The Tin Box (14 page)

“What’s that?”

“Social event of the year in JV. Few years back, Aunt Deedee tried to change the name to Cow
hand
Day ’cause that’s gender neutral, but nobody listened to her. It’s in September. The whole town gathers in that little park near the school and pigs out on tri-tip and linguica. There are a lot of Stetsons and chaps involved. Kids get their faces painted, grown-ups gossip, and there’s fireworks after dark. Even Grandma goes, and she’s hardly left the house at all for a few years.” He rubbed his nose. “I’m not sure she’ll make it this year, but Grandpa says he’ll drag her, no matter what.”

Colby sounded a little sad and wistful, and he leaned his elbows on the windowsill.

“You’re close with your grandparents,” William said. “I mean, aside from just living with them.”

“They pretty much raised me. I was only eight when Dad died, and then Mom remarried pretty quick. But Grandma has Alzheimer’s and most of the time she doesn’t even know me anymore.”

William had been about to transfer the chicken to a platter, but now he paused to look at Colby. “I’m sorry.”

Colby shrugged. “Yeah, it sucks.” After a moment his bright smile returned. “But she still has Grandpa. They’ve been married for almost sixty years. Can you imagine?”

No, William could not imagine that. He hadn’t lasted even six with Lisa.

He carefully moved the chicken, then balanced the platter in one hand while he replaced the lid on the grill with the other. He handed the plate through the window to Colby, who took a deep, appreciative sniff. “Oh man, that looks and smells fantastic!”

A few minutes later they were seated at the table, digging into their meal. Colby made small groans of happiness as he ate. The sounds reminded William of the ones Colby had made the previous evening, which of course made William blush. “You are really good at this,” Colby said with his mouth full.

“Thanks. It’s one of my few skills.”

“Well, it’s a useful one. I would totally not vote you off the island if you cooked like this.”

William thought for a moment, then stood and fetched them each another bottle. He sat down and took a long draft. The beer tasted wonderful. “My dad taught me how to grill. He takes it almost as seriously as his religion.”

“Grandma used to do all our cooking and never taught me anything. She was real territorial over her kitchen. So Grandpa and I mostly eat stuff from the store—stuff we can nuke. Sometimes Aunt Deedee takes pity on us and brings us a casserole or something.”

“Couldn’t you learn from a cookbook? I saw a bunch of them in the library.”

Colby grinned. “Tried that. Things burned. I tend to get distracted.”

William could easily believe that. In fact, even as Colby ate, he’d often pause with fork in midair to say something, and his gaze was constantly wandering around the room and out the window, landing frequently on William’s face.

It was a really good meal.

Colby helped clean up afterward, both of them crammed together in the tiny kitchen. Then William said, “Do you want to hang out for a while? We could watch TV or something.” He was a little apprehensive, worrying that Colby would want to watch more porn. And William wasn’t exactly opposed to watching porn, not even with Colby, but tonight he just wanted relaxed company.

Maybe Colby did too. “Love to.”

They sat on the couch, which looked big enough when it was empty but turned out to be on the small side when occupied by two adults. Colby somehow ended up with possession of the remote. He turned on one of those terrible talent shows where vapid pseudo-celebrities made snarky comments about contestants who’d spent more time on wardrobe and makeup than on singing practice. But William didn’t mind because Colby made snarky comments too, which was fun, and he sometimes sang along.

Colby bounced around in his seat a lot, and each bounce seemed to take him a little closer to William, until they were squashed up against each other. The night was warm, so their arms were sweaty where they touched, but Colby didn’t seem to notice.

On the rare occasions when William and Lisa had watched television together, or maybe threw on a DVD, he’d sat in the armchair while she stretched out on the couch. She liked to knit while she watched, and if William got too close she complained and he risked losing an eye to a knitting needle.

The talent show ended and was replaced by something with detectives. Colby seemed happy enough until a murder scene came on, and then he hastily changed the channel. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I hope you weren’t really into that show.”

“No, this is way better,” said William, waving an arm at the current program, which was in Spanish.

Colby tipped against him. “Blood. I told you I’m a complete wuss about it.”

“You’ll want to avoid the Surgery Channel then.”

Setting the remote on William’s lap, Colby sighed. “I hereby promote you to Clicker-in-Chief. Anything but blood.”

William picked up the device and spent a moment switching channels. He stopped when he got to a program in which a perky couple was trying to choose an apartment in Sweden. Not much chance of mayhem there, he decided, and put down the remote. Colby seemed satisfied and leaned comfortably against William’s shoulder and arm.

“When I was in seventh grade,” Colby said, “this boy in my math class got a nosebleed. I fainted. The teacher had to call an ambulance and everything. It was soooo embarrassing. For years kids would pretend to faint at my feet.”

“I went to a Christian school. Once I stayed up late reading and the next day I fell asleep during morning prayers.” He could still remember the sting of humiliation he’d felt when a teacher had shaken him awake and the entire student body had erupted with laughter.

Colby’s laughter was soft. William could feel his body shake.

“I was crashing for a few weeks on someone’s couch in San Francisco. It was a pretty chaotic place. And I woke up in the middle of the night and some guy I didn’t know was sitting on the floor nearby, shooting up. That time I puked.”

“Is that an improvement over fainting?”

“Not really. No ambulance, but I had to clean it up. And the guy who owned the apartment kicked me out.”

They were silent for a few minutes as the couple on TV complained about a flat’s tiny refrigerator and lack of storage space.

“You could get treated for it, you know,” William said. “It’s a pretty common phobia, I think. They can do… I’m not sure. Systematic desensitization. Anxiety meds, maybe.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s easier just to avoid blood though.”

