tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69495371876491281852024-03-13T03:29:35.645-07:00The Family in the WindowTrystan, a gay high school senior looking for a romantic relationship lies on an internet dating site, saying he is a freshman in college to meet Mark a college sophomore on an athletic scholarship and hiding his sexuality from his friends and family. Can they make a relationship and will it endure? Updated Friday.Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-89249665972262797752012-08-09T19:39:00.001-07:002012-08-09T19:39:53.913-07:00The Family in the Window- Denial<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Look I don’t know what kind of fooling around you were doing yesterday but it didn’t go over too well with your mother and your little brother was there. I don’t think he knew what was going on but you can’t be doing that stuff. It’s all politics now. I told you about being PC when you are out with the guys or doing anything. You can’t have people coming out later saying that, ‘oh he did this or oh he said that’ and it’s insensitive. It could ruin a career or at the very least make you apologize for something that you didn’t really mean.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father squinted at him. Maybe he had really thought it was a joke, Mark thought, some kind of stunt but it wasn’t. It was an attempt. Or maybe his father was giving him a way out? He could apologize, deny, and go about the rest of his life but then he thought about Tristan, their dates and Tristan’s parents. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“But what if I meant it?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s that supposed to mean?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He inhaled deeply then said, “Dad, I’m gay.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father gulped and for a moment he worried that his father would act out in some way, slap him or grab at him, try to shake the truth or maybe even a lie out of him for the sake of being right, being moral, being Christian. He gritted his teeth at the thought because he felt like he might fight back. It had been years since he felt his father could best him in a fight, even longer since his father had beat him with a belt.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” his father said. “It’s all very PC now. You hear these terms but you don’t really know what they mean.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Butt sex, Mark thought, you mean butt sex, just say it dad, sodomy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Look you’re young. It’s different these days with it being on the television and all but it’s not actually like that. It’s not all dancing. There’s more to it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sodomy, Mark thought, his father was worried about sex.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I want you to think about it. You can’t be gay.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark was stunned. His father had just denied to him the thing he just admitted, the truth he felt in every part of him. The truth that once said felt like a burden taken from his chest and shoulders but his father denied it, denied how he felt.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Why not?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father clinched down harder with his crossed arms.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“How would you know? I mean you’re a regular guy in sports and everything. You’ve dated girls, some pretty ones too.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Dad,” Mark said. He sighed at the frustration of having to explain himself much less telling the truth about those dates he had been on, dates he had largely made up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I didn’t really date anyone. I was just, I just wanted to get out of the house.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You can’t be gay. You know what that means right? You know about what the Bible says.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah dad I know,” Mark said. “I hear it all of the time.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father stared him in the eye and for a moment he thought the man was going to come loose and strike him for being so sarcastic in what felt like a crisis.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You can’t be joking about this kind of stuff. I mean we’re talking about hell and no one is going to respect it. Think about your teammates. You wouldn’t know. You’re too young.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Dad I’m dating someone,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father tightened his grip on his own biceps then and Mark thought for sure if he had truly had his way the man would have tried to strangle him then or else hit him but he was struggling to not act. It wasn’t a struggle against his own moral sensibility but culture, a society where he wasn’t supposed to hit people much less his son.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s been going on for over a month now,” Mark said. “He’s kind of my boyfriend.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father opened his mouth but didn’t speak and instead reeled back and turned away slightly and let go of his arms then brought his hands up to his own face. Mark worried for a moment that his father might begin to cry but instead he turned back to Mark and looked him in the eye.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I can’t deal with this right now,” his father said. The man turned on him and walked to the doorway. He looked back with a confusion of anger and sadness in his eyes as if he had been betrayed. “Don’t say anything to your mother and don’t say anything to your brother. I don’t want him to get confused.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father closed the door with a thud that jolted Mark from the focus of their conversation to a panic of confusion. He had lost control of the situation. He needed to get out and he needed to talk to someone. He reached for his phone and called Tristan.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-54247190608650078642012-08-02T17:45:00.000-07:002012-08-02T17:45:34.994-07:00The Family In The Window- Family Game Night<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His mother’s soft rap on the door that alerted Mark to close the pornography displayed on his monitor. She didn’t mind his locked door and always knocked since he was fifteen, just after she had taught him to clean his own sheets.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Coming,” he said and moved across the room. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He unlocked the door then opened it. His mother waited with the phone pressed between her shoulder and chin, the antenna pointed out through her blonde hair making her look like a robot.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Your father thinks we should have game night tonight.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He wants to get sandwiches. Do you want your regular?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Sure.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She turned away. “Just get him his regular sandwich. He said game night was okay. I assume he’s not going out tonight.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark closed the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hours later, dark outside, his father pushed open the door with bags of food in his hands and a cold wind that rushed over his shoulder and into the living room where Mark sat with his brother. The wind chilled his toes and he jumped to his feet to help his father who even though the bags were heavy and awkward was trying to kick off his shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Help me get this food to the table,” his father said handing him bags. “Actually don’t set anything on the table yet because some of the food is hot. Set it next to the table and we’ll get some mats.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No problem,” Mark said. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His parents had been careful with the dining room table since they bought it five yeas ago. At first he couldn’t eat at it unless it was with his family and even then his brother couldn’t play near it. A natural cave or headquarters was off limits. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He retrieved the mats, large cloth squares with butterflies, and set them out. His father stepped into the archway his shirt unbuttoned exposing his white shirt.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Have your brother help,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He won’t listen to me.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay. Cory! Come help your brother.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then he was gone and his brother slowly made his way from the living room, looking back at the television as long as he could.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What did dad want?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You to help me set out the food,” Mark answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I hate doing this stuff,” Cory said. He walked to the bags and picked them up, carried them to the table.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Set them on the mats,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay, whatever,” he responded and pushed the bags to the nearest mat. “Are you going to get the plates?” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’ll get them right now.” Mark turned away. Times like this he was jealous of his brother who could be lazy and slow, who could complain.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He took a deep breath and let it pass though and went about trying to be civil. They were slow to come to the table and even more slow to start to play the game of Life as they ate. They played through each round as they ate and Mark was trying to keep his patience with his younger brother. His father stepped away from the table when it wasn’t his turn to check his phone and email on his computer. The bond was slowly dissolving when Mark found himself pulling a fateful card to get married.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s it,” his mother said. She sounded out the wedding procession music with her tongue.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark reached into the box and found the second pink piece and held it up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Maybe in a game,” Mark said, “but not in real life.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Married to a girl?” Cory asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark laughed and looked to the empty seat where his father had been sitting.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Or a boy these days,” Mark said. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Only in some states,” his mother added before she sat back and rubbed her hands together.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I don’t want to be married to a girl,” Cory said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark looked to his mother. He felt motivated by the date he had had to do something but he sensed his mother was holding onto her regal, conservative sensibility as she watched him. But he felt they already knew, should have known. He wanted to push the limits. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark picked up the little blue piece representing a man and dropped the pink back into the box then slowly under his mother’s watch he placed the piece into his car. She looked to Cory who didn’t seem to understand what was going on.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His father appeared in the doorway.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What did I miss?” he asked upon approach.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We all went,” Mark said. “It’s your turn now.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His father sat, barely noticed the board. He reached for the spinner.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And your son got married,” his mother said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Good for him.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Look at the piece,” his mother said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His father looked to board.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Which one?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mark’s,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Which one is that?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He motioned with her head and he looked to the board where he saw the car and smiled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well,” he said, “that’s a boy piece.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I found myself a partner,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He’s not going into business,” she replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well,” his father said, “well take it out and put in a different piece. I’m sure he’s just goofing around. You’re just goofing around right?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark looked to his mother who bit her lip and looked to Cory. There were too many reservations in her eyes, too much not being said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Cory go to your room we have to talk to your brother,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?” Cory asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Cory go,” his father commanded.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No don’t,” Mark said pushing away from the table. “I don’t want to play anymore.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What’s going on?” his brother asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nothing,” Mark said. “You can play your fucking game.” He walked from the room through the hallway and up the stairs to his room. He closed the door and pressed his back to it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Whatever he thought about his parents, whatever he thought they knew and accepted, was all gone in a moment of their doubt. His anger burned in him. He balled his fist. He wished he had smashed the game, shoved it off, thrown it really but then he thought about Cory who didn’t know what was going on and he didn’t feel such regret for long. No, he did the mature thing. He wanted to yell, kick, punch but it all felt so useless so he sunk down to the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-33728678908796964372012-07-26T19:28:00.002-07:002012-07-26T19:28:39.449-07:00The Family In the Window- the Goodnight Kiss<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It wasn’t the usual date, Tristan thought, but he had been able to bring his date, a boy, home for dinner. His family had been quirky but friendly all through dinner. His father tried talking sports but he was out of his element so Mark asked him lots of questions about computers. He was good at keeping the conversation going and he was a good listener. Tristan watched him, studied him, as he became comfortable with the family. He had even seemed to taken a liking to Brandon who insisted on sitting next to their guest and tried a few times to start a wrestling match while they ate. Nothing serious, just a poke in the arm or a verbalized dare which Mark played off with ease.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As she served dessert his mother began to ask Mark about college. She asked if he liked it, what he was studying, if he found it difficult to keep up sports and academics. Mark answered each question easily until she asked the wrong question. A question that raised the hairs on Tristan’s body.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“So are your parents and your teammates accepting you being gay very well? No passive aggressiveness on the field or anything?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark had been looking at his plate as she asked the question and he froze for a moment before he looked to her then to Tristan. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Mom,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. I know it’s not easy. I mean with... I mean it’s none of my business.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No it’s fine,” Mark said. He looked back to his plate and continued to pry at his piece of apple pie with his spoon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan hadn’t thought he wouldn’t have been out to his team, probably not to his father either, but he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know. That would have been too cliche to assume because these were changing times. Weren’t they?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m uh, not really out to anyone.” Mark cleared his throat. He looked Tristan in the eye. “Tristan is my first real date. It hadn’t really been an issue before. I mean I never really hid anything. I just haven’t said anything.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Your team doesn’t know?” Brandon asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He looked to the boy then.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, they don’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s okay to be gay,” Brandon said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark smiled and then everyone laughed in a nervous, amused way except Brandon who looked around at them and asked, “What?”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They shook their heads but they all knew they had shared something that no one wanted to comment on right then. They ate dessert mostly in silence after that. Mark’s heartbeat slowed as they sat together until when Tristan motioned his head out of the room he came alive again. Then when Tristan stood he followed until they were down the hallway. For a moment he thought they would go back to the living room so he was surprised when Tristan indicated they should go up the stairs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“We’re going up to my room,” Tristan called out. “I want to show it to Mark.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Keep the door open,” Kelly called back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan blushed at the phrase but didn’t falter as he walked. When they reached the top of the stairs he turned on the hallway light. He opened the first door on the right a crack and said, “Barney is in here. We thought it would be too much if he was at the door and always around when you were here. He likes to beg.” Mark peeked into the bathroom where Barney lay spread out on the linoleum.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Big dog,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, he likes to sleep on the linoleum because its cooler. Come on.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark followed him down the hallway. When he spotted an open doorway Tristan said that was his brother’s room. At the end of the hallway on the right Tristan pushed open his bedroom door and turned on the light. The room was clean and orderly. There was a desk against one wall with a computer tower and flat screen monitor, two dressers littered on top with various papers and knickknacks, one with a mirror, there was a folding door for a built in closet, and when the door closed slightly there was a hanging, plastic shoe holder full of different types of shoes. Tristan’s bed was made, a power cable ran under it to a laptop.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You have a tower and a laptop? Your family is pretty serious on electronics.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, when your father is in the industry,” Tristan said scratching at the back of his neck. “Look, I mean it’s sick.” He stepped to one of the dressers and pushed aside papers to show an iPad that had been buried. “He likes to stay up to date. I get everything passed on to me.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You like this stuff?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s okay,” Tristan said. “But what I really wanted to show you was these.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He stepped to the closet door and opened it. Inside on a little rack was a collection of bow-ties. Tristan pulled one out and set it on the dresser with the mirror.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Did you really like mine?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah of course,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Then I want you to have one. Let’s see.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan took his time to find the right one, often holding them up to Mark’s shirt, even partially tying them or completely tying them then having him give his opinion as he looked at himself in the mirror. Finally he settled on a dark blue one made of silk. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Let me show you how to tie it,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark watched then had him do it again before he tried himself but it wasn’t working.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m hopeless,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Don’t say that. Here.” Tristan showed him again then pulled it loose.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark closed his eyes to repeat the steps to himself before he took up the task. In a few quick motions it formed easily in his fingers.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“That’s it,” Tristan said. “Here let me give you a reward.” He stepped close and taking Mark by the shoulders pulled him into a brief kiss. Mark loved the feeling of it yet felt weird about being in the younger man’s bedroom, in his home no less. He pushed back for a small separation.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Don’t worry, I can hear them if they come up the stairs,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They kissed again and this time Tristan ran his hand up Mark’s back. Mark felt so excited he decided to do the next thing and reached down to grab at Tristan’s buttocks. He gripped them lightly but enough to make Tristan rise off the back of his feet and into Mark’s kiss. