Cross
Currents
By
Adam Phillips
Part
Two
6. Passages
During
the late spring and summer before my freshman year, I was spending a lot of
time in the company of a beautiful sixteen-year-old named Staci.
Staci had dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes.
Hers was the proverbial face that could launch a thousand ships, and she had a
figure to match. Staci’s family and mine went to the
same church.
My parents and I have always been church-going people, although I guess you'd
have to call us "left-wing" Christians. We're very much out of sync
with the fundamentalist brand of Christianity that's endemic to the Bible Belt. My parents were both raised in the same denomination,
one of the so-called "liturgical" denominations whose ritual isn't
far-removed from that of the Roman Catholics. My father's academic background
led him to look at much of the material in the Bible as mythological, yet full
of all kinds of existential and ethical importance. He raised his kids in that
same denomination, but through his guidance inoculated them against the intolerance
and rigidity that characterize much religion below the
In any case, our family was highly involved in our church. We belonged to the
largest congregation of our denomination in
At school, Staci and I were on different planets. She
was a sophomore that spring, and I was back in junior high, so we'd never
really known each other from school. The friendship we had came from our mutual
involvement in our church's youth group. In early May, the eighth-graders in
the church got moved from the junior high youth group to the high school group,
and that's what caused our friendship to move forward.
By my fourteenth year, I'd grown into most of my adult height and had a pretty
decent build. I wouldn't have had any trouble passing for sixteen or maybe even
older. I noticed pretty quickly in our youth activities at church that Staci seemed to like me. She went out of her way to make me
feel welcome and to introduce me to the older kids. From my end, the attention
from this "older woman" was intoxicating.
But Staci had a seventeen-year-old boyfriend. His
name was Dylan, and he was a real tough guy. He played football and baseball
and hung around with a group of guys who had reputations for getting into
trouble. So as far as I was concerned, between Dylan
on the one hand and my young age on the other, Staci
was just a set of butterflies in the stomach and a jerkoff
fantasy. I figured the best I could hope for was "good friends." But,
hell, I'd take it.
As the weeks went by, I discovered that Staci and
Dylan were having some conflicts. He used to come to some of the church youth
activities, but I saw him there with her less and less. She and I were also
spending more time in each other's company at youth group activities. And I'd
gotten brave and started calling her during the week. Before too long,
she began opening up to me about the problems between her and her boyfriend. By
the time the school year was over we were talking for hours on the phone each
day.
One evening near the end of May, I was outside shooting hoops with Matt. My mom
poked her head out the door, looked at me with a curious expression, and said,
"Andy, Staci Hamilton's on the phone; she wants
to talk to you."
I looked at Matt, wide-eyed; Matt grinned and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I'd
talked to him about my hopeless crush on her, and over the weeks he kept
encouraging me to say "what the fuck" and ask her out.
As I turned to go inside, he said, "I want the full report when you get
back."
I went in and walked upstairs to my room. I took a deep breath and picked
up the phone. Putting on my best "confident
Andy" persona, I said, "Hey, Staci, what's
up?"
"Andy...hi." She sounded distressed. "I'm sorry to pull
you away from your game."
"No big deal, it was just me and Matt; hell, we do that every day."
She paused, then said, "Hey, do you think...I
mean, would it be okay if I came by and picked you up and we went for a Coke
somewhere?" Again I heard the note of distress in her voice.
"What's wrong?"
There was another slight pause before she answered, "Oh, nothing. I don't
want to make a big deal of it. But I just want to, you know, hang out and talk
about some things, and you're such a good listener and all."
I had no idea where any of this was coming from or where it was going.
But I didn't care. I said, "Well, I really like talking to you, too, and
hanging around you and stuff. And also, you don't beat up on freshmen.
That's even better than being a good listener."
She laughed a little and said, "Well, I have plenty of time to pick on you
next year, so you're not out of the woods yet."
I laughed and said, "Oooh, I'm scared."
She laughed a little too, and then said, "Anyway...would you go out for a
Coke with me?"
Damn. A date with Staci.
Regardless of what you called it, that's what it was. My palms were starting to
sweat.
"Yeah, sure! But you're gonna
have to give me some time to clean up. I smell like sh...I
mean, I'm all sweaty from playing basketball."
"Okay...how 'bout if I stop by in half an hour?"
"Okay," I said.
"Sonic okay?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, is it okay if we just go to the Sonic
and grab a Coke?"
"Sure," I replied. "It's your car and your call. But I'm buyin'."
"Ooh, a big spender," she said. "Okay, then. It's a date. See
you in a little bit."
I said goodbye and hung up the phone. A date. With Staci. I was floating about a
foot off the ground.
I made my way back outside, where Matt was busy perfecting his layup. I must have looked as goofy as I felt, because Matt
looked at me for a second, then said, "What the
fuck, Andy? You look like you just beamed down from outer space.
What the hell did she say?"
"She said...I think she...I gotta go get showered up," I said.
"She...well, she's coming to pick me up and we're gonna
grab a Coke at the Sonic."
"No fuckin' way!"
"Yes way, dude. I'm goin' on a fuckin' date with Staci
Hamilton."
"My man," Matt said. "I always knew you had it in you. Good
thing I taught you everything you know about makin'
the moves on the women."
"Fuck you," I replied. "I didn't make any moves; she called me
up and asked me out. Anyway, she wants to talk about something."
"You know what it is: She wants to talk about Dylan, dude. Man, I'm
telling you, this is your chance."
In my gut I felt Matt was right. But I wasn't sure I wanted to admit it. I didn't
want to get my hopes up. Hell, she was this beautiful older woman, and I was
just a freshman. And anyway, I didn't know that I wanted to be getting into any
kind of situation with Dylan. That was a guy you didn't want to cross.
"Screw that," I said. "I'm just gonna
go out and grab a Coke with her. For all I know she just wants to talk about
the beach trip or something." The youth group was planning on going on a
weeklong beach retreat in mid-June.
"Maybe," Matt replied. "And for all you know, she wants your
body."
"Shut up," I said. "She doesn't want that. We're friends. That's
all."
"Come on, Phillips," Matt said. "You're freakin'
about this because she's older. Don't even think about that. Just make your
moves, man...I'm telling ya, she wouldn't be calling you if she weren't
interested. You know you got game; now pull your head out of the clouds and
bring it."
I didn't know about that, but Matt was right about one thing: if I had any
chance with Staci, I'd have to neutralize the
"young, inexperienced freshman-boy" thing. I mean, she'd been dating
a guy who pretty much reeked of self-confidence.
Well, fuck that and fuck him, I said to myself. I know a little bit about
self-confidence.
"Okay," I said, trading "daps" with him. "You're
right." As our knuckles bumped, he finished off the gesture by
turning his fist counter-clockwise and "locking it in." I grinned at
him. "Thanks, man. I better go get ready."
He grinned back at me. "That's my boy. Dude...you play this right and she
could teach you a few things, know what I'm sayin'?"
"Get the fuck outta here," I said.
"Okay, I'm gone," he replied, "but I want the full report on
this one too."
"Yeah, you'll be the first to know, asshole."
Matt tossed me my basketball and started jogging home.
----------------------
Over Cokes and conversation, Staci spilled her guts
to me, albeit with some reserve. Dylan had been pressuring her to have sex with
him, and had been threatening to dump her if she wouldn't. She was a virgin and
didn't feel she was ready. But she didn't want to lose him. The previous night,
she'd finally given in; and the experience was horrible for her. She was in
pain, and Dylan was brutish and insensitive. He got what he wanted and rode off
in his car, unaware of, and unconcerned about, her confusion and hurt.
We talked about guys, and about girls, and about love, and about sex. I had
little experience with sex, but plenty of opinions. The vulnerability she'd
displayed in seeking me out to share this intimate problem only increased my infatuation;
as we talked, it felt as though I had known--and adored--her forever. I was a
captive audience. I was blown away that she'd felt such a bond with me that
she'd tell me this story rather than going to one of her girl friends with it.
We must have talked for two hours. I listened to her vent about Dylan, about
how complicated relationships between the sexes are, stuff like that.
When she reached a stopping place, I finally said to her, "He doesn't
deserve you, Staci. He's a jerk. You need to dump
him. You can do so much better."
She smiled, kind of wistfully, and said, "Oh, yeah? Who'd you put me
with?"
I grinned and said, "Me, of course," then laughed quickly, in hopes
she'd believe I was joking. I wasn't a big fan of rejection.
She didn't laugh. She studied my face for what seemed like an eternity, and
finally said, "You don't seem like you're just fourteen."
Trying to dispense with the "little kid factor" as quickly as I
could, I said, "That's because I'm almost fifteen; well, just three more
months, anyway." Immediately I regretted it. Damn, I thought to
myself; how fuckin' juvenile! I might as well
have said "I'm fourteen-and-a-half" like some little grade school
kid. Idiot!
She didn't seem to notice, though. She said, "You're as mature as
any of my friends. More so, maybe."
I began to realize that there were some possibilities here. I liked where this
was going. I was scared spitless at the thought of
taking the next step; still, if I didn't...
I heard myself say, "Maybe I shouldn't say this after you've told me how
confused you are about Dylan. But I...I really like you. I don't know if you'd
go out with a freshman, but I like being with you. I'd never treat you bad and
I'd never put any pressure on you."
Half-shocked by my own forthrightness, I looked into her eyes. She smiled at me
and said, "You're so sweet. I've always thought you were a cool guy. And
you're cute, too. Any girl would be lucky to get some attention from you. I
really do like you. I feel I could trust you with anything...you always seem to
understand things.
"I know you like me," she continued. "I've known it since all of
y'all moved up into the high school youth group. If you were a little
older..."
Screw "a little older." I wasn't going to let that get in my way.
"Look," I began, "I guess I don't have any right to tell you
what to do about Dylan. Especially since I'm crushin' on you so bad. Y'all have been together for
a long time, seems like, and so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. But
I can't help it; I know he's a creep and you need to dump him. You think he's gonna change? He's not.
"We have a summer," I went on. "I like you. I'd love to spend
more time with you. Don't think about the age thing. Can't we just go out a few
times, you know, enjoy the summer together, hang out a little? You said you
liked me and you feel safe with me. You don't need to be all hurting over your
loser boyfriend all summer long. Summer's supposed to be about fun, and this
guy is gonna keep after you now that you've given him
what he wants. It doesn't matter to him if it messes with your head or not,
long as he gets his."
A tear rolled down her face as she stared into my eyes. Crap! I'd made her cry
with my big stick-my-foot-in-it mouth.
"Aww, geez.
