Page 7 of Something Like Summer
“Pull you how?” Ben asked,suddenly feeling even smaller than he usually did.
“Just grab me under thearms and pull. I’ll try to help as much as I can.”
Ben got into positionbehind Tim. There was a very silly moment where he stood andstared. Both of Tim’s arms were raised to his sides, as if he weregoing to start flapping them in an effort to take flight. Ben feltlike asking if he really had permission to touch him, before heremembered the seriousness of the situation. He hooked his armsunderneath Tim’s armpits and pulled. He only managed to heave thevictim of his idiotic actions half a foot, but on the next attemptTim kicked with his good leg, bringing the movement to a littlemore than a foot. They proceeded in this manner until they wereboth on level ground again.
Ben was breathing hard fromthe exertion, Tim most likely from the pain. After a moment of restthey tackled the job of getting Tim upright. They managed after abrief struggle, with Tim putting pressure on the injured leg twicemore out of habit. Soon enough he was stooped but standing, withone arm over Ben’s shoulders. They tried a few experimentalhopping-steps and made it to the sidewalk.
“I guess we make it to thenearest house and have them drive me home,” Tim said.
“Your house is reallyclose if we cut through the trees there,” Ben said withoutthinking. His right arm was around Tim’s torso, and he could feelthe muscles tense in reaction. How could he have been so stupid?Not only had he revealed himself as being an insane psychopath whophysically lashed out at boys he liked, but he had followed it upwith confirmation that he was a stalker to boot.
“Let’s go then,” Timmuttered a moment later, choosing not to question how a strangerwould know where he lived.
The effort of holding Timup was a welcome distraction, both to the self-depreciatingthoughts going through Ben’s head and the excitement of being sointimately close to him. Now was not the time or the place to getaroused over physical contact, and Ben was determined to end theday with only two strikes against his sanity instead ofthree.
They shuffled through thebrief width of woods until they reached a wooden privacy fence, theonly thing that stood between them and the civilized suburbsbeyond. A glance left and right confirmed that any neighboringhouses had the same barrier installed against the wildernessoutside.
“Fuck,” Tim swore. “Howmuch further would it be if this fence wasn’t here?”
“Half a block,” Ben said,looking away to hide his embarrassment.
“Support me,” Tim saidafter hopping one step closer to the fence and reaching out to grabthe top of it.
Ben thought he intended toclimb over, but grabbed on tighter to his torso when Tim began topull instead. He almost toppled backwards when the plank gave wayto Tim’s efforts and came loose, swinging to the side as it fell.This process was repeated for a second time, and then a third,creating just enough of a gap for them to squeezethrough.
Tim went first, holding onto the top of the fence for support once Ben let go of him. Hestumbled on his way through and landed on his ankle, screaming ashe righted himself. Ben hurried through to assist him, feeling thatthe owners of the house would hear the commotion in their backyardand come to help. As they made it halfway across the lawn, theycould see through the sliding glass door that the house was empty,having not been sold yet. At least they wouldn’t have to explainthe vandalism.
They made it through thegate to the front yard, not encountering another living soul asthey made their way down the sidewalk. That was the funny thingabout the suburbs. So much trouble went into a neighborhood lookingas presentable as possible, but rarely was anyone there toappreciate it. Hire a boy to the cut the grass and pull up to themailbox before parking in the garage. Ben wondered if most of hisneighbors had ever set foot on their own lawn. No, the suburbs wereall prettied up and left to sit alone, like a beauty queen awaitingan audience that would never come.
Ben tried to smooth overhis earlier revelations by feigning ignorance as they reached Tim’shouse. “Which one is yours?” he asked.
“You tell me,” Tim saidsmartly as they turned to hobble past his car.
“Is anyone home?” Benasked, partly out of concern but mostly to changetopics.
“No.”
“Then shouldn’t we drivestraight to the hospital?”
“I just need to take myweight off it,” Tim said irritably as the reached the front door,which was unlocked.
They stepped into cool,dark air conditioning. The curtains in the house were mostly closedto help keep the Texas heat at bay. Tim flipped a few lightswitches and led them to the living room, which was tastefullydecorated but very, very unwelcoming. The room had the soullesspresence of a model home. Sure, it looked nice, but it was obviousthat no real living went on there.
They reached a pale,peach-colored couch that Tim eased onto. As he settled onto thepiece of furniture that was probably being used for the first time,he sighed contentedly.
“There’s a first-aid kitin the bathroom,” he said. “Bring me a wet washcloth. A towel,too.”
“Where is it?” Benasked.
“I’m surprised you don’tknow already. It’s right down the hall on the left.”
Ben hurried out of theroom, mentally chastising himself for triggering a series of eventsthat would haunt him for his final years of high school. He foundthe bathroom, a simple affair reserved for guests, and collectedthe items that were requested.
“Are you sure we shouldn’tgo to the hospital? Or a doctor at least?” he said as he reenteredthe living room.
“No need.” Tim took thewashcloth and began patting at the crust of dried blood on his leg.“Same thing happened to me freshman year. I still have a braceupstairs and everything. It’s not a big deal. A couple of days withthat on and I’ll be fine again.”
Ben had to admit that theleg was looking better now that much of the blood had been cleanedup. Once bandaged it probably wouldn’t need medical attention. Theankle was a different story, swollen on each side like a chipmunk’scheeks and turning a dark, unhealthy color.
