Kevin Corrigan and Me Page 16

  “I stink at skating,” I told Lane. “Maybe it’s a sport I’m not meant for.”

  Lane shrugged. “It’s your first time; you’re doing fine.”

  I sipped from my paper cup, savoring the Coke’s fizzy sweetness. I watched couples skate together with smiles on their faces. Then I looked at Lane. “This is nice. It’s like we’re on a date again, isn’t it?”

  He looked at me and smiled. “A few days ago, I told my parents about us; I hope you don’t mind.”

  I sucked air into my lungs while I raised my eyebrows. I tried to imagine the expressions on the Davises’ faces at the moment Lane sprang the news on them. “What did they say?”

  “They’re fine with it; they like you.”

  I let out my breath. “Well, that’s good.”

  “They want you to go to church with us on Christmas Eve. The service is at eight p.m., if you can make it.”

  Lane’s invitation sent a quiver through me. Not only did his parents know we were boyfriends, but it seemed they actually approved of the relationship. How could life get any better?

  “I’ll need to check with my mom,” I said. “If she says it’s okay, then I’ll be there.”

  Saturday morning, I drove to downtown St. Petersburg where I visited Maas Brothers, the area’s nicest department store. It was tough finding a parking spot on the street. The sidewalks teemed with holiday shoppers toting shopping bags. The day was cool and sunny, and I wore a sweater and blue jeans. A light breeze tickled my cheeks as I strode toward the retailer. A woman in a blue Salvation Army uniform rang a bell at a corner while people passing her dropped coins into her bucket.

  Inside the store, I had to snake my way through a crowd, brushing against people’s shoulders like a running back avoiding tacklers. Christmas music wafting from loudspeakers mixed with the crush of five hundred human voices. I passed a perfume counter where bewildered male shoppers sniffed from bottles. The perfume scents were so strong they made me light-headed. The young men’s clothing department was on the second floor, so I rode the escalator up there, right behind a smartly dressed woman who held a little boy’s hand. The boy chattered away about visiting Santa Claus; he held a wish list in his free hand.

  It didn’t take me long to find what I wanted to buy Lane: a hooded sweatshirt with a logo from the surfing film, The Endless Summer. The logo featured silhouettes of three surfers on a beach with their boards while a huge yellow sun loomed in the background. I tried on a medium shirt, but it felt pretty tight on me, so I went with a large. I asked the saleslady for a gift box, then moved on. I bought my mom a nice pair of house slippers, and my sister an Aretha Franklin album, I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You, which included Franklin’s huge hit, “Respect.”

  After I toted my purchases to the Dart, I cruised westward on First Avenue North while wind rushed through the car and the radio played songs from the Beatles album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. My thoughts turned to Kevin Corrigan, and I wondered just how he and his mom would celebrate Christmas. I thought of the previous Christmas, when Kevin had paid me a surprise visit in his new Mustang, and then I remembered our quarrel when Kevin took me for a ride and I exploded in anger at him.

  In a sense, that quarrel in Kevin’s Mustang had been the beginning of the end to my relationship with Kevin, even though it took me another year before I finally allowed it to halt. And what a painful year it had been. For twelve more months, I had endured Kevin’s on-and-off neglect of my needs, but not now, not any longer.

  I hadn’t heard anything from Kevin since the day we broke up, and I wasn’t expecting any calls or visits from him in the future. He’d given me an ultimatum, I had made my choice, and now I served no purpose to him. Why would he stay in touch?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sunday night was Christmas Eve. Right after my sister and I finished the dinner dishes, I dressed in my best outfit: white Oxford-cloth shirt, charcoal dress slacks, regimental necktie, penny loafers, and my sports jacket with brass buttons.

  The sky was dark when I arrived at the Davises’, and already their exterior Christmas lights glowed. I gave the illuminated Santa on the roof a little salute just before I rang the doorbell. Lane’s dad answered the door with a smile on his face. He wore a business suit.

  “Merry Christmas,” he told me while we shook hands, and then I followed him inside.