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a few moments of groping and kissing Tristan pushed away slightly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“We really should be getting back down there. But I really want to keep this up.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“They’ll notice we’ve been up here too long. I mean how long does it take to put on a tie?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan smiled and stepped out of Mark’s hold but took him by the hand and led him downstairs. When they got down to the landing Mark stopped and pulled Tristan back to him. From where they stood he could see that Brandon was at the television playing video games again and Tristan’s parents were still in the dining room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I think I should be going,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah no problem just let me show my parents that we picked out the perfect tie.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan dragged Mark down the hallway to where his parents were enjoying a glass of Cognac and holding hands on the table.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Check it out,” Tristan said pointing to Mark’s neck.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Nice,” Craig said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Quite handsome,” Kelly said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark blushed at the compliments. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Thanks,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Their fingers had become entwined then.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I picked it out for him. Something to remember me by.” His parents smiled. “Because Mark said he had to be getting on the road.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, it’s pretty late.” He looked to his watch. It was only quarter after ten but that had to be late to them. “I should get on the road before the snow really comes down. If it hasn’t already.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, I just looked not too long ago and it looked okay still. No blizzard like back in 2003.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“That was pretty bad stuff,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You’ve driven in snow at night before? You know about black ice?” Kelly asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, I know about it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, okay then.” And for a moment it seemed too simple then she stood and she walked to the two of them. “We really liked having you here tonight. We want to see you again.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She reached out to him and took him in her arms and gave him a deep hug. Mark looked over her shoulder to Craig who smiled back and he felt Tristan’s hand squeeze his own and he felt his eyes become watery, just enough to be wet but not enough to cry. A hesitant feeling of sorrow, or was it joy, just at his skin. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She let go of him and he smiled more at her before Tristan led him away and back to the main door where he handed back the sweater and the coat. Then he leaned into the living room and said:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hey, say goodnight butt head.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Good night butt head,” Brandon called out from the living room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan looked back to Matt and shrugged his shoulders.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark was about to leave when Brandon ran from the living room and stopped at the edge of the foyer.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You said we’d wrestle. You’d show me some moves.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Next time,” Mark said before backing out of the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yeah, next time,” Tristan said before following him out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s cold out here,” Mark said as Tristan closed the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Then we better make it quick.” Tristan grabbed him by his coat and pulled him into a kiss.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-38663348447655095292012-07-26T19:14:00.000-07:002012-07-26T19:14:20.298-07:00The Family In the Window- Non SequentialI don't know the rules to this blogging but I found myself reading a chapter I had written previously that I felt really reflected where I want to go with the story yet it didn't follow with the previous post. In previous times this would have been enough to make me stop my writing for at least a week and really consider how I connected what seemed to be two separate parts but I feel compelled to post. <br />
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The following makes sense, though there is the invention of a new character, Tristan's brother, think of him as the sister from Buffy the Vampire Slayer television show except I don't quite have a way of explaining her. If this were a book I would have rewritten chapters before anyone ever saw them. <br />
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As this is, I feel, true to the nature of the story I will post this chapter as well as an additional chapter. </div>
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Also, I would love to hear back from more readers, just click on the pencil at the end of the post and as long as they are not spam I will post them.</div>
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Begin Post:</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Would you come over for dinner? I want you to meet my family.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It wasn’t the date Mark had in mind. He asked if Tristan’s parents knew he was dating someone older, in college and Tristan said that he had told them. “I just couldn’t keep it a secret,” he’d said. “I don’t keep secrets from my family. That’s actually kind of why they want to meet you.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark said he would go right away but as he thought about it he realized it was more out of desperation than interest. He would do anything to keep Tristan interested in him. He needed him. Meeting the family of the boy you are dating? That was something else. They had talked several times over the phone and each time he had played it cool and not said anything that was going on in his own life that week. They talked about television and video games, good movies and bad dining experiences, but when it came to family Mark had only asked the questions.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan answered them all. His father was in computers, some kind of salesman who had been in the business all of his life, since before the five and half floppy disk. His mother was a part-time librarian at the junior high where Tristan had gone to school. That only led to mild embarrassment. He made sure to check out a book once a week even if he didn’t read all of it, he’d said, and nothing too racy. Tristan had said that his brother was into science fiction, specifically Star Wars. He liked all of the movies and he dressed up twice as Luke Skywalker for Halloween. He was also into Ultimate Fighting Championship and was in a youth league. Tristan said it was funny to watch them fight but he was afraid his brother could kick his ass. They had a St. Bernard named Barney. And his whole family knew that he was gay. And they were okay with it. They were inviting him to their home, no doubt to check him out, but still.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“How should I dress?” he had asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Nothing too formal, you know, just uh, semi-casual. Whatever you have from the Gap.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Should I not bring flowers or a present?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hah, hah,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No I’m serious,” Mark said with laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Very funny, just yourself is enough.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He dressed in khaki pants, a light blue button down shirt, no tie, and an auburn vest, black dress shoes. It was the only semi-formal clothes he had in his dorm room. Most of it hidden under his coat as he stood outside Tristan’s home under the glow of the porch light as he stared at the Nativity Scene and waited for someone to answer the door. He lightly touched the spikes in his hair and was surprised they were pointed and hard as if frozen by the cold weather. The wooden door opened and he was comforted to see Tristan there on the other side of the screen door with a large smile on his face, dressed in a button down shirt of his own and a bow tie. He pushed the thin door open and invited Mark inside.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark stepped inside and Tristan closed the door. He was glad to find himself in a small foyer with no one else around. He took his hands from his pockets and unzipped his coat which Tristan took and hung on the coat rack.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You look nice,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You too, nice tie,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Thanks.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then for Mark, Tristan did an unexpected thing by stepping to him for a hug. He let the unfamiliar arms encircle him and he winced as he looked over Tristan’s shoulder for someone who might disapprove. No one was there yet it was still strange, he thought. He hugged back a little just around the waist when Tristan pulled back. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What’s this?” Tristan asked pointing to the sweater.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Too much?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Just a little,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Here,” Mark said and he pulled the sweater up over his head. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Oh,” Tristan said but then Mark offered him the sweater and he fell silent. “I’ll just hang it up with your coat.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Thanks,” Mark said. “I wasn’t sure when I put it on.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“The best fashion tip I ever heard was get dressed for the evening then look away from the mirror and turn back real quick, whatever sticks out to you take it off.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Was that on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Can’t remember.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There was a sudden sound of thudding feet from above then the sound of feet quickly running down the stairs to the right. Mark looked to see what must have been Tristan’s brother coming down the stairs full-throttle. He hit the landing and slid on the small carpet there almost falling to the ground.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hi there,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“That’s Brandon.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The boy moved to him with an extended hand which Mark shook.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You want to wrestle?” Brandon asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Oh God, Tristan thought, here we go.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You don’t even say hello?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hello,” Brandon said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you think you can take me? Your brother says that you’re an Ultimate Fighter or something.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“UFC Youth League,” Brandon said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Pretty tough then?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I could kick your ass,” Brandon answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark laughed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Brandon,” Tristan said in a stern voice. “I told you not to say that.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You think it’s funny,” Brandon said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Serious guy aren’t you?” Mark looked to Tristan who clearly wanted to move on with the introductions and the tour. “I’ll tell you what. After dinner I’ll show you a few moves.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You wrestled?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“In junior high I came in second at the local championship.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Really? You could show me some moves?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, but later,” Mark said and he began to walk.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan was quick to usher him down the hallway away from his brother. One down, Mark thought. Who’s next? He stopped in the entrance to the kitchen when he spotted Tristan’s mother standing at the sink with a colander in her hand washing off the cooked pasta. She looked to him and smiled. Her blonde was cut in a stylish way about her head. She was thin, an athletic build, and she wore silver jewelry, a cross pendant hanged from around her neck.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m Tristan’s mother Kelly.” She set the colander down and moved to shake his hand. He took it easily.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Mam,” he said. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She smiled as if amused by how he addressed her but it didn’t faze him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Tristan’s father is running late so I’m sure you guys can find something to do in the meantime. I’m a little early with the food. I’m always out of synch with him for dinner. But if you guys are hungry I can fix you guys some appetizers. Tristan why don’t you show your friend in to the living room where the video games are and come back for a snack for you guys.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark was about to refuse the offer and plead that he wasn’t hungry but he saw that she wasn’t willing for such a comment so he turned to Tristan who said, “right back this way” with a sweep of his hand. Mark nodded to Kelly then followed after Tristan. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Brandon in the living room already turning on the television and the video game system.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you want to play some video games?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan looked to Mark who shrugged at the inconvenience of Brandon’s presence and stepped into the room where he took one of the offered controllers. Tristan said he’d be right back before heading to the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So what type of games do you like?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“All kinds, we got Left for Dead in there right now but we’ve got racing games, sports games, wrestling games, lots of them. What do you like?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Whatever you like to play,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay, let’s play this for now.” Brandon sat on the floor leaving plenty of space for Mark to join him so he did.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In the quiet of the game loading Mark cocked his ear to the kitchen where he could hear Tristan talking to his mother.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What do you think?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“He’s nice,” Kelly said. “He’s cute too.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Mom,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I know. But you should have heard what my parents had to say about my first boyfriend.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No, he’s nice. Really polite, you should take him a drink too.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Would you help get Brandon out of there?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“But how would I know you two are behaving in there alone?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Mom,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The game menu popped up and Brandon began switching through the submenus with ease. Mark only paid the least amount of attention to it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay, okay, I’ll give you hand.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He could hear them walking back together and looked to the entrance where Tristan entered with a plate of appetizers and a drink in hand, his mother close behind him with another drink.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Come on Brandon, leave them alone for a while. You can come help me in the kitchen--”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Mom,” Brandon said. Mark realized it was a thing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Come on,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Just one game.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No come on, Mark has been really nice to you so let’s give them some privacy.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay,” Brandon said. He set the controller down and without looking back he darted from the room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Kelly stepped to Mark where she handed him the glass then retreated to the kitchen herself. Tristan looked slightly embarrassed at their acts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I have a family too,” Mark said. “Don’t worry about it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“They can be embarrassing,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It’s their job.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So did you really want to play video games?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Doesn’t matter, I’m pretty good at Left for Dead.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay then, you’re on.” He sat next to Mark and picked up the abandoned controller. It wasn’t long before they were involved in the game, cheering each other on and giving each other direction. They had become so involved with the game that when the front door opened they both jumped from the sound and looked to each other and began to laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hi guys,” Tristan’s father said from the door. “Boy the snow is beginning to fall.” Mark looked back but he couldn’t see the man from where he sat so he looked to Tristan who paused the game and began to stand. Mark watched for a moment. He looked up Tristan’s long legs, his flat stomach as he stretched.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Come on,” Tristan said snapping him from his reverie.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark stood and looked to the archway where Tristan’s father stood. The two of them looked alike only his father had a full beard and wrinkles under the eyes. His thin hair on top of his head was long enough to dance about his head when he moved but was still short enough to be combed back in formal settings.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hi there,” Mark said stepping forward and offering his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hi, my name is Craig.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Nice to meet you sir,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Craig hesitated for a second, holding back what he felt like saying and instead only smiled. They all heard Brandon at the same time yelling from somewhere beyond the kitchen as he ran their way. Craig turned and dropped low ready for his son he caught the boy and lifted him into the air with a spin before setting him down then feigning injury to his back and complaining that the boy was becoming too big or he was getting too old for that kind of entrance. Just how old was he, Mark thought, he couldn’t be more than forty. Could he?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Beer?” Craig asked. Mark looked to him quizzically. Craig smiled and said that he had just been kidding. “Besides you’re only, what, nineteen.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Uh yeah, I mean I just turned twenty in October.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And I’m eighteen,” Tristan added.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well,” Craig said. “I better go check on dinner. Brandon come help me set the table.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“But it’s Tristan’s turn.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I wasn’t asking and your brother has company.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay,” Brandon said before following his father back down the hallway to the kitchen. Mark watched as Craig met with his wife and kissed her on the cheek before taking the dish she had in her hands and turning into another room that hid been unlit as Mark walked past it before, a room just beside the living room where Mark realized the rooms connected by two large sliding doors.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Are you ready for this?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark looked to Tristan. My second date, he thought, a boyfriend maybe or else something else and he wasn’t even out to his family. How much more could happen before it all collapsed around him?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah,” Mark said.</span></div>
