Spinning - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ben looked at me for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes showing a complicated mix of hurt, offense, and...guilt? I wasn't sure about that last bit, but I really got the impression that he was wavering between feeling like he had really fucked up, and being angry that I could explode at someone like that just for knocking on my door.

"Well, I gotta get to class," he mumbled, and shuffled back down the hall.

Jesus FUCK, I cursed silently. I couldn't believe that fucknut, and the way he'd just barge right up to my door and everything. And then he has the balls to be pissed when I didn't greet him with open arms? I mean damn, we had coffee once, it doesn't make us best buddies and it certainly doesn't obligate me to make sure he knows where I am at all times.

I backed into my room, slammed and locked the door, and took out my frustrations on a big squishy floor pillow. Pounding away on corduroy and poly-fill, my anger slowly diffused and my pressure level dropped; I started breathing normally. Needless to say, once I calmed down, I felt like a complete asshole for blowing up at Ben. I still think that just showing up at someone's door unannounced is crossing a line, but he was just trying to look out for me. He was worried about me. That's something a friendless loser like me doesn’t get very often.

So, out of guilt driven obligation, I stood outside Jung Hall a few days later, to catch him as he came out of his class. I didn't know what to expect, obviously he and I didn't quite play by the same social rules, but I was just hoping he wouldn't be too pissed to see me. When he stepped through the doorway and spotted me leaning against the wall, he looked a little surprised, but I got a smile, not a punch, so I figured I was okay.

"Hey," I offered, quietly.

We had a whole damn conversation right there in the hall, without either of us making a sound. My apology was written in slender script across my raised eyebrows, and his acceptance and gruff dismissal of the situation was plainly spoken by his tentative smile. He knew I had issues with space, and he knew he had broken one of my boundaries, and he was going to be understanding of that in the future. I knew he didn't mean to freak me out, and I was going to try and get used to someone being closer than arm's length. And once the awkward, silent exchange was done, it seemed safe to speak aloud again.

"Let's grab lunch, dude, I need some food pretty bad," he suggested.

"Maybe some other..." I stopped. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to push him away this time? If nothing else, that's what got me into trouble before. Maybe I should grit my teeth and sit through lunch with someone instead of fleeing back to my cave like I usually do. "Ok, yeah. Let's go," I agreed finally.

We had lunch.

It didn't kill me.

In fact, it was rather cool. We talked about music, a whole lot. I admit, I'm a music obsessed individual; a music nerd, if you will. The tunes themselves some first of course, but I also love the back stories. What are the odds that Chris Cornell and Jeff Buckley, two singers with possibly the most startling vocal ranges in recent popular music, would happen to be close friends? If Stevie Ray hadn't died in a plane crash, could he have become as influential as Eddie Van Halen? Jimi Hendrix? Since Megadeth is arguably more radio friendly than Metallica, would the latter have had greater commercial success if they HADN'T ejected Dave Mustaine? If My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy ran out of teen angst, would they become ‘pop crap’ like Hoobastank or message-laced pop-punk like Green day? This was just a fraction of what we mulled over while stuffing our snackholes at the dining hall buffet.

We broke up the discussion a while later, since Ben had another class, and I wanted to head back to my dorm room; my excuse was that I was inspired to do some ‘research’ for our next musical discussion. But in truth, I needed some alone time. This all was a big stretch for me, and I needed to head home for some time in my own little space.

Maybe it was the fresh air, which I don't typically expose myself to for more than four or five minutes at a time, but I had now been out in for most of the morning. Maybe it was a result of interacting with another human a significant measure more than I usually do. Whatever the cause, as I walked back to my hall I felt lighter than I had in a long, long time, as though I had coughed all of the smog out of my lungs, or shaken off a heavy coat to find that it was short-sleeve weather after all.

Jesus, what's wrong with me? Flowery metaphors? What the fuck?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since about age fourteen, I've had emotional defenses built up around me that could rival Hadrian's Wall. I more or less figured out I was into guys and had almost no interest in girls, and to me that was a secret to be hidden from everyone. So I grew a shell; people could know a little about me, the superficial stuff like my favorite food and my hobbies, but nobody got inside. Years later, in a rare moment of self-realization, I figured out that the deeper reason I was so closeted was that I cared a great deal about other people's feelings, and I was actually more bothered that other people would be uncomfortable with my sexuality...for their OWN sake, I mean. If someone disliked me, so be it, but the idea that I would make someone sad or disturbed or wish they were somewhere else because I was gay was almost unbearable to me. So I kept my sexuality inside, along with everything else in my heart by not talking about myself, and not making deep emotional connections with anyone.

