Sundry Days (8 page)

Chapter 13

David

Two Drifters

Here’s the question. Does Rebekah look enough like a boy to pass as one?  The answer is no, not if you look at her closely or hear her speak. But if we’re careful not to get too close to anyone, and she doesn’t talk, then maybe.

She has the scarf wrapped tightly around her breasts again—her amazing, perfect, beautiful breasts—so her shirt hangs pretty flat. Her clothes and shoes are like mine—they were mine once. She’s been wearing things I’ve outgrown for years now. And there’s nothing feminine about her haircut. Still, it’s a big gamble.

But the sun-cycle needs to be charged, so we don’t have a choice. We have to stop at a town. This town.  I don’t know if you can even call it a town. It’s more like a small village.  There are a few shops, a restaurant, a food market and a garage on the main road, which branches off into a network of leafy streets lined with houses.  The houses all seem to be spaced far apart, and look like they’ve been there forever.

I don’t see any people around.  But it’s hot. So they’re probably inside their houses or at their jobs.

“Ready?” asks Rebekah.

I nod, and I park the bike by the charging station in front of the garage.

A man comes out.  He looks very old.  Older than my original Gardener grandfathers.

“That’s a nice sun-cycle,” he says. “Need a charge?”

I nod and he works the connections. Rebekah stands partly behind me.

“Are you riding alone, just the two of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I ask because there’s been a pack of Lost Boys spotted near Aldershot.  But you two don’t look like Lost Boys.”

Rebekah takes my hand, and the man sees.

“You’re a couple then,” he concludes.  “That’s nice. It’s good to be paired up young if you can be, and only boys like you can be, I suppose.  You’re lucky. It’s a curse, these days, to be a man who only likes women. Too few to be liked by too many. Good thing I’m old.”

He kind of chuckles at that.

“You should stop in the restaurant down the street while you’re waiting for the cycle to charge. No sense standing in the hot sun.”

We have money. We’re hungry. So we take a chance.

We don’t expect to be greeted personally by the proprietor.

Harry, of Harry and Todd’s Eatery, is a very effusive host.  He is also a very obvious homosexual who clearly couldn’t be happier that he is what he is. There’s no mistaking him for a man who likes women.

“What do we have here?” he says as we walk in. “Two beautiful boys weary from the road.  Come in, children. Come in. Sit right here. What can I get you?”

We order. I order for Rebekah. And then Rebekah kicks me under the table.

“Which way to the restroom?” I ask.

Rebekah almost walks up to the door marked Women, before I grab her elbow and steer her in with me.

There are no customers in the restaurant but us. It’s too late for lunch, and too early for dinner. But we don’t take any chances. I stand guard while she does her business.  And then we both wash up.

The food is good. We eat quickly, and then get ready to pay. But before we can get up, Harry comes over and sits at the table with us.

“Children,” he says, “let me tell you something. My husband Todd and I have adopted and raised five wonderful boys. All grown now and doing as well as can be expected, thank The Designer. Unfortunately, they all prefer members of the rarer sex. But what can you do?  In any case, I know all about boys.  And I know all about boys who love other boys. The point I’m trying to make is that you, my lovely red-haired waif, are not a boy. Are you?”

Shit.  This is all we need.  One stop and we’re caught.

“Please don’t turn us in,” Rebekah pleads. She grabs my hand and her lips start to tremble.

“Please,” I echo.

“I’m not turning you in, my darlings,” says Harry. “Why would I do that? But do you realize how dangerous it is for you two to be drifting around the countryside pretending to be homosexuals, when it’s obvious you’re not? There’ve been Lost Boys reported in the area.  They’d eat you both for breakfast. And if you run into someone upstanding first, who suspects you’re violating the Coalition’s precious ‘sanctity of women’ ordinances—which you are, of course—and alerts the enforcers, then you’ll wish the Lost Boys had got you first.”

We’re doomed.  Doomed after just a day and a night.

Todd comes out from the kitchen.  He’s tall, lanky, has a big gray mustache, and is wearing an apron.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Trouble,” says Harry.  But he smiles when he says it.

We end up at Todd and Harry’s house after retrieving the sun-cycle. Harry insists.  Todd doesn’t say much.  I’m a little leery at first.  But Rebekah says she feels sure that they’re good people and I don’t disagree.

The house is a big clapboard two-story, that’s now occupied only by Harry and Todd, who, I get the feeling, may want to adopt us.

They really miss their kids.

