The Spaces in Between - 1. The 65th Mile

“Dallas, your father and I have fallen on some hard times ourselves, sweetie. We just can’t support you right now. I’m sorry.”

He stared at his mother dumbly. What? A thousand things reeled through his mind at once.

Bitch, you’re providing for another kid. Why not me? I’m your son, too.

You’re doing this to me just because I didn’t go to college, you vindictive fuckheads.

Sell that motherfucking BMW if you’re supposedly on “hard times.”

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

“Mom, I just said I filled out a ton of job applications today. Obviously I’m gonna try to help out. I mean…” He gave her his signature dimpled, lopsided grin that had solved all his problems thus far in life. “What, am I supposed to go live on the streets? Come on.”

“We talked to your grandma and she said you could come and stay with her until you get back on your feet.” His father’s voice was much sterner. Dallas paled.

“But she's, like, ultra-conservative. I’m a young and vigorous gay man, hello?” Desperation was beginning to creep into his voice. His mother covered her mouth with her hand to hide her trembling lower lip, but remained silent. Maybe he still had a chance.

“Guys, you can’t just ask me to throw my whole life away, here. That’s all the way in Memphis. Memphis is a shithole! You even said so yourself, Dad. I can’t—Memphis? Really?”

“Well, son, unfortunately for you, Memphis is the only place in the country offering free lodging for Dallas Lee Cooper at the time. And it’s not Memphis—it’s Bartlett. Bartlett is a lovely city. Very pretty, much less crime and your grandma tells me they just started construction on a new whole foods store. I hear the gays like those. I’m sure you’ll find another “boyfriend” there.”

His father had adopted a smug grin and it was pissing him off. Dallas could not believe what he was hearing. They really expected him to just abandon his entire life. He doubled over, rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his forehead in his hands, trying to process the situation. This was not fair. How could they just toss him out like this? Did they not care about him?

“Your grandma has a few rules if you’re going to stay with her.”

He jerked his head up and looked back and forth between his parents, the whites of his eyes flashing nervously in the low light. Rules? The fuck, he was nineteen years old—a young adult, but an adult all the same and therefore capable of making his own decisions. Dallas had become quite accustomed to freedom since he moved out a year and a half ago and he hated the thought of relinquishing even a fraction of that. Sure, he was prepared to sacrifice a little bit of his liberty when he asked to move back in with his parents, but total forfeiture of his entire world? This was unreal. His mom pressed on when he just stared at her indifferently,

“You know how your grandma feels about you being gay, Dallas. So that means no boyfriends where she can see them, no gay porn, nothing like that. She told me to tell you she will kick you out if she sees anything “faggoty” at all.” Dallas saw her throat tighten when she said the word and felt a pang of incredible love and gratitude for his mother.

“And she’s going to expect you to go to church with her. Twice on Sunday and Wednesday night. She has also arranged for you to have counseling twice a week with their youth minister. Oh, and no phone or internet.”

The gratitude vanished.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is ridiculous. Doesn’t she know I don’t even fucking believe in God?” His voice was shrill.

“Stop swearing,” his father reprimanded sharply. “That’s why she wants you to go. I survived it for eighteen years and so can you. And who knows, maybe a little religion will do you some good.”

“Fuck religion. I’ll live out of my truck before I go down there. That old crazy bitch can go choke on a cock.”

His father came barreling out of the chair like an angry grizzly bear, his lips snarled hideously as he jabbed a finger into Dallas’ face and screamed,

“YOU ARE GOING TO GO LIVE WITH YOUR GRANDMOTHER, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT! I own that truck and I’ll have your ass arrested for theft of property!”

“So this isn’t about not being able to afford me, is it?!” he wailed as he leapt up from his seat. “You want me to go live with that old hag just so I can fucking take care of her, don’t you?! You just can’t afford a fucking nursing home, you cheap son of a bitch!”

The blow was totally unexpected. The dull slap of a sweaty palm against the skin of his cheek resonated off the wood walls. Never before in his life had Dallas been struck in the face by one of his parents. It had been almost ten years since his last spanking. He whipped his head back to face his father, wild-eyed and red-faced with fury.

“Robert!” his mom cried, latching onto her husband’s arm.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, identical broad shoulders heaving as they sized each other up.

“If you ever speak to me that way again, I don’t know what will happen to you.”

“The fuck are you going to do, old man? Slap me around some more? I’m petrified.”

