Day 11 New Haven, CT
SAM
WELL, THAT WAS THE MOST awkward night of my life.
I don’t know what to say to Max, and it seems like he doesn’t know what to say to me either.
It’s been all can you pass me those cables or are you okay with this setlist or hey, you can go brush your teeth first if you want.
When we went to bed last night, he curled up in a ball facing away from me, hugging the edge of the mattress.
And this morning, there was no suggestion of sneaking off to have breakfast together so that Roxie and Blake could have some alone time.
The four of us just packed up our shit and handed in our keycard and got back on the road.
Today is kind of a weird day, anyway. Our gig is at a radical bookstore in New Haven, and we’re not playing until this evening.
But we have to show up early to drop Blake off for a full day of organizing with some of his activist friends.
There are some workshops about stuff like protest tactics and street medicine and legal observing that are open to everyone, but I know that Blake and Roxie will be sitting in on some closed sessions that are invitation only.
Max and I were planning on doing our own thing, but now —
I hesitate at the tailgate of the van. “Hey, um — Max?”
“Yeah, dude?” He looks so tired, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and dark circles under his eyes.
I really need to redo my nail polish. Maybe I can do that today. “Uh, I was thinking — maybe I’ll go off on my own today? I feel like I need to clear my head.”
Max looks at me for a long time, and I can’t read his expression. Finally, he nods curtly. “Yeah, that makes sense. Maybe I’ll go to the movies or something.”
“Okay, um — I hope you have a nice day.”
I grab my acoustic guitar and sling it over my shoulder, along with the picnic blanket from the van.
I don’t have a map of New Haven, so I’ll have to try to remember where I’m going so that I don’t get lost. It’s a perfect day, the sky scrubbed blue after yesterday’s rain, warm but not scorching.
The sun feels good on my skin, and I try my best to breathe into it, feeling the breeze on my face and the firm ground under my feet, the rhythm of my steps as I walk.
I haven’t gone more than ten minutes when I spot a small, green park, and it’s as good of a place as any to spend some time by myself.
I find a patch of shady grass underneath the canopy of an ancient oak tree, and I spread out my blanket and take off my shoes.
And I sit, pulling my guitar out of its soft case and beginning to pluck at the strings.
I’ve written love songs for Max. I’ve never dared to play any of them for him, because I know he would want to know who they were about — or even worse, he would know, because music has a way of cutting through the bullshit and showing you what’s true.
But as I sit here, not trying to play anything in particular, my fingers find the familiar chords, and I hum the melody, the words echoing in my mind.
The thing is, Max and I are so much more than just a kiss. I can’t go to pieces on him over one night. I’m a fucking mess, and I feel like everything I thought I knew has been turned upside down. But how must he feel? What is he going through right now?
He’s my best friend. Yeah, he’s the secret love of my life. But he’s my best friend first and he would never leave me on my own if he knew I was hurting.
We’ve always been there for each other, two lost boys who didn’t turn out the way their parents wanted.
Max always had his stepdad breathing down his neck, telling him he would never amount to anything.
And me? I was supposed to be the oldest son, the kid who made my dad proud.
But from the moment I could walk and talk, I was too soft.
I cried too easily and I sucked at sports and I didn’t want to go hunting or any of the other things my dad wanted to do with me.
And then when I was five, my brother Nathan was born, and the twins, Jenna and Corey, came not long after.
Suddenly my parents had three under two and I had to grow up real fast. Maybe I couldn’t hit a baseball, but I could cook and babysit and mow the lawn and whatever else my parents needed me to do.
And as long as I was useful, they looked the other way about pretty much anything they didn’t want to see.
When I told my mom I was gay, she pursed her lips and asked if I had finished folding the laundry yet. And my dad just sighed and said that at least they had my brothers.
Max, though? He grinned and punched my arm and said he already figured it out. Then he took me out for ice cream and pointed at every boy who passed by and asked me if I thought they were cute. And meanwhile I couldn’t tell him that the cutest boy I’d ever seen was sitting right in front of me.
That’s who Max is. He’s the boy who kept me alive when I didn’t have anyone else. And I need to make it up to him.
