Portman's POV:
A young guy with buck teeth, acid-washed jeans and a 'Christians for a white America' t-shirt kept craning his neck to check out the ass on the girl in front of him, which even I had to admit was pretty fine. She noticed his attentions, and though she looked away primly, there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her face was heavily made-up; you could see powder clinging to the fine, downy hairs on her cheeks, and the contrast in skin tone between her face and neck, which was free of foundation, was dramatic. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on, and her lips had been lined with a much darker colour than they had been filled in by; the overall effect was both disconcerting and vaguely nauseating.
It was late Friday afternoon, and Fulton and I were sitting on the #7 downtown bus on our way home. We had decided not to join Banks and the others, who were leaving by Greyhound early tomorrow morning. No way could we get by without them finding out about us, and telling them just seemed like more aggravation than we needed. That's what we were telling ourselves anyway, but I thought it was pretty obvious that neither of us were willing to share the other with six other Ducks. Coming home meant two weeks of solid cuddle time, without the interruption of classes and hockey practice, so we had decided to wait until school started up again to reveal our little secret.
Before we left Eton, Fulton and I had indulged in one last little sojourn to our attic hideaway; nothing heavy, just a little snack to liven up the trip home. The heightened awareness and sense of detachment that ensued proved to be immeasurable aides to me, the novice people-watcher. Fulton loved to sit back and watch people, especially in our neighbourhood. He said buses were one of the best places for it, and that I should give it a go. It was a lot of fun, it kind of cut you off from the rest of the world, but I think it'd be a bit depressing if I wasn't riding a nice buzz right now.
A thirty-something man with a mullet and some weird skin problem that left the skin on his hands cracked and covered with sores (psoriasis, Fulton said when I pointed it out to him) was glancing around as he tried to surreptitiously remove something from inside his left nostril. A woman with hollow eyes that looked right through you stared off into space while her cute, blond-haired toddler stood on the seat beside her, picking at some dried-on gum on the pole attached to his chair. An old man with dark glasses and a bulbous nose covered with spider webs of broken capillaries called out drunkenly: "Last stop, San Francisco!" as a pregnant girl of 15 or 16 was talking on a cell phone, confirming plans to meet her friends that night at Barfly, a seedy downtown club that never checked I.D.
I gestured to the guy with the mullet, who seemed to have found what he was looking for, as I whispered to Fulton, "You think that's us in 20 years?"
He grinned. "Nah. We're going to fall into some money, get a place up in the Hamptons, and spend all day sipping martinis, playing tennis, and looking after our expensive purebred poodles."
"Cool. We'll have a half dozen of those little yappy ones, and feed them veal and caviar."
"Then we can bitch about low investment returns and how the government is taxing our millions too much to pay for welfare and education and shit."
"Yeah, those bums should get off the dole. Anyone who says he can't find a job isn't looking hard enough."
"Damn straight," Fulton laughed as we got off the bus and I cast a final glance over my shoulder at its sorry denizens.
We headed down the street toward Johnny's, stopping at Fulton's long enough to toss our bags of clothes and stuff through his basement window. Fult and I had talked about it, and we had decided that we were going to tell Johnny about us. We knew he'd be cool about it, and frankly, we were eager to see what it felt like, having someone else know.
Johnny was working in the greenhouse when we arrived, but he dropped what he was doing and ushered us into his seizure-inducing living room with typical effervescence. After we'd caught up and helped Johnny finish the watering and fertilizing, he sat down in his easy chair, which his Hawaiian grandmother had somehow upholstered in patchwork. The patches spanned ever colour and design conceived by man, not to mention the material. Silk, suede, corduroy, burlap, velour and countless others made the chair as much a delight to touch as it was to behold. Johnny leaned back, put his hands behind his head and looked at us expectantly.
"So, now are you going to tell me what's up with you two? Why aren't you spending the holidays with your friends, and does it have anything to do with you seeming different from when I saw you last?"
Fulton and I looked at each other and grinned. Leave it to Johnny to pick up on it by himself. Sometimes I forgot how well he seemed to understand us.
"Actually, the two are related," I began slowly. "See, Fulton and I..." As I paused, trying to figure out how to word it, Johnny sat up straight.
