Becoming Real - 2. II. The Meeting in the Park

II. The Meeting in the Park

 

There is a park, a great park in a used-to-be great city. Many summers ago, the trees of this forest retreat were cut down, and the far corners of the world folded over on one spot. A world’s fair was held here, the largest exhibition of its kind ever, and its promoters rightly claimed that if the world were destroyed in one fell swoop, Western civilization could be all right as long as Forest Park survived – that civilization, in fact, could continue without a hitch.

But they gathered even then. That glorious summer saw the young men wander the paths behind the Palace of Fine Arts and quietly recognize one another as glance slid by glance. They, those boys of 1904, in short-sleeve shirts and Converse sneakers would be as plain to us as we in boaters and minute gold collar buttons would be to them. The sorrow that links us would betray our common heritage, because civilization didn’t end that summer, but goes on oblivious to what it does to us even today. So, for as long as the problems are the same, so will be the solutions we recognize in one another.

How this particular tradition got started is a matter of some debate. Not of an official type, mind you, for it has a hidden history no historical journal has ever splashed across its front page. But, its roots may even go as far back as the very founding of the park in the 1870s. At a time when many of the citizenry were complaining about how far away from town, and how secluded a park five hundred acres larger than New York’s Central Park was, others may have been taking advantage of these same facets. We may never know exactly when the first cornerstone of this rite of passage was laid, but unlike the monuments left behind by that ‘fabulous summer’ – now crumbling – this tradition reigns stronger than ever. It does so because in a city that great men born to it must leave to become great, many saw the light of day here, not in the bright confines of her hospitals, but in the quiet of evenings, in her parks.

Like the way a man’s mind wanders when he does something he feared in anticipation, but found so natural in the doing, every person’s motivation is different. It changes with the age of disgrace and providence, but he later shakes his head in amazement that he waited so long. Whatever impels a person, whatever the exact impetus to go and look for someone like himself, every journey needs a first step, and for many, the longest journey begins by realizing why they hate themselves. The odyssey can only start when he tries to turn that self-loathing around to another for understanding, for if, as the song goes, you have to be taught how to hate, likewise you have to be taught how to love, and what is liberty, but the chance to love one’s self.

Every person’s loneliness is just a piece of self-hatred he nurtures against the odds, and every free Gay man, to be truly free, must have his first meeting in the park.

            

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He sat in his car. His bare white knuckles ached as he gripped the steering wheel, and his arms were extended as if he expected a crash from the parked and quiet automobile. Josh heaved a deep sigh, letting his grip fall like a sack of potatoes.

He didn’t know what to do. He rolled down the window, letting the hot and wet air steal what little bit of cool the AC had struggled to make. With the oppressive air came the dull vibrations of insects, only yards away in the foliage by the side of the way. Cicadas droned in desperate agony to find a mate before the season changed and chilled all life out of them; crickets meandered in their song which lilted here and there in tuneless melody.

Josh stared through the windshield at the car parked a hundred feet further ahead. Against the front fender leaned a tall and slender man, smoking. Josh could see his hair was light and that he wore boots, jeans and a white tee-shirt. Accenting the loops of the jeans was a wide belt with silver studs.

The twenty-year-old’s heart was beating so hard he felt faint; his stomach knotting and relaxing in wave after wave of doubt and fear. Josh thought about fate, thought how if Steve, Helen’s boyfriend, hadn’t taken them to a ballgame, he never would have known about ‘the park.’ Steve drove back to his house off course, along this one particular byway, casually telling everyone in the car that this is where the ‘you knows’ – he held up his wrist and let it go limp – come to meet one another. And later, how another friend had unintentionally helped him by identifying one certain bar as being ‘full of f*gs.’ That was the place, a club named Magnolia’s, he had just been to. He found a parking spot far away from its doors, and in the ensuing walk, his nerves gave out. He stood in front of Magnolia’s entry and stared at it. One grip, he thought, one tug, and what life-changing things lay on the other side. Then his stomach nearly made him double over on the sidewalk, and he walked away. The shame of that cowardliness made him sick now; how nerves could have the power to keep him dead. He had never cruised before, he didn’t know anything about it, how it worked, what to do or not do, but he swallowed hard, and opened his car door.

