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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Tull Unification - 1. Chapter 1
font>This is the first in a set of stories, told from different perspectives, that will fall under the collective title of 'The Tull Unification'. I'd like to thank Cole for all his work, and I'm really not joking when I say it was a lot. Thanks also to Camy for beta reading.
“So, listen,” he said. “I read that little leaflet they give people that have to watch someone die - you know, what to expect.”
“You're in a creepy mood today. Can we talk about something other than this?” I sighed. I hated when his determination flagged and I was ready to bolster him again. It's a friend's job, isn't it?
“Nick...” His pale hand landed on my forearm bringing me to a stop. “Nick, look at me.”
I didn't like looking at him like this, it just wasn't him. I mean it was, but it wasn't. It wasn't normal, having a hospital bed in a side room of his house with a teenager in it. With my friend in it.
“You're being stubborn today,” I remarked. “Why don't you put that to good use instead of being morose?”
“Nick, I want us to talk today. I want to tell you things and I want to talk because after today...” He hesitated and made sure I was looking at him. “I don't want you to come back.”
A coldness spread through me and my hand wandered up to my throat, “You can't mean that; what've I done?”
“You've spent almost every day with me since I got stuck in this bed, your social life has to be about zero...”
“Hey, I'm not keeping score here.”
“I'm dying, Nick, not you.” He looked away and said quietly, “I don't want you to remember me this way.”
“I'll remind you of this when we're old and terrorizing the nursing home staff.” I rolled my eyes and pushed his hand off.
He gave me a weak smile as he adjusted himself in the bed, waving off my attempt to help. Then he turned his face back to me. “Do you think there's a God, Nick?”
“No,” I replied. “At least not the one they talk about on TV. No compassionate being would let things like leukemia exist.”
“Our pastor says that everything that comes our way is a test from God.”
“So what's he testing then?” I leaned back in my chair and tucked a leg under me, pleased he seemed to have forgotten about sending me away.
“Maybe he's testing my parents to see how they cope. Maybe he's testing me to see if I'll be a 'good boy' till the end. Maybe he's testing you, to see if you'll be a good friend. I don't know, it's God isn't it? How are we supposed to know the mind of God?” He shrugged.
“Number one, no one should be tested with something like this, it isn't decent. Secondly. you aren't a good boy - can't remember when you were.” He stuck his tongue out at me and I smiled as I continued. “And, well that's just dumb. If he's God, he already knows how it's going to go, doesn't he? I mean if he can't see the future what kind of God is he?”
“Not the kind you have to wind up on Sunday?” Charlie grinned at me.
“Good one,” I smiled back. “That's another thing right there - how can God take away the only other Jethro Tull fan in town? Doesn't seem very godlike to me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he's not a fan?” He looked away and settled his head back onto the pillow.
“Not much of a God then,” I sniffed.
“Nick...what do you think happens when we die? If there's no God...then what?” he asked softly.
“I don't know,” I said, matching his tone. “I suppose we're all just energy in the end, maybe we don't need God; some of us just think we do.”
“But you always hear about people saying how someone they loved gave them a message...you know, after they died.”
“Are you back on that again?” I scowled.
“I'm not saying me, I'm just saying, you know, in general.” He shifted and looked at me with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I read a story recently. This lady is sitting at home, watching TV or whatever, and there is a knock at her door. So she opens the door and her father is standing there with his favorite sweater on and a gentle smile. He doesn't say anything to her, just walks past her and up a flight of stairs to her second floor. She follows him up, only to find that he's vanished. She is very put off by the encounter because her father had been sick, and then the phone rings.” He looked at me with his eyes sparkling, “It's the hospital saying her father just passed. How do you explain that, then?”
“Ecstasy? Bad acid trip? I don't know, and just because I can't explain something doesn't mean it's God!”
“I'm not saying it was God, but what if the man managed to get his daughter a message when he died? What if we can do something when we go from this...” he pinched and held out the front of his shirt... “to like, energy or ghosts or something? Maybe we can send, like, a message?”
“What was he saying? I mean really, what does going upstairs signify?” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, he did smile at her,” Charlie said thoughtfully, “And maybe going upstairs was a...what do you call it? An allegory? Like he was going upstairs for rest, climbing a stairway to heaven, something like that?”
I snorted, “Seems like a waste of an opportunity, Led Zepplin Reference aside. She got the phone call minutes later, right?”
“You know what? When I die, I'm going to send you a message!” Charlie said firmly.
“Will you stop saying that?” I said angrily.
“I will, and you know what? You're going to know it! I bet you'll realize when it happens it was me, and you'd better say thank you!”
“Sure, sure. But it'll be hard to remember 'cause we'll both be eighty when you die. You'll be more worn down because you'll have a bunch of kids and had to work all your life to send them to school and buy graduation presents and then babysit your grand kids.”
“Don't you want kids and grand kids someday, Nick?” Charlie said earnestly. I glanced at him and then away nervously. “C'mon Nick, your secret can't get much safer than telling me, can they?”
“What makes you think I have a secret?” I whispered.
“We all do, of course. Like...well, when I told everyone I played with Allison Barnett's tits? I didn't. She'd slapped me and called me a pervert, but I told everyone I did anyway.” He grinned at me and I chuckled.
“Really? She slapped you?”
“Yeah. I kind of feel bad about that. I should probably apologize to her.” He bit his lower lip. “So Nick, what's your secret?”
“I...” I swallowed and brushed my hands on my thighs and glanced around the room.
