I
never saw that whole episode with Alan coming. For the rest of
that
weekend, I walked around like someone had surgically removed something
from my body and forgot to close the incision. The ache in my
chest
was constant. I'm not sure why, and perhaps I was a bit of a dope
because of it, but I honest to God never thought about him moving on
and finding another guy. From my perspective, I still loved him,
so I
guess some small part of my brain assumed that once the distance
problem was solved, once he'd graduated, we could be together
again.
But I should've known better. He was a very loving guy; caring
and
compassionate. How stupid of me to assume that he would never
meet
another person that he thought he could love. Shit, being only friends
with the guy was gonna kill me.
Constantly that day I had that feeling you'd get as a kid when you knew
you were about to cry but you fought to keep the dam from bursting,
constantly that day. I kept remembering that first football game
on my
birthday when I was a senior. Kept thinking about how cute he
was, how
jittery we both were. I kept thinking about how it felt,
emotionally,
the first time we were together. How it felt when we were
together for
his first time at the beach,
and how much I'd changed because of him.
That Saturday night when I went to bed I bawled like a baby, trying to
keep the sobs contained to my pillow.
* * * * *
Greg must've been at work that Sunday evening when I got back to the
dorm. Good. I needed to be alone a little bit longer.
Those of you
who have lived in dorms know how impossible it is to not be social on
Sunday evenings, when everybody is returning from home. An open
door
was an invitation to anybody passing by who knew you to come in and
make themselves at home. I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I
kept my
door closed. Instead, I turned on the radio and lay on the couch.
Around 7:30 that evening I realized that I'd fallen asleep when I heard
the door open and Greg walked into the room.
"Hey man," he said, turning on the lamp over his desk. "You
sleepin'?"
I grunted and rolled over, facing the back of the couch.
I heard him plop down on the chair and let out an exhausted breath,
which was followed by the sounds of two shoes being thrown into his
closet. It was then when I noticed the kitchen aroma that always
clung
to his clothes whenever he came back in from work. God, I hated
that
smell. It permeated the air and the cinder block walls, and
invaded my
head.
"You takin' a shower?" I asked, muffled into the couch cushion.
I heard him snort lightly. "Yeah. I just thought I'd sit
down for a minute. Why?"
"Because, dude, that damn kitchen smell is pretty fuckin' rank."
"Gee. Sorry," he said, sarcastically. "I just thought after
standing
up for eight hours, I might sit down and relax for a few minutes, if
that's okay with you."
"Fine," I mumbled. Then I rolled off the couch and left the room,
closing the door behind me. I headed down to David, my former
roommate, and John's room. As always, their door was open and the
windows cracked, allowing a steady breeze to flow through the
room.
The sounds of Jim Carey being Fire Marshall Bill on "In Living Color"
greeted me as I walked in. Grabbing a desk chair, I pulled it
back,
sat down, and leaned it back against the wall, my arms folded on my
chest.
"What's up, Paul?" John asked.
I grunted in response.
"J'you have a good weekend?" David asked.
"Who the fuck knows. Gotta wake my brain," I said.
"Where's Greg?" John asked. I looked at him for a second, wanting
to
fling one of David's drafting triangles at him. Why in the hell
did
everyone always ask me that question? Instead, I nodded my head
towards my room.
Suddenly I felt a presence next to me in the doorway.
"There he is," David said. "How's your weekend, Greg?"
"Alright. How about y'all?"
"Pretty good," John said, as David laughed at something that Carey was
doing on the television. "Fixin' ta take a shower?"
I turned and looked up; Greg was standing in the doorway with a towel
wrapped around his waist. In one hand he was holding his shower
kit.
"Yeah," he said. "Apparently, I'm smellin' up the room," he
looked down at me and smirked.
