Red, Black & Yellow （2017）
He seems touched that I had thought him handsome, that I’d had a crush on him, had tried to imagine a life with him. “You should have told me back then,” he said. “Who knows what might have happened?” he teasingly added.
Of course, he’d heard the gossip about me and Jackson, but he hadn’t believed it. “You were too innocent, and Jackson was the preacher’s kid. Besides, back then, I couldn’t imagine two guys in love with each other.”
“And now?” I asked.
“Now, it’s kind of cool. It’s kinda sexy to imagine. And I love knowing you were in love with me.”
Rio was raised by his grandparents, like a lot of us in Locust Hollow, because a generation, Reverend Jack proclaimed with a kind of mournful glee, were seduced, had succumbed, and been lost to the devil’s syncopated rhythms of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.
“My grandparents resented having to raise me and they weren’t really kind to me.
And they hated spending money on me,” Rio told me.
“So, I didn’t have many clothes, and sometimes I would wear the same clothes for two or three days in a row.
The kids would point at me and chant, ‘Repeats! Repeats.’ You never did, though, and I remember you always shared your art supplies with me when I didn’t have my own. ”
Up until freshman year of high school, we’d maintained a friendship of sorts.
Then puberty found him, earlier than the rest of us, and he’d shot up a foot, his voice deepened, his shoulders broadened.
In short, he got hot. All the girls wanted to date him, and all the guys wanted to hang around him.
I got left behind with other childish things.
“You were always so quiet. You were always alone, always carrying a book. I remember the books you carried most because whenever we split up into teams, no one would pick you, or they’d send you where you couldn’t do any harm. You’d just go off and read your book.”
Being as popular as he was and athletic, Rio was always named team captain and as such got to choose his players first. And always his team was the “skins” in games of “shirts vs. skins.” I can still see him pulling his T-shirt over his head, revealing his taut, flat belly and the treasure trail that snaked down into his shorts.
I did not remind him that he had never chosen me for his team.
Not once. I remember the day I’d finally had enough and kicked Lidell in the balls; Rio had looked me right in the eyes, as he often did, and chosen someone else.
Over and over again until I was the last boy left and by default placed on his opposing team. I did not remind him of this.
Rio attended State College in a lush green valley on the other side of the mountains—the same one Mr. Fabricant had encouraged me to apply to.
I had had no intention of going to a school so close to Locust Hollow, so close my grandfather could easily grab me with his callused, cruel hands, and plunk me back into the dust and ashes that had been my world since I was seven years old; I hadn’t even applied for admission, not even as my “safety school.”
Rio became a music teacher, returning to our old high school to teach after Miss Miller retired.
He’d soon grown bored with teaching, though, and with Mr. Fabricant’s help and encouragement, he’d gone on to grad school then worked as a music therapist. When he got bored with that, he’d set out for LA to start a career in music.
Once there, he started writing and producing pop and R we hadn’t needed endearments.
“Oh,” I said, slightly surprised. “Was it a good dream?”
“Yes,” he said. “Very good. I dreamt…I was inside you…”
“Did you…ummm…like it?”
“Check your text messages.”
When I looked at my phone, I discovered he’d texted me a picture: a black jockstrap was pulled aside to reveal an erect penis. His, I presumed. It was impressive, jutting out of a thicket of unruly pubic hair.
“You like?”
“I like,” I said as Roscoe stirred in my underwear. Roscoe! Early on, in a playful mood, Jackson had named my dick Roscoe. I’ve no idea why. And I hadn’t thought of this in years.
“Hello?” Rio said in my ear as my worlds collided—the world of Jackson and the world of Rio.
“Hi. Hello. I’m here. Sorry, I was distracted by this picture.”
Can I tell you something?”
“Of course. You can tell me anything.”
“I’ve never thought about having sex with a guy before…”
“And now?”
“Now, I can’t stop thinking about it—except you’re the only guy I can imagine being intimate with.”
I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t stop smiling into the phone.
“Hello?” You there?”
“I’m here.”
“OK, I gotta go. I just wanted you to know that in case I get run over by a bus or something.”
I don’t expect this absurd flirtation with Rio to go anywhere, but it does help me to think about Jackson less. And then there’s the romantic allure of developing a relationship with your secret high school crush decades after the fact.
I suppose Rio is seducing me less with the promise of sex than the promise of romance, of a dream coming true, of a second chance, of love after the apocalypse.
Monday, March 20, 2017
Rio: Where are you, babe? I’ve been messaging you all morning.
Oren: Sorry. I had a colonoscopy scheduled for this morning.
Rio: Everything OK?
Oren: Yeah. Precautionary. I was having some issues with bleeding. Turns out I’m fine.
Rio: You got your results already?
Oren: Yeah. Dr gave me results as soon as I woke up. I got a WRITTEN report—with the most appalling photos. LOL
Rio: Of your asshole? Or your ass’s interior?
Oren: Interior. Worse, there were eight people in the room when they put me under. All of them there presumably to look up my butt.
Rio: Well, I know you like an audience…
Oren: Ha-ha. I told them I was excited to see so many people turn out to view my innards. They actually applauded. It was hilarious…
Rio: You’re too funny. I’m glad all is good in the Oren nether regions.
Oren: LOL. So am I. I’m relieved actually.
Rio: Me, too. I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.
Oren: You won’t. I’m not going anywhere. We have a lot to do. Plus, we still need to meet in person.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Rio: Can I ask you a question?
Oren: Of course. I keep telling you, you can ask me anything.
Rio: Have you ever been back to Locust Hollow?
Oren: No. Why on earth would I do that?
Rio: Would you go if I asked you to?
Oren: What’s going on?
Rio: Our 40th reunion is in June and I’m going.
I’ll be staying with Mr. Fabricant for a few weeks.
I need to get away from Vi for a bit. Mr. Fabricant is taking a cross-country trip and will be gone most of the summer.
He’s letting me stay at his house for free in exchange for watering his plants and cutting the grass.
Oren: Is everything in his house still wrapped in plastic?
Rio: Yes. But it’s clean and quiet. I could use some peace.
Oren: I bet.
Rio: So, I was thinking it would be really nice if we could finally meet in person.
Oren: You want to meet in person?
Rio: Yeah. Don’t you? I love our chats, but I really, really want to see you.
Oren: OK.
Rio: OK, what?
Oren: OK. I’ll go.
Rio: YIPPEE.
Friday, June 2, 2017
Oren: I saw your Facebook post from yesterday. You OK?
Rio: Yeah. Some asshole hit my car.
Oren: That sucks. Assholes are everywhere. How’s the car?