He lunged again but his mother’s grip on his arm held him back. His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. A vein on his temple was swollen and twitching.

Dallas saw no reason to tread carefully when his fate was already sealed. He glared at the man opposite him defiantly.

“Dallas, I’m not going to make threats-“

“You threatened me just now.”

He shut his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep, calming breath.

“Anyway, all that matters is I won’t allow you to live out of my truck. I’ll report it as stolen if you do. And unless you can find a friend to stay with before tomorrow morning, you are going to stay with your grandma, or you’ll be out on the street.” With that he shook his arm from his wife’s grasp and stalked off to the patio to smoke a cigarette. The glass clanged loudly against the doorstop when he threw the door open.

His mother chewed her lip nervously as she averted her eyes.

“Mom, you can’t just let him cart me off like this,” he begged, seating himself again so the two of them were eye-level. “I’m going to be so fucking miserable. No phone? How am I supposed to call you?”

She snorted at that and Dallas saw some of the hesitancy leave her. Not good.

“You haven’t called me just to talk since you moved out. When you do call, it’s only because you need our help or money. And for the record, I think you will be a whole lot less miserable staying with your grandmother than living out of your truck. You’d hate not having a place to shower with how obsessed you are with your appearance.”

Was she right? Had he really never called her to talk? That stung. He was beginning to lose hope and now that his father was gone he felt no shame in allowing tears to stand in his eyes. The vision of his mother sitting cross-legged before him blurred into blocks of color.

“What the hell am I supposed to do in Memphis?”

“Bartlett,” she corrected.

“Okay, what the hell am I supposed to do in Bartlett?”

“You could start by finding a job. It’s never been hard for you to make friends, Dallas; I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes angrily with his shirt sleeve.

“How am I supposed to stay in touch with anyone with no phone or internet?”

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Lassie. You’re brighter than that. Juanita is almost eighty years old—she can barely even see. Go down there and buy a cheap little phone and keep it out of her sight. Oh, and here’s a novel bit of wisdom from your old mom: there are actually computers inside of libraries.”

Dallas had to purse his lips tightly to hide a smile.

“Oww, my sensitive teenage boy ego. Come on, Mom. You already made me feel bad enough about the not calling you thing. I’m sorry.” He looked up at her sheepishly.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. I was your age once, too. I know you’re busy having fun with your friends and don’t think to call. I just wish you would do it more often.”

“I will,” he affirmed determinedly, and for a moment was taken aback at how quickly his fury had abated. He was still angry but his mother had a remarkable calming effect on him; she always did. She possessed the perfect combination of tenderness and steadfastness that centered him instantly.

“Good.” She regarded him for a brief moment as if weighing his sincerity. Seemingly satisfied, she rose, rounded the coffee table, and seated herself on the cushion next to him.

“Your father and I don’t want to send you away, baby. You should know that,” she chided gently, her voice lowered to a soothing whisper now that they were closer. She reached over and tucked a stray lock of flaxen hair behind his ear. “We had to take out a second mortgage on the house recently. That combined with the car payments and your court fees has put us in… a bit of a bind.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, shame welling up in him the more his mother talked.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. Just don’t you dare accuse us of shucking off nursing home fees on you again, you slanderous little dickhead.”

“Jesus, I said I was sorry, okay? It just… This seems so random. I don’t get it.”

“I know it may seem sudden, but have you considered that it felt a little random to your dad and me when you showed up here in the back of a cop car at four in the morning? It took us off-guard, to say the least.”

“Please, don’t act like that surprised you.”

She grinned. “It didn’t. My point still stands, though.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I can see where that might appear a little random, yes. But still, why can’t I just live out of the truck? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Because sometimes you just have to trust that your parents know what’s best for you. Life sucks that way. Someday you will thank me.”

“Doubtful,” he snorted. “I’d rather be here with my friends and living out of a truck than alone in that hick town hell.”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings here, Dallas, but your so-called “friends” don’t really seem to care about you all that much. After you broke up with Palmer they bailed on you pretty quick.”

“Obviously they didn’t want to piss him off, mom. He sells them weed. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Don’t you remember that fat wad of cash he pulled out of his pocket at the movies? Palmer is a fucking cashier at Petco..”

Her mouth fell open.

“Dallas, you are going to kill me.” She leaned away from him and rested her forehead in the palm of her hand, hiding her eyes. “I knew you boys were smoking it up in there but it appears my superhuman deductive mom reasoning failed me this time. All I can say is at least you are away from that, now.”