“With so many boys being born, and some women popping them out an alarming rate, we could have applied to raise a dozen,” says Harry. “Sometimes I wish we had. They’re a joy when they’re little. Not so much when they get to be your age. But all our boys have grown into fine men.  One of them comes to visit now and then with his own boys. Most of the time, though, Todd and I just rattle around in this big, empty house.”

Rebekah is quickly becoming very attached to Harry.  And all this talk about Lost Boys is more than a little unsettling.  So we decide it can’t hurt to stay with Harry and Todd for a night or two.

We knew we were breaking the law when left.  We figured our parents would be very worried and upset. And we feel bad about that.  It always seemed like right thing to do, though.  Sort of an adventure.  Our only chance to be together.   But I guess we never really considered that there would be real danger.

The Coalition takes the “sanctity of women” ordinances seriously, like Harry said. I know that. Until now, though, I’ve kind of blanked out what would happen to me if we’re caught.  Now I cringe thinking about it, curling myself up, trying to protect my precious balls. And Rebekah. They’d make her marry some man who isn’t me—make her marry again, and again, and again.  She’d be gone from me forever.

I don’t know much about the Lost Boys except that they’re misfits. Violent, ruthless misfits who band together, roam the edges of the Coalition on sun-cycles, and take what they want. They’ve been known to rape and kill people.

So here we are, Rebekah and me, not so brave and not so sure of ourselves anymore.

Harry sits us down at his kitchen table to have another talk before we go to bed. Todd is there too, but he mostly lets Harry do the talking.

“Children,” he says. He always calls us children. I guess to him, we are. He says it as if he really likes us and wants to protect us, so I don’t object.

“What are we going to do with you? You’re not going to be safe, unless you miraculously manage to travel past Thunder Bay, which is like a million miles from here. Well, maybe not a million, but far. Very far. And who knows what’s really out there.  But it’s your only hope. And the only chance you have of making it that far is by doing what you’ve been doing. Pretending to be like us.”

“But you said I can’t pass as a boy.”

“Well, no, you can’t pass, lovely Rebekah, not if you’re being scrutinized by someone with a trained eye. You don’t walk like a boy. You don’t hold yourself like a boy. You don’t sound like a boy. You don’t come across as a boy, not even a very pretty boy who’d just as soon be a girl. But you can get better at pretending to be a boy. And most people don’t have a trained eye.”

“So I’ll try harder,” she says.

“Yes. We’ll help you. But that doesn’t solve the problem. Listen. Todd and I are very sympathetic to your dilemma. You’re monogamists at heart. Like us. Most homosexuals are monogamists. There’s nothing wrong with that. Not for us. But this is not a world where monogamist heteros like you two are accepted or allowed. We all know that. What we don’t know, not really, is what lies beyond Thunder Bay. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe that’s your hope—to find one of those elusive, scandalous, immoral monogamist outposts that The Designer allegedly detests, where one man can live with one woman in peace. Who knows?”

Todd nods.

Wait. What did Harry just say?

“Monogamist outposts?” pipes up Rebekah before I can ask. “What monogamist outposts? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know? Well, those in power certainly wouldn’t want you to know. But the Great Lakes Coalition isn’t the whole world, and it can’t control everything. There are rumors—more than rumors—of settlements.   You’re not the only two heteros who’ve decided they can’t live the way the Coalition says they have to live. Todd and I know people who know people who’ve helped people get as far as Thunder Bay.”

“So you can help us get there?” Rebekah asks

“No, sweetheart, not us. Do we look like your guides to the unknown? I can’t imagine anyone going that far.  To me, it might as well be on the moon. But you’ll stay here a while. Yes? And we’ll find out what we can. Todd and I have to go to Hamilton in a few days to pick up supplies for the Eatery. We go once a week. We have friends there. Maybe they can tell us something useful. We’ll ask.”

The idea of Thunder Bay—of going beyond Thunder Bay—has my mind racing.  I remember seeing it on a map, right at the top of Lake Superior, and liking the name. But Rebekah and I never considered going in that direction. We figured we’d just keep heading west, staying well south of Chicago. That’s pretty much unknown territory.

It occurs to me now just how clueless and naïve we’ve been, assuming we would just stumble upon someplace out west where there would be people who’d accept us, and let us live the way we want to live.

I wish we’d known about the monogamous outposts before we left. Grandma Gardener must know, and Mama, too. Lots of things are kept secret, I think, in the Coalition.

In school we’re taught that after The Great Flood, the remaining population migrated to the land around The Great Lakes. Religious people believe the Lakes are a haven, spared by The Designer.