"You guys don't mean you actually hooked up, do you?"
Again, Fult and I exchanged a glance. How did he know? When we nodded, his face broke into a wide, sunny grin and he leaped out of his seat. "Well congratu-fucking-lations!" he exclaimed, clapping us both on the back and hopping up and down in excitement. "It's about bloody time!"
"What do you mean?" I asked in astonishment.
"I always knew you kids would end up together, either that or remain pretty much celibate your entire lives. Even if you weren't gay, I figured you'd make an exception for each other. I mean, how could you see other people and still spend all your time together? You're like those girls in that Peter Jackson movie, Heavenly Creatures. Now come on, give me details! How, when, does anyone else know, that sort of thing. I'd ask how it's going, but I think I can figure that out by myself; you guys are practically glowing," he said with a grin, as Fulton and I both blushed and looked at the ground. Glowing? No way in hell did I glow.
"Uhhh..." Fulton usually left this sort of thing to me, but I was still a bit thrown by Johnny's words, and didn't have a clue how to begin.
"Here," Johnny said, pulling a big baggie of weed from his pocket. "Tell me over a pipe, it'll loosen your tongue. Fresh cut from this new strain of blueberry blunts I been working on, you guys can tell me what you think."
So we talked, in between hits from this cute little pipe of Johnny's, an alligator cut from black marble; you took in smoke from a hole in the tip of its tail. I told the story of that fateful night at the Trail of Dead concert, as well as a few other anecdotes, including our views about telling the Ducks and our parents and stuff. When I tried to explain the insane joy and other-worldliness of that first kiss, I got so worked up I could barely get the words out. I wasn't the only one affected, Johnny kept looking away and brushing at his eyes while Fulton came to sit on my lap and snuggle, nibbling softly on my ear while I marvelled at the woeful insufficiency of the language to express what I thought and felt.
Finally I gave up and tried changing the subject. "Damn Johnny, this is some killer weed. I'm totally floating." No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I realised something strange was going on; my lips had gone numb. I raised my hands to my face and found it plastered with a huge grin. I tried to knead it away, but it wouldn't budge.
"Glad it meets your approval. I'll give you some before you go," he said, eyeing me bemusedly as I continued my efforts to regain control of my facial muscles. "I swear, you two make the cutest couple. You should see yourselves; two huge enforcers cozied up together like a couple of koalas or something."
"Eat me, you tree-hugging hippy," I said.
"Yeah, you compare us to koalas again, and we'll go medieval on your ass," Fulton added with a grin.
"And then you come out with something like that. It's the incongruity of your street punk looks and loving caresses that cracks me up. Now, before you disembowel me, how about some dinner?"
After eager assent from the two of us, Johnny started boiling water and heating up some pasta sauce while Fulton and I watched, pausing occasionally to wipe the drool from our mouths as enticing aromas filled the room. Johnny was a vegetarian, and so he used tofu in his cooking a lot. At first Fult and I had refused to try it, but he eventually wore us down. I don't know if he does something special to it or what, but I swear it tastes just like meat.
Even without a serious case of the munchies, Fulton and I can really pack it in. Add to that a heavenly red sauce with tofu like Italian sausage and Johnny, aka Mother Hen, piling penne on our plates like there was no tomorrow, and I swear we ate more in one sitting than we ever have in our lives.
Too full to move, we lounged around after that, toking away while we talked about how George Bush was, if not the Anti-Christ himself, then at least a close relative. Actually, Johnny and Fulton talked, and I listened. I didn't know much about politics, but the little I did had been gleaned from the stoned-intellectual rants of these two. Even though I didn't understand a lot of what they said, I liked to listen anyway. Afghanistan, Israel, Iraq's oil fields, nuclear and chemical warfare, foreign policies, it was mostly over my head. Basically, the world was going to hell in a hand basket, and our country was making some real shitty decisions.
When we finally got up to leave, Johnny surprised us both by grabbing us in a tight hug. When he pulled back, his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "I'm just so happy for you guys. I worry about you, but as long as you have each other, I know you'll be fine. You deserve this, both of you," he said, looking hard at me as he spoke. "You deserve each other."
