Page 1 of Something Like Summer
Chapter 1
This is not a coming-out story. Iput all that behind me two years ago, at the tender young age offourteen. I’d known I was gay since I was twelve and my best friendKevin moved away to Utah. I was heartbroken, which I suppose isconsidered normal behavior for most kids. After he’d been gone fortwo weeks I decided to take a Greyhound bus to see him. The guy atthe counter wouldn’t sell me a ticket so I tried passing myself offas the kid of a boarding passenger. That didn’t go well. The busdriver made me get off and the station manager called my parents.Their reaction to my little plan is what tipped me off that myfeelings for Kevin went way beyond the norm. Well, that and how Igot a hard-on every time I thought of him.
Ben’s fingers hesitatedabove the keyboard of his laptop as he reread what he had justwritten. He took a deep breath, the ozone smell of the slowlyoverheating machine filling his nose before he sighed. Why did italways sound so trite when he tried to write about his life? Hewanted to write something that was different and real, but italways ended up sounding like the porn stories in his small stashof magazines.
Next time he swore to writewith old fashioned pen and paper. At least then he could enjoycrumpling the displeasing results before throwing them in a littlemetal trashcan, like they always did on TV. The most Ben could dowas to carefully save his document, close the program, and drag thefile to the recycle bin. As he right-clicked to empty the bin, hewondered if the problem wasn’t that he couldn’t write, but that theporn stories in his magazines were just really well-written. He wasbeginning to wish he hadn’t deleted it when the clock in the bottomright-hand corner caught his eye. Ten minutes until seven. Almosttime for Mr. Blue Shoes to go jogging.
Ben struggled with himselffor a moment. Part of him recognized just how creepy his behaviorwas. He wasn’t sure if it qualified as stalking, but it wasdangerously close. But what else was there to do? Writing hadn’tworked and there was nothing on TV but summer reruns. What harm wasthere in an innocent stroll through the neighborhood, and if hehappened to see Mr. Blue Shoes, then so be it.
Switching off his laptop,Ben tried to remember the last time he had done this. Was ityesterday? Surely it was the day before. How many times this weekalready? Since they appeared to be about the same age, Ben was surethat Mr. Blue Shoes would be attending his high school and hedidn’t want to be obvious. Being out at school led to enoughtaunting without the added ridicule of being criminallydesperate.
Ben slipped on his shoesand quietly closed his bedroom door behind him. The sound ofMTV’sMega Summer Beach Partyor whatever they were calling it this yeardrifted from the direction of his sister’s room. For once shewasn’t hogging the bathroom. Ben rushed across the hall and flippedon the light, knowing that time was running out, that he only had abrief moment to check his appearance.
His blond hair was due fora cut but was still passable, he decided as he tried to smooth itinto shape. His chestnut brown eyes regarded themselvesmomentarily, making him wish that his parents had bought him thecolored contacts he had asked for last Christmas. Green, blue,purple, anything but brown. At least the braces were off now. Hesmiled wickedly, scanning for any sign of the spinach soufflé hismother had served for dinner. If there were more time he would havebrushed his teeth. Just in case life played out like one of thoseporn stories. If only.
He was happy to see someremnants of sun on his face from camping last weekend, but not aspleased to note the dopey Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt he was wearing,which wasn’t his kind of music at all. The shirt had mysteriouslyturned up in a stack of fresh laundry one day. His sister’sboyfriend had left it during one of his nocturnal visits, and onceBen figured that out, he wore it just to torture her. This wearableblackmail was a few sizes too large for him and draped off hisramrod-thin frame like a tent. Ben bit his lip and decided againstdigging through the hamper for something better. At least thisshirt was clean.
Flipping the light switch,he took the stairs two at a time, landing at the bottom with a thudthat was sure to trigger a yell from his mother. He paused but theonly sound he heard was prerecorded studio laughter. Thank god forthe hypnotizing properties of television! Ben slipped out the frontdoor, undetected by all but Wilford, the family dog.
The August evening wasstill bright, but not as much as it had been last month. Benpondered the symbolism of the earth growing darker with theapproach of a new school year as he jogged down the street towardthe end of the block. Behind the row of houses here were woods thatconnected with a large public park. He chose the yard whose ownerwas least likely to complain and crossed it. With the house andunfenced backyard behind him, he was faced with one of the finestforests in modern suburbia.
The mix of pine and cedartrees was disturbed only by a single dirt path that disappearedinto their midst. The trail, eternally marred by the crisscrossinggrooves left by countless bike riders, snaked back and forththrough the trees, causing ten acres of woods to feel like alimitless wilderness.
Ben turned to the right andwalked up a slope toward a more civilized path, one paved anddotted with benches and trashcans as it wound its way around asmall man-made lake. He scanned the horizon for his quarry. Atfirst he saw no one except for a middle-aged couple walking hand inhand, but then the thump, thump, thump sound of running attractedhis attention.