The mid-September sky was clear. On the opposite side of the road, an occasional streetlight hung its head to cast a pale yellow light on the scene below. Just beyond the margin where these poles were planted, the thick woods began, in fact, might never have ended except for the forty-foot-wide swath of pavement that wound over the hills and through this part of the park.

Josh began to stroll, hands in his pockets to seem as casual as possible, but he was afraid if he kept them by his side, they’d shake, giving visual confirmation of the nerves trembling within. To his right, he glanced at the brush so alive with noise; love song was everywhere. The air that carried it was thick and dull, and offered no evaporative relief to the sweat threatening to erupt on his arms. When he looked straight ahead again, he saw the man had gotten into his car.

He walked up to the driver’s side window. He peeked inside and down on the man’s thighs and lap. “Hi.”

The guy was startled.

Josh was startled back, but in the next moment, he heard the guy say in a friendly tenor “Why, hello.” His hair was auburn and grew not only on the top of his head but also in a thick beard and mustache, well-trimmed and perfectly suited to his face. His eyes were hazel, the pupils large in the low light. The corners of his brows wrinkled when he smiled, like the shooting rays of the sun. Josh had no idea what to say or do. He waited for the guy to give some indication, but he did not.

“Look,” the auburn guy finally said, turning a glance over his shoulder. “I suppose you’re all right, but I was gonna meet up with a friend here. He’s late, so I’m gonna make a quick phone call. I’ll be right back.” He started the engine, and Josh stepped back, barely able to get an “Okay” out before the man pulled away. Loose gravel kicked back on the cuffs of his jeans, dusty gray road-dirt wafted in the air for the moment or so it took the humidity to attack and sink it again. Josh felt like an idiot, with the insects taunting him from all sides.

The walk back to his car was excruciating. He didn’t know what he was doing. If he’d felt bad before, he felt like dying now. An image of him slinking home, having done nothing but torment himself, seemed bleaker than death itself. Step after step, he expected the pain in his gut to send him to the pavement for good. He drew in a long draught of air, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He leaned on the rear of his car, not knowing what else to do. Thinking that thought was suddenly the enemy, he stared down at nothing; tried to think, tried to feel, nothing. Suddenly he heard a car door, not too close, but near. The white Rabbit parked about a hundred feet behind him suddenly had someone leaning on it too. This guy was smaller in appearance, almost like a kid in his white shorts, canvas sneakers and red Hawaiian shirt. This guy adjusted himself at a rakish angle to his vehicle, kicking his legs far out in front of him and bringing one ankle crossing and resting on top of the other. His arms were half-folded, one forearm and hand bringing a cigarette to his countenance. In a moment, the lit end offered a lingering glow to his face. He was looking at Joshua. A sometimes-unavoidable smile arises when a smoker draws in some oxygen through his cigarette, and this half-sly, half-necessary grimace is what Josh hung encouragement on. But, he couldn’t be sure.

How long had that car been there? Had he seen Josh’s disgrace with the auburn man? Had he come out of his car because Josh was standing there? His heart pounded again; this was the hardest thing he thought he ever had to do. Stay here and wait for probably nothing to happen, or go over there and probably make another fool of himself.

Josh stood up. The blood fell to his legs like empty beer mugs. The nearer he got to the white car, the less the sounds of the woods predominated; instead music came out to him. The young man was slowly bobbing his head to the beat, his shoulders rocked lightly side to side, but his gaze was cast down. Now that he was standing five feet away from the guy, Josh wished he would look up; acknowledge his presence there. Continuing to approach, he said tentatively, “Hi. Nice night, isn’t it.”

Now Joshua got a good glimpse. The guy was on the smaller side, with light-brown hair, cut short and combed up with ‘product’ to soft spiky peaks. From his profile, Josh could tell his nose took ever so slight a dip leaving his forehead and proceeded down straight and beautifully. His lips were thin and seemed perfectly relaxed on his face. His chin was rounded and its line came gracefully back to be his jaw. His cigarette was out, and his arms gripped each other in a folded embrace. The whiteness of his shorts stood out sharply in front of his well-tanned legs covered with slight brunette curls. Josh couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a slight snicker from the guy as Josh said ‘Hi.’

