Jericho's Wall - 11. Chapter 11

Monday morning dawned dark and rainy—no storm, just the dull kind with a monotonous drizzle you can work in, but barely. Jericho woke up tense and though I thought I understood why I didn’t feel the same. I knew the end was a week away same as he did but I chose not to be blown off the porch before strictly necessary and fretting about the limited time we had remaining was in my opinion asking for the tornado. He seemed to have shaken it off by the time we went out to the garden, becoming as usual absorbed in his tasks, and I had my own thoughts to think. My parents were due to pick me up next Monday, August thirty-first, arriving around lunchtime—this had already been confirmed on our last phone call. Jericho was due to turn eighteen the next Monday, September seventh, Labor Day. So two weeks from today. Although I wouldn’t be here to celebrate I still wanted to get him a present. I hadn’t spent much of my allowance or what June paid me, mostly at the diner or Waffle House or the roller-rink, so I’d saved up a good chunk of money, enough to purchase my SNES and a few cartridges plus enough to buy him something nice. But I didn’t want to buy him something nice. I wanted to get him something personal, something to remind him of me after I’d gone. I at last came up with an idea and when the rain started falling harder and the wind picked up, forcing us out of the garden, I went into the house to pee and before coming back outside made a quick phone call. Back in the barn as I started brushing the wet from my hair and face Jericho said, too-casually, “I was beginning to think you’d fallen in.”

I was too happy over my idea to take note. “I called Bud. He’s been saying he’d like to take me to lunch and maybe do a little shopping before I leave and I figured what with the rain today would be good. Do you mind?” I wasn’t asking Jericho’s permission, just being courteous.

So I was surprised when he said, “I had some things I needed us to get done in here this afternoon.”

“What things?”

“Things. Tasks I’ve been putting off for a rainy day.”

I couldn’t recall any tasks he’d been putting off. “What tasks?”

And, to my complete and total surprise, he exploded. “You’re leaving in a week, Mateo.” Not ‘Mat my lover’, ‘Mat my brother’ or even a simple ‘Mat’. Mateo. My own temper started to rise. “There’s still a lot of work needs to be done before you go and I don’t appreciate you blowing off an afternoon.”

I was aware there was lot of work that needed to be done before I left. I was also aware there was a lot of work that would need to be done after too. But— “The entire time I’ve been here I’ve only been unavailable to work fucking once, Jericho, the day I showed my ass and stormed off to Bud’s. But as I recall you didn’t do any more work that day yourself.”

And we were off. I hadn’t known we’d built up enough tensions and irritations to fight, as well as we got along, but apparently we had. Soon enough the fight devolved into how annoyed I was to have to argue to pay for anything and how annoyed he was by the way I tugged at his fingers. We honestly didn’t have enough minor issues to spat for long so we retreated to our separate corners of the barn, sulking, and I filled Cow’s ears with the vilest language while her big brown eyes seemed to hang on every word (I’d learned how to milk her and we were fast friends by now; as for Mule, we had our days). At lunchtime I went straight downstairs to shower and change while he sat down to eat. I finished before they did and we didn’t look at each other as I hugged June and the girls and went to wait on the slanted front porch for Bud to pick me up. When he arrived I slammed the door climbing into his Grand Am, so hard his eyebrow raised and I hurried to apologize. “I love Jericho more than life itself but he has pissed me right the fuck off.”

The eyebrow raised again. “Now where have I heard those charming words before, hmm?” He let me rant for a little while but as he merged onto the freeway he patted my knee and said something I already knew but hadn’t thought about in my irritation. “You’re leaving next week. He’s nervy.”

“I know. It’s part of what pissed me off so bad. We’re going to be blown off the porch in seven days, no sense worrying about it now. And it doubly pisses me off because I’m taking the afternoon off to do something for him.”

“You just wait. Jericho doesn’t have much of a temper and what little he does only seems to come out at the oddest times but I’ll bet by the time you get home he’ll be just peachy and apologize.”

“If you say so.” And here I hadn’t said it in months. Bud was gracious enough to ignore me and we spent a pleasant time in Athens. First he took me to a hole-in-the-wall BBQ joint with a sauce he’d said was to die for (and it was) and then we commenced fulfilling my errand. The roller-rink was closed but we found another arcade with what we needed and made my other stop and spent the rest of our partnerless excursion browsing and shopping. We visited another hole-in-the-wall for a milkshake Bud also said was to die for (and it was, especially after I grabbed the check and he let me) and he dropped me back at the farm not long after five. June had closed the stand early and I found the entire family sitting on the back porch, which was deep enough to protect against all but the most potent winds and showers. As I stepped out the kitchen door Jericho sprang to his feet from our glider, his farming tome (of which he hadn’t read a word, a giggling Janey informed me later) slipping off his lap to land face-down on the floor. He crossed the porch in two long strides and stopped in front of me, his faded-blue eyes anguished.

He said, “I’m sorry.”

I said, “I’m sorry too.”

Juanita said, “Get a room.”