Rather twisted, eh?

So opening up to Ben was not easy for me, even though my sexuality never came into it. Up to this point, hanging out with a friend and getting into complicated discussions about topics I was passionate about, like music or politics, was unheard of. I didn't flip completely around, though. A water-phobic kid that finally learns to float doesn't immediately start jumping off the high diving board, but he might finally give up the water wings. Likewise, Ben and I started meeting for the occasional meal or caffeine dose.

Most Mondays, after the lecture that we almost shared, we'd grab a coffee, and if I was feeling particularly adventurous, we might talk about what we did the previous weekend. For me, it wasn't usually much of a tale; nobody wanted to hear about me staring at the inside of my dorm room, though I did occasionally head into town or hop a bus to somewhere not too far away. Ben, on the other hand, headed out of town to a different college town each weekend with the cycling team. Stories were told of five a.m. starts of road trips, changing in the vans, practical jokes, races won and lost, and dozens of guys and girls cramming in like clowns into a VW, still soaked with sweat, for miles and miles of driving trying to get home for a few hours of sleep before Monday morning classes. It sounded like the most horrifically wonderful bonding experience ever.

He didn't talk about checking out all the cute guys in tight spandex shorts, but I didn't need him to. My imagination filled in all the blanks.

And then, one weekend, I didn't have to imagine any more; I got to see more tight bodies in tight cycling shorts than I ever thought possible. Ben, with big puppy-dog eyes, asked if I would help out with the only hometown race of the season which was coming up that weekend. They were short on support staff, since everyone on the team would be racing, and they were asking anyone they could find to lend a hand. I was bribed with a team t-shirt and a water bottle, and some pizza. How could I say no?

I was enlisted as a ‘marshal’, which is a fancy term for someone that stands at the entrance or exit of a parking lot, keeping cars at bay while cyclists whizzed past. Watching the race was quite a novelty, for the first thirty minutes or so, because bike races can be pretty exciting and intense. But collegiate races go on for HOURS, and I couldn't very well just give up when I got bored. But things took a turn for the better around noon when Ben stopped by for a visit, and to thank me for helping out. He and four or five other guys pedaled up to hang out and chat for a few minutes, and every one of them shook my hand and said "thank you". It never occurred to me before, but a convenient side-effect of shyly keeping my eyes cast down toward the ground is that you can check out a cyclist's package without them noticing. This was my introduction to cycling, and I enjoyed it very much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Jeff, Ben's out back getting tetanus. His turn to pitch the rusty hanger collection,” Over the past several weeks, Jen had gotten to recognize me on sight, since I had come to meet Ben for a bite in town on weekends on several occasions. Not that either of us could afford it, but there were a few places to get a cheap slice or a sandwich if you knew where to look. Ben couldn't very well travel back to campus for a lunch break, and I was getting to the point where I preferred not to eat alone. Who would've thought?

Jen looked over at me with that same smile...like she knew the punch line to a joke I hadn't heard yet.

"Why are you always smirking at me when I come in here?" I asked.

"I just think you two are cute, is all," she replied.

I leaned against the crappy sticker-encrusted counter, trying to look casual as my defenses rose up just a bit. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, warily.

"Oh, like you don't know..." she began, but she backpedaled a bit when she saw my blank look. "Oh, I...well, nothing. Shit, I'm sorry. I've just known BJ a while, and - oh damn, I just got caught in a really bad stereotype, I guess..." She was blushing furiously. "It's just that he's so sweet, and he obviously cares a lot about how he looks, and he's always talking about you two hanging out. I just assumed he was gay... and so I figured you..." she stopped.

Whoa. WHOA. I completely didn't register that she pegged me as a fag, because I was still stuck back on the fact that she just gave me some vague confirmation that Ben was GAY.

Ben was GAY. At least Jen, who had been spending ten or twenty hours a week with the guy since before we met, thought so. I never thought to HOPE Ben was gay. I mean, there was just no fucking WAY that...well, it's not like I had any chance in hell with him anyway, but it was just a crazy coincidence. I finally run into someone that I could call a friend - something I hadn't had in quite a while - and they turned out to be total eye candy, so I just counted my blessings that I got to look at him for an hour or two once or twice a week. But, holy shit, here's someone that might not think I'm a total freak for liking guys.

