Vintage: A Ghost Story (16 page)

That afternoon, I broke my promise never to step foot again in a graveyard. But I owed it not only to Trace and Second Mike but to their older brother to attend the funeral. Still, I tried to remain utterly silent. Even if I couldn’t see any ghosts, some hidden spirit was within earshot.

The day was terribly windy and the first scarves of the season slapped people in the face. The clouds overhead had churned to an angry shade and there were umbrellas ready.

Mr. Vaughn had shaved but it only made his face look even more saggy. He bowed his head the entire time. Next to him, sitting in a wheelchair cov ered with a blanket, was a gaunt woman. I could see the resemblance to Trace and her brother even though their mother’s skin was so taut over the skull and her eyes were deep within their sockets

Not many other people attended besides the small Vaughn family. A few kids from school. Maggie stood nearby, while Liz and Kim were off to the side. Every so often I would glance

over and see Liz looking at Maggie rather than the casket; they had broken up a few days ago and I’m sure the wounds for both were raw.

Trace looked as if carved from ivory. Every so often she would lean to the left, tilting against Taylor who had not adopted anything more austere for the event than a black leather jacket over his normal punk clothes. When they took their place in front, Taylor had his arm lightly draped over her shoulder, but by the time the minister started reading it had sunk lower, pulling Trace close.

I stood next to Mike along the right side of his mother. His new suit looked sharp; I had to admit there was something to be said for modern clothes.

I never noticed before the overall sense of sadness surrounding funerals, a layer that hung over everyone, like a lead-lined overcoat. What little was said in low voices of those around me never reached my ears but was snatched away by the wind. The enforced quiet, both my own and that of the others, was disturbing in itself, but far worse were the screams that started when the casket lowered into the hard ground.

She startled us all. Her screams began low, guttural, almost drawn-out groans. Then the pitch rose, still sounding like a tortured single note. Wailing. You see the word, know what it means, but until you hear the sound of actual wailing, you cannot know that it’s as much a cry from the heart as from the lungs.

Mrs. Vaughn tumbled out of her wheelchair, dragging her blankets along on the ground behind her as she scrambled toward the edge of the grave. She never stopped that horrible sound, even when the other mourners—her husband, Taylor, some graying cousin or uncle—rushed her. One of her thinfingered hands, the nails bitten down to the quick, managed to reach the edge, scraping in the dirt. Then she was pulled back and her screams turned into barked words. Among them I recognized “No!” and “Mike!”

The attention turned to Mrs. Vaughn. Except Mike, who stepped closer to the grave and watched, silent, as they laid the brother he never knew in the ground. I ignored the brouhaha to stay with Mike. I noticed he was cry ing quietly. Not a sob or a shake or whimper. His tears rolled down his face and were wiped away by the never-ceasing wind. I caught one with a finger tip before it evaporated and he turned and I came so damn close to leaning down and kissing him then. Up to then I always thought it may be wonder ful to hook up with a boy in a graveyard, a secret sin of sorts, but when the moment came, all I could do was think of the sadness of his as well as those around us. And so all I did was nudge his head with my own.

Rapping woke me. I looked up from the pillow. Someone was at the window. I rubbed the sleep from my face and pushed myself up. I saw a small pale face looking in and my chest grew tight as I held my breath. First Mike? Had we screwed up and now he was loose and angry like Josh? Then the face spoke my name and I recognized Second Mike’s voice. I left the bed and undid the lock, lifting up the pane. Cool air rushed in.

