Memorizing You (27 page)

“See what I mean.” Monica had his bicep in a vise. “Hot? Is that just unbelievably hot?”

“Holy cow!” he repeated. “That is definitely how to suck some face. Holy cow!”

“See, you don’t have to try to get the feeling when it’s there,” Ryan was saying. “It’s there even before the kiss happens.”

Connor tugged at his briefs beneath his jeans. Flustered. “Well, it’s been great having you guys and all. But”—he feigned a glance at his watch, offering a mischievous grin—”it’s getting late and we got things to do. Big things. Hope you don’t think I’m rushing you or anything.”

He bounced to the door to let us out. The jutting sail in the front of his pants told his story. The show was over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

So that summer, Dad and I rented a vacant gas station to be the home of our business. It had been in the neighborhood for years on the corner of Piccadilly and Manhattan. There’d been talk that some people had wanted to turn it into a neighborhood bar. But nothing ever came of it. So when we approached the property owner, he was happy to rent it to us on a year-to-year basis for pocket change. That, at least, would pay the taxes on it, he said. It took a month to clean it up, pull the year-old weeds out of the cracks. Dress it up with a sign my mom painted.

We added three more riding mowers. We hired three retirees mainly as drivers, and half of the football team of my school. I was now my own classmates’ boss. Who would have believed it?

I began running in the early morning again. Alone. But I’d always liked the way it cleared my mind, made me feel for the rest of the day. One morning I got caught in the torrential downpour of a summer storm. And as good as it felt on my sweaty self at that time, it also gave me the worst case of flu in my life.

The next day I awoke with a fever. My stomach was queasy, and I had a headache that made my mood pitch black. I crawled back in bed. Mom called a doctor. Three shots later, blanketed with chills, it was confirmed. Sick as a dog. I couldn’t even raise my head.

Mom would bring in food. Come in later and take it away. She’d say things. I’d moan. I’d sweat. Change clothes. Crawl back in bed and sweat some more. It was a cycle of pure misery. Two days later, I was experiencing the ‘I would rather die’ syndrome when I couldn’t even keep a bowl of chicken noodle soup down. I cried beside the toilet. I didn’t care who heard me.

On the third night, I heard the familiar scurrying of feet on the porch roof outside my window. So had someone else. The squeal of the hallway window made my teeth hurt. The feet on the roof stopped near it.

I could hear my mom’s voice. “You know, Ryan, you can use the front door. We really wouldn’t mind.”

Something that sounded like a grunt, but was probably a laugh followed that. “Yeah. That just wouldn’t feel right after all this time. Sorry.”

Seconds later, he crawled through my window. “Hey,” he said, seeing I was awake.

“Hey, back.”

“How ya feeling?”

“Like dog poop.”

“Be careful you don’t get sick too, Ryan,” my mom called through the door.

He sat next to me on the bed, felt my forehead with the back of his hand. He wiped it on his pants. That answered that.

He parked himself in the chair next to my bed. I fell asleep. My dreams were like the Dali paintings of melting clocks. Nothing made sense. I’d wake feeling hot and cold at the same time. I’d sweated through another pair of clothes. Ryan helped me change into a fresh T-shirt and underwear. He sat back in the chair. I drifted back into the dark land of the strange.

When I opened my eyes again, blue anyone who thought they

’d stolen a pillow from the guest bedroom and tucked it under his head. The creases in his face said he’d slept while seated in the chair. He was looking at me, sleepily.

“Won’t your dad be looking for you?” I wondered.

“Some chances are worth taking,” he answered. “Besides if my door’s closed he doesn’t even bother anymore. I’d rather be here with you.”

“Thanks.” That was comforting.

He bent down below his chair to get something. “Look what I found.”

He pulled up my old boxed game of Candyland, and pack of Old Maid cards, a couple of my old Marvel Superhero comics. It had been so long since I’d seen them I’d forgotten that Mom had stored them in a trunk that was under my phonograph. He’d evidently done some snooping.

We were playing a hand of Old Maid when Mom brought in the soup, saltines, and a tall glass of Tang for me. She’d made a couple of pickle-loaf sandwiches for Ryan. He washed those down with a bottle of root beer. It was a slow-go as I ate, testing if my stomach would keep the food.

