Tyler Buckspan Read online

  Holy crap…

  I returned my gaze to my shoe, afraid I'd pop a boner if I didn't.

  Minutes later, we stood waist deep in the cool spring water, both of us naked. Sunlight glanced off our shoulders. Devin did the talking; he spoke of north Georgia, about prison and so forth.

  I listened, fascinated.

  Devin's physical presence and the sound of his voice had my heart racing. I'd never been alone and naked with another guy before. To me, the situation seemed reckless and intimate. I studied Devin's chest and arm muscles, his collarbone and the curve of his neck, where it met his shoulder.

  I raised my chin, squinted at the sun.

  He's beautiful, was all I could think.

  So beautiful.

  ***

  "I don't cotton to cigarettes," my grandma told Devin, while she passed me a bowl of turnip greens that night at dinner, "especially not in the house. If you must smoke, keep a coffee can on the back steps. Do your puffing there."

  We sat at the dining room table: Grandma, my mom, Devin, and I. Early evening sunlight entered through the western windows, reflecting off a monogrammed silver water pitcher; the pitcher rested on a cork coaster. A platter of baked ham and a bowl of mashed sweet potatoes steamed on the table, alongside a silver breadbasket and a butter dish. Odors of reduction and oxidation chemicals wafted from my mom's beauty shop uniform.

  My grandma presided over dinner in her usual attire: silk blouse, strand of cultured pearls, wool skirt, stockings, and shoes with heels the size of a toddler's building blocks. Her ample breasts jutted like a ship's prow. Each week, Mom would style Grandma's nickel-colored tresses, using plenty of hair spray. You'd have needed a chisel to budge a ringlet on Grandma's head.

  Devin didn't smell anymore. He'd styled his hair with Amway hair tonic, borrowed from me; the tonic reflected the glow from my grandma's chandelier. He wore a collared Banlon shirt -- a welcoming gift from Mom -- and his chest muscles showed beneath the slinky garment.

  I wore my usual attire: T-shirt with horizontal stripes, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled, and high-top canvas sneakers. I had styled my hair with tonic as well.

  Mom said to Devin, "A customer of mine, Sarah Parnell, says her husband's hiring laborers at his brickyard. It's tough work and pays only minimum wage, but it's a start. She'll put in a word if you'd like."

  Devin nodded.

  Grandma added her two cents.

  "The county offers adult education classes, evenings at the high school in Deland. You can earn your GED there."

  Devin studied his plate while a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

  "Something wrong?" my grandma asked.

  Devin looked at me, my mom, and then Grandma.

  "I never cared for books," he said.

  My grandma snorted; her pearls rattled when she rearranged herself in her chair.

  "Education's essential to a young man's career. You don't like money? Don't you want to own a car and buy a home?"

  Devin lowered his gaze, said nothing.

  Grandma continued. "How will you support a wife and children? Toting bricks?"

  Devin twirled his fork in his fingers. He raised his chin and looked at Grandma.

  "Maybe," he said, "I'll earn a living like you do."

  My grandma's eyebrows rose. She opened her mouth, but before she could say something, Devin spoke.

  "That woman you saw today -- the one from Ormond Beach? I could've talked to her dead boy just as well as you, maybe even better. And now you have twenty-five dollars in your purse, for just an hour's work. It sure beats brickyard labor."

  Grandma's eyes bugged while her jaw sagged. She sat motionless, staring into Devin's face.

  ***

  "I don't like this," Grandma told my mother. "Something's fishy."

  I stood outside my grandma's bedroom door, eavesdropping.

  "He clearly has a gift," Mom said of Devin, "probably passed down from you."

  In the hallway I puckered one side of my face. A gift? Hadn't Mom once called Grandma's spirituality "bunk" and "a fraud"?

  An hour before, Devin had communicated with Grandma's late husband, Elmer, dead twenty years. We sat in Grandma's parlor -- Mom, I, and Grandma -- while Devin stood before the fireplace, head bowed.

  Devin said to Grandma, "Elmer wants you to know he forgives you for selling his horse -- the black mare named Penny -- when he lay in the hospital."

