Remembering Christmas (27 page)

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Authors: Drew Ferguson

BOOK: Remembering Christmas
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“No harm, no foul,” Theo said, taking a sip of the Scotch that he was actually getting used to. “Whatever that means.”
“It's just that you're single, no kids. . . .”
Oh enough with skirting the issue.
“You can say it, Rob,” Theo announced a bit louder than he had anticipated. “We both know it, I'm gay.”
“Well yeah . . .” Rob said.
“No, not well yeah, it's who and what I am,” Theo said in the same tone of voice, but before he got even louder he took another sip of the increasingly delightful Scotch. When he continued, he was speaking at a normal decibel. “Yes, I'm gay, but that doesn't mean I don't have any responsibilities and can flit around from job to job just because I feel like it.”
“No, no, I didn't mean that,” Rob implored.
Now some group that sounded like the musical version of the gangstas in the ghetto from the Grand Theft Auto video game series was singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Every time they got to the lyric “four calling birds” the word
calling
was bleeped out. If the song had come at an earlier point in the conversation, Theo and Rob might have tried to figure out what the bleeped out substitute was; now they ignored the urban reinterpretation of the classic song as Rob tried to interpret his comment as something other than a classic insult. He failed.
“I did, I did mean it,” Rob confessed. “I'm sorry. It's just that, well, all the gay guys I know do jump from job to job and live pretty irresponsible lives.”
“According to whom?”
“What do you mean?”
“They live irresponsible lives according to whom?” Theo clarified. “You?”
“Not just me, no,” Rob stuttered.
“You and all the other heterosexuals who like to judge?”
Just like he used to do when he was in high school, Rob bent his head in search of the answer, but this time instead of searching in the cracks of his desk, he scoured the smudges and the imperfections of the table. And just like back in high school when he came up empty and couldn't find an answer he relied on his charm to get out of a sticky situation. “Dude listen . . .”
“Stop calling me dude,” Theo demanded. “My name is Theo.” He stared at Rob, unblinking and unapologetic and was prepared to maintain his focus until Rob spoke. He only had to wait a few awkward seconds.
“I'm sorry, Theo, I really am.” Rob waited for him to respond, joke, forgive, but all he did was nod his head; that would have to be enough. “Can we rewind? Go back to the beginning and start over?”
If only Rob, if only that were a real choice I'd grab it in an instant.
“I don't feel like being a skinny ten-year-old in the school yard with no friends.”
“Du . . . Theo, you had lots of friends.”
“Only when you were around.”
“That isn't true! Everybody loved being around you, you were like the funniest guy in class.”
“When I knew that you'd be there to laugh at whatever lame joke I said.”
Rob's eyes drifted away for a second, backwards, Theo didn't know exactly where, but he was sure it was toward the past to some classroom or lunchroom when Theo had said something silly or maybe witty, something that would thwart the inevitable cruel comment, something that would work as a shield. When Rob laughed, Theo joined in—they didn't know if they were laughing at the same exact memory, but it didn't matter, they were linked again, they were two boys, friends who relied upon each other. “If it hadn't been for you I don't think I would've survived high school.”
The declaration made Theo choke on his drink. “You cannot be serious.”
“Dead serious, I hated high school.”
Theo leaned forward, inching toward the edge of his seat, and he felt his knees touch Rob's underneath the table. He was so surprised by Rob's comment that the physical connection didn't even register in his mind. “That can't be true, even I didn't hate high school! And God knows I had way more reasons to hate it than you did.”
Their knees pressed harder against each other as Rob leaned in even closer. “You remember how popular I was?”
“Yes.”
“And kind of a jock?”
“Kind of?”
“None of that came naturally to me,” Rob confessed. “There was a lot of pressure on me to maintain my status.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, not because he grew self-conscious over their tangible connection, but because of the incongruity of the intangible memory. “That makes no sense! You loved being popular, Rob; it totally came easy for you.”
