Memorizing You (6 page)

I shrugged. “I had a lot of stuff on my mind. I really don’t recall running this way at all.”

“Well, I could definitely see why you’re on the track team.” He faced me. “Do you ever run with a partner?”

And with that we made a plan to run early the next day. Before dawn quizzically. I wasn’t surprised when I found seven phone calls from Rosemary waiting for me when I got home. She was most certainly persistent. Mom had invited her to dinner. She was still under the impression that our essay had not been completed.

When she arrived, I was slightly startled to see that she was actually wearing make-up. Lipstick that was a striking crimson. It looked totally out of place on a girl her age. She had on a new pair of bellbottom jeans and a pullover that revealed she wasn’t wearing a bra. I could plainly see the outline of her small nipples. As could my parents who discreetly averted their eyes when she entered.

Mom had made her pot roast with potatoes and carrots. The dinner conversation was all the same trivial stuff. My folks were pissed that the
Smothers Brothers
show had been banned for being too controversial; the latest news on the
Huntley-Brinkley Report
; how much they detested Richard Nixon who was running for the presidency, all the things a typical democratic suburban family table discussions. Rosemary wore her same blank expression as she stared at me and smiled through the entire discourse. I don’t think she was even listening.

During our study time, I played some Lemon Pipers, and read the essay to her so, at least, she knew what it was about. Afterall, she had contributed nothing to it but her presence. I didn’t mind. As I read, she laid her head on my shoulder. The sensation was awkward for me. But she seemed quite comfortable with it. If she listened to me at all, I’d have been surprised. She was too caught up in the moment of snuggling with me. I could feel her breasts press against me through the fabric of her shirt. They were soft. When her hand touched mine, it was soft too. She seemed very gentle and caring. If I was going to do something with someone, I was glad it happened to be her.

When my mom entered the room with the tray of cookies and milk and saw her cuddling with me, the smile on her face reflected her need to see an age-old tradition continue. The reality of that made me feel like an imposter. Nothing in this tradition was natural for me.

That night my restlessness made it difficult to sleep. I was putting myself under so much pressure about this that my nerves were on edge all the time. I tried to picture myself in “the act” with her. I couldn’t. I tried to picture myself undressing her. I couldn’t. I tried to picture myself kissing her. I couldn’t. My mind would just halt in the process like it didn’t want to go there. So, I tossed and turned. My mind was filled with miserable thoughts. I knew other guys didn’t experience this. They didn’t worry about this. There were no issues happily ever after. It would be a nice thing to know.”

Sleep finally found me around two a.m. But it was sleep filled with nightmares, brimming with a sense of dread and foreboding. When my alarm went off at four-thirty for my run, I was drenched with sweat. I was uneasy. I dressed, grabbed a piece of toast and jogged the five blocks to Ryan’s house. It was dark. The street lamps were still on. He was waiting for me on his porch, dressed in shorts and one of those gray half-shirts the football players wore for practice. His shoes were the new Keds high tops everyone was wanting.

“You ready?” I called out in a whisper.

“Yeah. I was just letting my Grape-Nuts digest. I think maybe it was a little too heavy to eat for a run,” he was grinning, holding his belly.

“We’ll see.”

We planned a small five-mile run to Wilkinson Park by the railroad. It was an even five miles there and back, all through empty streets at this hour. And the park had a water fountain behind the baseball diamond.

He wasn’t fast, but he was a strong and consistent runner. Once we set a pace, he kept it. I was surprised to hear how heavy his footfalls were. The density of the muscles in his legs would definitely make him an opposing force if he was running toward you. No wonder his dad wanted him to take up football. He breathed like a locomotive. We made great time to the park, and after getting a sip from the fountain, decided to extend our run over the bridge past the tracks and into the older neighborhood called “The Hill.” It actually had rolling hills and would make the run a bit tougher. I liked the idea that he wanted to make the run more challenging.

“You really dig running, don’t you?” he asked in between breaths.

“Yeah.” I puffed out. “It helps me think.”

