Home is a Fire (8 page)

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m waiting for my friend.”

“Y’all want a pitcher?” he said. “Eight dollars.”

God bless you, Bottoms Up. I gave him a ten and took my pitcher of Jack and Coke and two glasses back towards one of the smaller tables near the pinball machines. I pulled out my phone and started up Huntr again. I took another look at “Cowboy,” and he did, indeed, have a beautiful torso. But what about the rest of him? Unfortunately he was offline, and since we were both so averse to chatting, we hadn’t traded any other information.

I poured a drink from the pitcher and took a look around. The vinyl seat beneath me was held together by duct tape, and the entrance to the bathroom was of the swinging half-door variety. I felt dirty just being here.

What
was
I doing here? Two months ago I was planning my wedding in Central Park to a man I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Then I played Runaway Bride and the next thing I know I’m on a plane to Tennessee. Now my uncle is a drag queen, I’m in love with a straight guy, and I’m afraid I’ll catch something on the wrong side of town.

Wait. What did I just say? I’m in
love
? Oh, Derek, this is just sad. You don’t want to be here. Tommy was right, I do need to get laid, but “Cowboy” isn’t the answer. I deserve more than a torso.

I placed my drink on the table, stood up and headed towards the exit.

A group of twentysomethings auditioning for roles in a redneck update of
Cruising
hollered after me. “Hey, you done with that pitcher?” they asked.

“Yep,” I said as I passed their table.

“Can we have it?” they asked.

“Knock yourselves out.” And I walked out the door.

11

FIX UP, CLEAN UP

It’s Monday again, but I’m not as crazy as last week, thankfully. I do not look for his car today as I pull into the lot. I do not run to the teachers’ lounge like a puppy with my tongue falling out and my tail wagging behind me. I do not bring extra coffee and extra cheer for the man I am falling for, because it’s more than apparent that he is not falling for me, as I had hoped and prayed and, obviously, imagined. It’s a crazy man’s dream that is slowly dying as I get my life back in order again.

We have a staff meeting in the morning. Bammy has an announcement to make, so I take my seat towards the back on a metal folding chair. Luke is somewhere in here. I guess. I don’t know. I’m not looking.

“Homecoming is one of the most important weeks here at the school,” she began, “and I’m sure I don’t need to enumerate why. Alumni come from all over the state to reminisce about
their days here in Parkville, and we want to make sure that we put on the best face possible. Coach Walcott is getting our team in shape for one heck of a football game, isn’t that right, Luke?”

“Y’all know it!” he said. I could feel him standing somewhere behind me but I don’t look. Remember, Derek. Don’t look.

“Now,” she continued, “just because we’re not all playing in the big game doesn’t mean we can’t contribute. Y’all are aware that the school has seen its fair share of budget cuts, and there’s a lot around here that could do with a little sprucing up. That’s why we’ve asked all y’all to help us out this upcoming Saturday morning. We’re going to split up into teams and do our best to make our school something to be proud of. Now let’s hear some of that Commodore spirit!”

Woo hoo
. Sorry, Bammy. That’s the best I can do for you right now.

The week rolled by without incident and suddenly it was Friday. I bowed out of our regular Firelight gig. I just didn’t have the energy. Mom made chicken and dumplings, green beans and deviled eggs, and then she and Uncle Barry and I crashed in the living room in our carb-induced haze to watch
Auntie Mame
on the DVD player. Barry and I have practically all the lines memorized, and we took turns one-upping each other with quotes. Seriously Mom, if we hit you over the head with this stuff, you may just have to comment on Barry’s sexuality one day.

I woke up feeling fresh and headed on over to the school Saturday morning to help with “Fix Up, Clean Up.” It felt good to get out of bed early without a hangover. Maybe I should
consider skipping Friday nights more often? My liver would certainly appreciate the kindness.

There was a card table set up in the main hall with coffee and fresh baked doughnuts. They were still warm, straight from the bakery. They melted like little sugar pillows in my mouth as I greedily consumed one, two, three. Damn. So much for my healthy New York lifestyle.

