Happy New Year - 1. Happy New Year - Part I

“Need a hand with that?” I asked approaching the man struggling with a large box.

I was cruising a bit over the speed limit on County Road 133, looking forward to a quiet weekend as I headed home after a long week at work―no drinking at the bar tonight for me. The windows were down, the spring weather was beautiful and I was singing along to Drake Jensen’s anti-bullying song Scars from his OUTlaw CD. The man was pretty darn good. Was that a moving truck in front of the Wilson place?

Guess I was getting new neighbors and since the small community around Little Jessie Lake is a friendly, welcoming one, I might as well be part of that tradition. I made a quick U-turn and headed towards the cabin’s driveway to offer some help. Anyone would be better than the religious fanatics I had lived with over the past few months. Once they figured out I preferred the company of men they badmouthed me to everyone they could talk to. It’s pretty laid-back here in northern Minnesota and they were mostly ignored―I’d decided they were a perfect example of why abortion should remain legal and some people should be encouraged to make use of it.

“Yeah! These damn boxes full of books are heavier than I thought. I’m Abe, Abraham Cooper.”

“Good to meetcha Abe, Barrett Anderson here; my friends call me Wood, middle name is Woodrow.” Abe had taken off his shirt and his chocolate colored skin glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. The perspiration made him shimmer as the drops of sweat clinging to his chest hairs reflected the sun. “How the hell did you get them in the truck to begin with?”

“I didn’t. A bunch of my students filled them up inside the truck so this is the first time anyone tries to move them after filling.” The boxes were definitely too big to pack books in. Abe grabbed one end of the box and I took the other one as we headed towards the cabin. His biceps bulged as we lifted the box and the muscles on his chest contracted with the effort. The man was solid, built like a tank and in very good shape. No gym-developed six-pack abdominals on him: there were some love handles instead and that just made him look so much more real and so much more appealing.

“Students? You a teacher, Abe?”

“English Professor at University of Minnesota Duluth―a few of my students were kind enough to help me pack up the truck.”

“Hey! My son is finishing up his sophomore year there. He’ll be here after finals to drop off his junk before heading down to St. Paul to visit his mother. You’ll get to meet him later on this month, he’s coming back to work for me for the summer.” We were on our way back to the truck for another box and as Abe walked in front of me I took a good look. He was probably half a dozen years older than my own 42 but he definitely took care of himself. His shaved head hid any gray hairs present but a few sprinkled the goatee framing his brilliant white smile.

“What’s his name? I may have had him in one of my classes.”

“Everyone calls him Woodie, and no he’s not a Junior. He got stuck with the nickname ‘cause he looks so much like me. His name is Trent Barrett Anderson.”

“Nope, can’t recall anyone by that name in one of my lower level classes in the past couple of years. Unless he’s in the English Department the chances are he escaped my clutches.”

“That bad eh? Hang on one minute.” We had placed the second box of books next to the front door on top of the previous one and I wanted to shed the shirt. As soon as the sun set the temperature would cool down, but right now, between that big ball of fire and the work, I was heating up. And to be honest with myself, the sight of Abe was heating up a certain part of my anatomy.

“Nah, students seem to like me. Hell I was able to pack my entire place really fast because I had so much help. Requiring a term paper, which they have the entire semester to work on, instead of having to sit for a final exam, probably helps my reputation.”

“You packed up your entire place just to spend the summer in a lake cabin? And your wife went along with that?”

“I’m not here just to spend the summer, I’m on sabbatical for at least the next fifteen months and there is no wife.”

● ● ●

“Abe! About time you made it, bud―real glad you’re here. Dump the beer in the ice bin and come with me, I want you to meet my son.” After we finished unloading the moving truck, my new neighbor and I had both been hot, sweaty and thirsty. I invited him over to my place for a couple of beers and showed him how to walk by the shoreline to reach my place faster than by cutting through the tree line separating the two properties or going back out to the street. He ended up staying for dinner since there was nothing at his place. I had one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life. The man was intelligent, warm and witty; I was going to like having him around for the next year-plus.