MAX
I’m sitting on a low wall outside the bookstore where we’re playing tonight, swinging my feet and wondering when Sam is going to turn up. It’s late afternoon, and I’m pretty sure the event is winding up inside. We’re going to have to start setting up our equipment soon.
As for everything that’s going on — I don’t fucking know. I don’t know why Sam is so mad at me. I don’t know why I did what I did. I don’t know what any of it means. I just want it to go away and for everything to be normal again.
A shadow falls across the sidewalk in front of me, and I look up to see Sam blocking my light. He’s shifting from foot to foot, and he looks like he’s keeping a flock of birds in his mouth and he’s afraid they’ll escape if he opens his lips.
Best not to spook him. “Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.” He puts his guitar down on the wall and looks down at his fingernails, but they’re freshly painted and there are no little imperfections to pick. “Uh — how was the movie?”
I shrug. “I went to see Attack of the Clones again, so you know. Lightsabers. Sand.”
Sam chuckles, and it comes out kind of like a whinny. “Natalie Portman in a crop top, huh?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Less of a draw than you might think.”
His face kind of spasms, and he looks up at the sky, then down at the ground again. Then he reaches out suddenly and grabs both of my hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” I lean forward, trying to catch his eye.
“For everything! For being a dick and icing you out. For messing things up for you when it wasn’t my place. But mostly — because you’re going through something and I missed it somehow but then instead of listening to you or trying to help I’ve been fucking awful —”
“Sammy —”
I don’t know whether he throws his arms around me or I’m the one who reels him in.
But somehow I’m on my feet and I’m crushing Sam close, hugging him with everything that I have.
And he’s shaking like a leaf, his face buried in my shoulder, and it’s enough just to breathe him in, to have him close —
“It didn’t mean anything —” I blurt. And even though it isn’t quite true, it’s true enough. “That guy at the bar — you know I’m a moron and I do stupid things. It’s just — you were hooking up and I thought —”
“I didn’t hook up.”
“What?” I pull back just enough so that I can see his face.
“Yeah, uh — he —” Sam gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t very nice.”
His lip quivers and he looks away quickly.
“Are you okay?” My hands are still at Sam’s sides, and I give him a gentle squeeze.
Sam lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. Then he lifts a single finger, tracing a lock of hair at my temple and tucking it carefully behind my ear. I hardly dare to breathe.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I’m okay.”
I’m not completely sure that’s true. But for now, the fact that he’s talking to me again is enough.
SAM
“This is what we’re sleeping on? A goddamn flip and fuck?”
Max stares dubiously at the foldable mattress. It’s barely wide enough to qualify as a twin, and only a few inches thick. I pick it up and unfold it, smoothing it out on the floor.
“It was the only thing I could find,” I explain. “Everything else was taken.”
We’re in a corner of the basement of the house where we’re staying overnight, speaking in whispers so that we don’t disturb the sleepers around us.
As it turned out, several of the attendees of today’s workshop had also decided to crash for the night, so every couch, loveseat and armchair is already accommodating one or two curled-up crustpunks.
I was lucky that I was able to grab this at all.
Max is still hesitating. “Are you sure I shouldn’t just sleep on the floor? I don’t mind.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I huff. “It’s bare concrete. And it’s not like we’ve never shared a twin bed before.”
“Yeah, but we were like, ten years old.”
I think I know what’s bothering him. The past few days have been a lot, and I’m feeling it too.
After our chat outside the bookstore, we went inside and had a good show, and if you didn’t know us, you would think everything is fine.
But we’re both being a little more polite than usual, and there’s something thrumming in the air, some restless energy, brittle and bright.
Still, I’m exhausted, and I want to fucking sleep, so I need to make Max feel better.
“Look, this is the best we’ve got,” I sigh. “Maybe if we put my sleeping bag underneath us and yours on top, we’ll have enough padding to get through the night. I don’t mind if you don’t. I promise.”
“Okay,” Max finally agrees. He helps me spread out the sleeping bags, and then we turn away from each other, both slipping out of our jeans and folding them before putting them aside. When I’m ready, I crawl onto the mattress, taking my place as close to one edge as possible.
“God, this is —” Max slips under the covers behind me, flush against my back. “I dunno, dude — there’s pretty much no way I can stay on this fucking mattress without, um —”