The Scrapbook - 1. The Scrapbook

The Scrapbook

The ‘ding-ding-ding’ sound of someone winning jolted Brian out of his trance. He’d been watching Roger push the cart with a new beer keg across the playing room floor of Ruby Jo’s Casino and appreciating the show. He shook his head like a wet dog and turned to get the step stool out of the way.

“You’re staring at him again,” a tinkling voice teased him. Brian turned and saw his coworker Lydia was shaking her head with a smirk gracing her bright red lips. “He’s gonna catch you and beat the crap outta you. Don’t you know that?” she chided him.

“I’m not staring,” Brian mumbled. He brushed his sandy-blond hair back out of his eyes. “I was making sure he didn’t have any problems.”

“He’s straight,” Lydia said, grabbing his arm. “Roger was a football star with a cheerleading girlfriend. He’s not interested in someone…well, someone like you.”

“Shut up,” Brian said, trying hard to ignore the short, stacked woman’s remarks. “I’m not doing that.”

The brunette rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. “You’re not fooling anyone, especially me.” Her knowing stare was too much to take.

“Leave me alone,” Brian said. Her comments made him even more self-conscious of his actions, his hands, and his smile. No matter what he did, it was femme and girly. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes he tried to act like one of the guys yet it seemed even worse. Trying to hide his mannerisms made him seem mean and bitchy, but definitely not butch.

“I’m only saying something because it’s so obvious. He’s not too bright, but he’s going to figure out how you feel.” Lydia was now scrubbing down the cooler door. Her eyes were on him, though. Her ponytail was bobbing and shaking with disapproval. “I can read your mind, you know that?”

“I’m not looking at him like that,” Brian answered. He could hear the desperate whine. “I was only watching him.”

“Of course you were,” Lydia chuckled and rinsed out her sponge. “The presence of drool on your chin proves it.”

Brian scowled at her and turned away. He quickly touched his lip, noting the woman hoodwinked him. She was teasing, of course. Sometimes he didn’t catch that. He was always worried about something else. He rubbed his face, feeling the light dusting of hair that needed shaving. It was still just soft, sparse hair, not true stubble. He could wait. Maybe he’d grow a moustache or something. They were manly, right?

“Sometimes you’re so obvious,” he heard Lydia say.

Brian looked over to make sure Roger wasn’t close enough to hear. He could feel his cheeks burn at the thought of being caught.

“One of these days I’m going to show you how to do this,” he heard Roger announce as he turned the corner. “It’s not that hard to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. He lowered his face and quickly began wiping down some liquor bottles.

“What?” Roger asked with a grunt.

“I’m sorry I make you do this, bring the kegs out for us,” Brian said, trying to sound normal. He could hear the edge of throatiness to it. Why was he such a girl sometimes? God, he hated himself.

“Hey, it gets me out of the kitchen,” Roger said in his delightfully exuberant way. Brian couldn’t help but feel his heart thump a little harder. “I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate it,” Brian said softly. He couldn’t stop himself. He turned and looked at Roger. Oh, the sight of him was dreamlike.

Roger Turner was the perfect man. They had been in the same grade at Northwoods High School only Roger was a big burly guy and so confident. Brian was the scrawny, skinny nerd who mostly hung out with the girls and watched guys like Roger own the hallways.

“I really don’t mind at all,” Roger said, looking up from the cart with his usual huge, beaming smile. “I was only kidding you.”

“You should show me,” Brian said, stepping towards the other man and the open cooler door.

“Come on, then,” Roger invited with a big grin. “Get over here and crouch down. I’ll show you how to tap it.”

Brian stepped over and kneeled on the rubber mat close to the other man. Roger smelled of fryer grease, Brut cologne, and a hint of sweat, but not the foul kind. Roger smelled like sweat dipped in soap. His scent was pleasing, mellow, and it made Brian’s throat tickle.

“First, you pull the handle of the tap out, like this,” Roger said, his breath was caressing Brian’s cheek. “See how that works?”