“I’d like to thank y’all again for coming out here on a Saturday morning,” Bammy started. “We’ve split everyone into groups with specific areas to tackle. Just find your name up here on these lists. To be fair, they’re alphabetical, so we didn’t play any favorites with the tasks. We’ll work until noon, and then we have lunch provided by the Parkville High School Marching Band moms.”

Alphabetical? Luke
Walcott
. Derek
Walter
. SHIT. Fuck you and your “fairness,” Bammy. Did you even consider your bestie?

I looked up at the lists posted on the bulletin board and I’m part of the outside crew, helping to pick up any trash in the parking lot, pull weeds, wash exterior windows, that kind of thing.

“Looks like we’re on the same chain gang,” Luke said, over my shoulder.

“And here I am without my orange jumpsuit,” I said.

He let out a small laugh. That was all I needed, and suddenly I was googley-eyed, all over again. I’m hopeless. I really am.

“Tired of avoiding me?” I said. “The freeze out wasn’t so fun, you know.”

“Freeze out?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. You were pretty quiet this week.”

“Derek, you read way too much into things. Anybody ever told you that?”

“Just my whole life,” I said, and cocked my head to one side.

“Well, maybe you should listen, then. And remember, not everything’s about you.” And with that he turned and walked towards the door.

I stood there, not sure what to think. Or overthink. Or over analyze. Or… anything. I was frozen. Do I like him? Do I not like him? Are we friends? Or more? What is real, and what am I imagining? Man, it sucks being a thirteen-year-old girl.

Luke’s voice roused me from my thoughts. “
Yo
. Dreamer. You coming, or what? We got work to do.”

“Uh… yep. Chain gang. Let’s do it.” And I followed.

We spent the morning clearing cans and errant cigarette butts from the parking lot and grounds before moving on to window duty. Even though it was officially autumn, it was still warm in the South, and it wasn’t long before the sun came out in full force and Luke shed his jacket. I couldn’t help but stare at this man in his white V-neck t-shirt, tight blue jeans and work boots as he hauled buckets of warm soapy water and towels. His biceps and pecs strained the tight confines of the white cotton tee, and soon the splashing water made the material rather see-through.

“Hey. Stop drooling and get back to work.” Bammy laughed as she bumped up beside me.

“Shit! Sorry. Is it that obvious?” I asked, embarrassed.

“You look like a Wall Street banker at an all-you-can-eat stripper buffet,” she said laughing.

“
Ack
. Thanks for that image. Seriously. I don’t mean to sexualize him, but DAMN. Look at him!”

“Why do you think I alphabetized, silly?” She winked at me, and then moved on to check the progress of the next team.

All right, Bammy. You win this one. I was clearly wrong to be pissed at you.

I took another glance at Luke, and he was up on his ladder, reaching up high to get the top of the window frame. The bottom of his t-shirt had lifted up to expose his taut stomach, covered in a fine layer of dark blond scruff. My hand was holding the sponge to the window, but I’m sure it wasn’t moving. There were streams of water cascading down the glass, but I was completely frozen, staring at the man of my dreams just a few feet from me. If I didn’t know better, he was exaggerating his stretching and bending and reaching, just to give me the show of a lifetime.

My eyes slowly wandered from his stomach up to his chest, then to his face. He turned his head as if in slow motion, smiled, and paused what he was doing… and winked at me. Busted.

I can’t. I seriously can’t. Dear Lord, if I die right now, it will be enough.

12

We went our separate ways after “Fix Up, Clean Up.” Bammy wanted all the gossip, but my head was spinning. Truthfully, she was pissing me off a little. She can’t be upset with me for chasing after a straight guy, then move all the chess pieces around so that I have no other choice but to chase a straight guy.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling as confused as ever. It’s amazing what you can convince yourself of if you try hard enough. There was no denying that Luke and I had some sort of connection. Was it as simple as a blossoming friendship, or as wickedly illicit as a same sex attraction? To put it plainly, Luke was never going to ride on a Gay Pride float, but was he the kind of Southern gentleman who could find what he needed at the Bears’ Club? Stranger things have happened.

I pulled myself out of bed and picked up my running clothes from the chair. If I didn’t have a relationship, at least
I had running, again. I’d kept true to my promise of keeping it up, and I was now addicted to the high. Besides, all these carbs were killing me. How was I not enormous as a kid? Oh, that’s right. All my multiple social anxieties just worried the pounds off.