</div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-9353192369849097332012-07-19T00:38:00.001-07:002012-07-19T00:38:52.986-07:00The Family in the Window- pt. 09 What You Want<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan slept five hours when he was awoken by his cell phone and he could tell by the tone that it was Evan. He thought about letting it go to voicemail but then he thought about the night he had just had and he decided he wanted someone to talk to so he answered it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, how’s it going?” Evan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not bad,” Tristan said as he rubbed at his face. “What time is it?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s almost 3 o’clock. Were you sleeping or lost track of time whacking off?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sleeping,” Tristan said, “I had a long night.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Out on a date?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Really?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Tristan pulled the covers aside and reached for his jeans. “Do you want to come over?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know I do,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay,” Tristan said but then he remembered that he had been out late, that his mother was there in the kitchen when he got home, and though she had seemed to believe his story, the same story from the previous night she seemed disappointed, maybe because he had been up all night. “Wait,” he said, “I have to find out if I’m grounded.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Dude,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know, I know, I’m eighteen and all but I’m still in high school.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> He pulled his pants up one handed then found a shirt and as he tried to think about how to get it on while still holding his phone he decided to tell Evan to come over anyway as he didn’t really think he was grounded. He closed the cell phone and put on his shirt then headed for the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The house was quiet and he didn’t hear a television from downstairs but he suspected his mother was in the kitchen so he stopped in the bathroom upstairs because she often started conversations with him when all he wanted was to pass by her. After a quick flush of the toilet and wash of his face he headed downstairs and to the kitchen which he found empty then he spotted a note on the refrigerator door written on the erase board.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Visiting friends, be home late, love mom,” he read the note aloud then stopped at the phone number written below. He didn’t know who the friends were but it didn’t matter, though he didn’t know why she left a number if she also had her cell phone on her. He shook his head and opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a cola from inside along with a bag of lunch meat and cheese. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Everything seemed to be moving faster than he could process it until his first taste of cola then he perked up and pulled his phone from his pocket. As much as he wanted to stick around until Evan got there he knew it would be boring so he texted him that he’d be in his room and the front door would be unlocked. He made a sandwich, unlocked the door, and headed to his room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At his desk he pulled his phone back out as he had thought about texting Mark, or maybe calling him, but he decided to play it cool. They had a third date arranged. It was set. But it didn’t feel right. Why didn’t it feel right?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He turned to his computer and woke it from hibernation and began to check his multiple e-mail accounts. There was one for social media, one for friends, and one for everyone else including family. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They had kissed. It had been nice, fun, to be on the dorm room bed at a college with someone close to two years older. They had dated, real types of dates too, and Mark he was an attractive guy, muscular and handsome. It was the type of relationship that should have been instant, anyone else would have killed for, the type that was in romance novels and television shows. Mark was the type of guy, the guy, he was supposed to want, supposed to sacrifice for and yet it didn’t feel exactly right. There was something missing, a wall between the two of them, a barrier. Then he thought about his lies and he wanted to come clean, felt bad for having told them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He heard a knock on the front door then the sound of his dog, Barney, barking and finally the sound of the door being opened. He knew that Evan that Evan and Barney got along with each other but that Evan was still wary of the dog so he started for the door of his bedroom.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey where you at?” Evan called out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Up here,” Tristan yelled back. He moved into the hallway and down the steps to find Evan was still by the door, cast in silhouette by the sun’s light, a dark shadow that leaned over petting Barney who wagged his tail.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re a big dumb fucker aren’t you? Aren’t you?” Evan joked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey that’s my dog you’re talking about.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Who said I was talking to the dog,” Evan said before he stood and Tristan saw the change in his shadow, two or three more inches on top of his head that hadn’t been there before.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What did you do?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you like it?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I can’t see it,” Tristan said. He turned on the living room light and looked to Evan who stood in a half-heroic pose, dressed in black, and a full mohawk shaved onto his head. He looked at his friend’s angled body, pale skin, and the mohawk. Evan always had to be daring. For a moment he thought fondly of his friend, I forget how handsome you are, but then that spell was broken. He had to say something because he had been caught staring.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wow, that’s pretty extreme,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, I picked the wrong fucking time to do it because it’s winter but still it’s pretty cool huh.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, does your mother know?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“She helped me shave it,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You got strange parents.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And you got lame ones. Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan shook his head and told Evan to hang his jacket on the coat rack then lead the way into the kitchen where he fixed Evan a sandwich and got him a cola before they headed up to his room. There was one thing he wanted to talk about, one thing that Evan probably wanted to talk about, the date. Tristan moved to the desk chair and turned on his friend who sat on the bed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s going to be pretty bitchin’ at school. Does that pass the dress code?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey if cheerleaders can get away with wearing their uniforms and short skirts anytime they want then I get a fuckin’ mohawk.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s still black,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, I want to bleach it and dye it a color but I’m not sure which one. I have a couple.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. “Now quit stalling and tell me what happened. Did you fuck?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan gave Evan his best angry look and shook his head.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So what did you guys do?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know,” Tristan looked away.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on man tell me. It’s been too long since I had any kind of fun and it was with you.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, we kissed a lot.” Evan mocked boredom. “With our shirts off.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Good, what else?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He played with my nipples.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He played with your nipples?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“A lot,” Tristan said, “he found I was kind of ticklish and we were on the bed with a bunch of pillows and blankets and stuff. We kind of just fooled around, you know.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So that was it?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Pretty much,” Tristan answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s what you called me over here for?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You called me?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s just, I don’t know this morning. He dropped me off and I don’t know. It’s like it’s not supposed to be or something.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It was the second date,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know but still.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Still what? Look he’s everything you want in a guy right?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan frowned at the question as he eyed his friend. At that moment he wanted Evan and for a brief second it felt like there was a connection between them, a feeling of electricity that they had both recognized something but then Evan burped and got off the bed and walked to the book shelf.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Maybe not everything but close,” Tristan said. He felt it with Evan too. They were each pushing the other away. Maybe that was meant to be too, he thought. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So go for it,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But what if he just wants sex and I’m just nothing to him? What if he dumps me? I mean I lied to him.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You lied?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“A lot,” Tristan said, “I told him I was in college.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So what?” Evan squatted at the shelf as he perused through the titles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Some of us want more than casual sex,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Evan looked him in the eye then said, “Maybe sometimes that’s all we get.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan felt a knot in his stomach as he had been the one to break up their romantic relationship to be ‘just friends’ because things were moving too fast and he wanted to experience something, someone, else.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Fuck,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s right.”</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-62074061774202663142012-07-11T22:22:00.001-07:002012-07-11T22:22:58.503-07:00Chapter 08- Tickled Pink<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tired of kissing Tristan and Mark sat bare shoulder to bare shoulder in Mark’s dorm room holding hands with their eyelids closed. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning. They had no aspirations and the apartment was quiet.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I love this time of morning when everything is quiet,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know it’s like even the most die hard party person has gone to sleep or is too stoned to do anything.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you feel like sleeping?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I just want to lie here for a second with my eyes closed.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This is nice.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Tristan said. “Do you have to do anything tomorrow?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You mean today,” Mark corrected.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you have to do anything today?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just sleep. You?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I have to go home at some point,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark raised up their hands for a moment and tightened his grasp before dropping them back down.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m getting hungry,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you have any food around?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Nothing good but I know where there is vending machine if you got a dollar or two.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What about going somewhere?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, I hate those kinds of places,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay, we’ll go to the vending machine,” Tristan said, “as soon as I take a nap.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark smiled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Take a nap? You can’t take a nap.” Mark sat up and turned on Tristan, placed one knee over Tristan’s lap until he was straddling him. He grabbed at Tristan’s sides, his ribs, and Tristan smiled at the touch. “Come on let’s go. Get up.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark tickled Tristan’s skin to little effect then began to move his finger tips as he watched Tristan’s face. He could tell how effective he was by how Tristan smiled. He moved them around until almost under Tristan’s armpit when Tristan began to giggle. Tristan opened his eyelids and held up his hands to Mark’s shoulders. Mark didn’t stop. He pursued the feeling as Tristan began to laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Shh,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You’re the one tickling me,” Tristan said. He was surprised by just how ticklish he felt.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Make me stop,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan pushed against Mark’s body but the attempt was feeble. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Come on,” Mark said. He smiled as Tristan began to quiver at his touch until Tristan’s arms had retracted in an attempt to trap Mark’s hands but he could still feel the end of Tristan’s arm pit. He let out a loud laugh. “What do you think you’re doing?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Stop it,” Tristan said through laughter. He rolled onto his side and attempted to maneuver his way from under Mark’s thighs.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You’re trapped,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan laughed louder. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Stop,” Tristan said. He tried to reach to pull himself away but Mark repositioned himself easily and as Tristan reached he left himself more vulnerable.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay,” Mark said, “do you really want me to stop?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No,” Tristan said between giggles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay,” Mark said as he continued making Tristan giggle.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wait,” Tristan said, “wait, seriously, I have to pee.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark stopped and Tristan quieted, rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s wrong?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m trying to not pee myself.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark pushed himself away and stood next to the bed. Tristan looked to him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I have to use the bathroom,” Tristan said. He pushed himself from the bed and moved to the bedroom door. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wait,” Mark said. He picked up Tristan’s shirt from the floor and threw to him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Right,” Tristan said before he put on his shirt. He opened the door and stepped from the room into the hallway then turned back and asked where the bathroom was and Mark told him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan moved down the hallway to the open door and entered then closed the door behind him. The bathroom was cleaner than he had expected it would be only a little grime in the more difficult areas to clean. He peed then washed his hands. He saw himself in the mirror for a second before he exited. He looked as tired as he felt. He stepped back to the room and pushed open the door. Mark was on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Let’s go get some candy,” Tristan said. Tristan slid into his shoes then they walked from the dorm back across campus to the vending machines where they purchased a small collection of different snacks and a drink each.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They were cold despite their jackets and clothing as the sun had not fully risen. They walked out to the campus square and sat on a bench. It hadn’t snowed in days.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Even with the buildings and trees all around them it was easy to see the sun rise, the slow change from dark skies to gray, then blue. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s nice to see the sky change color,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s funny, but what looks like a two dimensional image to us, the slow change of the night sky is really much more complex and yet simple. It’s the earth turning, the sun rays illuminating a formerly dark surface. We see it as just a change in color but it isn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I feel like I could stay up all day,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Can you drive me home?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Of course,” Mark said. He stood and they walked to his car. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once inside Mark turned on the heater.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It really is cold out there,” Tristan said. “It’s funny how you stop feeling things when you are too tired.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark wiped at his face with his hands and shook his head back and forth then took another drink from his cola. He felt stimulated if not awake. Tristan turned on his phone and set the GPS guide for his home.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nearly thirty minutes later they were outside Tristan’s home. Mark turned off the car and looked across Tristan to the house where he could see the Nativity Scene in the front window. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Why aren’t they on your lawn?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“My mother is afraid that Jesus will be stolen,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“That’s pretty funny,” Mark said. “Bad neighborhood?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Not really,” Tristan said, “just pranksters.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark sat back and they looked each other in the eye.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“So,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark grimaced at the comment.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Are we a couple now or do we go on another date?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I don’t know,” Mark said. He thought about his father, his dorm mates, guys from high school and how little they had talked, but he wanted something, he wanted someone. “Let’s go on another date then see what happens.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan’s shoulders sunk at the news. They had spent the night kissing, touching, and he had been tickled on the dorm room bed. It was second base.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I just think we should get to know each other more,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay,” Tristan replied. “I’m too tired to plan anything. Let’s play it by ear.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay, let’s play it by ear. Why don’t you call me and see if we can make another date? Next time I’ll buy.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Okay,” Tristan said. It didn’t feel right, somehow things were breaking apart, they were farther from each other than before they had kissed, as if two magnet poles trying to repel each other. Tristan opened the car door and got out. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark felt the repulsion as well as if they had tricked themselves, each other, their night together hadn’t been real. He wanted to do something to hold onto the moment, to hold onto Tristan.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wait,” Mark said, “let’s go out again next Friday.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan leaned down into the car.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Really?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark moved across the bench seat and took Tristan’s face in his hand then kissed him on the lips. Tristan kissed back. Their connection was healed in a moment then they pulled apart.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan smiled, grinned, back at Mark and stepped away from the car and closed the door. Mark smiled back as he slid across the seat and started the car then began to drive away. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tristan watched Mark drive away. He took his hand from his pocket and waved.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-49738591294959330582012-07-05T23:24:00.001-07:002012-07-05T23:24:13.706-07:00The Family In the Window- Tristan, Spending the NightSorry folks for the delay... can't believe writer's block got to me even though I knew what I wanted to write... here is the next part...<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mark leaned in and kissed Tristan hard at first then he relaxed the pressure and Tristan began to kiss back. He grabbed at Tristan’s sides under the leather jacket, felt at his hips then pushed his hands up under his clothes, ran the tips of his fingers over flesh. Tristan tried to pull away but Mark kept at him until finally Tristan had to turn his head completely and crane his neck.