“I do,” Brian whispered. “Can I try?”

“Sure,” Roger said, scooting back a little. “Here, let me show you. Put your hands here.”

Brian felt Roger’s bigger, stronger hand on his as he grabbed the metal handle of the keg tap. His heart fluttered, and he felt a trickle of sweat on his back. Roger’s eyes were trained on him, riveting him with a cool, appraising look.

“Then when you’re pulling the handle out, you twist it,” Roger said. He sounded softer now, more intimate. “See how it works?”

“Yeah,” Brian answered. He knew he sounded reedy and thin. “It’s not too hard to do.”

“Not at all,” Roger said quietly, leaning in closer.

“I Love This Song!” Brian heard Lydia squeal behind them. “It’s the new Wham! song, Careless Whisper.

Brian shivered. He loved it too, especially with Roger squatting so close to him. The football player smiled at him, his lips full and red, and was that a twinkle in the man’s eye? Brian couldn’t be sure.

“Let’s get the empty one out of the cooler,” Roger said, almost in a whisper. Brian nodded. He cleared his throat as the wailing lament of George Michael warned him against saying anything else.

Roger stood up and hefted the full keg off the cart. Brian pulled the empty one out from the bottom of the stainless-steel space, bending deeply. It felt like Roger was looking at him, watching him. He turned his head. The other man’s cheeks had spots of red on them. Brian smiled back, but Roger looked almost in pain.

“If you can hold the hose out of the way for me,” Roger asked, his voice cracking.

“Sure,” Brian said. “Do you like this song?” Why the hell did he ask such a stupid question?

Roger set the full keg in front of the cooler and grinned. “It’s okay. I really love Madonna though. The video of Like a Virgin is really cool, different.”

“Yeah,” Brian answered. “It is.” Boy, he was quite the conversationalist today. “So, where are you going this fall?”

“I have a scholarship at Augsburg in Minneapolis. They’re letting me play some ball,” Roger answered. He brushed his fingers through his curly brown hair. His mouth opened and shut a couple of times finally asking, “You’re going to the U in Minneapolis, right?”

“I am,” Brian said, brushing his red apron. “How did you know that?”

“Lydia likes to gab,” Roger announced loudly.

“I’m not a gossip,” the woman in question called back. “Just get our keg hooked up and get back to the kitchen, slave boy!”

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Roger said, picking up the full keg and settling it into the cooler. “It would be nice to see a friendly face.”

“It’s a big city,” Brian said quickly. “I, ah, we’ll see.” His face was fully flushed now. The idea of Roger being around was too much. In fact, he kind of hated the idea. Brian hoped he could hide in the city and finally find other people who didn’t care if he was…well, who he was.

“We’ve never had much of a chance to talk,” Roger said, crouching back down. “Here. I’ll show you how to hook the new one up.”

“Okay,” Brian said, bending over to watch the connection. “Is it the same in reverse?”

“Yeah, you got it,” Roger said, turning his head. Their faces were close, very near one another. Brian stopped breathing. He had to stand up to get some space.

“I can probably do it myself now,” Brian said, hearing his silly little girly voice.

“Like I said,” Roger began. “It gets me out of the kitchen. And I like talking to you.”

Brian couldn’t stop himself from quivering. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. Any time,” Roger said, getting to his feet. He picked up the empty with one hand and set it on the cart. He started to push it toward the end of the bar, but stopped. Roger turned and looked at Brian.

“Would you have time to go to Stella’s for a burger sometime? We could…” Roger asked, his voice trailing off.

“I’m kind of busy this summer,” Brian said quickly. He needed to stifle these feelings. Getting to know Roger Turner better wasn’t going to quell his nasty thoughts about the man. “Maybe we’ll see each other this fall.”

Roger looked stricken. The color had drained from his face. “Maybe.” He turned and pushed the cart over the mat and around the corner. As he proceeded across the game floor, he picked up speed. Brian noticed he never looked back.