We did, reaffirming Ron’s philosophy. Wild make-up monkey sex was the best.

“Huh. Mom was right,” Jericho said as I lay with my head on his shoulder and he played with my hair.

“She usually is,” I said. “What specifically is June right about this time?”

“About trusting enough to show your partner your worst and knowing they’ll be there afterward.”

I shivered at his use of the word ‘partner’ but twisted my head to look up at him. “That was your worst?”

“Mat my lover,” he said slowly, “hurting you intentionally or otherwise is the worst thing I could ever do.”

Turns out wild make-up monkey sex was even better the second time around. Who knew?

On Tuesday June force-marched two sullen tween girls to the orthodontist and several hours later came home with two metal-mouthed and stoned sullen tween girls. June fixed soft foods for dinner and we tried to pretend we weren’t getting a kick of Janey and Juanita woozily argue with each other and give exaggerated winces with every bite and we barely made it into our bedroom before busting out laughing. I’d never needed braces but Jericho confided he’d had to wear them so he understood their pain but it was still funny. I instantly demanded pictures, he dug some out and guess what? He was still beautiful and a bit shiny to boot. (Darren was in one of the photos too. I wasn’t impressed.)

On Wednesday we ate dinner with our fairy godparents (Bud’s description, are you surprised?) and Ron made sure I had their phone number and both AOLs. I didn’t borrow any more books figuring I wouldn’t have time to read them before I left (I was right). The long-gestating outhouse-slash-storage shed was complete, slick and far too pretty to be a toilet with its neat gray trim and slanted roof and contrasting crescent moons and stars with signs reading “His” and “The Other His” on the doors. When they got everything inside including the garden implements there was still room left (they weren’t packrats, just thrifty) and Ron commented he’d said six-by-six was plenty and Bud kissed him and said now they had room to grow. I asked Ron what his next project would be and he said he had some ideas while Bud threatened me with washing my mouth out with soap and him with the dreaded testicle-eating hogs though we all knew he’d never carry through, he did love Ron’s testicles. The crooked toes were still up for grabs; everyone saw me squirming and everyone laughed, Ron saying he got that a lot. Afterward Jericho and I meandered up to the electric plateau; it wasn’t a full moon yet but it was getting there. The essential fluids from our last visit were still there in the bonfire pit and we left the Satanists some more.

On Thursday the dang deer broke in again, causing us to miss another full day of work to right. Jericho stewed for a few minutes but not all day and took me twice while repairing the fence. Our love-making had started to get a little desperate and our brand-new bottle of lube went everywhere with us—an impressed Ron again supplied it and he didn’t bat an eyelash when we declined more condoms, simply suggested we not mention the tidbit to Bud. Huh, guess they did have some secrets.

On Friday we went for our last brownie at the diner. Jill waited on us and she was sweet. Perhaps a little too sweet. Bitch. Rodi gave me a crayon drawing her son Quincy had made for me of he and I playing Go-Fish with real fish for cards. The munchkin wasn’t much of an artist but our activity was clear enough and I had to blink back a tear at the neatly written block-print reading “Have A Happy Life Mateo Love Quincy”. I still have it somewhere. We were both melancholy on the way home and all the way through dinner as we realized how many “last” things we were doing and after we cleaned up Jericho excused himself to the barn, saying he had something he’d forgotten to do and nah, I didn’t need to tag along, he could handle it. As I watched him cross the turnaround at a controlled pace, the swing of his meaty rump tight but not at all careless, June wandered out to the back porch and sat down on the glider beside me.

“Did Jericho ever tell you about Darren?”

I was instantly alert. “Some. I know they were best friends since kindergarten and . . .” I hesitated “. . . Jericho was upset when Darren left. Wherever he went.” Okay, maybe I was fishing.

“Joe and I never liked Darren,” June mused, shocking me. “Not like I like you.” She smiled.

“I don’t think I like him very much either,” I commented. “From what little I’ve heard.” Like laughing at Jericho’s dick or exacerbating an existing trauma, knowingly or not.

