Xanadu loaded an Alan Jackson CD before passing me the bottle of strawberry wine. Her tastes were changing. I took that as a sign. She said to Jamie, “Did Mike tell you about my ring?”
Jamie choked. Lowering his fifth of scotch, he wiped his lips and said, “Ring?”
Xanadu stuck out her hand for Jamie to ogle. Did she have to wear it on her left hand? Wouldn’t it look better on her toe? Or in the plastic bubble from the gumball machine?
Jamie turned to me. “You got her a ring?”
I spit-sprayed the inside of the caboose.
Xanadu laughed. “No, you idiot. It’s from Bailey.”
Jamie tried to meet my eyes, but I was busy guzzling.
Xanadu said, “This is a farewell party. Did Mike tell you?”
“Are you leaving?” Jamie said flatly to Xanadu.
“No. My suppliers are becoming suspicious.” She opened a package of Ding Dongs that I’d snitched off Ma’s TV tray. Ma’d been asleep on the sofa when I left the house. Or dead. I didn’t check her pulse. Xanadu broke the Ding Dong and handed me half. “We’re depleting my aunt and uncle’s stock of booze. I keep filling the bottles with water, but… I don’t know. I feel kind of guilty about stealing it.”
“Really,” Jamie said. “When did you grow a conscience?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Xanadu and I snapped together.
Jamie raised his bottle to his mouth and swigged.
Xanadu and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Jamie could be a jerk. He proved it by adding, “Tell us the truth, Xana. We’re quitting because Bailey doesn’t approve of you having sex with us on Fridays.”
She let out a little huff. “Get real.”
“Oh, I am real. You’re the fake. All you are is Bailey’s Barbie.”
“Shut up,” I snarled.
“Bailey’s lay.”
Xanadu intercepted my lunge for Jamie’s throat. “If Shane asked you to stop doing something he disapproved of, you would,” she said. “Wouldn’t you?”
Jamie shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything he disapproves of. Let me think.” He pressed a finger to his chin. “Nope. He loves me just the way I am.”
“Proof he’s sniffing diesel.” I took another glug of wine.
Xanadu laughed. She jabbed me in the arm. “I know I shouldn’t cater to Bailey’s every whim, but alas, I’m in love.” She sighed. “If I wasn’t so hot for Bailey, I could sure go for Beau.”
Jamie bristled. That shut him up.
I closed my eyes. Concentrated on the slow buzz creeping into my brain. On her nearness, her heat. She could be “that” girl, if she let herself. My girl. Xanadu kicked my foot. “How’d you know Ding Dongs were my favorite?”
My eyelids fluttered. She smiled at me. I know everything about you, I thought. I know you better than you know yourself.
She sprawled across the mattress, her head landing in my lap. “You’ll never believe what I dreamed about last night. You and me. Us. Together.”
“Yeah?” I said. My breath caught.
“Yeah. It was like a lesbian action dream.” She laughed. “I think you’re putting ideas in my head.”
I gripped the neck of my bottle and raised it to my mouth. She added, “If I was with you, I could be myself, huh? I could do whatever I wanted.” She reached up to fondle Dad’s ring. “You’d love me no matter what.”
No matter what, Xanadu. No matter what. I caught Jamie looking at me, at us, a scowl on his face.
What?
“What?” I voiced it. Xanadu’s words tumbled around in my brain: lesbian action dream, lesbian action dream, no matter what.
Jamie’s gaze settled on Xanadu, who’d curled up on my quad, hands folded under her cheek. I couldn’t help myself; I touched her hair. I brushed a long tendril of the silk away from her face. Her beautiful face. My fingers lightly traced the swell of her cheek.
I was giving her ideas.
Later, as we were dropping Xanadu off, I was drifting in a dream. I was so wasted I could barely see, and Jamie was stumbling around. We hoisted Xanadu between us, dragging her to the gate. “You guys.” Her half-closed eyes alternated between Jamie and me. “You’re the best friends I’ve ever had,” her words slurred. She flung her arms around Jamie, then me. She squeezed me hard.
For the first time ever, I hugged her back. I held her close. She didn’t resist or push away; she stayed in my arms, her breasts pressing against my chest. Her hair smelled of soap and cigarettes and nighttime and possibility. I nuzzled her neck.
Jamie jerked her off me.
“We have to leave,” he growled, deep in his throat. “Geneviève wants me home before the butt-crack of dawn.” Spinning Xanadu around ninety degrees, he shoved her in the direction of the farmhouse. Rougher than necessary. She stumbled and almost fell. I lurched to catch her, but Jamie grasped my arm and yanked me back toward the truck. “We’re out of here,” he seethed under his breath.
“Stop it. What’s your problem?” I karate-chopped him in the neck. Xanadu swayed a little, then called, “See you guys.” She started jogging up the driveway. I wanted to run after her, but Jamie stepped in front of me. Xanadu wheeled around and air-blew us a kiss. She seemed more sober than she’d let on.
“What’s with you?” I asked Jamie as we climbed into the cab from opposite sides. My eyeballs were sloshing around in my head. I squeezed the lids together to stabilize the rocking boat.
Jamie didn’t answer. He was giving off vibes—angry, upset.
“What?” My lids snapped open.
He still didn’t answer. I cranked the key and shifted into first. Gravel spewed as I shot out of there.
A movement, too fast to react. I felt the thump under my tires. Slamming on the brakes, I downshifted and opened the door, staggering out to see what I’d hit.
It was a rabbit. A little bunny. Under the front tire, it was limp and bloody. I dug it out. Dead. Tears sprang to my eyes.
