Page 13 of Something Like Summer
Ben wasn’t sure what to sayto this. His own parents were always supportive, loving. In a wayhe wished he had some dirt to dish on them so he could commiserate,but there wasn’t a single bad memory that sprang to mind. “So youhave two weeks to survive without them,” Ben said, guiding theconversation where he wanted it to go. “I’ll help you of course.That’s why I didn’t think we needed a nurse. I can come by a coupleof times a day to cook, clean up, that sort of stuff.”
“You can cook?”
“Sure,” Ben lied. As muchas he’d been stretching the truth in the past couple of days, itwas practically instinctual.
“That’s good, because I’mhungry.”
“Well, let’s get you setup comfortable here, and then I’ll whip something up.”
“Not here,” Tim insisted.“I hate this room.”
With the assistance of hiscrutches, he stood and swung his way toward the back of the house,Ben following. He led them through the dining room, across a large,open kitchen, and down a hall that ended in a dimly litroom.
The den, as Tim introducedit, was his father’s stronghold. His mother was in charge of therest of the house, but here his father had full reign. He decoratedthe room in typical masculine style. A big-screen TV dominated onewall with massive boxy speakers to each side. A number ofbookshelves held everything but books--namely sports memorabilia,business awards, and an impressive video collection. Bar signs andbeer advertisements hung on the ebony, wood-paneled walls thatcomplimented the equally dark carpet. This combined with theshuttered windows kept the room cool and comfortable.
“I figure this is a goodplace to make camp,” Tim said, as he headed toward a brown leathercouch. “There’s even a fridge to keep drinks in.”
Ben turned and found a wetbar in the corner. The unit was basically just a sink, shelves forglasses, and one of those tiny refrigerators that he alwaysassociated with college dorms.
“So what all do we needthen? Blankets and pillows obviously… Um.”
“In one of the hallclosets,” Tim said. “I want my pillow from upstairs. And some realclothes. Throw something in the oven too, will ya?”
“Right,” Ben managed tosay just before the TV blared into life. His patient had certainlytaken to the idea of him playing nurse!
Ben realized with somedelight that he now had free reign over the house. With Tim settledin, he was now free to explore. He had been tempted to last nightwhen he dropped the car off. He figured arriving home in a shinynew sports car would be beyond suspicious, so Ben had returned itto Tim’s driveway. As he had done so, the keys in his pocket hadbeen a major temptation but the idea had felt too creepy. Now hewas free to look around anyway.
He started with thekitchen. The refrigerator was well-stocked with frozen entrees,which meant cooking wouldn’t be too hard. He chose two pizzas andfiddled with the oven for a while before he got it running. Oncethat was finished he went upstairs and located Tim’sbedroom.
Ben entered and feltstrangely intoxicated for a moment. The whole room smelled exactlylike Tim, as if someone had bottled up his essence and sprayedgenerous puffs of teenage boy into the air. Being there felt sopersonal. In a way, everything present was an extension of Tim,representative of what he liked and the place where his privatelife took place. Adults had an entire house and maybe an office orworkspace to spread their existence over. For their kids, personallife was contained to just one room. In this small space Tim lived,slept, talked on the phone, watched TV, jacked-off, and didwhatever else he wanted to do.
Ben sat on the king-sizedbed and looked around. Music and baseball posters covered most ofthe walls. He found all sports boring, but at least some of thesefeatured pretty hot athletes. The only exception to the genericposters was an abstract painting, a collection of cool colors thatmight be depicting an ocean or waves. He stared at it for a while,wondering why it had been included. Did Tim choose it, or was ithis mother’s idea?
Across from Ben sat adresser that supported a medium-sized television and VCR. A closetdoor and bookshelves were to his right, this time actually filledwith the intended content. Ben browsed the titles, hoping to get ahint of what Tim liked to read but unable to do so. They were acompletely eclectic mix, some even written in Spanish. His musicchoice was easier to discern, the CD rack containing nothing butpopular alternative music. Well, that and theLittle Mermaidsoundtrack. Benmentally filed that one away as potential ammunition.
He paused to gaze out thebedroom window at the long, well-groomed backyard before returningto the dressers to collect a change of clothes. Socks were easy tofind, as was underwear. He didn’t examine the contents of thisdrawer too carefully. Doing so felt like cheating, like peekingahead at the end of a book, since he hoped to discover Tim’sunderwear one by one over a series of hot encounters. Ben laughedat his own presumptions and went to the closet for a shirt andjeans.
He brought these items andthe pillows back downstairs to his patient. The pizza was soon doneafterwardsandserved. They ate togetherwhile flipping back and forth between MTV and VH1 to avoidcommercials, laughing at most of the videos but genuinely enjoyinga handful. There were quite a few songs that Ben wanted to singalong to, but for the first time in his life he was feeling too shyto perform. Finally the Fugees’ new version of “Killing Me Softly”came on, which was too perfect of an opportunity to showoff.
Ben gave it all he had,belting it out along with the lead vocals and almost putting LaurynHill’s voice to shame. Tim sat straight up, his eyes wide inamazement. He clapped and raved when the song was over and spentthe next hour trying to get Ben to sing along to some of the othervideos. A few, like Beck, were a hopeless cause, but for some ofthem Ben was able to comply.
After a while Tim switchedoff the TV.
“So what’s it like beinggay?” he asked, catching Ben off guard.
“Like anything else Iguess,” Ben answered. “What’s it like to be whatever youare?”
“Straight,” Tim assuredhim. “Don’t you catch a lot of slack for it? I mean, everyone atschool knows, right?”
Ben nodded.
“I’m surprised you don’tget beaten up every day.”
“I get a lot of crap,” Bensaid with a shrug, “but I got crap before I came out for totallydifferent reasons. It’s no different now. Not really.”
“I guess that’s true. Ifit’s not one thing, it’s another.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Likeyou would know. It must be hard being a jock with rich parents anda brand-new sports car. People must tease youunmercifully.”