“Nick, come on... I promise I am not about to post this to YouTube.” He smiled at me and I relaxed just a touch.
“I may want kids later, I guess, I hadn't thought much about it. But,” I licked my lips and burst out, “I'm not sure...I mean, it's biologically impossible considering...well, guys can't have babies. With other guys.”
He lay his head back and smiled at me. “Thanks Nick, that must have been hard for you. You're still my truest friend though, just so we're straight. I mean clear.” He grinned.
“Asshole,” I smirked at him. I still felt butterflies in my stomach, but it had felt good to finally tell someone.
“It's too bad in a way, I was going to ask you to feel Allison's tits for me and let me know what it felt like.”
“You just want me to get slapped too. Well, not on your...” I choked off my joke.
“See? You know it too. We have to talk about it, it's going to happen.” His hand reached out and landed on my arm again. “Nick, I need to know you'll be all right. You know, after.”
“Nothing will be all right again.” I sniffed and looked at him, “But I won't have to worry about that.”
“Nothing is easy,” he replied and grinned.
“That's not fair; you're cheating!” I smiled weakly. “You keep bringing up sad, maudlin things and getting extra points!”
“Well, I am still behind, aren't I? It's not easy to weave a song title or lyric into common speech, especially a Tull song.” He grinned. “And Tull songs are especially hard, their language is like a mix of Victorian with Punk Rock and some Classical just to throw you for a loop.”
“Fine, you get two points then.” I grunted and moved my leg out from under me, where it had fallen asleep.
“My mom was rooting around in the basement and found an old photo of you,” he said, grinning widely. “I'm not sure you knew she took it and it was a little damaged. She had a hard time giving up on cameras that used film.”
“Oh, seriously? Did she ever retire that old thing?” I laughed at the memory, “We went to the beach and she was going all over trying to find 110 film somewhere! Remember?” I started belly laughing and trying to get the event out so he could join me. “Remember when she asked the guy for film and he pointed to the discontinued rack? It was all something like ninety-nine percent off? I think she bought a hundred rolls!”
“She did, and at least half of the film was bad,” he giggled. “Anyway, this was a decent shot of you. Sorry that the picture looks a little wonky but...I like this one. You should hang onto it, someone else may like it.”
I glanced down at the picture in his hand. It showed my face looking down. Who knows what I was interested in? My feet probably. I had on my trusty gray hoodie and there was a book in my hand, though the title wasn't in the frame. I think the picture might have been taken inside the shop where the film had been bought, even. A light clicked in my head.
“I think your mom was arguing with the fellow about if her camera still worked. Wasn't he trying to sell her some digital crap? I think she took this by accident.”
He flipped the image back to study it and smiled. “I think you're right.” He held it back out to me.
“I'll collect it from you when we're old and gray,” I muttered. A short silence intervened, but when he broke it I almost wished he hadn't.
“So...do you have your eye on anyone at school?” he asked, slyly I thought.
“Charlie...” I covered my face as I blushed.
“Come on, now's not the time to get embarrassed!” he laughed, though quietly.
“It's kind of hard to talk about, I mean, I only just told you, didn't I? I've never told anyone,” I replied from the cover of my hand, still unable to face him.
“Look, we can talk about how I'm going to die or...”
“Fine, fine.” I pulled my hand away and locked eyes with him. “I'm gay and I have a few crushes at school.”
“Was that so hard?” He smiled reassuringly.
“Well, considering you had to talk about dying to get me to say it, I'd say yes.” I snorted. I did feel a little better about it, though.
“You know what I liked about Allison?” he said while leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling.
“Her tits?” I laughed.
“Well, yeah, duh! But I liked a lot of other things once I got to know her. She was smart, she had a sense of humor. She was also very pretty, that long hair of hers the way it kind of...I don't know, shimmered? I kind of wanted to run my fingers through it whenever I saw her.” He sighed. “I did do that a few times, at least. It was as soft as I thought it would be.”
I remained silent. I was completely unused to this level of intimate talk between us. Normally these things were alluded to and we both understood them without going any farther. We'd built our friendship upon our unspoken understanding - castle walls built on the foundation of our mutual faith in each other.
“So tell me, Nick, what sort of guy interests you?”
I exhaled, a heavy sigh if ever there was one. I glanced at Charlie and then fixed my eyes on the floor. “I like a lot of things. I like how Keith makes me laugh, I like how loyal you are. I like how smart Alex is and I like...I like Matt's long legs.” I said the last part in a whisper before soldiering on, “And his smile. And his soft hands.”
“Matt Baxter?” He quirked an eyebrow at me and I felt myself flushing and nodding. “Really? He's a nice guy; have you met him?”
“No and yes, I kind of...get awkward when he's around.” I admitted.
“Well, that's okay, that's pretty natural for you!” He chuckled and I stuck my tongue out at him. Punching his arm as in days past was no longer something I could do; the bruising alone was enough to make me guilty for weeks.
“So is Matt like, your kind of guy?”
“I guess, looks wise.” I nodded. “And a few other things...wise.”
“Tell me,” he said softly. I glanced up and he had a strange look on his face, not something I could really place. I licked my lips and tried to put my swirl of thoughts together into something cohesive.
“Matt is really hot,” I blushed again but forced myself to go on. “I like his dark curly hair and his pale skin. They go really nice with his pale-blue eyes and that kind of upturned nose he has.”
“Go on.”