“Hey, Champ, c’mere, I want you to meet our new next-door neighbor. Abe this is my son Trent Barrett Anderson. Woodie, this is―”

“I know who he is. Good to meet you Professor Cooper. I tried real hard to get into one of your classes this past year but all the ones I was eligible for were already full.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Woodie and sorry about that; I’m not certain why but my classes do tend to fill up rather quickly.”

“Maybe because you have such a great reputation? Dad, from the moment you show up for freshman orientation every upperclassman is telling you to try and get into one of his classes. They claim they’re not easy but the Prof makes them interesting and enjoyable. Instead of lecturing or reading from a book he acts out different characters himself and eventually gets students to take over. A recurring class project is turning a novel or short story into a movie screenplay; my roomie says he learned more about grammar and punctuation during that exercise than ever before. So, Professor, are you here for the summer?”

“I’ll leave you in my son’s hands Abe, I need to check on the food in the kitchen. Grab a beer and take off the shirt, you may as well enjoy the sun and the warm weather. Be back in a bit.” It was the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend and I was hosting my annual Lake Party to kick off the summer season. By the end of the day most of my coworkers at Benbow Logging, their families, assorted friends and many of the residents around our lake would stop by for something to drink or eat.

“Hey, lady, what ya got there and where’s the kid?” Mary Ann was the office manager for Benbow. Single parents, we had become friends over the years, often comparing notes on what it was like to raise a child without a partner. Her son was younger than Woodie; I tried to help her out and played the father figure whenever she asked.

“The usual, babe,” she said as she stuck her head inside the refrigerator, “my grandmother’s potato salad―I hope I made enough this year. The kid ran in the front door and out the back so quick I thought he was a bolt of lightning. He’s already down on the dock talking to his friends. Fucking teenagers!”

“Grab yourself a drink, there’s a couple of bottles of the wine you like in there. I think they’re on the bottom shelf.” In her late thirties, she was still a looker. Her long blonde hair, usually tied up or under a ball cap in the office, was flowing and shining this afternoon. The loose, light dress was also a change from her usual office uniform of jeans and a flannel shirt. Mary Ann hadn’t allowed her body to sag after birth and a subsequent nasty divorce that left her in a bad depression for a couple of years. She was tough, realized her son needed her and kept going through all the bad times. At one point she had expressed an interest in me but I made it clear I was over relationships and had no plans of getting involved with anyone ever again.

“Damn, Wood, who’s dark and handsome standing on the deck talking to your son? Woof! The man is built like a tank. Are you tapping that or is he a free agent?”

“I swear you talk like one of the truckers back at the company! Behave, you tramp. Come on out and I’ll introduce you. And not that it’s any of your fucking business but no, I ain’t tapping that.” She knew I played both sides of the fence and was okay with it. Her only complaint was that it meant more competition for the area females. I affectionately took her by the scruff of the neck and steered her towards the open glass doors.

“Aunt Mary!”

“Hey, Woodie. So good to see you again. Damn, you’re looking good. Definitely a younger version of your dad―same broad shoulders, same big arms and same fur cover all over. You must be getting laid right and left at college. Betcha those girls get moist down under when you walk by.”

“Jesus, Aunt Mary, what happened to the filter between your brain and your mouth?”

“Bah, got rid of it years ago; got too fucking clogged up with religious bullshit. And how long do you think I would have survived at Benbow if I had been prim and proper? Those wolves would have eaten me alive!” She did have a point: whenever an unsuspecting logger or driver tried to put the moves on her they got such an earful sailors would have blushed. Afterwards it was all Yes, Ma’am and No, Ma’am.

“Wow, I’m sure you just made a great first impression there. Professor, Mary Ann Summers―the office manager at my job. Mary Ann, Abraham Cooper, my new neighbor. Forgive her foul language, she’s too used to dealing with lumberjacks and truck drivers.” As I was making the last comment I motioned for one of those truck drivers to come join us. He had been staring at our group with a look on his face I could not decipher.

“Oh, I don’t know that I need to forgive anything, Wood; I find her to be a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy coworkers I normally deal with. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary Ann.”

