Date: Mon, 9 Feb 2004 07:41:32 -0800 (PST) From: SJL Subject: Paul and Adam: Chapter 6 Thank you for all the emails you've been sending. I love reading each and every one of them. So far, I've gotten no flames (hmm, mentioning that seems like an invitation), just wonderful levels of support for me, my writing, and, most importantly, the story and the lives of Paul and Adam. A lot of you say you feel like you know them, like they're real, which is the greatest compliment a writer can receive, in my opinion. It's amazing that these boys who once existed nowhere but in my mind have touched so many of you (um, pun not intended). So, know that I love you all, and on to Chapter 6 of Paul & Adam, from Paul's POV. I would love for you to let me know what you think. The address, as always, is geekwriter143@yahoo.com --------------------------------------------------------------- Caroline and I spread a blanket out on the curve of a small hill along the parade route. The morning of the 4th of July has turned out to be hot and humid, which makes it a typical 4th of July. "I'm fucking melting," Caroline says, stretching out on the blanket. "Must you use that word in every sentence?" my mother asks. She's digging in the cooler and she pours us cups of homemade lemonade. "It's for emphasis, Mother," Caroline says, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand even though she's wearing sunglasses. "It's a perfectly valid word." "Yes, but if you use it every other sentence it will start to lose its power. Try to keep it only for very special occasions." "I think it's fucking special enough right now," says Caroline. She gulps her lemonade. "I swear to God, if the humidity goes any higher we're all going to drown." It is humid. My t-shirt is already stuck to my back and my khaki shorts feel damp and hot between my legs. "Christ," Caroline says as I sit on the edge of the blanket, planting my feet far apart. "How come guys always have to air out their balls?" I laugh and push at her playfully. "Oh, you're so vulgar this morning," Mom says. "We just don't want anything valuable to overheat," I tell Caroline. "Somebody'd be all broken up if that happens," she says, meaning Adam. "You better hope Mitch is airing his out, too," I tell her. "Or you'll be a virgin forever." "Like you're so experienced," Caroline says. She sticks her tongue out at me. I stick mine out at her, too, since we can't really banter the way we want to in front of Mom. She's cool about a lot of things, and she's a hell of a lot more liberal than any of my friends' parents, but she's still our Mom. It would be gross to talk about stuff like that with her. "Oh, there's Adam and his father," Mom says. She starts waving at them, and Mr. Parker looks a little surprised, like he doesn't know who the hell my mother is. But Adam heads over towards us, and Mr. Parker follows with a pretty redheaded woman. "Who's the dish?" Caroline asks. "Is that Rebecca?" I shrug. "I've never met her," I say. "Must be." "Hey," Adam says, dropping the blanket he'd been carrying on the ground next to ours. "Hey," I say. I can't help smiling like an idiot whenever he's around, but I try. "Oh, let me look at you," says my mother, holding Adam's arms up and taking a step back to look at him. "It's been, what? Almost a month since I've seen you. Whenever you're over you leave so early in the mornings. I always mean to make you breakfast, but you're gone before I remember." Adam shrugs. "That's OK." I can tell he's in a bad mood, and I hope it's just because it's so uncomfortable out. "And, Jim," my mother says, extending her hand towards Adam's father. "It's a pleasure to see you again. What a day it's turning out to be, eh?" "Uh," Mr. Parker says. "Yeah. Sure is a hot one." Adam crashes on the blanket next to me. "He's such a fucking prick," he whispers. "I thought you were getting along now," I whisper back. "Only when she's around," he says, jerking his head toward Rebecca. "When she's not I'm back to being the invisible boy." I look at Rebecca. She looks a little nervous as my mother shakes her hand and leans to kiss both cheeks. "And you must be Rebecca," she says. My mother doesn't miss a trick, and she's always the gracious hostess--even if it is just on picnic blankets before the 4th of July Parade. "I'm Delphine Johansen, Paul's mother. He and Adam are great friends." Caroline ruffles Adam's hair. "Maybe she'll move in," she offers. "Then he'll have to be nice to you all the time." Adam