An Infatuation (11 page)

We shared a laugh.

He tugged at his bowtie, which brought me back to that day in his office after my attack. “Harold, I have to admit, after seeing you talking to Tommy and Keith just now, I had an ulterior motive in seeking you out.”

“What is that?”
Recommend that I hide from them under the picture table? Tell me that I should beg Tommy and Keith’s forgiveness for not letting them take away my civil rights?

One of my classmates, whom I vaguely remembered, was standing at the microphone calling couples up to dance the Macarena. Mr. Ringwood motioned for me to sit next to him on chairs stationed away from the action.

Once seated, he said something that surprised me. “Harold, will you accept my apology?”

“I don’t understand.”

The familiar lines on his forehead made their appearance as the usual smile vanished. “I think you do.” He put a liver-spotted hand on my shoulder. “Harold, I can’t tell you how many times over the last ten years I’ve thought about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Harold, you. And how much I regret the way I treated you after those two boys hurt you.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Ringwood.”

“No, no, it isn’t all right, Harold. It was not all right then and it is not all right now.” He grasped my hand. “You were a warm, honest, open boy in love with another wonderful boy. And there is nothing wrong with that. I, of all people, should have never made you feel as if there were.”

I took the high road and smiled at my old principal. “I understand, Mr. Ringwood.”

He held on tighter. “No, you don’t. You can’t.” He released my hand and looked out as if being transported to another time and place. “My generation lived through Anita Bryant’s Save Our Children campaign. Gay teachers… and principals were fired left and right. We lived through the sodomy laws, where any of us could be taken from our homes, arrested, and thrown in jail. Police raids of parks and bars were the norm, with bloody billy clubs a nightly fixture. We had no role models on television. No rock stars. No mention of our struggles on the news, except to warn
decent
people to keep their children away from us
degenerates
. We were absolutely isolated. We each were the
only
one. What we were was
unmentionable
. Anybody who didn’t toe the line of passing, or hiding, was beaten up… or worse.”

“Mr. Ringwood, things haven’t changed all that much. We have some celebrities who are out, and we’ve made some advances in our civil rights, but there are still gay bashings and people fired for being gay. Republican Party leaders denouncing us as villains. Lots of people with lots of money, and lots of power, hiding behind their so-called
religious
beliefs
, determined to take away our civil rights and to destroy our families.” Remembering Tommy and Keith, I added, “Some of them are just like us, only too afraid to admit it.”

My old principal looked at me like a leprechaun finding his pot of gold. “But, Harold, there
is
something very different now. There are amazing young men like
you
who are proud to be who you are, and who demand a seat at the table.” He wiped a tear away. “It’s too late for me. My time has gone. But your time, Harold, is
now
.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, Mr. Ringwood.”

“No, thank
you
. The banner is in
your
hands, Harold. Wave it proudly for the world to see, and settle for nothing less than
everything
.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve left my partner alone for too long.” He waved at a tall gentleman on the far side of the gymnasium, also wearing a bowtie. Mr. Ringwood’s partner smiled adoringly and waved back. “Enjoy the festivities, Harold. You deserve it.”

Mr. Ringwood patted me on the arm and disappeared into the crowd. As if by magic, Stuart reappeared and handed me my vitamins and a bottle of water. After I swallowed the last one, I heard another familiar voice.

“Hannah, we need more chairs from the choir room!”

I followed the voice to Barbara, playing queen of the reunion. Before I could look away, she motioned Stuart and me over to her throne, the punch bowl.

“Hi, High.”

“Hello, Barbara.”
Should I genuflect?

She kissed my cheek, and then Stuart wiped the lipstick off it with his handkerchief. “Harold, you look exactly the same. How about me?” Barbara did a spin and nearly tripped on her four-inch heels.

“You look exactly the same too.”
Except for the extra twenty pounds, platinum hair, and skin-tight silver strapless dress.

Stuart waved to her.

“Barbara, this is my husband, Stuart.”

Barbara revealed three-inch silver-painted nails.

Stuart gently shook her hand, careful not to puncture a vein. “It’s nice to meet you, Barbara.”

