatula. He dumps it on a plate. I watch as he grabs two sodas from the fridge and grabs his plate and comes to the table. I feel bad for getting angry with him. Things are so tough for the guy now. I worry about him.

He sits down across from me and hands over one of the sodas. “Want half a burned sandwich?” he offers as he twists the cap off his bottle.

“No, thanks. I just ate.” I open my soda and take a swig. “Cary, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not to me. Mom’s at work, and I’ve been hanging around this place all day, eating myself sick.” He pauses. He even stops chewing the bite of sandwich he has in his mouth. “Talked to my grandpa for a long time this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” Another pause. It seems as if he’s working his way up to tell me something, but then he grabs his sandwich and takes another bite. “It’s gonna be okay, El,” he says finally.

“What’s gonna be okay?”

“Everything. For both of us.”

M
OM
AND
I are not church folk, so Sundays are do-nothing days for us except for when Mom has to work. This Sunday I’m so excited that I wake up at five in the morning and can’t go back to sleep. My first thought, inspired by yesterday’s YMCA workout, is to jump out of bed and do a bunch of sit-ups and push-ups. But I don’t jump or do push-ups or sit-ups. It takes me a good five minutes just to get out of bed. Every muscle in my body is stiff and sore.

I move around the apartment like the rusty Tin Man. It irritates Mom a little. “Go soak in some hot water, for Christ’s sake,” she snaps at me, which is about as close as she will ever come to any kind of Sunday prayer. “The heat will loosen up your muscles.”

Soaking in a tub of hot water feels good. After lying there for a while with my eyes closed, I think about Saul and the way his big muscles looked when he was working out, and I get hard. It’s not a good idea to jack off fantasizing about somebody you’ve got a crush on, because that just makes the crush stronger. (I know this from past experience.) And I don’t want to have stronger feelings for Saul until I at least know for sure that he’s gay. So I just lie there and wait for the hard-on to go away. But thoughts of Saul keep going through my head even when I try to think of other things, and the hard-on stays, plus my balls start to ache. Finally I give in and turn to my tried and true method for dealing with situations like this: a soapy fist.

In my fantasy, Saul is here in the tub with me, lying on top of me, kissing me. My fantasies always involve lots of kissing because I’m seventeen, and I still don’t know what it’s like to actually be kissed. The hot water feels good. So does the slippery stroking of my hand, and the imaginary press of Saul’s mouth to mine. Everything feels better and better, and Saul becomes my entire universe, and I’m getting close to that wonderful moment.

And there’s a bang on the door. “What the hell are you doing in there, Ellis?” Mom shouts. “Get your ass out. Breeze is coming by to pick me up in half an hour and I need to get in there.”

Well, at least I don’t have to worry about getting rid of my hard-on anymore.

B
REEZE
, I
come to learn, is the guy Mom met at Tootsie’s last night. He called while I was in the tub, and the two of them decided to hang out for the day.

“Look at us,” Mom says happily, checking her makeup in the mirror next to the door in the living room. “We’ve both got dates today. How sweet is that?” Her thick hair is loose, tumbling down from under the knit cap she has tucked on her head. She has on her brown corduroy jacket, tight blue jeans that show off her curves, and knee-high brown leather boots. She’s really gone all out for this guy.

“I hope you have a good time.” I’m still in the process of getting ready for my date. I’ve got on jeans and a T-shirt, but nothing else so far.

“I hope you and your guy have fun too. Here.” She opens her shoulder bag, pulls out a twenty, and hands it to me.

I hate to take the money from her, especially since she got stiffed Friday by those two ladies at her job, but I don’t protest. I grab the money and slip it into my pocket. “Thanks, Mom.”

She looks at me, and her eyes suddenly light up. She grins and reaches out to tousle my hair like I’m five years old again. “My pretty little gay boy.”

I blush, embarrassed. “Aw, stop it, Mom. Please.”