I sat forward in the chair, stood up and left. I think I muttered
"fuck it" or something similar as I brushed past him and out into the
hallway. David said "What's wrong with him?" as I headed out into
the
stairwell for destinations unknown. I couldn't stay around people
any
longer. No fuckin' way was I in the mood to chit chat and
bullshit,
and soon I realized that I was walking around the small campus without
any particular destination.
After aimlessly wandering for about an hour, I found myself at the
campus amphitheater. It was really pretty big, and the grass
ledges
carved into the hillside next to the new library were just perfect for
students wanting to take a break between classes, or study, or even
sleep. At the bottom of the hill, adjacent to the side of my
dorm, was
the amphitheater stage. Shaped like a football, it curved out
into the
grass ledges at the front and had two or three concrete ledges at the
rear which allowed seating for the adventuresome teacher who'd give an
outdoor lecture to his class.
It was dark, now, and the cold front that had blown in and brought the
tornado had settled all around me. I hadn't noticed it when I'd
left
the dorm and was walking, but sitting here at the front of the stage
with my legs dangling down, I kept getting chills.
I stared off into space and asked God how in the hell this could
happen. I was mad at Him. Not for letting me love Alan, but
for
letting me lose him. Sure I still had him as a friend, but now
things
would be different between us. Alan was in love with someone, and
that
person wasn't me. He has Reed,
now, my mind spat out like
venom, and
the tears flowed freely, my heart as heavy as lead and my stomach
aching to feel him again. What sucked the most was that I
couldn't
tell my best friend how bad I was hurting.
God, I needed Alan so damn bad. I was feeling desperate and I
thought that if I concentrated hard enough, I could somehow make him
think about me. It only made me cry harder, and I lay back on the
stage and jammed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Alan had come into my life feet first and with his heart open. He
showed me not only how to love, but how to let myself be loved as
well. It was a feeling that I needed to have. I craved it
like a man
dying of thirst craves water, but I had nobody to tell any of this
to.
Not a fuckin' soul.
I had friends all around me, but I was alone in this.
I let myself go until there were no more tears; my only wish was that
the pain I felt would be washed out of my body along with them.
* * * * *
"Paul, are you sure there isn't anything that I can help you with?"
It had been a couple of weeks since the tornado came through town, and
I was definitely not my old self. I was mad at everyone, hated
everything, and had become verbally abusive to the people around
me.
Greg was helping me with the tracings that I had to draw for
Architecture History. At the first part of the quarter, the
professor
gave us a list of fifty or so buildings in our history book that we had
to enlarge and trace. Luckily, we only had to pick a maximum of
thirty
to do. With the first group of drawings I only got a C+ because
of
"poor line quality," according to the professor. Now that she had
given us a second set of drawings to chose from, I decided that if I
only got fifteen out of the required twenty , then tough
tomatoes. I
was going for better "line quality."
And don't kid yourself when I say we had to do tracings that it was
easy. The purpose of the exercise was to get a feel for the
details
and massing of some of the prominent architectural monuments throughout
history. For example, when I did a tracing of St. Paul's
Cathedral in
London, it took me eight and a half hours. Tracing ain't easy;
now
multiply that amount of time by twenty or thirty.
Greg had volunteered to help me with my second set of tracings, and I
greatly appreciated it. He was sitting at his desk in our room,
and I
at mine, our Rapidiograph pens out and slowly stroking the lines of the
drawings beneath our vellum. As with most architecture students
working on a final inked project, the tops of our knuckles were covered
with black lines from the pen. Depending on what medium you were
drawing on, the fine tips of the pens would clog up with paper residue,
and the easiest way to clear them out and get the ink flowing again was
to stroke them across your knuckles.
"Um, Greg, you are helping me," I said, continuing across the facade of
St. Paul's.
"No," he said after a pause, "I mean...are you alright? You've
been
acting really odd lately. It's like...I dunno...you're just
pissed at
the world, and normally you're a pretty easy going guy."
After a moment, I said, "You know, you're right, things aren't going
all that well for me. Haven't been for a couple of weeks.
