Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 5. Chapter 5

I was sitting in the waiting room at the physiotherapist’s office, thumbing through a magazine when someone sat in the chair next to me. This surprised me because the room wasn’t full. Most people tend to find a seat as far from strangers as possible, but not this guy. There was a whole row of empty chairs in front of me, not to mention the rest of my row, since I was at one end.

I glanced up from my magazine into clear blue eyes. “Hi,” he said immediately.

“Uh… hi,” I managed.

He glanced at my cane. “Knee injury?” he asked.

I shifted uneasily in my seat. Who the hell was this guy, anyway? “Yeah,” I replied shortly.

“Football?” It wasn’t a hard guess, since I was wearing my varsity jacket.

I was starting to get pissed off. “Car accident,” I retorted. I motioned to the sling on his right arm. “You?”

He looked down. “Mortar,” he said.

I blinked. “Say what?”

“Mortar round,” he elaborated with a grin. “Missed me by that much.” He held up his left hand, thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

“Holy…” I didn’t finish the thought. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Not much to imagine,” he replied. We both fell silent. I went back to my magazine, but my mind wasn’t on the article I was looking at. A few minutes later he chuckled softly and I looked up. “Makes me glad of one thing, though,” he said.

“What’s that?”

He held up his hand again. “I’m ambidextrous,” he replied. “I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud. “Doesn’t it feel like you’re cheating on her, though?” I asked, nodding at his sling.

He gave me a lopsided grin and leaned close to whisper, “Him.”

I stopped laughing and stared into those eyes. “Uh…” This conversation was getting weirder by the minute.

He waited. When I didn’t say anything, he offered, “I’m ‘family’.”

Did I have ‘gay’ written on my forehead? “That’s…” I began.

“Darrell?”

Saved by the bell. Or the receptionist. Or whatever. I set my magazine down.

“Wait,” the guy said. “My name’s Brock.”

I nodded at him and reached for my cane. “Darrell – obviously,” I replied.

He reached into a pocket of his jacket. “Here’s my number,” Brock said quickly. He handed me a card. “Call me. Maybe we can get together sometime.”

“Right.” I shoved the card into my jeans pocket and stood. “Er… nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

I glanced back as I followed the nurse or whatever she was down the hallway. Brock was still staring after me, a goofy-looking grin on his face. Who the hell was that guy?

***

I didn’t call him. I also didn’t see him again the next few times I went for physio. That was fine by me – I didn’t know what to make of the big man with startling blue eyes and brown hair. Was he interested in me? I’m not ugly, by any means, but still… I resolved to put the whole incident out of my mind. I had enough to worry about anyway.

My dad’s case had gone to trial. He got the $1,000 fine and a year – suspended. He wasn’t going to spend any time in jail. I had mixed feelings about that. I didn’t really want him behind bars, but I also didn’t want him able to come back and beat on me again. I started keeping an eye out whenever I went anywhere, just in case he showed up unexpectedly. After a week of that I gave myself a stern talking-to. He’d said that I no longer existed in his eyes – why on Earth would he bother seeking me out? He didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Once I had that firmly set in my head, I relaxed a bit.

The physiotherapist announced that I was as fit as I was going to get, given the extent of my injury. I could walk on that leg without the aid of the cane, but it wasn’t long before my knee started aching. I resigned myself to my limited mobility, told myself I was lucky to be alive and went home.

Things had changed there, too. Mom told me and Trent that she was going to take a vacation this summer and we were all going to go to her parents’ place in Dallas. Trent said he wanted to bring Michelle along. Mom said that was fine – and then looked at me and said I could bring someone, too, if I wanted. I thought briefly of Brock and then just as quickly dismissed him from my mind. Instead I told her I was tired and was going to lie down before supper.

I glanced around as I entered my room. Some time ago, Trent had helped me take down the shelving and fill in the screw holes. The walls seemed bare after that, so he talked me into finding a paint color I liked. Now my room was done in a sort of light charcoal color with white trim. Trent said it was more suited to a living room than a bedroom. Maybe he was right, but I liked it.

