The Codeword – Novella Five - 5. Part 6: A Time to Speak & Part 7: Soda Social

Part 6: A Time to Speak

'On a road stretching to the horizon,

The grey arrow of our marching is deterred

By muddy feet and hearts without the sun

To troop along behind the line of one life pilfered.

His boots placed reversed in the riding mount

Remind us all that we are leaderless,

Tho no tears can come from the dried-up fount

Where once our sorrows flowed pure and boundless.

The funeral procession will march on,

But this fuss for one rankles when many others

Received cold obsequies, yet still are gone,

Wept-for or uncried-for by their brothers.

Stretch on, line of the increasing homage,

Not one, but many walk behind your coffin,

Tho unsung, their vespers speak of courage,

As we do of their love, well and often.'

Bobby jolts me back to the present. He's holding out a hand mirror for me to take. He says, as I take it, "Tell me what you think."

He pivots the chair around, and I hold up the mirror.

"How does the back look?"

The back is straight down, like the fringe on the rear of a footstool. Looking at it, it seems a bit odd, but oh well – the one thing I don't get is where the 'fish' part of this 'mullet' haircut comes in.

"Good," I say, hearing the unease in my own voice.

Bobby Strand takes the mirror, and slowly turns me back around. Somehow, I'm not prepared to see the anxiety writ large across my face. What's that old cliché – the mirror never lies?

But in that self-reflecting glance is also a revelation. The things I thought were holding me back are not true. I realize my hesitation is not about fear of the unknown, or my fake feelings of embarrassment. It's about trust. I must be willing to extend trust, just like I did to Blakie, for Bobby to be able to extend it back, and for my barber to be able to help me. That's all. Trust. But, that's enough to seem like a mountain to climb, and the thought of scaling it, engenders its own brand of fear.

I've played with Bobby, and done another version of the come-out dance Blakie Williams and I did in that kid's room. But with Bobby I've not been able to complete the task. The one word passed from Blakie as a whisper has not ventured onto my tongue, but been shuttered in the back of my brain where it might as well have been secreted in a lightless closet.

Damn. Now Bobby is almost done with my haircut.

The brush meant to sweep away any shards of cut hair, lingers over my upper back and shoulders. It's as if the slow, and needlessly methodical brushing kinetically signals that Bobby too is holding his breath; he is giving me a couple more moments to gather courage.

So, I guess this is what it means to be a 'man.' Not a cartoon laughingstock of a macho charade – like John Wayne's hurtful and shut-down screen persona – but a real man who sucks it up, grows a pair of balls, and does what he needs to to end his own psychological pain.

Flashes of Kennedy's funeral day come to mind, the film we watched at school of the sad procession from one stage of his existence to the next, and of the boots riding backwards in procession to his grave; a burial of innocence for the nation and for his entire family of the United States. No one alive then was ever the same after those events, and in its way, it is just the same of everyone who survived the First World War. Maturity may have been forced on everyone by such circumstances, but once it was accepted, there was no going back.

It seems my whole life is on the balance scales: one side looms misery and unnaturalness, while on the other, lightly rest smiles, backslaps and a precious chance at connection.

It's time to grow up.

"Bobby..?" I barely say out loud.

"Yes." He pauses and holds my gaze in the mirror.

"Cortège." I say.

A cloud passes over his features, then – like parting thunderheads – radiant beams of a smile shine down on me.

He sighs: "I know. I know it's hard." Then his tone brightens as he undoes my light-blue smock.

"Simon, you've done the hard bit, and now you're safe." He puts a reassuring hand on my shoulders, and goes on, "I've been waiting for you to say it. But, let me be the first to reassure you – it's going to be ok. I promise you that, Simon. You are going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right!"

Part 7: Soda Social

Bobby and Stella's salons are transformed.

They look the same, but as I walk through them on this Friday evening, there are people swarming all over in festive camaraderie.

Music plays, and young men tap feet and bob heads as they stand around chatting in small groups.