We walked back to Fulton's place in silence, holding hands and looking up at the stars, which seemed to be shining brighter than usual tonight. I hoped Johnny had meant what he said, and that Fulton and I would be together forever. I hoped I never forgot how lucky I was to have found someone like Fulton, and to have him love me back. I hoped I really could one day manage to deserve him, in all his perfection. I hoped.
***
"Fulton Reed, get your ass up here now, boy!"
Barely five minutes after we got in, we were sprawled together on the floor of Fulton's room when his father called down from the top of the basement stairs, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and taking on a deeper, even more menacing quality than it normally held. He sounded pissed.
"Son of a bitch," Fulton groaned, dragging himself to his feet. "Guess I'd better go see what his problem is. Hope it's a terminal disease."
"I'm coming, too," I managed between giggles.
"Okay, but be nice. I have to live with the guy. Check him out when he gets real mad; his left eye goes all twitchy."
I laughed at the image of Fulton's dad, a perpetually angry, red-faced man with fists the size of canned hams, twitching away like some sort of epileptic. We were still pretty wasted from all the shit we'd smoked, otherwise I doubt we would have been so blasé.
Fulton's dad was nowhere to be seen, but we found his mother in the far corner of the living room, drawing something, I couldn't tell what, on the wall with one of those little yellow golf pencils. She turned when she heard us come in, and ran over with a huge smile on her face, pulling Fulton into a bear hug. "Oh Fulton, I've missed you!"
Despite the fact that she was clearly under the influence of something or other, I couldn't help smiling. I really liked Fulton's mom, she had never been anything but kind to me, and although she was real messed up, you could tell she loved him a lot. Her fiery red hair was all over the place, it looked as if she hadn't showered for a couple of days (or changed her clothes, for that matter), and her green eyes were darting and wild. Though Fulton had inherited his father's size, he had the same round face, soft features and cute little button nose as her. I really think that there used to be a lot there once, in her mind I mean, and I would have liked to have known her before all the drugs, or at least to talk to her when she wasn't high as a kite for once.
She finally let go of Fulton and turned to me, wrapping me in a hug as well. With all these hugs, I was starting to feel like I was on an episode of Full House or something. "Portman darling, I haven't seen you in ages! Are you keeping my boy happy?"
I had to choke back laughter as I nodded, and I could hear Fulton chortling as well. That was a subplot that would never make it onto the show. His mother seemed not to notice. "Speaking of birthdays, I have a present for you two!" She dragged us back across the room while I tried to remember if anyone had mentioned birthdays.
"I don't know if they allow pets at that school of yours, but I figure you could find a way to sneak him in," she said excitedly. She gestured to the wall, upon which she had drawn something that resembled a rabbit, except that it had a long tail, like a cat. "Ta-dah!"
I didn't know what to say, but Fulton must have been used to that sort of thing, because he shot me a grin, then bent and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks mom, he's great. I always wanted a rabbit. What do you say we name him Bigwig, Portman?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks a lot, Ms. Reed." I was still staring at the malformed little creature, trying to figure out what the hell Fult's mom was on, when his dad came in. He strode over, grabbed Fulton by the upper arm, and hauled him into the middle of the room, all the while swearing at him and waving a piece of paper in his face.
"What the hell do you call this?" he cried.
In the calm, slightly condescending voice that he reserved exclusively for angry authority figures (it always made them madder than hell, and was usually funny, but I wished he'd lay off it today) Fulton said, "That? Oh, that's a piece of paper. You see, loggers chop down trees and send them to paper mills, where they--" His voice cut off as his father slapped him across the face.
"When I want your lip, smart-ass, I'll ask for it."
I saw red in that moment, and started to move toward them, but Fulton's mother grabbed my wrist and held me back. "Just let it be," she said softly, and this time I saw real awareness in her eyes. "He likes to fight his own battles, my little Lancelot."
I don't think I'll ever forget those words, nor the sound of her voice as she said them. Sad, tired, resigned, yet tinged with pride at the mention of her son. It made me wonder if she would really want to get clean if she could. She reminded me of this series of sculptures I saw in a book one time. This chick slowly hatches and emerges from his shell. He takes one look at the world around him, and climbs back into the egg. Maybe she was like Fulton, too smart for her own good. Maybe she'd seen the world, and decided she'd rather disappear.
