Day Twenty

Even though I was angry with him, it was still a relief to see him walk through the classroom door a week later. My existence was entirely different without him in it, from everything as mundane to having him sit next to me in Mzzzz. Banks' class to the monumental way he protected me from everything. Who would protect me from him, I wondered, as he strode into class, all eyes on him just like the first day he appeared. Ms. Banks had us so well trained that there was barely a murmer in the class, but everyone's eyes spoke entire conversations. People continued to come in behind him, all trying to make it before the bell, but they soon too were quiet and observed. Ms. Banks stood at the blackboard writing, the fat on her arms jiggling as she attacked the board fiercely.

I resolved myself to not even look at him as he took his seat next to mine. I would not acknowledge him. I was still furious.

"Hey," he said. I'm sure I pouted, like the adolescent I was, and folded my arms and turned away. There was no mistaking where I stood.

The bell sounded and Ms. Banks began her monotonous lecture. It wasn't long before Woody had his book open and was tearing out a piece of paper. He scribbled something furiously, though I wasn't sure what. The assignment had not been given yet. He took the piece of paper and slid it over towards me. Out of sheer curiosity, I peeked.

"I'M SORRY!" it said, in his chickenscratch handwriting. I couldn't help but start to smile, but then I remembered the way he pushed me away as if I meant nothing to him. So, I took the piece of paper and turned it around and in big letters wrote:

"I DON'T CARE!"

Scratttcchh! went the paper as I slid it cooly back over to him and pretended to give a damn about whatever jibberish was being vomited from the fat lady with the bad wig at the front of the class. I don't know what I expected. It's not like he could say anything. I heard him sigh and it was enough to melt me, but I held up the facade. I let my arms down and relaxed a little. Before I knew it, I felt his icy cold fingertips sliding in between mine under the desk as if to say, "Please, forgive me." In return, I squeezed his hand with all the strength I could muster until it was as warm as mine. It was my way of saying, "OK."

Behind us Corey Hines snickered. I guess he was spying on us. Woody abruptly let go of my hand. I could not blame him. He had just gotten back and already there was more fuel being thrown into the fire.

Forty minutes later we escaped the classroom and fled to the cafeteria. It was freezing outside, nobody in their right minds would have been caught eating out there. So, that's exactly where we went after we grabbed our lunch. We had to be alone and for one blessed moment we were.

"So," he started after he stuffed his face full of his sandwich, "can I come to your place after school? I packed some stuff. I'm sick of the old man."

"Yeah, I don't care ... but why did ..."

"Look, Peterson," he interrupted, "I don't want to talk about what happened last week. It was stupid, ok?"

"Yeah, I know, but why did you do that? Why can't you tell me?" He looked at me, the ominous sky above reflected in his gaze, a crumb on the edge of his lips.

"Because," he started carefully, "I didn't want you to see where I lived."

"Why not? You know where I live."

"Yeah, but it's different, Josh. You saw that. Where I live, it's ... it's cold. It's dark. And my father ... I just can't stand him is all. I don't want you to know him. You're better off."

"Well, that's just not fair. The way I see it, we're friends, right?" He looked at me as if that was the stupidest question I could have ever asked. "Well then, friends don't keep secrets. Do they?"

"Well, I don't know about that. I ain't never had a friend like you before."

The fact was I had never had a friend before. Period. I looked at him and he looked sadder than usual. I wondered what it was he wasn't telling me. Then in a flash I remembered the curious drowned boy I saw in front of his house that night.

"Well, you're not liable to have another friend quite like me ever again, that's for sure." He laughed. I could always make him laugh ... though it was usually not intentional.

"You're flat right about that."

"You can tell me anything. All your secrets. I won't ever tell nobody. I'll always be your friend, the freak, and nothing won't ever change that, my hand on the Bible, it won't."

The wind was challenging us to stay but we were winning. He sat next to me all bundled up and looked at me full of laughter and love and the sun began to shine on everything that had been gray only a few precious moments earlier.