shrugs. "They'd better hurry up, because all this hot and cold shit is fucking with my head. They can break up for all I care. I just wanna know how he's gonna treat me from day to day." I'm jealous that Caroline can touch his hair like that and I can't. I want to hold his hand, but I know he'd freak out if I tried. My mother is plying Rebecca and Mr. Parker with lemonade, iced tea, and cucumber sandwiches. She mentions that she has onion sandwiches made with mustard for Adam, since he doesn't like the cream cheese she uses with cucumber. I feel such a strong surge of love for her. She doesn't know it, but in a way she's slapping Mr. Parker right in his face, letting him know that even if he doesn't love Adam, there are people who do. "You're mom's awesome," Adam says as my mother passes the sandwiches around. She's made more than enough, of course, because it wouldn't be her if she didn't. "You're an artiste, Delphine," he tells her. My mother shrugs. "Bread, onion, salt and pepper, mustard. It's not difficult." The sandwiches are perfect in the heat. Cool and crisp and just enough to fill you up but not make you feel heavy. The parade finally starts, and it's pretty much the same as every year. There are fire engines and those crazy little Shriner cars that make my mother cover her eyes every year. There are trucks pulling flatbeds decorated in red, white, and blue and carrying everything from the kids of Lynette's Dance Studio to old women playing kazoos and spoons and washtubs in the Kitchen Klatter Band. The Pork Queen comes by, waving regally as she sits on the back of a sweet old Mustang convertible. There are politicians, of course, waving and passing out leaflets telling us why we should elect them to the School Board or the Iowa State Senate or U.S. Congress. Mark's in the marching band, and Adam and I hoot at him as he comes by in his heavy wool uniform, playing the trombone. It's the VA float that gets me every year, though, all those old guys in their old uniforms if they fit, in their hats and wearing medals on their Sunday shirts if they don't. Jimmy's great-grandfather is 102 years old and he fought in WWI when he was sixteen. He's sitting on a metal folding chair at the head of the float, propping himself up with his cane and sitting ramrod straight with his army cap perched on his head. Shit like that just kills me. "Something in your eye?" Caroline teases. "Fuck you," I say, nudging her gently. She's a little teary, too. "I never wanna go into the fucking army," Adam says. He's still in a bad mood. "I have enough people yelling at me about what to do as it is." "I don't have to worry about it," I say softly. "They won't take me." "Why not? You got flat feet or something?" I raise one eyebrow at him, and it takes him a moment. "Oh," he says. He looks down at his hands. "I guess I never thought about that." "Thank God," Caroline says, sliding her arm over my shoulders. "The last thing I need is you running through the mountains of Afghanistan with an Uzi in your hands and hand grenades strapped to your belt." I kiss her cheek. "Thanks," I say. "I don't think the US Military uses Uzis," Adam says. "Smart-ass. You know what I meant." After the parade Adam and I head down to the end of the parade route to try and find Mark. He's stripped his uniform off down to his waist, and the white tank top he was wearing beneath it is soaked with sweat. "Good job, Mr. Toot," Adam says, leaning against the oak tree Mark and some of the other band kids are resting under. "You were really inspiring. Made me want to learn how to play the clarinet." Mark's gulping down a bottle of water, and he flips Adam the bird as he does. "I think I just hard-boiled my balls," he says. "I don't need your shit right now." Adam and I laugh. "Come on," Adam says to him. "Let's get out of here and do something." I want to be alone with Adam, but I don't say anything. "Can't," Mark says. "I have to take my 'bone back home, take a shower. I'll catch up with you later, though. Where will you be?" Adam looks at me. "My house?" I suggest. "We can go to the carnival after you get there." "Cool," Mark says. "I'll be there in like an hour or something." Adam and I walk along the crowded sidewalks, talking about nothing in particular. I want to ask him why he invited Mark to do stuff with us, but I know why. He's still our friend even though we've started sleeping together. "So I tried to talk my dad into getting me a dog," Adam says, stuffing his