Authors: Matthew Formby
After a tour of the neighbourhood, they caught the train back downtown and Mason showed Luke around some Boston landmarks. They went to a famous old jazz club and some hip and trendy bars where young professionals and students drank. As the sky darkened and drunkenness progressed, the evening took a seedier turn. Mason walked Luke to a stripper club but one with a difference. It had male strippers. "Why have you brought me here?" Luke asked incredulously.
"It'll be fun, trust me," replied Mason.
He pulled out his wallet and took out a ten dollar bill. "Here, go and put this in that stripper's pants." Luke reddened and laughed a little.
"I can't do that," he protested.
"No, go on, it'll be fine," insisted Mason. So Luke approached the man and, with an onlooking crowd of many men and several women, gingerly placed the dollar bill into the stripper's pants. Some people smiled and when Luke returned to his new friend, Mason reached for his hand and held it. Taken aback, Luke shot Mason a look. Is he gay? he thought. Suddenly the evening snapped into focus. This was why Mason had been so friendly. Perhaps he had misunderstood Luke's friendliness in the shop.
"I've never held a guy's hand before," smiled Mason. "You're the first one. Nobody's every approached me like you did today."
"I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding here," said Luke. "I'm sorry but I'm not gay."
"Have you ever been with a man?"
"No."
"Then how can you know? Give it a try."
Luke attempted to resist Mason's advances but Mason was a large man and quite determined. Mason asked Luke if he come back to his hotel room - and no was not an answer his ears could hear. By the end of the evening the two were back in Luke's room and although Luke protested he just wanted to sleep, Mason unclothed himself and then stripped Luke. Mason then proceeded to perform a sexual act on Luke that was unwanted and Luke closed his eyes. Thoughts invaded his mind. I was such an easy target. Why did I not ask for help from the person at the check in counter? It is too late now. I could scream for help but I don't want people to know. This is shameful. Why is this happening? I can't believe this is happening.
Luke had drank so much he blacked out a few seconds later.
The next day Mason would not let Luke out of his sight. He was determined to arrange for him to fly back and for the two to become married. Accompanying Luke to the airport, Mason barely let go of his hand, not until Luke had got through to his terminal.
A fancy had struck Mason strongly - and since he had always been afraid of admitting he was gay it was all the more powerful. He wanted so badly to believe that Luke felt the same that he denied his logical faculties a free reign. Luke did not feel any affection for Mason at all but he did pity him. Though Luke felt tarnished by his rape he decided in his heart to forgive.
XII
The next year, Luke flew back to Boston. Once again he was at his wit's end with life. Upon arrival at the airport, he entered a newsagent's and an American tourist approached.
"Hey, do you know which newspaper is good to read here?"
"I'm not from here actually," Luke smiled.
"Ah okay," replied the man evenly.
"But I think this one," Luke said pointing to a broadsheet, "is the more serious one, whereas this one," indicating a tabloid, "is more opinionated and less serious."
"Thanks!" replied the American, mulling it a second, then grabbing the tabloid.
In the airport, this time Luke struggled to find his way out. He loped the length and breadth of the terminal like a headless chicken while an officer of law looked on. The officer, coolly holding his hands behind his back, had a park ranger's hat on that was emblazoned with the Boston police insignia. As Luke came nearer, he was about to speak when the officer turned his stare on him and said, "Are you alright?"
"No. I'm lost."
"Ah," replied the officer with a laboured look. "I'm Ethan. Where do you need to get to?"
"Boston city centre."
"That's easy. Head to the escalator there and wait for one of the buses on the basement platform. They'll take you right to the subway station that goes to Boston." He gave Luke a firm and friendly nod. "Have a nice time."
This time around Luke stayed in a cheap backpacker's hotel not far from the Beacon Hill district. Instead of approaching anyone to talk to, he had a walk around the square grid streets downtown. An open top Ferrari cruised by, driven by a young man with a tucked in shirt. Sitting in the passenger seat was a tall, long-haired beauty in sunglasses and wearing low cleavage. Removals vans and large, horizon-expanding motor vehicles drifted in an ebb and flow. The finest clothing Luke had ever seen was displayed in windows alongside dynamic lawyers' offices, advertising agencies and book stores. Luke wandered back to his hotel, crossing Chestnut Street and admiring its pristine row houses.