He pursed his lips. He wished he hadn’t told her that.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, rubbing the cropped hair at the back of his neck nervously.

His mom sighed tiredly and sat up again, but now the wrinkles around her eyes seemed just a little more inset. Dallas looked away but he could feel her watching his profile.

“Well, if you are smart, you will never breathe a word of that to your father, and you will refrain from mixing yourself up in drug trafficking in the future. Is that clear?”

“Read you loud and clear, mom.”

“Good. I’m going to go out on the patio and talk to your father for a bit and then I’m heading to bed. I suggest you do the same. It’s a long drive to the great Volunteer State.”

**********

Christ, she wasn’t kidding. Dallas had never been averse to road trips but he underestimated the tedium of having to spend eight hours in a vehicle alone. He wanted to fucking call someone and commiserate but his cell phone was locked in his dad’s sock drawer. Rolling down the interstate, bored out of his mind with his bare arm hanging out the window, his thoughts roamed.

He missed Palmer. He hated to admit it to himself but he’d been absolutely miserable since they broke up—so much so that he threw a television out of a second-story window when his roommate dared to suggest inviting him over. Evan was an asshole for even thinking about it. The wound was still so fresh. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him; he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid throwing himself at him yet again, and his ego simply couldn’t withstand the blow. His throat tightened.

What was he doing right now? Probably sitting around with his former roommates and getting high. Or maybe he was at his own place with a cute guy curled up by his side and his hand crawling down the curve of his spine, fingertips dancing on the top of his jeans, making him all breathless and horny and head-over-heels in love with him and, fuck, he was suddenly doing ninety in a sixty-five.

He took a deep breath and let off the gas. He couldn’t afford another ticket. His parents could not afford another ticket. He knew their car insurance was astronomically high after his little destruction of property incident. But he still swore that fucking wall materialized before him out of spite.

Palmer. He was too sexy for his own damn good. The combination of his jet black hair, his rumbling baritone, and those dark, brooding green eyes made pants drop like some kind of fucked-up undiscovered law of gravity. And his smile. Dallas smiled at the thought. He loved when he made him smile; no matter how many times he saw it, it always felt like a monumental achievement. Tears brimmed in his eyes when he caught himself grinning like a fucking idiot in the rearview. He was so pathetic. Palmer and his life were almost four hundred miles behind him now and suddenly Dallas was crying so hard he could barely see the road. He veered off to the emergency lane and parked until he could get himself under control.

When he looked up, there was a green sign ahead that read “Memphis – 65 Miles.” He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and kept driving.

His grandma’s house wasn’t hard to find. He remembered that it was red brick and had bright blue shutters and his GPS was quite precise in navigating him there. He’d had almost a full twenty-four hours to dread this moment so most of the excitement had fizzled out. He parked his truck by the curb since her Pontiac was taking up the entire driveway and sat there for a moment as he surveyed the quaint little house. The lawn was flawless—doubtlessly the work of a neighbor. Juanita was way too old and feeble to be out gardening. There were two manicured flower beds bursting with blue and yellow flowers he could not name and Azalea bushes. Three wicker rocking chairs were stationed around a table on the cement porch and briefly he wondered who usually occupied the other two. A white picket fence concealed the back yard, but he remembered it to be empty except for a few bird feeders.

With a resolute sigh he unbuckled his seat belt and reached behind him to grab his things. He’d left everything except the essentials with his parents—he didn’t want to give himself reason to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary. One suitcase and a backpack contained most of his clothes and a few assorted odds and ends he wanted to bring along. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and climbed out of the car, dragging the suitcase after him.

The blinds cracked as soon as the car door slammed shut. He waved awkwardly and began to make his way up the driveway. How long had it been since he saw this lady? Five, six years? His mom hated her, so she was usually shunted from holiday gatherings. His dad had a sister who lived much closer than he, so she was the one who took care of her. His dad just got to listen to her bitch his ear off most of the time. Or at least he assumed she was bitching judging by the hopeless expression he wore when he talked to her.

He was just ascending the steps when the screen door opened and there was his grandmother almost exactly as he remembered her in a hideous pink pantsuit and slippers. She stepped aside wordlessly when he approached.

“Uh… Hi, Grandma.” He was perplexed by her blank, thin-lipped stare.