He started to pull himself up and over the windowsill. I took hold of him underneath the shoulders and helped.
He had changed clothes and wore a clean white T-shirt and sweats. He looked freshly scrubbed, his hair still damp and a shade darker than its nor mal brown. Wearing dyed boxers, I shivered at the chilly breeze slipping through the open window, and the sudden, nervous thrill of being so ex posed to him.
“I needed to see you.”
“Okay.” I walked back to the bed and sat by the pillows, bringing my legs underneath me.
Mike came over and sat down next to me by the pillows. He kept his gaze down toward the floorboards. “Do you like me?”
I smiled at the innocent question. “Very much.” As proof, I brushed my hand through his hair.
He sighed and leaned back a little so it was easier to reach him. “Good,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong, Mike?”
He turned his head and flashed me a smile. “I like it when you call me that. Just Mike.” His eyes roamed over me, my face, and my bare chest. Then, blushing suddenly, he looked away.
“So?” I let my hand drift down to his neck. I wanted him to tell me why he had stolen away to visit me in the middle of the night.
“Trace told me about the ghost. The
other
ghost.” His emphasis made it clear who he referred to. Josh.
I sighed. I couldn’t really blame her. Mike deserved to know some of what had been happening to me of late. Only, now I felt bad that I hadn’t been the one to tell him. Was I guilty of lying by omission?
But it had been almost a week since Josh had last come over. I was sure he was gone, probably returned back to 47.
“Yeah, he wasn’t a good thing. I’m sorry I ever ran across him.”
He turned around to face me and moved a few inches closer. We just stared at each other for several moments without saying a word. He looked small and nervous and I wanted nothing more than to hug him tightly against me.
He bit his lower lip. “Do you think that way about me?”
“No.” I cupped his chin with my hand. “No regrets with you.”
“I remember the first time I saw you. The night Trace first brought you home. Both of you were in the backyard and I watched from my bedroom window. I saw the little orange glow from your cigarettes dancing around.
Then heard your voice as you started renaming the stars.” He leaned in close to me and I slid my arms around him.
“That was so cool. Not the names, some were kinda weird. But the fact you told her everything about your new constellations. Just like someone from ancient times, you had your myths and stories.” He looked up at me, his eyes sleepy. “After that, I always thought about you.”
“And then you kissed me.” I smiled.
Mike nodded. “I thought I’d die. Or maybe you’d spit or something ’cause I did it wrong. I never kissed anyone before that.”
“It was the kiss I’ll never forget.” I leaned down and kissed him again, marveling at how his lips parted and little puffs of breath seeped from his mouth into mine.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
He blinked and buried himself back into my arms. “Yeah. Can I sleep here with you tonight?”
I almost growled out a “Yes” and pounced on him but the gentle way he had asked the question made me stop. Letting my hormones take over might not be the smartest thing to do. Maybe savoring Mike slowly, in slow doses, was the right choice, especially considering what had happened with my sudden sex with Josh. “Of course. Though I may want to have another kiss.” And I did.
Mike murmured a lot in his sleep. Getting used to the soft sounds took a while and so I found myself constantly waking, looking over at him lying beside me, then drifting off. As I dozed fitfully, I never noticed the tempera ture. The room began to cool until the only source of warmth was the boy next to me. I pulled at the covers and heard Mike moan. A new sound, one odd enough to startle me fully awake.
What little light came through the window caught the wisps of my breath visible in the air. I turned my head and saw Josh standing by the side over where Mike lay. As if carved from ice, he stared down without a hint of expression.
Before I could even react, Josh thrust his arm deep into Mike’s chest until his hand had sunk to the wrist. Mike groaned a weak, pathetic sound. He twisted his limbs, freeing himself of the sheets but not Josh’s touch. I could not help but notice the bulge in Mike’s sweats and remembered how charged Josh’s touch could be.
I sat up. Josh raised his eyes to me. They still shone blue but were empty, like those of a corpse. I shuddered, but not from the cold. Though his face remained vacant, his anger was tangible. I heard his voice though he did not open his mouth. “You want him rather than me. You’re just like Roddy.”
“Get away from him.” Without even thinking, I grabbed at the arm just inches above Mike’s chest. My hand didn’t pass through Josh, there was no sudden rush of memories. Instead, my fingers found the solid softness of the well-worn letter jacket.
Josh grinned at me. Those perfect teeth flashed like a hungry predator’s.
“This isn’t about him. You want me.”
Josh narrowed those dead eyes. “No.” He hissed the word. “You should be wanting me.”
“Josh.” Parting my lips to lure him into a kiss, I leaned over Mike. Josh moved forward to meet my mouth with his own. Then I hit him.
I’d never thrown a punch in my life. I weigh a little over a hundred pounds soaking wet. But the need to get him off Mike, the fear that he was killing him, made me strike out. More fear than force was behind the blow when it connected with his jaw. When my hand sunk inside his head and the memories began, I had a moment to wonder—had I caught him off guard or had desperation given me strength?