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What’s wrong?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s just,” Tristan stammered, “It’s cold in here.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well we’re locked in here,” Mark said.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can’t you pick it? Then we can go back to your room.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We can’t stay here,” Tristan replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why not?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What if someone comes? The door locked behind us and what if security stops by and they find us?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I didn’t think about that,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark stepped back then to the door and pulled out his ID then began to pick the lock. Tristan watched as Mark worked on the lock and he reflected on all that he had done. The date had gone horribly but Mark was still interested then they were on the rooftop kissing, a stairwell, and then breaking back out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Here we go,” Mark said before turning the handle and opening the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan stepped through the doorway and into the hallway. They walked from the crime scene with an easy, casual pace to the stairwell, down to the ground floor they stepped out into another hallway where they both saw a security guard waiting for the elevator doors to open. They looked to each other.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Gentlemen,” the guard said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan turned and waved as he pushed his back against the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi there,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The guard stepped into the elevator as the building door closed. They both began to laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh my God we got lucky,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s pretty crazy,” Mark replied. “That’s some coincidence.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark charged to Tristan but caught him lightly in his grip. They stopped for a moment in the open space, inches apart they were both aware of the intimacy of the moment and the danger if they were caught kissing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What time is it?” Tristan asked. He suddenly thought of his parents and his curfew. He thought about high school and his previous boyfriend. They were nearly two years apart in age.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Does it matter?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan shook his head.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s go back to my room,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is that okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re just another guy. We’ll say the bus stopped.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But you drove,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I got tired,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And we had a few drinks,” Tristan added.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark adjusted Tristan’s leather jacket then stepped away and lead the way back to his dorm room apartment. Tristan fell in line at first then caught up and tried to keep pace as he thought about what he was doing. His phone buzzed letting him know he had a voicemail. He pulled it out and looked at it. There was a missed call from his mother just minutes ago when they were in the stairwell and lost reception. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What is it?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just my mother,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you have to go home?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No it’s fine, I just have to call her.” Tristan searched through the phonebook function and found his parents’ number then dialed. His mother picked up on the second ring.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi mom,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Where are you?”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m fine. I’m just at a friend’s place. Is it okay if I spend the night?”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You were supposed to call,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I am,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ahead of time,” she replied, “stay out but I want you home tomorrow before dinner.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay mom, love you,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I love you too,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He closed the phone and looked to Mark who laughed a little.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nothing,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The price you pay for still living at home,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s amazing that they still think of us as kids,” Mark replied.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They walked for a moment in silence.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But who said you could spend the night?”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark smirked at his own comment.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Maybe I have another date,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I hope not,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They got to the building and Mark led the way up the stairs but stopped Tristan at the door. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just play it cool,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s fine,” Tristan said. “I’m just going to sleep on your floor.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark unlocked the door and opened it to a quiet apartment. He stepped inside first and looked down the hallway then walked into the living room. It was easy to see that all of his roommates were either out or asleep. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan stepped inside as well and was surprised by how warm the place was and how cold his body had gotten even with jeans and a leather jacket.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where are your roommates?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Probably out,” Mark said. He pointed to the clock on the stove in the kitchen. “It’s only after midnight so they are probably at a party. They’ll probably be stumbling home in the next hour or so.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You don’t drink?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not really, not much, always thought I’d make an ass out of myself.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Me too,” Mark said, “it’s one thing if you are just with a couple of friends but at a party it can get dangerous. Come on.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark stepped back to the hallway and opened his bedroom door. He was suddenly embarrassed that he hadn’t made his bed and that there were socks on the floor but most of his other clothes were in the hamper. Please don’t let there be any underwear out, he thought as he looked around the room. He didn’t see any. Tristan entered the room. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nice place,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t mind the mess. Here let me make the bed.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you have extra sheets? A pillow?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I uh, didn’t really think about it. But the place stays pretty warm.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Once he had flattened the sheets and bed spread Mark stood up and turned in the small space holding out his hands. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Here we are,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Here we are,” Tristan echoed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well,” Mark said. “Take off your coat and maybe we can sit and talk.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan took off his jacket.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just uh, put it on the back of the desk chair,” Mark said. “We can sit over here.” He pointed to the bed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan shrugged his shoulders and stepped to the bed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just kick off your shoes,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan slid out of his shoes and Mark did the same before they moved onto the bed and placed their backs to the wall with a couple of pillows. They sat in silence. The connection that had been made when they kissed, the connection as they stood outside, was broken. They were in a brightly lit room, a bedroom. Tristan looked to Mark. He wanted that connection back so he reached for Mark’s hand and took it in his own, laced their fingers together. Mark smiled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m so happy,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Me too,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We shouldn’t be too loud. At least not until we are certain no one can hear.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The walls are thin?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not really,” Mark replied. “It’s the one good thing about this place, but still.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan raised up their joined hands.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Still,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This is all new to me,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Me too,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They looked at each other. Tristan felt a challenging rush of blood through his body, an impulsive urge, a need to be fulfilled. He leaned to Mark and kissed him on the lips in a peck. Mark leaned into Tristan and kissed back then pulled his hand around as he rose up on his knees he reached for Tristan’s side again, this time it was easier to get under his shirt. He felt the hip bone there, the skin, some muscle. He pushed his hand against Tristan’s body and it slipped down under Tristan’s belt. Tristan pushed him back from their kiss.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Take it slow,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay,” Mark replied. “Can I at least take off your shirt?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Shh, people might be listening,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark grabbed at the bottom of Tristan’s shirt and pulled it up past his nose as Tristan raised his arms until it was off and then Tristan reached out to Mark’s body and grabbed hold of his sides.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Shirts and skins,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t worry about it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark reached out to Tristan’s chest. His fingertips barely touched Tristan’s nipples and it was a thrilling moment for both of them. He pinched them and rubbed at them. He rubbed at Tristan’s chest.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is this too far?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This is just fine,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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</div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-70277074257622727092012-06-28T21:29:00.002-07:002012-06-28T21:29:29.837-07:00The Family in the Window- Posting DelayedHello Reader,<br />
Unfortunately life has interrupted my writing. I know exactly what is going to happen next I just need to get it down on "paper", hah, I mean blog post.<br />
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In the mean time I posted an extra part to <a href="http://gsastaywithme.blogspot.com/">"GSA Stay With Me"</a> if you are interested.<br />
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I plan to get the next posting up this weekend.<br />
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Sincerely,<br />
BryanBryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-29506611233297841032012-06-22T00:00:00.000-07:002012-06-22T00:00:13.475-07:00The Family in the Window- pt. 6b, Mark, Second Date<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark thought Tristan looked defeated as they walked back to his car. The date hadn’t happened the way he would have wanted it to happen but there seemed to be little he could do to save it. They got into the car and he began to drive. He turned left out of the parking lot not sure where he was headed. Tristan sunk against the passenger side door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No one spoke for a long time and Mark felt worse with each moment of silence. He thought about the coffee Tristan had ordered, the counting of money as they waited to order. Not everyone can be bankrolled by scholarships and a father’s money, though he didn’t spend it the way his father would have approved, but still it was his money. He wanted to change everything, make the date, the night better. He wanted to make Tristan happy but there was little that interested him. Then a thought occurred to him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you want to see my campus?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan looked up from the door and to Mark who stopped the car at a red light and looked back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What do you mean?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark shrugged his shoulders.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, it’s pretty late and most everyone is gone. Sometimes on nights like this I just like to walk around my campus. Most every building is locked but there are still some cool things to see. Do you have to be home soon?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan looked to his watch and saw that it was only after 8 o’clock. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not?”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The light turned green and Mark told Tristan to get his phone out and type in the address of the campus as he had gotten himself lost. In minutes they were on the highway and headed to campus after that he followed the familiar route back into the parking and found an empty spot under a light. He made sure the windows were up and both doors were locked when they were closed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They walked together from the lot, not too close, friend close. And Mark suddenly thought about what he was doing. He was taking his date, another boy on campus. Would he want to see his dorm? Would his roommates be home? Would they meet? Would they know he was gay and by extension know that Mark was gay? What the hell kind of date was this?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As they got closer to the housing area they heard the sounds of a party. It wasn’t where Mark had wanted to go. He wanted to go somewhere else. He had something else in mind. If it worked. But as they walked by the party Tristan seemed distracted by the activity. They stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Want to go inside?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you know who’s party it is?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It doesn’t matter,” Mark answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh,” Tristan replied. He had never been inside a college party. “Maybe we can just check it out.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sure,” Mark said before turning back and leading the way to the party that was on the second floor of an dorm apartment style building. Tristan followed close behind, closer when they entered into the dark, barely lit space. Inside the bass that they heard was overwhelming along with a cacophony of people talking and the finer parts of the music.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>People stood anywhere they wanted. They lined the hallway, moved back and forth into rooms, stayed in doorways, but Mark led them to the living room where a small DJ table had been set-up along with several speakers. The source of the music was a skinny man who pressed headphones to one ear as he stared at a laptop screen and held the other hand over what looked like a turn table.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan thought to say something and he moved closer but Mark stopped and he bumped into him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sorry,” he yelled out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark turned to him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What do you think?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s get out of here,” Tristan yelled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark nodded and Tristan turned and began to push his way back through the crowd that seemed to have grown behind them. With Mark’s help he pushed back out into the cool winter night, past the smokers and down the steps to the sidewalk. Tristan suck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around to try and get his ears to return to normal. Mark moved to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not your thing?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It was so loud,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on,” Mark replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They walked from the apartments to the dorms and Mark pointed out that was where most Freshman lived then they made their way to the campus of brick and stone buildings, connected by concrete and brick paths, lined with trimmed trees and landscaped bushes. It was supposed to look natural but it still felt constructed, designed. They passed one building and Mark said it was gymnasium.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do they have a pool?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“They do but the building is locked. And it has security, I know because I go there like everyday for training.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So no skinny dipping then?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark turned to Tristan and laughed before looking away and quickening his pace. He called for Tristan to follow him and Tristan picked up his own speed past the sign that said Library. They entered easily and Mark led them down a hallway past the elevators and to a doorway marked stairwell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You can’t trust the elevators at night,” Mark said before he began to climb the steps two at a time. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan tried to follow in the same way but found by the third floor he was falling behind so when Mark noticed he slowed and waited until Tristan caught up with him until the seventh floor, the top floor. Mark exited into the hallway and Tristan followed. They walked down the long hall to the other wing of the building.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where are we going?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s a surprise,” Mark said. “If it works.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark stopped at another stairwell door but this one had a turn handle and was locked. Mark produced his student ID and easily picked the lock then opened the door. He ushered Tristan inside then gently let the door swing back into place stopping it short from closing. Tristan spotted the stairs up and the sign that said, roof access. He looked to Mark who smiled back then led the way. He got to the top of the stairs and picked another lock and opened the door. Tristan followed and stepped out onto the gravel covered roof top where he spotted two, upside down lawn chairs that had been left there for frequent visitors.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“People come here regularly?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mostly smoke breaks,” Mark said. “I found all kinds of cigarette butts up here before.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nice,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s have a seat,” Mark said. He moved to the two chairs and turned them over.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s the middle of winter,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thank god for global warming because this is the mildest winter ever,” Mark replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So they say.” He moved to one of the upturned chairs and sat. Mark did the same nearby. They were close enough to touch knees, hold hands but Tristan left his firmly in his pockets.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>From their spot they could see the tops of trees, part of the night sky and only a few stars that weren’t blocked out by the campus lights.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So do you bring lots of dates up here?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re the first,” Mark replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And like that, somehow, their tension was broken between them, diffused. They were both no longer thinking about other things. They had pushed through a limit together, broken rules together.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“My date sucked,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark let out a laugh then stopped himself.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It was fine,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No it wasn’t. It sucked. And not in a good way.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark didn’t laugh and Tristan found himself searching for new words as his joke had gone down in flames.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So how did you find out about this place?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I get restless sometimes and I used to hate sleeping in my old dorm room because it was a shared room. So I used to go out at night and just wonder around. I started finding things.