The Long Run, page 19
I biked over to the Cinnaminson CVS to buy our lube because I’d eat my own head in embarrassment if someone from Moorestown caught me with it. Once inside, I tiptoed right for the Family Planning aisle and selected some bottles of the brand with the simplest packaging. A lot of the pricier ones had these sexy logos and suggestive names. Really trying to jazz up the cool factor for the luber on the go. I didn’t need bells and whistles. This was gel that was gonna be shoved up someone’s ass. Be humble.
I was worried the cashier would think less of me if I showed up with a bunch of lube like some dry-skinned sex deviant so I grabbed Doritos and a Hallmark card. I guess I preferred them to think I was a dry-skinned sex deviant who also loved Cool Ranch and Bat Mitzvahs.
I was aimlessly looking at different kinds of batteries when Lucy Jordan and I locked eyes from across the store. She was with another girl I couldn’t see. I instinctively slipped the three bottles of lube into my butt pockets. What the fuck was she doing there? She definitely saw me because she made one of those lazy little waves that say: “I am acknowledging that, yes, we know each other and, don’t worry, I don’t need to talk to you either.”
That was comforting because me, Lucy, plus some bottles of K-Y would make for some terrible, unexplainable small talk. She’d at least have to wonder who all this lube was for. Bash told me Lucy is incredibly perceptive and he would a hundred percent throttle me if I set off any of her alarms.
But then I saw who Lucy was with. I hid behind a display of off-brand Hot Wheels and whispered up to God. “What the FUCK, man?”
For some inexplicable reason, Lucy was yucking it up with Ronny DiSario. How the fuck did they even know each other, let alone enough to be hanging out? It was one thing if Lucy caught me lube-handed, but Ronny knew me. Ronny’s taken a decided interest in my whole deal. And she knew I’d been hanging out with Bash. Ronny knew just enough of her favorite bassist’s shit to help Lucy fill in some deeply closeted holes about my life. Bash’s life. And it would only be a matter of time before Lucy connected some dots, blew up my spot, and took the best/only sex I’ve ever had back off the table.
Damn it, Ronny. This is why I don’t make friends.
The girls walked over to the drinks so I crept up the opposite side of the store. I just needed to get out unseen, get back to Bash’s, and never talk to Ronny DiSario ever again. Well. Maybe not that. Never talk to Ronny DiSario about Bash ever again. Better.
But it wasn’t like I jabbered about him 24/7. If anything, she brought him up more than I did. Which reminded me, didn’t Ronny try to fuck Bash at the Beer Olympics? Fresh off his breakup with Lucy? And now they hang out at Cinnaminson CVSs together?
Weird. Maybe I didn’t understand girls.
I saw them heading into the Frozen Food section so I slowly backed into Mouthwash and Eye Care. I ducked low and scurried up the aisle, almost tripping over a basket someone had abandoned in front of the Crest Whitestrips. I saw a straight shot to the exit. But then I heard Lucy’s voice.
“I think I could do twenty.”
I almost dropped to the ground. They were one aisle over in Allergy and Children’s Health. Just a pack of Pampers separated me and certain death. Then I heard Ronny.
“No. You’re underestimating how hard it would be to actually fight a third grader.”
“I don’t think I am. I think I have a realistic understanding of myself.”
“Third graders are bigger than you think, Lu. You’d be tired after ten.”
“And I’d tough it out till twenty. I know my body.”
“I want pho.”
“Yesssss.”
They were walking up the aisle, toward the exit. I could wait them out. See if they left first then make my escape. But what if they catch me in the parking lot? See me on their way out? Too many variables.
A woman was staring at me over a bottle of cinnamon mouthwash. I waved her off. She didn’t need to get mixed up in all this.
“Do we think Matty Silva would be interesting in bed?”
“Ronny, bleh.”
“Merely positing a question.”
“Also, I assume Mr. Silva doesn’t go down on girls.”
