Chapter 4 June 2001 #2
I rolled my eyes, because I wasn’t trying to give him a cheap thrill.
I wanted to give his air back to him. Pulling my finger down, his bottom lip tugged, and when I let go, it bounced up and down like a slinky.
Tapping the side of his jaw, I waited. Finally, he got the hint and opened his mouth.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his, and I blew.
My exhale ended on a whimper, and more than anything, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair. To tug on those curls until I made him moan. To spear his mouth with my tongue until all that existed in this world were our connected lips and our dueling tongues.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, the lump in his pants pressing against mine.
His hands dug into my ribs, and then he tickled me, heavy and harsh.
I cackled into his face, and when the giggles overtook him, he laughed so hard that he hacked, blasting the smoke against my face.
His tickle torture continued, and I couldn’t handle it any more.
I pressed my arms against his chest and tried to push him off of me.
“Let go, Kent,” I said, trying to wriggle away from him.
Kent snorted, and then he coughed, sending spittle splattering against my cheek.
He looked deep into my eyes, the corner of his lip curling up.
He had such pretty lips. Pink and pillowy and begging to be sucked.
I’d pictured them so many times—usually imagining how they would look wrapped around my . . .
“You’ve got really pretty lips,” I whispered.
Kent’s entire body went rigid. His hands fell to his sides, and he took a step back. I couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Couldn’t make sense of the fire flashing in them. Those big browns I loved so much were harsh. Harsher than I’d ever seen them.
“I think Kyle’s gay,” he said.
What? What the heck did that have to do with anything? “Okay.”
“I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me at lunch the other day.” He stared at me as if he was trying to read something written on my forehead. If Kyle was flirting with Kent, I’d deck him right in the face. Kent was mine. Mine, mine, mine.
“That’s disgusting,” were the only words I could think of. “He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s touching you. I’ll punch his face in.”
Kent winced like I’d somehow hurt him. I might have been high, but I knew Kent. I should have been able to read his expression, but at that moment, I couldn’t.
“Tell him to keep his gosh-dang hands off of you. Do you hear me?” I took a step forward, and Kent took a step back, banging his head on the back of his Daddy’s tool cabinet. “Don’t worry, I’ll kick his butt if he does it again. You just tell me and I’ll take care of it, okay?”
Kent sighed, his eyes focusing on our feet. “Yeah, Gray. Yeah, I’ll tell you.”
Good. Kent was mine. He knew he was mine, and I was his. The way we’d always been. And what right did Kyle have coming in trying to shake that up? We were Two-liter and Half-pint. There was no room for another cup, quart, or gallon. Not even a dang teaspoon.
I grabbed his hand and tugged, leading him out of the garage and onto the driveway.
Honey Lane had never been a hotbed of happenings.
Kent’s house, and two other homes shared the cul-de-sac.
The owners of those homes were in their nineties, and judging by the darkened windows in the distance, it was well past their bedtime.
The Texas stars, big and bright, were shining down on us like our own personal spotlights.
It felt like they were dancing above us.
Like God had opened the sky up like a music box, and dazzling ballerinas twinkled to the tune of a familiar hymn.
Kent stood behind me, arms looping over my shoulders as he held me close against his chest. A familiar hymn hummed low within my soul, demanding release.
He loved it when I sang to him, especially his special song—the one that had only ever been meant for him.
What he didn’t know was just how much that song meant to me, too.
He didn’t know it had always been my love letter to him. A quiet confession of who he was to me.
“In life, in death, o Kent, abide with me,” I sang, just for him.
“Grayson,” he whispered into my ear. And then, “God, Gray.”
“Just for you, Half-pint,” I reminded him, holding his hands to my chest. “It’s always been just for you.
” I wasn’t really sure if I was still talking about the song, but I knew my words were facts.
I felt the truth of them flowing through my blood like the Holy Ghost itself. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Just for me,” he said, his voice husky and light all at the same time.
I felt Him in that moment. God, coaxing me closer.
He was calling out to me, wanting to talk.