Gary had heard that voice speaking through the thick night air to him before, though he had never met this guy. He didn’t know him. What he did know of the voice was its inexperience, and it made him laugh, and decide to have some fun. “Hi, there!” came Gary’s reply, dripping with fey overtones, his hips shifting perceptibly against his car. He shot glistening eyes up to the stranger, and was not prepared to see what looked back at him. Gary almost instantly regretted the callous impulse to scare off, when Josh carried a world of fright on his shoulders. He slowly stood.

Joshua wanted to retreat. In his head, he counted the steps back to his car. He felt he had made another mistake in a night of many. The courage so newborn in him wanted Josh to climb back in the familiar and drive away. “My name’s Joshua,” he said, putting out his hand, and somewhat tripping in trying to get unnecessarily close.

Gary backed off a half-step and took it. It was clammy and squeezed too hard. Again a half-smile crept across his face. “Gary.”

Josh blinked, too uncomfortable to maintain eye contact. He could see the overall effect of Gary’s face now full on. He was striking, in the way a lost child is. “Beautiful night.” Josh was dumbfounded at himself the instant he said this, remembering he had already used this banality.

Gary really grinned now, his hands striking an akimbo pose as he sarcastically let out, “Yeah. Not too hot at all . . . . ”

“Yeah, I hate it when it’s too hot.”

Gary was astounded. “You mean, this is not too hot for you?”

Josh blinked. What did he say? What should I say? “Yeah – sorry, I hate the heat. I really hate it.”

“Me too.” Gary knew he had to end the tension right there and then. He slapped his car noisily with an open palm. He dropped all false mannerisms. “Like my car? Ain’t she a beaut!” His eyes sparkled, inviting Josh into the joke.

Josh glanced down at the Volkswagen; a little beat up, a little dirty, there was nothing special about it. For no apparent reason at all, the real Josh asserted his sense of humor. “She’ll be the best-looking number in the scrap yard.”

Gary’s voice offered understated acknowledgment. “This is your first time in the park, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“You’re more than a little nervous.” Gary held out his hand and quavered it back and forth, then he smiled warmly. “You look like this.”

A twinge of confidence crept up on Josh; Gary’s smile must have something to do with that. If Josh was feeling cynical, he could interpret that grin as ‘I know all about this guy’; or if sincere, as ‘Relax, I didn’t mean anything.’ He went over to Gary’s rear fender and leaned himself on it. Gary watched him and smiled the same way as before.

Gary asked, “You older than eighteen?”

“Twenty.”

“I’m nineteen.” Gary then said in a completely different voice, a cautionary one, “You know, it’s not too wise to be out here. I come out because I’ve got friends. It’s so we can get together on a Saturday before we head out to the clubs. You ever been to one of the clubs?”

Joshua held his eye, shaking his head.

In a slow release of words, the magnitude of the moment for Joshua revealed itself to Gary. “You mean”—he pointed elaborately to his own chest—“this is your first contact? Me? Because I know you didn’t talk to the other guy.” Gary waved vaguely down the road.

Josh examined his own hands. He had nothing to lose by being honest. “You are the first person I’ve talked to who I knew was out. I mean, that, I’ve known lots of guys I thought were Gay, but we never talked about that. You know what I mean?”

“Their F*G-ee-ness.” Gary’s special bite on ‘f*g’ hurt Josh, and Gary saw it.

“Something like that.”

Gary’s music ended. The night sounds crept in, as both stood there not feeling like saying anything trivial.

“Can I ask you something?” Josh swallowed.

“What.”

“How long have you known?”

“That I’m Gay?”

Josh nodded.

“I guess I’ve known since I was twelve or thirteen.” Now it was Gary’s turn to search Joshua’s profile. Beyond thinking he was handsome, the weight of the newly-born Gay’s sorrow arose some pity in him. And more, he saw some strange element in Josh that told him trust placed there would be honored and kept safe. Thus Gary found himself telling this near stranger, “My first time was when I was fifteen. I went away to a kind of music summer camp – played the trumpet – I had no idea it would be a summer of budding romance. I had my first kiss, and my first sexual contact with an instructor.”

Josh made an audible gasp.

Gary continued, “Don’t think it was forced, or rape, or anything. He blew me, and I loved it, so I reciprocated.” Seeing Josh placated, he gazed at his shoes to tell the rest. “At that moment, I thought, ‘Great, now we’ll have the whole summer to build something meaningful. But he was so cautious that when we weren’t alone, he barely looked at me.” Gary chortled. “I guess he had to, but it sure wrecked my concept of ‘romance.’”