I liked it even better after Michelle saw it. She stood in the doorway for about five minutes looking around with an expression on her face like she was analyzing something. Then she went down to talk to my mom. The two of them took off right after that and were gone for about an hour. When they came back, Michelle was carrying a lamp and a couple of bags, and my mom had more bags and a couple of pictures in frames. They shooed me out of my room, telling me to go bug Trent. I went and sat out on the patio instead.

A couple of hours later they dragged me back inside. The pair of them had added stuff to make my room look… ‘classy’, I guess was the only word for it. My bed had new dark grey sheets and a maroon comforter, the lamp was thin and black with a white shade and there were two huge pictures in thin, black metal frames hanging over the head of my bed. They were geometric designs, something Michelle called ‘neoplasticism’, and had all the colors in my room in addition to bright blue and yellow on them. With Trent in interior design and Michelle’s flair for decorating, they’d be set for life, I thought.

I started at a light knocking sound on my door. Turning around, I saw Trent leaning against the doorframe. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” I shuffled over to the bed and lowered myself onto it. “What’s up?”

“Sorry about that,” he replied, taking a step into my room.

I propped my cane against the wall and looked at him. “About what?”

“Mom.”

I shrugged and reached down to untie my shoes. “It’s not a big deal,” I said, hoping my voice sounded as nonchalant as I’d intended.

“She just wants you to be happy,” Trent went on. “We all do.”

“We?” I echoed, staring up at him.

He nodded, blushing lightly. “Me, Mom, Michelle…” His voice trailed off.

I smiled. “You two are really serious, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“That’s nice.” I kicked off my shoes and swung my good leg up onto the bed, using both hands to bring up the bad one as well. “I’m happy for you.”

Trent took a step closer to my bed and shoved his hands in his pockets uncertainly. “Is there…” he began and then stopped. I waited. After a moment he tried again. “Is there someone you’re interested in, Darrell?” he asked. “Someone you like?”

I thought again of blue eyes and tousled brown hair. “I met this guy at physio once,” I said slowly, not sure why I was telling Trent this. “He was kind of nice. Weird, but nice.”

Trent sat on the edge of my bed. “Really? What was he like?”

“He said his name was Brock,” I replied. “He told me straight out that he was gay and gave me his phone number.”

“Did you call him?”

“No.” I stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes I said, “It’s not that simple, Trent.”

When he didn’t answer, I looked at him. He was staring at the carpet. As though he could feel my eyes on him, Trent looked up and said, “I wish I could say I knew what you were going through, but… I really don’t. I know how hard it is to ask a girl out – and that’s socially acceptable. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to do that with someone who’s…” He shrugged.

“The same sex,” I finished for him. He nodded. “It’s a lot harder. Not only is it not socially acceptable, if you pick the wrong guy it could be dangerous.” My thoughts suddenly flicked back to Lucas Riley and the hurt look on his face as I closed the door. I pushed the memory away.

His eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that.”

I nodded. “So you basically live a lie. Most people never get to see you as you really are and those that do… well… they’re usually close friends or family. People you couldn’t be involved with anyway.”

“But this Brock guy sounded interested,” Trent countered. “And he isn’t either of those things.”

I thought about that for a second. “You’re right,” I said at last. “But he’s… I don’t know…”

“What?”

I told him about Brock’s injury and his forthright comment about having to use his left hand. Trent snorted in laughter and then became thoughtful. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Why would someone with that type of injury be at a private clinic?” he mused. “Why not the VA or something?”

“Good question,” I replied. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“You should call him.”

I shook my head. “There’s lots of reasons why that isn’t a good idea,” I said. “But basically I don’t feel like being someone’s ‘good time’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some guys go out cruising for a lay,” I replied bluntly. “There’s none of the problems associated with fucking around with girls.”

Trent nodded. “Like getting them pregnant.”

“Right,” I said. “There’s other stuff, of course, but…” I shrugged. “Besides,” I went on. “I can’t see myself as the bed-hopping type.”

He stared at me thoughtfully. “I can understand that much,” he said finally. “I’m the same way.”