“He's always nice to me, even in gym when I look like a dork. You know, by tripping or otherwise injuring myself. He always helps me up instead of laughing and pointing, gives me a dust off and pushes me back into play.” I smiled a bit and looked away and out the window to the trees in the front yard. “He makes me laugh, too, more than Keith ever did. He might even be as smart as you.” I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and I looked back at Charlie.
“It's okay, Nick. I'll miss you too.”
“It's not...” I shut my mouth. Was I really going to say it wasn't fair? Was I that selfish?
“No, it isn't. For either of us.” I looked up, embarrassed to meet his eyes, but I did it. “It's okay, you know, to think that. I've talked to my parents, they felt that too. Still do. I know it isn't fair, God or no – not to me, not to them and not to you. Nick, don't cry, please. Not today.”
I nodded and sniffed, getting myself under control. With one last giant exhale I leaned back in my seat and regarded my stoic friend.
“So, why haven't you told him?” he asked with a playful smile.
“Who? Matt? I'd be mortified,” I laughed. “Even if he was gay, he's way out of my league.”
He grinned and rolled his head again so he was looking at the ceiling. “I thought that before I actually asked Allison out.”
“Yeah, but you're Charlie Hampton. Athlete, scholar and giver of wet panties to high school girls!” I laughed and he grinned, his cheeks burning with his amusement.
“Now you're trying to embarrass me!”
“Not really.” I grinned, “Well maybe a little. But really, Charlie, I don't think any girl could say no to you.”
“You going to compare me to Matt Baxter now?” He laughed at my stricken expression.
“No, except to say you'd both be out of my league!” I leaned back in my chair a little less comfortably.
“You know,” he said as he returned his gaze to the ceiling, “someone once told me they couldn't ask you out. Said you were way out of their reach.”
“Liar!” I just had to call him on this obvious line.
“No, really. It's funny,” he smiled as he returned his gaze to me. “Allison opened my eyes to this little fact about us weird humans. We always diet or try to bulk up or walk off extra weight, get muscle or something to impress someone else. People who may be damn near perfect always see someone else as better looking, more powerful, richer. An endless race to nowhere.”
“That's cheerful.”
“No, no, dummy,” he sighed theatrically. “Like this thing with you believing Matt is out of your reach. Hey, he only is if you think so. Otherwise you never know how he'd react, now do you?”
“Well, he could hit me?”
“Really? Matt Baxter? You think he'd hit you?”
“Well, all right, maybe not hit me. But...”
“Nick! You and I both know he's a pretty decent guy. It's not like you don't aim high. Besides you know how it goes, if he's handsome, smart and nice he has to be gay!” Charlie chuckled and I rolled my eyes.
“So which one do you fail to qualify for then?” I snorted.
“You tell me.”
“Charlie, if that was any kind of a real measure, you'd be the gayest person I know.”
“Thanks, Nick.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “If you don't take that picture I may mail it to Matt Baxter; never know what'll happen from there. But for now, I'm really tired, Nick, so I am going to rest. But don't you forget what I said, and you'd better say thank you.”
True to his word, Charlie told me at the end of the day that I couldn't come back. I fought with him, got really angry but he was firm and when his parents came in to see what the ruckus was they supported him! I was furious, in tears and begging him not to give up but his resolve held, even with tears in his eyes.
His mother tried to tell me, privately, that he wanted to spare me. I told her I didn't want to be spared, he was my friend! Not that casual term one tossed about, but a true friend. She nodded, also more than a bit misty, and she said she did understand – and more importantly, so did he.
He passed a few days later. He hadn't looked that weak to me, and I told my father so when he tried to console me.
“Sometimes, Nick...when people are in so much pain...sometimes a person will turn the morphine up just a little too much. You know, to try and stop the pain - make it go away.” I looked at him in stunned silence and he gripped my arm and pulled me to him.
“You think someone killed him?” I whispered through my tears.
“No, not exactly. More along the lines of mercy.” He sat me down and left an arm around my shoulders. “When your grandpa was near the end, he didn't want to be in pain anymore. There was no hope and he knew it. He told me he wasn't living anymore, just existing. And that night he turned up his drip and when we came in the morning to check on him, he was gone.”
“But...”
“Sometimes, we know what is going to happen. I can understand people sparing themselves that pain, Nick. I wouldn't want to live like that.”
“But he wasn't that bad!” I turned to look at my father with a plea in my face. My father's look of misery told the truth. “He was a lot worse than I thought. Wasn't he?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I talked to his mom. They knew there was no hope a while before that, but they kept trying to hold out and give a miracle a chance to show up.” He touched my hand, slowly placing his over mine. “Sometimes we actually let people we love suffer longer in the hope, no matter how vain, that something...divine...will spare them. We pray that something in the universe will see how special and how precious they are and restore them.
“But really, it's a selfish act, after a point. I don't know if his drip was turned up or if his tired body just had had enough. Either way, son, we have to take some comfort in knowing he isn't in pain anymore. He's not just existing.”
He held me loosely as I cried, and I continued to be selfish by wanting my friend back.
The funeral was positively unreal. When my aunt Rose used to whisper about bad trips she'd taken in college, the detached way she'd felt and the complete lack of reality of the whole scene that would play out for her...well, that was all I could think of. Charlie's parents had a wake and there were lots of people; people from school, adults I'd never met and a few I had from his various family events that I'd been a part of. There were girls crying on the steps of the funeral home, and people inside talking quietly, respectfully. And then there were people laughing, catching up and making jokes while Charlie lay at the other end of the room. No, not really Charlie, I guess, just what was left of him.