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And picking locks,” Tristan added.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not to anything too private or sensitive, just locks for stairwells and things.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Right,” Tristan said. “So where are they hiding the UFO?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark made a polite laugh then said he couldn’t tell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“See my point,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They sat in the darkness for a moment without speaking until Mark asked if he could hold Tristan’s hand.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s cold,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It doesn’t matter, I can warm it up,” Mark replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, my hand is fine I mean the weather it’s cold out here,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh,” Mark said. “Do you want to go back inside?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“In a little bit,” Tristan said. He stood and walked to the railing at the back of the building. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Down below he could see the empty lawn covered over mostly in shadow and snow which made the surface look strange as if it were a flat surface. He was surprised when he felt Mark move behind him. He thought about turning around but as Mark moved closer he welcomed the idea of what he thought might happen. He was still pleasantly surprised when he felt the reality of it, the pressure of Mark against his backside, arms around him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is this okay?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” Tristan answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can I kiss you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan turned his head to where he thought Mark’s mouth would meet him and it was there, somehow more warm than he had expected. Their tongues touched. His cheeks burned. He grabbed at Mark’s hands that grabbed at his own leather jacket. They kissed for a long time until their seemed no reasonable way out of their predicament and then Tristan pulled out of the embrace and turned on his new partner.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What are we doing?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It seemed right,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know but--”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“--Don’t worry about it,” Mark interrupted, “no one comes up here.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That wasn’t what I was thinking. It’s cold. It’s winter.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s go inside,” Mark said. “There are plenty of places.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan reached back for the railing. He felt as if he would collapse for a moment before a resurgence of strength. He was worried that someone would find them. He was worried they would get caught. But he was worried about something else. It felt like it could be the end of the world. Mark reached out and took his hand then pulled him from the railing and back to the door where he led them back inside down the stairs to the door out into the hallway but it was closed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Fuck,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It closed on us?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Looks like it but I can pick it,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan was suddenly worried about what or who they might find on the other side of that door so he turned Mark to him and moved to kiss him again. He was suddenly aware of their size difference, their body difference, and all in the fake, white light of the stairwell. But his body felt warmer, warmer but not entirely comfortable. He pulled back from Mark.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t want to go all the way,” he said. "Not on the second date."</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay,” Mark responded. “What’s ‘all the way’ mean to you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan smiled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know,” he said.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-49401757017695146332012-06-14T23:49:00.002-07:002012-06-14T23:49:50.545-07:00The Family in the Window- pt 6a Tristan, Second Date<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Waiting for the second date to Tristan was worse than waiting for the first date because the first date had been an abstraction in his mind but the second date had substance. The second date had potential and limitations. Could he do all the right things? He had to think of something to do but he didn’t have a plan. What did two gay teens do in a town that was full of bigots? He thought to go back to the same restaurant but he doubted he could afford the meals. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He did a quick search on the internet for gay friendly restaurants and he came up with two bars, the restaurant he had been to and a coffee shop. A coffee shop wouldn’t be bad, he thought, maybe if he did something else like go to a movie... he liked the idea of the two of them in the theater. They could be two friends, two straight guys. He thought to buy tickets but was discouraged when he saw the price and the selection plus he didn’t know how long they could be at the coffee shop. It could be ten minutes or hours.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">One step at a time, he told himself. Take it slow. We’ll go to the coffee shop, he told himself then maybe we can do something else like take a walk around town. He looked up the coffee shop on “street view” and saw that it was downtown with plenty of shops around. He did another quick search for museums in the area and found a ‘Asian -Pacific History Museum’ that closed at 9 o’clock and entrance was a ‘donation’ for the ticket. He began to dread the date after Mark had taken him to a romantic place.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ten minutes before six o’clock he stood outside his home in his red leather jacket, hands in his pockets. His mother’s nativity scene was still in the window and his neighbor’s had also decorated their houses with multi-colored lights and a few lawn ornaments. He exhaled and liked the way his breath looked in the air. Sometimes he had liked to pretend like he was smoking. He heard a car and looked to the end of the street where he saw Mark’s car headed his way. He stepped to the sidewalk and waited until Mark stopped in front of him. He opened the car door and got inside.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“How are you doing?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Good,” Tristan said. He thought about Evan and that he had been happy when his mother had come home while they were in the Jacuzzi. Evan had taken to jumping out of the hot water, rolling in the snow then jumping back into the hot water. It was a shock to the system he had learned long ago and had taught Evan but he hadn’t wanted to do it despite Evan’s encouragement.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“How are you?” he asked before taking hold of his seatbelt.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark stayed focused on the street as he began to drive.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Fine,” Mark said. “So where are we going?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I thought we’d go for coffee and then maybe we could go to a movie or if you’re interested we could go to this museum that’s nearby.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What kind of museum?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Asian Pacific,” Tristan answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m not so interested in the museum but the movie could be interesting. What are the directions to the coffee shop?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hold on let me get out my phone,” Tristan said reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen then went to the directions he had bookmarked. “Just a second it’s taking a moment to find us with the GPS.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark thought to say something but he decided not to speak. He was thinking about the impossibility of it all. He wasn’t sure which would be better, to be out and worry about people talking behind his back or else stay ‘in the closet’ and worry about people talking behind his back, besides which there was the whole element of his father. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Here it is,” Tristan said. “Make the next left.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan proceeded to give directions out of suburbia and to the highway and for a moment they each thought to say something as they drove but the silence was too big and then the phone and a new instruction and Mark turned off the highway to a side street of the downtown area. They found the place easily then circled the block until they found a parking lot. Tristan noted the additional three dollars and hour it cost to park. He gritted his teeth but decided to push ahead. They walked from the car to the coffee shop without speaking. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Once inside they were greeted by an air-conditioned, hipster atmosphere. They both looked up at the chalkboard menu. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Have you been here before?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No,” Mark said. “It’s kind of like the one on campus though. You?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Get whatever you want off the menu,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark smiled then stepped into line with one other person ahead of them. He didn’t like coffee and he didn’t like tea. He didn’t like soda. Then he spotted the salad with chicken breast and decided he would order that with a water. Tristan waited and tried to calculate his own order. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The patron ahed stepped aside and Mark stepped to the cashier. Tristan leaned forward and said that he would be paying for both orders. The cashier was young and heavily tattooed with spacers and piercings in his earlobes. Mark gave his order then Tristan stepped forward.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What will it be?” the tattooed man asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan pretended to weigh the options. Two tickets to the movies for the evening show and snacks, he thought.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Just coffee,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Coming right up,” the cashier rang up the order and Tristan reached into pocket and pulled out his wallet. He looked over his cash, two twenties, a ten and loose ones. He counted out the money close enough and when the cashier handed back the change he left a dollar in the tip cup but it didn’t matter because by then Mark was looking away to a painting on the wall. Tristan stepped beside him and placed his wallet back in his pocket. Mark pointed to the square piece of paper beside the painting where the title, the artist and cost were listed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you think this stuff ever sells?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They looked to each other and laughed a little at the awkwardness of the situation before they made their way to a small table. The place was pretty crowded with individuals on their laptops but they found a spot against the wall.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You seem preoccupied,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sorry,” Mark said, “I was just thinking. It’s been a long week. I thought I would be able to let it go but don’t worry about it. We should be having a good time. How was your week?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan thought about his answer. He doesn’t know I am still in high school, he thought. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“School was okay. I actually saw my old boyfriend this week. He was being extra flirtatious.” Shoot, Tristan thought. Why did I just say that?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Tell me more,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It’s no big deal,” Tristan replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark sat back and crossed his arms. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No really,” he said, “it’s no big deal. I told him I was on a date and he wanted to know everything. I think he’s just jealous.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Did you tell him anything?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No,” Tristan said shaking his head. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “How about you? Did you tell anyone?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark shook his head and leaned forward. He stared Tristan in the eye then leaned down onto the table.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Coffee huh?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And a movie,” Tristan said, “don’t forget the movie.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you have one picked out?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan shook his head.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I figured we’d just pick one. I didn’t know how long this would take.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark nodded then looked to where the cashier stepped out from behind the register and carried the tray of Mark’s food across the room along with a saucer of coffee. The tattooed cashier smiled at them.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Here you go,” he said. He set down their items. Tristan looked at the salad then to his coffee and his stomach grumbled but he didn’t say anything.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you want to share?” Mark asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan looked around then shrugged his shoulders and said that he could use a bite. They ate in silence and even sat for a long time afterwards without saying anything. Mark had returned to his thoughts and Tristan to his worries.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well,” Tristan said breaking the silence.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Let’s go,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They stood and walked from the coffee shop to the theater where they stopped in front of the marquee far from the people in line. Nothing looked good.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Is there something you want to see?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m not really a movie person,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you want to skip the movie?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah,” Mark said. “I don’t know what else we’d do but I’m not really feeling like a movie.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“We could go window shopping,” Tristan offered.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-13392630412480387912012-06-07T23:18:00.000-07:002012-06-12T00:43:50.253-07:00The Family in the Window- pt 5 Mark, Another Day<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark went to class but all he could think about was the fight with Scott and his date with Tristan. He had known it was wrong even before it happened but he couldn’t, he didn’t want to stop himself and now there was this feeling that haunted him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It felt like it had been in nearly equal parts. Something good couldn’t happen without something bad happening. Was it a punishment? He wasn’t sure. Was it God? He wasn’t sure if it was a good omen or a bad one. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">No it must have been something else, wasted energy. It was a simple mistake brought on by not sleeping, he thought. A simple mistake that could end in lots of trouble if his coach found out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had been in one other fight in his life with a boy after school and they had become friends afterwards, two warriors that had tested their physical abilities. They were hanging out at a baseball field dugout then and it just happened. They kicked and punched, slammed each other against brick walls and concrete floors until they gave up and retreated to their own corners and somewhere, somehow in that moment of recuperation they began to kid each other, laughter turned into more jokes. They were best friends for a year or so through school but then they drifted apart.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But this was different. This could go several different ways based on who said what and when. He thought one of his roommates, or even Scott, would try to contact him on his phone, but they didn’t. The day just slipped by as he barely paid attention in each class, enough so he didn’t look bored or preoccupied, so he wouldn’t be called upon. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After class he picked up snacks at a student store and headed off to a secluded area where he doubted anyone would be then he made his way back to the dorm room not knowing what to expect as he walked through the door he was tense with anticipation. His limbs felt loose but his spine, his hands and feet felt solid and heavy. His face felt warm and he worried that he was blushing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The place was quiet. He looked down the hallway to their rooms for indication of life but he didn’t see any. He walked to the living room and saw that no one was in the kitchen. Then he looked to the television and saw that it was cracked in a radiating pattern from the center and had a note attached. It was actually neat to see. He had never thought about how a screen like that would break in the way that it did. He stepped to it and took off the note.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He thought about it for a minute then shrugged his shoulders and went to the kitchen. He didn’t feel relief but a little better. He still wasn’t sure about how it was going to go down, how he would have to make amends but at least it felt like it was going to stay between them. Good, he thought.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He took out a loaf of bread and made himself a sandwich with some turkey in the refrigerator and as he was putting the lunch meat away his phone rang. He thought about Scott and he dreaded looking at the phone to see who it was. He thought about letting it go to voicemail but decided against it and pulled the phone from his pocket. It was Tristan. He smiled then answered the phone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hello,” he said. He placed the bread the cupboard.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hey,” Tristan replied. “How are you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Good,” Mark said. Then he looked to the television, okay I lied, he thought.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I know you’re supposed to wait before you call but since we already have a second date scheduled I figured it couldn’t hurt.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, no problem,” Mark said. He picked up his sandwich in his free hand and walked into the living room past the furniture and to the window. There was little to see outside, just more housing, but it was dark out and the street lights had already lit up.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m still thinking about where to go for our second date,” Tristan said, “but I figured I’d call to say hello.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The front door of the dorm apartment opened and Mark turned to see his dorm mates enter with bags of groceries in their hands. They were loud and joking with each other. Scott was behind the others and when they saw each other Scott smiled then followed the others into the kitchen. Mark walked to his room, quickly but not in a hurry, as if he was just trying to keep his phone call private. He closed his bedroom door behind him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sorry, my roommates just got back.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No problem,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You ever have to worry about that?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No, I uh, live alone,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“That must be nice,” Mark added, “You probably get plenty of time to study.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Definitely,” Tristan replied. “So, I was thinking about this time going to a movie.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What kind?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I don’t know. There isn’t much out there. What kind do you like?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m not very big for romance. I guess I like action films.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What about science fiction?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It depends.” Mark locked to door handle then went to his desk and started his computer. “I can go online right now and check it out.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What about art films?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Maybe, I don’t know. A good one I guess.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’ll look,” Tristan said. “Besides it’s my turn to impress you.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The thought of switching how the dates went each night. Did that only happen with two guys? He was barely sure what straight people did based on television programs he had seen. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’ve never done this before,” he said. He heard noise in the hallway and for a brief moment he worried someone could be listening at the door but then he thought about that there wasn’t much to hear, not if he was careful. “It’s...”