  I greeted Lane’s mom, who wore a cardigan sweater over a silk blouse, a pleated skirt, and heels. She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “We’re so glad you could join us tonight. Every year, our church puts on a special Christmas Eve service; I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Lane’s in his bedroom,” Mr. Davis told me. “I guess you already know where that is?”

  I blushed while I nodded, then ambled down the hallway. I found Lane seated on his bed, polishing a penny loafer. He was dressed much like me, only his jacket was draped over his desk chair. Right away, he put down his shoe and rose. He held his arms out, and I slipped between them. After I put my arms around him, we kissed for a minute or so. Lane’s tongue rubbed against mine while our lips smacked.

  After Lane pulled his mouth from mine, he gave me a wink. “We’d better cut out the slobbering,” he said, “or I’ll walk into church with a stiffy in my pants.”

  I chuckled while I let my gaze travel about the room. I recalled the weekend I’d spent with Lane at his home and all the things we’d done in his bed. I remembered sleeping next to him and waking up to find him pressed up against me each morning.

  “You look great,” he told me.

  Fresh blood rushed to my cheeks. I’d never had my appearance complimented by another boy, and the fact Lane found me attractive made me feel like someone special. How come Kevin had never told me I looked good?

  We rode to church in the Davises’ Oldsmobile 98, a massive sedan with leather upholstery. You could have fit five adults in the backseat, where Lane and I rode. As soon as Mr. Davis backed out of the driveway, Lane reached for my hand and held it during the drive to church. My heart thumped at the feel of his warm palm touching mine while we cruised eastward on Fifth Avenue North.

  I hadn’t been in a church in four years, not since my mom decided I needn’t attend unless I wanted to. I preferred sleeping late on Sundays, so I quit going and, to be honest, my faith had wavered lately. In my mind, if God was truly running the show, he was doing a lousy job of it, what with the Vietnam War and the race riots in our inner cities. And he wasn’t doing much to help my family either. Whatever we had—and that wasn’t much—we’d earned through hard work, not His generosity.

  Still, as we entered Lane’s church, a peaceful feeling crept into me. An organist played “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” while a stooped and gray-haired usher handed each of us a program for the service. The sanctuary’s ceiling was vaulted. Wooden pews fanned out to either side of the carpeted aisle we walked down. Folks of all ages occupied the pews, and everyone wore dress clothes, even little kids. The altar with its brass cross was decorated with Christmas tree bows and red candles that gave off a warm glow. A pulpit to the right of the altar was draped in evergreen garlands and red fabric, and the choir chancel behind the altar was similarly adorned.

  Lane and I followed his parents to a pew about six rows from the altar. Then all four of us sat, with me positioned between Lane and his mom, and in a way, I felt like I was part of the Davis family instead of just a tagalong. The fact that Lane’s folks had asked me to join them at church on Christmas Eve wasn’t something I took lightly. I figured their invitation was a signal that my relationship with Lane sat well with them.

  The service began with a black-robed choir’s entrance from two doors on either side of the chancel. They sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” as they filed to their seats and the organ pumped. A youthful-looking minister, also wearing a black robe, ascended to the pulpit. Everyone stood while this occurred, and when the song ended, the minister asked everyone to take a seat. After a few
introductory remarks by the minister, two dozen children, all of them grade-schoolers, filed into the sanctuary. They stood before the altar, and a choral director led them in singing “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.”

  Lane leaned toward me to whisper in my ear. “I used to be in the kid’s choir when I was younger,” he said. “We did this every Christmas.”

  I brought my lips to Lane’s ear. “I’ll bet you looked cute up there.”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  The service didn’t last all that long, maybe an hour. I enjoyed the music immensely, but I also liked the sermon. It differed so from the ones I’d heard every Sunday for years at our Methodist church. The minister at Lane’s church emphasized the importance of family and friendships, of compassion, understanding, and forgiveness. There was no mention of sin or guilt or penitence. The minister even cracked a few jokes that made everyone laugh. Twice the entire congregation rose to sing, and it felt so nice sharing a hymnal with Lane while the two of us butchered “Silent Night.”