Winnipeg is civilized, too.  It survived because it’s so far inland, and it has some lakes of its own. But it’s too remote from the Coalition to matter much, and they don’t have anything that we don’t have. So there’s no reason for anyone to go there. That’s all I remember from school.

Rebekah and I keep plying Harry with questions about the outposts, until he’s had enough of us.

“Really, children,” he says. “I’ve told you all I know. Be patient. Have a little patience. In the meantime, you’ll stay here.”

We’re lucky and grateful. We’re also dirty and tired. And Rebekah just about hugs Harry when he suggests that we might like to take showers before we go to bed. He gives us towels, and clean shirts to sleep in.

The bedroom we’re given has bunk beds. But that’s okay. I figured we would probably have to sleep apart, since Rebekah’s still got her period, and we’re in Harry and Todd’s house, and we don’t want to make a mess here, or have them hear us. But she’s got other ideas.

She orders me to take the bottom bunk, after I’ve gallantly offered to take the top, and then crawls in next to me.

Rebekah can be pushy sometimes. Not that I’m complaining.

“Move over,” she says. She’s got a towel with her that she carefully spreads out under us. This takes some maneuvering, and leads to tickling, which concludes with her pinching my behind.

Rebekah smells good, like soap, after her shower. I guess I must, too. 

“This time we’ll do it right,” she says.

I smile at her, dumbfounded.

Yes, no doubt about it. There is a Designer.

Chapter 14

Rebekah

Joined

People can tell you what it’s like to have sex, the mechanics of it.  But I don’t think it’s possible to describe how it feels to have sex the first time with someone you love.

Not perfect or magical or romantic.  Not for us, anyway.

Not the simple fact of him inside of me.

But something else. Something altogether different from any other feeling there could possibly be. At least for me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“You won’t,” I lie.

Neither one of us knows what we’re doing. That’s clear.

Afterwards we laugh, from the relief of it, and the joy of it. Even though it hurts a little.  Not that much, really.

“Rebekah,” he says to me, breathless, while we’re still joined, “I’ll love you forever. Only ever you.”

I think I’ve always loved David. But this kind of love—where we’re naked, inside and out, and shameless, and giddy in the knowledge of what we’re doing, what we’ve done—is new.

On the tarp, in the open, not really doing it the other night, only made me want him more. But it was lovely in its own way. David makes my blood race. And to see him like that, under the sky, to touch him, marvel at all the parts of him, and lie with him, skin to skin, was wonderful. A prelude, I think.

On the bunk bed we do it with him on top of me. I know there are other positions, maybe an infinite number of positions. He doesn’t know much. But maybe it’s better that way—to discover things for ourselves, together.

He finds me with his fingers first, touches me just a bit, and then he’s over me, and suddenly in me. Just partly to begin, then more, more, more. He comes quickly.

I don’t come. Not this time. There isn’t time.  But there’ll be other times.

Girls masturbate, just like boys. Well, maybe not just like boys. But I know my body. I know what’s down there. I know what feels good. I know what orgasms are. Still, I’m not at all disappointed that I didn’t see stars. I saw David seeing stars.

The sea sponge absorbs my menstrual blood, and David’s semen, and the blood from his penetration.  There’s hardly anything on the towel.

He falls asleep quickly. He does everything quickly tonight, I smile to myself.

I love this beautiful boy who has my heart, and now my body in his thrall. There is no one in the wide world—what’s left of the wide world—like David.  He’s mine. Every part of him.  I could never, ever, under pain of death, let another man touch me. It would be better to die. And I think I’d kill David if he ever loved another woman. I’d want to kill him.

What a strange thing. What a strange way to feel.

Most people don’t feel this way, can’t feel this way, in the Coalition.  It would be impossible. Things are the way they have to be. It’s not a choice. I understand that. So what makes David and me such odd creatures? What makes us unable to adapt and compels us to run away, not even knowing where we’re going?

How lucky we are to have stumbled upon Harry and Todd.

Maybe it’s more than luck. Maybe it’s fate.

I’ve never liked pretending to be a boy. I’ve just done it because it’s the only thing I could do.

When Papa John told me I couldn’t go to the barber anymore, and that I’d have to start wearing a long, stupid robe in public, and accept my fate, it hit me. I was doomed. I would have to conform, be like David’s mother, do what was expected of me. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

It’s me, more than David, I think, who instigated this adventure on his sun-cycle. It’ll be my fault if something bad happens to us. David thinks running away was mostly his idea. But he’s not even 17 yet. And he thinks he’s invincible.

Not everything that’s supposed to be bred out of men has been bred out of David.