From outside comes a series of sharp beeps. Mom’s eyes light up to a whole new level. “That’s Breeze,” she says quickly. She pulls on her gloves. “El, make sure you lock up the apartment when you leave. And don’t lock yourself out, okay, because I’m not sure when I’ll be back. See you later.” And then she is out the door and gone.

I’m in a hurry now myself. Saul will be here in about twenty minutes, and I really want to look good for him. My clothes look secondhand because that’s mostly what they are. Mom gets a lot of our stuff from the Salvation Army and Goodwill stores. I pull on the red plaid flannel shirt that is my favorite because it makes my upper body look bigger than it actually is. No belt, because I want my jeans to sag a little in a way that hopefully makes me look cool and tough. I put on thick socks and my sneakers, wishing I had some cologne to cover up the girly scent of the soap I used in my bath (the only kind of soap Mom buys). Ten minutes later, I’m standing outside in front of the building, bundled in my jacket and waiting.

Saul pulls up at noon exactly.

He doesn’t smile, but he nods at me through the window. I climb in, grinning helplessly. “Hi, Saul.”

“Hi, El. It’s good to see you.” He gives me a quick look as he drives off.

I stare at him, fascinated by his presence. He has that fresh, clean smell again, dressed in a loose, thick white cable-knit sweater and black cargo pants. His face and neck are flushed. There is a gray duffel bag in the backseat. “Did you work out or something today?” I ask.

The crimson in his face and neck deepens. “Yeah. I got up early this morning and did some weightlifting at the Y. You have to balance out muscle building with aerobic work for your heart, so I went back to the Y a little while ago and did the treadmill.”

“Wow. You must be pretty tough. I wanted to work out this morning, but my muscles ached so much I could barely walk.”

“That’s a sign that you had a good workout. A good workout tears down your muscles. That’s why they ached. But it’s also how you build up your body because when a muscle gets torn down, it grows bigger so it can handle the weight better next time you work out.”

“Oh.”

“I thought about you last night,” he says, giving me another glance. “I wanted to give you a call, and then realized I didn’t get your number yesterday. Let’s make sure we exchange numbers today, okay?”

Here’s a slightly awkward moment. I have no idea what to really say here, so of course I say too much. “I don’t have a phone. My mom has a cell phone, but she’s a waitress and a single mom and she can’t afford a phone for me too. I’d get my own phone, but I haven’t had any luck landing a part-time job. And I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to call my mom looking for me….” He’s giving me this strained look now, and I figure it’s time to shut my mouth. “So anyway, that’s why I can’t exchange numbers.”

“You can still take mine,” Saul replies. “I’ll give it to you after I bring you home. Maybe you’ll call me sometime.”

“Sure.”

“Well. What’re you doing after graduation?”

I shrug. “I want to go to college. Just not sure where yet, or what I’m gonna study.”

“I’m going to Dartmouth.” There’s something bitter in Saul’s voice when he says this, although it doesn’t show in his face. “I didn’t really have the grades to get in, but my dad’s a big-shot alumnus, and he got me in on some legacy deal. I’ll be majoring in electrical engineering so I can go into the family business.”

Jeez. What a total loser I am. There are lots of seniors at school who are just like Saul, who already know what college they’re going to and what their careers are going to be. Mom was nineteen when she had me, only two years older than I am now. Her boyfriend at the time—my father—disappeared once he found out she was pregnant, and her parents kicked her out of the house. But she did what adults are supposed to do. She got a job and took care of her kid.

When the hell am
I
going to grow up?

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

I look over at Saul, puzzled. “Huh?”

“Just now, you got a weird, angry look on your face. Was it something I said?”

“No. Not at all. It was nothing.” And then, because we’re supposed to be having a good time, I totally change the subject by telling a dirty joke I overheard before I fell asleep in the Y’s waiting room. The joke is about a horny cop and a donut. Saul laughs, which lightens the mood in the car. I laugh too, wondering at the same time how to steer the conversation around to asking Saul what he thinks about two guys dating each other.