I retreated from the jokers in back, the ones who were already healing. Looking down on him, in a suit he'd never worn before and a tie that would have made his brown eyes shine with mischief, I felt the wound of his loss throb in my chest. I couldn't bring myself to touch the hand - I knew it would be cold and sterile – with nothing of his fire inside. I knelt instead and spoke softly to his shell, hoping that if we do simply become energy or if he could hear...
“I loved you, Charlie. Cheerio.” I could have sworn I'd heard Charlie's laugh, and his awarding me a point for the Tull reference. I glanced around the room, wondering if that's how someone knows they've lost their marbles. Glancing back at Charlie, for just a second, he smiled.
I wanted to scream. My parents got me out of there, started talking about grief counseling. I wasn't fucked in the head, I told them, I was missing my friend. I can't believe I said the 'f' word to them. I guess, more than anything, that made me realize that I wasn't all right. I mean, I already knew I wasn't, not since he'd sent me away. And then, it had all gotten ten times worse when he died. But if I was so deep that I'd say that to my parents...
“Hey, Nick, right?”
I glanced behind me. A girl in my grade I didn't know was smiling tentatively. I nodded slightly, “Yes, that's me.”
“I'm Emily; Allison Barnett is my best friend. She was dating Charlie and, well, you were his best friend. Right?”
“Uh, yeah. Right.” I turned my back to her and moved forward in the lunch line.
“I don't mean to be nosy, I just...I know Allison is pretty broken up about it and...I don't know, this is coming out all wrong, but you...you look so sad. I wanted to just ask...I don't know if anyone asked if you're...I mean, how you're doing. I'm sorry, this is coming out really awkward...”
I put some food on my tray and glanced at Emily. “Yeah, I understand why it's awkward though. I'm fine, thanks for asking.”
“You're not, though. I mean...Jesus, Emily-”
She put a hand on her forehead and took a deep breath. I moved on to select another item and she moved up again. “Look, I know I'm butchering this, but I can see that you're not really, like, okay. I was just...the school offered some counselors, you know?”
“Already taken care of. Thanks, really.” I gave her a tight smile and moved to the register where I entered a PIN to pay for my lunch.
“Some of us are going to Ridley's after school...if you're not busy,” Emily said shyly as she passed me at the register. I nodded, not committing and wondering if she were hitting on me. If so, it was the creepiest conversation starter since forever. Ridley's was a place Charlie and I used to hang out, a retro kind of spot where they had old stand-up video games that my dad calls classics along with pinball, air hockey and food. Music too; sometimes they'd even have open mic night and some local bands or wanna-be bands would give it a go. Usually wasn't pretty.
I sat down at my normal table, which paused long enough to recognize that I was there, then resumed whatever was the topic of the moment. I dwelled on the meaning of the invite. I half wanted to go, the part of me the therapist was encouraging to get back into life. There was a hefty chunk that felt it would hurt, though. Too many memories of Charlie and all the times we'd gone there. It would be different now. Everything was.
“Hey, Nick.”
I glanced up at Allison, Charlie's last girlfriend. I smiled and said hello. She sat next to me on the stone bench in front of the school, watching our classmates stream to their buses, bikes, cars and skateboards. Some were even walking home, the rebels.
“How are you holding up?” I asked her. I decided to go first, since this was what people always asked me these days.
“I miss him,” she said while pushing some of her long hair out of her eyes. “Even though he told everyone he felt me up.” She gave me a rueful smile that failed to mask the sadness in her eyes.
“Yeah, uh...about that. I saw Charlie a few days...before...” I glanced away in discomfort. I exhaled and turned back to her and saw a gentle question on her face. “He brought that up. He asked me to apologize for him, he knew it was a dick thing to say.”
“That was Charlie for you. He knew if he stepped in shit it would smell and stick to his shoe, but I'll be fucked if he wouldn't step in it anyway and apologize after. Do you know,” she wiped at her eyes and broke into a hesitant chuckle, “he told me once they should put 'It's easier to seek forgiveness than permission' on his tombstone'?”
I smiled, “That sounds like Charlie.”
“I could have killed him when he said that!” she laughed, then said, “The tit hing, I mean. And then he told Sam Wilson that one boob sat higher than the other! So fucking Sam is staring at my chest one day, and I'm like...what the fuck is your problem?”
We both laughed, it was so Charlie.
“Allison, why did you let him get away with the shit he pulled?”
“Oh, I wouldn't say he got away with it. In a way it was like some bizarre game, Charlie could only be serious for so long and then he'd get some dumb idea and blurt it out – like the tit thing – and I'd be furious. But then he'd come to make it up to me and...” She wiped at her nose, glancing away for a moment. “I think Charlie set things up to take advantage of what he was good at. He was really good at making up.”
“He always said he was good at making out.”
“That too,” she laughed. “Were you ever jealous? That he didn't make out with you? Or did he?”
“Charlie? Make out with me? Go on!” I waved at her. “Why would he make out with me?”
“Well, you're gay, aren't you? Don't tell me you're the last to know?” She smiled brightly. “Charlie always used to talk about outing you by making out somewhere publicly, the sneaky bastard.”
“He...” I recalled the tender conversation we'd had where I came out to him. “That sneaky little shit. He knew. Wait,” I slapped a hand to my face, “are you saying....everyone thinks I'm gay?”
“Well, not everyone. But I'd say most do. The sick bastards thought we had some three-way love fest going on.” she shook her head and smiled, “Of course if anyone could pull it off...”