In one corner of Bobby's salon – in the curved bay window - Elvid mans a folding table. On it are several three-gallon tubs of ice cream and sherbet. Next to them are open two-liter bottles of soda: cola, lemon-lime, and root beer. Boys line up, and in every hand is a large plastic cup. Elvid smiles at each in turn, and I hear expressions like "Nice to see you again," "Glad you could come," and "How's your mom doing?" In the meantime, the host scoops a generous portion of the boy's choice of frozen treat into his extended cup. Next, the guys move to the side, grab a spoon, and pour on soda to make ice cream floats. It is very festive.

'Later,' I think. 'I better not burden my stomach with anything right now.'

I walk on. I look around, trying not to stand out too much as the newcomer that I am.

I do not see Blakie; no Jamieson either. But, Blakie Williams was right about one thing, for I am surprised to see a lot of older kids I know by sight and name, but none of whom I would have guessed liked guys. The young men who make up the crowd are so comfortable, and fully free to be themselves, it makes me want to sigh. Their little groups are not set, and new guys drift in and out of them with smiles and big shoulder slaps.

At the edge of one of these groups is a boy from the 7^th grade at Saint Lazarus. Craig, the guy from Speech, lifts his glasses and offers me a really friendly smile and head nod. I smile back, and he comes straight over.

"Hey, Craig!"

"Simon! I've never seen you here before."

I can feel myself blushing. "Nope, I just – it’s my first time."

"Cool! You will like coming to these. Elvid always gets the best flavors of ice cream. He drives all the way to Sparta to get them."

I snap my fingers in recognition. "I know where! My dad loves it there, at the old-fashioned ice cream parlor where they make all the stuff by hand."

"Oh yeah? I don’t know the place."

"It's right next to Roscoe's, the store that sells everything."

He shrugs, but does so with a tight-lipped grin. I drop the subject. "Yep, it's cool that we have somewhere like this to come to."

"How did you hear about it?" Craig asks.

"From Blakie Williams. And speaking of him, have you seen him here tonight?"

"Nope. Sometimes he and Jamieson come later to pitch in and help Elvid and Bobby clean up."

"Damn, they are such nice guys."

"I know, and they make about the hottest couple I know. You got a boyfriend yet?"

Craig's smile was back to being open. I have to admire that this kid's pretty bold. "No, I don't. Do you?"

"I'm on the market, as they say."

"That's cool." I suddenly feel a bit uncomfortable; I like Craig well enough, and I sort of looked forward to getting to know him better, but I don’t know about being boyfriends with him.

"Hey," he suddenly says. "Who do you think is cute here tonight?"

Damn, this kid IS bold. I just hope I'm not taking on some color again, but then in another moment, I think, 'Why not? He and I are both out, and in a safe place.' I just need to relax.

"I like guys who are bit older than me, and a bit more mature."

"Like Henry Parker?"

Now I feel a severe wave of heat wash over the top of my collar. Craig has just named the star quarterback of Judas Tree High. "He's, here..?"

The 7^th grader gestures casually over to a collection of tall boys, and sure enough, Henry is there with a sundae glass in his hand, and a smile and a bit of whipped cream on his lips. He is joking around freely with a bunch of other jock-type guys.

"Well, I'll be. He doesn’t have a girlfriend..?"

"Hell no, why? He's Gay."

I chuckle. "Yeah, ok. Of course he wouldn't have a girlfriend then. That's awesome."

"So, is he your type?"

"Look, Craig, if I'm honest…there's already someone I like."

He looks a bit deflated.

"It's ok," I reassure him. "I love that you are here, and that we can hang out."

"Yeah, it's gonna be cool to have another out buddy in school."

"I agree." I silently marvel that community can build itself so effortlessly once a framework is there for it to support itself on. This safe place that Bobby and Elvid have risked quite a lot to establish is a godsend for each and every one of the boys in this room. I take a moment to count my lucky stars that I got initiated into it via Blakie Williams and the codeword.

Craig lightly raps my arm. "Hey, did you see 'them?'"

"Who?"

Craig slowly raises his hand and gestures towards one end of the room.

I look, and through the crowd, I see Ryan McKay and Jerry sitting apart from the group on the floor. They have their backs resting against the wall. Their knees are drawn up, and they sit so close together their bodies are in full contact from the side of their feet to the top of their shoulders. Ryan's left hand grips Jerry's right one and they rest them together on their conjoined knees. The boys' total focus is on one another, and on the low and slow conversation they are having. They appear to be content and sad at the same time, and take no notice of anything else, including me. Ryan lifts the back of Jerry's hand and kisses it; Jerry raises his arm and drapes it over the top of the other boy's back. As Jerry pulls Ryan into a hug, so that their foreheads come together, I wonder why Gay people ever have to feel isolated when we really are everywhere.