T
HAT
QUESTION
is still on my mind an hour later as we sit side by side in the dark watching the latest James Bond flick. The theater is packed. We’re sitting in the middle of the first row because Saul likes his action up close and in his face. He seems captivated by what’s unfolding on the screen. I’m captivated by the fact that his knee is so close to mine.

I want to touch his knee. I want to hold his hand. If I give in to my urges and slip my hand over his knee or take his hand, what will he do? Hit me? Jump up, run out of the theater in disgust, and leave me stranded? Slip
his
hand over
my
knee? The possibilities are endless, exciting, and frightening.

I keep sneaking glances at his knee. On screen, James Bond is in the fight of his life, running through the dark, tight corridors of some top secret, high-tech Chinese research facility while trading shots with laser-armed drones. That’s nowhere near as interesting as the mystique of Saul. His knee is bouncing to some kind of rhythm.
Bounce one-two-three times. Rest. Bounce one-two-three times. Rest
. I can’t figure out what he’s bouncing to. It’s not the music from the movie, which is loud and dramatic and nothing anybody would even think about bopping to.

I’m so fascinated by Saul’s knee that I don’t even notice his right hand until he suddenly moves it from the armrest between us and places it palm up on my thigh. I freeze in complete shock. Excitement shoots through me like a bolt of lightning, and I hold my breath. His knee is still jumping to the same rhythm, but faster now.

I don’t stay frozen very long. I want to be sure I’m not dreaming this, so I reach out and put my hand in Saul’s. His fingers intertwine with mine as naturally as the sun coming up in the morning, pulling my hand in tightly and locking on to it. His thumb gently caresses the side of my hand, and his knee finally stops bouncing.

I start breathing once more, but I’m so happy now, so excited, and in two seconds, I’m breathless all over again.

W
E
DON
’
T
talk anymore until we’re back sitting in Saul’s car.

“Man, you kind of scared me for a second after I put my hand on your leg,” Saul says, cranking up the engine. “I thought there was a vibe between us yesterday, but after the way you froze up, I started wondering if I’d just made a big fucking mistake and you were gonna take a swing at me.”

“Not a chance,” I reply, still a little stunned at everything. “I was just surprised.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asks with a little teasing smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Good way. Definitely.”

He grins, reaches over, and takes my hand as he drives.

We don’t talk after that. There’s no need to, at least for me. He has already told me through his actions everything I want to know for now.

W
HEN
WE
get back to the apartment complex, he doesn’t stop in the fire lane of my building as he did before. He parks in an actual parking space and shuts off the engine. We sit there, listening to the wind blowing softly against the car’s windows.

“You want to come up to my place?” I say.

“Hell, I thought you’d never ask.”

M
OM
AND
I keep the apartment neat, but the furniture is sort of old, the curtains are faded, and there’s only one television, a thirty-two-inch monstrosity from the days when TVs were as bulky as shipping crates. My home has no game system, no DVR, no iPad, no computer. It’s the home of a mother and son living on a waitress’s salary.

I’m not exactly ashamed when I bring Saul into the apartment. Mom has done a good job holding things together financially for us over the years. Our lights have never been cut off for nonpayment. There have been days where we were down to eating boiled spaghetti with no sauce for dinner, but we’ve never taken food stamps or any other kind of public assistance. But I do worry that Saul will think I’m too poor for him to bother with.

On the way upstairs, I hoped Mom wouldn’t be home, and I’m relieved to see that she’s still out with her new boyfriend. “Have a seat,” I offer, gesturing toward the sofa. I’m feeling nervous now that Saul and I are actually here, and I’m not sure what to do next, so I say, “I’ll get us something to snack on.” Then I start for the kitchen, where there are no snacks, but hopefully I can pull myself together and avoid any embarrassment in front of this hunk of guy.