“Yeah, it'd be Charlie.” I thought for a moment, my melancholy over losing Charlie acting as an emotional counterweight to, if Allison could be believed, the school thinking I was in a three-way relationship with my best friend and his girlfriend. Jesus, how boring their lives must be to resort to speculating on my non-existent sex life.
“Your hair,” I said suddenly, reaching out and lightly touching it. “He said it was his favorite thing about you. He said,” - I thought carefully, wanting to get this right - “He said that it shimmered and every time he saw it he wanted to run his fingers through it. He was glad he'd gotten to do that.”
She wiped her eyes again and glanced away, before looking at me again. “We'd watch a movie and he'd run his fingers through my hair over and over again. For all the perverse, silly things he would say he always treated me like...like I mattered.”
“Then he'd open his mouth and ruin it.”
“Exactly,” she laughed. “He always did.”
“Hey, Allison, coming to Ridley's?” We both turned to see who'd spoken, a boy with glasses whom I thought was called Peter. He was accompanied by Emily and Matt Baxter.
Allison turned to me. “How about it? Imagine the trouble we could cause! Fuel old Charlie's three-way rumor, the little shit would just love that, wouldn't he?” Allison held her hand out to me as she stood. “For Charlie?”
I took her hand and stood, looking down slightly into her laughing eyes. “For Charlie.”
As we walked there was light discussion, and I mostly listened. Matt and Peter were talking animatedly about some club function or other – or rather Peter was and Matt seemed to be listening. Allison was walking arm in arm with Emily, heads together and giggling. I was with them and yet not, but it suited me. I was a tad bit taller than many of my peers and I spent that short walk looking at the back of Matt's neck. His dark hair was neat in the back, a fresh haircut perhaps, and...
“So...” Allison pulled me up between her and Emily. “Did Charlie ever lay one on you?”
“No,” shook my head. I'd have welcomed it, true enough, but I didn't need to share that with her. I wouldn't say I was in love with Charlie, even though I did love him. I was envious of his ability to make friends and maintain good relations with near everyone, in spite of his foot-in-mouth disease. Sometimes that flaw made him slightly more likeable, stupid as it sounds.
“I think he wanted to, just for shock factor. He probably would have waited till, like, graduation so he'd have an audience.”
“That sounds...disturbingly like Charlie.”
“How do you suppose it is that someone so devious was so popular?” she mused.
“Because the human race is doomed?” I shrugged.
We entered Ridley's and found a table. Everyone chipped in and we got some cheese fries and ranch dip and Peter ended up sitting on my right with Allison on my left. Matt sat across from me with his pale blue eyes. He smiled and said something to Emily which caused her to laugh. I wish he'd talk that way to me. Sweet Dream, I thought to Charlie. He laughed in my head again, something that didn't freak me out like it had at the funeral.
I listened to the idle chatter, minimally participated, and tried not to get caught staring at Matt. Speaking of which, he got up to go use the bathroom and Peter got my attention.
“So Nick, did you ever consider coming to one of our meetings?”
“Sorry? What meeting?”
“We have a GSA, everyone is welcome. I'm the vice president and we're always looking to recruit!” He smiled broadly. His forehead was broken out with acne, probably like my own, and his eyes were focused behind his lenses on mine, fixing me to the spot.
“Oh, I guess I never really thought about it.” I had, actually. It was kind of terrifying, since going meant everyone would assume you were gay. Why did it have to be such a big deal?
“Well, it would be great if you'd think about it. I could give you more information, maybe this weekend if that's all right?”
“Uh.” Was he hitting on me or asking me out or something? Or was I reading that into everyone today? Mayhem, Maybe came Charlie's voice from somewhere in my addled brain.
“Guys! Guys! They're setting up karaoke in the next room! Come on!”
I cringed, then saw Peter waiting for my answer and suddenly joined the rest of them in going into the meeting room where they had the open mic nights. A small stage was on one end, but I was still sweating what to say to Peter and what he might take from that answer. The group was crowded around the book of selections, picking out a group song. I wouldn't have gone up, but I thought I had to or risk being left with Peter, who wasn't pushing the question verbally but I could feel it crawling on my neck, a sweaty prickly feeling that was completely in my head – but also totally real.
We did some song I'd heard on the radio, maybe, but it was forgettable then and perfectly silly now. It was a group sing along with lots of laughing and mistakes. I had Emily drop her arm around my waist from one side and Peter from the other and felt distinctly uncomfortable. As soon as we cleared the stage I begged off and made my way home, thoroughly confused and wondering what I'd just walked into. My escape was nearly clean, but Peter called out to me, and I stopped so as not to be rude.
“So, listen. I don't want to pressure you, but a group of like-minded people can be really handy right now and in the future. Might help you deal with stuff, you know.”
“Thanks,” I said with a tight smile. “I'll get back to you.” It's no use you playing doctor to my disease, I thought. Charlie didn't laugh from the corner in my mind he inhabited, but I still felt like I got my points.
I spent several days just out walking, talking to Charlie in my head. I kept up our little game, our Tull game, by spotting things and then saying them to him, even if only in my mind. I really challenged myself and our silly love of all things Tull to come up with a lyric, at least one a day. They weren't always charitable either, but he and I would have laughed. One day Melissa Chambers came in and she'd dressed very slutty, so much so that she was sent to the office and from there sent home to change. I mentally called Cross Eyed Mary to Charlie and heard his laugh in my head, and the affirmation that I'd gotten a point.