  Grandma grew ashen-faced. Looking at Mom, she said, "Your father wasn't working, and we needed money. I didn't have a choice."

  "And speaking of money," Devin said, "Elmer says there's a Prince Albert tobacco tin buried east of your gardenia bush, about a foot deep, near the corner of the house. Money's stored there for a rainy day."

  Devin shared lots of information Elmer had provided him: the date Elmer had proposed marriage to Grandma and the location (an ice cream parlor in New Smyrna Beach), the name of a hotel where Elmer and Grandma had honeymooned in Savannah, and the name of another boy who'd competed with Elmer for Grandma's affections. All the while, Grandma sat in silence on her horsehair sofa, hands in her lap, her eyebrows knitted.

  Afterward, I held a flashlight while Devin shoveled dirt. My grandma and Mom stood beside us in the dark, arms crossed at their bosoms, while fireflies darted here and there. The Prince Albert tin was rusted, but still watertight. When Devin pried the lid open, the flashlight's beam fell upon a wad of ten dollar bills.

  Now, in Grandma's bedroom, Mom said, "You're not happy about the money?"

  "Well, of course I am, but... let me ask you something."

  "What?"

  "Before this evening, how much had you told Devin about me and your father?"

  A bedspring creaked.

  "Nothing, really," Mom said. "When I spoke with him at the prison, I mentioned your work. I told him you were widowed, that's about it."

  No one said anything for several seconds.

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, chewing a hangnail. Then I heard a pair of knees crackle.

  Grandma said, "I don't trust that boy."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I'm not sure when I first suspected I was gay; probably when I had to shower with other guys in my junior high school's locker room. Every time I gazed at a cute guy in his birthday suit, my mouth grew sticky. I tried ignoring my feelings -- I pretended they did not exist -- but lying in bed at night, I'd stare at the ceiling while visions of naked boys crowded my thoughts.

  When Devin came to Cassadaga, I still hadn't confronted my homosexuality; I wouldn't allow myself to think of myself as queer. But now, a month after Devin's arrival, I couldn't deny my urges any longer.

  I'd fallen hopelessly in love with my half brother.

  I found his green eyes enchanting, his voice hypnotic, and his muscles arousing. One afternoon, when I came home from school to an empty house, I crept into Devin's room. After rummaging through his clothes hamper, I found a filthy pair of briefs he'd worn to his job at the brickyard. I took the reeking, skid-marked garment to my room. Then I sat on my bed and brought the shorts to my face. I inhaled Devin's myriad of scents, while my heart thumped and I touched myself until I reached orgasm. I nearly passed out during the process -- no joke -- and afterward I stowed Devin's briefs under my mattress, already looking forward to future sniff sessions.

  How wicked, I thought while I cleaned myself up. What kind of a pervert am I?

  At dinner that evening, my cheeks burned when I looked across the table at Devin. I recalled his stinks and the way they had excited me. Now, I felt a stiffening between my legs. Devin looked up from his plate, his gaze met mine, and then he crinkled the corners of his eyes, as if he knew my deepest secrets.

  I couldn't look him in the eye. I lowered my gaze and swallowed.

  Had Devin just read my thoughts? Did he know I'd romanced his underwear?

  If so, how?

  ***

  On a Monday evening in early November, the Cassadaga Council of Med
iums gathered in Colby Memorial Temple, for public discussion of my half brother and his purported powers. The main question: should the council permit Devin to offer his services as a medium to the public, under the council's auspices?

  Without the council's blessing, no one in Cassadaga would rent business space to Devin. My grandma had already declared Devin couldn't work out of her home, no way. So Devin was at the council's mercy.

  A dozen women, all ordained by the Spiritualist Church, sat on folding metal chairs in a circle, some my grandma's age, some younger. Devin sat among them, wearing dress slacks, a Banlon shirt, and leather slip-ons. His hair reflected light from an overhead fixture. His hands rested in his lap, and he spoke softly when answering the council's questions.

  When had he first realized he had a gift? What technique did he use to make contact with beings in the "spirit world"? Had he seen visions? Had he ever predicted future events with accuracy?