I'm sorry, Staci. Please don't cry. I didn't mean it
like it sounded."
She struggled a little to recover her composure.
Finally she said, "No, you're right. He doesn't give a shit about
me." I winced to hear her say "shit." She saw it and laughed a
little. "And I'll tell you something else,
too...I'd be happy to spend more time with a guy like you. I mean, you are gonna be fifteen soon. I'm only sixteen. My dad's older
than my mom by more than that."
"Now, wait a minute," I said, smiling. "I'm just talking about
going out with you. I'm not making no lifetime commitment
here."
"Hey, don't start what you can't finish," she said, looking at
me totally seriously. My smile vanished and my eyes got wider by the second,
which made her laugh. "I'm just yankin'
your chain, freshman," she said. The expression of relief on my face must
have been pretty damn funny because she started laughing even harder.
"Oh, man, are you gonna pay for that one,"
I responded.
She arched her eyebrows. "Who's gonna make
me?"
I tried to scowl. "I will, woman! You can just go talk out
your problems with yourself from here on out! You'll regret the day you
tried to make a fool out of Andy Phillips!"
Playing
along, she said, "I didn't mean to cause you any shame; I'm so
sorry!"
"You oughta be," I said,
crossing my arms and turning away from her.
"Wow, Andy," she said. "We haven't even been out yet and I
still have a boyfriend, and already we've had our first lovers' quarrel!"
Lovers' quarrel: The words
registered and lifted me ten feet off the ground.
She was kidding, of course. But what came through was this: I might actually
have a chance with this beautiful, sweet girl.
I turned back around to face her, grinning. She laughed and said,
"Much better. Now I don't have to say, 'Turn
that frown upside down.'" I groaned, but couldn't keep from laughing
myself.
We joked around for a few minutes more. Finally she said, "Well, it's
getting late; we probably ought to get home."
"Yeah, I guess," I responded. "Man, thanks for calling me,
Staci. You're so awesome. I'm really happy that you
trusted me to talk to me like this. Can I see you again soon?"
"Well, you'll see me Sunday of course," she said, pulling her keys
out of her purse. "But if you mean like this, well, yeah, I'd like to go out
with you too. You're pretty cool. I guess I'll have to drive, though, right,
little boy?"
I could feel myself starting to blush. "Yeah, I guess, old woman. Unless you want my dad to chauffeur us around."
She wrinkled up her nose. "I think I'll pass on that. Tell ya what,
you let me drive and I'll let you pay."
"Sounds like a plan," I said. "That way you don't totally rob me
of my manhood."
She cocked an eyebrow at me and said, "Why would I want to do that? What
good would you be to me then?"
I was sure my face got even redder. I had no idea what to say to that. I looked
at the floor and muttered, "I...okay. Yeah."
"C'mon, let's go, silly," she said.
She started up the car and we pulled out of the parking lot.
When we got to my house she stopped the car. Looking over at me, she said,
"Thanks for talking to me. You've been great. I would love to go out with
you this summer. I think I still have it bad for Dylan...but you're right about
him. Everybody's been telling me. I just wasn't ready to listen. Thanks for
helping me listen. And thanks for listening to me. Look, I'm not so sure about
going out with a freshman. I think it...it seems kinda
strange. But when I'm with you it doesn't feel like you're so young.
"Part of me doesn't want to break it off with Dylan," she continued.
Then she took my hand and held it in hers and said, "but
part of me already has. I can't promise you anything, Andy. I like you a lot.
But let's just keep it casual, okay? You know, see what happens. Call me in a
couple of days after I've had some space to work this thing out."
"Sure, Staci," I said. Then she leaned over
from the driver's seat and kissed me on the cheek.
Encouraged, I leaned over in her direction and moved in to kiss her on the
lips. Her face met mine and we kissed, tenderly, for a quarter of a minute.
I could feel my dick turning to steel. I needed to make my exit before I lost
all dignity. Pulling away from her, I stumbled through a goodbye:
"I...wow. I better...I'll call you on Saturday, okay?"
"Okay. I may need a shoulder to cry on by then."
I smiled. "Well, I have big shoulders with lots of room for a pretty
girl."
She smiled back at me as I got out of the car, and said, "I'll probably
try 'em out before too long". With that, she
fired up the engine and waved goodbye.
I watched as she drove away. Then, still half-dazed at the developments, I went
inside the house, walked directly into my room, shut the door, and released the
tension the evening had produced.
7.
Passages Revisted
For the next few weeks, Staci and I were
inseparable. She broke up with Dylan shortly after we’d had our first
"date." Dylan, for his part, left town the first week of June to live
with a sister and brother-in-law in
brother-in-law's auto shop. Nobody knew if he was coming back to school or not,
least of all Staci. I took advantage of his absence
and spent my time doing my best to cause her to get over him. We went to
movies, ball games, had picnics in the park, went
swimming; pretty much spent all our free time with each other.
I had fallen hard for her. I thought everything about her was perfect. Being
with her was like being on a drug; being away from her made me almost literally
hurt.
She seemed to like me a lot, too. We were both always aware of a certain power
differential, and as hard as I tried--as hard as we both tried--the age
difference at that critical time-period in our teen lives threw an unpredictable
and difficult-to-navigate complication into our relationship. I worked at
ignoring it, and tried to take the role of the dominant partner in the
relationship, but it was pretty clear to both of us, at least subconsciously: I
was the "younger guy" who was almost entrapped. I idolized her and
idealized her, found myself unable to look at her rationally and neutrally. I
adored her, and was lost in that adoration. Still, the mutual attraction was
undeniable; she seemed to want to be with me as much as I wanted to be with
her.
Our physical relationship had progressed pretty rapidly. In hindsight, I
understand all too well what was going on: you can avoid issues in a
relationship if you're spending your time making out. But at the time I
was caught up in my first love, and not remotely interested in serious and
sober thinking on the subject. In any case, by the time we'd been
"together" two weeks, we were going at it pretty heavy, just about
every time we went out. From Staci I learned how to
French kiss a girl really well; I learned where to touch, and when, and how; I
learned how to be patient and slow; and I began to understand how different,
yet equally intense, girls' passions are.
The increasing intensity of our relationship was coinciding with an impending
beach trip that our church youth group was taking in mid-June. I'd been
thinking about it ever since I'd begun seeing her, and I'd decided that I was
going to find a way to get some time away from chaperones on this trip, and
take Staci off to a quiet section of beach and make
love to her. Thinking about this excited and scared me at the same time. It
also caused me to walk around with a chronic hard-on.
Throughout the whole period of my relationship with Staci,
Matt was both excited for me and somewhat jealous. We double-dated a few times
that month. After one of those, a movie-and-Coke date, Matt was spending the
night at my house. He was sitting at my desk and looking through a stack of
CDs, talking with me about the evening, when he said, "Man, Phillips, I
can't believe you're friggin' makin'
out with Staci Hamilton! Since when
are you the big stud?"
I leered at him, grabbed my package, and said, "Since Little Andy here
grew to impressive size, remember?"
"Big deal, freak," he responded. "It's not the size of the boat,
it's the motion in the ocean, and it doesn't matter anyway, 'cause you're still
anchored in the harbor."
"How do you figure?"
He grinned. "The only use that big boy's gettin'
is from your right hand."
"Shows how much you know," I said, raising an eyebrow, as if I
had a revelation for him I hadn't yet shared with him.
I paused and waited for his eyes to get wide with anticipation; then I winked
and said, "Sometimes my left hand does the honors."
He
laughed explosively, which would have been cool, except for the fact that he
had a mouthful of Pepsi. My wall got a good spray as it came out of his mouth
and nose. "Look what you did, asshole!" I yelled...but the sight of
it was too funny. Pretty soon I was laughing too.
He
stood up and pulled the chair away from the desk. I went to the kitchen, got
some paper towels, and cleaned the Pepsi off my wall, then looked at him and
said, "Dude: I may be spending the first half of the summer with blue
balls and jerkin' off, but on this beach trip that's gonna
change, I'll tell you that."
"Ooh, he can talk the talk," he quipped. "Let's see you walk the
walk. Hell, I'll betcha when it comes down to it, I lose my virginity before you do. Staci's
never gonna put out for a punk like you."
"And I suppose Lauren's gonna give it up for you
any time soon?" Lauren was Matt's current love interest.
"Tell ya what, Phillips, if you score before I do, I'll do your outside
chores for a month."
I stuck my little finger out and Matt hooked his own with mine in the classic
"pinky-swear" move. "Dude...you are so on. I'm talking mowing,
edging, weeding the beds, and keeping the fuckin'
pool clean."
"Never gonna happen, but it's a deal
anyway," Matt said confidently. "But we gotta stipulate the other scenario, since that's how it's really gonna
play out."
"Yeah, whatever. We'll lay out an imaginary
alternate scene if it'll make you happy."
He thought for a minute. "Okay...this alternate, non-imaginary scene
has you doin' the same at my house...but since we
don't have a pool, you have to...let's see...okay, you
also have to do my laundry for six weeks. Just my sports stuff, though;
I'll make it easy on you."
"Shit, your mom does all your laundry anyway," I protested.
He said, "So? This ain't about making my load
lighter; it's about making you pay."
I shrugged. "Hell, fine by me since it ain't gonna happen. Except I'm not doin' your jocks, not even in this fantasy scenario of
yours."
"Yeah, you are," he shot back, grinning, "and if you give
me lip, I'm gonna make you wear 'em
on your head."
I wrinkled up my nose and said, "Ewwww!"
He laughed. "You know you want it...I had you pegged as a jock-sniffer even back when we were in third grade!"
I knew this game. We'd spent years perfecting it. "You didn't even know
what a jock was in third grade. Hell, you didn't even have enough down there to
put into one until last week!"
He slide-tackled me, dropped me to the carpet, and sat on my chest.
"Say what you want," he said with an evil grin. "By the end of
June, you're gonna be doin'
my laundry and sniffin' my jock."
"Yeah, you keep that wishful thinking goin',
boy. I'm gonna come home from that trip a man and
you'll still be trying to figure out where to put it."
He stood up, extended me a hand, and pulled me up off the floor. "All
right, enough of this horseshit...let's just see what happens." We were
both smiling big at the thought of losing our respective virginities, and we
were both dead-set on it.
---------------------
The day came and about twenty-five of us, plus eight adult chaperones, headed
off for the beach. It was a good retreat, and believe it or not, I actually got
something out of the "religious" stuff we did. But I was a typical
fourteen-year-old male: I believed in practicing my faith in moderation. My
true energies and allegiances were focused on my libido. And I had every
intention of taking it the rest of the way with Staci.