hands in his pockets as we cut through backyards on the way to my house. "Yeah? How'd it go?" "He won't go for it. Every time she's around he acts like he might do it, but when it's just him and me he makes it clear there's no way. Then when he's around her, he brings it up again like he thinks it's a good idea. He's just trying to make her think he's a great fucking guy." I notice that he doesn't call Rebecca by her name anymore. Just says "she" or "her." "That sucks," I say. Adam shrugs. "I figure I might talk her into taking me down to the pound one day and getting one. That way my dad won't be able to make me get rid of it, since she'd be involved. I've got eighty bucks of my detasseling money left, and I think dogs at the pound only cost forty-five or something." "You could probably get one for free," I say. "They've always got stuff in the paper about free puppies to good homes." Adam nods as if he's thinking about it. His eyes seem sad, and we both know his dad will never go for it, no matter what Adam does. We cut through Old Man Pickering's yard and when we're between his shed and the overgrown lilacs I reach for Adam and pull him to me. "Hey," I whisper, leaning to kiss him. Adam jerks away and stares at me like I just tried to slit his throat. "What the fuck was that?" he demands. "What?" "We're in fucking public, Paul." "No one can see us." I gesture to the shed and the towering lilacs. "We're hidden from everybody." "We're in fucking public and you," he lowers his voice to a harsh whisper, "you tried to kiss me. You can't do that." "I missed you," I say softly. "And you were upset. I wanted to make you feel better." "Queering out on me is not going to make me feel better," he snaps. He turns, then, and walks away from me, around the corner of the shed. I lean against Mr. Pickering's shed and take a deep breath. I won't cry. He's just upset about his dad. He didn't mean it like it sounded. I hear Adam sigh and turn to look at him. He's come back around the shed and his hands are stuffed in his pockets, his head tipped down so I can't see his face. "I didn't mean that," he says softly. He looks up at me and he's so beautiful my heart breaks. "You just," he takes a step closer to me. "You can't be like this, Paul," he whispers. "You can't be moody like this. You can't fucking pout every time you think I've hurt your feelings. I'm not your boyfriend, OK? You can't act like I am." I swallow hard. "I just wanted to cheer you up." "Well, you have to think first. What would happen if someone had seen that, huh? What would happen if people found out?" "I don't care," I say dully. It's not exactly true, but I don't feel like telling him that. "Well you should care. No one can find out about this, OK? I know you've probably already blabbed to Caroline, but that's as far as this goes. No one finds out ever, you understand?" "Fine," I whisper. "Because if you can't handle that, we should just call this whole thing off. End it right now." I clench my jaw tight to keep from begging him to take it back. I won't beg him. "I can handle it," I say finally. Adam nods. "Good," he says. He offers me his hand, like we're shaking on a deal. I don't take it, just brush past him and head towards home. "Jesus," Adam says, jogging to catch up with me. "This is what I'm talking about." "You're not the only one who's allowed to be in a bad mood," I snap. "You think you're the only one having a hard time? You think this is easy for me?" "I'm not going to deal with you if you keep acting like this." I whirl around and grip his arm tight. "Just because we slept together, it doesn't give you the right to treat me like shit, understand?" "Jesus, Paul." "I mean it. I've got rules, too, OK? And the main one is that you still have to treat me like I'm your friend, not just one of your stupid bimbo fucks." I push him away from me hard and keep walking, not caring if he's following me or not. When I get home Caroline's draped across the couch and my mother's in the kitchen working on the feast she always prepares for her annual 4th of July barbeque. "Could you get me some iced tea?" Caroline asks as I come through the front door. I don't say anything, just walk past her and take the stairs two at a time and slam my door shut once I get into my room. On the far left side of my room is a big wooden desk. It was my father's desk when he was still around, and it's become mine. It's piled with thick pads of paper and boxes of chalk pastels, pencils, fragments