As if a queen examining one of her subjects, Barbara said, “I definitely approve!” Turning her royal attentions to me, she added, “I’m glad you found someone nice, Harold.” She focused back on Stuart. “Back in high school, I felt so bad for Harold. We were all partnered up, and Harold was always alone.”

Stuart put his arm around me. “My little loner.”

“He was. He was a little loner.” Her hand grazed my arm and nearly drew blood. “Remember, Harold?” Before I could respond, she was facing Stuart again. “Mario and I were Harold’s
only
friends… besides Hannah, and she didn’t really count. Mario and I felt so bad leaving Harold when we’d go to parties with the other football players and cheerleaders.”

I’m sure.

Barbara’s painted claws reached for my hand, and I put it in my pocket for cover. “Harold, it’s so nice to see you again. I bet you can’t wait to see Mario too.”

“Oh, is
he
coming?”
Did I just sound like a southern belle at a cotillion?

Stuart rested a steadying hand on my back.

“Mario’s outside talking to the limo driver.” Barbara scrunched her tiny plastic nose, “We had a little
incident
driving over here.”

“Is Mario
okay
?”
Did I sound frantic?

Barbara waved my concerns away with her claws. “Mario’s fine. I got home late from my double-booker hairdresser today.” She nudged Stuart. “He’s totally in demand.” Back to me. “So we were running a bit late getting here. Since I’m coordinating the reunion, I asked our driver if he could speed up a tiny bit. Unfortunately, he hit a van… full of nuns coming back from playing bingo at the church.”

Stuart took a small pad out of his jacket pocket and jotted down,
new game idea:
hit the nuns in the van
, then he asked, “Anyone hurt?”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Mario was concerned because one of the nuns said she saw white lights in front of her eyes. I don’t know what the big to-do was all about. Aren’t nuns supposed to see visions?” She shrugged away the unpleasant memory. “I’m sure the insurance companies will straighten it all out. So enough talk about that. You two guys enjoying the reunion?”

Stuart answered, “It’s been a blast so far.”

“Thank you.” Barbara got back to business. “What have you been doing since high school, Harold?”

“I went to State and became a teacher.”

Barbara raised her index finger, and Stuart and I ducked. “That is a noble profession, Harold.” She turned to Stuart. “Even though I cut most of my classes in high school.” After sharing a laugh with Stuart, Barbara said like a gossip columnist, “I’m a film producer now. Infomercials.”

“Really,” said Stuart.

“I know.” She was back to me. “Can you believe it, Harold?”

Totally.

“I produced the combination hair dryer and deep fryer infomercial with Goldie Hawn,
and
the spinning sandwich maker infomercial with Cindy Williams.”

How did I miss those?

“Mario is a stay-at-home dad…
and
an occasional male model. I’m his agent.”

Makes sense to me.

“We have two children. Well, three, if you count our housekeeper.” She whispered to Stuart, “She’s a fifteen-year-old from Guatemala.”

If Barbara’s nasal laugh didn’t puncture Stuart’s eardrum, her shouting must have done the trick. “Mario! Mario! I’m over here!”

It’s him.
Black hair, dark eyes, Roman nose, olive skin, white teeth, red lips, cleft chin, huge muscles, and warm smile. As in high school, he wore a skin-tight T-shirt—red, and jeans. He evidently traded in his black leather jacket for a black blazer, and his work boots for Italian loafers. The new lines on his face gave him an erudite look.

“Harold!”

“Mario!”

As we gazed at one another, I reached out my hand to shake as Mario opened his arms for a hug. We tried again but reversed greetings. Finally we settled for a straight man’s hug—a quick slap on the back.
He still smells like cinnamon, coconut, and almonds.

Stuart took my hand. “Remember me?”

Without breaking my eye contact with Mario, I said, “This is my Stuart… other.”

“Close enough,” Stuart replied as he and Mario shook hands. Then, after a buzzing noise, Stuart said, “Excuse me,” and held his cell phone up to his ear.

Coming back to earth, I asked Stuart, “What’s wrong?”

After a brief chat, Stuart put his phone back inside his pocket. “There was an issue with one of my new games. I think we’re okay now.”