One of the gas stations not too far from my house had a condom dispenser in the
men's restroom. I'd left the house one afternoon about a week before our trip,
telling my mom I was on a distance run to start getting conditioned for soccer
season. I ran to the station, went into the restroom, and bought three condoms.
I had no idea whether I really needed that many, but I figured buying only one
would be asking for trouble, and buying more than three was either too
optimistic or too bulky to keep in a wallet.
I brought those three condoms with me on the trip. I kept one in my
wallet and two in my toiletries bag. My roommate on the trip, another
new-to-high-school kid like me named Corey, was in the bathroom one morning
brushing his teeth as I got out of the shower, and his eyes fell on the condoms
in my toiletries kit. He looked at me, looked at the condoms, looked back at
me, and said, in a none-too-soft voice, "What the hell are those doing in
your stuff? Did...are you...is..."
I put my hand over his mouth and said, "Shhhhhh.....shut
the fuck up, man." There were five of us in the condo, including our adult
chaperone, and I didn't want to announce this to the whole group. I whispered,
"You know what they're for, and as for your other question, well,
yeah...Friday night, on the beach, after everybody's gone to bed. But you
didn't see this and you don't know anything."
"Okay, dude. Wow. Okay."
"I mean it, Corey, you can't tell anybody about this or Staci and I are fucked, and then I'll have to come pound
your face."
He nodded. "Don't worry about me; I can keep a secret. Man...Staci Hamilton! How did you do that? And aren't ya scared
of Dylan?"
"Fuck Dylan, dude, he's gone," I said, shrugging. "Who knows if
he's coming back, and anyway, she dumped him. He's probably out screwin' every 'ho' in
"But how are y'all gonna get the time away from
chaperones and stuff?"
I looked at him, grinned, and said, "I'm glad you asked; you can do me a
little favor...."
---------------------
I'd arranged to meet Staci just down from the condo's
boardwalk at
I'd gotten an agreement from Corey to cover for me in case a chaperone stuck
his head in and found me missing. I had him leave the bathroom light on and the
bathroom door shut, and he was to tell the chaperone I was in the bathroom. It
was a pretty lame plan, but I figured if that didn't work when I got back I'd
tell our chaperone I couldn't sleep and had been sitting in the condo's lobby
watching TV for a bit. I'd get into a little hot water for it, but less than if
they'd found out what I was really doing. When the beeper went off at
We probably shouldn't have been on the beach by ourselves at two in the
morning. Still, this section of beach was private and was used primarily by
people staying at the condo, and at this time of day it was completely
deserted.
I'd originally thought it would be cool to have a late swim with her, but I
knew enough of the ocean to realize that putting the two of us in such a
situation would be dangerous to the point of stupidity. So we'd decided not to
come out in swimwear. I went shirtless and in soccer sandals, wearing a pair of
white soccer shorts with blue trim and free-balling it underneath that. In the
pocket of those shorts were my three condoms.
I had brought along two beach towels, two pillows, and a light comforter for us
to lie down on so we'd keep the sand at a minimum. The sea air was warm but
breezy. With the sun down and the wind blowing, we could even wrap up in the
comforter if we wanted.
As I sat my gear down in the sand, Staci showed up.
She had on a pair of khaki shorts and a white cotton top. She looked beautiful.
Seeing her got me a little nervous and set my dick at full
attention. I'm so much in love with her, I thought to myself; and
tonight, with any luck, I'll be making love to her.
"Hi," Staci said.
"Did you have any trouble getting out?" I asked.
"Nope. Amy's gonna tell
them I couldn't sleep and went down to watch TV if anyone asks."
I winced and said, "Shit, let's hope no one asks, because there'll be hell
to pay. That's what Corey's saying too."
She giggled. My heart melted down even further.
"I brought some stuff for us to keep the sand off us and just watch the
stars...or whatever," I said nervously.
Staci looked at me and smiled faintly. We hadn't
spoken about it, but I think she knew just as well as I did what this little
date on the beach was all about. I took her hand and said, "Let's just
walk along the beach for a little bit, okay?"
"I'd love that. It's so beautiful out here. Look at how the moon shines
down on the ocean. Isn't that incredible?"
Oh, god, Staci, you're incredible, I wanted to
say. But I just looked at her, smiled, and nodded my head.
We walked along the beach, holding hands, making small talk, sometimes not
talking at all. After about fifteen minutes, we reversed direction and headed
back.
About fifty yards from our original starting-point, I stopped walking and
turned to face her. I summoned up my courage and said, "Staci...I think I'm in love with you."
She put her arms around me and pulled me in close to her. I bent down to kiss
her. We stood there kissing for several minutes under the moonlight as the
waves washed up against the shore over and over.
Our mutual need was intensifying as we kissed. Pretty soon it was impossible to
hide my state of arousal. I tried to pull back my hips and move away from her,
because I didn't want to seem over-eager, but as I did, she moved her hands to
my ass and pulled me in tight against her. I groaned and began grinding gently
against her. My breathing became ragged and heavy and hers was getting faster
too, as we stood there tongue-kissing and thrusting against each other.
I couldn't take it any longer. I said, "You're so beautiful and I'm wantin' you so bad. I...I
brought some...some protection. I want to make love to you. I know you're
not...I mean, you've done this before. But I haven't, and I...I want you to be
the one I..."
Before I could stammer it out, she pulled me to her and kissed me deeply one
more time...then she slid her hand down the outside of my pants and caressed my
dick. I inhaled sharply, and she took her hand away and put it in mine, saying,
"I'm ready too. It's right this time. I want you
to, Andy."
We walked back to the dune where I'd left the towels and pillows and comforter.
I spread them out and then stood up, facing her. I looked into her eyes, kissed
her one more time, and, hands shaking a little, pulled her top over her head.
She unhooked her bra and I slid it off her. We embraced and held each other
chest-to-chest. Then she reached down to my waistband and I reached over to
hers. I gently unbuttoned and lowered her khakis. She slid her panties down and
stood before me naked; then she got down on her knees and slid my soccer shorts
down around my ankles. My dick, freed suddenly from its confines, slapped up
against my belly, then stood at hard attention. She stood back up; I stepped
out of my shorts and we stood before each other naked.
"You're so beautiful," I whispered.
"So are you," she said.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.
In answer, she grabbed me around the waist, pulled me close to her and began
kissing me. As we kissed, she moved her hands to my ass again and began
caressing me and pulling me harder against her.
I was leaking all over her and I was afraid if we didn't stop, I'd finish
before we started. I kneeled down with her and eased her onto her back on top
of the comforter. I kissed her lips, her neck, her
breasts. Then I got up for a minute and grabbed one of the condoms out of my
soccer shorts.
I tore open the packaging and unrolled it onto my straining dick. Then I lay
down beside her. I took one of her hands, and moved it to my penis. She ran her
fingers through my pubes and caressed my balls. Occasionally she let a finger
run up and down the length of my cock. Even though it was covered in a layer of
latex, I shuddered at the sensation.
We kissed and made out some more. The silky smoothness of her naked body
was overpowering. My right hand made its way toward her waist and below.
I reached my destination and slowly inserted a finger into her. I was on fire
with need for her, and a little nervous; I'd never
ever done this before.
She was warm and wet, and the sensation made my dick even more impatient. I
spent some time stimulating her with my hand, getting familiar with her body as
I never had with any other girl before, eliciting moans of pleasure out of her.
Finally I kissed her once more, then positioned myself
over her, continuing to kiss her gently, while my right hand guided my dick
into position. My condom was lubricated, and between that and her own wetness, we were ready. I brought my dick right up
to her opening with my hand, and thrust gently with my hips, pushing slightly
into her. She winced just a little. I said, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she replied, kissing me. "Go ahead." I pushed a
little more in and she seemed to open up more easily to take the rest of me. I
eased in slowly and carefully until finally I was in all the way.
It was all I could do to hold off an instant orgasm. Never in my most intense
wet dreams had I had such a physical sensation. I felt this incredible velvety
softness inside her; but it was firm, and it gripped and stroked me. I couldn't
tell whether I wanted to cry from the sheer mind-unhinging ecstasy of the
sensation, or growl like an animal in heat.
She'd been moaning softly. Now that I was in, she hugged me tightly to her and
sighed. "It feels nice, Andy," she said.
I could hardly speak, I was so overpowered by the
physical sensations and the tidal wave of emotion that had caught me. "Staci, you feel so good," I said. "I didn't know
it would be like this."
I began thrusting slowly in and out. Pretty soon we had a good rhythm going.
Gradually, sweet talk was replaced by moans and sighs as the pace picked up.
As I was making love to her, I started worrying about being able to give Staci an orgasm. Do girls get off easily? What should I do?
This isn't all just about me, I was thinking; I want to make her feel the same
intensity I'm feeling. I thought about where orgasms came from in girls.
Although I was a rank beginner in making love, I had a pretty good
understanding of what I needed to do.
To make sure I knew what was where, I put my hand down where the action was,
and as I was fucking her, I felt her with my finger until I found what I
thought was her clit. I stroked it gently, and sure enough, she tightened up
and gasped a little. I moved my finger away and decided to try increasing the
pressure against her clit with the top side of my penis as I was thrusting. She
responded as I'd hoped: she began gasping lightly and lifting her torso up
slightly to meet me with each thrust. She grabbed my ass with her hands again
and pulled me into her, over and over, as if she were trying to get me deeper
into her and harder against her. The pace kept increasing until I felt her
tensing up. I didn't have any sexual experience to speak of, but I could tell
she was about to get there. Pretty soon I felt her clamp around my dick a
little tighter as she cried out in climax. I kept pumping away; the excitement
of Staci's orgasm got me closer myself, until, about
a minute later, I thrust deep into her and exploded my juice into the condom.
I rolled us onto our sides and we lay there, kissing and caressing, my dick
still inside her. Finally, awkwardly, I pulled out. As I was doing that, I felt
the condom beginning to slip off, and I quickly grabbed it at the base and
clamped down on it and my penis, making sure the condom stayed on until I was
safely out of her. Then I pulled it off and tied it in a knot to keep the fluid
inside. I looked at it, kind of grossed out, thinking, "What
the fuck do I do with it now?" Was there a dignified way to deal with the
mechanics of after-sex? If there was, I sure didn't know what it was. She saw
my facial expression and giggled. I was embarrassed, but then started laughing
at the absurdity of the situation. We lay back and watched the stars, listening
to the tide, talking softly, laughing occasionally, whispering about our
feelings for each other and caressing each other.
Eventually--much too soon--she turned to me and said, "We better get back
before somebody finds out."