Fulton's dad grabbed him hard by the back of the neck, and waved the paper under his nose. This time Fulton took it, and as he read it, his face paled slightly. He couldn't turn his head, but his eyes found mine and held them, and I knew he was trying to tell me something without speaking, though I had no idea what it was.
"So, you've been fucking up at school, huh? Huh, you little pussy, huh?" his dad cried, shaking him roughly, practically lifting him off the ground by his neck.
I was so mad I was trembling, but I forced myself to stay calm and tried to think of what to do. Over six feet tall and built like a football linebacker, Fulton's father probably weighed in at about 270. I doubted I could take him, and besides, what would happen to Fulton if I tried? I knew he'd join in to stop me from getting my ass kicked, but he was right, he had to live with the asshole. Still, I had to do something.
His dad had finally let go of him, but was still yelling loudly. Fulton just stood there, rubbing his neck, a slightly bored look in his eyes, like he'd seen it all before. "So, you like to mouth off at school too, you fucking cunt? You think you're so goddamned smart. When are you going to learn some respect, you stupid...worthless...little...prick?"
He punctuated each of these last words with a hard smack upside his son's head, but Fulton didn't bat an eye, he just straightened his bandanna as he said coolly, "Some people just aren't worthy of respect."
With that, his father cocked his arm and backhanded Fulton across the cheek with a vicious slap, knocking him back against the wall. He didn't make a sound, just turned back to face him with that fierce little grin of his. "Blow me." His dad hit him again, even harder this time, and a thin line of blood from his lip splattered against the wall. It was enough to finally set me off.
"Leave him alone, you stupid fuck!" I cried. I tried to throw myself between them, but Fulton grabbed me and held me back. I struggled to get free, but his grip on me only tightened. God, he was strong. He backed up, putting some distance between us and his father, who now looked angry enough to kill. Fult was right; his eye did go all twitchy, except I wasn't in the mood to laugh right now.
"This don't have anything to do with you kid, so just clear out. I gotta teach my boy some manners."
"Run," Fulton whispered as his dad took off his belt and started to move toward us.
"What?"
"RUN." He let go of my arms and shoved me toward the front door. As we turned and took off down the hallway, I swore I could hear Fulton's mom behind us, laughing merrily.
We ran for maybe a dozen blocks before stopping to lean against the brick wall in front of the liquor store to catch our breath. "Jesus Fult, are you alright?
He looked at me for a moment, then shot me a grin. His mouth was full of blood, painting all his teeth red, but the smile was good-natured and genuine. He turned his head and spat a stream of blood onto the ground, wiping his hand across his lips when he was done. "Five by five. So what say we go take Banksie up on his little offer?"
***
An hour or two later, we were back at Eton. Being nearly two in the morning, we could hardly waltz in the front doors, but the situation was nothing new to us. We took our usual route, climbing one of the big tree that grew against the south side of the building and walking along the roof till we came to our dorm room window, which for obvious reasons we never locked, and slipped inside.
I sat on my bed and watched while Fulton washed the blood from his face and cleaned his cuts with that awful iodine stuff. "I wish he wouldn't wear that damn ring all the time," he muttered as he dabbed at his face gingerly.
"If I see that fucker again, I swear to God..."
"Oh, shut up. I got off easy and you know it. Let's go."
We sneaked quietly down the hall until we reached Charlie and Adam's room. I knelt down beside Banks' bed and shook him gently. "Banksie, Banksie, wake up."
"Wha? Did I score?" he muttered as he opened his eyes. "Portman? Christ, what are you doing here? What time is it?" he mumbled groggily as he turned on the lamp on the bedside table.
"It's real late. Sorry to wake you like this, but Fulton and I wanted to know if we can still come with you tomorrow."
Adam propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Huh? Oh yeah, no problem. But I thought you guys went back home."
"Uh, yeah, we did, but we decided to come back," I said quickly.
"Right," he said, looking from me to Fulton. When he saw Fulton's face, he did a double take, but didn't say anything. Just then, we heard some stirring sounds, and Charlie was looking at me, blinking.