  When the service ended, we returned to the Davises’, where Lane and I shed our jackets and loosened our neckties. Lane’s mom served hot chocolate and Christmas cookies in the living room, and if a stranger had seen us at that moment, he’d probably have assumed we were just a normal family sharing Christmas cheer.

  In between munches, I told Lane’s parents how I’d signed up for the SAT. “I’ve already started using the preparation manual you gave me; I know it’ll help.”

  “That’s good,” Lane’s dad said while crossing his legs at the knee. “Any thoughts on where you’ll apply for admission to college?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  Mr. Davis looked at his wife, then returned his gaze to me. “I attended the University of Florida, as did Lane’s mom. It’s a fine—”

  “Dad,” Lane said with an annoyed tone in his voice, “it’s Christmas Eve, so will you please let Jesse enjoy it? Save the career talk for another time.”

  Mr. Davis shrugged. “It’s never too early to start planning those sorts of things. Next thing you know, you boys will graduate from high school.”

  I glanced back and forth between Lane and his dad. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Lane changed the subject. “I have an idea,” he told me. “I hear the surf in Brevard County’s good in late December. After Christmas, why don’t we drive over? We can get a room like last time.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Mrs. Davis rearranged her limbs while she moistened her lips. Her gaze traveled from her husband to me, and then to Lane. “Honey,” she said to Lane, “not to intrude on your privacy, but…”

  “What?” Lane said after he swung his gaze to her.

  Mrs. Davis clasped her arms in her hands while she moistened her lips a second time. “If you and Jesse rent a motel room, how many beds will the room have?”

  I lowered my chin while my cheeks flamed. When I glanced up at Lane, he was scowling at his mom. “Why are you asking me that?” he said to her.

  Mrs. Davis looked at her husband before she returned her gaze to Lane. “Because your dad and I are entitled to know what you and Jesse do when the two of you are alone. We trust you, but still…”

  Lane’s dad spoke up. “You and Jesse aren’t adults yet.”

  “And we’re not kids, either,” Lane said while he looked back and forth between his parents. “I can’t believe you’re even bringing this up, especially on Christmas Eve when Jesse’s here.”

  “It’s okay,” I said to Lane. “I don’t mind.”

  “Well, I mind,” Lane said to me, then turned back to his parents. “I told you about me and Jesse because I assumed you’d respect our privacy. We haven’t done anything I’m ashamed of, and if we choose to share a bed in Cape Canaveral, that’s our business, not yours.”

  “Look,” I said to Lane, “maybe I should leave.”

  Lane swung his gaze to me. “Please don’t,” he said. “Let’s put our jackets on; we can sit on the dock for a while.”

  When I looked at Lane’s parents, both of them stared at the carpet with blank expressions on their faces. They made no attempt to stop us from leaving, and within moments, we sat side by side in the chilly night air, bathed in the glow from the dock’s Christmas lights.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Lane said. “They had no business saying what they did, not with you there; how embarrassing.”

  “They’re just being parents,” I said.

  “Nosy parents.”

  I told Lane about my conversation with my mom, when she’d told me about hearing Kevin and me having sex in my bedroom. “But she didn’t interfere with what we were doing; she let it go on.”

  Lane shook his head. “I can’t imagine my folks doing that.”

  I shrugged. “Mom thinks I should explore my sexual side so I can find out exactly what makes me happy.”

  Lane’s jaw sagged when he looked at me. “She said that?”

  I nodded.

  “Can I move in with you?” Lane said. “Your house sounds like a lot more fun than mine.”

  We both laughed, and I asked Lane if I could see him the next day. “I bought you a present, and I want to give it to you. It won’t take long.”

  “I’ll come to your place,” Lane said. “What’s a good time?”

  We agreed on two p.m., and then I said, “It’s getting late; I should go.”