“Fuck! Good looking and well spoken, I may have to clean up my act. Pleasure to meet you too, Abe, you must be the guy Wood helped move in next door last week.”

“Yes, ma’am, that would be me.”

“Great. Wood told me a new tenant had moved into the Wilson place. I’m so fucking happy those holier-than-thou a-holes are gone. They were driving everyone in the area nuts with their constant preaching.”

“Aunt Mary, the Professor teaches at my school, he’s one of those all the kids love.”

“Are you here through the end of summer, Professor?”

“I’m here at least through the end of next summer. I’m stepping away from teaching for a year; attempting to write a novel.”

“Wow! When it comes out you’ll have to sign a copy for me. Is it a mystery or a scary one like those Stephen King ones they always turn into movies?” I had to smile at Mary Ann’s attempts at cleaning up her language and uttering three continuous sentences without a curse word. The woman had gone into full flirt mode.

“No, nothing like that. It’s about how a long term relationship can end when one of the partners lies and cheats. It’s something I have experienced and this is my therapy session.” Good for him, he just hinted at unresolved issues from a bad relationship, smart way of letting her know she would have no luck with him any time soon. Time to rescue him.

“Hey Stan, come here so I can introduce you. Abe, this is one of the drivers at our company and a good friend. Stan Bellamy, this is my next-door neighbor Abraham Cooper. We’ll have the pleasure of his company for at least a year so you’ll be seeing him around whenever we get together.”

“Good to meet you, Stan. Forget that Abraham stuff, just call me Abe.”

“Hey.”

Well, that was weird. Abe had extended his hand to shake but Stan ignored it, raised his beer bottle in acknowledgement and turned around to look at the lake after his curt greeting. A bit later I went looking for him but he was nowhere to be found.

“How was your visit to St. Paul, Woodie?”

“It was okay, Prof; same shit, different year.”

“Woodie!” It was a beautiful Saturday in June and the three of us were out in the middle of the lake trying to catch enough bluegill or yellow perch for a fish fry in the evening. The kid had returned from visiting his mother the previous weekend and as usual couldn’t get out on the water fast enough.

“What, Dad? It’s the truth. Mom is a space cadet who tries real hard to be the ideal mother but has no clue and can’t relate to me for shit. Her husband is a drunk who actually had the gall to raise his hand to me when Mom and I argued a bit loudly about gay people one night. I’m sure he had fun explaining the black eye, the split lip and broken nose at work the next day.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Fuck yeah I did. The pompous ass thought I would just run away like I did when I was younger but I decided it was time to put him in his place. I told Mom that as long as he was around I would not come visit again. I think you’re stuck with me for every holiday from now on.”

“Sorry, Abe. And the apology is on behalf of my son also.”

“Sorry for what? It sounds to me as if this young man has his wits about him and is not going to be intimidated by a bully. I’m all in favor of that. Growing up as a black kid in the South I learned early to defend myself against bigoted rednecks. Usually all it took was one broken nose and they kept their distance from me for the remainder of the school year. Once I started playing football the bullying problem disappeared and the need to fight went away with it.”

“Way to go, Prof!”

“Did he try to physically abuse you while you were living with your mother, Woodie?”

“Killer over here never received more than a spanking as far as I know, Abe. He only lived with his mother for a relatively short time, the drunk came into the picture towards the end of that period. She was granted primary custody during the divorce and took him down to the Twin Cities with her. Woodie was not happy about leaving here, the tantrums he threw from the moment he found out he was moving to the city to their actual departure were epic. No one could figure out why he continued to hate the idea of moving so much even after all the things we tried to bribe him with.”

“At that age I couldn’t explain what I felt or give it a name, Prof. All I knew was I didn’t want to leave Daddy.”

‘I just thought he was torn about losing one of his parents. He didn’t have any apparent animosity towards his mother but I felt as if I’d kinda won the popularity contest.”

“When did your mother remarry, Woodie?”