"I missed you," he said.

"Well, I hardly thought about you at all."

"Right!" he laughed. "Look at you shivering. You need a bigger jacket." He reached over and pulled me closer to him. I loved that he was so strong. He put his arm around me and pulled me tightly in. I guess he was trying to shield from the waves of cold that were crashing down on us. I lay my head very gently on his chest and wondered how in the hell the magic of this moment could be completely lost on him. Did he know why the other kids called us faggots? Sometimes I thought, I hoped ... but then I thought better. My granny always said that anything that seemed too good to be true was.

“Harris and Peterson sitting in a tree!” Corey sang-songed as he walked up behind us with his little gang of mindless punk friends. This was just what we needed, to be caught in an embrace. I knew what would happen and I couldn’t stand to see Woody suspended again, or even worse, expelled, because he couldn’t control his hot head.

I stood straight up and faced the oncoming boys and fired back, “Can’t think of nothing more original than that old shit?” They stopped for a moment, shocked, because I had never spoken to them in that tone before. Even though I hadn’t said anything threatening in the least, the threat was there, and they were stunned. So was Woody apparently. He shot up next to me and whispered in my ear, “what the hell are you doing?” I ignored him and walked up towards Corey. “What else you got to say? Huh? You gonna call us faggots again? Man, that shit is so old. Get a new insult! How about calling us sissies? Girls? Freaks? Homos? Or maybe just mos? Um … how about intellectually superior? Oh, I’m sorry, I realize you’re too stupid to even know what the hell that means, aren’t you!”

He pushed me and I almost fell on my ass, but I kept my legs as he advanced in on me.
“Faggot, you’re asking for an ass whooping, ain’t ya?! You’d like that shit, wouldn’t you?”

“Go ahead and hit me, asshole! I dare you! Then it will be your dumb ass that’s suspended for a week and personally I think we’d all be better off! So, go ahead and hit me! It’s for a good cause!”

Corey was baffled. If he hit me, then not only did he look stupid, but he also got suspended. If he didn't, then he'd be a chomp. He was in a no-win situation. And I was feeling pretty good about myself. Sensing his predicament, one of his friends, Tyrone Bentley, stepped in.

"Man, forget about it. It ain't even worth it. Let's go."

"Yeah, man," they all agreed. They all turned to leave, but Corey stood his ground, simmering. Finally he said, "this ain't over."

If he disliked me before, he hated me now. But I didn't care, as long as they left us alone at that moment. I couldn't take another week without Woody. It seemed like it was my turn to protect him.

After they left I turned around to find Woody with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. "What?" I asked.

He simply shrugged and said, "I didn't know you had it in you, Peterson."

I beamed. He was proud of me. It couldn't have been more perfect.

"But now you realize the whole school is really going to think we're gay."

"They already think that, man. You're late."

"Yeah, I s'pose I am," he confessed. Something about the way he said it let me know that he no longer cared what people thought. That was great, because if he did care, we'd have never known another moment's peace at that school. They would have hounded us relentlessly just to see him explode and beat somebody else to a pulp. Thankfully, that didn't happen.

I was halfway back to the cafeteria so that we could go to the next period when I realized he wasn't beside me. I looked back and he was just standing there, hands in his pocket, looking at me. I ran back to him, fearing I'd be late to my next class, but not really caring.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. But I knew there was something. "It's just ... sometimes life's good, you know? Sometimes, life is really fucking good. " RIIINNNNGGGG!! "And then the goddamn bell rings and everything changes. Come on, Peterson. Let's go."

We walked together lazily and separated in the hall so we could each get to our next class and get yelled at for being irresponsible. I wondered what he meant by his words, though I felt I knew because I felt the same way. Life was great whenever I was with him and not so great whenever we were apart.