of drawing charcoal. I sit down and snatch up a drawing pad and flip it open, past the studies of my own feet, of Caroline's hands at the piano, and settle on a blank page. I pick up a pencil and roll it between my fingers before I start to sketch. I hear my bedroom door open, but I don't look. I know it's Adam. "What are you drawing?" he asks softly. "You," I say. "Dead." He comes around behind me and looks over my shoulder. It's not him I'm drawing. I'm just sketching trees and water because drawing helps me think. "I told you not to love me." He touches my arm, rests his hand on it lightly. "I told you I'd make you miserable." "You're doing a great job," I say. "I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear me say that I'm sorry?" I turn and look up at him. "I want you to mean it." He sits on the floor and rests his forehead on my knee. "I'm freaking out," he says softly. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore." I slide my fingers through his hair. His scalp is still warm from the sun. "I hate that I can't touch you. Caroline was playing with your hair and it killed me that I couldn't do the same." "I know. I wanted to hold your hand, like, ten times already today." I smile at that. "You can hold my hand now," I say. I extend my hand and Adam reaches up and twines his fingers through mine. He kisses my knuckles, pulls my hand against his chest. "I really am sorry," he says. "I'm just freaked out. I didn't mean to take it out on you." He tugs on my arm. "Come here." I stretch out on the floor over him and kiss him. He moans softly and wraps his arms around me. "Let's get into bed," I say. Adam's silent for a moment. "Mark's coming over." "Not for a while. Come on." I kick my shoes off and we move onto my bed, lay together on top of the covers. I'm on my back and Adam's curled up on his side, his face nestled against my neck. "What are you thinking about?" I ask as I stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. Adam shrugs. He slides his hand beneath my t-shirt and trails his fingers up and down my ribs. I laugh softly. "Tickles," I say. He lays his hand flat on my stomach. "Sometimes I think maybe I could be," he says. "Could be what?" "Nothing. Your boyfriend." "I want you to be," I tell him. "I know. I guess I might as well be--I treat you bad enough." "I know you don't mean it." "I do sometimes." We lay there in silence for a long time. I don't know what to say to him, how to tell him that I'd make him happy without also making him mad again. It's not how I expected things to go. I expected him to love me or to hate me, not both. "I felt like him," Adam whispers, and I can tell that he's close to tears. "When I was yelling at you today, when I was trying to tell you what you're allowed to feel, I felt like him." "Your dad." He nods. "Yeah. It's what he always did to my mom, told her that she wasn't allowed to be upset, threatened her, said if she kept acting the way she did he'd leave her. Only, she ended up getting sick of his shit and she left first. I don't want you to hate me like she hates him." "I won't," I whisper. I kiss the top of his head. "I promise." "I'm so fucked up. I don't want to be like him." "You're not." "I am, though. I was the same way with Laci. I talked down to her all the time, and when she got upset with me I just felt annoyed. I do it with you, too. I get scared the way you look at me, and I just end up getting pissed off, like you don't have the right to look at me like you do. Like you don't have the right to love me. You do. It just scares me and I don't know what to do." "You're scared of me?" I ask. I want to laugh. "How in the hell can you be scared of me?" "Not you so much. Just...you're so intense. You're always looking at me, touching me. You expect too much." "Even I don't know what I expect anymore, Adam." "I don't wanna hurt you. I don't wanna lose you. You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." "You won't lose me," I say. "Promise?" "I promise." I stroke his hair, his shoulders, his back. "Kiss me," I say, and he does. Our mouths meet slowly and Adam slides his body over mine. He pushes up on his hands and gazes down at me, smiling. "I'm a drama queen, huh?" he asks. I reach up and touch his face with my fingertips. "Little bit, yeah." We undress each other carefully, kissing shoulders and nipples, fingertips, knees. Adam's laughing, and it's a sound I haven't heard in too long. We stretch out in opposite directions