The couple looked at another flat that had a big kitchen but was over budget and entailed a long commute from the city center. It also had a pink wall, but at least that was easy to fix. They looked at a third place that had a nice garden and was well located, but had only one bedroom instead of the two they preferred. “We have a lot to think about,” said the woman before the show cut to a commercial.

“They should go for the first one,” announced Colby.

William agreed. His arm was starting to become uncomfortable from Colby’s weight, so he hesitantly wrapped it around Colby’s shoulders instead. That made Colby sigh contentedly and snuggle in closer. His gelled hair tickled William’s neck.

“My dad killed himself,” Colby said in an unusually subdued tone. He swiveled his head to see William’s face. “Are you okay with hearing this? I don’t have to tell it.” There was a little frown line between his eyebrows, and his eyes seemed darker than usual.

“I dumped my parental issues on you, Colby, and I didn’t even ask. Go ahead.”

A small smile reappeared and Colby nestled back against him. He didn’t speak right away, though. He waited until the TV couple made their decision, which ended up being the second flat.

“Stupid,” Colby muttered. “Location, location, location.”

William wondered whether the man who had moved back to Jelley’s Valley realized the irony in his words.

“I guess Dad struggled with depression most of his life. I didn’t know that then. He was just…. Sometimes he’d go through these times when he didn’t talk much, or he’d get angry really easily. I knew to stay away from him then.” He shrugged. “A lot of the time he was fine. He was funny, even goofy. He spent a lot of time playing with me.”

Deciding that silence was best, William just gave him a light squeeze.

“He shot himself in the head. He was a pretty efficient guy, my dad. If he was gonna do something, he was gonna do it right. He did it in the bathtub, I guess for easier cleanup. And he called 911 right before he pulled the trigger, ’cause he wanted the… the mess dealt with before anyone else got home. Mom was at work; I was at school. Only I realized I’d forgotten my math homework that morning—times tables—so I went home at lunch to get it. Our house was only a couple blocks from the school. And when I got there I needed to pee.”

“Jesus
Christ
, Colby.” Even though William’s faith was long gone, his habit of avoiding blasphemy was well ingrained. That the words escaped him now was a sign of how shaken he felt.

“Yeah. So that’s why blood’s a no-go for me. Or anything that makes me think that there might be blood, like needles. There went my promising career as a phlebotomist.”

“You were eight. You didn’t know what a phlebotomist was.”

Colby chuckled and scrunched more snugly against him. “I was precocious.”

They watched another episode of the show—this one on a tropical island—and then they were both yawning. Colby pulled away from William so he could stretch. “I should head home. Gotta work in the morning.”

“Sorry. Evenings with me aren’t exactly filled with excitement.”

“I had a
great
time tonight. Really.” Colby stood. He gave William a hand to lever him up. Together they walked out of the apartment and down the corridor into the entry hall, where the patches of moonlight had found new positions on the marble floor. Outside, Colby retrieved his bike, and they walked slowly up the driveway. After waiting for William to unlock the gate, Colby once again pulled William’s head down for a kiss. “Thanks for having me over, Will. It’s been a zillion years since anyone wanted to just hang with me.”

“You’re fun to hang with.”

Even in the relative darkness, Colby’s wide smile was bright. He climbed aboard his bike.

“Want me to give you a ride?” William offered.

“Nah. I have a light, see? And I want the exercise.”

“You should wear a helmet. It’s dangerous out there.”

“It’ll ruin my hair,” Colby replied with a grin. “See ya Tuesday!”

Once again, William watched him ride away, although this time Colby was swallowed by the darkness before he reached the bend in the road. William was suddenly looking forward to Tuesday night.

Dec. 3. 1939

My dearest Johnny,

Sometimes I wake up very early in the morning, before they come pounding on the doors to wake us all. And if I’m lucky, all the other loonies are still asleep and everything is quiet. It might not even be dawn yet, but if it is, the fog presses hard against my window. I can imagine that the entire world has disappeared, leaving me alone in my cell. And then I wonder what I’ll miss most.

You, of course. You are always at the top of my list. Each day that passes I miss you a little more, until I think there’s almost nothing left of me but an absence, a man-shaped Not-Bill in pajamas.

I miss privacy.

I miss choices—what to eat, when to sleep, even when to bathe and use the toilet.

I miss your friendship. Yes, I know I’ve mentioned you already, but you bear mention more than once. There’s the strength of you, the feel of you around me, in me, the taste of you. But there’s also the joy of your company. You tell those crude jokes that make me snort with laughter, and you like to listen to me read. You can tear a piece of equipment apart and put it together before I’ve finished a cup of coffee. You do those wonderful impressions of actors. I think you’re best at Clark Gable, although your Errol Flynn is very dashing.

I miss a comfortable bed with thick quilts and fluffy pillows.

I miss my books. Oh Johnny, I miss my books.

I miss children. I haven’t seen one since they locked me up.

I miss being treated like a man.

And I miss you. I want you to know I needn’t touch you. If I could only see you, even for a short time, that would be enough. The staff here don’t know you. You could use subterfuge to get near. Pretend to be making a delivery. Even get a job here.

I don’t miss those endless rows of numbers in my father’s ledger books, or the smell of dust in the back rooms of his store. I don’t miss the way he and my brother used to look at me, as if I were worthless. A disappointment.

Yesterday I was given a bath. It felt lovely—it had been so long that the water was brown. I had clean pajamas to wear afterwards. And then an appointment with Dr. Fitzgerald, in which I assured him that I am cured. He asked me the same old questions. “When do you first recall having these depraved urges? Do you remember desiring your mother when you were a child? What do you fantasize about?”