"What's going on? Portman, is that you?"
"It's nothing, they just wanted to know if they could still come tomorrow. Go back to sleep," Adam said in a soothing voice.
"Oh, okay. Great." Charlie closed his eyes and rolled back onto his side. Thank God for that, I thought, otherwise we probably would have had to spend all night making up excuses, and I knew the last thing I felt like doing was fielding anxious questions and listening to a lecture about fighting.
Adam turned back to me and said, "Bus leaves at 6:30, we have to be outside the school by six. Pack before you go to bed, and I'll come by in the morning to make sure you're up."
"Thanks Banksie," I said. I really was grateful; Adam gave new meaning to the word 'discreet.'
We slunk back to our room and shoved our few remaining clothes into Fulton's hockey bag, along with some CD's and shit, before curling up in my bed. Too worn out to do anything else, we just lay there, our bodies fitting snugly together like a couple of puzzle pieces.
"Guess we'll have to tell them tomorrow, huh Portman?" Fulton said sleepily.
I wrapped my arm around my boy's shoulders and squeezed, relishing the little giggle my touch earned. I stroked his hair while he planted little kisses on my neck and I was reminded of his words that night we'd first got together. 'Everything that's wrong with my life, you make right.' God, I only wished that were true. He was right though, everything bad just seemed to fade away when we were together, and for now, I was just happy that he was here, warm and safe beside me. Everything else could wait until morning. We'd deal with it then.
*Sorry this is so late, there were some computer problems at my school, but that didn't stop me from writing, so check back soon, I should have another instalment posted in a day or two. You're right Cards, that is from an Everclear song. My best friend loves Everclear, and made me promise to sneak a line in there for him to spot.*
A young guy with buck teeth, acid-washed jeans and a 'Christians for a white America' t-shirt kept craning his neck to check out the ass on the girl in front of him, which even I had to admit was pretty fine. She noticed his attentions, and though she looked away primly, there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her face was heavily made-up; you could see powder clinging to the fine, downy hairs on her cheeks, and the contrast in skin tone between her face and neck, which was free of foundation, was dramatic. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on, and her lips had been lined with a much darker colour than they had been filled in by; the overall effect was both disconcerting and vaguely nauseating.
It was late Friday afternoon, and Fulton and I were sitting on the #7 downtown bus on our way home. We had decided not to join Banks and the others, who were leaving by Greyhound early tomorrow morning. No way could we get by without them finding out about us, and telling them just seemed like more aggravation than we needed. That's what we were telling ourselves anyway, but I thought it was pretty obvious that neither of us were willing to share the other with six other Ducks. Coming home meant two weeks of solid cuddle time, without the interruption of classes and hockey practice, so we had decided to wait until school started up again to reveal our little secret.
Before we left Eton, Fulton and I had indulged in one last little sojourn to our attic hideaway; nothing heavy, just a little snack to liven up the trip home. The heightened awareness and sense of detachment that ensued proved to be immeasurable aides to me, the novice people-watcher. Fulton loved to sit back and watch people, especially in our neighbourhood. He said buses were one of the best places for it, and that I should give it a go. It was a lot of fun, it kind of cut you off from the rest of the world, but I think it'd be a bit depressing if I wasn't riding a nice buzz right now.
A thirty-something man with a mullet and some weird skin problem that left the skin on his hands cracked and covered with sores (psoriasis, Fulton said when I pointed it out to him) was glancing around as he tried to surreptitiously remove something from inside his left nostril. A woman with hollow eyes that looked right through you stared off into space while her cute, blond-haired toddler stood on the seat beside her, picking at some dried-on gum on the pole attached to his chair. An old man with dark glasses and a bulbous nose covered with spider webs of broken capillaries called out drunkenly: "Last stop, San Francisco!" as a pregnant girl of 15 or 16 was talking on a cell phone, confirming plans to meet her friends that night at Barfly, a seedy downtown club that never checked I.D.
I gestured to the guy with the mullet, who seemed to have found what he was looking for, as I whispered to Fulton, "You think that's us in 20 years?"