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It’s new to me too.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark smiled at the thought. Did straight people go through this much? Queer as Folk was different, there wasn’t much dating. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“How has your day been?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Uh,” Mark said as he thought about the television and his dorm mates, “fine.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You probably have a lot of homework,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You too,” Mark added.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There was an uncomfortable silence. Mark tried to think of things to say, questions to ask, but nothing came to his mind.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well, okay, I’ll look for some places to go.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sounds good,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I uh, have to get off the phone now, but uh, I’ll call you tomorrow about the time.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Why don’t we just meet outside your place at six-thirty?” He suddenly felt regret for what he had just asked because setting the time just might have been another reason to call back and for them to talk. He wanted to talk to Tristan again, desperately, about everything and anything though nothing came to mind. There was a fear there. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of but he could feel it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, no problem, I guess I’ll see you then,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“See you then,” Mark replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan disconnected the line and Mark closed his phone. He suddenly felt worried about what he had said. Was it enough to be bothersome? He liked Tristan, he barely knew him but he liked him. He thought about looking him up on the social network sites to try and start a new conversation but then he worried that would be too much like a stalker. He knew he needed to distract himself. He opened a game of Solitaire and started some music playing. He was plenty distracted when there was a knock on the door and he jumped from his chair.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-34472207850776866472012-06-01T01:30:00.003-07:002012-06-01T01:30:43.628-07:00The Family in the Window- pt 4b, Friends Are For<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Evan pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it as he drove. He turned the music volume back up to drown out the thought of conversation. When they reached Tristan’s home he parked in front by the curb and turned off the car.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What’s going on?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m just letting you out.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, but you turned off the car.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Are your parents home yet?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No,” Tristan answered. He opened the door and began to stand.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you still have that heated Jacuzzi?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Of course,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Why don’t we take a dip? Hang out.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan leaned into the car. The last time they had been the Jacuzzi together was the last time they had been together out of school. They had kissed and groped each other and it could have gone farther but they heard his mother returning from running errands. Suddenly they had to be two friends, to friends who were boys and enjoying the water. It was the previous summer before school started and somehow they had stopped talking to each other afterwards. They didn’t breakup. They weren’t officially a couple.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah sure, but this time you have to keep your hands to yourself.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hey there were two of us,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan turned and walked over the snow covered lawn to his front door where he opened it with a key. Evan wasn’t far behind him. They were greeted at the door by Barney who followed them to Tristan’s room where he sat in the hallway and watched them. Evan began to undress by sliding off his shoes and shirts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What are you doing?” Tristan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What? It’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Nothing we haven’t touched before.” He pulled his pants and underwear down in one action then took off his socks. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You’re just proud of that thing of yours,” Tristan said looking down to Evan’s flaccid penis. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’d walk around nude except your parents are coming home sooner or later.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, yeah, the trunks are in the lowest drawer,” Tristan said pointing to the dresser near the door. He watched as Evan squatted then began to laugh. “No seriously they’re in the top drawer. I just wanted to see if you’d bend over.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Evan stood and blushing he opened the top drawer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Cheeky bastard,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Takes one to know one. Get out the blue ones for me.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Minutes later they were both dressed in their swim trunks and in the Jacuzzi on the back deck of Tristan’s home. Tristan made them each a turkey sandwich for a snack. Barney stared at them from beside the Jacuzzi with drool hanging from his mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“That’s disgusting,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You keep feeding him so he drools.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Here puppy,” Evan said throwing another bite of his sandwich.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Barney swallowed the bite with very little chewing then shook his head making the saliva wrap around his face and off against the window. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Awe, that’s disgusting. Now he looks like a go go dancer at a bukkake party.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan laughed. “That’s a messed up mental image. Now I am never going to be able to look at my dog the same way.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So, your new boyfriend,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I knew we’d get around to this.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Is he well hung? Did you guys do anything?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“We didn’t do anything. I’m not a whore.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’d be a whore for a college guy, a soccer player too. I’m sure he has great thighs.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“If you had sex half as much as you talked about it--”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“--hey, I’m just saying. So tell me about it. Is he relationship material?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan shrugged his shoulders. “I like him.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Is he a bottom or a top?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You’re such a dork. It doesn’t have to be that way.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“That was the problem with us. I knew when you wouldn’t let me fuck you that we were both tops. You wouldn’t think it because we are a couple of skinny twinks but we are. Shit, I forgot my cigarettes.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You can’t smoke here anyway. My parents don’t like it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Evan let out an exaggerated sigh. “You parents can go fuck a duck for all I care.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Okay, I don’t want you to smoke,” Tristan said. “It’s bad enough you get cancer but I don’t want to get it from second had smoke.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You can go fuck a duck,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan shrugged his shoulders.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I just might,” he said.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-6655255393334726172012-06-01T01:30:00.001-07:002012-06-01T01:30:32.494-07:00The Family in the Window- pt 4a Tristan, Friends Are For<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The school day had been long, full of moments when all Tristan could think about was his date the night before and when he would get to do it again and under what circumstances. He wanted Mark to call him. He wanted to call Mark. But all the speeches of television characters went through his head as he thought about it. Even just a text might be too much. Give it time, he told himself.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark was everything he could want in a date: physically, emotionally, and personality. He was confident, sure, and capable. He felt like they had connected on the date and it was worth a second date but it felt too formal. When did dating end and a relationship begin?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The day was long and to make it worse he had a meeting with the Gay, Straight Alliance after school and that meant Evan would be there. Tristan had wanted to run the group like A.A. where you got up stated your name, your sexuality and/or your gender identity but the by-laws forbid ‘peer pressure identity’ as a part of the ethical code to resist assumed identity and allow for self-identification. It didn’t matter much anyway as there were only three other active members: Emily, Justin and Evan. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They had one ‘straight ally’ named Dean who was also a part of the Christian Youth Club but he didn’t participate much in the meetings. The four of them had met in a secret meeting after he joined and they debated about kicking him out of the group or otherwise shunning him because he could have been a spy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He could have been gay, straight, bisexual, or maybe he was try-sexual. Tristan couldn’t help but forgive him because of his stylish clothes, pouty lips, soft, kissable lips. Besides who volunteers to join the group? That was like putting a ‘kick me’ sign on your back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But he was also the one that Tristan wanted to get to admit something. He would settle for bisexual at least or curious maybe, some inclination of feeling that he wasn’t really a spy or that he was like them. Straight was nice but it felt unsafe in what was supposed to be a ‘safe space’. He was putting his own life on the line as a gay boy so it should mean something to say it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Everyone in the school knew about Emily and Justin as well. Emily was an out and proud lesbian, a militant vegan who also believed in conservation and rode her bicycle to school. Justin, well Justin was just obviously gay. Tristan felt proud to take the freshman under his wing as it were, to give him a place to go though the boy didn’t seem to need any protection because he was full of energy and always the optimist. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">His energy at times pained Evan who was the opposite of the spectrum. Evan wore black clothes, painted his fingernails black, wore combat boots. He wore a stud in his eyebrow, one in his nose, and ear. He always seemed to be on his last breath. It was all of that which attracted Tristan to him and all of that which caused them to break up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">For thirty minutes Tristan forgot about his other problems as they talked through the their plans for the rest of the year. They debated the value and response to having a fundraising table during lunch after the New Year as it was almost Christmas break and they had already spent their money for the AIDS Walk. They decided to table the discussion, which meant if anyone was passionate about it, wanted to put themselves at risk, then they would have to take the initiative. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well that’s it,” Tristan said looking to the clock on the wall.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Great,” Emily said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Thanks guys,” Dean said before slipping out of his desk and out of the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They got to their feet and began to rearrange the furniture.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“He’s still a weird guy,” Justin said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So are you,” Evan replied.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Look who’s talking,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They laughed a little, more false than real.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“So how’d your date go stud?” Evan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had told Evan two days before his date was to happen. It was an impulsive feeling that he partially regretted because he didn’t want him to be jealous but he had to tell someone else about it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“A date?” Justin asked. “When did this happen? Is he from school?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“No, he doesn’t go to school here.” Tristan pushed the chair the rest of the way and slung his back pack over one shoulder.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“And just where does he go?” Evan asked. He already knew the answer.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“State school,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“He’s in college?” Justin said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“A college boy,” Emily said. “Was it a nice date?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah, it was.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well, let’s hear the details,” Emily said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan told them the basics of his date: where they went, who drove, how he looked, how they were dressed, and how his parents felt about it. He didn’t mention that they had kissed or the lies he had told. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Sounds nice,” Emily said. “Well I have to get going.” She held her books against her chest and walked out leaving the three boys to follow her quietly. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Out in the hallway a new silence fell upon them one where they didn’t want anyone else to overhear them. It was one thing to be gay and a member of the GSA but it was another to be sexual. They walked to Justin’s locker.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hey I’m giving him a ride home. Do you want to come along with us?” Evan asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan looked to both of them then down the hallway. He could have walked home, taken the shortcuts, tried to avoid any of the other kids hanging around the streets. He could have called his mother and rode home in silence, which he did sometimes if he didn’t want to deal with the kids who sometimes threw eggs at him from behind their house as he passed by. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah sure,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hey did you guys watch TV last night?” Justin asked. “Modern Family was on and it was pretty funny. The guys on the Swish Edition don’t think they’re very cute but I kind of like the redhead.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Uh, you like them older, a real daddy complex.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Shut up,” Justin said closing his locker.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’m just saying. Besides when they’re older they have more money to spend on the young ones. The young, dumb, and full of cum.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Justin laughed a little then closed his locker and fastened the combination lock. They walked down the hallway and out to the car in silence. Tristan held the passenger seat for Justin to climb into the back the got in himself. Evan lit a cigarette from the pack he kept in the glove compartment and started the car.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said. He pulled his MP3 player from his pocket and connected it to the auxiliary line. “You have to hear this one.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“What is it?” Justin asked kicking trash in the footwell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Ministry’s ‘Everyday is Halloween’,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Turn it up,” Justin said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Evan turned the volume high and drove out of the parking lot. They didn’t talk as one song turned into two and eventually they reached Justin’s house. Evan pulled into the driveway and waited for him to exit then Tristan to get back into the passenger seat before he lowered the volume. Together they watched Justin go inside his home then Evan began to drive again.</span></div>
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“I worry about that kid sometimes,” Evan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Why? He knows how to take care of himself.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I know but still. It’s not like you or me. I mean I got one more year in this hell and you got like six months then it’s off to college. He doesn’t know how to play it cool like we did. It’s different. In just two years things have changed. There’s television shows and everything that makes being gay look cool and easy.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan looked to Evan with a deep sarcastic but serious face.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You know what I mean.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan put his hand out of the window to feel the wind then asked why it wasn’t easy to be gay.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“It’s hard man. I mean we get our asses kicked and somehow we deserved it. All this bullshit about gay marriage and repealing things. It’s just like they can take it away any moment. Kick our asses and that’s it. And it’s not like TV makes it easy. Everyone has to be cute and hung and have muscles.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You’re just jealous,” Tristan said. “Have another cigarette.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-30847468731030409222012-05-30T00:19:00.000-07:002012-05-30T00:19:25.120-07:00The Family in the Window- pt 3 Tristan, After the Date<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After the date Tristan made his way into his home feeling happy, anxious, and a little bit worried. He was fifteen minutes late for his 11:00 PM curfew and he was worried someone had spotted him in the car. He breathed a little easier when he pushed open the door to be greeted by the family dog’s nose and to see that the first floor was mostly dark. This most likely meant that both of his parents were in bed which meant it was also less likely they saw the car.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let me in Barney,” he said to the dog, a St. Bernard, who stepped backwards for his entrance. “Thanks,” he added. He closed the door behind him and the dog was quick to rub its muzzle against the leg of his jeans leaving a deposit of drool. “Aw shit man, you’re worse than Slimer from the Ghost Busters.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The dog wagged his tail. He patted Barney on the head then stroked his back as he looked up the stairs to see if there were any lights visible from his parents room. There were lights visible. He inhaled and decided to go with his best excuse, but only if they asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> He started up the steps. Their door was wide open and he could hear them talking. His mother was explaining where to find the extra deodorant which meant his father was headed out on a business trip. He stopped in the doorway and saw his mother in bed with the covers across her lap as she held a puzzle book with her left hand and held the eraser end of a pencil to her lower lip with her right. His father was in the attached, master bathroom with the door closed. She looked to him. Hate the sin but love the sinner, he thought.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi there,” she said. “Tristan is home!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His father said hello through the door but it was muffled by the sound of the bathroom sink faucet.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi,” Tristan said loud enough so his father might hear. He gripped both sides of the archway and leaned into the room a little on the support of his arms.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You have fun?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She hadn’t known where he had been. He could have lied and said he was with a friend. All he had wanted to do was go to his room, listen to some music, and fall asleep. But she stared at him. Did she really want to know? Better be up front, he thought, that will make it real to them, to her, and to himself.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It was a date,” he answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He pulled himself back then let himself drop forward again. He wanted to turn away and leave yet he felt obligated to stay as he had not seen his father who was no doubt leaving early in the morning and he didn’t know when he’d return.