Another day, when Brent Simons came in wearing whatever had been on the bottom of his clothes hamper for a week, wrinkled and thoroughly unkempt I told Charlie Aqualung and he laughed again, giving me my point. Mr. Dempsey, the drunkard Math teacher, breathed on me one day while leaning over my desk to help with a problem, and I thought Locomotive Breath at Charlie. Another laugh and another point.
I passed his old house now and again to try and catch his leftover energy, if such a thing did exist. I felt sadness, mostly, and that only got worse when the 'for sale' sign went up. I even watched, for a bit, when the moving truck whisked away all the Hampton's things. Someone moved in shortly after and I thought he looked like a tool. One of those slaves to a desk who just punches in at nine, goes home at five and gets henpecked by his overbearing wife and two-point-five kids. Part of the Machine. Charlie was silent.
The oddest exchange came on the cusp of spring, though, while in gym class. We were playing basketball and the coach had us play shirts and skins. Matt was on shirts, something that disappointed me mightily and did nothing to stop me checking him out. There was a pause in the game and I let my eyes drift over to Matt, who was looking down at his feet. His head suddenly came up and he was looking at me intently, eye to eye. I froze and then nearly gave myself whiplash as I turned my head and felt my cheeks set themselves on fire. Watching me, watching you. Shut up Charlie, you asshole.
I milled around away from Matt, waiting for the delay to be cleared up and the game to resume. A hand on my arm tugged me around and I was face to face with him.
“Meet me at Ridley's after school. We should talk.” He turned and my heart dropped as I watched him go. No, Charlie, he didn't hit me. Not physically, but the verbal one was coming. After gym I showered quickly and went on to my next class. Most of the lesson was lost on me as I could only obsess over what Matt would say. Obviously he'd caught me checking him out which begged the question – when did he notice? It must have been recent, like today, otherwise he'd have confronted me before.
Right?
But what if he's been letting me go, trying to let me – I don't know – get over him? Maybe he thought I'd stop? Maybe he'd let me down easy? Or totally trash me? Or maybe he wants a date? My whole brain was occupied with what he could say, equal parts hope and terror. Charlie, I... I was so obsessed with my meeting with Matt that, for a few moments, I'd forgotten to hurt about Charlie. I dropped my head into my hands; I was hopeless. Completely smitten with Matt. Roots to Branches, Charlie agreed. Shut up, Charlie.
I dawdled a bit as I gathered my things to leave at the end of the day. I was still divided, veering wildly between a man going to be shot and one going on his first date. Vacillating between these extremes. I made my way to Ridley's and found Matt there, waiting. I took the seat opposite him and he cocked his head just a bit to one side and regarded me.
“You know, you are a huge pain in the ass.”
Okay, not an opening line I'd considered. “Sorry?”
“Look, we're going to have to seriously discuss all this, and we need to be sort of quick. Peter will be here soon and we need to have this sorted out before that.”
“Peter?” I wrinkled my brow, “What does Peter have to do with...why we're here?”
“You did meet him, right? Guy that wanted you to come to the GSA? Let me guess: he fed you the recruiting line? Comes off all innocent because of his geeky outside? You do know he was hitting on you, right?” Matt leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table.
This was not going anything like I’d assumed it would; like I’d preparted for; he had me thoroughly off balance. I floundered, answering him the best I could.“Well, I thought he might have been. But, that day was kind of weird. I think I thought Emily was hitting on me too.” Where was this going? It totally was not matching up with his attitude from the gym. Where I was perving on him.
“Emily hits on all gay guys. She thinks she's practicing for the real thing, but she's so bad at it,” Matt said, and starting laughing. “I mean, if some guy takes pity that she's so awkward about flirting it might work. Stranger things have happened.”
“Yes, some people find things like that endearing,” I agreed. “And she was definitely awkward. Although she was talking to me a lot about how I was feeling since...you know.”
“Charlie Hampton.”
“Yeah.”
“So...was there any truth about you, him and Allison?”
“Uh, no. Not a shred. I just found out about that one, actually.”
“Did you hear that you and I are an item?”
I began coughing violently as I swallowed my own spit down the wrong way. I covered my mouth and turned away from Matt, coughing violently into my hand. I caught a moment, swallowed repeatedly, but my throat had a sensitive spot and when air passed over it my throat would become irritated all over again and I'd break down in another coughing fit.
“Here, drink.” Matt handed me a cup and I sipped the water, and coughed a little more. I drank heavily, trying to sooth the twitchy spot. At last I felt as though I could look at him without coughing, though I was wiping my copiously leaking eyes.
“So I guess this is news to you, then?” He was smiling at me.
“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”
“So you haven't been checking me out?”
“Well.” I glanced away. Matt chuckled and reached into his bag and produced his iPod. He tossed the ear buds to me and gestured for me to put them in. I did so, hesitantly, and thoroughly confused.
“Do you think there's a god, Nick?” Charlie's voice came from the buds and I ripped them from my ears in horror. I looked at Matt whose eyes were wide and then I realized what all this meant. Sneaking, conniving Charlie had tried to hook me up from beyond the grave – by spilling our last conversation to my crush. Matt had obviously heard it all, and had known for...since a few days before Charlie died.
“This is so wrong,” I said just above a whisper as I stood and grabbed my bag.
“Nick, wait.” Matt was on his feet too and had a hold on my arm before I could turn and flee. I tugged, but halfheartedly. Charlie, you ever loving asshole, even after you die you set me up for one of your epic jokes. Rainbow Blues. Fuck. You. Charlie. Why don't you just fuck off, now? Get out of my head!