I wanted it just as much as he did. To take communion and bask in his light.
He was too far away, though. I knew I needed to get closer.
My head was humming, and my heart was on fire, but I heard God right there in that driveway.
I started going to Kent’s church the Sunday following our first sleepover.
I started off slowly, just going to Sunday service every week.
Then Kent would ask if I wanted to go to his youth group meeting, or he’d invite me to the Saturday night potlucks.
Eventually, I was going four times a week, and over time, the congregants became like a second family to me.
Momma and Daddy still hadn’t decided on a home church, but she’d come with me sometimes.
She’d always have her eyes locked on Kent and me, watching to see what we were getting up to during Pastor Fox’s sermon.
Pastor Fox was a hateful man with a hateful heart.
I knew I had to love him as my brother in Christ, but he made it really hard sometimes, always yelling and screaming about gays and Democrats, like they were the worst thing on Earth.
I was one of those two, and I was pretty sure Kent was both.
He’d always talk about politics with me, but none of it made much sense.
The way his daddy talked, you’d think gay people had single handedly brought about the end times.
Despite the hate Pastor Fox preached at us, I never felt that from God.
Pastor Fox always talked about how the Lord would speak to his loyal subjects.
He’d go on and on about the fire he’d feel in his belly, and the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up each time God spoke through him.
The rest of the church would dance and holler and praise God endlessly, all experiencing burning bellies and tingling necks.
Kent told me I should just pretend like he does, but that would be a lie, and the thought of lying about God made me want to back away from Kent so I didn’t get struck by however many lightning bolts God might send his way.
I was finally feeling it. The tingles. The burning tummy. I felt it all, and whether that was down to the Spirit, or if it was just because of the pot, I wasn’t really sure. All I knew was God was calling out to me, and I wanted to answer Him.
I turned around, searching for something. Some way to get closer to Him.
“The roof, my precious child,” God or the marijuana said.
I turned around and stared at Half-pint.
“Stay right there. I gotta go talk to God.” I turned on my heel and walked around the side of the house.
Kent trailed behind, calling my name. “Just give me a minute, Kent. He asked me to meet him on the roof. He called me his precious child and everything. It was nice. We had a moment.”
Kent snorted, and then he grabbed my wrist, holding me in place. “You’re not going on the damn roof.”
I scoffed at him and covered his mouth with my palm.
“Hush. He can hear you. I just told you He was talking to me. Gosh, you shouldn’t be cussing at all, but you definitely shouldn’t be doing it when the Spirit’s at work.
Just sit down right …” I examined my surroundings and smiled when I spotted the tree trunk beside their house.
“Sit right there and wait for me, okay? I won’t be long.
He probably just wants to thank me for my service. ”
“To thank you for your service? Are you a marine now?”
“Hush,” I scolded him. “You know I don’t condone violence. Even if it is for God and Country. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, Kent. It’s sad.”
He pinched my cheek and grinned. “God, you’re precious.”
“True,” I said with a nod. “Very true, actually, but beside the point. Now, you just sit over there and stay adorable. I’ll be back in a few.”
Kent chuckled, and his hand remained locked on my wrist. “Come on, let’s head inside and get ready for bed. I’ll let you use the shower first.”
It’s like he wasn’t listening to a word I was saying.
God was seeking me out and Kent was trying to stand in the way.
I didn’t want to see Kent struck down for blasphemy, so I improvised.
He wasn’t going to budge, so I eyed the second story bathroom window and formed a plan.
It was a great plan, really. One might go as far as calling it foolproof.
“Fine. I’ll shower. But then we’re crawling in your bed, and I’m going to sing you to sleep. Okay?”
He pulled me in for another hug and laughed softly into my ear. “Sounds perfect.”
Five minutes later, Kent was in his bedroom, and I was standing in the shower.
I pointed the showerhead down so it wouldn’t hit me as I made my escape, and then I turned on the tap.
Kent’s bathroom looked out over the garage, and there was a slant that led up to the roof, so I knew as long as I could make it through the window, I could get up there and meet God himself.