Just got
some things I need to work out, is all." I continued my slow work
up
and down the church's columns and capitals. My eyes were starting
to
get goofy on me with all of the time I'd spent looking at this one
drawing. After another minute or so I continued. "So
Greg...have I
been, like, a major asshole or something?"
"Uhh...I dunno about that. But you have a really short temper
now, and
you're a helluva lot more apt to bite off someone's head than you used
to. I mean, I know I haven't been around you that long, but in
these
last couple of weeks you seem a lot different now than you were last
quarter."
"Just some shit I gotta work through," I repeated, not breaking
concentration on the drawing.
It was around four-thirty in the morning and we had the radio on Peach
95. They played some pretty mellow music, and while Greg liked a
lot
of bands like REM, at that time of day we both wanted to hear something
mellow. He surprised me with his next question.
"Is everything okay with Alan?"
That stopped my progress on the cathedral. I turned and looked at
him. "What?" I said, dead pan.
He'd been looking at me, then turned back to the tracing he was working
on. "Well, I've noticed that you haven't been talking to him...at
all,
lately. And y'all used to talk on the phone almost every day."
Greg was right, but I didn't think that he'd noticed. Up until
the day
of the tornado, Alan and I would talk nearly every day, never letting
two days go by without giving the other a phone call. Since the
day of
the tornado I hadn't called him once, and I had been ignoring his
messages.
"Is...everything okay with him?" he repeated.
Shit, how was I going to explain this. I'd never really
advertised my
sexuality to people. My business was my business. When Alan
and I
were seeing each other, we were extremely cautious how we behaved
around others. And now that he was a major player on the Bulldogs
gridiron, well, I still intended on keeping that anonymity for his
sake, even if we were only friends. Everybody at school knew I
had a
friend named Alan, but I never said his last name. I knew that
they'd
know who he was because he was really popular, but I had no interest in
dropping names. To me he was my best friend, Alan.
"You know, Greg, things really aren't so damn hot with him right
now.
We...uh...we're having a rough go of it. I guess it's just a
phase of
our friendship...I hope it's a phase." Secretly, I felt guilty
for not
contacting him or returning his calls. At that time in my life, I
had
a very hard time dealing with the hurt, and the best way to handle it
was to not deal with it at all. But deep down inside, I was still
dying. "I'm sorry if I've been such an asshole..." and I turned
back
to my tracing.
I could tell he had turned to look at me again. "Well, I know I
haven't known you all that long, but I...if you need anything...talk or
whatever, let me know."
"Thanks," I said, returning to St. Paul's.
* * * * *
It was the end of the quarter in March and the studios were about
two-thirds full of first-year students working on their final
projects. We had two days until jury on Monday but complete
fatigue
hadn't set in, mainly because we all had been up for only two days
straight without sleep. By the day of the jury, I knew we'd all
be
zombies, having been awake for four days. Being a typical Atlanta
spring, it had rained a lot. That week was no exception, and we'd
received a shitload of rain in just a few days. It made carrying
projects back and forth between the dorm and the studio a dismal
nightmare.
I was sitting at my table working on a pencil perspective of a new
pool-house/party-cabana design for the community pool on the property
next to our campus, when I heard a bit of a commotion over near the
windows. Jason, our resident surfer dude, and with, like, a
totally
tubular connection to the, like, world of mary jane, was babbling
excitedly about something. I thought I'd heard the word "diesel"
but
never thought twice of it.
"Are you sure?" I heard someone say, to which Jason replied, "Like,
yeah man. At least, I thought so. Then he ran around the
corner of
the building."
"You really gotta lay off the weed, Jason," someone else said.
"Yeah, riiiiight," Jason said, and laughed a Jeff Spiccoli laugh.
Mentally, I rolled my eyes in my head and continued working on my
drawing.
Next thing I knew, I heard a voice that so surprised me I thought I was
hallucinating. "Um...y'all know where I can find Paul...Lyons?"