“You did the right thing,” Brian heard Lydia whisper in his ear. “You would have done something stupid.”

“I would not,” Brian said. “What do you think I’d have done?”

“Gotten all goggly-eyed and giggly around him,” Lydia said, stepping back. “He’s straight, Brian. Your plan is the right one. Go to college. Meet some gay guys and find love. It will only hurt you to fall in love with a straight guy like him.”

“I’m not falling in love with him,” Brian said sharply. Lydia put her hand on his arm.

“Honey, like it or not, you are the entire gay-pride parade in Northwoods, Iowa. Hell, you’re the parade for all of Worth County as far as I can tell,” she said softly. “Put him out of your head, Brian. You’ll be better off.”

Brian nodded and swallowed hard. “I know.”

“I’m going on break. Think you can handle the hordes?” she asked, chuckling at her own joke.

Looking around the empty seats around the bar, Brian nodded. “I think I can deal.”

“Good. I hate day shifts. They’re so boring,” Lydia said, grabbing her purse. “See you in a bit.”

“Okay,” Brian said. He started wiping down the bottles on the display rack behind him. As he did so, he looked over the gaming floor and sighed.

This job had been his salvation. Since Ruby Jo’s Casino opened last year, it was one of the few places in the area to hire high-school kids. The minute Brian turned eighteen, he got a bartending job here. The casino pay allowed him to save some money for college. He had a small scholarship and was taking out some loans, but the cash he made over the past year would sustain him up in the Twin Cities.

Brian watched as the people walked by. They would wander from one flashing machine to another, equally noisy and bright one. Most of the clientele during the day were elderly, older than his grandparents. A lot of them used walkers to hobble between the slot machines. The penny slots were always the most popular and sometimes had old women standing in wait for a seat at a machine.

Sometimes Brian would let his eyes become unfocused. The lights and colors of the machines would blur. They began looking like the enormous stained-glass window at the church. It would become a hazy, brilliant light that bathed the supplicants who wandered from machine to machine, like the stations of the cross. In a way, the people who came here acted like it was a religion. It was based on faith in their luck and hope in future rewards.

Brian shook his head, clearing it of his musings. These were mostly kind people who passed the time and had a little fun. It wasn’t his place to judge them. He was eyeing an adorable little bent-over woman with steel-gray hair when he heard someone call out to him.

“Good afternoon,” the voice said. It was tinged with a light, airy sound but was older, more distinguished. Brian turned and smiled. It was some old guy, even older than his dad. He had to be at least fifty or something.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, placing a beverage napkin with Ruby Jo’s logo of a windmill in gold.

“I’ll have a whiskey sour, please,” the man said. He was grinning at Brian. The bartender smiled back as he quickly made the man’s drink and served it to him.

“Pretty slow in here,” he said. Brian leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. During the day shift, it was normal to give the few, straggling patrons some attention. It was part of the job.

“It is slow during the day. We can get busy at night, though. Are you staying in the hotel or just in to play a few games?” Brian asked. The man looked really familiar, though he didn’t recognize him. There was something about his eyes and the way he held his drink. It was strange.

“I’m just passing through,” the man said after a moment, and he winked at Brian.

“Huh?” Brian said, shaking his head.

The man took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “Forget it. I’m a little too expressive sometimes.”

Brian blinked and shifted from one foot to another. “That’s okay. Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“No,” the man said. “You don’t know me at all.” The guy took a sip of his drink and then pursed his lips. “He really likes you a lot. Did you know that?”

Brian didn’t say anything at first. What was there to say? This old guy was some kind of weird stalker. “What? Who are you talking about?”

“The guy who helped you; Roger,” he said, smirking. “Roger’s falling in love with you. Go out with him. You’ll only regret it if you don’t.”

Brian snorted and puffed out his thin chest. “That’s crazy. I’m not like that.”

The man laughed. It was kind of swishy sounding and again was so familiar. The way his eyes had a slanted squint and his cheek a crooked dimple was unique. The guy sort of reminded him of his Uncle Bud. Only Bud’s laugh was deep and rumbling, not light and musical.