  Back inside, I wished Lane’s parents a Merry Christmas while shaking Mr. Davis’s hand and sharing a hug with Lane’s mom. Then Lane walked me to my car. The glow from the Davises’ Christmas lights bathed us in shades of yellow, red, and green. There wasn’t a shadow to be found anywhere, but after he glanced here and there, Lane planted a big wet kiss on my lips. The kiss made me feel weak in the knees.

  “Merry Christmas, Jesse,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Christmas morning, I woke to the sound of a stiff breeze stirring the fronds on a Sabal palm outside my bedroom window. The sun was up but obscured by a bank of cirrus clouds that looked like tattered tissue paper strewn across the sky. Already my mom banged pots and pans around in the kitchen and the aroma of brewing coffee stole into my room. I dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and house slippers, then visited the bathroom. My hair was a hopeless mess of tangles and my eyes looked puffy. I splashed my face with cold water and did my best to brush my hair into place while shaking my head. Would Lane still love me if he saw me right now?

  At Mom’s request, I started a blaze in our fireplace while Mom and my sister prepared our traditional Christmas breakfast: scrambled eggs with bacon, grits, and cinnamon rolls. The scents wafting from the kitchen made me salivate.

  I used a poker to rearrange flaming logs while my thoughts turned to the previous evening at Lane’s and also to the words exchanged between Lane and his parents just before he and I left for the dock. Was my mom wondering what Lane and I did when we were alone?

  Over breakfast, I spent a good deal of time describing the Christmas Eve service at Lane’s church. My mom and sister had also attended a service at the Methodist church my mom belonged to, but when she described it, the service sounded far more formal than the one I’d gone to.

  After we finished our meal and cleared the table, we gathered in the living room to exchange our gift-wrapped presents. My sister and mom had pooled their money to buy me a joint gift, something I’d told them I wanted. It was a bomber-style jacket much like the one I’d borrowed from Lane the day we visited Egmont Key, a light suede model with a zippered front, banded cuffs, and a banded waist. The size they’d chosen fit my lanky frame just right, and the suede was so soft I couldn’t help but stroke it with my fingertips while I watched my sister and mom open their gifts.

  I suppose most folks would have considered my family’s Christmas a modest one. Besides the jacket, my only other gifts were stocking stuffers: underwear, socks, and a new wallet. But I didn’t feel the
least bit deprived. We were together—my mom, my sister, and I—and we were getting through life without anyone’s help. I took great pride in that, and I wondered what my disappearing dad might say if he could see us just then.

  Was he even celebrating Christmas? And did I even care?

  My sister and I did the breakfast dishes; we cleaned the frying pan and coffeepot. We wiped down the kitchen counters and the stovetop, and we put things away. Lisa still wore her nightgown and slippers and her hair was tousled from sleep, but she looked cute nonetheless. We chatted while we worked, and somewhere during our conversation, Lisa asked me about Kevin.

  “Mom said you broke up with him. Is that right?”

  I nodded.

  “Have you heard from him since?”

  I shook my head. “I think our friendship’s over. I’m not happy about it—I didn’t want things to end completely—but Kevin said I had to stop seeing Lane or else he and I were through.”

  Lisa gathered her eyebrows. “He was that jealous?”

  I grimaced and nodded.

  Lisa chuckled while shaking her head.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She shrugged while hanging a coffee mug on a cup hook. “It’s just…you gay guys aren’t much different than boy-girl couples.”

  “How so?”

  “Mom’s told me how Kevin behaved toward you; I mean the neglect and all. I know girls whose boyfriends take them for granted the same way, and I always tell them, ‘Why do you put up with it? Have a little self-respect.’”

  I nodded while I emptied coffee grounds into the garbage can. “That’s easy to say, but when you’re crazy about a guy like I was about Kevin, then you can’t bear the thought of losing him. So you take his crap in exchange for keeping him in your life.”

  Lisa turned from her work. “You were that much in love with Kevin?”

  I nodded. “So badly my stomach hurt when I couldn’t see him.”