At my name being mentioned I looked up and was greeted with the
fish-like faces, mouths agape, of Jason and several of my other
classmates. I turned to see who they were looking at, and the
blood
flushed right out of my face. "Alan?" I said. I couldn't
believe it.
His back was facing me because of the way he came into the studio, but
his body was as familiar as the day is long.
He turned around, then his face broke out into a huge smile.
"Paul!
Where ya been at, ho'?" He started walking over to me, and I
could see
a few of the guys in my periphery leaning in together to talk about who
had just come into the room.
In an instant I'd felt the weight of all of my shame for not calling
him or returning his calls. I was pretty sure that my jaw was
laying
on my table, my hand frozen in mid-air still holding my pencil. I
was
so surprised to see him that I just blinked.
"Is that all you're gonna say?" he smiled his gorgeous smile, and
winked, closing the distance between us.
I felt every emotion known to man: happiness, revulsion, sadness,
anger, joy, love, regret. In a nanosecond I wondered: if he'd
come
back for me, no he was just coming for a visit, but why was he coming
for a visit, he wanted me back, no he wanted to beat my ass for how I
was acting, no he was just glad to see me, no he'd broken up with Reed,
no he wouldn't tell me that right here....
"Uh...uh...Alan! What are you doing here?" I'd finally
dropped the pencil.
"So," he said, "this is what you do when you're not returning my
calls." He was standing next to me, looking down at my
perspective
drawing. He'd made his comment with a smile and I'm sure everyone
else
thought he was kidding, but I knew him well enough to know he was
upset, if not altogether pissed, by the look in his eyes.
"Dude!!! Like, you didn't tell us you knew The Diesel." Two
guesses who said this.
"Bullshit," I said. "I've mentioned Alan to y'all a million
times."
Alan looked down at me. "You did?"
"Yeah, but like, you didn't say, like, Alan Collin. He's, like, the
running back for the Bulldogs,
dude."
"Uch. I know who he is, Jason. But I'm not a jock-fucker,
so I didn't
feel the need to throw his full name out to make an impression on
anyone," I said
sarcastically.
Alan slapped me on the back. "Jock-fucker. Good one,
Lyons," he laughed.
"Dude!" Jason said again. I swear, if I never heard that term
again... "you're, like, totally awesome. Do you remember
that game
against Florida when--"
"Please, Jason," I interrupted, "let's not give him a bigger head than
he already has." Instantly I'd regretted the double entendre.
Alan just smiled real big and massaged my shoulders playfully, saying,
"Don't'cha just love this guy? I do."
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Quickly I made intros to the
people that I hung out with. After about ten or fifteen minutes
the
fervor surrounding Alan's presence finally died down, and everyone went
back to their tables.
"Dude," I imitated Jason's favorite word, "I had no idea how popular
you are."
"Yup," he said, leaning down to rest his elbows on my table,
smiling.
I avoided his eyes. In them was pain mixed with anger, and I knew
that
I was the reason for that. "I used to be popular with you, until
you
vanished," he said softly.
"Well, some things you can't help," I muttered, turning back to the
drawing. He leaned against my table, inches from my shoulder, as
I
worked a little bit more on the project. At that moment my
attraction
to him became so powerful I wanted to grab his face and kiss him.
It
was an emotion which was quickly replaced with the feelings of hurt and
anger that I'd allowed myself to marinate in over the past six
weeks.
Damn! Six weeks it had been since I'd talked to him.
"Sorry," I
mumbled.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I looked at my drawing for a moment, unmoving. "Hey man," I said
out
loud, "I'm ready for a break. Wanna step outside for a sec?"
"Yeah," he said. As we started to leave, some of the guys in the
room
said "bye," " good luck", whatever. To tell you the truth, I'd
never
been around him when people behaved that way. I knew that in
Georgia,
you were either a Bulldog or a Yellow Jacket fan. I was neither,
because I wasn't big into sports, so the whole athlete worship thing
was lost on me.