“You looked like you had some angry thoughts the other day.”

“Yeah.” psychologically aup

“Better run them out than open your mouth?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why I have my garden,” he said, bumping my shoulder.

“What could you have to be angry about? You got everything,” I said.

“Would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” was the mysterious reply back to me.

We jogged the next two miles in silence, watching the sun come up over the brick houses of the city. The air was slowly filling with the exhaust of cars heading for work destinations. We’d just made our turn to track back when a cramp in Ryan’s side waylaid us. We found a curb and sat.

“Dammit. That hurts like a mother!” he said, holding his side and rocking.

“We probably shouldn’t have had that water at the park,” I said. “It’ll pass in a minute or two.”

He tugged the half-shirt off over his head and wiped his face. “Sorry for slowing you down.”

“I enjoy the company, actually. Never ran with anyone before.”

He looked at me with what I interpreted to be mutual appreciation. “Me too.”

We decided to walk a mile and let the stitch in his side dissipate before starting the jog back home. I kept my eyes forward when he spoke. The moment he’d taken his shirt off I’d became nervous.

. Everythingy fes“Mind if I ask a personal question?” he asked.

I sensed his eyes on me as I walked, but I stared ahead. I nodded.

“What were you so angry about when you were running the other day?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. “It’s personal. Just something I can’t do anything about. When I can’t figure out what to do, I run.”

“Did it have to do with your girlfriend?”

I know I reared back at the question. It surprised me. “ Uh…no. I mean…” I fumbled for words. “She’s not my girlfriend. I mean…” I was stammering now. “I mean she is… She is a girl, and she’s my friend. But…”

I could see his head shake from my peripheral vision. “Gotcha. I just thought you were because I always see you guys out on the bleachers.”

We’d made it back to the bridge over the tracks. We could clearly view the sunrise from this point. The sky was filled with pink and blue clouds in front of the orange glow. It was a glorious sight. We stopped to take it in.

“You mind if I tell you something?”

I finally turned to face him. His tone had made it sound like something serious. The sun grazed his face. I hadn’t noticed the cleft in his chin before. His lips were fuller than most guys. His brows and lashes were very blond and seemed to disappear in the light. He was handsome.

“I’m telling you as a friend. A secret.”

I hesitated a second under the weight of that announcement. “Okay.”

He turned toward the sunrise, leaning. Everythingy fes on the brick rail of the bridge. His profile was to me, a perfect silhouette. I could see a small crease pinch at the top of his nose, and he licked his lips like his mouth was dry.

“No one knows this, and no one can,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

The air between us felt tense. I couldn’t begin to understand what was going on. My initial thought was that he was going to tell me he had some terrible disease. Then others crammed in. VD. He’d committed a crime.

“You seem like an honest guy. I can usually tell. And you seem like someone that can be trusted. I like to make friends with people I can trust.”

His hand clenched. Then he wiped his palm on his shorts. He chewed a lip.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think I am.”

He turned to face me, eyes locking on mine. “You’re the first.”

I was confused. “The first? First, what?”

He took a deep breath. It returned outward like a sigh. A very heavy sigh. “The first person I’ve ever told that I’m gay.”

A tear spilled down his cheek. It left a glimmering trail to his chin in the sunlight. His lips quivered.

I stood in silence trying to absorb the confession. Thunderstruck. I knew I should be saying something, but I didn’t have a clue what. I could hear him breathing. He was frightened. It didn’t look right on a big guy like him.

“How’s your side?” I finally asked.

“Better,” he said in a low voice.

“Feel like running again?”

He looked at me. A timid laugh escaped. “You have absolutely no idea!”

The run back was in silence and seemed to have taken twice as long. My mind went over and over what he told me. It was unexpected. He’d made himself vulnerable. I knew he’d done a courageous thing. He’d let me see a part of him that no one knew. No one. He felt he could trust me with something he could share with no one else. That, more than anything, seemed to be uniquely special to me. He made me feel special with it. No one had ever done that.