Oh fuck, I thought to myself, I'm in real trouble now. It was one thing when I knew, or thought I knew that Ben was straight. It made it easy for me to put up that usual barrier, that one where I blocked out my feelings for someone, knowing they'd never be returned. But after Jen dropped that bomb on my head, I knew I needed to put some distance between Ben and me. I knew that if I kept hanging out with this hot guy who ran around in spandex shorts and listened to cool music, I would end up saying or doing something to make a complete fool of myself. Like asking him out, and making him have to turn me down flat.

Jen stood there, staring at me, dumbstruck. From her perspective, it must have looked like I went from excited and happy to worried and upset in about two and a half seconds. "Jeff, hey, I don't know what I'm talking about, just forget wha...Jeff?" She stopped as I headed for the door.

"I just realized I forgot to...do...something, tell Ben I'll...I'll catch him later?" I turned and ran out the door before she had a chance to reply.

I guess I'll never know for sure what Jen said to Ben, though I seriously doubt she would have told him the whole story. The first message was waiting for me when I got home but I was too fucking chicken to listen to it. The second came that night, but I didn't hear the phone ring because I was sitting out in the hallway on the window’s edge, looking out at the dusk and thinking that these past weeks were just a fluke and I really rather liked living in my own little dorm room bubble. A few moments later, when some of my floor mates started filtering back from dinner, I scuttled back in and let the Deftones wash over me, building up my walls once more.

I didn't even get through a whole track, though, before I started thinking about him. I felt bad for ditching him, I felt guilty for bolting without even talking to him. I didn't want to hear the voice mail messages, but at the same time I faintly hoped that whatever he said, he'd sound upbeat or curious and not sad or upset. I wanted to know, but I couldn't listen! It struck me at this point that this guy had totally gotten under my skin, for this situation to be affecting me like this. Was this the plan, was he trying to win me over, or did making friends just come so naturally to him?

I couldn't really afford to lose my only friend. Yes, hiding was comfortable for me, but at the same time I couldn't deny that the changes he squeezed out of me were for the better. I was less stressed and I was getting more air. I was probably eating better too, since I wasn't just inhaling food and scurrying back to my room, we were taking our time at the dining hall. Talking a little, even if it wasn't too deep, was actually growing on me, and if I fucked this all up now, I would be right back to square one, ground zero, level one with no saved game and no replays. Shit, no matter how much I wanted to avoid it, I had to think this all over, and my dorm room was just keeping me in my avoidant rut. I needed to get out.

I hit the sidewalk outside the dorm and headed right, hooking back behind the building and crossing over the small green ringed by the north campus residence halls. I wanted somewhere to sit and think but I was staying well away from the band of campus running between the biology buildings and the student union building; I suppose I could run into Ben anywhere - assuming he was even on campus - but the only place I ever seemed to see him was in that area, so I didn't want to risk an encounter. I wanted to be somewhere that I could stay invisible; the problem was that on a campus of twelve thousand, there weren't a lot of places that nobody ever went. But ahead of me, the sports arena/rec center rose up peeking over the tops of the dorms, and I knew where I wanted to be.

The arena building was several stories tall and built on a slope so that the right side of the complex was exposed on the bottom floor, and the hill sloped up towards the left so the main entrance in the middle of the building was on the second floor. Staying on the lower side of the building, I plopped down on a patch of grass next to a pair of wide doors used for loading large equipment inside. This spot allowed me to watch the steady flow of foot traffic climbing the short hill up to the main entrance, but avoid even a glance since nobody paid any attention to the loading area. I leaned back against the concrete foundation and closed my eyes, and tried to think my way through my predicament.

It felt as though I had been sitting there for no more than fifteen or twenty seconds when a calm voice spoke to me from my left. "What's shakin', chief?" It was Josh, one of the cycling team kids.

I liked Josh, or I felt like I did, based on the few times we had spoken since I met him on race day. He was quiet, and reserved, and at the risk of being stereotypical, cerebral - he was a hardcore reader and a concise talker. Entirely approachable, he didn't seem to look down on anyone whether they were a newbie rider on the team or someone like me who didn't ride at all, even though he was well on his way to becoming one of the team's elite riders. Looking at his clean cycling outfit and dry skin, I guessed he was heading out for a ride rather than just returning. He leaned his bike carefully against the building and sat cross-legged across from me.

"Something up?" he asked, quietly. "Girl trouble, maybe?" He smirked a bit.

"Something like that," I replied, eyes at the grass in front of me. Josh put me at ease, honestly, for reasons that were not clear to me. I somehow knew I didn't have to hide anything from him. But how could I even begin...? And did I want to?