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was the sound of his father turning off the faucet. He opened the door and wafts of steam began to escape into the regulated bedroom air. His father stepped from the bathroom dressed in an open robe and a pair of white briefs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This was not an unusual sight since Tristan had been a boy. His parents were casual about these things all his life even though he eventually grew uncomfortable with it. He used to watch cartoons in a shirt and his underwear when he was little, until the age of seven or eight, then he would never leave his room unless he had on shorts or long pants. He wasn’t sure why.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Henry,” his mother said. She pointed the end of her pencil towards her husband who quickly closed his robe. “Men.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s fine,” his father said. “It’s just family right?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan gestured like it didn’t mean anything. That he wouldn’t know why she might be concerned. It didn’t really matter, he guessed. It wasn’t a sexual thing. Besides wasn’t he supposed to want to kill his father and marry his mother? Nature or nurture? Hadn’t they been in the locker room together? He had been around guys all of his life in various states of undress. It didn’t have to mean anything. Wasn’t nudity just another part of life? Was it supposed to be taboo or did it just feel more risky and exciting if it was?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He spotted an open, partially packed suitcase on the chair at the far end of the room. It was his father’s suitcase which meant he was traveling again. He noticed his mother became uncomfortable after he had seen it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where you traveling to?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Chicago,” his father said, “more recognizable than the state’s name and is the home of deep dish pizza.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Now you’re bragging,” Tristan said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re right I am. But it’s all I can brag about. Will you fly four hours on a jet for me and deal with airport security, lost luggage, and jet lag?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know I would,” Tristan answered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Maybe not if you had my job.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What’s so bad about your job?” his mother asked.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All of the flying,” his father said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ask your son here where he was tonight.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where were you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan held his breath and it felt like his heart skipped a beat. He felt like he had been ‘out’ to his parents since he was fourteen and some other boys were harassing him for being a ‘fag’. They never questioned him about whether he was or not and his mother went to see the principal several times on his behalf and eventually the boys quit. Even though they couldn’t do much to protect him it was nice to come home. If he was moody then they knew why and they worked to cheer him up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But he had never officially ‘outed’ himself. He had never had that moment where he sat down with them and said, ‘mom and day I’m gay’ because he felt he didn’t have to. Evan had said it was his secret and that was part of the reason they broke up, but it wasn’t a secret. It was private. There was a difference.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He was on a date,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Oh God, he thought, could they not realize? Did they not assume?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh,” his father said. Then he made a face as if he wanted to ask more but then stopped himself and it changed to as if he was slowly working out the questions and answers in his head. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Would he have asked more? Was his mother the one stopping the questions? Somehow between the two his father was the one who seemed most comfortable when he ‘came out’ to them. Tristan suspected it was because he worked with men and women who were ‘out’ in the workforce but his mother was different. She had been the home-maker, the stay-at-home mother and her world had been secluded to church. She worried that he was going to hell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They looked at each other for a long time. That part of the conversation had ended. He hung in the archway looking at them suddenly unsure of what he had. It was a moment to remember.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, do you want me to wake you before I leave tomorrow morning?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan shrugged his shoulders. “Naw, that’s okay,” he said. “Unless you want to?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No need. Well give me a hug before you go to bed.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan stepped to his father conscious of his father’s wardrobe and hugged him with as little of his arms as possible.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks,” his father said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His bedroom was at the end of the hall on the opposite side of the house. That meant there were no awkward nights hearing his parents have sex like friends of his had complained about. No worries about them hearing him while he masturbated. No complaints, no arguments about loud televisions or music through the wall. He opened the door and closed it behind him. He was alone. He had made it and there were no threats of being grounded or a further restricted curfew. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He knew it wasn’t easy for them, his sexuality. They had shown little resistance to it. And little interest. He suspected that his mother felt that sexuality and sin was mostly between him and God but maybe, just maybe, she also worried she was to blame. But his father, his father traveled a lot and worked long hours so when they talked, they didn’t talk about sex.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Things were complicated. He sat on his bed and kicked off his shoes. Life was inexorably going forward and there was a lot to look forward to but there was also a lot to live through. He looked tot he clock on his nightstand and thought about school the next day. Then he remembered where he had just been. He had been on a date with a boy at least a year older, a college boy no less. They had been to a restaurant. They had held hands, held each other, and they had kissed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He pulled his phone from his pocket and briefly considered updating his profile or sending a text message but the only person who would have been interested, really interested, would also be the one who might be jealous or offended. He set his phone on the night stand. He smiled. It had been a date. The date was over and he wanted another one.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-58308890247916246592012-05-25T15:31:00.000-07:002012-05-25T15:33:32.691-07:00The Family in the Window- Pt. 2 Mark in the Dorm Room<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark closed the door and set the car alarm. It was especially important in student parking at the dorms. They had patrols but cars were still broken into, especially nice cars or ones parked in the back of the lot where there was the least lighting like where he had to park because all of the other spaces were taken. He tossed the keys in the air and caught them easily as he walked from his car through the lot. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had done it. He had actually fucking dated another guy, someone his own age. He had picked him up, taken him to dinner, kissed him, felt him up, and they were going to have a second date. It could be a relationship.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A relationship? Maybe that wasn’t the best. What if Tristan wasn’t okay with him being in the closet still? Or what if he gave him the strength to come out? No one would want that. Still, it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t like all the dates with girls where he had to fake it. This was something else. This was real. He knew it. He felt it. He was gay. This is what he had wanted.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When he reached his on-campus apartment he wasn’t surprised to find his roommates, Scott and Glen were still awake in the living room playing Halo multi-player on the Xbox 360. Two competitive athletes killing time. Scott was on the soccer team with him but Glen was on the wrestling team. Each with their own headset they were focused on the game and talking smack:</span><br />
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“Come on faggot,” Scott said.<br />
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“Ew, up side your head with that one faggot.”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well you’ll like this one in your mouth. That’s it take it.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“I’ll smack you with nine inches of limp dick if you come near me.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mark breathed deep to keep himself from saying something he would regret. They were both ordinarily good guys. They had even mentioned that they didn’t have a problem with gays they just didn’t know any. Who did, they asked. It would have been easy to admit it then but Mark couldn’t bring himself to speak. But what would it have meant?</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He didn’t want them to know, he wanted them to know, and he didn’t want to have to ‘come out’ to them because they shouldn’t have assumed. He didn’t assume anything about them. Did he? </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He said hello upon passing to the refrigerator where he retrieved a soda and was eager to get to his room. Ordinarily he might have joined them but this was different, this was special and he still had good memories fresh in his mind despite their words. He wanted to enjoy it all he could.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hot date tonight?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Mark said stopping just before leaving the living room.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You gonna tell us about her?” Scott asked.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark turned to them. He knew all the angles. Whatever he said they would give him a hard time. He wanted to say it then, describe his date in full detail. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“She leave you with a major case of blue balls there?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark smiled. He didn’t want to have to deal with it though so he shrugged his shoulders.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Either she did or she didn’t. Your silence says that you did not get lucky my friend,” Scott said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We didn’t go all the way but we got to second to base.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We got to second base? So she felt you up as well? Why golly young Skywalker you may just be a Jedi yet.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Must be,” Mark said before tossing his soda in the air and catching it. “I’m going back to my room.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah to jerk off,” Glen said before mimicking masturbation with his hand.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey at least I had a date tonight instead of playing Halo with my roommate.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They laughed and he turned his back on them but they continued to call after him as he walked down the hall to his room though it was teasing he ignored. He unlocked his private room, stepped inside, and closed the door. There was silence. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They were such assholes, he thought. How could he ever have thought about coming out to them? There was too much to lose. No one would give up opportunities, the respect for what, for feeling like that, for being in a relationship, or committing sins, going against god and human nature. His father had said many of the same things, his older brothers had similar feelings. But Tristan, Tristan knew, he had been on the dating site, he had committed to something, a second date. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your being foolish, he thought, and self-centered. No one knows anything. You didn’t commit to anything. Those guys weren’t his friends. Fuck the soccer team, fuck his parents, fuck the church and his brothers. If it was so wrong then how come it felt so right? God didn’t make mistakes, except sometimes He did. Or maybe they weren’t mistakes, maybe they were challenges. God didn’t make life easy. God made man and He gave man free will. Biology, there was biology and nature, whether it was God or not those things did have mistakes. Fuck it.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He stripped off his clothes and opened the can of soda before sitting on his bed and opening his laptop. He checked the time on his alarm clock. It was eight hours before class, plenty of time. He opened a blank word file and began to type.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No one understands what it is like. Not for me, not someone who can pass. Why give it up? Why do they have to assume anything? If they weren’t such assholes, such homophobes then it would be different. But everyone just assumes I’m normal, just another guy. I have to give my respect to the obvious guys, the ones who used to get picked on in high school. Man, I saw it all but I barely did anything. Once I helped a kid with his books but what the hell was that? I’ve never been on a date with another guy before tonight. I’ve never done anything. Just an online chat room, fantasies but what the hell were those? I can’t believe I lied to Tristan. Now it’s a fake relationship started with lies. There is fantasy and then there is real life. Both are a bunch of lies. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Am I gay yet? Does it take a good fuck? Maybe it’s just the right girl, the right girl who’ll shove a finger up my ass maybe or a dildo. The rest of my life could be like this. Get a girl, get married, but always know, maybe have a guy on the side and end up like one of those politicians caught in the men’s room of an airport or hitting on an aid. More lies. All of us are on some path of self-destruction</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He stopped and looked at what he had just written. A path of self-destruction? What the hell did that mean? His life was about success. He had done it. He had gotten to college and succeeded. He deleted the paragraph then clicked undo so he could see it again. He was so close so many times but it never amounted to anything. He always played it safe. One simple phrase would change his whole world. But what else did he need from them? What would they not give him if he told anyone? </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was all too much so he closed the laptop and turned off the light by his bed. He lay in the darkness of his room and stared up at the ceiling. Living was hard, he thought. Living was hard and dying, death, well that was easy. Well sort of, it was and it wasn’t. The human body had endurance, could have endurance. If he was going to do something it would have to be absolute. He closed his eyes and wished it all away. His body, his soul, all of his problems, and a pain snuck up from the back of his skull then he felt it in his feet and he began to cry. Someone help me.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He only slept four hours and he was up with the sun, a habit his body sometimes regressed to from when he used to run track in high school and had to be up early to train. He dressed easily, grabbed all his accessories, used the shared bathroom, packed his laptop in his bag along with the book for class and headed for the door but when he saw that Scott was still playing Halo in the living room he stopped and decided to get breakfast. He moved to the kitchen and noticed Glen was asleep on the couch in an awkward position. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You still awake?” Mark asked.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What time is it?” </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Almost seven,” Mark said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I still have two hours before class. I can sleep then if I get to the back before everyone else.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Nice, yeah I still have to write my paper.” Mark took out a packet of pop-tarts and walked back to stand beside Scott.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br />
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“Is it hard?”<br />
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“No, just a reaction paper but I barely read the assignment.”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You want to play some? Glen couldn’t keep up. The fag passed out two hours ago. We should fuck with him. Do some gay shit. We could probably butt fuck him and he’d never know.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Something in Mark snapped. It was one of the times in life he found himself acting out of anger through some voice that couldn’t be reasoned with, some impression that sprang from deep inside of him. He was doing everything wrong but maybe that was okay, maybe there was something to prove. Scott was an aggressive player and had a bit of a temper on the field. It would be easy to bait him.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Dude you’re an asshole,” he said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do some gay shit? Butt fuck him? What’s your problem?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m just messing around,” Scott said. “Nobody cares, I mean you should have seen the stuff we did to the freshmen this year. I wasn’t serious. You get so bent out of shape about stuff like when that guy grabbed your ass on the field.” </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He knew he was hitting back with a heavy blow. It was all part of the game to antagonize the opponent so when a guy grabbed Mark’s ass on the field and Mark snapped and began to chase after him all the rest of the team started to laugh until they saw the opposing team start to interfere then they had to back up their man.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The guy was being a jerk. He had it coming to him.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Glen awoke as their voices had begun to rise. He rubbed at his face and sat up on the couch unsure of what was happening.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Maybe, but you got all hot and bothered about it. Maybe you’re the one with the problem. Maybe you’re a bit insecure.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Screw you Scott.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Screw me? You’d like that. Why don’t you go to class before you get yourself hurt?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d kick your ass.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey cool it man,” Glen said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No let him talk,” Scott said before pausing the game. He set the controller down and stood. He was a head taller than Mark and slightly more muscled.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You think I’m scared?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I think you’re an idiot. I think you’re a fag and that guy turned you on. I think--”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark lunged at Scott with his hands out hitting the larger man in the chest and knocking him back two feet. Each of them stood their ground for a second.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s just cool off guys,” Glen said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Scott stepped forward and Mark lunged at him again but this time when he hit Scott didn’t move. They wrestled for a moment for the advantage. There was no easy winner. Mark tried to throw a punch but Scott was too close and his arm was deflected over the other man’s shoulder. Mark threw a knee and this time Scott was prepared so he grabbed the leg and pulled making him lose his balance and fall backwards. Scott tried to fall on him to get control but Mark put up his other knee temporarily putting him off balance he fell to the side into the television stand almost knocking it over.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That was my T.V.,” Scott said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Quit it you two,” Glen said as he looked on.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not ‘til he apologizes,” Mark said between breaths as he rolled to his knees to continue the struggle. Scott knew to get back to his feet, or at least to his knees. He caught Mark and the two rolled together until he had Mark on his back. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When Mark felt his shoulders hit the floor years of watching UFC had told him to get his guard up making Scott fall between his legs. Scott threw a punch into Mark’s stomach making him yell out in pain. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on guys,” Glen said at Scott’s back. He reached down and grabbed Scott under the arms. “That’s enough.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Scott let himself be pulled away but Mark didn’t want it to end so he pushed up from the ground right into both of them knocking them sideways and right into the television. They went over on top of it breaking it easily under their weight and pulling the Xbox 360 onto its side by the cables. As soon as he heard the screen snap and the Xbox hit Mark knew that he had gone too far, something had been broken, something he would have to pay for. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Damn it,” Scott yelled out.