We walked the last half block to his house. I could see he was very down. It changed the texture of his face. The hard lines of a jock seemed somehow blurred. There was no way to read what was going through his mind. But I could imagine.

He walked up to his porch with his back to me and his head down. “Thanks for the run.”

I saw him reach for the door. “Same time tomorrow?” I asked.

When he turned, I saw the lights brighten in him again. The returning smile was luminous. The way his face should look. “Yeah. Sure. That would be great.”

The jog back to my house seemed nonexistent. I didn’t see houses, cars, or scenery. I was lost in the pride of having made a friend who trusted me.

CHAPTER FIVE

If I thought I had a plan, it was nothing in comparison to the one my parents had. After dinner, they were off to see a movie, leaving Rosemary and myself to study. Alone. Unsupervised. I didn’t know whether to laugh, be annoyed or dumbfounded. My parents were creating the scenario that most parents called “flirting with disaster”. arrangementdi. My mind

When they walked out the door, my father even winked. If that didn’t prompt an internal cringe, nothing would. If I was feeling perturbed, Rosemary was bouncing like a cat in a bag.

More makeup. More perfume. Short-shorts and another tight top with no bra. I’d seen horny boys with a wallet full of condoms with less of an agenda.

I became aware that, even though this all started as a game of my own devise, I was beginning to feel uncomfortably trapped. If I sat down, she was next to me in a flash with her hand in mine, her head leaning against me. She rattled on about how next time we should have a “proper date”. Go to a roller rink, or a movie. She was bursting with plans that I subconsciously began to notice would put us in an arena where her friends would see us. That would confirm the nature of our companionship.

We had turned on the television to watch something. I can’t remember what. I can’t even remember looking at the set. My vision had turned internal. I was staring at Ryan’s profile outlined by the morning sun. The single tear trailing down a cheek. Feeling the turmoil he was going through, and standing there saying nothing when I should have said something. Even now, I didn’t have a clue what I could, or should, have said. But I knew that I admired him. He could do something I could not.

There was not a situation I could imagine where I could muster the courage to tell anyone my personal secrets; my hidden heart.

Her hand tightened on mine, obviously sensing that my attention was elsewhere. “I like you, David,” she said in a cotton-soft voice.

I heard the clock tick off the seconds where my answer should have been. Her hand squeezed mine harder. She expected a response.

“I like you too, Rosemary.” My throat was so parched the words were barely audible.

“I liked you the very first day I saw you walk into the English class. You made my heart skip a beat. It was like looking at my future,” she babbled the words out so quickly she was difficult to follow. “I knew something would happen to bring us together. It just felt so natural; don’t you think?” was elsewhere aup

If there was one thing I wasn’t feeling at that moment, it was anything natural. It was more akin to that of a captive animal.

“Why don’t you turn off the TV and let’s go up to your room,” she said, her palm rubbing my chest.

It was now or never. I’d started this, and for it to work, I had to follow it through to the end. I told myself I would be happy for this. That it was the right way to go. But underneath that false bravado was the feeling that I was lying. That I was lying to both Rosemary and to myself. Every step upward I knew how important this was to my parents. That I was treating my dilemma as if it were a bad cold that could be cured with a pill. The pill was Rosemary.

She urged me to the bed and I sat. She sat next to me and stared into my eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all week,” she said, framing my face with her hands, pulling me toward her mouth.

I’d no clue what to do with my hands. They hung limply at my sides as she pressed her lips against mine and pushed her tongue into my mouth. It was a strange, foreign feeling. I kept thinking it would be nice if she stopped. It was nothing how I imagined a kiss should be. But she continued to push her tongue in and out of my mouth. It may have been seconds, but it seemed much longer.

She was gazing into my eyes. Hers glittered. “That was as wonderful as I imagined,” she said in a dreamy voice. “Wasn’t it?”

I had no choice but to lie. “Sure,” I said. My guilt was immediate.

Her hands wiggled up under the back of my shirt and she held them against my naked flesh. Her hands were like velvet. She pressed the side of her head against me like she was listening to my heartbeat.