He grinned. "Nah. We're going to fall into some money, get a place up in the Hamptons, and spend all day sipping martinis, playing tennis, and looking after our expensive purebred poodles."
"Cool. We'll have a half dozen of those little yappy ones, and feed them veal and caviar."
"Then we can bitch about low investment returns and how the government is taxing our millions too much to pay for welfare and education and shit."
"Yeah, those bums should get off the dole. Anyone who says he can't find a job isn't looking hard enough."
"Damn straight," Fulton laughed as we got off the bus and I cast a final glance over my shoulder at its sorry denizens.
We headed down the street toward Johnny's, stopping at Fulton's long enough to toss our bags of clothes and stuff through his basement window. Fult and I had talked about it, and we had decided that we were going to tell Johnny about us. We knew he'd be cool about it, and frankly, we were eager to see what it felt like, having someone else know.
Johnny was working in the greenhouse when we arrived, but he dropped what he was doing and ushered us into his seizure-inducing living room with typical effervescence. After we'd caught up and helped Johnny finish the watering and fertilizing, he sat down in his easy chair, which his Hawaiian grandmother had somehow upholstered in patchwork. The patches spanned ever colour and design conceived by man, not to mention the material. Silk, suede, corduroy, burlap, velour and countless others made the chair as much a delight to touch as it was to behold. Johnny leaned back, put his hands behind his head and looked at us expectantly.
"So, now are you going to tell me what's up with you two? Why aren't you spending the holidays with your friends, and does it have anything to do with you seeming different from when I saw you last?"
Fulton and I looked at each other and grinned. Leave it to Johnny to pick up on it by himself. Sometimes I forgot how well he seemed to understand us.
"Actually, the two are related," I began slowly. "See, Fulton and I..." As I paused, trying to figure out how to word it, Johnny sat up straight.
"You guys don't mean you actually hooked up, do you?"
Again, Fult and I exchanged a glance. How did he know? When we nodded, his face broke into a wide, sunny grin and he leaped out of his seat. "Well congratu-fucking-lations!" he exclaimed, clapping us both on the back and hopping up and down in excitement. "It's about bloody time!"
"What do you mean?" I asked in astonishment.
"I always knew you kids would end up together, either that or remain pretty much celibate your entire lives. Even if you weren't gay, I figured you'd make an exception for each other. I mean, how could you see other people and still spend all your time together? You're like those girls in that Peter Jackson movie, Heavenly Creatures. Now come on, give me details! How, when, does anyone else know, that sort of thing. I'd ask how it's going, but I think I can figure that out by myself; you guys are practically glowing," he said with a grin, as Fulton and I both blushed and looked at the ground. Glowing? No way in hell did I glow.
"Uhhh..." Fulton usually left this sort of thing to me, but I was still a bit thrown by Johnny's words, and didn't have a clue how to begin.
"Here," Johnny said, pulling a big baggie of weed from his pocket. "Tell me over a pipe, it'll loosen your tongue. Fresh cut from this new strain of blueberry blunts I been working on, you guys can tell me what you think."
So we talked, in between hits from this cute little pipe of Johnny's, an alligator cut from black marble; you took in smoke from a hole in the tip of its tail. I told the story of that fateful night at the Trail of Dead concert, as well as a few other anecdotes, including our views about telling the Ducks and our parents and stuff. When I tried to explain the insane joy and other-worldliness of that first kiss, I got so worked up I could barely get the words out. I wasn't the only one affected, Johnny kept looking away and brushing at his eyes while Fulton came to sit on my lap and snuggle, nibbling softly on my ear while I marvelled at the woeful insufficiency of the language to express what I thought and felt.
Finally I gave up and tried changing the subject. "Damn Johnny, this is some killer weed. I'm totally floating." No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I realised something strange was going on; my lips had gone numb. I raised my hands to my face and found it plastered with a huge grin. I tried to knead it away, but it wouldn't budge.
"Glad it meets your approval. I'll give you some before you go," he said, eyeing me bemusedly as I continued my efforts to regain control of my facial muscles. "I swear, you two make the cutest couple. You should see yourselves; two huge enforcers cozied up together like a couple of koalas or something."
"Eat me, you tree-hugging hippy," I said.