There he was. Mr. BlueShoes. He could more aptly be named Mr. Neon Electric Blue Shoes.Oh, how Ben had searched for a pair of those shoes after seeingthem for the first time. Not only did he think they looked awesome,but they would have been a potential conversation starter.Hey, you have the same crazy shoes that Ido!Despite tagging along on all of hismother’s shopping trips, he never found them. Ben wasn’t even surewhat brand they were. Some sort of exotic Italian brand that Mr.Blue Shoes had preferred before moving here to the States, hefantasized. Not that he was necessarily from Italy, of course, butit would explain the deeply tanned skin and jet blackhair.
Ben snapped out of hisreverie and realized that the object of his desire was joggingdirectly toward him, and all the while he had been standing therestaring. Usually Ben made at least some attempt to act like he wasout for some exercise. His muscles froze as he tried to decide whatto do. He should probably turn to the right and walk away, so asnot to appear obvious. He started to do this until he realized thathe wouldn’t be able to get a look at Mr. Blue Shoes, and so Benturned back to the front. Unfortunately his confused brain didn’ttrigger the muscles needed to actually begin walking. Ben was leftstanding, just as he had been before, except now he was facing Mr.Blue Shoes and it was too late to do anything but stare.
Lust brushed away anyremaining self-consciousness. Ben looked up from the oddly coloredshoes, his eyes taking in the black hairs on the finely muscledlegs before darting up to check out the package bouncing awaybehind maroon gym shorts. Not wishing to press his luck hecontinued upward to the considerable pecs. The evening wasn’t hotenough that he was running shirtless, but the grey tank top wasminimal enough to reveal muscular arms with a sexy swirl of blackhair under the armpits. Ben looked up at the handsome face,ignoring the sweaty strands of dark hair stuck to the broadforehead or the well-defined cheekbones, choosing instead to lookinto the silver-grey eyes that haunted his fantasies.
He noted, with a mix ofrelief and abhorrence, that those eyes were locked onto hisT-shirt. His blatant gawking had probably gone unnoticed, but atthe price of Mr. Blue Shoes noticing the worst thing about hisappearance today. As he jogged past Ben, the silver eyes rose tomeet his. Mr. Blue Shoes raised his eyebrows and nodded in a waythat unmistakably said “Cool!” before flashing a smile.
And then he was gone,followed a second later by a blast of sweaty, musky air. Beninhaled this scent and, after a dramatic moment of euphoria, foundthe strength to continue walking. He sauntered around the parkbefore heading home, feeling as if he just gotten back from a dreamdate. He realized it was probably pathetic, but he didn’t care atthis point. The hottest guy in the world had just acknowledged himand all because of some band Ben had never bothered listening too.He made a mental note to ask his sister to borrow one of their CDsthat night, but not before locking himself in his room and beatingoff furiously while thinking about that smile.
* * * * *
Shopping with Allison! Wasthere anything better? Not only did she understand the glory of theshopping mall and share his reverence for it, but she knew allmanner of back-street stores that carried things you wouldn’t findanywhere outside of the weird shops in downtown Houston. Ben didn’tknow how she found these places. Sometimes he wondered if shehadn’t gone downtown and talked the owners into moving their storesnorth to the suburbs of The Woodlands, where Ben and Allisonlived.
“Home?” Allison asked,peering into the visor’s small cracked mirror. Her expressive eyestracked the glossy coat of plum-colored lipstick as she applied itto her lips, the shade a perfect compliment against her ebony skin.Then she pressed her lips together, flipped the visor up, andturned to Ben. “We can always hit more shops tomorrow. I think wedid well for ourselves today.”
Ben nodded. They hadmanaged to find not one but two pairs of pants that actually huggedhis waist tight instead of having to be cinched to death with abelt. Shirts he wasn’t so lucky with, but there was still anothercouple weeks before school started and he hadn’t checked thesecondhand shops yet. Ironically, they always seemed to have morestylish and hip clothes than the retail stores.
As the Ford Escort chuggedaway in an effort to get them home, Ben considered just how losthe’d be without Allison, how her broad smile and the mischievousglint in her eye always kept his spirits high. He loved too thejealous glances men gave him when they were out together, mistakingthe tall, thin beauty on his arm as being his girl.
“Shit!” Allison shouted asthe tape player sputtered and squealed.
Of course those jealousguys probably didn’t suspect that she could cuss like a sailor aswell.
Allison jabbed repeatedlyat the eject button with total disregard for the road until theplayer spit up her most recent mix tape. Spools of magnetic stripdangled from it as she held it up. “I stayed up all night listeningto the radio to make this stupid thing!” she cried, braking just intime to avoid running a red light.
“You need a CD player,”Ben said.
“I need a new car,” shecountered.
As if on cue, a sports carfull of teenagers pulled up to the stop light, the music poundingfrom their car so loud that it shook the Escort’s rearview mirror.Even though the summer was almost over, the car still had “Class of‘96” written all over it in white shoe polish.
“I hope we’re not thatlame when we graduate,” Allison said when the light turned greenand the car sped away, “but at least they can listen tomusic.”