“Nick, can you just sit back down? Please?”
I turned stiffly and sat, not facing Matt. Tears of embarrassment filled my eyes and I ignored them as they fell in large, wet splashes. My arms crossed my chest, then dropped down to grip my middle and I felt my back curve as my muscles tightened. Charlie, how could you...
“I'm sorry, I didn't handle this well.” Matt stammered, “I thought you might not believe me if I told you, and that if I had you listen that...well...we could save some time. Kind of know what was what.”
I rocked in my chair, my face felt puffy with pressure. The sense of betrayal was bitter on my tongue, and sat sourly in my gut. My stomach muscles were clenching as if my body was sobbing, but there was no torrent. Just lazy, fat tears.
“Look, I've been trying to find a time to talk to you. It just never seemed the right time; you were so upset after Charlie died that...well, it just never seemed like a good time.”
“You weren't supposed to hear that,” I replied sotto voce, unable to meet his face.
“I know. It was a really private conversation and I'd be pretty mad if my best friend did that to me.”
“It's what Charlie did.” I threw a hand in the air, fresh tears falling, “Charlie fucking Hampton could always work his way back into your good graces, only to fart in church all over again.”
“I guess people always felt it was in good fun, you know? Even though Charlie pulled some epic pranks, people couldn't stay mad at him. Well, most people.” Matt moved his chair to my side and sat with his head near my own, still hanging and refusing to make eye contact.
“This isn't fun.” I muttered. “It should have been up to me to...tell.” I sniffed, then finished with,“You.”
“But, now I know. So.”
I exhaled deeply, my chest constricting in a nervous shiver as my breath left me. “So,” I nodded.
“I agree with a lot of what you guys said. I mean, it was surprising to find out Charlie was more of a believer than just about anyone I know – but then he was pretty heavy into being forgiven.” Matt smiled and I returned it weakly.
“He's not here to ask for it this time. I'm not sure I'd let him have it this time, either.” I wiped my still damp eyes. My vision was slightly blurry from the water on my eyelashes, and they required several swipes to get my vision to clear sufficiently.
“I understand that. But, Charlie was the man with the plan, you know?”
“He always had a few going,” I admitted.
“He started emailing me last spring, just after he let people know he had something major wrong with him. As much as he kind of screwed this up, he was also trying to work a plan along before he ran out of time. I admit, I was not making it easy on him.”
I glanced up at Matt, whose cheeks had turned slightly red and he gave me a wan smile, exposing dimples that always made my heart flutter.
“See, Peter and I were dating, sort of. But I think, even then, Charlie kind of thought you had a thing for me. I always felt a little weird about talking to him about it. I mean, he was kind of blunt and more than once I told him to just go away. But I was always curious about what he'd say next, and it was kind of liberating to have that almost anonymous vent to talk about that kind of stuff. The GSA is good for some stuff, but it's easier to write things than say them sometimes. Things with Peter were never really good, you know? We're different, maybe too different. Peter – never Pete,” Matt held his hands up in surrender, “he was into all kinds of stuff I wasn't. He liked chick flicks and going for frozen yogurt.”
“I like those things,” I said quietly.
“I know,” Matt said with a smile. “But Peter wouldn't do anything he didn't specifically like. For instance, I like being outside and playing sports. I like to swim and ride my bike and get dirty playing football or whatever. Peter not only wasn't into that, he kind of didn't want me doing those things either.”
“That's kind of...” I closed my mouth, not wanting to offend by offering my opinion on someone else's relationship.
“Bossy? Pushy? Selfish? Yeah, it was. I put up with it because he was my boyfriend and he was out and I only sort of was.” Matt sighed deeply. “But those weren't good reasons to stay with someone, not long term.”
“So, wait...” My brain had suddenly been slapped into gear and had processed some of what Matt was saying, instead of letting it slide over me like water off a duck's back – never absorbing any of it. “You're gay?”
“Yeah.” He held out his hands, “Surprise!”
“Uh. Wow.”
“That's it? Uh, wow? No cartwheels?” Matt held his arms wide and smiled. I felt my mouth crack into a crooked, nervous smile. As if my mouth weren't sure it had permission to smile, but that one half had decided to anyway.
“I don't have the balance for cartwheels.”
“Oh, all right then.” Matt sat up a bit and allowed a serious expression to cover his face. “So, we should talk about Peter first.”
“Uh.”
“Peter is interested in you. Remember I said he was hitting on you?” Matt motioned with his hand, like trying to draw a slow student along a thought path.
“Oh, right. The flirting. I think he tried to ask me out, but I felt kind of...”
“He came on strong without being all macho, right? Just kind of insistent?”
“Sort of, I guess. I never really answered him, just kind of let it go.”
“I don't think he will let you off the hook so easily. You haven't officially come out yet. He likes to date guys in that stage, puts him in charge, sort of. He tries to mold guys to be the way he wants them to be. He did that with Steve before me, and then with Tyson after we broke up.”
“So...” I said slowly, gathering the courage to say what I wanted.
“So I don't want you to make a mistake with him like I did, but of course I can't stop you. Charlie told me a lot about you, kind of tried to get me to dump Peter for you,” he said, shaking his head at the memory.
“You know...” I threw my hands up, “I can't put anything past Charlie. I'm so sorry. You and I don't even know each other and Charlie just...I don't even know how he knew.”
“The, uh, looks.” Matt smiled, “One of the guys in the GSA last year said he liked to go dancing at the 18-and-over night at the club. He said some guys will just try to look without getting caught and he'd kind of let them look, then catch them. Kinda like I did to you. Don't think you got away with all those glances, Mister Nick.”