A couple of girls and guys dance in the center of the basement. Arlene has already attached herself to another member of the team, sharing her Coke with him. I look around and find Roddy standing in the corner. Colin’s next to him, leaning down so that he can hear whatever Roddy’s whispering to him. Roddy’s soft lips practically brush Colin’s ear in a lover’s kiss. My blood burns.

It takes seconds for me to cross the room. I’ve never crossed a football field any faster. I didn’t wait for either to say a word to me. No more lies, from them or from me.

I lift both hands and push Colin hard against the wall, feeling satisfied when I hear the thump of his back against the wood paneling. His glasses hang askew on his face.

Roddy grabs my arm. “Are you nuts?”
I look into his face like I had done so many times for almost a year. I’ve memorized his features, from the tiny scar on his chin from where a dog nipped him as a toddler to the exact shade of brown in his eyes. But right then I see something new. Anger. I don’t know how to react to that.
“Why are you with this guy?” I shrug off Roddy. He is only a wide receiver and not a good one at that.
“Not here, Josh.” He talks in a low voice and motions with his head at the rest of the party.
I glance around. The music plays on but the room has grown still. Everyone is staring at us. I’ve grown up used to being watched. Out on the field, everyone follows my every move. All the girls, and some of the guys, they watch me and want me. But here, I can feel something different from their eyes. When did they start accusing me?
I fight the fear, turning it back into rage. My fist easily connects with Colin’s soft stomach, one quick blow that gives me the satisfaction of hearing air expel from his lungs and leaves him hunched over for a second before falling to his knees. I want him to get back up again so I can throw another punch.
“You should be with me!” I scream at Roddy. He has to learn that he was meant to be with only me, his teammate all through high school, not some bookworm.
The other guys standing around us grab and pull me back. Seeing Roddy bend down to help Colin stand up, only makes it worse. A sneer crosses my face, seeing how the guy’s eyes look ready to cry. “He’s not a man.”
“And you’re acting like one?” Roddy adjusts the glasses on Colin’s face.
“But I love you.”
He looks visibly struck by the words. “Josh, no.”
“Don’t say that. You love me, not him.” The arms that hold me drop away. “We should be together. I hate seeing you with him.”
Roddy’s face falls. Colin still has one arm around him and glares at me.
Someone close by giggles. I look around. The stares are a thousand times worse than before. One or two have their mouth open in shock. Arlene chews her gum and giggles again.
“Fuck you, Arlene.” I snap at her.
“I doubt it, Wyle. Now we know why you never have.”
Everyone starts laughing. At me. They’ve never done that before. I push them aside and run out of there. Out of the house and into the cool night air which feels good against my flushed face.
On the street I pass by Roddy’s ’51 Moonlight cream-colored Chevy. We had sex in the backseat of that car once. Right near some railroad tracks. I remember when the train hurled past the car and it shook and it had been the most amazing lay of my life. The next day, passing each other in the hall at school, I called out to him, “Choo, choo.” He blushed and turned away. I loved that I could make him fall apart like that.
I kick in the car’s right headlight and start running down the block. I don’t stop until I leave the neighborhood behind and find myself walking on Rt 47.
I keep my head down, my hands in the pockets of my letter sweater and try not to think what had just happened. By tomorrow, the whole town will know I am a fag got.
An engine’s purr comes from behind me. I turn around and see a single, glowing white light quickly approaching. Roddy’s car.