“Oho. Based on experience?”
“No. Simply vibes.”
“Does Bash?”
I perked up. They’d stopped walking and so had I. My exit window was open but I found myself curious to hear what Lucy had to say.
“Seb and I... I mean, the guy knows what he’s doing. He just...”
I leaned in. It was none of my business. But I leaned in.
Lucy sighed. “He could never stop thinking.”
“Like, about someone else? Fucker.”
“No. Like, about everything. He was always in his head. Like he thought he’d get caught doing something he shouldn’t. He never got lost in it, you know?”
“Damn. Good thing he blew me off at Olympics.”
“Very good thing. It would’ve been real inconvenient to have to murder you.”
“I was bored. And sober. And I probably wouldn’t have done it anyhow.”
“You just wanted to know you could.”
“You get me. If we order pho now, it’ll be at mine in twenty.”
“Do they do those little pork meatball things? I’m craving.”
“That they do. Oh, shit, I need mouthwash.”
Fuck. On impulse, I chucked my bag of family-sized Doritos over the aisle wall. It crashed to the tiles and made the girls yipe.
“What the hell?”
Before I could question the logistics of my diversion, I ditched the Hallmark card and rushed out the front, unseen. My heart was racing by the time I reached my bike but I hopped on and sped away before any Moorestown girl or Cinnaminson cop could stop me. I was a good three blocks clear of the CVS parking lot when I realized that I’d not only stolen three bottles of lube but had also sat on two. My ass was sopping. Super.
I biked straight to Bash’s and caught him up while my boxers and jeans bounced around in his washing machine. He thought the run-in was hilarious, namely that my first act as Lube Coordinator™ was to shoplift and cream my jeans. I guess it was a little funny. The washer had thirty minutes to go so we passed the time breaking in the surviving bottle on top of his dryer.
Once the load was finished, we knocked out an encore in his room. After, I was sprawled out on his wonderfully comfy bed, something I’d come to love, while he worked at his desk. Bare ass on his chair. Thing about Bash, if he gets naked, he stays naked. He says he likes to “let his skin breathe.” I’m not complaining, it’s a nice sight, I just hope he washes his desk chair from time to time.
He was eating an old Wawa hoagie and reading a Princeton Review workbook. It was full of Post-its and liner notes. Del’s been getting on him about college apps lately. Says that, however much he wants to go to Rutgers, it’d be foolish to only apply to Rutgers.
I didn’t wanna say it, because he really does wanna go for his mom and all, but I think he can do better. He’s a smart enough guy but those legs of his open a lot of doors. I told him I agreed with Del, that backups are wise, so he’s been window-shopping around. Maybe it’s just to get us off his back but I’m happy he’s trying.
I was staring at the picture he keeps of his mom on his nightstand, with him so small and cute and loved, when I had a random thought. “It must’ve been nice to have Lucy.”
“Huh?”
He took his earbuds out. I hadn’t noticed them. “Lucy. It must’ve been nice to date someone you’re so close with.”
“Yeah. It was. Most of the time.”
“But, like, confusing too, right?”
“Whatchu mean?”
“I don’t know. Something I was thinking about on my bike ride over.”
“Me and Lucy?”
“You and me. I’m wondering who has it harder.”
He swiveled around and took his readers off. “In what sense?”
“Well, I like you. I like people like you. But you like people like me AND other people. Like Lucy. Both are confusing and shit, but, yeah. I wonder. Which is harder?”
“You mean, is it harder to be gay or...”
“Bi. Bisexual.”
He grunted. Bash is weird with terms. I don’t think I heard him actually say the word gay till about three weeks after I came out to him.
“That’s liking both?”
“According to the internet. And porn. And Phil Reyno, yeah.”
“Bisexual.” The word hit my ear weird coming out of his mouth. Like Bash was worried he’d mispronounce it. “I don’t know. Sounds made up.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t if you let yourself say it enough.”