“She started dating the loser about two years after we moved to the city. During the time they dated, the man was extremely nice to me. Every visit would bring a little trinket or a piece of candy. My birthday earned me a top of the line bike that was the envy of all the kids in school; Christmas was just an orgasm of presents. The man was just trying to get into Mom’s panties at first and then convince her to marry him. Being nice to me put him in a good light.”

“Woodie came to spend a month with me while his mom and her new husband went on a honeymoon and then moved in together. The man had a nice home he owned outright; trying to avoid the drama of the previous move, they transferred everything over while the boy was up here. It didn’t work.”

“Yeah, Dad. It didn’t work not so much because of the move but because the guy turned into a complete asshole. I’m sure I was a little pain in the ass when I returned and found out they had moved and I had to change schools. Called them both several nasty names which earned me a spanking from Mom. From that day forward the asshole would take every opportunity he had to point out my mistakes and blame them all on Dad.”

“Woodie called several times crying, begging me to come get him. I always asked if he had been hit but he was always honest and admitted the most he had to deal with was yelling and nasty remarks about me. I encouraged him to be a man and tough it out, promising I would make it up to him the following summer. How stupid was I? The kid may not have been physically abused but the psychological battering he was taking was just as bad. It took me a few years to realize that.”

“I have no kids so I can’t speak from experience, Wood. But I can see this young man is strong and still worships the ground you walk on. You must not have messed up too badly.”

“Got that right, Prof. His comment about acting like a man had a big effect on me. All of a sudden you had this nine year old kid that wanted to make his father proud and was not going to be a crybaby. I started to stare at my stepfather and stay silent every time he started one of his tirades. I guess when he realized he was no longer scaring me it pissed him off. Even being a kid I could see it on his face.

“All through autumn and winter I saved my allowance and plotted my return to Little Jessie Lake. As soon as the weather began improving, I ran away from home. The first time, one of the neighbors saw me with my thumb out two blocks away from home and promptly returned me to my mother. A week later I walked to a major intersection before sticking my thumb out, that time the cops took me home.”

“The little hellion made it a regular habit, turning it almost into a game. He would charm his way into getting rides until someone decided it was strange for a nine year old to be out on the road alone, supposedly trying to get back home to Deer River, and delivered him to a police station. Never made it very far but eventually the ex gave up. Woodie moved in with me at the end of the school year and would visit St. Paul during the holidays.”

“That was fun. I remember Mom getting so pissed every time she had to pick me up at a station. Since they last saw me at Christmas time I’ve grown a couple of inches and added about twenty pounds of muscle and still the stupid ass tried to hit me. After I rearranged his face I looked at Mom, gave her my ultimatum, packed my stuff, threw it in the truck and came back home.”

“Remind me not to get you upset at me, buddy.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about, Prof. Plus you’ve got a rocking body. I’m sure you could dish back whatever is thrown at you. Hey, Dad, where’s Stan? I’ve never known him to miss the opportunity to come out fishing.”

“Not sure what’s going on with him. He’s been acting weird around me for the past few weeks. I told him the three of us were taking the boat out today but he claimed to have made plans already. It’s as if he’s avoiding me.” I noticed Abe looked down at the bottom of the boat and then at the shoreline. Was he why Stan was so distant lately? Nah, couldn’t be. They barely spoke to each other at the Memorial Day Weekend picnic.

“So, Prof, is the threat of those racist bullies the reason you carry a gun with you all the time?”

“You noticed?”

“Hell yeah! Whenever you take off your shirt you always take off the holster from your back at the same time and cover up the gun with the shirt. It’s so cool to have someone out here with us that’s not afraid of guns or gets disgusted by slimy fish. That was Dad’s last boyfriend, what a douche.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, boyfriend. Way to go, Woodie, thanks for outing me.”

“Ooops, sorry, Dad. I just figured that the Professor would already know considering you two have been hanging out together for the past few weeks.”

“Yeah well, genius, the subject never came up and you know I don’t go around announcing I suck dick to everyone I meet. Which by the way I do, Abe.” I had to laugh at the expression on his face. The surprise was apparent and he kept looking back and forth between me and the kid, almost as if he was watching a tennis match.