"Let me give you some advice - something that no college guy interested in more than a quick fuck ever seems to figure out." He paused for a sec, choosing his words. "Don't overcomplicate things. Say what you want, listen to what they want. If you meet in the middle, hang on and don't let go. If you don't, then remember you have your whole life ahead of you. Find your happiness elsewhere."

With that, he stood, unfolding his legs and rising in one fluid motion. He rested his hand on my shoulder, reassuringly, for a second before mounting his bike. He pedaled off, leaving me to ponder what to do about Ben, and what Josh's advice had to do with...anything.

I was scared to lose a connection with Ben, who was the only person right now I could call a friend. It wasn't much but it was all I had, and maybe that made it valuable after all. But what was I supposed to do - let things progress and maybe dig into those areas I always kept apart from other people? Pull back and try to keep things where they were now, friendly and casual but not very deep? And damn, I was scared to open up about my sexuality whether anything developed between us or not. Signs said maybe he was gay, and he spent lots of time with me, but my heart told me there was no way someone like him would go for someone like me. Unless he hit me over the head with a big ol' gay pride flag embroidered with the slogan ‘I dig you, Jeff’, I don't think I'd ever make a move.

Then I thought back to what Josh had just told me.

I realized that I was having a huge internal debate about something that very well might have only existed in my head; Ben certainly liked to hang out with me, but was there really anything more? Maybe, maybe not - but worrying that something might come up and might cause a problem was, I think, causing a situation that I was trying to avoid in the first place. I'm not above giving in to my fears, but I'm also not so thick that I'll shoot myself in the foot if I see it coming.

I was overcomplicating things.

The realization didn't dull the fear of facing the situation one bit, but at least I knew what to do; I'd keep rolling ahead, and see where fate took me. I might get fucked over royally in any number of ways, but I wasn't going to pre-emptively screw myself. In the back of my head, despite my fear, I knew I was going to have to talk to him, going to have to keep hanging out, and I was going to have to take my chances that I could keep myself from doing something stupid and wrecking what little I had. So I headed back to my place, to return Ben's calls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I didn't actually call Ben until two days later. Yeah, maybe I had smartened up a bit, but I was still a fucking chicken. But I did call, and we did talk, and things were cool. Except for me missing his birthday.

Now, in my defense, it's not like he gave me a lot of warning, but the anniversary of his birth passed right under my nose and I didn't do a thing for him. I felt guilty, really guilty, even worse after he told me a bunch of the cycling guys took him out and he wanted me to come and hang with the crowd that night. But I hadn't returned his call, so I didn't find out about it, and I missed out.

We were talking about it again the next day over burgers in the dining hall. He was downplaying it, either so I didn't feel quite as bad, or because it honestly wasn't a big deal. But as he was telling me not to worry about it, he was keeping me in an eye-lock the whole time, with a slightly mischievous look on his brow. What the hell was that all about? Was he secretly enjoying my guilt a little bit? Was it a flirty look? Had Jen said something to him about us, or what she told me? God, I my mind was turning fast, juggling paranoid scenarios.

He did the eyebrow thing again a few moments later, with a little smirk, while bringing a french fry up to his lips, and at that point I was pretty sure they were flirty eyes aimed in my direction. I don't know where it came from, but a rather daring - for me - idea popped into my head and flew right out of my mouth before I had thought it through at all.

"Well dammit, I'll just take you out to dinner to make up for it. We'll go to that seafood grill downtown, on the corner by the record store."

Ben's eyes lit up even more. "Sweet!" he replied, simply.

Holy shit, what did I just do? It's not like I asked him on a legitimate date or anything, but from his pleased look, he sure seemed to enjoy the idea of the two of us spending a night hanging out, eating, and talking. I was scared as hell, but at the same time, it just seemed right - what else could those looks mean but "hey, I'm interested"?

"Tonight?" he asked.

"Huh?" I replied, not understanding his query.

"Should we go tonight?"

Oh shit...so soon? "Um, I dunno man, won't we need a reservation or something?" I asked, desperate for a way out. Yeah, I was getting into the idea, but I needed at least a few minutes to think this over! Taking him out tonight seemed so, well, sudden.

"It's a Thursday night, and we're a party of two. They're not going to make us get a reservation," he explained. And thinking about it, I knew he was right.

I gave in.

"OK man, meet me outside my dorm around five and we'll catch the bus into town. I gotta bail now, though...so I'll catch you later?" I ran off to find something to vomit into.

