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| Part 4 |
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| It was 1977, the summer of my twentieth high school reunion. It was myfirst summer back in the United States in three years. I had taken a jobteaching English in a private school in Brussels that served mainly anexpatriate American community. My parents had retired in Wisconsin, wheremy father spent the last ten years of his university teaching career as theI. Weston Rolland Professor of American Literature. They had a winter homein Florida, but continued to spend nine months of the year in Wisconsin.The last several summers they had come to Europe to visit me, and we hadtaken advantage of Brussels's proximity to the rest of northern Europe totravel together in Holland, Germany and France. Now I am sitting on a Sabena Airlines flight from Brussels to JFK, fromwhence I will fly on to Chicago, rent a car, and drive to Wisconsin to seemy parents. Later, I will also drive to Ohio, to Elyria, a town where Ihave not been in twelve years, for my reunion. That I have agreed to attend such an event surprises me. I am notnostalgic. Still, something about being twenty years out of high school hasawakened in me a desire to reconnect with my youth. The idea that I willsoon be forty has given me pause. It is almost too cliched to admit, but Ifind myself wondering where the last twenty years have gone. I am not auniversity professor like my father. I have not written a book or evenpublished a short story, all things I thought I would do when I graduatedfrom Columbia. I close my eyes and lean back in my narrow airline seat, andI think back on that fateful summer of 1956. The feelings and images of that summer are as real to me now as if they hadjust happened. Of course I hope Joey will be at the reunion. As far as Iknow he still lives in Elyria, but I would be the last to know if he hadmoved on. Last I heard, he still owned the Hess' old gas station.Sometimes I think I can still smell Joey on my fingers. I remember beingamazed the very first time I smelled him on my skin. It was the day wefought on his kitchen floor, his broken ankle splayed out beneath us.Afterwards, when he was sleeping, and I was sitting on the bed next to himwatching him sleep, I raised my fingers to my nose to scratch myself, andthere it was. It was his skin and his saliva and his ejaculate and hisbreath and his sweat all rolled into one heady scent, and it was part of me.Now, on the plane, all these years later I lift my fingers to my nose andthere it is. He is still a part of me, and part of me is still back in thatdark warm bedroom in Elyria watching him sleep. After Joey wakes up I help him bathe. I help him lower himself down intothe tub. We hang his cast carefully over the edge, to keep it dry. Hesoaps himself with a bar of soap and a washcloth. I pour water over hishead and help him wash his hair, lathering the shampoo with my fingers andrinsing the soap from his head. Afterwards, I help him dry himself with atowel, holding him steady so that he does not topple over standing on onefoot. I make us sandwiches and we eat lunch in the kitchen where wewrestled on the floor. Joey is quiet, but no longer angry. We talk softly,mostly about baseball, and then I leave for work. The rest of that summer passed with a rhythm that became certain andregular, each day unfolding like the one before it. I spent my morningswith Joey, talking, reading, and making love. Sometimes Joey initiated sex,but more often it was me. He no longer resisted my advances, but we seldomtalked about the sex itself. We no longer joked about needing a beer tojerk off together. We touched each other often. Sometimes he would resthis left foot on top of mine when we sat at the table in his kitchen. Isometimes read with my head in his lap when we were lying on his bed or onthe Davenport. We almost never went out of the house together, even thoughhis ankle hurt him less and less as the summer wore on. I spent myafternoons at the drugstore thinking about Joey, and my evenings at homewith my parents. Joey had dinner with his mother every night when she camehome from work. Sometimes on Sunday she invited me to dinner at theirhouse. I did not invite Joey to eat with us at our house. Joey got his cast off just before school started in September. I rememberthat early fall afternoon vividly. I am sitting on the porch of his housewaiting for him when he comes home from the doctor's office with his mother.When he gets out of the car, I am surprised that he still has his crutcheswith him. The cast is gone, and he wears a white sock on his right foot.He still holds his foot up off the ground instead of walking on it. I amstruck by the absence of the cast. He seems to me somehow incompletewithout it. It has been a part of him all summer, a part of the Joey that Ihave loved and made love to. I am surprised that my first reaction when Isee him is sadness. And then fear. I am afraid things will change betweenus. I am afraid that our summer together has been tied to his broken ankle,tied to his cast, and now that is gone. We sit on his bed and talk. He peels off his sock to show me. His ankleand foot are stiff from not being used, and his calf muscle has withered, sothat his two legs look like they belong to different people. Joey isembarrassed by the way his leg looks. He will not wear shorts, even thoughit is still warm outside. He is also afraid to try to walk on his ankle.He does not say that, but I can tell. He will not give up his crutches. His rehabilitation turns out to be a slow process. At first he says hisankle hurts too much to walk on it, and it swells up whenever he tries. Hehates the way his ankle looks when it is swollen and puffy. "Like an oldlady," he says. Later, he begins to walk on it for short stretches withouthis crutches, but he