"Yeah, I guess so," I sighed. We dressed ourselves; I rolled up the
gear I'd brought and wadded the tied-up condom inside my right fist. When we
got to the end of the boardwalk closest to the condo, I saw a large trash
barrel and I threw the condom into it, rolling my eyes, which set us off
laughing again.
We made it back to our condos without anyone the wiser, although Amy was
waiting up for Staci and apparently peppered her with
questions. To this day I have no idea what she told Amy; I hope that, whatever
she said, making love with me was as deep and singular an experience for her as
it was for me.
---------------------
The week at the beach came to a close. We loaded up the vans and made the trip
back to Dallas.
Back home, Matt had a report to give and a report to receive. The first thing
out of his mouth when we saw each other again was "You better have gotten
lucky, Phillips, or you got some jock to sniff."
"Hey, I always deliver," I replied, grinning broadly.
Matt seemed genuinely delighted. "You did? For real?
Awesome, bro! Me too!"
I looked at him a little incredulously. "Are you sure you're not tryin' to get out of a month of yard work?"
"Honest, dude, mission accomplished! So, it looks like a photo finish,
dude; we gotta find out who went first. When did you score?"
I looked at him, realizing I'd "scored" at the last possible moment,
which meant I'd probably have lost the bet. "Friday night, man...well,
actually, early Saturday morning," I sighed.
Matt started laughing. "Me too, bro. Let's just
call it a draw and go celebrate."
I gave him a high-five and we "celebrated" over some one-on-one
hoops. Afterwards we sat out on the grass and traded the details of our
weekend with each other. Once again, even in the matter of losing our
virginities, we were in lockstep. As we sat there talking, that thought
kept coming back to me.
---------------------
In an ideal world I'd be able to tell you that things turned out happily ever
after for me and Staci. But I was only fourteen, and
anyway, I don't know anyone who's ever inhabited an ideal world. I certainly
didn't that summer.
Staci and I continued to see each other and talk on
the phone for about a week after we got home, but somehow things didn't seem
quite the same. I'd thought that our experience on the beach would bring us
even closer. But that wasn't happening.
One afternoon while I was shooting baskets, I saw her car pull up. She came
over to me. I kissed her and she gave me a perfunctory kiss back, then said, "Can we go up to your room and talk?"
When we got there, she looked at me, then at the floor, and said,
"Andy...Dylan's back in town. He's really sorry for the way he treated me
and he wants to get back together."
Clueless, I said, "Oh, man, has he been harassing you? Don't worry about
it. I'll go pay Dylan a little visit and tell him to shove it and to stay away
from you."
She looked at me, eyes radiating discomfort, and stumbled through her next
words. "I...I don't know how to say this, but I'm really in love with him.
I guess I always have been. And he says he loves me."
The breath left my lungs. I was literally stunned. The room seemed to darken
for a second. I must have been speechless for an entire minute while I tried to
recover.
Finally, I said, "Shit, Staci, I love you too.
And I know you love me. That guy's an asshole. You told me so yourself."
"I do love you," she said. "You're so good to me, and it
makes me feel so special to know how you feel about me. But you're two years
younger than I am, and...well, I know we've both been
feeling kinda weird about that."
I frowned. I couldn't disagree.
"Anyway," she went on, "Dylan's not as bad as everyone thinks.
He's really a sensitive, loving guy. He's just had some tough breaks. He's
promised me he's gonna change. And I guess...I guess
there's a part of me that never got over him."
"Fuck that," I said. "He's gonna hurt
you again, and you're throwing this away...throwing us away...for
someone who's gonna treat you like dirt."
"Andy, there is no 'us,' sweet boy," she said in response.
"You said yourself when we just started seeing each other that we had this
summer. And that's what we had. This summer. A beautiful, wonderful summer dream. The beach...I'll
remember that forever. But school starts in five weeks. You need to go back to
your life and your friends, and I need to go back to mine. I'm always going to
love you, Andy, and I want us to be friends. But I'm in love with Dylan, and I
think I was meant to be with him."
"Staci," I began hoarsely, looking for a
way to make it untrue, a way to put things back like they were,
words to say that would change her mind. But by the time I found some words,
the reality of the situation had quickly moved into my heart, claimed its hard
ground, and refused to vacate. I sighed, and tried to stay strong and steady as
I spoke.
"Okay. Shit! I...Okay. There's nothing I can do. God, I love you and this
really hurts. I mean, I had no idea. We talked just last night, and
I..." I took a few deep breaths and struggled to keep from getting
too emotional. "Well, whatever. It doesn't matter, I guess." I
looked intently into the eyes of this girl I'd lost myself so badly to.
"Listen to me. I think you're gonna get hurt
again. And I don't care about the age thing: I'm so much better for you than he
is. If you don't want to be with me, that's one thing. But Dylan! Don't do it
to yourself."
She stared back at me, silently, and finally replied quietly, "You don't
know him, Andy. It'll be fine."
I'd had all that I could handle. I just needed her to leave and let me hurt off
by myself, with some dignity still intact. Defeated, I looked at her and said,
"Well, if that's the way it is, that's the way it is."
"Let's still be friends, though...please. I don't want you to hate
me," she said, a note of desperation in her voice.
"Friends? Staci, I
can't do that," I said. "Look; I won't hate you. I couldn't hate you.
Jesus, you're the only girl I ever made love to. But being friends with you, that's too much to ask. I'm in love with you. Don't you
understand what that would do to me?"
A few tears started falling from her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I never ever
wanted to hurt you," she said, crying, as she tried to hug me.
I pulled away and said, "Look, I don't want to be mean, but would you just
go, please? You did what you came to do. You need to go now."
She looked at me in misery, and seemed about to say something else. Then she
put her hand on my shoulder for a minute, kissed me on the cheek, and turned
away without another word.
I watched her walk out the door, and through my window I watched her walk to
her car. As she walked I could tell she was crying softly. Why the fuck is she
crying, I thought bitterly. After she drove away, I stared blankly out the
window for twenty minutes, trying not to think, not to feel.
About half an hour after she left Matt came up the walk, walked into the house,
and into my room. He took one look at me, and said "Jesus, Andy. What's
wrong?"
I looked at him and said, "She dumped me. She's going back to Dylan. She
just fuckin' drove over here and sucker-punched
me."
I must have looked awful, because without another word, Matt came over and put
his arms around me. That did it. The dam burst and I cried like a little girl on
Matt's shoulder. He rubbed my back and held me and spoke softly, telling me,
"It's gonna be all right." I didn't believe
him; but I was glad he was there.
Somehow the sheer agony of that hour gradually passed. A day went by, then two,
then a week. As the days went on, I got back into the game. I worked hard on
shaking off Staci. By the end of July or so, I was
pretty much back to normal.
I gave her a wide berth after she broke up with me. I went out of my way to
avoid her at youth group meetings and spent my time conspicuously with everyone
else; with anyone else. I had to: I'd loved hard, so I hurt hard. But I
got better. And I was definitely one broken heart's worth wiser.
Staci's relationship with Dylan turned pretty much in
the direction I'd predicted it would. Ultimately he developed a bad drug habit
and began getting physically abusive with her; she ended up breaking up with
him again. Eventually she graduated and went to college at a northeastern
university. We never made it back to the status of "friends,"
although by the time she'd graduated the hurt had attenuated enough for me to
speak cordially to her at church and in school.
I haven't seen Staci in years. I honestly hope she's
happy. The memory of the two of us lives deep and strong in my heart. But if
the truth be known, I never fully recovered. Do any of us, in matters of the
heart? Along with the beautiful memories, there's a scar there to this day. I
guess that kind of thing often comes with the territory of a person's
"first time."
When I think back on those days, though, and allow my heart to feel the joy and
pain of my first love, I'm aware of another dynamic coloring the days and the
hours. As in all the other ups and downs of previous years of my life, I could
always count on one constant, one person--Matt--lifting me up and dusting me
off and helping me regain my balance. More and more as the years went by, I
began to feel that the two of us were separated halves of one complete person.
I don't know what that means, or how to explain it; but I know it's true.
8.
Catching the Wave
So I crashed and burned with Staci. But with practice
for fall sports gearing up, I didn't have much time to mope about it. And in
any case, there were two side benefits: losing my virginity gave me loads of
confidence with girls. And losing it to an "older woman" did some
good things for my reputation among my peers, both male and female. All in all,
between sports and sex, my entrance into high school was like catching the
perfect wave, one that I'd surf all the way through my high school years.
It started late that summer, less than a month before school started. In my
neighborhood people were returning with their families from vacations. You'd
see more and more kids hanging out at the mall and the movies again, starting
to shop for clothes, starting to talk about the upcoming year, catching up on
what everybody did over the summer. Word got around about my relationship with Staci. I wasn't looking forward to talking about it much;
from my perspective, it had been a pretty spectacular failure. Unlike Matt, who
fell into heavy infatuation spontaneously, I was pretty reserved emotionally. Staci was the first girl who'd ever gotten to me. I'd given
my heart to her, and had gotten dumped. But as word got around about my summer
fling, suddenly my friends were asking me all kinds of questions about my
opinions on the upcoming year. And guys I'd known only casually were coming by
or calling up to say "hi" and to find out what I thought: who was
going to have it going on this year? Did I think they had any chance on making
first string on the freshman team? What kind of activities should they get
involved in? And especially, who were the coolest upperclassmen?
Even more intriguing, I was getting more and more phone calls from girls who were "just wanting to talk," inquiring about my
summer, asking me when I had lunch period.
The whole thing struck me as ridiculous. All this from dating
an "older woman"? Or was it that I'd scored with her? I didn't
know. All I knew is that I was still smarting from the experience. I didn't
feel in any way qualified as either Freshman Stud or as expert on Happiness In High School. Still, the upside of such absurdity
registered strong with me: there was a freshman dance scheduled for the first
Friday night of the school week, and it dawned on me that I wasn't going to
have to worry about getting a date.
So began my first lesson in making my way through the high school
"scene."
Apparently, it didn't matter that I didn't get it. How did getting dumped
qualify as "success"? Who knew? But apparently that didn't matter. So
I decided it would be stupid not to take the ball and run with it; let people
think what they wanted to think. If they wanted me to be the expert on how to
be a freshman success, I wasn't going to disillusion them. Somebody had to fill
those slots, and I'd understood firsthand up to now the perks associated with
popularity in school. I wasn't just going to hand those over to someone else.
So I just faked my way through it, pretending I knew what I was talking about
when somebody would ask me some unanswerable question about the upcoming year.