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"This is some sick tuna, dude," was the first statement to come out of Ben following a good five minutes of silence spent admiring the soy, wasabi, and honey-glazed work of culinary art sitting on the plate in front of him. I would have been jealous, but at that moment I couldn't imagine anything tastier than the pecan-and-parmesan-crusted tilapia I was devouring. When we met earlier at the bus stop, I would have killed for a shot of something strong, a pill, anything to calm my nerves. But by the time the food arrived at our table at Jay's, I was doing just fine. His smiles, the easy conversation, the tasty appetizers, everything was just as it should have been. And those flirtatious expressions that had me wondering at lunchtime continued all through dinner.

We ate, we rested, we talked, and we ate more. I didn't even want to look at the bill when it came - I was having too much fun to worry about the damage I was about to do to my credit card balance, so I just slid my card to the waitress and signed the slip when she returned. It was only about eight by the time we were done, and we agreed that a bit of walking would be a good idea after all that eating, so off we went.

I was having a really hard time wrapping my head around just how well this night was going. Here I was walking side-by-side with a guy so amazingly cute that he made my stomach flutter, on a perfect early summer night in downtown Portsmouth. Intoxicated by the scent of a dozen restaurants cranking away for the dinner crowd, mingling with the air's faint marine tang as the breeze gently lifted up a few wisps of hair from my neck like a lover's exhale. It was too much, really, for a mundane soul like me. What god smiled down on me tonight? Did I really care to know?

Looking down over the railing of Memorial Bridge at the black Piscataqua flowing fleetly past, I felt like I owned that night, made just for me and my chosen co-star; like everyone else in this town was an extra in this film. I let out a sigh, relaxed and content, and looked over at Ben. He was already watching me; our eyes locked, and I smiled, earning a smile from him in return. I could tell from the gleam in his eye that he felt it too; he was as drunk on this night as I was.

We wandered back to the bus stop, in a manner of speaking, as it was obvious that neither of us were in a hurry to get anywhere. Back in the bustling shopping area, we slipped right back into our previous conversation effortlessly. Classes, the summer plans, books, any topic that sprung into one of our heads was fair game, and it seemed that every thread of conversation eventually hooked back around to music - something so critical to both of us.

We had to run to catch the 9:05 bus when we hit the square, though, since it was there and waiting, the idling clatter of the diesel engine telling us we'd better hurry. Hopping up two steps, we flashed our IDs to the driver and walked to the back of the bus, which was almost empty as most people would be getting in another few hours of drinking before calling it a night. Let them, I thought, I have this guy alone in the back of a forty -foot long diesel limousine...take us home, Jeeves.

I've heard many people say that if you can sit with someone in silence for five minutes and it doesn't get awkward, if neither of you feel the need to break the silence with small talk, then it's a big sign that you two are a match for each other. Outside of rush hour, it takes twenty-three minutes to go from Market Square to the stop in front of T-hall by bus.

Neither of us spoke a word the entire time.

How could I help but think that night was meant to be? I knew that I had finally found something real - not a compromise, like those high-school girlfriends that let me hide in plain sight. Sure, the idea of being in public with boyfriend scared the ever-living fuck out of me, but I could let those details sleep until tomorrow. Right now, I had the perfect guy standing right next to me, sending me all the right signals, saying all the right things.

The situation practically begged me to make the next move. And damn it, I would, for once in my life. I knew what I wanted, and although we spent the evening together under the pretense of a late birthday gift, it felt to me like a legitimate date in everything but name. What do I have to lose by making it a formal thing?

And so, as we stood alone on the sidewalk, the bus pulling away and not a soul in sight, I reached over and took Ben's elbow in my hand, tugging a bit, urging him to turn and look at me. I met his eyes with mine and took a breath, before laying it all on the line.

"Ben, do you think you'd like to go on a date sometime?"

His eyes widened a bit, and then he tilted his head to the side. His mouth curved a bit, almost a smirk, but then it disappeared.

"Wait, what?"

Oh God. I dropped my hand from his arm.

"Do you think you'd like to go out on a date sometime?" I repeated. That gentle lover's breeze was turning chilly, very quickly.

"A date?" he asked, pausing. "Um, no...I don't think so..."

I stared at Ben, dumbfounded. What the hell did that mean? No, I'm not gay, even though I've been sending you signals for weeks? No, you're not cute enough? No, I've been fucking LEADING you ON so I can SCREW with you?

"Wh...but..." I stammered, trying to put together some sort of coherent question, but the dozen already flying around in my head got clogged up when they got down to the back of my throat.

"Look, uh, Jeff...I really have to go," he said, as the turned to leave. Unable to speak, all I could do was watch him fade away.