“Who are you?” Brian asked again. “Have we met?”

“Sort of,” the man said, taking another drink with his pinkie held out from the glass. He seemed to sip on the glass so delicately. “Go have dinner with Roger and get to know him. You’ll be glad you did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian said. “I have some cleaning to finish.”

The man sighed, loudly. “Trust me. Roger is as into you as you are him. Go with him to Mason City, where no one knows you. Have a meal and talk to him. You’ll see.”

Brian glared at the man, but he didn’t look crazy or act too strangely. His words were so odd and his mannerisms dainty. Brian turned away, afraid of responding to the odd man. His heart was leaping in his chest. After a minute, he had to look back at the man sitting on the stool, his hair mostly gray but perfectly coiffed. “Do you know Roger?” he finally asked the man.

The man looked over Brian’s shoulder, his eyes staring off into the distance. “We’ve met,” he finally said, a sad smile curling up his lips. “That guy would do anything for you. Anything.”

Brian shook his head and walked over to the other well. It was looking stocked, clean, and ready for use. He’d hoped to find some excuse to stay away from the odd man with the effeminate affectation, but to no avail. He glanced up and saw money lying on the bar next to the empty glass with nothing but melting ice.

The man was gone. Just like that, he’d vanished.

***********

Brian opened his eyes, rubbing the dried tears from the corners. He sat up and looked at the clock. It was almost three in the morning. Once again, he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He turned and felt a hitch in his back. Stretching seemed to pull the kinks out, but he’d be sore all day.

He leaned forward and looked at the bottom of the wine glass at the inky-stain puddle. Another night of drinking and passing out alone wasn’t doing him any good. Brian reached over and grabbed his reading glasses. He picked up the scrapbook from the coffee table and opened it.

After Roger died, he and Lydia had made this book. Brian felt the thinness of it and his heart ached. They’d had so little time before he died. Brian swallowed hard and flipped through the few pages with remnants of those five golden years together. They should have had a lifetime of happiness together. Instead they only met again a few years ago and immediately reconnected.

No. They had never connected in the first place, so they finally got to know each other. It was like magic with Roger. Everything they did together was wonderful. Even the bad times were a blast when he remembered them.

Like two years after they got together, Roger drove them south back to their hometown, and they got stuck in a blizzard. The two of them huddled for warmth alongside the road waiting for help. It was cold, frightening, and miserable. Brian had been a baby, as usual. He whined about what an awful forty-seventh birthday it was for him.

Roger, of course, made it a game. They cuddled under a blanket they kept in the back seat and scavenged out an old Kit Kat bar from the bottom of his computer bag. Roger asked him silly trivia questions and when Brian got one right, the man would feed him a bit of chocolate. Then he’d give him a kiss that warmed his soul.

Finally help came and drove them to the only motel in the little town. They mixed up some cocoa they bought from the convenience store across the street. The two of them made love into the squealing, frigidly fierce night. By morning, Brian felt it had been his best birthday and not his worst. Having Roger with him made it amazing. He’d placed the candy bar wrapper into the scrapbook as his reminder of that day.

Brian sighed and continued looking through the book. If only they’d had more time. There was a photo of them in Maui from last year. Roger was looking thin and wan in the bright sunshine, standing in his swim trunks on the beach. The next photo was a selfie of them both grinning like idiots and the ocean welling up behind them. It was their last vacation together and in some ways their best.

Brian touched the hazy green pebble he put in a little sleeve in the book. He remembered how Roger found this piece of sea glass, curved and smooth. It had been their last day in the little beach cottage. He gave it to Brian and told him it was the perfect representation of their vacation. It started off as a broken shard that hurt, but the ocean sanded it down and made it into a treasure. Roger was so right.

His lover had been so sick from the chemo. He was barely able to make it to their villa before throwing up again. Roger lay on the beach and cried because his legs and arms ached so. Brian massaged him and gently brushed what was left of his hair. He whispered to him and let him cry. Brian rocked his sobbing man and wept along with him.