She nodded dismissively. He knew she disapproved of the whole gay thing, but was she really so much of a bigot that she wouldn’t greet her own grandson? Ancient potpourri and that distinctive musty old people smell smacked him in the face as soon as he crossed the threshold. The house was spotless—not a speck of dust anywhere. Her floral couches were covered by clear plastic furniture protectors and the wood floor looked freshly waxed. On every wall hung trite framed art of Bible verses interspersed with occasional photographs of her, his grandfather, and his aunt and father in their Sunday clothes. A large, polished wooden cross hung over the small dining room table.

She shut and locked the door and turned to face him.

“I’m sure your father told you there would be some rules,” she stated flatly. Her voice boomed in the small space. Dallas winced. Her volume always surprised him. She was a tiny, crotchety little lady but she was louder than a megaphone.

“Well, my mom did, but yeah.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. Her disdain for his mother irritated him.

“I won’t stand for an abomination against God in my family, boy. I’ll beat the devil out of you if I have to, I swear it. No phone, no computer, no leaving the house after eight, and-“

“Wait, what? I can handle the no outside communication thing, but lady, if you expect me to mind a freakin’ curfew you have got another thing coming.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Dallas raised an eyebrow.

“Dallas, Dallas, Dallas, you are your mother’s son. I always knew Robert was being too soft on you. You can expect none of that nonsense here. You will be back here each night at eight and you will not leave until dawn or else you will find your things on the street, young man. I don’t make empty threats. And if I so much as suspect that you are engaging in any of that… That… vileness, I will not only put your things on the street, I will burn them. You hear me? I won’t allow perversion in my household. God hates faggots, Dallas. I hope by the time you leave here you will understand that.”

He regarded her contemplatively, his conversation with his mother vivid in his mind. He could not let her get to him. His stay here did not have to be completely hellacious. He knew this would be easiest if he just kept his head down and let her think she was winning.

“Yes, ma’am,” he simpered, arms folded over his chest. “Do I get a room?”

“The guest room upstairs is for you. Until you get a job you may only eat the meals I prepare for you every day. When you’re able to contribute, you may eat whatever you like. And I expect you to devote all your spare time to looking for a job. Oh, and you must always ride with me to and from church. That means in the car by eight thirty on Sunday morning, six on Sunday night, and six thirty on Wednesday evening. You will drive yourself to counseling with Jason at five on Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Okay, cool. Alright if I head upstairs now?”

She nodded tersely. He bustled by her without another word and lugged his suitcase upstairs. Before he shut the door she called up after him,

“Dinner is in the microwave.”

The room wasn’t bad. It was small and plain and had a twin-sized bed in the center with a yellow comforter and white sheets. The walls were covered in off-white floral wallpaper and there was a pretty wooden dresser crowded against the far wall. Of course there was no television. He dropped his bags off just inside the door and collapsed onto the bed. The drive had been fucking exhausting. He would have drifted off to sleep if not for the persistent growling of his stomach. After staring at the ceiling, hating his life for ten minutes or so he made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen.

His grandmother was perched on the couch, her back upright and her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the evening news. She said nothing as he padded through the hallway and to the kitchen, his socked feet whispering on the wood. In the microwave he was quite pleased to find a cold chicken breast and a sweet potato slathered in cinnamon, butter and brown sugar. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

After eating he made for the front door and was quite unsurprised when his grandmother stopped him, seeing as it was almost eight.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To smoke a cigarette. I’ll stay on the porch.”

She said nothing more and he took that as his cue to leave. He opened the door and pushed the screen open with his rear end as he fished his pack of Marlboros and a lighter from his pocket.

He closed the door and plopped down on the second step rather than sitting in one of the chairs. They just looked too old lady-ish for him to properly radiate sex appeal. His eyes wandered up and down the street as he smoked. There had to be some kids his age living in this subdivision—all these tiny little houses probably rented for dirt cheap. He would likely scour the neighborhood for any fraternity bumper stickers or horribly unkempt lawns tomorrow while he was supposedly job hunting.

A door opened across the street and two houses down, drawing his gaze. He could barely make out an untied Chuck Taylor keeping the door propped open as the owner of said shoe rummaged about inside. Suddenly a dachshund came streaking out of the house, ears flapping and tongue lolling about as he scampered victoriously across the yard.

“DAMMIT WINSTON!”

The dog had made it all the way to the street by the time the guy disentangled himself from whatever it was he was trying to haul out the door. Being an ardent lover of dogs, Dallas leapt up from his station on the porch and squatted down, patting his thighs and whistling to distract him from his attempted runaway. Sure enough the little dog made a beeline for him, tail wagging back and forth frantically.