People were looking to draw lines, define who belonged where in the coming
year. I wasn't going to notch myself lower just because I didn't understand how
I'd gotten a jump start. And along with that, on the playing fields of
summer, the same sort of stratifying process was going on. As we watched each
other handle ourselves on and off the field, we sensed, without really knowing
how we knew, that these same kinds of lines were being drawn.
The summer months from late June onward had been devoted to intense training
for all the guys who intended to be fall-season jocks. Club soccer season was
about to start, and for most of July I was sweating through team workouts.
Meanwhile, Matt was pestering me about football. One particularly hot evening
about three weeks before school, he met me coming off the soccer field after
practice and started in on me.
"Okay, Phillips, you got your spot on your little pansy-ass soccer team;
now you gotta set your mind on freshman football. Practice starts
tomorrow, dude."
I grimaced and shook my head at him. My group of friends from the junior high
football team had gone out for the freshman team during tryouts the previous
spring. Those of us who had made it were given a conditioning program to follow
over the summer; we were scheduled to begin two-a-days a few weeks before
school.
I was a little concerned about balancing all my extra-curricular involvements
with my schoolwork in the coming year. In particular, I dreaded working
at two fall sports, each of which seemed to demand my body's total commitment.
I'd been following the football conditioning program even before the summer
soccer workouts were in full swing, so I was in shape; still, I'd already
warned Matt that I might not have time for two sports in the fall. Matt,
for his part, wasn't having any of that; he was constantly in my face about it.
So today's harangue wasn't anything new, but at that moment I was too exhausted
to listen.
"Would you please for the love of God get outta
my face about that?" I stripped off my sweat-soaked jersey and threw
it at him. "I haven't exactly been lying around jerkin' off today. I'm
tired and thirsty and the first thing I run into when I come off the field is
your sorry ass raggin' on me about goddam football. I told you I'd have to think about it, and
in case you haven't picked up on it yet, now's not a
good time."
"Don't you sass me, boy," he said, imitating his mother. "Duty
calls, so you gotta step up. You got no more time to think about it.
Anyway, you know you want to." Dropping behind me a couple of steps, he
snapped my bare back with my jersey.
"Ow! Goddammit!" I cried out, grabbing my jersey back and returning
him a wicked sting with it on his right upper thigh. "Would you just fuckin' leave me alone if all you're gonna
do is give me grief?"
He stepped back, a little surprised at my hostility. "Okay, okay; I'm
sorry! Geez, who put the twist in your panties?"
I was about to go at him again, when the image conjured up by his words began
to do its work on my funny bone. Pretty soon I was having
to work to suppress a chuckle, and before long I was in a laughing fit.
"God, you are such an asshole," I said.
"Yeah," he grinned back at me, "but you know you love me! And
anyway, I just need to know you're in, 'cause I got plans for us."
"What plans? What are you talking about?"
"Here; go long," he said, cocking his arm back as he palmed the
football he seemed to take everywhere with him that summer. Dutifully, I took
off down the now-empty soccer field, and watched Matt sail a beautiful spiral
bomb right into my waiting hands.
I ran back and tossed the football to him. "Nice throw," I said.
"Nice catch," he responded. "See?"
I furrowed my brow. "See what?"
"Hand and glove, Phillips; I know your moves and you know mine. I got
plans, dude. I'm gonna be the QB of this fuckin' school and it starts with making QB on the freshman
team. And trust me, I'm getting that spot. Nobody's keeping me from it. We can
be awesome together on this team, dude. I need you on the team as my go-to wide
receiver."
"Nobody said I'm gonna get the first-string
spot," I replied. "We got guys from the other junior highs now and
some of 'em want those spots too. I'm not the only
wide receiver coming up from junior high."
"You're gonna get it and you know it," he
said matter-of-factly. "You know how to run a route better than those
guys. You catch everything I throw at you and you always have. You're a smart
player and you know how to get open." He looked at me intently and said,
"I need you on this team."
I sighed. I wasn't that good. I ran well, I guess. I wasn't particularly fast,
but I ran smart; evasive moves come to you after a while when you play soccer,
and I guess some of that translated into my ability to get open on the football
field.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was this: Matt wanted me on the team
with him, and as much as I'd resisted it, that fact decided it for me. When was
I ever able to turn Matt down? "Oh, all right," I said, trying to
sound exasperated. "I guess I was gonna do it
anyway, and I can tell I'll never fuckin' hear the
end of it from you if I don't."
"Okay, then. That's more like it," he said. He paused for a minute
and added, "We're gonna fuckin'
rule this place; don't you wanna be the Big
High School Stud? You may think you're 'all that' from your little romance with
Staci, but there's no way we'll get the rep if we
don't do football."
He was right. In Texas high schools, if you have the ability and the body for
it, you go out for football. And regardless of what else you do, that gets you
an upper spot in high school's cruel hierarchy. It also assures you of being
able to get with the best-looking girls.
With that in mind, I muttered, "You're thinking with your dick."
"No, I'm thinking of my dick," he grinned, "and I'm
thinking of yours, too, and trust me, both our dicks are gonna
thank me for it."
He started laughing like a maniac over his remark. Sensing the opportunity to
catch him off-guard and take the upper hand for once, I grabbed him around the
neck and put him in a headlock. He pushed me hard and broke away, yelling,
"Jesus, man, you stink. Go home and take a fuckin'
shower."
"Nah, man, that's my cologne," I quipped; "Calvin Klean Soccer Musk. Whatsamatter,
don't you like it?"
"You're sick," he said. "Anyway, I mainly came by to tell you
that a bunch of us are hanging out at Kathryn's tonight. Her dad's cooking dogs
and burgers by the pool and she wanted me to tell you you're invited; but dude,
you'll kill the party if you smell like that."
"I don't know, man, I'm fuckin' tired," I
said. "Who's gonna be there?"
"Everybody," he replied. "Freshman football team; freshman
cheerleaders; other assorted girls. She got some kind of list from her mom. You
know, she's a freshman counselor. We'll get to meet a bunch of the kids from
the other junior highs."
"Why didn't I know about this," I said, eyeing him suspiciously,
"and why didn't she invite me herself?"
Matt looked back at me sheepishly. "Well...she did. She called you a
couple of weeks ago. I was over and you were showering. I answered your phone
and took a message."
"Goddammit, Matt, now you tell me. Why
didn't you tell me that day?"
"I forgot, okay? Gimme a fuckin' break. You think just
because you have ADD that you're the only one who forgets things?"
Ouch. I didn't appreciate the reference, but he made his point. I'd been
struggling with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder since I was young, and
didn't ask anyone to cut me any slack for it, but I did tend to treat others as
if they shouldn't display any of those focus-and-attention weaknesses that
plagued me.
"Okay. Sorry. When does it start?"
"You're supposed to be there at seven," he replied. "Dress casual, bring swim trunks and a towel."
"Seven? Shit! It's six
now! Okay, I'll see you there."
"You better," he said.
I unchained my bike from the stand and took off.
We had a great time at the party. There were probably fifty kids there; it was
all good clean fun, with plenty of chaperones, but we enjoyed it anyway. I met
a girl named Stephanie from one of the other junior highs. She was blonde,
blue-eyed, and beautiful. We hit it off really well and spent the evening in
each other's company. Somewhere during the course of the evening, I decided
that not only did I like this girl a lot, it would
also look studly to take a date to the upcoming
freshman dance from outside our usual circle. I asked her and she accepted.
It was going to be a great year.
---------
Football practice started the next day. Two-a-days in the 100-plus-degree
Texas sun make for quite a toughening program. The coaches were scrupulously
committed to keeping us hydrated, because Texas schools had been known to kill
a few young football players in the summer with heatstroke. Even with that
caution in place, though, and even with frequent breaks, the experience is
numbingly oppressive. The sun is merciless, and the coaches are relentlessly
tough on the kids. That kind of intensity, of course, solidifies the
camaraderie among those who have to suffer through it, so during those first
few weeks of two-a-days, the guys seemed to fall naturally and spontaneously
into smaller groups of boys who were similar in heart, mind, and personality.
In my case, this crew of friends became my "posse" for the entire
time I was in high school. There was Matt, of course, with his dark hair,
tanned skin, and piercing ice-blue eyes; Ruben, a buff Latino kid who lived not
far from Matt and was also vying for the coveted quarterback position; Ryan, a
towheaded, blue-eyed blur who became our running back that year; and Ethan, a
blue-eyed, redheaded cornerback who had attended a different junior high from
mine. Rounding out the pack was Justin, from Ethan's junior high, whose
pale white skin contrasted strikingly with his jet-black hair and dark brown
eyes. Like me, Justin was also a wide receiver, and he was the team's resident
funny man. My comic act, for which I had been somewhat infamous in junior high,
couldn't hold a candle to his. He could have us all in a belly laugh with a
mere facial expression or a well-timed three-word quip. I gladly gave the
"comedian" title over to him because in that area he was clearly the
better man.
These guys became my comrades-in-arms throughout high school. Teenage guys tend
to travel in packs, and my pack came from my football team. Even though
soccer was my favorite sport, the boys who played club soccer with me came from
all over the Dallas metroplex and went to different
schools. It was my crew of football brothers I knew best, and who knew me best,
during the years of my adolescence.
I was set: I had my friends, I had my place in the high school
"universe," and I had one good man to watch my back. Bring the
wave; I was ready to ride it.
9.
Depths
"If
you don't get a first-string assignment, get over it quick, because from here
on out, it's about the team."
It was the beginning of August; we'd been practicing together,
"informally" and off-campus, for almost two weeks. Our head
coach had shut down freshman football practice fifteen minutes early that day,
called us off the field, and gathered us together. Thirty tired and sweaty
fourteen-year-olds sat there in the grass, listening nervously. School would
start in a week, and football season would begin the last weekend of the
month. It was time to assemble the starting team and get them working on
developing their chemistry during practice.
I was glad Matt had pressured me into staying with the team and playing this
year. Like everyone else sitting there, I wanted to start at my position so
badly I could taste it.
"Those of you who end up as starters need to know this," Coach
continued. "If you're out there on the field as a starter, there's
somebody riding the bench who's almost as good as you.
"You'll know by our next practice who's going to
start for us this year. But before that, while we're all together right now, I
want to talk to y'all as one team.
"I promise you two things. First: you continue to give me a good, solid
work ethic during practice throughout the season, and you'll get playing time;
I don't care if you're a starter or not. And not only that, if one of my
starters gets injured or stops giving his best, somebody riding the bench gets
that starting position. So you have to practice just as hard as the first team.
"And second: if you get a starting position, that position is yours to
lose. If you're a starter, you earned it by your performance and your attitude,
and you'll keep it by your performance and your attitude. If you lose out in either
department, one of the boys warming the bench will take your spot and you'll go
to the bench. Are we clear on that?"
