Memorizing You (16 page)

A small laugh. “That’s something my mom would do. Every time your dad wanted to take me someplace, my mom gave me a list of what not to do, with a whole pile of warnings attached to it. I still remember that finger of hers waving in my face.”

She rose and patted my hand. “Your father and I still did what we wanted. And we had a great time doing it.” She kissed my head. “Besides, you have your best control device built right into yourself. It’s called a conscience. Works better than a mom’s wagging finger any day of the week. So have a great time.”

I don’t think I was ever more confused or amazed with my parents. I didn’t know how Ryan was going to resolve the dilemma of asking his folks for permission, but he told me not to worry about it. That he would be going, and that was that.

And dog-gone-it, he was right on time Friday afternoon when we were supposed to leave for the walk to Judy’s house. He had his small backpack on his shoulders, at the screen door five minutes before five. As we began our small trek to Judy’s house, I asked, “How did it go with your folks?”

“My dad’s out of town on his fishing trip. So he didn’t have to deal with it. I just walked in, told my mom. That’s it.”

“She didn’t have anything to say?”

“Why would she?” His voice was toneless. “With me gone, it just means she can drink her scotch in a glass instead of hiding it in her coffee.”

“You don’t care for your parents too much, do you?”

“There ain’t no law saying we have to love bad parents,” he stated. “They don’t even love themselves. It’s a great big house of
play-pretend
. A show for others to see. My dad hasn’t slept in the same room as my mom for as long as I can remember. He’s always slept on the sofa in the den.”

“What happened?”

“Whatever it was, it happened a long time ago. My friends heard their parents talking and they said they heard he’s been having a thing with his secretary at the real estate office for, at least, ten years. My dad has always been the master of how to get things wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“He had his fraternity brothers over one time when my mom was out of town. They got drunk and I heard them talking. I heard them tell the story about how he had a girlfriend who loved him very much in college. But when he didn’t make the team, he got nasty and hit her. She left him. Wouldn’t talk to him. Wanted nothing to do with him ever again.” Ryan’s eyes were glued to the sidewalk as he talked. “He knew she was going to be at a campus party, so he picked up some random girl he didn’t even know in front of her, trying to make her jealous. He took the girl out to his car and screwed her right there where anyone could see if they looked out the window. The girl got pregnant. Nine months later, I was born.”

I stopped in my tracks. A few steps later so did he. His face finally softened when he saw my expression.

“That’s terrible,” I said. “Why doesn’t she leave him? If they don’t love each other, why doesn’t she just leave?”

“She has a beautiful home, a roof over her head, nice clothes, plenty of money to spend on whatever she wants…and all the finest scotch she can hide in her morning cup of Maxwell House. Why would she want to leave?”

Judy’s house was already overflowing with a crowd of people as we arrived. It was Philippe who greeted us at the door. He led us into the bustling activity with a loud announcement.

“David and his Prince Charming have arrived everyone!”

Ryan reddened and chuckled. “What have you been telling them?”

I shrugged. “This and that.”

Judy was granting her audience at poolside from a lawn chair. She wore a straw hat as large as an umbrella, a rainbow-colored bikini, and sequin-covered high heels. Her hand held a tall, slender glass filled with something bright pink which she sipped through a straw.

There were two grills alongside the pool. Two people manned these. A smallish woman with short hair, dressed in white overalls, and an Indian-looking fellow. One grill was for meat. The other was vegetarian, I found out later. There was a bar—Tiki bar, I was later informed—at the back of the pool facing the dive board. A slender man with wild-colored hair, wearing a Hawaiian print shirt was in charge of this. He was dancing to the Rolling Stones music which played loudly from a hi-fi system that had been set up under a small green and white striped tent.

People were everywhere, alongside the pool, dancing, splashing and cavorting in the water, talking in small groups. When Judy saw us, she waved us to her. She pulled us each in for a kiss, giving Ryan an up-and-down appraisal.

“So nice to finally meet you, Ryan. I want everyone to make themselves at home. But first, stand back, this is going to be a bit loud.” And with that she pulled out a bullhorn from the side of the bench and turned it. It screeched into life. Then she announced, “Okay folks, listen up. This is David, the one with the beautiful hair styled by our own Philippe, and David’s very gorgeous boyfriend, Ryan. Make your introductions.”