Barbara looked like she’d swallowed a bag of sugar. “Stuart, do you play games online?”

“He invents them,” I explained.

She looked like a kid with a new puppy at Christmas. “Oh my God.”

“Do you play?” Stuart asked casually.

Mario laughed. “Play? She sleeps with her laptop.”

Obviously not amused by Mario’s joke, Barbara whispered to him through gritted teeth, “It’s better than sleeping alone.”

Mario responded with clenched jaw, “I don’t mind.”

“Funny, Mario.”

“Not anymore, Barbara.”

Stuart played referee. “What games do you play, Barbara?”

To my surprise, Mario’s disgust, and Stuart’s admiration, Barbara ticked off a litany of games, many of which Stuart had designed.

Approaching Stuart as if he was a rock star, Barbara asked, “Can you explain to me how to get to level 19 of
Star Ships and Planets
?”

Mario couldn’t resist. “Please help her, Stuart. Barbara getting to level 18 was a traumatic time for both of us.”

Barbara put her arm through Stuart’s and luckily didn’t slit his wrist with her fingernails. “Stuart, let’s go to the computer lab upstairs. You can teach me how to get to level 19.”

“Do you mind, Harold?” Stuart squeezed my elbow.

“No problem, Stuart.”

Barbara cackled. “Stuart, maybe you’ll invent a game about a high school reunion.”

Stuart glanced in Mario’s direction and whispered in my ear, “Be good while I’m gone, Harold.”

Before I could respond, Barbara clutched onto Stuart like a dog in heat. “Maybe you’d like to hear
my
idea for a new game, Stuart?”

Though Stuart had heard that all the time, he politely agreed.

Barbara forged on as they walked off. “It’s called
Throw the Screaming Children off the Plane
.”

After I waved to Stuart, I said to Mario, “Catchy title,” and we both laughed.

We looked after them, and I added, “It was nice of Barbara to be on the reunion committee.”

“Barbara
was
the reunion committee.”

We laughed again and cased the room as I said, “It’s funny how the troublemakers back in high school are all police officers now… or politicians.”

After another laugh, Mario looked at me and grinned like a kid with a candy apple. “It feels good.”

“What?”

“To laugh. It’s been a while.”

“Sorry. Stuart and I laugh all the time.”

He nodded. “You two are… a
couple
, then?”

“We’ve been together nine and a half years.”

Mario looked pensive.

“Does that shock you?”

He flinched. “No.”

Liar.

“How’s it going… with you and Stuart?”

I watched Stuart and Barbara leave the gymnasium. “Our life together is as wonderful as playing a computer game.”

After another laugh, Mario sat on a nearby bleacher. A hardened look took over his face. “I wish I could say the same about me and Barbara.” He smiled. “Barbara and me.”

I sat next to him and asked hopefully, “You’re having trouble with Barbara?”

He scratched his massive neck. “She’s the mother of my kids. I shouldn’t rag on her.”

“Tell me about your kids.”

He pulled out their picture faster than a black jack dealer pulling out cards with a losing player. “They’re twins. They look like me.
Both
of them.”

Hence the term twins.
I smiled at their picture.
They do.
“I’d love to meet them.”

He added, “And they talk like their mother.”

But there’s no rush.
“They look adorable in their Catholic school uniforms, Mario.”

“Don’t worry, I told them to watch out for the priests.”

Good advice.

Mario pointed proudly. “The one on the left is Mario, and the one on the right is Harold.”

A lump the size of a baseball formed in my throat. “I’m honored, Mario.”

“You were my best friend.” Mario messed my hair like he did when we were kids. It felt rejuvenating.

“I wish I could have been there when they were born, Mario.”

“No you don’t. Barbara screamed she was going to cut off my balls and take up juggling.”

We laughed again and relaxed into the bleachers.

“Harold, remember when we were kids how Barbara was so sweet?”

Isn’t life a hoot?

“Sorry, Harold, I haven’t seen you in a long time. I don’t want to dump my problems on you, especially at a party.”

“Go for it, Mario. I’ve already shocked Hannah, escaped Tommy and Keith, and been apologized to by Mr. Ringwood. I’m all yours.”