“Darren had one foot out the door from the minute they met. He wanted an acolyte, someone to go along and not make waves and Jericho was the perfect companion. He wasn’t . . social, never has been, and Jericho latched on to the attention, even developed a crush on Darren. Well, Darren may have been a bit crass and hypocritical,” strong words coming from June, “but he wasn’t actively hurting Jericho,” oh, if only you knew I thought but didn’t say, “so we let it be. We even knew they were having sex as young teenagers, of course,” she continued, shocking me again, “but boys do that, right?” She didn’t wait for my confirmation, which was good. “Then Joe died and I’ll give credit where credit’s due Darren was supportive of Jericho but to me it always smacked of ‘well, if I have to’, and again I let it be. It wasn’t my business or at least never reached a point where I felt I’d have to make it my business, but I watched close. Parents have to let their kids live their lives even if it means falling on their butts occasionally.” Bud’s mom had said something similar, I recalled; as for my mom, I can’t picture her knowingly letting me have sex with either a boy or a girl in her house; although not a helicopter parent she sometimes came close. “I figured Jericho would eventually catch on, he’s deeper and smarter than he likes to let people think, or that at least it wouldn’t matter in the end. As I said Darren had one foot out the door his entire life and the day after graduation his ass was on a bus heading for Nashville to be a country music star. He's got a weak voice, mediocre guitar skills and a developing alcohol addiction so I suppose he’ll have a hit single pretty soon.” It was a little mean and unlike June but we laughed anyhow—she really hadn’t liked Darren. “When he left Jericho was upset. He’d wised up to Darren over the last couple years but it still hit him hard. I followed him out to the barn that night—the barn and the fields are his safe places, which I’m sure you already knew” (I did) “and do you know what I told him?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“You know how me and the girls are working our tails off canning this month?” I nodded. “We can the vegetables to preserve them so we can eat them, ingest their nutrition later, and I told Jericho he needed to do the same with his memories of Darren, to preserve and store them away to be savored later. He said he understood and he was doing this exact thing now. I expected him to be downhearted for a little while and he was, but not for near as long as I’d figured. Less than a week, in fact. When he saw you and grinned I rejoiced, it was first sign of life I’d seen from him in days and when he instantly changed our plans to give you a room upstairs—did he tell you this already?—I rejoiced again and didn’t interfere even though you were clearly nonplussed.” I blinked but didn’t interrupt. “He’s going to be devastated when you leave, Mateo, and I don’t think I have to tell you this.” She didn’t. “Even more devastated than when Darren hightailed it out of here with a quarter to his name if he were lucky. So be gentle with him. He’s out in the barn preserving right now, he’ll come back to you soon.” She patted my knee and rose and only as the door clicked shut behind her did the thought occur to me she hadn’t been talking entirely of Jericho.

Ah, June.

She was right, he came back to me about half an hour later, his eyes red but his voluptuous mouth grinning. “Got your task finished?” “Yeah, I didn’t think it would take too long.” We said nothing else on the subject but from that moment on we were in each other’s constant company, even more so than we’d been before. In addition to working and eating together we slept in the same bed, crowded into the downstairs shower, flicked pee drops on each other at the toilet. Heaven knows what else we would’ve gotten up to if we both hadn’t agreed some acts are best performed alone. And fucking? We were at each other constantly, to the point even Juanita caught on to how funny sex could be and would snicker when she’d catch us limping.

On Saturday I spent my last half-day in the garden. Rand was coming to dinner and although no one was forced to leave Jericho and I begged off. We had our last Waffle House bacon-double-quarter-cheese plates and headed for the roller rink. As the bright lights dimmed and the disco ball slowed its spin for the couple’s skate Jericho and I didn’t bother to head for the exit but we were surprised when the DJ’s voice rang over the speakers. “Aw, go ahead and hold hands, fellas, we know you want to and we don’t mind here, do we folks? Love is love!” A loud cheer from the crowd; no, they didn’t mind at all and love was indeed love. So we grinned and rolled round and round the floor holding hands while the DJ spun first “Telephone Line” as he had on our initial visit but for the second didn’t play “Tuesday’s Gone”, instead choosing “Faithfully”, and though it was a nice romantic choice I would’ve preferred “our” song, but then as the last piano notes faded a guitar began weeping and the DJ gave us one last round. It’s like he knew we needed to skate to it one more time before the train rolled on. I never knew his name, I never saw his face but if you’re reading this now, thank you. And as the song swelled and melancholy lyrics of loss spilled out I noticed something I’d never noticed before: a piano tinkling in the background, and while its contributions were bittersweet there was a sprinkling of hope in there too. We stopped at Waffle House for our last encore scattered smothered covered, ordering one big plate instead of two and mock-arguing over the last few slivers of onion. I had no idea if any of the other patrons thought us odd. I didn’t care. In bed later Jericho was ferocious, dominant and filthy, but after was tender and solicitous, his walls dropping as far they’d ever go no matter how I prayed and marched and blew my horns. His three major walls (his dad, Darren and Jill) stayed up, the stone there as impenetrable as ever, but he was open to me everywhere else. We’d discussed our hopes, our dreams and our fears, now we discussed our feelings. I’m not going to tell you what we said. It’s personal.

And so I come finally to the last thirty or so hours Jericho and I spent in each other’s constant company. I’m hesitant to go there, not because it was a sad day (although it was) but because over the last weeks as I’ve typed out this (if you’ll forgive the affectation) memoir I’ve fallen back into the spirit, the feeling of that growing season and I don’t want it to be over. I’m dreading the end of Jericho and me as much now as I did then. I’ve procrastinated. I’ve reread and edited. I’ve paced the balcony off my home office smoking (an infrequent habit but please don’t tell Bud, his father died because of cigarettes and he’d be annoying—right, but annoying). But the journey is one I need to complete and if you’ve managed to stay with me this far you deserve to know the finish so I’ve parked my butt here in front of the blinking cursor determined to push the rest out. So just let me take a deep breath and wipe a tear or two from my eyes then I’ll get back to work.