walks haltingly, and with a limp. He continues to usethe crutches for support even after school starts. It is the end ofSeptember before he goes back to work at the gas station. In November Joeystill walks with a limp, though it is much less noticeable. His calf musclehas regained most of its girth. Slowly it becomes clear to everyone thatJoey's baseball career is over. In December he goes back to the doctor, whotells him that because of the way the bones have mended, he will always havea slight limp. I am angry with the doctor, and so is his mother, but Joeyseems resigned. Throughout our senior year in high school, he and I continue to spend ourfree time together, though he works as many hours as he can at the gasstation to make money, and I spend more hours studying than I ever havebefore. When we are together, we are often silent. Joey often seemssullen. I find myself getting bored with his silence. We still horsearound. Sometimes we jerk off together, and sometimes I suck him off. Helikes to drive around in his mother's car on Saturday nights after he getsoff from work. Sometimes we park and I go down on him in the front seat,his pants unzipped and his hard cock sticking up into the steering wheel.He never takes my cock into his mouth, though he will jerk me off if we arealone together in his house. When we are out in the car, he never touchesmy cock, and I bring myself off after I have swallowed his load. We almostnever kiss. Sometimes when we are driving around he will put his hand on mythigh and just rest it there. When spring practice starts for the baseball team in March, Joey does notgo. No one says anything, but it is clear that Joey can no longer run. Hegets around without the crutches, but his ankle still bothers him from timeto time, and he still limps. He tells me it feels like his right leg isslightly shorter now than his left leg. Also his ankle joint is stillstiff. He can't extend his right foot all the way. I think Joey is asbeautiful as ever. I am happiest when we are alone in his bedroom withoutour clothes on. In April I find out I have been accepted to Columbia University. In MayJoey buys a motorcycle with his savings bonds. The summer before I leave for college our lovemaking becomes more intense.Joey initiates sex more often than I do. For the first time, he takes mycock in his mouth. He is tentative at first, uncertain how to move his lipsfor best effect, but he grows quickly in confidence, hungrily sucking me offwhenever he gets a chance. He begins to let me play with his ass-hole,first with my fingers, and later with my tongue. His enthusiasm seems togrow, and by July, I am fucking him. Joey likes it best on his back, withhis legs up over my shoulders. That is how I like it best too. I like towatch the way his face scrunches up into a tight knot just before he comes.Afterwards, all of the lines go out of his face. Sitting in my airplane seat I find myself growing hard with these memories,and consider going to the lavatory to jerk-off before we land. Besides our struggle on his kitchen floor, the most vivid memory of Joeythat I carry with me is from the end of the summer of 1957. Joey and I arecamping up on Lake Erie. His mother has let us take the car for theweekend. We have found a place to camp on the beach up past Sandusky. Weare the only ones there. It is late, and we are sitting around the dyingembers of our campfire. We have been drinking beer, and smoking cigarettes,and not talking much. The night air is warm and still and the smoke fromthe fire and our cigarettes lingers in the humidity. From across theglowing coals comes Joey's deep voice. "Take me with you." "Where?" "When you go away to school." He catches me completely off guard. "To New York? Joey, I can't. I'll be living in a dormitory. I'll besharing a room with someone on campus." "Share it with me." His voice is insistent, almost desperate. I have neverheard that edge in his voice. "Joey it doesn't work that way. You have to be a student." "I see." There is a long silence between us. I don't know what to say. I don'toffer any more, and neither does he. I remember feeling incredibly guilty,as if I have betrayed him somehow. Even now, all these years later sittingin this airplane my face grows hot at the memory. As my plane lands in NewYork I am picturing Joey as he looked that night, his dark face lit frombelow by the dim light of the fading fire. The reunion in Elyria turns out to be both more fun and more awkward than Ihad imagined. I can remember almost no one's name. Many faces areimpossible to recognize, and no one seems to recognize me. Still, I talk topeople, and they talk to me. I begin to put some names and faces together.Almost no one has left Ohio, and most people still live in Elyria. I am anexotic in their midst. They have never met anyone who lives overseas. Oneof my schoolmates is confident in his conclusion that Brussels is somewhereover there by Germany. I tell him yes, for he is not wrong. Most everyone is married, some for the second time. More than I would havethought are married to other people from our high school class. Many peopleat the reunion know each other still-they see each other in the market andat work and at little league games. There are yearbooks from our graduatingyear set around on tables for people to look at. I am drinking sweet punch out of a plastic cup when I see Joey across thegymnasium. I see him before he sees me. He is leaning heavily on a pair ofcrutches. The crutches are actually what have caught my eye, and I recognizeJoey only after I turn to see who is using them. We are on opposite sidesof the large room, with quite a crowd separating us. I cannot see his feetor legs. His hair is long-longer certainly than when I saw him last. It isstill black and thick, though many of our peers have begun to turn gray, orlose their hair, or both. I