and I take Adam's cock in my mouth and suck him and he does the same to me and it's hard to concentrate, really. He smells sweaty and warm and tastes amazing, but the feel of his mouth on me, his tongue swirling around my cock and his fingers slipping between my ass cheeks makes it hard to focus on sucking him. I think Adam must be having the same problem because he's laughing again and he says, "You wanna do it one at a time?" I stroke him in my hand and look up the length of his body. He's stroking me and looking down at me and we're grinning at each other. "This is better," I say. "It's easier to concentrate when it's not your mouth on me." Adam kisses my hip as his hand strokes me quickly. I lay my head on my arm and watch from beneath as I caress him, his balls jiggling with each stroke. We come one right after the other, and I lick up some from his stomach, not knowing if it's his or mine or both. "Come here," Adam whispers. "Kiss me." We sit up and I kiss him, sharing the taste of cum on my tongue and he grips the hair at the back of my head and moans into my mouth. "I love that," he whispers. "Kissing you and tasting us." "You want more?" I ask. He nods, and I lick a glob off his chest and carry it to him on my tongue and as we kiss the flavor spreads through our mouths and... "What the hell?" Adam and I jerk apart and there's Mark, dressed in shorts and tank top, hair wet from his shower, and wearing the most confused expression I've ever seen. "Fuck!" Adam pulls away from me and searches for his clothes and after half a second I do the same thing. Mark's still standing in the doorway. He's got ten or so bottle rockets in his hand. "You guys were naked," Mark says. "No shit, Sherlock," Adam snaps, pulling his shirt on over his head. I don't know what to say. I wonder if Adam will find a way to blame me for this. Mark's laughing a low, surprised laugh. "You two were...I mean you were just...are you guys queer?" "No," Adam says. "I am," I say. I figure there's no point in lying. "I need a cigarette," Mark says, shaking his head. He drops the bottle rockets and moves towards my window and slides it open. He sits on my windowsill and lights a cigarette and exhales the smoke through the open window. "Every time I called you guys homos, I wasn't serious. You didn't think I was serious, did you? I mean, you didn't think maybe you were and then tried it, did you?" "Yes, Mark," I deadpan. "It's your fault. It never occurred to me until you mentioned it." Mark looks sick. "He's kidding, asswipe," Adam says. "Jesus," Mark says, relieved. "Cuz I don't know if I could handle that. It being my fault." Adam rolls his eyes. "Don't be a retard." "Is it because you have to wear that little suit all the time? My mom says it's not healthy, having to be around all those half-naked guys every day." "I'm not gay, numbnutz," Adam says. "I am," I say. "Adam's just..." I look at him. He's sitting on the far edge of my bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. I can already tell that he's going to find a way to blame me for this. "Adam's just horny," I say finally. "Cuz my mom say that all those guys in the Olympics are queer because they don't ever see anything but other guys in those little suits and-" "Your mother also says there are giant turtles in the quarry," Adam snaps. "There are," Mark says weakly. Adam rolls his eyes and stands up. "Fuck this," he says. He doesn't even look at me before he leaves. I fall back on my bed and put my hands over my face. "Where's he going?" Mark asks. "Go home, Mark," I moan. "Is he pissed cuz of me? I mean, I don't care. I watch those guys on TV, you know, the ones that make normal guys look better and smell good so they can get chicks. That's my mom's favorite show. Hey, can you help me get chicks like those guys do?" And I love him, really, simple Mark whose entire life is a quest for pussy, but I can't deal with him at the moment. "Go home," I repeat. "But...your mom's making that peach cake and she said I could help her with the frosting and-" "Fine," I say. I pull a pillow over my head. "Help my mom in the kitchen. Eat the whole cake for all I care. Just leave me alone." Mark doesn't leave for a while, and I don't know if he's finishing his cigarette or waiting for me to say something else. I don't say anything else, and finally Mark leaves and it's just me and even though I want to, I don't cry. Adam's going to try and finish things between us, but I'm not giving up without a fight.