There was a slight fog this morning as I drove Willie out to the park at the lake. Parkville Community Park was located just a short drive from Mom’s house, and as kids we spent hours there playing on the swing sets and swimming in the large public pool. As teenagers, the park was where we drank our wine coolers and planned our escapes from this place. Funny. I escaped, then came right back. The cyclical nature of life, I suppose.

Since I moved away, the town had spent a lot of money on the park, installing new benches, upgrading the pool facilities and creating a clubhouse. They even set up a dedicated running path that circled the lake. I pulled the car off the main street into the upper parking lot at the top of the hill, where the running path started. There weren’t too many spots there, as the main lot was over by the clubhouse, on the other side of the park. Sure enough, the small lot was full. Well, not really. There was a beat up old Ford pick up truck with a gun rack and an NRA bumper sticker that had parked over a painted line, taking up two spots. It was just that kind of day where the smallest thing was about to set me off. I maneuvered my car back around and parked down by the main street in the lower lot, then reached for a Chinese takeout menu from the floorboard of the car to use as scrap paper. I scrawled my angry message and then walked back up the hill and placed my handwritten
note under the pick up’s windshield wipers. It said ASSHOLE in large, black capital letters. I knew my note wouldn’t have any effect, but it sure made me feel better.

I popped my headphones in, started my running app and a Madonna playlist, and took off. The first 5 minutes I felt like crap, but as I rounded the bend I started to feel the proverbial “wind beneath my wings.” That elusive runner’s high was about to be mine. I was completely in the zone. No David, no New York. No school, no Scooby Gang. No Luke, no romance.

I was keeping a great pace, when suddenly I felt the runner behind me shoot past me, turn, and wink. You guessed it. Luke Walcott. Damn it, Luke, this is one game I’m not going to let you win.

I pulled the headphones from my ears and used every trick I knew. Breathing in through my nose, out with my mouth, lifting my legs high and really engaging my thighs. Seeing him just within reach was pissing me off, but it was good. I’m competitive as hell, and I pushed faster, harder and stronger, until I was able to catch up to him. He flashed that perfect smile at me and kept pushing on, just as hard. We raced to the top of the hill, towards the home stretch. My legs were aching, my heart was pounding out of my chest, and I was gasping for air as we rounded the last corner and began our descent towards the lot, neck and neck. The rest of the path was downhill towards the parking lot, and I was going to try my damnedest to win.

“First. One. To. The. Oak. Wins,” I managed to gasp out, with my last remaining breath.

“You’re. On. Buddy!” he replied. And with that, we pushed forward. I was afraid to look next to me, but all I knew was that
he wasn’t in front of me. Was I actually winning? My momentum was propelling me forward so hard that I overshot the tree, and then collapsed on my back onto the green grass, gasping for air.

Luke came crashing down next to me, his chest heaving up and down, as we both stared up into the sky. You know that moment where something happens, but you’re not sure how or why it started? Well, this was one of those moments. He started laughing, then I started laughing, and before you know it, we were rolling on the grass, cracking up.

He flipped over onto his stomach and said, “Damn, buddy. You can run!”

“I’m like a greyhound,” I said. “I just keep my eye on the prize.”

“Did you run in high school?” he asked. “I’m sure I would have remembered if you were on the track team.”

“
Nah
. Didn’t pick it up until I moved to New York. Central Park is a pretty good motivator. That and all the hot guys in shorts.” I turned to him to gauge his reaction.

He looked down, a small grin forming on his face. Those dimples. “Well, whatever your motivation is, you’re good. Better than me, I’d say.”

“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Star Athlete.”

“Well, I do have a few pounds on you,” he said.

“Yeah, all muscle.” Was I flirting? Oh, my god. I’m flirting.

“Take the compliment, man,” he said. “You’re an athlete, too. You just proved it.”

I was on my back, one arm crooked under my head, the other on my chest. He was leaning on his side, one arm holding
his head up, his eyes looking directly into mine. Sweat dripping down his forehead, he had never looked sexier. The past few weeks felt like such a dream to me, but what was the end goal? Another crush on a straight guy? No. This was something more. I felt it. I knew it.