Everybody on the team nodded in assent.
"All right. The list of starters was posted about
fifteen minutes ago back on campus, on the front door of the gym. Check it this
weekend before you come to practice Monday, and I want my starters out here
Monday morning at
"Okay, that's it, gentlemen."
The gathering began to break up as boys started heading silently toward the
parking lot. The tension in the air was hard to miss.
Matt made his way over to me, grinning from ear to ear. Shit, I thought to
myself: the entire friggin' team is trying to play it
cool and resist the impulse to break into a mad dash toward the parking lot, to
get their parents to drive them straight to the gym, and here comes Matt, cool
as a cucumber, grinning like a fool. So damn irritating...but I couldn't help
but be proud of him. There wasn't any question about who was going to start at
quarterback. Matt's only real competitor for the spot, Ruben, knew it as well
as anybody else.
Matt drew up beside me, slapped me on the back, and said, "You're awful
quiet, Phillips; where's the fuckin' funeral?"
My stomach-butterflies were commanding my attention at the moment in spite of
my happiness for Matt, so his joviality annoyed me. "We're not all suckin' the coach's dick like you are, so we can't all walk
around with a shit-eatin' grin until we see that damn
list."
Matt's grin turned into a scowl and he gave me a shove. "Give me a fuckin' break, and ditch the false modesty shit. You been burnin' it up out there, and you're name's gonna be on that list, and you know it, too. So don't be
out here, all 'oh, poor me, I might have to ride the bench!' Cut the bullshit,
'cause nobody's buyin' it."
"Just save it for later," I said nervously, "and let's see how
it works out."
"Whatever," Matt replied, rolling his eyes and striding on ahead of
me toward the parking lot.
He was right, of course. I made the list as one of the starting wide receivers.
Matt, as expected, was quarterback. Ruben, Matt's potential rival for the QB
spot, was designated as starting fullback. All in all, every one of my
"gang" made the first-string cut. The six of us all made our way
toward each other, high-fiving and celebrating and
talking with excitement about the coming year.
The torture of those summer two-a-days bled over into the beginning of the
school year. The first week of school came, and the workouts got more intense.
We hated all the "abuse," and hated the coaches who subjected us to
it. But we knew also that they were dedicated to the game and dedicated into
making us into warriors. And we saw that, as a result, we grew stronger,
tougher, faster, and more confident; our physiques responded positively too.
Though we'd been working out together off-campus before school actually
started, the first week of school we finally got to use our school's practice
field. So at the end of practice we all headed back to the locker room for
showers. I never thought twice about seeing any of the guys naked; beyond the
one little encounter with Matt a few years back, I'd never done anything sexual
with a guy, and never really had any interest in it. Aside from checking them out
to compare-and-contrast with my own equipment, which we all did, seeing these
boys naked didn't particularly do anything for me. I noticed with some detached
admiration that we were all developing really fine physiques, but when I saw
the guys naked in the locker room, I didn't feel any particular attraction.
Except once.
The practice on our first day of school lasted from the last period of the day
until
Except for the fact that Ethan was undressing with me in the
same locker bay.
Ethan had fiery red hair, which had always intrigued me a little. I wouldn't
say I was attracted to him, although he had a great body and a stunningly
handsome face. But something about his hair always distracted me when I looked
at him. I'd never reflected much on it, but I did register it with some
self-puzzlement. That day, I hadn't seen him at the beginning of the period;
he'd dressed out earlier than I had at the beginning of practice, and was out
on the field before I'd gotten to the locker room, so I didn't know we'd chosen
lockers next to each other.
After practice we'd walked into the locker room, laughing and joking together, and of course had ended up in the same locker bay.
Ethan could talk more than any person I had ever met, and he continued non-stop
as we began undressing. I had stripped down to my jock while he was talking,
and was sitting on the bench listening to him tell some story about a trick he
and Justin had played on Justin's older brother. Ethan sat down on the bench
and started untying his shoes, when it hit me: man, I bet all his body
hair is that color. Something about that thought caught in my head, and I found
it difficult either to listen or to say anything about the rest of his story.
Instead, my eyes began following the movements of his hands as they removed
various articles of clothing. I froze as he stepped out of his pants and stood
there for a minute, droning on with his story, dressed only in his jock.
I wasn't listening. My eyes were fixed on his midsection.
He hadn't been paying me any attention; he was too busy running his mouth and
stripping off his clothes. But as he finished his story, he must have asked me
a question. When I didn't respond, he must have looked at me and noticed that I
was sitting there staring, zombie-like, at his jock. Gradually his voice got
through to my consciousness:
"Andy!"
"Huh?"
"I said I'd let you kiss it, but we might attract an audience!"
I looked up at him, confused. He was grinning wickedly.
Oh, man. Busted. I felt my face flush and I know I
must have turned bright red. My mouth went into gear before I had my brain
engaged, and I stammered, "I never...see, I just...well, your
hair...it..."
His grin vanished and was replaced by a look of annoyance. "My hair?"
he replied, furrowing his brows. I'd find out later that he was somewhat
self-conscious about his red hair and didn't like to be kidded about it.
"What the fuck does my hair have to do..." then his eyes grew a
little wider and the evil grin returned. "Oh,
that," he said. "Yeah, it's the same color everywhere. And locking
his eyes on mine, he grinned and shucked the jock, saying, "See?"
I saw.
Wow. His dick was average-sized and I wasn't particularly turned on by his
equipment--but his pubes! He was right; they were that same bright red as the
hair on his head.
I found that riveting. I had no idea why. But I needed to regain my control and
my cool. I managed to tear my gaze away. I stood up, looked up at him and said,
"You're a freak, dude."
Without missing a beat he responded, "You must like freaks, then."
When I said "Huh?" he sneered and pointed at my jock, which had
definitely started to tent out.
I looked down at my jock, and back up at his face. Shit. What the hell was I
doing? What was going on with me? I started to stumble through a reply.
"Uhh...fuck that, man,
I was just thinking of..."
He interrupted me, laughing. "Forget it, dude. I got wood more often than
I don't these days. C'mon." He motioned toward the showers with his head,
grabbed his towel and headed toward them, launching into another of his inane
stories. I waited about ten seconds for my dick to settle down a little bit,
then, still slightly dazed, stripped off my jock and followed him.
We showered, got dressed, and headed toward the parking lot with our teammates,
where parents were waiting to give us rides home. When I got home I got busy
with homework and chores, and forgot about the incident. But when my head hit
the pillow around eleven that night, I thought about it briefly, and it
troubled me a little. Why would my dick be interested in Ethan's red pubes? I
turned it over in my head, and not coming up with any satisfactory answer aside
from reminding myself that my dick got hard at random these days, I let it
slide and fell into an untroubled sleep. By the next morning, I'd pretty much
forgotten the whole thing.
--------------------
During that first week of school I discovered which teachers I liked and which
I didn't, how long it would take to get from my locker to each classroom, and
where I'd eat lunch. Making friends and getting noticed that first week was
easy; the junior high hierarchy still seemed to persist, and I noticed that the
same kind of thing was happening with some of the kids who'd come from the
other junior highs. Somehow, though nobody ever talked explicitly about how
these things fell into place, it seemed as though the popular kids from all the
junior high schools began to gravitate toward each other. The process of
"slotting" people into niches that had already begun in the summer
accelerated. I reflected on this and realized that I felt a little sorry
for all those people who couldn't walk with ease into the privileged spots.
Somehow it didn't seem fair that things were gelling so quickly. But that's the
way it goes, I rationalized: sucks to be them.
I was enjoying the change of routine from the summer, but I was often tired
from the combination of soccer and football workouts. My soccer coach had moved
me from center midfield, a position I felt I owned, to forward. I didn't like
the gameplay of forwards and I didn't like the stress
of having to score consistently. I preferred the midfielder's primary role of moving
the ball from the backfield into the possession of the forwards. And
midfielders weren't presented with as many opportunities for shots on goal,
which was fine with me. I enjoyed the footwork and quick thinking required of
midfielders; I wasn't interested in being the guy who always had to pull the
trigger.
But in sports you pretty much do what the coach decides you should, so the
opening weeks of school found me spending a lot of extra practice time on the
soccer field, working on my shooting. As I'd feared earlier in the summer,
taking on two sports in the same season, on top of my classes and the rest of
my schedule, added up to a life that was going to take some effort to manage.
At the end of that first Friday of school, I left football practice dog-tired.
After I got home I worked on the lawn a little, did some studying, visited with
the family, ate, watched a little TV, and decided to go to bed early.
My brother Danny, coming upstairs from having been out with some of his
friends, noticed me in my room. Danny was a lean, good-looking, towheaded kid
with a bundle of energy; he enjoyed sports almost as much as I did, and played
on his school's baseball and basketball teams. What really caused people to
take notice of him, however, was his artistic ability. I always enjoyed
watching him draw, and, truth be known, was a little bit envious of his talent
in that area. We were pretty close, I guess, and that had its upside and its
downside: the love was fierce between us, and so was the antagonism.
Every bit the brat that all twelve-year-old boys are, he stopped in my doorway,
stuck his head into my room, and quipped, "Wow...Studboy
turns in early on a Friday night! Struck out again, didja?"
I grabbed a rubber baseball from my nightstand and threw it at him, pegging him
hard on the left shoulder. "Yeah, I may have struck out, dickhead, but I
can still pitch, huh?"
"Oww!" he responded. "Goddammit!!" He picked up the ball and stormed
into my room, rubbing his shoulder and scowling. "I don't know why Mom and
Dad think you fuckin' walk on water; you're always
doing mean shit like this and it's not funny. I was just kidding, asshole, just
the way you're always givin' me a hard time."
I felt a little ashamed; he was right, sort of. I went over to him, tousled his
hair, and said, "I'm sorry, Dan-O, I didn't mean it to sting quite that
bad; anyway, bein' mean to a kid brother's an older
brother's job, don'tcha know?"
He stuck his chin out at me in defiance and mumbled, "Eat me."
I burst into a laugh, but did my best to suppress it. Grinning, I replied, "Hell, Danny, ain't nothin' there to eat." He cocked his arm back
as if to hit me up-close with the ball, but broke into a smile, and finally
began laughing himself. He let his arm fall back down, then looked at me with
an expression that was part grin and part grimace, and said, "God, I hate
you."
I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him 180 degrees. Then I pulled
him into me, his back against my chest. When I had him firmly trapped, I
said into his ear, "No you don't, bro, you love me...and I love you too,
bud." And with that I planted a big wet kiss on his cheek.