“Fair.” He stood up and did this stretching routine he does that’s his own personal blend of yoga and nervous pacing. “Bisexual. Bi. I am a bisexual. I am bisexual. I have bisexuality.”
“Look at him go! Though I don’t think it’s something you have.”
“I caught bisexuality. I’m riddled with it.” He took a bite of his hoagie and spoke with his mouth full. “But to answer your question, I sorta wish I was more like you. Maybe I wouldn’t worry as much.”
“I worry. I worry a lot. It’s, like, one of my main things.”
“Sure, but only about the one thing. I have both balls in the air, y’know? Not to mention...” He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with a pencil. “Like, I feel like if I ever were to tell someone... Like, if I told Lucy about everything. You and me. My whole deal. I feel like she’d think I was lying.”
“About being bi?”
“No, like everything she and I had was a front.”
“I don’t think Lucy’s like that.”
“Not Luce in particular, just in general. I don’t know if people would believe me. That I like...both.”
“It’s not a hard concept.”
“Try telling me that in July. I didn’t think it was a real option and I was living it. So, yeah. It’s hard. Harder.”
I sat up in bed. I suddenly felt very naked and pulled his comforter around me. “Fair. But you had someone. You had options. I could never...”
“What?”
“Like, if you wanted, there’s a world where you never have to tell anyone. You know? Like, you could find some great girl and fall crazy in love and all that and...yeah. That’d be it. I don’t have that. Harder.”
“I mean... I’d still tell people.”
“Would you?”
Honest question. If Bash was completely happy and satisfied and in love with the perfect woman, would this side of himself even exist? Would he let it? I really didn’t know.
I don’t think he knew either. He really mulled it over. “I would. I think I would. I think I’d need to. Or I’d be lying. I think it’d feel wrong.”
“I get that. That’s why I haven’t... Like, I never wanted to fake it. I could’ve, I’ve had offers. But faking it felt mean. To the girl.”
“Offers? From who?”
“Syd DeStefano.”
“Fuck you. That’s a lie.”
“Seriously. Seventh grade. We were in the same Latin class and hit it off.”
“Sydney flirts with everyone, Dro. She’s a little hard-core for a guy like—”
“She invited me to Passy’s.”
“Oh. Fuck. No bullshit?”
“No bullshit.”
In Moorestown Middle, you didn’t invite someone to Passy’s Pizzeria unless you were looking to fall in love or get fingered in the alleyway. Often both. But I turned her down. At that point, I didn’t have the words for what was going on in my head, but I knew that they didn’t involve Sydney DeStefano or Passy’s Pizzeria.
“Wait. So, you’ve never had any kind of girlfriend?”
“Nope. Not even a date. That surprises you?”
“I mean, I assumed but I didn’t...wow. So, I really was your first anything?”
“Yup, yup, yup.”
“Huh.” He took a contemplative bite from his hoagie. Gears were turning in his head. His mouth was full of ham and bread when he said it. “You wanna go on a date?”
“What?”
He finally swallowed. “Wanna go on a date?”
“No, I somehow made that out. What do you mean date?”
“Like a date. Like go out. To dinner or something.”
I tried to respond with words but they came out as laughing. I could feel all the red on my face which just doubled down on my embarrassment. I wish I had some damn clothes on right then.
“I’m serious, Dro! Come on. I wanna take you out. Really do it up.”
A big laugh burst out and I hid under the comforter. I heard him walk over and felt him start punching on my chest through the blankets.
“Okay?!!”
“Okay!”
“Okay. Good. Okay.”
I could hear him sit back in his chair. Heard him chuckle to himself and take another bite of sandwich. But I couldn’t get out from under the comforter. I didn’t want him to see how much I was blushing.
A date. A date? With Bash? Holy shit.
Holy. Shit.
bash
dec. 11
sayno
I woke up looking for the man in my doorway. He wasn’t there. Fuck. I hate dreaming. Dro was snoring on my chest. I shook his face.