People walking by looked him in the eye in a not unfriendly way. It was all so different. For years he had been depressed - but now, now he felt he was hovering above the ground. He could almost speak to someone. He began to sing. He sang without a care. A young couple passed. He was not sure what to do. He had again came in search of the paradise portrayed in Lawson's Creek. He would like to meet people like the people in the show - but how? He did not have the faintest idea how to go about it.
He passed restaurants and takeaways that sold mind boggling varieties of omelettes; pasta entrées and cuts of meat he had never heard of. People sat out on continental terraces wining and dining, strangers chatting, friends relaxing in the sun. His appetite began to grow but the prices were quite high in many establishments and though he could afford it, he wanted to have enough money left for a large purchase just in case. So it was that when he happened upon a corner convenience store he ventured inside.
It was wall to wall candy, chocolate, biscuits, baked goods, ice cream and milkshake vending machines, fizzy drinks, super-sized polished fruits and exotic mineral waters. The man behind the counter casually glanced at Luke, then continued reading a magazine. As exciting as the sheer variety on offer was the innovation and feeling of entrepreneurship Who were the people who made all these eatables? How did all these fancifully packaged products come to be? There were only a tenth or even less the amount back in Britain. Luke bought a pack of sweets and left. "Can you spare a brother a dollar?" asked a man in black outside and Luke fished for the money to give to the man.
He almost asked him to join him for the evening but he did not know who he was. He did not appear to be Luke's kind of person anyway. What am I going to do? though Luke, terrified But incredible joy kept coming over him too - so many possibilities. He headed back to the centre of Boston, ascended the steps of a marvelous old hall and shouted nonsense phrases in French - at tourists, students, families... office workers and who knows who else. But then, he was losing sight of the goal. This was not just a holiday. Not just a bit of fun. Damn it, this was his life!
He spotted a wood-panelled liquor store humming with the comings and goings of revellers. There, that is my destination, he said to himself crossing the road. It was another kind of Aladdin's cave. Luke opted for something new, grabbing a bottle of Malibu coconut rum. "Have a good one!" grinned the cashier he paid.
Outside, once more, the heat brought him out like a flower. He gazed in awe at the coffee shops, the slow moving traffic. Passersby dawdled, unfazed at his intoxication. He leaned against a green hedgerow, symmetrically trimmed, and took his first sip. Whew! Stronger than I expected. Don't think I can drink that. Oh, come on! It's a holiday, he laughed.
A very muscular man in a Hummer car rolled up and left the engine idling. His daughter jumped out to fetch something from a store down the street. The father noticed Luke but did not stare. Two middle-aged ladies walked briskly made polite eye contact and crickets were frolicking and singing in the bushes. Five young people sauntered slowly by and one of the young men said, "Wow." Curious at the sight of Luke they carried on regardless. It was this American curiosity and optimism that fascinated Luke - back in England people were so pessimistic; they would have by now dismissed him with the designated label of drunkard.
Luke became very excited and animated as he got drunk and although the Bostonians were more tolerant to alcohol, it was illegal to drink out of an open container of alcohol. Eventually a police car spotted him and having finished his bottle only minutes earlier, he was arrested.
The police took him back to his hotel after emptying his wallet of his $200 - this at the time being typical of the American law enforcement's habit of fining people, especially those they believed unable to launch a legal appeal - whatever they liked. When Luke awoke the next morning he was shocked to find an empty purse. When he went to card machines to draw money out with his bank cards the payments could not be processed. He had nowhere to eat in the middle of a blisteringly hot day and was desperate for water too. Well, he wanted to know what Bayside might feel like so he decided to start walking. He walked in the direction of Provincetown, which he judged might be the nearest best thing. He did not know, ironically, that Provincetown was America's premier gay resort.