Mom’s eyes twinkled wistfully as she spied the old games and comics on the bed.

“Feeling better?”

I lied. “Getting there.”

The skepticism knitting her brows said she didn’t believe me.

I conked out again. When I roused this time, Ryan was reading the comics. He had a plate of Hydrox cookies and a cup of milk on a kitchen stool next to his chair. There was a bowl of chocolate pudding next to my bed. I looked at my clock. It was already after five.$ made Imy

“What about your dad?” were my first words to Ryan.

“Checked in with mom. He’s been out showing houses all day.” He thumbed through the comic. “So you liked Spider-man best, huh?”

I sampled the pudding, nodded. “Never got into the Superman story much. I mean, he puts on a pair of glasses and no-one knows who he is? What an ingenious disguise. That’d be like me combing my hair different and pretending to be Spiro Agnew.”

“That’s ‘cause Agnew has no hair,” he parried.

“And if the Incredible Hulk grows ten times his normal size, why do his trousers still fit? I mean when he grows, and when he shrinks, the same pants fit. That doesn’t drive you crazy?”

“You’re quite the nit-picker,” he observed, eyebrow raised. “How ‘bout Batman and Robin?”

“Yeah. Like people didn’t question that relationship. Two men in tights. No one’s gonna think anything about those two.”

That amused him. There was certainly something sexy about the idea of gay superheroes.

For the first time in days, I managed to eat real food. Mom brought me a toasted cheese sandwich with my favorite yellow mustard, and some tomato soup with oyster crackers. I couldn’t quite handle the potato chips with my sore throat. Ryan had no problem scarfing those down for me.

By the fifth day, I was capable of getting out of bed to refresh my memory what the rest of the house looked like. Ryan had come by every day, read my comics aloud to me, and had bought two new ones. It was reassuring to always open my eyes and find him there. Even though he was jeopardizing himself every time he left his house. He’d had one close call with his dad, beating him home one day by just a few minutes. It was a game to him. I think he enjoyed it.

I knew I was almost well on the sixth day.$. I my I was so horny I nearly physically assaulted Ryan. He knew what was going to happen when I put the kitchen stool he’d been using for a table, under the doorknob. It was the one time I remember making him pant.

I was ready to go back to work by the end of the week. I was more than anxious to get back to running a few days after that. Now, I watched the local news for weather reports before I ventured out. Did not want to go through that ordeal of sickness again. Also, I wasn’t yet at one-hundred percent and knew I’d have to pace myself. I decided to take my old route that I used to do with Ryan, but go a bit slower. I thought that was what I’d do.

It was just so good to be outside again. To breathe fresh air. To not be surrounded by walls and the obstruction of light. The breeze was dry but cool. You could smell all things green. All I needed was a sunrise.

My limbs were stiff. My breathing still shallow and labored from a week of non-movement. But I kept my eyes on my feet, paced my breaths with the beat of my shoes on the pavement. I knew the path without looking up.

By the time I’d made it to the ballpark, by the rail yards, I felt stronger. My legs seemed to have caught on to what they were supposed to do again. I breezed the overpass, picked up some tempo. The juices were flowing and it wasn’t even dawn yet.

I needed the solitude to think. To sort out my emotions. Deal with angst. An anxiety I knew a year ago I wouldn’t be able to escape. And it began when I’d seen the brochures in Rosemary’s purse for several colleges. The dread of the biggest change we can experience. Of our friends leaving. Our loves. I shut my mind down and just ran. I’d always known I’d hear the whistle before I saw the train. You just don’t expect it to barrel so fast down the tracks…And then it’s there with red flashing lights and the clang of warning bells.

When things are good, you want to hold them in that limbo. Freeze-frame them. Your head will make you believe it’s possible. Your heart will tell you that you need to prepare. And you psychologically fight it. And because your feelings are so deep it angers you that life itself can punch you with change…because change is what life does.

So, I ran harder. And faster. Like my mind could outrace the thoughts for a while. Like my speed could replay the good things in a permanent memory loop that would suspend it all. I dare not think about if everyone were to go away. And I was alone again. anyone who thought they

The scenery became an angry rope-ring of blur around me. Sweat rained from my forehead, and I slung it from me like a prizefighter slamming his opponent with bleeding fists.