"Ewwwwww!" He
broke free from my grip and made a show of wiping his cheek. "Get away
from me, you fuckin' homo."
"C'mon, Dan, make up your mind," I teased. "First you're askin' me to eat ya, and now you're all homophobic. What's
it gonna be? You want some Andy-love or not?"
Danny scrunched up his face in a display of revulsion and said "Shut the
fuck up, dickface, you're creepin' me out."
I laughed and said, "Then get outta my
room."
He rolled his eyes at me, then laughed and walked back into the hall.
The next morning I was up early. In addition to my ongoing job throwing the
daily suburban newspaper, Matt and I had been in the lawn-mowing business over
the summer. It was Saturday, and we had about six lawns to do that day. I threw
on some grey boxer-briefs and a pair of red Umbro
soccer shorts, a white half-tee, and a pair of old running shoes. Mom was
downstairs puttering around in the kitchen. As I walked into the kitchen, she
noticed me and said, "Morning, Andy. You're up early for a
Saturday."
"Gotta make the cash, Mom," I told her. "Matt and I have six
lawns today."
"Well, sit down and have some breakfast first," she replied.
"You'll need fuel for all that yard work. I was just about to cook some
bacon and eggs."
I obliged, talking with her as she cooked. We reviewed the week, talking about
my subjects at school, soccer and football, my piano lesson that week, and
Stephanie. After meeting Stephanie at Kathryn's party, I'd gone to the freshman
dance with her the weekend before school started, and we'd been pretty much
inseparable since then, so we were officially "going out." Mom
listened attentively to the details of my week, offering a few nods of
encouragement and support, telling me to make sure I "stayed
balanced" and didn't neglect anything.
As she began serving breakfast, my dad came into the kitchen, poured himself a
cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. "Hey, Dad," I said as he
picked up the Saturday morning paper.
He threw me a look of mock astonishment and said, "Did I miss hell
freezing over? The one thing your mom and I can usually count on is the fact
that on Saturdays you three kids will be sleeping in and breakfast will be just
the two of us."
"Well, I'm going out mowing with Matt, but I guess Mom's tryin' to get breakfast down me before I go." Dad
smiled and buried his nose in the newspaper.
Since I had their attention, I decided to bring up a subject that had come to
me just yesterday. "Hey, Dad..."
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering...I know it's last
minute, but I got to thinking I'd really like to have a bunch of kids over for
my birthday next Saturday. I have some good money saved up from the summer and
I could kick in for food and stuff..."
My mother looked stricken. "You're talking a week away! I thought you just
wanted a quiet evening with you and Stephanie and Matt and...well,
whoever Matt's with these days."
"I know, Mom," I said, "And that was the plan, but yesterday I
just kinda got to thinking: my birthday's usually the
first one of the school year, and it would be a good way to get people to
socialize and stuff, different kids from the different junior highs mixing
together. I know we had the freshman dance last week, but you really can't
party with anybody much when you're at a dance."
My dad asked, "How many kids did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe fifty or so."
Mom looked at me as if I'd shot her. "Fifty!"
Her mortified expression caused me to cringe. I ducked my head, squinting and
grimacing, and said, "Okay, I guess that's a lot."
She responded, "Ya think? I don't know, son; I don't see how we're
going to accommodate fifty people on this kind of notice. I just don't think I
can get the house ready by that time. You kids don't do the world's greatest
job of keeping things neat and tidy around here, you know."
"Well, it was just a thought," I said, apologetically.
"Who are these kids?" she asked.
"Mostly my teammates from football; a few soccer guys, and girlfriends,
and the freshman cheerleaders, and some other kids; you know, friends of
friends, and stuff."
My mom looked at my dad. "Mark, what about the Club?"
My eyes got wide; I hadn't thought about the Country Club. Between the clubhouse
and the grounds there'd be plenty of room.
"I don't know, Kate. It's expensive, and it's short notice. I can
guarantee it's too late to get the pool."
I quickly put in, "Dad...could you check it out? I'd be willing to put in
big money. I have about three thousand dollars in my savings account from the
paper and mowing, and we don't need the pool. The clubhouse and the grounds are
good enough."
I could see the gears turning in my father's head. "It's not just the
money, though. Fifty kids: we'd need a lot of chaperones, and I don't know if
anybody will be willing to help out on this kind of notice; also, who's going
to pull together the food? A caterer's expensive, and your mom doesn't have
time to do food all by herself! And you're going to want music, right? Are you
talking hiring a DJ and the whole bit? And anyway, do you think you can even
get fifty kids to come on such short notice?"
I smiled to myself. The questions were a clear indication that it was a real
possibility.
"Dad, trust me, there won't be any problem getting fifty kids to come. And
we don't need to hire a DJ; we can use Matt's stereo--it's awesome. Matt and I
have plenty of CD's and we can tell everybody to bring their favorite ones. And
we can take turns spinning tunes."
My father looked over at my mother with raised eyebrows. She shrugged her
shoulders at him as if to say, "It's your call." He turned back to me
and said, "Well, assuming it's available, I guess I don't have a problem
with it. But if we're doing all the upfront work for it, I'm not chaperoning.
You have to find enough chaperones for a one-to-five ratio."
"Oh, man," I whined. "Dad, please. Ten chaperones?"
"Take it or leave it; those are my terms and they're not negotiable."
I sighed. I knew I had no chance of winning this one. "Okay," I said,
"but can Matt and I pick the chaperones?"
"Not only can you," he said, "you must. And they
have to meet with our approval. And you have to ask them yourselves."
"Fine," I said. I knew which parents from among my friends were a
"light touch" and didn't get in our faces too much.
"And we're not springing for a catered job," Dad continued. "So
unless you know a free caterer, it's a matter of convincing your mom that
you're worth the trouble."
I jumped in quickly. "Mom, on the food, what if I got Matt's mom and
Stephanie's mom and Jennifer's mom to help? I'll betcha
I could talk them into it. Hell, Matt and I will even help if you want."
Mom frowned at my language, but finally said, "Well, if Pam, and
Stephanie's mother, and Jennifer's mother tell me they're willing to do this, and
if your father can get the Club for next Saturday, and if you'll pay
half of all expenses, then I guess it's okay with me, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you and Matt have nothing to do with making any of
the food. Just stay out of the kitchen until after this thing is
over!"
My father and I laughed. I stood up and hugged both of them to help seal the
deal, and said, "Thanks, guys. You're the best."
"Spare us, Mister Touchy-Feely," my dad quipped. "Could you be
any more transparent? The only 'thank-you' we need is the assurance that things
won't get out of hand and that you kids are gonna be
on good behavior."
"Dad," I said to him impatiently, "you know my friends; they're
good kids. I don't hang out with the losers and the waste-oids;
it's gonna be fine."
"All right," my dad said. "Now go on, get out of here, and get
your lawns done. You have some money to get to us."
As I walked toward the kitchen door and out of the house, I heard my dad saying
to my mom, "...kid forgets I grew up in the 'Dazed and Confused' era...We
all inhaled, and we were all 'good kids.' So don't be tellin'
me about 'good kids'."
I smiled to myself. We'd be good enough. Or at least good at
not getting caught.
----------
As I came up the sidewalk to Matt's house, I saw Pam, his mother, working in
the flower-bed that bordered the walk leading up to their front door. When she
saw me she put down her trowel, smiled at me, and said, "Hi, Andy. You're
not usually around this early on a Saturday. I'm sure Matt's still
asleep."
I frowned. "He is? But we have a whole shitload...I
mean, we have a whole buncha
lawns to do today. He knows we have to start early."
Pam was stifling a grin. She picked up her trowel and resumed her
flower-transplanting. "Just go on up to his room and wake him up, it'll be
okay."
I nodded at her and headed toward the front door. It won't be okay if
that jerkoff causes us to miss a house because his
ass isn't in gear, I thought to myself. I had just pledged a bunch of money to
help make my birthday party a reality.
I walked up the stairs toward Matt's bedroom, intending to read him the riot
act. His door was shut. I opened it, and when I walked in, sure enough, Matt
was on his back in bed on top of the sheets, sound asleep, dressed only in a
pair of boxers.
I was about to scare him awake when my eyes fell on his midsection. His balls
were hanging out of one leg of the boxers, and even through the fabric of his
shorts you could see that his dick was rock-hard. I found myself unable to look
away. I let my eyes wander up his taut abs and nicely-developing pecs, toward his face.
I stood there for a minute, staring at his face, growing increasingly
uncomfortable for reasons I couldn't begin to fathom. I was looking at him
through a set of eyes I'd never opened before. And I was unprepared to deal
with what they were seeing.
Even at fourteen, Matt had begun to radiate raw sensuality and masculinity. I
looked okay myself, but to my eyes at that moment, Matt was developing into a
work of art. Out of nowhere, the image of Michelangelo's David that we'd seen
in art class last year flashed through my mind. My eyes surveyed Matt's strong
cheekbones, his classically-proportioned nose, the
sensual curve of his lips, the mussed-up morning hair that managed somehow to
frame his face and enhance the impression of casual, effortless perfection.
Some hidden, silent place in my heart spoke of unknown need, and I felt an ache
I did not understand.
I shut my eyes tightly; seeing had become an act of utter disorientation. I
shook my head back and forth, rapidly, violently. Thought had vanished and was
replaced with a dark intensity I couldn't express. It felt like falling; it
felt like being filled to the bursting-point; it felt like emptiness.
I took a deep breath and forced myself back into coherence. This was no work of
art lying here; this was Matt--ordinary, everyday Matt, who was about to cost
us at least one lawn's worth of money if he didn't get his ass out of bed. What
the fuck was going on with me?
I grabbed his leg and shook him. "Matt! Wake up,
we gotta get moving, asshole!"
Groggy, Matt opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Hey,
Andy."
"Goddammit, Matt," I fumed, "I
told you I was coming by at seven. We're supposed to do six lawns today."
Matt sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and said, "What time is it?"
Even in my exasperation, the image of Matt's magnificent sleeping form still
had me reeling. Fighting to maintain my equilibrium, I replied, "Almost
seven-thirty. Come on, dude, we're off to a late start." I stood at his
doorway staring, accusing, and trying my best to recover.
"Okay," he said; "just let me take a shower and brush my
teeth."
Before I could voice my disapproval he stood up, and began to push the boxers
down and off his hips. His morning wood caught on the waistband on its way
down, and then came free with an audible smack against his belly. Stark naked
and completely hard, he yawned and stretched, scratched his balls, then walked
past me toward his closet and pulled out another pair of boxers, a tee shirt,
and a pair of running shoes.