Josh felt for Gary. Staring down at his shoes as he was, Gary struck Josh as forming the perfect attitude of introspection.

Gary finished with a raised head. “It’s what I wanted, it’s what he wanted . . . it was what I was waiting for.” Gary’s mouth raised in one corner. Josh glancing over couldn’t tell for whose benefit it did so, for his or for Gary’s sake.

Josh asked tentatively, “Do your parents . . . know?”

“I told them when I was sixteen.” Gary stood and stretched his arms over his head. His shoulders popped. “And from there, it just got worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought at the time – and remember, we’re dealing with the mentality of a sixteen-year-old – that they’d either say ‘It’s okay, son,’ or throw me out with curses on their lips. What they did do utterly shocked me. After their initial coldness, they told me ‘Oh, you’ll grow out of it.’ Of course, they didn’t know anything about my trumpet teacher. They said ‘Just don’t act on your impulses; in the meantime, get yourself a girlfriend, son, and see how it goes, bla, bla, bla, you’ll find the right woman . . . ’ And, that was that. They never wanted to talk about it again. You know, people are not really afraid of Gays, they’re just deathly scared to talk about them.” He shook his head in recognition of the absurdity. “Ain’t it weird. I really wanted them to throw me out, so I could run to my instructor – he’d take me in, I told myself. Instead, I felt like I was in a prison of lies and told to look anywhere but at the truth. So, I stayed. So, I turned to what they seemed to love the most; their Hennessy; their Johnnie Walker; their anything to numb the pain and make me forget their wide-open jail cell.”

In the ensuing silence, made all the more quiet by the rhythm permeating it, Josh muttered almost as if to himself, “I can’t even imagine telling mine.”

Gary’s expression grew odd. He leaned on his car so close that the side of his bare leg touched Josh’s jeans.

Josh inhaled sharply, hoping Gary couldn’t hear his heartbeat; he could hear nothing else. He dared to examine Gary’s face close up. It was beautiful, in a lost-boy way.

Gary put up a hand, he tugged on Josh’s short sleeve, and Josh bent his head down. For a moment, he thought Gary was about to kiss his cheek, but instead, he heard him whisper, “Someday, you’ll tell them; when the time is right. Don’t worry.”

Gary’s hand let go. He stood up and paced a couple of steps before Josh. “You know, the cop cars roll by at ten – you’ll want to be out of here by then.” He made a barely plausible motion at his watch. “If you want, I’m going to Angles. You could come too. I’ve got lots of friends, and if they’re not there, we’ll go searching for them. There are plenty of places.” Gary laughed out loud. “Don’t worry, kid. With a face like yours, you’ll soon have more friends than you can handle.”

Josh acted puzzled.

Gary was amazed. “I mean, you know you’re good-looking, right?”

Josh didn’t know anything. He shrugged his shoulders.

     

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Gary’s car came to life with that particular VW rattle. As he pumped the gas a few times, headlights appeared in his rearview mirror. A car slowly drove past and parked in front of Josh’s car. Gary sang towards Josh in the passenger seat, “Look, it’s your hot date returned to your loving ways!” Josh punched Gary’s shoulder, but sure enough, it was the auburn man, though not there for him.

“Let’s go,” Josh said.

Gary peeled away and did a one-eighty in the road. They sped south a little way, then Gary slowed down. A couple of cars with a congregation of young guys standing by them were parked on Josh’s side. Gary leaned across him and yelled out the window, “Where you going, gurls!” The people on the street made broad grins at Josh, pursed lips at Gary. Then a chorus of differing answers made Gary shake his hand at them and say, “We’ll be at Angles, if anybody cares . . . . Tah!” And he drove away.

Josh had to ask, knowing he’d sound the twat, but, “Were any of them actual girls?”

“You are a babe in the woods! No, none of them were girls. That’s just what you call your posse, your crew, your – your club buddies, the kind you’re not going to sleep with. Get it?”

“Got it.”

“Sorry, but first I have to stop at the ATM.”

“I’ve got money for drinks; it’s the least I can do.”

“I’ll let you buy me a drink, but I’ve still got to stop there. I won’t be a minute.”