“Yuck! Dad! Do you have to be so graphic? Bad mental image, bad mental image.”

“Tell you what, Woodie, you stop talking about pussy and I’ll stop talking about dicks.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, I may as well accept the fact that you’re going to torture me with your sex life.”

“The two of you should take this routine on the road, my sides hurt from laughing so much.”

“Now you know, Abe, the divorce was because the wife got tired of living out in the woods and because every now and then I got the urging to munch on a juicy tube steak.”

“Daaad…”

“Welcome back, Abe, you’re home early. How was Duluth? Come in, buddy, want a beer?” I was surprised to see Abe on my deck so early. Over the past few weeks we’d gotten comfortable enough with each other there was no need to call ahead before visiting but this was a bit strange. I had not expected him to return from his little trip until the afternoon.

“It was nice to see friends but I was itching to get back after a couple of days; this place seems to agree with me. Wood, did you check up on my place at all while I was gone?”

“Yup, daily. The one day I missed, Woodie went by. Why? What’s going on? Are you going to come in or should I get us a beer to drink out here?”

“Would you mind coming over to my place? I have beer if you want one, I think I need something stronger anyway. When was the last time you came over?”

“Yesterday early evening. I had a bunch of the guys over for poker night and I stopped in on my way back from picking up beer; I walked around the place and checked the doors and all the windows. Was the cabin broken into?” Abe was starting to scare me. We had a quiet community and burglaries were extremely rare around the lake. But the look on his face was one of such anger that I half expected to see steam coming out of his ears any minute.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to touch anything so I just took a picture with my phone and came over to get you. Here, take a look.”

“What the hell? What kind of sick fuck would do that?” The picture showed the front door to the cabin; Nigger Go Home had been spray painted on it. I took my own phone out of my back pocket and called my son back at our place.

“Woodie, grab my shotgun and one of the rifles and get over to Abe’s right now. Yes, we’re both fine. Hurry up. Okay bud, let’s hang back by the side so the kid can see us when he walks over here. I’m going to call the Sheriff but who knows how long it’ll take for them to get here.”

“I’m pissed, Wood, I’m seriously pissed. I thought I’d left this kind of shit behind me when I left South Carolina. This is fucking Minnesota! This isn’t supposed to happen here. I know I’m the only black dude around but everyone has been real nice to me since I moved. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Dad! Professor! What’s going on?”

“Walk towards the driveway, Woodie, take a look at the front door.”

“Shit. That’s fucking sick!”

“Here’s what I want to do.” I explained my simple plan to the two of them. Woodie would jog back to the shoreline and hide behind a tree with his rifle aimed at the back door. “Son unless you get a text from us telling you it’s all clear, you shoot anyone walking out that door. Shoot first and we’ll ask questions later. But do not leave the protection of the tree otherwise, okay?”

“Sure, Dad, I understand. You and Abe be careful.”

“Abe, I’m pretty sure whoever did this is long gone but let’s be careful as we approach the front door.”

“I agree with you, Wood. When I first got here I never considered the possibility of someone being inside; I walked all around the place, made sure there were no busted windows or doors and then headed to your place. Anyone hiding inside could have shot me then quite easily.”

“Let’s be careful anyway, okay?” We approached the door, keeping it between us, without climbing the steps. I tried to push the door with the gun; it did not move. “You’re up, Abe, stay to the side as much as possible and open the sucker up.”

“It’s fine, Wood. The deadbolt can only be locked using a key, I never leave one on the inside of the door and I just have to unlock it. I think it was just a spray and go job.” The man had a smile on his face, I couldn’t believe how calm he had been during the past half hour.

“Joking at a time like this? You’ve been hanging around my son too much. Let me text him and let him know everything is fine. Yup, the inside looks the same as it did the day before yesterday when I brought the mail in.”

“Get our boy in here and let me fix us some drinks. Rye okay?”

“Yeah, that works. Woodie, want some whiskey?” Did he just refer to my son as our boy?

“No, Dad, thanks. I’ll take a Coke, Professor. I’ll probably fire up the bong when I get home.”

“If you’re smoking, you’re staying home kiddo. Is that clear?