As he bent over to pick up his shoes, I watched the firm muscles of his ass
flex, and again I felt myself falling into unknown depths. He closed his closet
door and walked toward me, on his way to the shower.
He stopped briefly when he got to where I was standing, and stood facing me,
naked. He looked into my face seriously, seeming to study my expression. Slowly
he began to smile a little, for no reason that I could discern. The twinkle in
his eyes was impenetrable.
I understood nothing. I wasn't even sure what planet this was. I was too undone
to defuse whatever was going on here, but I felt an urgency to regain my
composure. I frowned at him and said, "Just fuckin'
hurry up, will ya?"
He continued to look at me intently. I thought for a minute he was going
to say something serious...and then stuck his tongue out at me and gave me a
classic "raspberry." With that, laughing, he left the room and went
to get his shower.
I shuddered. Something--something threatening--had come out of nowhere, and I
didn't have a name for it. But I hadn't spent years fending off monsters to
allow this weird shit, whatever it was, to fuck me up. I forced myself past all
those sensations, all those unknowable feelings and thoughts, and moved my
attention toward the day that lay ahead.
We worked on four lawns without stopping. Then, around noon, we decided to take
a break and grab some food at the McDonald's down the block. I ordered my
standard Quarter Pounder Extra-Value Meal, With A Coke; Matt went for the same, with a Dr. Pepper.
We sat down in a booth to eat, on opposite sides from each other, and started
talking about the upcoming football season, and this discussion segued into his
monologue on becoming the Varsity quarterback eventually. The course of his
rambling was familiar to me by now, involving the standard scenario of the two
of us as Big Men On Campus, heroes on the playing
field and dominating the leadership positions in student government, liked and
respected by all. And, of course, desired by the best-looking
girls in the school.
He paused for a second to take a bite of his burger. I brought up something I'd
been thinking about for awhile. "You know, I'm not sure I get you, Price.
I mean, isn't that pretty much how it's always been for us? But you're the one
who was always talking about how stupid the whole 'popularity' thing is. How
come you're all-of-a-sudden so intent on being Hot Shit At
The High School?"
He looked at me. "Nothin'
wrong with being popular. I never said there was. I mean, come on,
Phillips, if you get to choose, isn't it better to be popular than
unpopular?"
"Well, yeah."
"What I mean is that it's stupid the way people fuckin'
idolize the popular kids. And it's fuckin' dangerous.
People copy what the popular kids do."
This was too much for me. "You're full of shit," I countered.
He flipped me the bird and replied, "No, I'm not. Think about this: if you
and I don't show some leadership, who's left by default?"
I didn't even have to think twice. I rolled my eyes and answered, "Jared
Jacobson and his sorry-ass friends."
Jared was a guy who'd gone to our junior high. He was a child of privilege, and
a reasonably gifted athlete and student. He and his friends had belonged, along
with us, to that upper tier in the junior high pecking order. He'd always gone
out of his way to make sure everyone knew he and his little posse were better
than the rest of us in that upper tier, to say nothing of all the losers below.
Matt grimaced and continued. "Exactly. And pretty
soon it'll be open season on losers and geeks, and next thing you know we're
like every other fuckin' high school in the world,
with the kids at the top making life a goddam
nightmare for some little nerd, and everybody else copying."
He paused for a minute and added, "That fuckin'
sucks. It's not right, dogpiling on people like that.
Who knows what that can do to a kid?"
I looked at him in disbelief and displeasure. In junior high he'd always talked
in disparaging words about the student hierarchy, though he never seemed to
mind being at the top. But there seemed more to it in his words today:
something was different here. The irony had ratcheted up a notch. He appeared
dead set in his ambition to stay at the top, but he seemed more disdainful than
ever of the whole idea of a "student hierarchy."
I didn't get it. We'd never picked on kids back in junior high, but the way we
treated people never had the dimensions of a moral cause, at least not to me. I
didn't believe in hurting anybody; Matt had helped me with that. But his
intensity on this subject right now was making me uncomfortable. This was a
crusade for him, an obsession. I didn't want any part of it. Sure, I'd take the
popularity, but I wasn't one for big moral crusades.
"Forget it, man," I began. "You and me, we're not that powerful.
I don't give a shit how popular we get to be. We're just two people, for godsake. The weird kids are always gonna
get picked on. You think anything we do is gonna make
things better for them? I figure my part is just to be nice to everybody. But
that's not gonna make a difference for those guys in
the long haul."
"Yeah, it is," he said. "Our friends, man--we don't do shit like
that. There is a difference. We don't make fun of people the way
Jacobson and his asshole rich friends do. You've seen the way those dickless jerks treat the geeks and the ugly kids and the
kids who don't have the best clothes. And then everybody else just fuckin' does what they do because they're the popular kids.
Dude--those poor bastards who always get tortured like that, they're human
beings too. They have feelings just like we do, Andy, and nobody should have to
put up with that shit. Someday some fucked-up kid's gonna
get to a point where he's had all of that shit he can take, and he's gonna go over the edge and put some bigtime
fuckin' hurt on himself, and then how's everybody gonna feel?"
I wasn't buying it. "So by becoming Big Popular Studs, you and I are gonna to prevent some loser from offing himself?"
"Yeah, himself...or maybe someone else," Matt added ominously.
"All that mean shit doesn't have to happen here. We're cool with
everybody; all the guys we hang out with are, too. If people think of us when
they think of 'the popular kids,' we can kinda set
the tone for what happens around here."
He continued. "Most of the kids around here like us better than Jacobson
already. I figure because we play football, we have an edge: it'll be easier
for us to get into student government, because people know us from football.
It's the first sport of the year and we get the exposure, dude. Then, once
we're in, whatever we say, whatever we do, that's gonna
be what people copy."
"I don't know, man," I replied. "I got my own shit to worry about, I can't be no fuckin' role
model. That's what you're talking about, you know. What's this big deal you
always have about coming to the rescue of people you don't even know? Who fuckin' made you defender of the defenseless?"
His eyes flashed fire at me. "Kenny did."
Kenny did.
So rarely did Matt ever invoke his dead brother's name that on those occasions
when he did, I knew he was speaking from a place inside where the hurt never
leaves. In Matt's soul, Kenny's murder stood for everything that was wrong with
the world. It stood for safety and security collapsing; it stood for fathers
abandoning grieving little boys; it stood for people using people, hating
people, hurting people, for their own gratification.
What was there to say in response? His conviction was unutterably correct. I
shut my eyes tightly, then opened them again, trying
to shake off the accusation, and the anguish, that lay beneath his quiet
answer. Thinking about others by now came as naturally to Matt as breathing.
Somehow he lived in that place. By comparison I was only an occasional visitor,
and sitting there reeling from Matt's two-word rebuke, my conscience was
berating me with that fact.
I looked over at Matt. He was staring at the table as he said, quietly,
"I know how it feels when you think you can't take it anymore."
I looked down at my burger. I couldn't speak. I couldn't eat. I was afraid to
raise my head, afraid to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry," I said,
concentrating on my French fries. "I didn't mean it."
He put his hands on my shoulders and raised me from my slumped-over position
until he could look me in the face. "Then mean something else," he
said.
"Okay," I said quietly, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
We continued to look each other in the face silently. Gradually, the hard-set
lines of Matt's lips began to morph into his trademark smile. He took his hands
off my shoulder and slapped me gently on the right cheek with his left hand.
"I'm good for you, aren't I?"
"Yeah," I had to smile back, "you're good for me. Maybe too good for me. You're so full of yourself,
though."
"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm not bragging, dude. I need
to be good for you. It makes me feel better."
"Why?"
"'Cause, bro," he said, eyes sparkling. "If I can make you
better, it means you ain't so fuckin'
much. Otherwise that big geek-brain of yours would give me an inferiority
complex."
"Hey, what can I say? That's me: big geek-brain, big athletic skills, big
everything."
"You forgot big head and big mouth."
I shot him the finger. "Fuck you."
"With that 'Big Everything'? I don't think so,
sailor."
I doubled over with laughter, probably more out of a sense of relief than
anything else.
---------------------------------
We went back to our lawn work, and by the time we'd finished it was about 4:30
in the afternoon. We walked ourselves, our equipment, and our money back to my
house. After we'd put away the lawn equipment, we went into the house and
headed toward my room. On our way I said to Matt, "You got plans for the
rest of the night?"
He said, "Nope. I just thought I'd go home and watch TV and play video and
shit. I've been goin' out every weekend and it's hurtin' the cash flow."
We began walking up the stairs. I asked him, "Wanna
hang out here, then? You don't even have to go home to grab clean clothes. You
can shower up here, and you can put on some of my shit afterwards; we're not
that different in size. I don't wanna spend a lot of
money either. I still have a lot left but some of it's gonna
go fast this month."
"Food too? Your mom okay if I eat here?"
I smiled. "Like you even have to ask."
"Sounds good to me," he said, turning the corner at the top of
the stairs. "Sleepover?"
"Sure, why not," I said.
We went into my room and he sat down on my bed. "Let me call home and tell
Mom I'm here for the night. I guess it means I gotta go to church with you
tomorrow morning, huh?"
"Of course, dude," I replied. "We have to keep you from burning
in hell for your sinful ways."
"Your family doesn't even believe in hell," he said.
"Well, yeah, but you know the drill in this house. Sunday morning's
church, dude, and that goes for anyone who's spending
the night, too."
"Okay; it's not that bad, and anyway," he added with a wink,
"maybe I'll sit next to Beth and give her a thrill."
My sister was eleven years old and had a huge crush on Matt. I wasn't amused.
"Cut it out with that shit," I warned.
"I was just kidding, moron," he said. "Yeah, I'll stay tonight
and do church with y'all tomorrow. Got some good clothes for me to wear so I
don't have to run home?"
"Yeah, a pair of khakis and a nice-lookin'
shirt, that'll do. You can even wear a pair of my shoes."
"Excellent. Okay, I gotta call Mom."
After Matt had made his phone call, we spent some time playing Nerf hoops. As
we finished a game, Matt turned to me and said, "What did you mean about
your cash getting drained? What are you gonna
buy?"
I had forgotten to tell him about the revised birthday plans. "I just
decided I wanted to have a lot of people over for my birthday party."
"Cool. We're gonna party here?"
"No, man," I explained, "It was short notice and my mom almost
shit kitties. Dad's gonna look into the Club for me
and see if we can book it. But I have to pick up half the tab."
"Wow. That is gonna cut into the bank
account."
"Yeah," I said, "but it'll be awesome. I mean, think about it.
Since you're so into making us the campus studs, we invite our footbal