As Gary shifted gears, Josh watched his naked legs come in and out of the streetlights. The tan skin grew taut over the muscles needed to press the clutch, the gas pedal and brake, and over the skin moved the soft curls of his leg hair. He wanted to reach out, but he couldn’t. Instead he asked, “How did you meet your first non-sexual contact? In the park?”

“Hell, no. When things turned around for me, I got a fake ID and went to Magnolia’s – you got a fake ID?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ll need one. Angles is a bit different; they’ve got this back door, so we’ll probably be able to get in. No, once I was a regular in those places, the f*g-hags glommed on to me. You know what a f*g-hag is?”

“Girls who hang out with Gay guys?”

“See. Learning already. We need to get you a f*g-hag, though watch out, some of them can be on the needy side, and say what they need is to sleep with you.”

“No, thanks.” Josh’s eyes went back to Gary’s legs.

“But seriously, kid, watch it. Don’t go back to the park again like that alone. There’s all kinds of dangers: undercover cops—”

Josh interrupted. “You think that guy thought I was a cop?”

Gary couldn’t help laughing. “No. He sure as hell didn’t think you were a cop. Not with that baby face. Speaking of which, now listen, and listen good, cuz I’m not done. The dangers are: undercover cops; cops in patrol cars; cops in the bushes – you get the idea. Then there’s the pervs: those who want to beat you up; or some twisted shit like that. That’s how they get off, sick bastards – society’s fault. Wear a condom”—again, an unabated laugh rang out—“or, have your ‘fella’ wear a condom; whatever you find out you like . . . . Hey, you ever . . . ?”

“No.”

“Good. Keep it that way. You hear me? Keep it that way, until you are ready, and until you are totally into the guy, and you’re sure he’s totally into you.”

“But . . . . ”

“But, what?”

“But, nothing. Just that seems a bit unrealistic.”

“Then play it safe, whatever it is. Get it?”

“Yeah.”

“See, the worst thing in the park is right out in the open. Maybe that guy tonight thought you were this: the self-loathing kind who turn their hate outward. Queer-bashers. I know you’ve heard of them. They might lure a guy into a hidden place where his buddies are waiting with a pipe or a baseball bat. Don’t kid yourself that it doesn’t happen. What happens every day is a ‘fucking queer’ gets beat near to death, but doesn’t want to report it. And why? A few years ago a guy was kidnapped, and tortured, and raped for several days, and barely escaped. But then he went to the police, and a phone call later, the victim’s name and address was printed in the next day’s Globe-Democrat. The victim. His name. His address in the goddamn morning newspaper. Fuck this society; fuck this rotten city.”

  

˚˚˚˚˚

 

The bank off Oakland Avenue was a suburban type with glass vestibule for the ATM’s and a big parking lot. As Josh sat in the car alone, he could see Gary waiting in line. Even under bank lighting, he sure looked cute, but that very attractiveness made Josh revert to sad thinking patterns. You can’t turn off guilt like a switch, only dim it by slow degrees. But what did he have to be guilty about? Nothing. How close he and Gary were in age, yet how different in experience. Josh considered what it might have been like for the fifteen-year-old he had been to encounter a guy coming on to him. He couldn’t have handled it; he wasn’t ready then, and he was not sure he was ready now; but, was he ready with Gary?

Josh searched around. He found a pen. There was a small notepad. He swallowed hard, uncapped the pen and paused. What was he doing? What was he going to write to Gary he couldn’t say here and now? The thought of how to express so much content in a way that seemed to say nothing, stymied him. Josh wrote with shaky hand: ‘Joshua (in your car at ATM) 314-555-8753. Call me, and Thanks.’ He put the pen cap on, dropped it. Ripped the paper out of the pad and folded it once.

The car door flew open. Gary plopped in, all legs and smiles. “Let’s go!”

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

The white Volkswagen sped onto 40 East, then south on Grand, and soon they were turning off Grand, down a little industrial street across from the old Pevely Dairy building. The car pulled into a parking spot behind a nondescript one-and-a-half-story building, and its headlights went off.

“What’s wrong?” Gary caught a glimpse of Josh’s face in the streetlamp. It looked like he could barely restrain tears.

“What’s right?”

“What’s right is you took the first step. Most guys never do and go mad with avoidance, or worse – the interstate restrooms are full of those guys. What’s right, is someone up there”—he pointed to his ceiling light—“is watching out for you. And, how do I know?”