Ryan spots me, and instantly a smile of relief and appreciation spreads across his face.

I see him lean over and whisper something in Jerry's ear. He accompanies that with a little movement of his hand, which Jerry's eyes follow, and then he too smiles at me.

Ryan McKay rises to his feet and immediately strides up to me all good-natured, and with jocular body movements.

"Simon!" He shakes my hand, and then all of a sudden pulls me into a brief hug. Coming out of it again, he nods in a friendly way to Craig. "Nice to see you, Craig."

"You too."

"Um…" Ryan comes in close to Craig and asks really nicely. "Can you give me and Simon a moment..?"

"Sure. See you later, Simon." There's a sweetness to the 7^th grader's tone for me.

"Ok, Craig." I try not smile too much with my voice, but I'm sure some of my general happiness spills out into my tone.

After we watch Craig stroll away and meet up with a group of guys our own age, Ryan says, "I just wanted to say, wow, I am SO happy to see you here – it's almost like I'm relieved to see you here. And, more importantly, I need to thank you for staying with me that day of the hayride, you know, sitting with me in the truck. You don’t know how much it meant to me."

I try and laugh off his serious tone. "What did I do? Nothing, really."

Ryan McKay loses his smile completely. His eyes grow round and blink a couple of times. "You don’t know just how low and desperate I was. You're just like an angel, Simon; you showed up when I needed you most."

He hugs me again, this time hard enough to make my back crack in a few feel-good spots.

"But, I still don’t know what I did."

Ryan pulls back and holds my gaze. A tear falls unchecked down the big Irish farm boy's cheek. "You never know what you do Simon, do you?"

Hey. Is that an insult..?

He must be reading my mind, for he immediately chimes in with, "I mean, you change people's lives and you don’t do it looking for any kind of reward, or praise or anything. You are just you, all the time. That's what I mean, ok buddy?"

I nod my head.

"Simon, what you said to me that day, and what you did may not seem like a lot, but it was enough to make all the difference. You gave me hope; you made me realize what's important and worth fighting for. And I won't even think of giving up again." He glances towards Jerry. "That night after the party, I went to my mom and told her I didn't want to go to Catholic high school. She said she'd take it of it with my dad, and now – it's all set. In the fall I'll start Judas Tree High with you – "

I cut him off with my shear laughter: "And with JERRY!"

He starts to cry. "You may not believe me, but it's all because of you, so thank you."

"It's ok, don’t be sad." I tell him, wishing I could let him know I thought he was a good guy too.

"I'm not sad Simon, I am so happy, and I feel so grateful to you."

"Look, man," I say as I pull out some fresh Kleenex from my pocket. "Don’t let your boyfriend see me making you cry. He'll come over here and whip my ass."

Ryan McKay takes my tissues, snorts up some snot, and laughs all at the same time. He dabs at his eyes, and as I watch, I really feel a bit of guilt for taking their together time away from one another. A quick glance at Jerry sitting on the floor alone reconfirms this sentiment.

"I like you, Ryan. I'm just glad you and I and Jerry, and even Craig, can all be buddies – however, if I had to guess, I bet you want to get back to your guy and spend as much time with him as you can. Am I right?"

Ryan colored a bit and nodded bashfully.

"Then go," I tell him boldly. "He wants you back too. I can catch up with you guys later."

"Ok." Ryan McKay turns to go, but grabs my hand for a brief moment. His lips purse too in a quick display of gratefulness, and then he's walking towards the smiling form of Jerry. He nestles back down on the floor, and the boys kiss for a moment with warm-hearted passion. As I watch, I see Ryan pick up and hold his boyfriend's hand. He closes his eyes a moment and draws in Jerry's forehead to plant affection there from his lips; plant a kiss as if it were for the most precious thing that Ryan had. And I guess he's right, what's more valuable than love? Nothing.