can see that he is sporting a beard of somesort, with a mustache. His cheekbones stand out, and he looks thinner thanI remember him. I am staring at him, though he has not seen me. I amsurprised that my heart is racing. I am relieved that he is here, but I donot make my way across the room to talk to him. I am not ready. I movealong the outside wall in the opposite direction that he is moving in. My eyes are riveted on Joey as I move about the room. Soon, almostinevitably, his eyes find mine. We stare at each other, neither one of usmoving. I try to keep my face from revealing the emotion I feel. I want tolaugh, and at the same time I feel a large tight knot rising in the back ofmy throat, and I am having a hard time swallowing. Joey's face seems hard.I actually consider fleeing the building. Then, finally, Joey smiles. Abroad tight grin spreads across his face. My own face grows tight as wellas I feel my own involuntary smile overpower my willed indifference. I moveacross the room toward him. He is wearing a red and black plaid checked flannel shirt, and faded Levi's.As I get closer I can see that Joey is skinnier than I have ever seen him.His butt has all but disappeared. Around the edges of his short-croppedbeard I can see that there are lines in his face. I quickly calculate thathe is 39, to my 38. He is always a year older than I am until February, andthen he takes around me again in April. He is leaning heavily on hiscrutches. The right leg of his jeans is split along the seam on the outsideall the way up to his waist. His right leg is encased in a white plastercast that goes from his toes all the way up to the very top of his thigh. Iam aware that I am staring at his cast. It seems impossible to me that heshould be wearing a cast. I cannot take my eyes off of thelong white column of plaster that envelops his leg. The cast goes so highup his leg that it seems to go nearly to his waist. The top of itdisappears into his blue jeans, but I can make out where it ends because ofthe way it distorts the fabric of his pants. The cast holds his leg in aposition that is slightly bent at the knee. I can see almost the wholelength of plaster through the open seam. His pant leg is gathered with asingle safety pin at the knee, but gaps open above and below the pin toreveal the cast. The cast encompasses his foot as well, immobilizing it ata fixed angle to his ankle. Only his long toes stick out from the end ofthe cast. I remember exactly how his toes stick out from the end of a cast.They look just exactly as I remember them looking twenty years ago. I step up close to him so that we can hear each other above the din in thenoisy gymnasium we are standing in. Even in this crowded room I recognizeJoey's scent. It is warm, and sweaty, and slightly acrid. I wonder if hehas bathed. We are standing next to each other grinning and still neitherone of us has said anything. Our silence is filled with the crackle andthump of the Rolling Stones record that is spinning at the other end of theroom. I hold out my hand, awkwardly, affecting a confident masculinegreeting. "Joey. Long time no see." Joey leans his left armpit heavily onto his leftcrutch to support himself, and pulls his right hand away from his othercrutch to shake my hand. "Hey Peter," he says softly, almost imperceptibly beneath the banging of themusic. It occurs to me that we have never shaken hands before. I hold hiscallused hand in mine longer than I should before I let it go. He has nottried to pull it away. "What's this?" I ask, indicating his cast with my eyes. "This is for you." He smiles, pausing, and I am confused. "I was afraidyou might not recognize me without a cast and crutches." "You shouldn't have gone to all that effort," I joke, unsure if he is reallyjoking. I try to strike a more serious tone. "I would have recognized youanywhere." There is another awkward pause. "I know," he finally responds. And then, under his breath, "me too." "So. Seriously. What happened?" "It's busted." "I sort of figured. How?" "Nothing very exciting. I was riding home from work. On my motorcycle.Coming through town. Coming onto the light at Chestnut Ridge. Some ladyopened her car door right into me." "Ouch." "Yeah. Made a big mess. Really banged up my bike." "How about you?" "Pretty banged up too. Busted my leg in two places. Three, really." "No shit." "Broke my femur. About half way up my thigh. Snapped it in two. Smashedmy kneecap. Sheered off my tibia and my fibula, right below the knee." "Shit Joey." "Pretty major fuck up. I had a helmet on, which was lucky. I was intraction for about a week, after they set my femur. It was broken clearthrough. They took me into Cleveland." "When Joey?" "I guess about three weeks ago now. I was in the hospital for about tendays. I guess I been out about ten days now." "How long...I mean how long will you be laid up?" "They said thirteen weeks, give or take. So, another ten, eleven, maybetwelve weeks. I guess it depends." "It's the same...I mean the same side. The same leg. As your ankle." "I know. I've been down this road before. Only this time, I don't know." "What?" "Nothing." "What Joey?" "You want to get out of here?" "Sure. I came to see you." "Yeah. Well here I am. Let's get out of here. I tired of holding myselfup." Joey turned and took off, pulling himself forward on his crutches. Ifollowed him out into the parking lot. "How'd you get here?" I asked him once we were outside. "I drove." "You drove?" "Yeah. My truck." "How the hell do you drive with that thing on?" "It ain't easy. You wanna drive me home?" "Sure. I have a rental car." "Fuck it. Take my truck. I'll never get myself into a rental car." "What about my car?" "Leave it. We'll get it tomorrow. It ain't going anywhere." Tomorrow.That suggested that I was spending the night at his house. |
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