I was drenched by the time I turned to retrace. I yanked my shirt from me, wrung it, and sponged my face as I sprinted, sun rising, yellow-hot, at my side.

I was coming back upon the ballpark, looking forward to a sip of water. My throat was arid. As I rounded the corner, I saw a figure in dark shorts and a white tank jogging in place by it. From the distance the figure seemed familiar. As I closed in, I saw it was Connor. An arm sprouted upward and waved at me. He’d been waiting.

I walked the last few yards to catch my breath. “Connor. What’s up?”

He was excited to see me. “Been trying to catch you for a week. Been out here running every day, hopin’ I’d see you. Ryan told me at the party you like to run this way a lot.”

I explained to him my lucky run-in with the flu.

I was curious. “What is it you want?”

He followed me to the fountain. “I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the things he said about me getting a scholarship. And up until now I just took it for granted that I was good enough, or lucky enough that it’ll just be handed to me. Pure ego, I guess. Or stupidity. There’s so many great guys playing out there in the schools, and I know I gotta try to make myself superior to them. I have to put in more effort.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Ryan told me what his dad did with getting him a trainer and all. And I’ve never trained with anyone. I was thinking, now that you don’t have a partner, maybe you wouldn’t mind training me. Showing me some of the tips you guys learned?”

His eyes were earnest.$l aup

I explained to him that I didn’t have the set-up that Ryan had. Mine was, in fact, meager in comparison.

It didn’t matter to him. He was eager to start. Still…I hesitated. I wasn’t keen on restricting my time to a person for a workout that wasn’t Ryan. It didn’t appeal to me.

I think he deduced this and wanted to make his case.

“Dave, I don’t want to say this because it’s tough to say, but it’s not like I have a whole bunch of choices in front of me. I’m not like Ryan. I’m not like you. There’s not a lot of hope I’m gonna come up with an ingenious invention or create my own business. I’m not gonna get in a college with Einstein’s score on my S.A.T.” The emotional tinge in his voice showed he was sincere. “There is only one thing I can do. One chance to get on the merry-go-round for me. It’s football, and I have to be the best I can be to beat out everyone else. Otherwise, I’m just gonna be another nothing lining up at a steel-factory because they hire dumb, strong guys. I need someone to push me. And I guarantee, I’ll push back. You’ll get as much out of me as I get from you.”

And so there I was in the position of inviting into my house the very guy who threatened me a year ago and was now a friend asking for help. That was a spin of the wheel of fortune I didn’t foresee. I was definitely going to have to explain this to Rosemary.

That would happen sooner than I thought. When I returned home from my run, she was working with my mom on our business books over coffee in the kitchen. She listened to my story like I was reciting an Aesop’s fable.

“You guys just have the magic touch with people,” she stated. “I wonder which one of you will end up running for president first?”

“David,” my mom announced without a pause long enough to let the question mark curl.

Later that night after Ryan crept through my window into my room, I told him. He found it intriguing.

“Just proves that inside the guy who thinks he’s some bad-ass jock is a good person. You just have to find the right keyZ"> aup to the jock’s lock.”

We sat on the roof for an hour or so. We didn’t talk much. I could tell something was on his mind. He was both thoughtful and anxious. I wasn’t going to pry it from him. I could already guess what it concerned. His mom and dad were barely on speaking terms. It was enough to worry anyone.

The window squealed open behind us. It was Mom. She had two Cokes for us. We took them, thanked her.

“And if I hear any reason why the two of you can’t help me clean the gutters in fall, I will crown you both!” she said, closing the window as an exit.

We were in bed by midnight. He never said a word.

Working out with Connor was like being in the gate next to the winning-est horse at the Kentucky Derby. He had the fire in his belly all the time. The goal was to win, even though what we were doing wasn’t a winnable event. But he made it that way. Everything was a competition.

He drank the Bob Hoffman shakes; took over fifty vitamins and minerals. He warmed up and stretched fifteen minutes before we began weight lifting or a run. I usually just did a few jumping jacks. Whatever I did, he had to do one more. It was the nature of his blood.