Somehow I know Ryan McKay and Jerry will be all right. They'll figure it out, despite Ryan's dad, and make a way for them to be happy, and together.

Moving on, I leave them to their sad bliss,

After I hover on the outside of a few groups of older guys, I think to myself that I better go back and find Craig again. But then I hear a deep voice ringing out an unmistakable laugh. My heart lurches into my throat.

Trying to tap down a needless panic, I peek around and over shoulders, and about twenty feet ahead of me is the back of a guy with shaggy, dishwater blond hair.

I go up to him, and land a gentle punch in the lower back of this guy.

He spins around with a determinedly-set jaw, ready to put up or shut up.

But, that rigid mouth quickly melts into a broad grin of recognition. He does not seem surprised at all to see me.

"Hello Simon," he says, tilting his head a bit.

"Hi, Dustin." I bite my lower lip, so I don’t actually grin like a madman.

My hand slips into his. I start to pull him.

"Where we goin'?"

"Let's find a spot," I tell him. "Where we can talk."

Inspired by Ryan and Jerry's carving out of a private space in a public setting, I find our own suitable stretch of wall. I have Dustin sit first, then slide down nice and cozy, pressing full against his right flank.

Just as I open my mouth to say something, Dustin pivots his head sideways a bit, leans in, and kisses my left cheek. He pulls back with a bewitchingly-wicked smile.

"What was that for?" I ask, knowing some color was now flooding the cheek he had just blessed with his farm-boy lips.

Dustin responds real slow. His deep voice reverberates in my chest, and reminds me to my core how much I missed him. "That's for what I should have done that day of Carnival at school. That's what I wanted to do, when you kissed me – that's what I should have done."

"So, I can consider that a kind of thanks?"

"Yup."

"Cool."

Then I get serious a moment, asking, "But, you acted like you expected to see me here tonight."

"I did."

"But, how?"

"I wasn't planning on coming here tonight, although I have been in the soda social group for about a year, but then I got a phone call. A little birdie told me you were going to be here, and I better get my sorry ass back to Judas Tree to see you."

"A little birdie?" I say not hardly believing it. "You mean Blakie Williams, right?"

Dustin shakes his head real slow, and enjoys pasting on a grin as thick as wallpaper.

"Who then?"

"Your classmate. Jodie."

My mouth falls open. "That fricking sweet girl. Oh man, do I owe her big time."

"Yup. I guess I do too. She said something about boys being dumb, and that she has to take charge, and that I had to be here tonight, because you were coming."

"Damn. I think that girl is amazing. There's nothing dumb about her."

I can feel Dustin's gaze scanning my features up and down. I do the same with his. My Nordic farm boy isn’t looking so boyish anymore. I tell him with sure admiration, "You look different."

"How so?"

I shrug. "Dunno. More grown up."

He laughs. "What about you! I left you a munchkin heading into the 7^th grade, and now you're as tall as I am! Also, you are now…now…"

"And, now...?"

His slow and deliberate tempo returns with a deep timbre. "Now, you are a fine young man, Simon. A teenager, and you are so cute, I almost can't believe it."

I blush, but manage to lean over and get it out by saying quietly into his ear, "But you, Dustin – you are beautiful."

"Hey," he says with some suppressed excitement. His tone made me pull back to eye him fully. "Did you hear the news?"

"No. What news?"

"Well, remember when I said Nino wouldn't do good in public school?"

"Yeah."

"Well, now my dad agrees. My brother and I are going to move in with our aunt here in Judas Tree. We’ll do it at the beginning of summer, so that in the fall, Nino will go back to Saint Lazarus, and…"

"And what?"

"And, I will enter Judas Tree High School as a freshman, with you, Simon."

A sound catches in my throat. "Really!"

He nods. "Yes. It's all settled. We can also spend the whole summer together, if you want."

"Yes. I want that."

"Good – me too."

I let out a little sigh of relief, and move my left hand towards his knee. He raises his right arm, and lays his open palm on mine. Without a word, I slip my fingers between the brawny and slightly rough digits of my farm boy's hand.

"Wait, I think I have something to prove how I feel about you."

I extract my wallet, open it and take out a small scrap of paper with jagged edges. I press it into Dustin's hand, and then watch his Nordic-type blue eyes grow a bit misty.