“The only time I felt at ease was when I was with you!”
Silence floated over the table like snowflakes at dawn, more welcome than disruptive. Both men allowed Rob's comment to drift over them and settle before feeling the need to respond. Since the words were Rob's he felt more of a need to speak. “The very first time I met you, in second grade, you made me laugh. Miss Donnelly asked me to name the capital of Alaska, and I had no idea what it was. You were sitting next to me, and I heard you whisper something to me.”
It was as if Theo was transported in time along with Rob: He saw himself as an eight-year-old sitting next to him in their second grade classroom, as clearly as he saw himself sitting next to him now. “I gave you the correct answer.”
“Yes, you did, but since I didn't know what the answer was, I thought you were saying ‘Jew know?' so I whispered back, ‘No, I don't know,' which only made you whisper the answer louder. Miss Donnelly asked me again, and you whispered ‘Jew know?' again even louder, so I yelled back all annoyed 'cause I thought you were making fun of me, ‘No, I do not know the answer, Teddy!' Which made Miss Donnelly respond . . .”
“If you had cleaned out your ears this morning, Mr. Colangelo, you would have heard Teddy say
Juneau,
” Theo interrupted, “which if you had studied your state capitals you would know is the correct answer.”
Caught up in the memory, Rob clutched Theo's hand. “Yes! The entire class howled, and once Miss Donnelly joined in, I think I laughed the loudest.”
Theo wasn't laughing along with Rob, he was holding onto his hand, marveling at how soft it still felt, how familiar and yet how different, never did he think he'd hold his hand again. He was back in his basement, in the little room next to the laundry where he convinced his parents to let him have an old loveseat and a portable thirteen-inch TV so he could have his own retreat, privacy, where he and Rob could hang out, talk without worrying that they'd be overheard, and sometimes hold hands like they were doing now. He was amazed then and he was amazed now that Rob didn't pull away; he let Theo's fingers glide over his knuckles like he used to, he let them slide over his now-smooth fingernails, wondering if Theo remembered how uneven they were when he used to bite them habitually. Theo would've let his fingers trace the veins on the back of Rob's hand, but he stopped when he touched his wedding band. “Sorry,” Theo whispered.
“No need to be,” Rob said, meaning his words.
Theo held his own two hands together, pressing them against each other hard, and then put them underneath the table. He rubbed them for a moment, but the sensation was nothing like when he touched Rob; it paled in comparison and only reminded him how lonely he was without that touch, without any touch actually. There was no holding back now, might as well feel even lonelier. “I guess now's a good time to tell me all about your wife.”
It was the first time Theo noticed Rob look really uncomfortable. He breathed deeply as his shoulders stiffened; he held the air in his lungs for a few seconds, perhaps trying to suspend reality or perhaps trying to decide what to say. He fidgeted with his wedding band and looked away. It was clear he didn't want to mention the woman he had chosen to spend his life with, but he knew that Theo needed to hear about her. It was just that part of Rob wished he didn't have to mention anything that had happened after the last time they were together. “I thought you might ask about her.”
Rob's voice was almost apologetic, which was sweet, but it still didn't change things. Rob was married and Theo was not and both of them knew it. “Well, Rob, come on,” Theo said. “It's not like you're exactly a closeted heterosexual.”
Quickly and without thinking Rob replied, “I'm not a closeted homosexual either.”
Really,
Theo thought,
'cause that was kind of a bitchy thing to say.
“I never said you were.”
This time when Rob breathed in his shoulders were relaxed, his face soft, and his smile genuine. “I'm sorry, that was a rude thing to say.”
Only if rude is heterosexual for bitchy.
It was Theo's turn to take a deep breath before he spoke; he didn't want the rest of their conversation, the rest of their meeting, however long, wherever it might lead, to be a series of rude, nasty comments. “Forget it,” Theo said, but he couldn't, he would never be able to forget and from the tone of Rob's voice he wouldn't be able to forget either. “It's no mystery that we share a history.”