  Mom and I watched from a bench at the rear of the room. The room wasn't air-conditioned; the place felt stuffy, and my armpits dampened. Mom dabbed her upper lip with a hanky.

  "As a young teenager," Devin said, "I had visions. I heard voices speak to me but was too immature to understand. I sensed I was different, but I didn't know exactly why or how."

  Rev. Gloria Hagermann, the council's chairwoman, leaned forward in her chair. Squinting her eyes, she spoke in staccato. "You understand, our members won't tolerate chicanery. We won't allow exploitation of folks who come to us for guidance, not in Cassadaga. If you want to be a fortune teller with a neon sign and a crystal ball, open shop in Jacksonville."

  Devin lowered his gaze and kept quiet.

  Rev. Hagermann addressed my grandmother. "Louise, the boy's been under your roof a while now. Tell us, is he genuine? Has he a true gift? Or is he looking for easy money?"

  While Grandma rearranged herself, her pearls rattled. "I want everyone to know I'm personally opposed to Devin's request. He's young and inexperienced. I fear trouble will come if he serves as a medium."

  "Do you doubt his ability to contact the spirit world?"

  Grandma spoke of Devin's communications with my grandfather. She talked about the Prince Albert tin, explaining the situation in detail. "I'm still not sure what to think of it all."

  Rev. Hagermann turned her gaze back to Devin. "I understand you recently spent time in prison."

  Devin's cheeks colored, but he kept his chin high. "That's right," he said.

  "For what reason?"

  "I set fire to my father's house."

  The room fell silent. I looked at my mother, but she wouldn't look at me.

  No wonder he couldn't go back to Dahlonega.

  Rev. Hagermann tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Would you care to explain why you committed such a crime?"

  Devin lowered his gaze and worked his jaw from side to side. Then he looked at Rev. Hagermann.

  "My father molested me sexually, as a child."

  Rev. Hagermann's hands flew to her face, while several women gasped.

  I squirmed in my seat. For the first time, I realized Devin might carry any number of secrets from his past. What kind, I didn't know, of course. But I really didn't know Devin well, did I?

  "I set the fire for revenge," Devin said, glancing about the room, "and I don't regret it. I'd do it again if I had the chance."

  Rev. Hagermann squared her shoulders. "Have you committed other crimes?"

  "No, ma'am, I have not."

  "Has your grandmother acquainted you with the council's Code of Ethics?"

  Devin nodded.

  "And?" the reverend asked.

  Devin said, "They seem sensible and fair."

  "You understand, don't you, that you must apprentice with a council member for three months? You'll have to earn her blessing, before you can work alone."

  Devin said he knew that.

  Rev. Hagermann's gaze traveled about the circle. "Do I hear a motion on this matter?"

  Rev. Grace Patterson -- a petite woman in a sleeveless blouse, culottes, and sandals -- raised her hand. I looked at her painted fingernails and her heavy mascara, and then I thought of something my grandma had once told my mother about Rev. Patterson, at our dinner table.

  "I've known Grace Patterson all her life. She and Helen Hagermann, Gloria's daughter, were best friends as children. Both turned boy-crazy when they came of age; you never saw such goings on. Helen took up with a hoodlum from Orlando, a boy who rode a motorcycle. One night he raped Helen, and then he stabbed her to death in an orange grove. She was only fifteen."

  My grandma had clucked her tongue. "Grace Patterson may be ordained, but she's a nymphomaniac. I've heard stories about her affairs: the postman, the mechanic at the Sinclair station. Why, even her idiot gardener's a victim. She only gets away with these things because she's the richest woman in Cassadaga."

  Now, Rev. Patterson told the council, "I move we permit Devin to serve an apprenticeship." She swung her gaze to my grandma. "What harm can it do?"

  "Who will Devin train under?" Grandma asked.

  Rev. Patterson beamed at Devin. "I'm happy to work with him."

  My grandma grunted and shook her head.

  "Do I hear a second?" Rev. Hagermann asked.

  "Second," another woman said.

  "All in favor?"

  Eleven hands rose, including Rev. Hagermann's.