Joshua wiped some very unattractive dribble from his nose, and shook his head.

“Because He put you in my hands, and you’re not in danger: not from the cops; not from the self-recriminating Gay-bashers; not from the dirty old men – but the one thing you need to learn, is the danger from yourself. Don’t follow my path.” Gary put his warm palm on the top of Josh’s thigh, thrilling him. “Because the internal threat is more hostile than any outside influence.”

Gary’s words melted into Josh’s consciousness. He could only think one thing over and over again in his mind; a slow-motion loop ran and reran. Josh saw how he’d swallow hard, his hand going to land among the soft curling brunette hair on Gary’s leg, and how they’d lean in over the gearshift. The first meeting of their lips; Gary’s slender and gracile mouth against Josh’s still repressed and unsure one. But, then, a moment after first touch, a passing, as from Michelangelo’s God through the infinite space of millimeters, to Adam’s fingers: life.

Gary broke Josh’s reverie by giving Josh an unexpected punch; a gentle one. “Look!” Gary said, pointing. “That’s Sheila’s car. You’ve got to meet Sheila. Like I said, every budding young f*g needs his own personal f*g-hag!”

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

In the noisy club, Gary was right. He knew a lot of people who greeted him with raised hands, smiles and ‘Hey there!’ Every time Gary introduced Joshua, he would bend the person’s ear and whisper something he thought Josh couldn’t hear. “He’s new; look after him.” Josh smiled within himself; it was Gary’s advice that he passed in the car: watch out for yourself. Something new in Josh was beginning to redefine family, something new and tender, a community of those who ‘look after each other,’ and that was exciting.

With drinks in hands, a Coke for Gary, rum and Coke for Josh, they pushed towards the dancefloor. Suddenly Gary stamped his white sneakers. A girl with impressive hair ran into his hug, and their drinks circumnavigated shoulders by sloshing out recklessly.

“Sheila, this is Joshua. He’s just decided to join our Fraternity, the merry band, so he needs a guardian angel, and I’ve nominated you!”

“Hi, Josh. Your first time here?” She held out her hand, then pulled him in close for a hug. When she released him, Josh’s smile deflated because Gary was walking away.

“Sheila. Right – I’ve got to drill it in. I’m so bad with names.”

The dance music abruptly ended. A new song started in a clear break with the house beat. A twang of country guitar made the crowd cheer in wild enthusiasm. Lines coalesced on the parquet, perfect rows with everyone placing hands on hips. A line dance; people loving it, move by move, a head bob forward, a hip swivel right, a joyful handclap out in front.

Sheila insisted. “Don’t you want to dance?”

“I can’t . . . do that.”

Sheila let it drop. “You over eighteen?”

“Twenty.”

“You’re older than Gary. Hard to believe.”

“Yeah. Hard for me to believe too. He’s . . . it’s like he’s lived a life already, and I’ve just been born.”

“Let me give you my phone number. Anytime you want to talk—”

“Do you come here every weekend?”

“Yeah, honey. We can meet up here – though, I do like to go some places where I have a remote chance of meeting Mr. Right, at least one who’d look my way.”

“Does Gary have a boyfriend?”

“Whoa, honey. Let me be honest with your virgin heart right now, and be straight up – forgive the pun – but you’re not Gary’s type. He’s into older men; the ‘daddy complex,’ you know. You got a type, sweetie?”

Josh wanted to shake his head. He stopped himself, and said, “Yeah, Gary.”

“Well, Gary specifically likes men who can pamper him, because he deserves it after all the shit he’s been through.”

“What exactly has he been through?”

Sheila’s tone was comforting, but obfuscatory. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Josh smiled in spite all he had just heard; Gary was making his way back to them, and Josh’s heart raced. Maybe there was still hope that his car-bound flash of first contact could still happen, despite all risks, despite all limits, like ‘type,’ and everything else that oppresses potentials. He thought, and a frown of relief pushed him down, what else does coming out mean?

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Gary switched off the engine. Out the front window, Josh looked bleakly on the prospect of his car and driving himself home. In his jeans pocket Joshua could feel his lame note burning him like kryptonite. What was he going to do with it – when and how would he hand it over?