I’d never hit anything in my life. Never. I’d never killed another living thing. Gently, lovingly, I lay the rabbit under a bush at the side of the road.
As I climbed back into the truck, I was shaking. “I killed it,” I said to Jamie. “A rabbit.”
He didn’t say a word.
I poked along the county road more aware than I’d ever been sober. Jamie sulked the whole way. “Look, we don’t have to stop going to the caboose just because Xanadu doesn’t want to anymore, if that’s what you’re mad about.” I killed a living thing. A helpless little bunny. What if she was pregnant or something? What if she had babies somewhere? What if they needed her? “You could get Renata to buy us a six-pack. You could probably get her to—”
“She’s playing you,” Jamie said.
It took a few seconds for his words to filter in. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s playing you. I bet she has from day one. The way she touches you and smiles at you. She’s still doing it. Even more. She should’ve backed off after you told her. She knows what you want. She’s using you. She’s a player. She’s playing me too.”
“Shut up. She wouldn’t do that.”
He twisted to face me. “You don’t even see it. You refuse to see it because you want it so bad.”
Because it doesn’t exist.
“She’s a goer.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up.”
Jamie’s face pinched.
I drove, concentrated on the road, on not being responsible for any living creature leaving this earth. As the stoplight came into view, Jamie murmured, “I’m glad this is the last time. I don’t want to hang around with her anymore. I hate her. She is a slut. I can’t stand the sight of her.”
I jammed on the brakes. “What do you know? You don’t know her, not the way I do.”
He looked at me. “Maybe. But I know you.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t know shit. You don’t understand anything.”
Jamie said solemnly, “Oh yes, Mike. I do. I do understand.” His eyes held mine. “I know exactly what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re deluding yourself. You’re pretending this is real, or could be. Do you think I haven’t been there? I have. We’ve all been there. You’re not the only queer who’s fallen in love with a straight person.” He broke his penetrating gaze and glanced away. “At least Beau didn’t play me.”
“Get out.”
Jamie blinked back. “What?”
“Get. Out.” The hatred in my heart underscored the words. I lunged across the seat, across his lap, and wrenched open the door.
Jamie exhaled a weary breath and slid off the seat. Clutching the handle on the open passenger door, he said, “Are you pissed at me because I’m right? Or because I called you a queer?”
I jammed my foot on the accelerator. The door tore from Jamie’s hand and banged against the side panel. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Jamie move to the middle of the road. He stood, arms outstretched.
What? If he thought I was going to answer his ridiculous question, he was the delusional one.
I’m not, I told myself. I’m not like him.
Squeezing down hard, I lifted my legs. Up. Down. Up. Down. I was going to get so ripped. My fourth circuit. Feel the burn.
“Take it easy, Mike.” The pressure on my ankles released and Armie hovered over my head. “You’re gonna crash. What are you lifting?” He calculated the amount I was leg pressing. “A hundred and ten? Jesus. That’s suicide.” He began to ratchet down the weight.
I rose to sit up on the bench and felt woozy. I hung my head between my legs, gulping in deep breaths. My quads were spazzing bad. Sweat drenched my undershirt.
“You’re done for the day.” Armie draped a towel over my head. “I don’t want you coming back here alone. From now on, you have access to the equipment one day a week and only if I’m here as your spotter. Go hit some softballs.”
He swaggered off. Jerk. I wanted to chase him down and beat the crap out of him. I could too. I could take him. If I wasn’t so dizzy. And my knees didn’t buckle when I tried to walk.
I stood in the shower until my muscles relaxed, recovered. I cranked on the water full blast. The sting felt good, soothing, familiar. I turned off the cold completely and let the hot needles prick my skin. My hands crossed over my chest, cupping my breasts.
Proof I wasn’t like Jamie. I wasn’t a guy. I wasn’t queer.
Yeah, okay, I was gay. Did that make me queer? I hated that word. It implied something like, “not normal.” I was normal. I was gay. So what? That was fine. I wasn’t that gay. There were degrees, weren’t there? Jamie was off the scale. I was barely pushing the gauge.
Could you be a little bit gay? A hollow laugh might’ve escaped my throat. How deluded was I? Jamie was right.
The boiling water finally made me gasp with pain and I wrenched off the faucet. I noticed a slight drip and made a mental note to repair the plumbing for Armie. I owed him that. He was right; if I kept up this pace, I’d damage myself.
I toweled off, remembering a conversation I’d had with Jamie a few years back. He was just coming out. We were lying on his living room floor after school, surfing the Dish networks for a decent movie. This had to be sixth, seventh grade. We always hung out at Jamie’s house, since Ma lived at mine. Dottie had fixed us a hot sandwich—meatloaf with ketchup. I remember that. I loved Dottie’s sandwiches, her home cooking. I loved Dottie.
“Listen to this, Mike,” Jamie had said. He was reading from a book he’d checked out of the library. “It says there are three stages to coming out. One: Admitting to yourself you’re gay.”
I surfed channels, half watching for movies, fully tuned into what he was saying.
“Two: Accepting the truth of it.”
I stopped on Tomb Raider. I loved Angelina Jolie. She was hot.
“Three: Embracing your difference, your identity, and your sexual orientation.” He’d closed the book and turned to me. “I think I’m at two: Accepting it. Where are you?”
A cold claw had gripped me. Without looking at him, I’d said, “What makes you think I’m gay?”
I remember he’d laughed. He’d laughed uproariously. “I guess that answers my question,” he’d said.
Yeah, mine too. I hadn’t come very far, had I?