“Yes, sir. So what we gonna do about this shit? Prof, I think you should come sleep at our place tonight just to be safe. I’ll even cook dinner; caught a bunch of panfish yesterday.”

“That sound like a good idea to me, Abe, let’s get your bag out of the car and we’ll wait for the Sheriff. Woodie, go home and get dinner started, don’t get stoned yet, you’re going to be around a hot skillet and oil. All you need to bring over is a toothbrush and a pair of boxers, Professor; that’s the uniform at the place when it’s just us.”

“Thanks for agreeing to come out with me tonight, Abe.”

“My pleasure, Wood. I’ve not been to a casino in a while and I actually enjoy a little blackjack now and then. I think the last time was three years ago when I attended a conference in Las Vegas. I ended up spending about six hours at the gaming tables over the week I was there and left Sin City with a whopping twenty-three dollars in winnings. I call that a great deal: six hours of free cocktails since my earnings amply covered my tips to the cocktail waitresses.”

“I hope you don’t expect anything as fancy as those Vegas joints. The White Oak Casino is just a small operation run by the Ojibwe people. It’s a typical middle of nowhere Native American place with two blackjack tables and a couple hundred slot machines.”

“Wood, I didn’t agree to come out tonight because of the gambling or the location. It was the opportunity to hang out with you that appealed to me.”

“Thanks, Abe, the kid and I have both become very comfortable around you this summer. I’ll probably mess all that up with my next question but it’s been driving me nuts―why did you really take all this time off from work and move to the middle of nowhere?” I sure as hell hoped I hadn’t fucked up with my question. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Abe incline his head downwards, sigh and then turn towards me. I couldn’t see his facial expression by the light of the truck’s instrument panel, but I did not feel anger waves coming from him.

“You’ve not messed anything up, Wood. I’ve been trying to find the right time to sit down and let you know a bit more about me and I think this is as good an occasion as any. How bout I start by confirming something you’ve probably already figured out―I’m gay.”

I stared straight ahead at the road trying not to show the mile-wide smile I felt inside. “I may have had an idea, Abe, but I wasn’t sure. I have a defective gaydar. I hoped you were since it would mean I had a friend I could relate to in a different way than I do my straight buddies.”

“I apologize for not being up front before. My moving here was the result of a failed relationship and for the past few months I’ve not even wanted to consider the possibility of interacting with another gay man. I wasn’t about to run back into the closet but I was definitely going to stop waving the rainbow flag.” Abe turned his face towards the window and stared at the darkness sweeping by. He told me about coming home early one afternoon: he had not been feeling well and cancelled his last two classes for the day. He found his partner balls-deep inside a young kid he later found out was a grad student in the science department.

“I’m not sure if it was a midlife crisis that led him to cheat on me or something else. After the young man dressed and left I was in a daze. I heard all the apologies and explanations but none of them actually registered with me. I had been deceived, I had been cheated on―in my own house―and my trust had been betrayed. When I finally heard him yell asking me to say something all that came out of my mouth was, he had an hour to gather what he wanted and leave. All his other belongings I would send to whatever address he provided my secretary with.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through that day. Did you consider the possibility of a reconciliation?” I realized I was speaking in a hushed tone. The sadness in Abe’s voice had created a somber atmosphere within the truck cab and I had unconsciously adjusted my voice to it.

“Not really, Wood, not really. I’m one of those men who have a hard time forgiving and forgetting. I may set something someone does aside and still interact with them but whatever happened remains imprinted in my mind. Someone breaking my trust is the worst thing I can think of. When that happens I will always have doubts about the veracity of anything the other individual does or says.”

“I think that part I can relate to, Abe, because I’m about the same. Maybe that’s one reason we get along so well.”

“Could be, buddy, it could very well be. To finish my little tale… I’ve written and published several manuscripts over the years, most of them scholarly. It is one reason why I was granted tenure as early in my career as I was. I’ve written fiction but only short stories and this time I want to write a full-length novel. Moving here and taking time off was an attempt to find the time and solitude to write and maybe allow my broken heart to heal.”