Along his way, Luke became exhausted. Pulling along his luggage on wheels was like torture as he became dehydrated. A free water fountain in a public park provided some respite; and later a delivery man outside a restaurant gave away a free bottle of mineral water. As he donated it said, "I'm good," which made Luke feel uncomfortable. Such phrases were beyond him and nobody likes to feel behind the times. He kept on walking, following signs to Provincetown and Cape Cod, until he came to a highway. There was no alternative route to progress further - unless he went back a mile or two. That was not possible because his legs were jelly.
So Luke carried onwards and as the highway continued it got worse, the space for pedestrians narrowing. Cars began to sound their horns while he desperately lugged his luggage. I will get struck any second, he thought. My God, I'm going to die. But miraculously there appeared half a mile down the road a lay-by, and he pulled in. He was stuck but at least safer. Two nail-biting minutes passed and then - a sports utility vehicle was swerving in, slowing and a tall man opening the passenger side door. Luke approached.
"Can I have a ride?"
"Sure. Jump on in."
Luke told the man he wanted to get to Cape Cod. The man was not driving that far but he said he would taxi him as far as he could, to Weymouth.
Not much conversation was made on the journey. When Luke was dropped off at a crossroads he tried he tried to walk further but could not. He had landed in a suburban town of lawns populated with hidebound and parochials. Local residents going on shopping trips, on the school run, commuting to and from work stared at this stranger - this stranger with his wheeled luggage bag. The roads were long in all directions and unsigned. Except houses, square commercial buildings and flags on poles nothing was in sight. His exhaustion reached fever point, his legs giving way. He considered sitting on the grass. Suddenly he noticed a sign, a hospital sign. He was next to a hospital.
After summoning the confidence to enter, he told the receptionists he needed help getting to Cape Cod. They were afraid they could not help. What about a lift back to Boston? No, it was not possible. They said it was his responsibility, not theirs. He explained how severe his situation was, how he had lost all his money; but they merely went through the motions of explaining they were a hospital, nothing more.
Luke continued to plead and talk for fifteen minutes. He was getting to look so gaunt with fatigue and he almost collapsed. This changed their tune and one of them asked, "Do you need to be checked in?"
"Yes please."
"We'll see what we can do."
He was taken to a bed on a ward where a tall, blonde nurse came and half-closed his curtains for privacy. While introducing herself as Ruth, his designated nurse, Luke looked about to throw up and she rushed off for a bucket.
"Here you are, hon.'
"Thanks," Luke replied gratefully, holding it beneath his chin. Ruth studied him.
"You really don't look well. Your skin is ashen." Luke said nothing and she left. A few minutes later he vomited. It was so violent that Ruth heard it and quickly walked back. As he vomited a vexed look came on her face and she put her hand on his arm. When it finished his head bent forward and he uttered a groan.
"Are you okay? You're trembling." Ruth looked around and studied Luke. She seemed to be assessing something in her mind. "I need to measure your pulse. Hang on there. I'm just going to get some equipment."
She returned and measured his vital signs, then noticed his socks. They had a picture of the cartoon character Mr Funny on them. "I like your socks!" She may have been trying to make conversation or it may have just been an observation; with Americans Luke could not tell. They sometimes thought aloud. Then Ruth left again and with the passage of time Luke needed the toilet. He stepped out of bed and left the ward looking for it. Seeing him wandering, Ruth called him.
"What are you doing?"
"I need the restroom."
"No problem. I'll show you where it is."
Having been guided in he felt so unwell, he took ten minutes in there. Almost finished, he heard a knock on the door.
"Hello?" he asked.
"Are you alright in there?" It was Ruth. Luke suspected she was concerned. She began to open the door and Luke - still unclothed - quickly said, "Yeah - I'm fine. I won't be long."
Afterwards he returned to his bed and in the intervening hours Ruth, a doctor and several assistants periodically visited. The doctor took a blood sample to study and half an hour later returned with the results. He told Luke there was a lot of alcohol in his system but trace of opiates too. Luke was dumbfounded. He wondered if he had been drugged by someone.