"Yeah, you compare us to koalas again, and we'll go medieval on your ass," Fulton added with a grin.
"And then you come out with something like that. It's the incongruity of your street punk looks and loving caresses that cracks me up. Now, before you disembowel me, how about some dinner?"
After eager assent from the two of us, Johnny started boiling water and heating up some pasta sauce while Fulton and I watched, pausing occasionally to wipe the drool from our mouths as enticing aromas filled the room. Johnny was a vegetarian, and so he used tofu in his cooking a lot. At first Fult and I had refused to try it, but he eventually wore us down. I don't know if he does something special to it or what, but I swear it tastes just like meat.
Even without a serious case of the munchies, Fulton and I can really pack it in. Add to that a heavenly red sauce with tofu like Italian sausage and Johnny, aka Mother Hen, piling penne on our plates like there was no tomorrow, and I swear we ate more in one sitting than we ever have in our lives.
Too full to move, we lounged around after that, toking away while we talked about how George Bush was, if not the Anti-Christ himself, then at least a close relative. Actually, Johnny and Fulton talked, and I listened. I didn't know much about politics, but the little I did had been gleaned from the stoned-intellectual rants of these two. Even though I didn't understand a lot of what they said, I liked to listen anyway. Afghanistan, Israel, Iraq's oil fields, nuclear and chemical warfare, foreign policies, it was mostly over my head. Basically, the world was going to hell in a hand basket, and our country was making some real shitty decisions.
When we finally got up to leave, Johnny surprised us both by grabbing us in a tight hug. When he pulled back, his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "I'm just so happy for you guys. I worry about you, but as long as you have each other, I know you'll be fine. You deserve this, both of you," he said, looking hard at me as he spoke. "You deserve each other."
We walked back to Fulton's place in silence, holding hands and looking up at the stars, which seemed to be shining brighter than usual tonight. I hoped Johnny had meant what he said, and that Fulton and I would be together forever. I hoped I never forgot how lucky I was to have found someone like Fulton, and to have him love me back. I hoped I really could one day manage to deserve him, in all his perfection. I hoped.
***
"Fulton Reed, get your ass up here now, boy!"
Barely five minutes after we got in, we were sprawled together on the floor of Fulton's room when his father called down from the top of the basement stairs, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and taking on a deeper, even more menacing quality than it normally held. He sounded pissed.
"Son of a bitch," Fulton groaned, dragging himself to his feet. "Guess I'd better go see what his problem is. Hope it's a terminal disease."
"I'm coming, too," I managed between giggles.
"Okay, but be nice. I have to live with the guy. Check him out when he gets real mad; his left eye goes all twitchy."
I laughed at the image of Fulton's dad, a perpetually angry, red-faced man with fists the size of canned hams, twitching away like some sort of epileptic. We were still pretty wasted from all the shit we'd smoked, otherwise I doubt we would have been so blasé.
Fulton's dad was nowhere to be seen, but we found his mother in the far corner of the living room, drawing something, I couldn't tell what, on the wall with one of those little yellow golf pencils. She turned when she heard us come in, and ran over with a huge smile on her face, pulling Fulton into a bear hug. "Oh Fulton, I've missed you!"
Despite the fact that she was clearly under the influence of something or other, I couldn't help smiling. I really liked Fulton's mom, she had never been anything but kind to me, and although she was real messed up, you could tell she loved him a lot. Her fiery red hair was all over the place, it looked as if she hadn't showered for a couple of days (or changed her clothes, for that matter), and her green eyes were darting and wild. Though Fulton had inherited his father's size, he had the same round face, soft features and cute little button nose as her. I really think that there used to be a lot there once, in her mind I mean, and I would have liked to have known her before all the drugs, or at least to talk to her when she wasn't high as a kite for once.
She finally let go of Fulton and turned to me, wrapping me in a hug as well. With all these hugs, I was starting to feel like I was on an episode of Full House or something. "Portman darling, I haven't seen you in ages! Are you keeping my boy happy?"
I had to choke back laughter as I nodded, and I could hear Fulton chortling as well. That was a subplot that would never make it onto the show. His mother seemed not to notice. "Speaking of birthdays, I have a present for you two!" She dragged us back across the room while I tried to remember if anyone had mentioned birthdays.