  But Grandma's hands remained in her lap.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On a Saturday afternoon in November, I worked a crossword puzzle, seated on Grandma's sofa, when a knock sounded at the front door. An auburn-haired guy Devin's age stood on the porch. He held a rolled-up blanket under his arm; a six-pack of beer dangled from his fingertips. His cheekbones were prominent, his deep-set eyes cobalt blue, his skin was light as ivory.

  "Devin home?" he asked in a scratchy baritone.

  After I let him in, I pointed to the staircase.

  "Second room on the left."

  Minutes later, the two descended, Devin clutching bath towels and his cigarettes.

  "Tyler," he said, pointing his thumb at the other guy, "this is Jesse. He works with me at the brickyard."

  Jesse raised a palm.

  Jesse was slim like Devin, about the same height, also dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt.

  "We're going for a swim," Devin said. "I'll see you later."

  Through a window, I watched them walk down the sidewalk, conversing and laughing, both smoking cigarettes. Right away, I felt jealous. After all, I was the one who'd shown Devin the spring. He should only bathe there with me, not this Jesse guy, right? I moistened my lips, watching Devin's behind twitch in the seat of his jeans. My hands hung at my hips and my fingers flexed. Would the two of them get naked? If so, what would Jesse's body look like?

  Go ahead, chickenshit. Why not find out?

  ***

  I snagged my jeans on the lumber company's barbed wire fence, wincing when I heard the denim rip. The jeans were new -- intended only for school -- and I'd surely receive a tongue-lashing from Mom when she saw the damage.

  Damn.

  For mid-November, the weather was steamy. My armpits moistened as I crept along the path leading to the spring. Sunlight filtered through trees; it warmed my shoulders. The only sound I heard was the crunching of pine needles beneath my sneakers. Rain had fallen the night before, and now the forest smelled of wet bark and damp earth.

  I hadn't visited the spring since I'd taken Devin there, and the memory caused a tingle in my briefs. I'd only seen him naked that one time.

  I came to a tree felled and blackened by a lightning bolt. The trunk was as big around as an oil barrel. This meant the spring was only twenty or thirty yards ahead. After leaving the trail, I took care when parting undergrowth, trying to be quiet. I made my way toward the spring, bending forward at the waist and keeping my head low. Already, my pulse quickened. I'd never spied on someone before, and the thought of peeping at Devin and Jesse seemed deliciously wicked
.

  I expected to hear their voices when I drew close to the spring, but I didn't, and then I crinkled my forehead in puzzlement.

  Why weren't they talking? What were they up to?

  I passed through a bank of saw palmettos. Sunlight glittered on the spring's surface. Above me, a squirrel barked on a limb; its bushy tail twitched. I straightened my spine, pulled aside a palmetto frond, and….

  Jee-zus.

  Devin and Jesse were naked, about thirty feet from me. Droplets of spring water glistened on their skins. Their hair was damp, but they were not bathing, not now. They lay upon Jesse's blanket. Their heads bobbed, and their lips smacked. A handful of Jesse's auburn hair fell across his face, waving like a flag when his head moved.

  My knees weakened while my breathing accelerated and sweat trickled down my ribs; I had never seen such a thing. I watched in fascination for several minutes, licking my lips and flexing my fingers. What must their bodies feel like? What thoughts dwelled in their heads? And weren't they ashamed? Wasn't their brand of sex an abomination?

  I unbuttoned my jeans and lowered the zipper, taking care not to make any noise. Then I spit in my hand and touched myself, my gaze fixed upon Devin and Jesse. I felt more sexually excited than I'd ever been. Both guys were handsome, their bodies lean and muscled. I especially liked Devin's buttocks; they were round as melons, porcelain white, and I longed to touch them.

  Devin brought his face to Jesse's, and their mouths met. For the first time in my life, I saw two males kiss. The vision made me shudder, and I longed to trade places with Jesse.

  What does it feel like, having sex with another guy? Especially when you're in love with him?

  When I reached orgasm, I felt as if someone had nudged me with a cattle prod. Purple spots appeared before my eyes; I gasped for air and my scalp prickled. I had never, ever experienced such excitement.

  I stood there, catching my breath and shaking my head in wonderment. I've just witnessed a secret ceremony of sorts: the kind most people wouldn't even try to understand.