I stretched out on my bed. “So,” I said, trying to steer us back to the original topic. “There isn’t anyone for me.” Trent’s worried look made me add, “To bring over, I mean.”

He still stared at me. “There will be, you know,” he said quietly. “Some day.” I nodded but didn’t speak. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I replied, more to ease his mind than anything else. To be honest, I didn’t know if I really believed it or not.

I was standing in my grandparents’ front yard aiming the garden hose at a rather large peony bush. We’d been visiting with my mother’s parents for two days and already I was bored out of my wits. I watched droplets of water create rainbows over my grandmother’s prized flowers. It was kind of hypnotic and allowed me to relax and let my mind wander.

I’d convinced my mom to let me bring my own car instead of riding with her, Trent and Michelle. I said it was so we could go sightseeing without disturbing their visit, but I think she knew the real reason I wanted to bring it – so I could take off if I wanted to. I figured she’d probably told her parents about my being gay and I wanted to have a way to escape the backlash.

As it was, they were pretty good about it. At least they didn’t freak out or anything. They were unusually quiet towards me, though. Not cold or anything, just… not very talkative. Like they didn’t quite know what to say to me. It suited me fine. I could always bail if it got to be too much.

Instead of leaving, however, I just hung around doing small stuff to stay out of their way – like watering the flowers. I knew my grandparents loved me but I also knew my presence was making them uncomfortable.

I’d just about decided to move down to the geraniums when I heard a vehicle screech to a halt on the street behind me. I turned and found myself looking at two guys in a beat-up green pickup. The one closest to me, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned out the window and yelled “Hey, fag! I’ll give you twenty bucks for a blowjob!” He turned to his companion and they both started laughing fit to bust.

I could feel my face burning with shame. Taking a step toward them, I said slowly “What did you say?”

“He said…” The driver draped an arm across the steering wheel and called through his buddy’s window. “He’ll pay you twenty to suck his dick.” He grinned broadly. “I’ll give you fifty to do us both,” he added.

My blood began to boil. Without thinking, I lifted the hand with the garden hose and squeezed the trigger. In seconds both of them were soaked and sputtering. I smiled grimly as they wiped water out of their eyes. “Maybe that’ll cool you down,” I said.

“You fucking asshole!” the driver screamed. “You got my truck wet! You’ll pay for that!”

“It’s probably the cleanest it’s been since you got in it,” I replied, more calmly than I felt. “Besides, I thought you were the one doing the paying?”

The passenger reached for the door handle. “Let’s get that fairy, Brett!” he yelled.

“I don’t think so.”

Behind me stood my grandfather, all six-foot-six and two hundred forty pounds of him. Although his hair was white and his posture was a little bowed, he still presented an imposing figure. It helped that he was a retired high school principal. Everyone knew him, even if only by reputation.

I looked back at the two guys in the truck. The driver had grabbed his buddy by the sleeve, halting his exit from the vehicle while staring open-mouthed at my grandfather. His friend stared at him for a moment, then slammed the door in place. They both faced forward as the truck was put in gear and driven away, neither one of them saying a word.

When I turned back to thank my grandfather, he had already moved away. I watched sadly as he strode into the house, slamming the door behind him. He was probably embarrassed by what happened and wanted to put as much distance between us as possible. The idea made me feel hollow inside, like something had died a little.

I put away the hose and quietly reentered the house, making my way to my room. Not my room, really, but the one I’d shared with Trent when we were kids. He and Michelle were sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the solarium this time, though, so I had it all to myself. As I tossed my duffle bag on the bed and began taking my things out of the drawers, I could hear my mother and grandparents arguing in the kitchen next door.

“Who did you tell, Edith?” my grandfather demanded.

There was a small pause and then my grandmother mumbled something I couldn’t hear. My mother spoke up. “For God’s sake, Mom! You know Agnes is an incurable gossip!”

I shoved my arms into my jacket and patted my jeans pockets, searching for my keys. Once I had them in my hand I grabbed my bag off the bed and headed out.