Our studios were on the second floor of the building, and we headed
downstairs to have a seat on one of the benches in the corridor
outside. The building, long and rectangular, was oriented east to
west. On the south face of the building, the second floor was
situated
over a colonnade, providing a corridor along the building that was
protected from the elements. This part of the campus was very
hilly,
and the ground sloped down pretty steeply, starting about five feet
away from the south face, and down to a water retention pond at the
bottom of the hill. With all of the rain we'd received, the pond
was
nearly full, and the slope was well-saturated.
Alan picked a bench not too far from the stairs that we'd just come
down and sat on the middle of it. I walked around and sat down
next to
him, a couple of feet away. Looking down at the retention pond I
thought how nice it normally looked when it hadn't been raining so
much. But today, it was brown and nasty from all of the rain
runoff.
I did my best to not look at Alan, but he bored a hole into the side of
my head with his gaze. He spoke first as I looked down at my feet.
"You scared me, Paul."
I blinked. "Scared you?"
"Yeah. You scared me and you pissed me off."
I finally looked at him. "Pissed you off. You for real?"
"Hell yes, you pissed me off. You haven't returned my calls, and
you haven't called me. I thought something was wrong."
I turned back away from him and shrugged. "Why are you here,
Alan?"
"Because, man, I'm worried. I wanna talk to--"
"I don't wanna talk. Sorry pal, I'm not in the mood." I was
teetering on the edge of feeling dead inside.
He sat there and I could still feel him staring at me. Finally he
spoke again. "You're full of shit, you know that, Lyons?"
I looked at him incredulously. "I
am! What the fuck did I
do?"
"You gave me that bullshit speech after your senior cruise, saying that
you always wanted to be friends, no matter what--"
I stood up quickly. "I'm not listening to this. Not gonna
talk about it. I'm sorry you came all this way--"
"The fuck you're not gonna
talk about it--" and he grabbed me by my wrist to stop me. Now I knew he was pissed.
"Lemme go you asshole," I
snapped at him. I looked around, but there
was nobody nearby. Saturday afternoon at the architecture
building was,
except for inside the studios, a veritable ghost town.
I jerked my hand away and turned to walk off, but Alan had stood up and
grabbed my arm again. "We're gonna talk--" he began to say as he
pulled me back.
"No we're not--" I was saying
as I spun around. The momentum of my
spin, as well as some of my anger, caused my other arm to swing around
and jack him in the mouth. "Oh my God, Alan!" I was as
stunned as he
was. "I'm sorry--you okay?"
"Of course I'm okay," he said, then he got up in my face. A look
I'd
never seen before was in his eyes.. "You wanna hit?" and he smacked my
chest. I staggered back, stunned. "I said, you wanna hit?" he smacked
me again.
"Cut it out, you jock
fuck-asshole," and I smacked him on his chest.
By now I was furious to the point that tears were starting to come
down. I was no match for him, but in my anger I didn't care.
"I'm not the asshole here
Lyons," smacking me again.
By now our positions had changed, and Alan's back was towards the
bench. I
pushed as hard as I could and he flipped backwards over it, rolling out
from beneath the building colonnade and into the pouring rain. It
was
like I was looking at myself from the outside, but I was fuckin'
furious at him for how he was acting, as well as everything else that
had built up in my head over the last six weeks. If he wanted a
reaction from me, he sure got it. He looked up at me sitting on
one
knee and his fists on the ground.
"You're fuckin' meat, Lyons."
And I knew I was. Instead of running up the stairs into the
building,
I ran down a long flight that led to the street. When I was only
halfway down them, he came charging down the hill next to the railing
and flung himself over it and onto the steps. He stood there,
crouched
down on the stairs below me, and said, "You picked the wrong fuckin'
day to start fighting, Paul."