By the fourth day, Roger was feeling better. He began wading into the ocean and letting his stress and illness wash out in the waves. Brian would walk with him, making sure he was okay. Together they roughed it out and decided to stay another week. Two wasn’t enough, and Roger didn’t have much time left.

They hadn’t had much time left.

Brian wiped his eyes and closed the slim volume. At least they had some time together. For years, Brian had drifted from bad relationship to loneliness. Then he’d find loneliness in another man and start it all over again. Twenty-five wasted years when he could have had Roger. Well, he found that out after they met again. Meeting with Roger late in life had been a fluke. Or was it destiny? After twenty five years apart, it was sheer coincidence that brought them together once more.

Brian’s boss was having a birthday party for his wife. It was a big, fancy event held at a hotel ballroom. Brian was expected to keep the clients who’d been invited entertained. The evening was exhausting, and he was on his way home when he got a flat tire. Luckily, he’d gotten to the side of the road and out of danger when it gave up its last breath. He was changing it when a State Patrol car came up and stopped behind him, lights flashing a warning.

Brian figured he’d get a ticket or something as the large cop came swaggering up to him. He handed over his license and fidgeted as the officer looked at the photo and back up at him. It was Roger. He remembered Brian. Roger hugged him tight and his eyes were shining in the moonlight. Brian was shocked by the reception.

They exchanged phone numbers and went to coffee the very next day.

It was like a dream. They couldn’t say enough to each other. They couldn’t hear enough about the other. Most of all, Brian couldn’t bear saying goodbye that afternoon at the coffee house. It seemed Roger felt the same. They couldn’t be apart. Even now, Brian couldn’t stand it.

But, now Roger was dead and gone. Brian was left alone, and it felt horrible. It was so unfair.

He slowly got up from the couch and walked to the bedroom. It was so cold in between the sheets now. Everything felt cold now. There was no warmth any more. Brian didn’t turn on the light. He slid beneath the thick, downy comforter and closed his eyes. Forgetful sleep graced him until morning.

****

Brian opened his eyes, and the morning light greeted him gently. He stretched and yawned. A good night’s sleep had helped. Last night he recalled feeling so cheated. Fate had stolen the love of his life away too soon.

This morning he felt more at peace. Brian slid out of bed and into his slippers. Yawning, he put on his robe and went to make coffee. He shuffled back into the living room while it brewed. He settled on the couch and picked up the hefty, enormous scrapbook filled with mementos and photos.

He opened up the first page. It was a beverage napkin from Ruby Jo’s with Roger’s name and his parents’ phone number scribbled on it. Oh, geez, that must have been their first date back in 1985. Thirty years together. They had more time than so many others. They had been so lucky.

Brian smiled as he leafed through the hundreds of pages. There were ticket stubs from when he and Roger went to see Bette Midler in the late 1980s. There was a peso from the first time they went to Mexico together. That must have been in 1991. It was a lifetime of memories.

How could he feel he’d been cheated? Sure, he and Roger’s life together had been cut short, but they had done so many things. They’d made love so many times. Roger had made him laugh so hard he had a sore gut more times than he could remember. Brian had cooked his man so many eggs and fed him countless hamburgers. They’d had love.

Brian put down the scrapbook and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip. As he walked down the hall to the bathroom, he suddenly remembered the old man. All those years ago, that weird old man came into the bar and urged him to follow his heart. He had said Roger liked him.

Funny, he hadn’t thought about him in years. After he turned Roger down that day, he’d summoned up the courage and told him he changed his mind. They drove down to Mason City the following weekend and ate dinner at a Perkins. It was there they fell in love over Chicken Kiev and overcooked broccoli.

Brian walked into the bathroom and set down his cup. He looked into the mirror, and his smile froze on his face. His mouth dropped open.

Brian had seen that slanted squint and crooked dimple once before, a lifetime ago.