He tells me the obvious;"It's that 'halo' doodle I did of you back in the 6^th grade."

"Yep."

"You've kept it all this time?"

"Dustin, I would never lose it, at least not on purpose."

He bites his lip and looks like he wants to use his hand to hold my face or something. He hesitates, so I pick up his strong fingers, open his palm and place it on my cheek.

"I…I, Simon."

"It's all right Dustin, but let me ask you this. Did you really think of me as some sort of angel?"

"Heck yeah. I still do."

"Even after I acted like a little shit towards you?"

"You did the right the thing and told those asswipes to fuck off, so all's well that ends well."

He strokes my cheek, and I reach up to touch the back of his hand while he does it.

"You're about the best person I've ever met in my life, Dustin Day."

His whole face brightens like a ray of sunshine. "Funny," he says. "That's exactly how I feel about you. And now I have something for show-n-tell."

He places my paper back in my hand, and as I am putting it away, I see him lean sideways and pull out his own wallet. He rights himself with a big grin, and draws out a similar scrap of paper. On it is a daisy picture with a little caterpillar climbing on top.

When I look to Dustin's face, it is red with embarrassment.

"You kept it too, huh? All this time?"

He simply nods, and I slip my hand into his.

"I know your secret, Dustin Day."

"Which secret?" His face shifts to be halfway between wanting to blow it off as nothing, and outright curiosity. "I don’t have any secrets."

"Maybe one. The secret of that picture."

All his good humor drops. He swallows, hard. "You think there's a hidden meaning to that drawing?"

I massage his hand with mine. "I know there is."

"Simon, it was hard, to…but the truth is…I…I…love you. You make me so happy, I just…I just love you."

I guide him to put his picture away. It's sort of a wordless reassurance that I am here for him, here and now. We can both set the past aside, as long we have each other.

He looks sad all of a sudden, like he's not sure about the next thing he wanted to say.

"What is it, Dustin?"

"You don’t mind that I've been in love with you these last two years?"

"Nope."

"Even if I never told you?"

"Nope, because I've known it for a long time."

"You have?"

"Yes. I have." I squeeze his fingers more securely so he knows it's true.

"Since when?"

"Since we went swimming in the River Kaskaskia."

"Oh, really..?" His face splits halfway into a sly grin. "And how do you feel about, me..?"

I shrug, trying not to cry. "I guess, the same. Yeah...I've known that since last year."

"Then, will you let me be your boyfriend?"

"Yes. Yes, I will."

He looks sad again, but leans in closer. "Will you let me kiss you then? You know, properly – like a boyfriend should."

I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile. "No."

His fingers suddenly lose their grip. His lower lip quavers slightly. "Why not..?"

"Because," I say, re-squeezing his fingers. "Maybe I want to kiss you first. Ever consider that?"

He grips my hand, hard, then a smile opens his beautiful Nordic features from ear to ear. "No, I never considered that I could get that lucky."

"Well then," I sigh. "I better show my boyfriend that I love him too."

I guess Bobby knows what he is talking about. Here, with my hand holding onto my long-lost farm boy, and with the prospect of our entire summer together transitioning effortlessly into a mutually shared high school career, all things are going to be ok.

I close my eyes and lean over. I use my right hand to just barely touch Dustin's cheek and use it as my guide. Soon, I lay my lips on his, and we begin to kiss.

My tall and strong Nordic farm boy tightens his hold on my hand, and I respond with reciprocal affection. As we begin to explore deeper, his breath caresses my cheek in sharpening passion, and I taste the sunshine on his lips.

Somehow in my head, all the tenderness I have recently been thinking about – all the flyboys and the young men meeting and falling in love through the horrors of war and conflict – finds a comfortable place in me.

Wherever they were, there was 'not a dry eye in the house' as they saw Dustin and I bending our heads together to touch our lips for that magical first kiss of equal love. And now that we are doing it, they cheer like a chorus of tough little Southtown angels, and they are bawling like babies. They have rooted for us the whole time, and now like me, they are overjoyed.

As I feel all of these wonderful things crowd my brain and senses for attention, Bobby's words drift back over my awareness and ring out in some sort of triumphant refrain: ' Simon, you are going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right.'

~