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark was on his feet first but he used the time to retreat. Scott and Glen recovered together and when Scott turned on him ready to attach Glen was at his back holding him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let me go,” Scott said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Dude, I’m sorry wait,” Mark said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re going to be.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Cool it man it was just a T.V.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He’s paying for it,” Scott demanded.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Look I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it.” He didn’t know how. Ask his father for the money but what would he say?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Glen still held Scott who bucked at the grip.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Look just get out of here man so we can all cool down.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark turned on his roommates to find their fourth roommate, Bryan, dazed and scratching at his curly brown hair as he </span>stood in the hallway in a pair of boxer briefs.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What happened?”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We had an accident,” Mark said before leaving the apartment with a slam of the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Glen let Scott go and they both looked to the television.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What happened?” Bryan asked again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He broke our television,” Glen said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He broke my television,” Scott said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Dude what an asshole,” Bryan added.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark walked with a determined gate. What had he just done? What would he tell his father? An incident like this could get him kicked off or reprimanded by the coach. What would his teammates say? A whole chain reaction was going to happen and he wasn’t sure if it was worth it.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6949537187649128185.post-8719870887409568622012-05-25T08:02:00.000-07:002012-05-25T11:52:51.134-07:00The Family in the Window- Pt. 1 the Front Window<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tristan stared at the baby Jesus nativity scene made of lawn ornaments crowded together in the front window of his home as he stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. All of the figures were there, touching each other by at least one part. His father had said they wouldn't fit but his mother said they had no choice since at least one figure got stolen each year they had put it on their lawn. The Three Wise Men looked like the Three Stooges or a Vaudeville act and the donkey appeared to be leering at baby Jesus.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He was dressed in a red leather jacket, turtle neck sweater, black jeans, and black dress shoes but the clothes weren't warm enough, not after dark. He had chosen it to look nice for his date but as he stood there shivering he found he regretted the thin ensemble. Forty degrees out, snow on the lawn, and he was going out on a date? Who dates in this kind of weather? I should be dressed like an Eskimo, he thought. But it doesn't matter anyway because this time next year I'm going to be at college in California, Texas, or Washington State. Goodbye East Coast, hello nice weather.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He had already sent out his applications in November and now he was just waiting for high school to end, though his date didn't know that. They had met through an online dating service and chatted briefly. He had told his date that he was going to a local school, the date inferred that meant community college so he didn't deny it. That meant that he was at least eighteen too which he didn’t deny. It was close enough.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He heard a horn and he turned to see the headlights of a '57 Ford driving towards him. He waited for the car to come to a stop before he looked through the passenger window to verify it was his date. He could make out the face by illumination of a white street light. The young man in the driver's seat looked just like the photo online: curly, blonde hair, thin lips, and athletic build. The young man smiled at him and he smiled back before reaching for the door and opening it.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The warmth of the car hit Tristan and sent a shiver down his spine making him let out a grunt then a sigh as he rubbed his hands together. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Cold out there?" his date asked.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"The price of fashion," Tristan said. He held out his hand and his date took it.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Mark," he said. “Your hands are cold.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Tristan, nice to meet you," Tristan said. He got into the car, cupped his hands in front of his mouth and began to blow into them. “Some weather out there.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah it is.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So you found the place easily?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah no problem,” Mark said before shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So have you been to this place we’re going before?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, I’ve been there before,” Mark said. It had only been once to check the place out but he wasn’t about to admit that. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You go often?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is that your way of asking me if I date a lot?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan laughed. “Caught me.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“A couple of times,” Mark said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So a couple dates,” Tristan said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You date much?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I guess I was dating a guy last year. We didn't really do anything formal though. We didn’t really go on dates."</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Last year of high school, that can be rough. Was he in your class?"</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He went to my high school but he was a sophomore.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Younger guy, nice,” Mark said and they looked each other briefly before laughing. “Too bad he wasn’t a freshman.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Too bad I know. So is this place gay friendly?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Basically, I mean a lot of gay couples go there because the owner is gay and you can sort of get away with small stuff like holding hands or maybe even kissing if you don’t get too crazy, if no one is looking, because all types of people come in the restaurant.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So these dates.” Tristan adjusted a vent to hit him directly. “See anyone more than once?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Are you trying to ask if I was serious with a guy?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How many boyfriends have you had?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark looked to his date. “I never really had a boyfriend, like a commitment, you know. Nothing serious I guess.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So how many blow jobs have you had?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark looked across the car, Tristan wasn’t sure but he thought he was blushing. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m just messing with you man.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well that’s one thing that’s different than dating a woman,” Mark said. “A woman would never ask how many blow jobs her date has had.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Have you ever dated women?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I took a girl to high school prom but it wasn’t a real date. We were friends. Hell I think she knew I was gay and that’s why she asked me out.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“She asked you out?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Mark answered.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well that’s your first clue.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark laughed. “You’re a pretty funny guy Tristan. What about this guy you were dating? This uh, sophomore you said. How many blow jobs did you guys exchange?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan held up his hands and began to count with his fingers. It was a lie though. They had kissed a lot, dry humped, masturbated together, and even had one messy exchange as he jerked his previous boyfriend off in an empty theater but there were no blow jobs.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t need to know,” Mark said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No wait, I’m still counting. You said exchanged so I might need to use my toes.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay, okay, I get it. So was it serious? Were you two out? Did you break it off because you graduated?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, no, no,” Tristan said. “I was out but he’s kind of in the closet.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Does he have a name?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” Tristan said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And what was it?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Trying to make sure I’m not making it up?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, I have a registry here of all the gay boys at your high school and oh look.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Very funny. His name was Evan. Yes, it was serious but we weren’t both out. I was out but he wasn’t. It was kind of weird but not really. It’s not like dating girls. You can take them to the movies, kiss in public, you know.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Have you dated girls?” Mark asked.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That was just kid stuff, you know, trying it out. I got to second base and I was like, what the hell am I doing.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Your parents homophobic?”</span><br />
<br />
“No.”<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Religious?” Mark asked.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did you see the front window?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not really,” Mark said. “Why?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll show you when we get back.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They continued to talk as Mark sped along the highway. It was all small talk about television, high school education, and the current economic state of affairs. Tristan found himself agreeing with most everything Mark said and Mark seemed to agree with him too. They laughed at the right time, waited for the other to speak. It was going well. But when they pulled into the parking lot behind the restaurant and waited to be valet parked Tristan found himself suddenly speechless and contemplating how to ask a very important question. After the valet took the car and he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Mark staring at the restaurant. He needed to know so he decided to ask.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How does this work?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What do you mean?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well like, we’re on a date.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Mark said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And we met online.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark looked him in the face and raised an eyebrow.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well we’re both guys. I mean I know how it works when you take a girl out.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As in the guy pays,” Mark said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Right, so if it’s two guys then what happens?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We flip for it.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan turned to his date suddenly considering if he could pay one let alone two meals at such a place but Mark was quick to pat him on the arm.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m just messing with you. Look the place was my idea so I’ll pick up the tab. Next time you pick the place and you can pick up the tab.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Next time, Tristan thought, there’s already a commitment to a next time?</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy yourself.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan became more nervous when they stood at the host’s booth and he suddenly worried if he wasn’t dressed appropriately and if it would be obvious they were a gay couple. We’re just two guys, he thought, no one sees anything but two guys, friends really, out on the town. What straight guys go together to a place like this? Rich ones, he thought.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The host greeted them with a smile and immediately began to lead them to their table. Tristan followed behind Mark as he wanted to take it all in and not feel rushed. He smiled at the first gay couple he saw then at the second one, a pair of lesbians in the corner didn’t notice him but he felt assured by the environment. He sat in the chair opposite Mark but he couldn’t stop looking around at the people.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nice place?” Mark asked.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan looked to him, swallowed hard and agreed that it was.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just don’t order the lobster,” Mark said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan laughed as he looked at his date as a sudden joke came to mind that he felt too nervous to say. Not unless I plan on putting out, he thought.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After that the meal was easy. Tristan managed to forget that they were a gay couple in a straight town, that they were two young men, or that someone might take a baseball bat to either of them. It was a date. The comfort they had made in the car came back to them to live and breath at their table. Mark became free with his gestures, easy with the touch of a hand as he told a story or wanted to get his date’s attention. Tristan reciprocated that feeling with his own casual touch. They laughed through the appetizer, got serious during the entree, and laughed some more during dessert.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>By the end of the date it was easy when Mark put an arm around his shoulder and he let his own slip around the other young man’s waist. In that feeling of holding another person, of being held, he realized that what he had considered his previous boyfriend was no competition. That was high school. This was James Bond with Daniel Craig. His previous boyfriend had been Pierce Brosnan.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The valet smiled at their approach and the car was quickly retrieved. Tristan hated the lack of feeling as they went to their own sides of the car, having to let him go. Mark became focused on the road again and they didn’t talk for a long time until they were miles down the highway.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That was really nice,” Tristan said. “I had a great time.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks,” Mark said. And with that he reached across the car to pat Tristan on the knee to regain some of that lost intimacy.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I mean it’s pretty obvious but I’ve never been on a date. Not a real one with a guy and all.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s nice isn’t it?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Middle America has no idea what they are missing out on. Gays should be everywhere. They are everywhere.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Amen,” Mark said.</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can you believe it? Why would anyone be so afraid?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“They fear themselves. They fear their own feelings. It’s easy for a person to confuse sex with emotion, emotion with sex, and not be able to consider the infinite possibilities and the many limitations.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did you read that somewhere?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark laughed. “I don’t know probably. I would like to say it was original but probably something I learned in first year psych class.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re studying psychology?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, I read all I can about human sexuality.”</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So you want to be a shrink?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No,” Mark said. “I don’t know maybe. I want to know about it. Just like I read the Bible and stay up to date with theology if I can.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Huh, I wouldn’t have taken you for a geek.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark smiled. “It’s my six-pack abs.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan looked to his date and a nervousness returned. What if his date was braver than him? What if his date was willing to do things he had never done? What if he wanted to do them that night? He had a brief flash of the two of them kissing, clothes being removed and he found himself getting warm, sweating, anxious. He decided to keep up the conversation and ask him more about his studies before Mark asked him about his own. What would he say then?</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So what do you want to be when you grow up then? What do you want to study?”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know,” Mark said. “Keep my options open but you know, you just sort of end up somewhere.”</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They continued back and forth with Tristan asking all of the questions until they reached his home address with a few directions thrown in along with the questions. Mark pulled in front of the house and Tristan saw that his parent’s SUV was parked in the driveway which meant they were home. The outside light was on, he hadn’t left it that way which meant his parents knew he was out. The nativity scene still glowed in the window. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark shifted to park and turned off his headlights then the engine. He looked to his date who looked back at him. There was an undeniable tension in the car as they stared at each other. They unbuckled their seat belts.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you want to go on a second date?” Mark asked.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Of course,” Tristan said.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The sound of breathing was broken by the squeak of leather and they both laughed. “Can I walk you to your door?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan shook his head.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can I kiss you?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan nodded and Mark slid across the bench seat until they could kiss easily. Tristan let Mark make the contact but then he pushed back against his lips as he reached out to take hold of him. He found Mark’s thigh and his hip. Mark found his chest and his back, then his knee to turn him a little. Mark’s hand began to move between Tristan’s thighs, his thumb pressed into the crotch of his jeans and Tristan let out a muffled gasp of unexpected pleasure. But Tristan’s hands hadn’t moved and he was now feeling awkward especially when he considered his family was right there in the house waiting for him. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Finally his hands moved, seemingly of their own accord, though Tristan knew that was a lie, it was really fear and he pushed Mark back for space and a breath of air.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wait,” he said. “I have to go this is my parents’ place. And I don’t want to put out too much on the first date. You have to wait until at least date three.” </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Date three?” Mark asked.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah this isn’t Queer as Folk.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark laughed. “So you’ve done your homework.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I am well versed in gay pop culture.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark went for another kiss and Tristan kissed back for a moment and as he pulled away he still sucked at his date’s lip.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We will have to see about that. But the second date you have to pick the place because you’re paying.”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, is that how it’s working?”</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah,” Mark said before retreating to his side of the car.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tristan smiled. A second date, it didn’t matter where. It was all there for him. It all made sense. He opened the car door, closed it, waved to Mark, and then headed back towards his home.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mark started the car, turned on his headlights and began to drive away.</span></div>Bryan Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12257573843383941859noreply@blogger.com0