“Dro. Hey.”
His noises cut off and he blinked himself awake. “Mm?”
“I just had a dream.”
He was barely up. “While you were sleeping? Dude, no way.”
“It was about my dad.”
That got his attention. He sniffed and got the crap out of his eyes. “Weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Talk to me.”
The dream already felt so far away. What happened? What about the doorway? The more I tried to remember it, the farther it felt.
“Bash?”
“...I don’t remember.”
“Jesus.”
“Something about angels. With tattoos.”
He peeled my arm off him and pushed me over. “Turn around. You’ve lost big-spoon privileges.”
“Works for me. I go both ways, bitch.”
“Ugh.”
He put his big arm around me and I repositioned my hips to find his. His meaty forearm was like memory foam. I pushed my head into it and got comfy.
He grumbled. “I’m getting you a dream journal for Christmas.”
“I’m getting you a CPAP machine.”
“Fuck off, I barely snore.”
“I think I’d know.”
He kissed the back of my neck. “...Is it bad?”
“Nah. I kinda like it. It’s like whale sounds. My white boy’s white noise.”
I felt his chuckle shake through his chest into mine. “Good night.”
“Night, Dro.”
I waited eight seconds and the snoring picked up behind me. It was more like purring this go-around. I smiled and followed the noise to sleep.
Sandro made me promise that I’d stop running multiple times a day. Well, to quote him, even a single daily workout was “near masochistic” but I got his point. Running two or three times a day wasn’t exactly healthy if I was only running to stop thinking. But I’ve liked my thoughts lately. It was an easy promise to keep.
The next morning, after my single run of the day, I happened to catch Lucy leaving her place with her canvas grocery bag.
“Bash Ketchum.”
“Luce Cannon. Careful, I smell like ass.”
“Charming.”
She untangled her headphones and gave my sweaty self a once-over. I think she was loading up on all the things she’d been meaning to tell me. We hadn’t really caught up in a minute. It wasn’t on purpose, we just kept missing each other.
“Where you been? You were missed at Spooktacular. I was a hamster.”
“Nice. It sounded sick. I was in Maine. Del had this family thing.”
“Travel. Fun.”
“Yeah. Lobsters.”
“Matty was pissed. Says you keep bailing on him.”
I didn’t want to tell Lucy about my turn on Matty. How I haven’t said a word to him since I bailed on Spooktacular outside of “Table Eleven needs straws.” I just nodded. “Matty’s Matty.”
She crunched up her nose at that. Lucy Jordan is allergic to vague sentiment. “Yes. Matty is Matty. A spectacular observation.”
“I’m nothing if not observant.”
“And so humble.”
She unscrunched and smiled. “Feels like I haven’t seen you around much. How are you?”
“Good. Fine. Cross-country kind of sucked but winter track starts next week.”
“Oh. Joy.”
“Been reading a bunch too. Eleven books since August.”
Lucy laughed. “Ms. Morgan’s Lit? You read the one about that douche on the boat?”
“Hey. Don’t come for my boy, Daniel. Aced that report. Well, A-. I rambled.”
“You? Talkative?” We laughed. And I realized I was talking. I’d been talking for minutes without thinking about what I needed to say next. “Hey, did Sandro ever find you?”
I spoke too soon. My body went still. “Huh?”
“Sandro Miceli. Mitchelli? However you say it. He was looking for you, little while back. Said he needed to apologize for something. Said you were friends.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Y’know, I’d completely forgotten about it but I saw him at CVS the other week and... I don’t know. I didn’t know you knew him like that.”
If people ask me about Sandro, I tell them about our workout schedule and our training regimen and how our coaches wanted the squad captains to yadayadayada. I have all these deflections for people. But Lucy knows me, and I know when she’s digging. My tongue started feeling heavy in my mouth and I couldn’t stand still.