With our ears still ringing, people began to slowly make their way to us for introductions. It would take us the rest of the night to remember half of the names, but the friendliness was contagious and put us both at ease.

Ryan bumped me with his shoulder. He was beaming like he’d burst.

“What?” I asked.

“She called me your boyfriend,” he said, and an involuntary giggle popped out of him. He covered it with two fingers like he was trying to pinch the grin away.

I was amused by his reaction. “Yes, she did.”

“Wow, that is such a wonderful thing to hear someone say.” He wrapped his arm around me. “I’m your boyfriend!”

It was true. To hear someone finally say it aloud, and in front of so many people who accepted it, without hesitation or question, was a joyous confirmation for both us.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As it turned out, the party was Judy’s pre-Woodstock celebration. We’d been hearing about the musical event for months on the radio. They’d been calling it ‘Three Days of Love and Peace’ and it was going to be held on a dairy farm in the Catskills. Every performer known to rock music was to perform there. Judy, and most of her friends at the party, would be attending next month. This party was “a little head start on the celebration.”

Everyone there treated us like we were royalty. And it was especially nice to have people treat us as an acknowledged couple. It was like being handed a prize for just being yourself. It was hard for us to tear our hands apart. It was the first time we could hold them in the company of others.

Judy’s Indian friend, Chevy—his full name too long and unpronounceable—was her spiritual counselor and guru, instructing her in transcendental meditation. The same thing Donovan and The Beatles had gone to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi to learn. Chevy was the vegetarian cook and introduced us to food we not only never tried, but never heard of. Ryan nearly ate a whole bowl of hummus by himself.

Marybeth, our cook of everything meat, was a caterer by profession. She and partner, Donna, ran one of the most successful catering services in Saint Louis. They were natural comedians, always coming up with quips that made everyone laugh. They’d been together over twenty years, still seemed mad about each other. When one would talk, the other would pick up and finish the sentence like they shared one mind and tongue. We found ourselves watching them like a tennis match.$">Whaty actually

Brad, a tall, lanky man dressed in white linen shirt and slacks, was Judy’s make-up artist. He was pale, and pretty determined to stay that way as he carried a white umbrella to shade himself at all times. “Skin is a delicate organ,” he explained. “Sun is the fountain of aging.” He must have known what he was talking about. In spite of being very pale, he didn’t have a line on his face anywhere. Even his hands appeared soft and smooth. He moved his chair to the shade when he ate.

Matthew was a model and looked every inch of one. A bronze god, flawless smile, coiffed hair, and impeccable body. He wasn’t as muscular as he was just well put together. He wore a black Speedo like the brand had been made specifically for him. He greeted us and introduced himself with a beer. He had two of them, but we took one to split. He kept the other and sat in the chair alongside ours. Sunglasses dropped from his head to his nose with the tilt of his head.

“Are you here with your boyfriend?” I asked, not seeing anyone joining him.

The question seemed to entertain him. “No. I’m the minority here. I’m straight,” he answered. “I’m here because Judy has the best weed in the state. And for Judy, naturally.”

“I see you’ve discovered my boy-toy?”

It was Judy’s voice. She walked up behind Matthew, leaned over, dragged her manicured pink nails across his tan chest. They performed an upside down kiss. In the last few hours of dwindling light, both Ryan and Matthew took the task upon themselves to try to teach me freestyle swimming. My ability to only dog-paddle in the pool had been a great source of amusement they thought they could remedy. It was an endeavor equal of as much fear as fun considering that every time I attempted to extend my arms and legs up and out, I tended to sink like a rock. They each took turns holding me up in the water, giving me their instructions while the other swam alongside as a visual demonstration. They both were very patient with me. Like they had nothing more important than this to do. Within a couple of hours I had it down…somewhat. I swam half the length of the pool freestyle, until I got the breathing wrong, and then saved myself with dog-paddling. We all settled for that when exhaustion set in.