Gary leaned closer. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Josh hadn’t considered this experience in terms of ‘fun.’ He blinked several times; Gary eyed him in confusion.

“No, Gary. Not fun. It’s all way too serious for me right now, and I know that, but I want to say thank you. It’s kind of funny – a few hours ago, I knew by now my life would have changed. Then, the thought of what I’d be now, made my gut wrench. But now, thinking back to that guy I was; he makes me sick. I’m not him anymore; I don’t know who I’ll become, or when, but, he’s buried and gone – good riddance.”

Gary paused, then inexplicably opened the door – flooding Joshua in brightness - and got out. He’d left the driver’s side open, and the call of the night-loving insects intruded on Josh’s confusion.

He slowly found himself glancing up to the cab light on the ceiling, and picturing for some reason, the owner of the car pointing to it and talking about God. When he turned his head over his shoulder, he saw Gary leaning on his front fender again, just as he had been when they first met.

By the time Joshua was leaning on the car next to him, Gary had folded his arms and was smoking. In the stagnant and oppressive humidity, Josh felt his pores inch open in a sort of rhythm with the calling cicadas.

He knew Gary not at all, so why did he feel so belittled by the other’s silence. In his mind’s eye he saw his note glow white where he left it on Gary’s passenger seat. Maybe he should go and get it – too much humiliation for one night.

Gary acted and spoke in slow and tired determination. “You probably don’t know anything about it, but in my programs I have to acknowledge a higher power in all our lives. No one has to see it as God, like on clouds with angels and stuff. It can be the force you want to believe shapes positive happenings in human affairs.” He suddenly brightened, stood and rooted in his front shorts pocket. “Congratulate me. I almost forgot.” He put in Josh’s hand two round, flat pieces of metal. Josh couldn’t tell what they were, exactly.

“I’ve been clean one year,” Gary announced with obvious pride and relief. “This medallion”—he came close, putting his finger in Josh’s palm; his other hand cupping Josh’s hand from beneath—”is the one from AA. And this one is from NA.” He looked up. “Narcotics Anonymous. You better congratulate me, because I’ve been clean one year to the day.”

Joshua could barely speak. “Congratulations. Really, that’s fantastic.”

“Like I was saying, I stayed in school and tried to deal with this broken heart – and the corpse of a family life – before a string of guys followed; guys who were all pervs of one shade or another and only wanted to use me to satisfy themselves. Then things built and built to the point that by eighteen and my first year in college, I hit rock bottom.” Gary took charge of his coins again, but before he pocketed them, he smiled, holding them up between the pair of boys’ interlocked eyes. “But, things change, and I never would have made it this one year if my parents hadn’t been there for me. Now, they freely acknowledge I’m Gay, and no amount of make-believe or the mystical ‘right woman’ can do anything about it. As long as they get that, and it’s okay, then we’re family again.”

Josh was thinking ‘wow’ in silent admiration, but he quietly said, “That must have been hard to go through.”

“It was hard, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing that happened to you in the past has any power over you, unless you grant it that power. Let it go, and it’s gone. You probably know nothing about the AA system, but going through the program, we have a person to call when we’re feeling the urge to use. That person’s called a sponsor.” Gary fished in his other front pocket. “Here. Call me when you need a sponsor. I’ll be yours; for your tough times ahead.” Gary handed Josh a small piece of paper with Angles’ logo, a hand-printed line of numbers below, and the word Gary.

Joshua kept looking at it as he asked, “And that higher power you live your life according to?” Finally, he blinked towards Gary.

“I think you already know.” Gary stood. He resettled himself so close to Josh that his bare leg touched Josh’s jeans. As he slowly leaned in, an image burned in Joshua’s brain – one of how on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, no matter if you were inches from it, or taking the perspective of a piece of dust on the floor, when you viewed it, the hand of God never really touches the lifelessly gripping reach of Adam. That infinitely small space, the place where the divine spark lives, is like two guys kissing. So longed for, so meaningful and beautiful, so much the fire of life, but never completed; always a potential of love in the generation of a physical act. Where the lips meet, love seems possible; and with it, life.

Gary pulled the short sleeve of Josh down to him. And for the second time in the evening, Josh thought Gary was going to kiss him, but instead he felt Gary’s soft lips near his ear.

The boy whispered, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay.”

 

~

 

 

 

      

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