Did Rob just glance around to see if the people at the next table heard Theo's comment? Are words, indisputable facts, more condemning than handholding? As if still able to read Theo's mind, Rob answered, “I'm not ashamed of what we had.”
Looking at Rob's still youthful face, the cluster of soft, long lashes whose sole purpose it seemed was to spotlight his beautiful blue eyes, Theo held his gaze for a moment, but then he felt the pull of a distant memory and traveled south to the little scar on Rob's chin, almost unnoticeable unless you knew where to look. A little piece of mended flesh, not even a quarter of an inch in length, the result of a diving board accident when they were thirteen. Rob's parents had gone away for the weekend, an early December getaway before the hustle and bustle of Christmas took over, and they reluctantly allowed Rob and his older sister, Corinne, to stay home without a babysitter. Corinne, being sixteen, not-so-bright, and blond, had a boyfriend, and the two of them occupied most of their time in her bedroom, so Rob and Teddy had decided it was the perfect time for a midnight swim, which quickly turned into skinny-dipping.
The Christmas music and the airport noises faded away, and all Theo could hear was the rippling of the pool water as Rob climbed out of the deep end, then the soft pounding of his feet as he scurried to the diving board. Rob's family was one of only two in town that had an indoor pool; the room was built as an extension of their garage and had big sliding glass doors on two sides that could open up in the summer to let the sun in or remain closed in the winter to keep the cold air out. All year round, however, the room was filled with a stifling smell of chlorine. Treading water in the middle of the pool, Teddy looked up; his eyes stung a bit from all the chemicals in the pool, and the only light came from the stars and moon outside, but nothing could prevent him from seeing Rob standing on the diving board, his toes touching the edge, his arms stretched out to the sides, his naked body, exposed, almost glowing from the moonlight that invaded the room, and Teddy felt a hand enter his chest and literally snatch his breath away. Even at thirteen Teddy recognized this was a defining moment, a moment that would comfort and haunt him forever.
Droplets of water raced down Rob's body, along his arms, across his flat chest, stream after stream of running water stopped and disappeared into the small forests of hair that accumulated in his armpits and above his privates that hung in the air unashamed, curious, willing. “Watch this,” Rob had whispered before turning around. Rob didn't have to give Teddy any instruction, there was no way he was going to turn away; the new and exciting sensation in the pit of his stomach would make sure that the only thing Teddy looked at was Rob's naked body regardless of which side was on display.
Inch by inch Rob moved backwards on the diving board, his arms still outstretched, hands flat, palms facing the ground. He moved with the precision of an Olympic high diver, not that Teddy cared how he moved as long as he moved slowly. Mesmerized, Teddy watched Rob slide one foot back, then the other, until only the front pads of his feet and his toes were attached to the board, the splendid arches of his feet and the heels were suspended above the water, and he stood so strong and tall Teddy thought he could take a step backwards and still hover over the pool.
Uncontrollably, Teddy's eyes traveled up Rob's legs, the mixture of water streams and matted-down hair becoming a dizzying array of lines and curls, two slim canvases of abstract art, his eyes only stopping when the two pieces of art met and merged together. Unlike his legs, Rob's ass was smooth, undecorated, and in Teddy's mind absolutely perfect. Even though the room was enclosed it was still winter and the air was cool; even still his stomach, his chest, and his brain were on fire—it was like his whole body was exploding, like the firecrackers that had laid dormant within his loins and his mind for his entire life were finally ignited. The match had been struck, the blaze had begun, and not the cold pool water, not the December draft, not the harsh warnings from society and church and family and strangers that one boy shouldn't look at another boy with such passion and desire, none of that could extinguish the fire. Teddy finally understood what he had been feeling for years about Rob and other boys; he finally understood who he was, and it was exciting and frightening and glorious all at the same time. It was such a powerful feeling that it remained despite hearing the thud as Rob's chin crashed into the diving board.

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