I turned and took the stairs two and three at a time, his feet pounding
behind me. I knew that he'd easily catch me, so I had to bob and
weave
between the columns and over the benches to try to dodge him. I
lost
my footing and rolled onto the ground and down the hill about fifteen
feet or so before jumping up and running off towards the woods on the
other side of the retention pond.
"You know you're not getting away from me, Paul!" he shouted. I
knew that was true, but I could at least delay the
inevitable.
I ran in and out of trees, slipping on wet kudzu. Lucky for me,
he was
also sliding around on the vines as he ran behind me. I skirted
the
far edge of the pond and got to where there was overflow running down
into a creek bed. I was running down into it when I slipped and
fell
on my ass, sliding down into the shallow, muddy creek. Alan
overshot
me and landed on the other side of the creek with an audible
"oof!"
Quick as I could, I ran up the other side. He was quicker,
though, and
he grabbed my foot. I came down like a block of granite onto my
chest,
getting the wind knocked out of me.
"You're gonna fuckin' talk to me, Lyons," he hollered at me. I
rolled
over onto my back, not even noticing the rain pouring down through the
pine boughs and running in rivulets all around my body. He was a
muddy
mess, but I could still see the look of hurt in his eyes.
I was out of breath as he came up to me, squatting down over me.
"I
ain't talking about
shit!" I pushed him in the chest with my foot and
he flipped back into the creek again. Then I scrambled to my
feet,
tripping on those fucking kudzu vines. I came back out of the
woods
and stumbled over a broken pine branch. Bending over, I picked it
up
and waited for Alan to emerge from the trees. He did a second
later
and stopped short when he saw me.
"My God, Paul," he said out of breath. "What are you doing?!" The
rain was coming down almost in torrents at this point.
I was out of breath, too, and looked down at the branch in my
hands. I
was so fucking angry at him, at myself, that I wasn't thinking straight
at all. My frustrations exploded all at once and I flung the
branch as hard
as I could away from him, yelling at the top of my lungs. I was
mad at
Alan, yeah, but I was also furious at myself for allowing myself to
become so crazed. All I could think was that our friendship was
over
now, and it fuckin' killed me. I started walking around the pond,
heading towards my dorm, to get away from him.
"You know what you need--" Alan said behind me, and suddenly I felt
myself being lifted into the air and thrown onto his shoulder like a
sack of beans. I fought to get off of him, but he outweighed me
by one
hundred pounds, and I was powerless in his grip. The next thing I
knew I
was flung out over the retention pond, landing in it with a resounding
splash.
Sputtering the muddy water from my face as I stood up, I screamed at
the top of my lungs, "You threw me in
a pond, you fuck!!!" I wiped the
water from my eyes and walked the ten feet back to shore. I was
exhausted, but tried to get away as quick as I could. Next thing
I
knew, the wind was knocked out of me as Alan's shoulder crashed into my
back, slamming me onto the ground at the bottom of the hill. He
flipped me over onto my back and pinned my arms to the ground,
sitting on my waist.
"You're...not...going...anywhere...until we talk," he said, still out
of breath.
"I don't want to."
"We're going to."
"I don't want to."
"We're going to!" He was
covered in mud and both of us were soaked to
the bone. "You told me years ago that you'd do anything, end our
relationship, whatever it took if in order to keep our
friendship.
Well dammit, Paul, you're not
keeping your end of the bargain!" he said,
pointing his finger in my face. "You're trying to walk
away! And I
can't...I won't let that
happen! I won't let you leave without a
fight."
I tried to push myself up which just resulted in him dropping his full
weight down onto my chest.
The cold rain couldn't cool the warm tears that now flooded my
face. I
lost it and started babbling like a four year old. "It hurts,
dammit!
It hurts....it hurts! I didn't think it would be as bad...I
thought
we'd get back together...I thought I could come back!" I was openly
bawling now. All of the pain that I'd bottled up in the last six
weeks
came roaring out like a train. I was totally out of control, and
Alan
was sobbing out loud too.