I sat in the darkness and waited for him to arrive. He was more than a little late. Predictable. Not that I blamed him. Something about the darkness soothed me. I couldn't see our apartment. I couldn't see any ghosts, should they decide to appear again. I did see, however, that woman's eyes. I imagined they were Woody's eyes looking back at me. I spent so many nights falling asleep looking into his eyes. They were my safe harbour. They were also my doom. I wondered how someone could damn you and save you all at once and it made me want to curse life, but then I thought about his words to me that chilly afternoon: "Sometimes, life is really fucking good."

The key entered the hole and turned the lock. The door came ajar and the light from the hall blinded me momentarily. I made out his figure as the door opened wider. He reached out for the light and was more than a little stunned to find me sitting on our black leather love seat waiting for him.

"You're late," I announced. He looked at me, as if I had the audacity to accuse him of anything, and tossed his keys to the counter and shut the door behind him. He ran his hand through his golden locks and proceeded to take off his very expensive London Fog coat.

"It was a long day. I had a lot of work to do."

"Bullshit. You're avoiding me."

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, JOSH! Let me come home and unwind for just one fucking moment before I have to deal with another one of your crisis! I do have a life that doesn't involve you!"

"I'm sorry," I whimpered. "And you're right. You're right about everything." This seemed to soften the ice. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a Scotch. Again, predictable. He walked towards me with the glass in his hand, the ice cubes breaking the silence as they rubbed incessantly against one another. He bent down and put his cool Scotch flavored lips to mine. They were cool but comforting. He sat down next to me and said nothing. Not knowing what to say, I asked "are you hungry?"

"No. I ate at the office." Liar. "I'm so tired."

"Are you tired in general or tired of me?"

He looked at me, surprised by my bluntness. I guess he decided to be a bit bold himself.

"Both, I guess." And back the Scotch went to his lips.

"Rainer?"

"Yeah."

"I do love you. I'm sorry about earlier, about everything really. And you were right. I'm a little scared right now."

He put a comforting hand behind my head and asked, "scared of what?"

I wanted to say "I see dead people!", but I didn't think I could do it with a straight face. Plus, he'd think I was being a smart ass and probably leave me that very instant. How many times had I made him sit throught The Sixth Sense? I was fascinated by that movie and he never understood why.

"I'm scared of losing you," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere. Why do you think you would lose me?"

"I don't know. I know I'm hard to deal with sometimes. I know I don't always tell you everything that goes on in my head. But, my head is a strange place. There are some things about me, about my past, that I'd rather keep a secret, and I need you to understand that. It's just too painful for me to open up about it."

He studied me for a moment as if he were trying to understand a textbook or decipher some Egyptian heiroglyphics. He had to know by now that I was anything but logical.

"Ok," he said. "I understand."

I never expected him to say that, but I'm glad he did. I kissed him fervently, my tongue lapped up the sweetness of the liquor that was visiting his mouth. Our mouths always danced so wonderfully together. Kissing him was one of the better things in my life.

He finished his Scotch and asked me, "what do you want to do tonight? See a movie?"

"Sure," I said.

"Ok, just let me get into something more comfortable."

"Can I undress you?" I teased.

"Of course," he gushed.

He held out his hand and I grabbed hold. He wanted to make sure I didn't slip because the stairs to his porch were covered in ice.

"Watch your step," he said. This was the first time I'd been back to his place since my uninvited visit the month before. He was spending Christmas with me and Granny and we had to go back to his place so he could get some more clean clothes. I couldn't believe his dad was ok not spending Christmas with his son, but I had learned not to ask too many questions about his father.

Before he entered, Woody peeped through the windows of the house. "He should be at work right now. Sometimes he's a lazy ass though. Just wanna make sure he's gone." After he was sufficiently confident the coast was clear, he opened the door and let me in.

The place was as I remembered it ... funky and a mess. The floor hadn't been scrubbed in about a century. The smell of cigarette smoke choked the air. It was frigidly cold. There were dirty dishes and beer bottles thrown about the kitchen in dissarray. He held me by the hand and we navigated our way through the aftermath of a small bomb until we got to his bedroom.