Evening had dropped down on us. Torches were lit. Pool light turned on. Moody Blues played in the background. Everyone was relaxing in chairs. Pleasant conversation. Drinks.$6Las the

Then another aroma appeared. I’d only smelled it a few times before. Mostly on the clothing of other students at school. Weed. We could see them passing the hand-rolled cigarettes around, sharing. Matthew shared one with Judy. Then walked toward us with it. He held it out to us.

“No, thanks,” I said, and Ryan echoed it.

“You’re not gonna pass up on the best stuff at the party now, are ya?” He looked at us with shimmering eyes.

I felt awkward, but had to admit the truth. “I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. Don’t even have a clue how.”

He knelt down in between the two of us. “Problem solved. We’ll shotgun.”

“Shotgun?” It was Ryan who asked.

“I’m going to blow smoke into your mouth. All you have to do is breathe in, and hold it for a few seconds.”

Judy and Marybeth moved into our circle.

“This I gotta see,” Marybeth said. “This is as close as we’ll ever see our pretty ‘lil straight boy get to kissing another guy!”

“Ain’t afraid to kiss a guy, M.B.” Matthew cast a reprimanding look. “I just have other inclinations. It’d be more interesting to see you kiss a guy”

“Touché!”

Matthew inverted the cigarette in his mouth, moved the other tip close to my lips, and blew. A slow, steady stream of smoke billowed into my mouth as I inhaled, then held my breath. Lips pinched tight shut. It didn’t stay closed long. I coughed out. I was actually bewildered at how much smoke came out of me. I didn’t perceive that much going in. I continued to cough $ their y fy until my eyes watered. I stood and walked a few steps forward, trying to catch my breath.

Marybeth handed me her Budweiser. I chugged a few swallows.

In the background, I heard Ryan begin to cough. I held the beer behind me. He grabbed it. “Wow,” I said, between gasps. “That wasn’t fun at all.”

Matthew patted my shoulder. “Give it a few minutes. Then you’ll be hounding me to get close to my lips again. They all do.”

I watched him walk away on panther legs in the black Speedo, like king of the jungle. Smoke trailed over the top of his head.

I sat there a few moments before realizing I was staring into space. I looked over at Ryan. His vision was focused on me, unblinking. He wore a precocious expression.

“How are you feeling?” I inquired.

“Weird,” he said the word in an exaggerated, two-syllabled utterance. “Weeer-erd.”

“Me too,” I admitted. I felt very light and like everything around me had slowed down.

I walked to the bar to get another beer for us to split. I couldn’t feel my legs beneath me, looked down to make certain they were there. The man with the wild-colored hair and Hawaiian print shirt handed me the beer. Someone had turned the music up.
Crimson and Clover
. I could feel the beat inside me. It carried me back to my chair, to Ryan.

“I am sitting perfectly still, and feeling like I am going a thousand miles an hour,” Ryan announced as I sat down. “It’s like I’m in a rocket ship…and it’s my own body.”

“I’m definitely going in the other direction,” I told him. “I feel like I’m slow motion.”$ gImy

I moved to his chair and sat between his legs, reclining back so that my head was on his chest beneath his chin. He enfolded me in his arms. His breath brushed against my hair.

“Your skin’s so smooth,” he commented, palm skimming back and forth on my bare chest.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly in each other’s company. It felt like mere moments, and an eternity.

“Looks like you guys need a little more Love Potion Number Nine.” It was Matthew’s voice.

He sat on the side of our chair, lit up another joint, and shotgunned us once more. We didn’t cough as much this time. He danced off toward our hostess who was seated in her chair. Brad, the man dressed in white, was working from a kit on the table between them, applying fresh makeup to her face.

Ryan turned very tactile, stroking the side of my face with his fingertips, brushing the edge of my ear with his lips. I fell into each movement in my dream-like state. It was comfortable. Natural. Enjoyable.

“They say everyone has their own individual scent. Our own perfume. They say it identifies us.” He inhaled from my cheek. “They call it a pheromone. Like a drug that draws our love to us, and us to our love.”

Pulling my hand to his lips, he kissed it. Began planting kisses on each fingertip. It was incredibly romantic.