“What’s up, you sneaky little bastard?” he crooned as he took Winston’s head in his hands and rubbed his ears. He yipped happily and lunged for his face, tongue skimming his nose and lips before he could restrain him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry about him,” presumably Winston’s owner panted. His too-big untied shoes clomped loudly on the pavement as he jogged up to them.

Dallas looked up and the generic nonchalant “that’s okay” died on his tongue. He was so cute! A slow smile curled onto his lips as he gave him a prompt once-over. The laces of his oversized Chuck Taylors were coiled on the ground and he had on khaki slacks, also too big for him, cinched up by a leather belt. His wrinkled white school uniform shirt was partially untucked from the pants. He was short even for an Asian and a little skinnier than Dallas normally would have liked, but his whole disheveled appearance was precious regardless. His hair was short and dark and he had enormous brown eyes that looked impossibly black and dewy in the low light, like some kind of small animal.

“Dude, you have no idea how much you helped me out just now. He runs me all over the neighborhood every single time he gets out, which is practically every single day. Believe me, I would love nothing more than to just get rid of that damn dog for good, but he’s my sister’s and she would have me burned at the stake if I didn’t go after him, so…” He trailed off when he finally noticed the dark appraising look in Dallas’ eyes. Took him long enough. He saw the shadow beneath his Adam’s apple shift as he gulped and his interest was piqued.

“So, uh, hi, I’m Henry,” he finished with a bright smile. The dim light from the house illuminated his white teeth.

“Dallas. I just moved in with my grandma today. Nice to meet you.” He gave the dog’s ears a final rub and stood, extending his hand. Henry first stooped to scoop up Winston before he could escape again and then took the proffered hand. His grip was a little timid, but his hands were large for his size and had big knuckles—distinctly boyish. Dallas approved.

“Nice to meet you, too. You from Memphis?”

“Nope. I drove all the way down from Indianapolis today.”

“Whoa, long drive. You’re not in high school, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I graduated last year.” Dallas smiled at the way his shoulders sagged slightly with disappointment.

“Oh. I’m graduating in May and I can’t freakin’ wait, dude. I contracted senioritis forever ago. Did you move in with your grandma to go to the U of M?”

“Nah, I’m not in college. I moved in to help her out around the house and stuff, you know. She’s starting to get up there in years and she needs someone with her all the time,” he lied, not about to tell this cute and obviously interested boy that he got kicked out of his apartment and then his parents’ house.

“Aw, that’s sweet. I bet she’s hard to live with, isn’t she? She stops my parents all the time and tries to witness to them about Jesus or whatever. They call her the “crazy white lady.” My parents are Vietnamese and they think a lot of old American ladies are crazy, but your grandma is apparently crazy enough to be THE crazy white lady.”

Dallas laughed as he stubbed out his unattended cigarette. “She really is. I’m pretty sure she’s in there creeping on us right now, too. I’m not supposed to be out after eight or talk to any cute boys.”

Henry pressed his lips together to hide a shy, knowing smile and his gut clenched fondly. He was so adorable. Those big, glittering dark eyes didn’t hide anything. Dallas hated Memphis less already. Winston picked that moment to ramp up his squirming and yapped loud to be let down.

“Oww, you scratched me, dick,” he growled as he bound the dog up tighter in his arms. He glanced up at Dallas and smiled apologetically. “Well, I better get this thing back to the house before he gets away again. He is hell and a half to catch. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dallas.”

“Alright. Bye, Henry.” With that he turned, looked once over his shoulder to offer him yet another shy smile, and hurried off to his own house.

Dallas pulled another cigarette out of the carton and watched him walk away, his eyes trained on his pert little ass.

Sure enough, when he went back inside his grandmother was sitting in the chair nearest to the window and gazing out at the porch, her eyes cold and blank.

“Remember, Dallas: I don’t make empty threats,” she intoned dryly.

“Heard you the first time, Grams.” He skidded giddily on his socks down the hallway and then took the stairs two at a time.

Dallas stared at the ceiling for a long time before he drifted off to sleep. He was accustomed to sleeping with a television droning in the background every night, so the silence felt totally unnatural. But in the quiet he kept replaying the tentative exchange, the way Henry’s eyes widened when he called him cute, and a hazy warmth filled him. Staying with his grandma was going to be a lot more fun than he thought.