“I am so embarrassed,” I covered my face.
“So, I have a plan.”
“Please tell me Charlie had nothing to do with it?”
“Not really. See, if you want to try things with Peter, I'm okay with that. But if you're interested in trying to see how things go with me...”
I opened two fingers and looked at him with a single eye. “You have my attention.”
“Well, here's the thing. I've gotten a chance to kind of watch you, and you seem really nice. I don't want to commit to, like, being boyfriends. But I thought maybe a few dates? See if we have anything in common? Charlie said you had a Nobel prize in your room, so I have to see that of course.”
“Fucking Charlie,” I covered my face.
“So here comes Peter. You think about it some, and let me know.”
I decided that, while my initial reaction to Matt's offer was 'Hell yeah!' that I should probably at least try to be mature and pretend to seriously consider the situation. I agreed to attend a GSA meeting, but turned Peter down in terms of trying to convince me on a weekend. Alone. I didn't know much about Peter, really, but his personality turned me off, so there was never any real competition there. I don't know if I was getting better or worse, but Charlie had stopped chiming in with lyrics or song titles. I heard an echo when I kept my end up, but that was all.
My parents decided that the yard needed new greenery and that it was somehow to my benefit to go with them to the nursery. I rolled my eyes to Charlie and told him this was my Rock Island. He didn't laugh, but I still got my point. We climbed in the car and my dad turned on the radio, some song my parents knew, and they both started to wiggle about and sing together. I laughed and told Charlie, Too Old to Rock and Roll, Too young to Die. I stopped laughing - I didn't want the point.
We got to the nursery and my parents began to stroll about with no plan whatsoever for their purchases. I sidled away from them, looking at the miniature forest of trees for sale. 'Look, Charlie' I said in my head, Songs From the Wood. He didn't laugh and didn't award me a point. At that point I begun to be scared that I'd really lost him.
“Hey, Nick, what are you doing here?” I looked up in surprise to see Matt in a sweaty V-neck tee shirt and shorts and sporting a grin. His curly hair was matted down and his pale-blue eyes were flashing; if Charlie could see him now he'd understand why Matt Baxter was more interesting to me than Keith or Alex, or even both rolled up together.
“Matt! Oh, hi. I, um, my parents wanted some green for the yard,” I said while nodding at him, trying to remain cool. Charlie laughed and I was a tad relieved to hear it. I supposed I should have been more concerned that he was laughing in my head, but I honestly wasn't; but this meeting was true happenstance, I could tell Matt I was willing and I could still look like I had thought about it.
“This early?” He waved at the little forest I'd just been glancing at. “Even they don't have any green yet. Well,” he took a closer look at some tiny green buds, “maybe a little.”
I heard a flute. No, I swear, I heard it. I glanced around for it as I tried to run the tune against my mental Jethro Tull data base. It sounded familiar and yet I couldn't quite put my finger on it; it was maddening.
“The rowan, the oak and the holly tree are all the charges left for him to groom.”
“What?” My head snapped around nearly spinning it off. “What did you say?”
“Easy, Nick,” he smiled. “It's a line from a band my dad likes. See, I was talking to my dad this morning, kind of fighting with him to not work today. He claimed we needed to work now because Jack in the Green had done his work already.” He took my stunned expression for lack of knowledge. “He's from England,” he said sheepishly. “He says Jacks in the Greens are these little...”
“Woodland sprites. They look after all things that grow in the winter months,” I replied as if in a dream.
“Yeah, exactly,” he said with a smile. My eyes darted around, looking for a safe place besides getting caught staring into Matt's pale blue eyes. A flash of color between evergreens told me there was a street on the other side of them with cars whipping by, and the tumblers in my mind began to fall into place. Motorways. I looked up and saw the power lines and, crazy as it sounds, I heard the flute coming from in front of me. I looked at Matt, maybe noticing for the first time the smile that had yet to leave his face since saying hello to me. I looked down his front to his long legs, so very nicely shaped as they disappeared into his nearly not there socks and trainers. Then I saw it, between his feet which were on the paved path between the rows. Grass. More specifically, grass growing through the pavement.
I grinned as I saw it and the tune finally revealed itself in my head. I glanced at Matt and started to chuckle and his grin became a wide smile. I couldn't help myself, I began laughing and wondering to myself if Charlie had been working on this for a long time. Matt looked at me in amusement, probably thinking I was crazy; who knows, maybe I was a little? But one thing was for damn sure – Charlie had won the game, sent his message and it was received loud and clear.
“So, Matt,” I asked, “You have heard of Jethro Tull?”
“Yeah, my dad has some records of theirs. Do you like them?” He smiled a bit more.
“I do, I have some of their music at home. I was going to go over to the Blue Note, a used record store, this afternoon. Would you like to come? With me, I mean?”
“Would I? Yeah, sure!” His grin, if possible, got wider. We exchanged cell numbers and he tried to linger, but his father began grousing at him to get back to it. I watched him go, long legs and all and thought 'Charlie, he stole the handle and the train it won't stop going no way to slow down'. I pictured his face and smiled. 'Cheerio, Charlie'. And thanks.
Jack in the GreenHave you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree ---
in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.
It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green ---
no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
carries the green flag all the winter long.
Jack, do you never sleep ---
does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
motorways, powerlines,
keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.
The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.
Music copyright by Jethro Tull or whomever.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sadoaaOzUg
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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