"I don't know if they allow pets at that school of yours, but I figure you could find a way to sneak him in," she said excitedly. She gestured to the wall, upon which she had drawn something that resembled a rabbit, except that it had a long tail, like a cat. "Ta-dah!"
I didn't know what to say, but Fulton must have been used to that sort of thing, because he shot me a grin, then bent and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks mom, he's great. I always wanted a rabbit. What do you say we name him Bigwig, Portman?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks a lot, Ms. Reed." I was still staring at the malformed little creature, trying to figure out what the hell Fult's mom was on, when his dad came in. He strode over, grabbed Fulton by the upper arm, and hauled him into the middle of the room, all the while swearing at him and waving a piece of paper in his face.
"What the hell do you call this?" he cried.
In the calm, slightly condescending voice that he reserved exclusively for angry authority figures (it always made them madder than hell, and was usually funny, but I wished he'd lay off it today) Fulton said, "That? Oh, that's a piece of paper. You see, loggers chop down trees and send them to paper mills, where they--" His voice cut off as his father slapped him across the face.
"When I want your lip, smart-ass, I'll ask for it."
I saw red in that moment, and started to move toward them, but Fulton's mother grabbed my wrist and held me back. "Just let it be," she said softly, and this time I saw real awareness in her eyes. "He likes to fight his own battles, my little Lancelot."
I don't think I'll ever forget those words, nor the sound of her voice as she said them. Sad, tired, resigned, yet tinged with pride at the mention of her son. It made me wonder if she would really want to get clean if she could. She reminded me of this series of sculptures I saw in a book one time. This chick slowly hatches and emerges from his shell. He takes one look at the world around him, and climbs back into the egg. Maybe she was like Fulton, too smart for her own good. Maybe she'd seen the world, and decided she'd rather disappear.
Fulton's dad grabbed him hard by the back of the neck, and waved the paper under his nose. This time Fulton took it, and as he read it, his face paled slightly. He couldn't turn his head, but his eyes found mine and held them, and I knew he was trying to tell me something without speaking, though I had no idea what it was.
"So, you've been fucking up at school, huh? Huh, you little pussy, huh?" his dad cried, shaking him roughly, practically lifting him off the ground by his neck.
I was so mad I was trembling, but I forced myself to stay calm and tried to think of what to do. Over six feet tall and built like a football linebacker, Fulton's father probably weighed in at about 270. I doubted I could take him, and besides, what would happen to Fulton if I tried? I knew he'd join in to stop me from getting my ass kicked, but he was right, he had to live with the asshole. Still, I had to do something.
His dad had finally let go of him, but was still yelling loudly. Fulton just stood there, rubbing his neck, a slightly bored look in his eyes, like he'd seen it all before. "So, you like to mouth off at school too, you fucking cunt? You think you're so goddamned smart. When are you going to learn some respect, you stupid...worthless...little...prick?"
He punctuated each of these last words with a hard smack upside his son's head, but Fulton didn't bat an eye, he just straightened his bandanna as he said coolly, "Some people just aren't worthy of respect."
With that, his father cocked his arm and backhanded Fulton across the cheek with a vicious slap, knocking him back against the wall. He didn't make a sound, just turned back to face him with that fierce little grin of his. "Blow me." His dad hit him again, even harder this time, and a thin line of blood from his lip splattered against the wall. It was enough to finally set me off.
"Leave him alone, you stupid fuck!" I cried. I tried to throw myself between them, but Fulton grabbed me and held me back. I struggled to get free, but his grip on me only tightened. God, he was strong. He backed up, putting some distance between us and his father, who now looked angry enough to kill. Fult was right; his eye did go all twitchy, except I wasn't in the mood to laugh right now.
"This don't have anything to do with you kid, so just clear out. I gotta teach my boy some manners."
"Run," Fulton whispered as his dad took off his belt and started to move toward us.
"What?"
"RUN." He let go of my arms and shoved me toward the front door. As we turned and took off down the hallway, I swore I could hear Fulton's mom behind us, laughing merrily.
We ran for maybe a dozen blocks before stopping to lean against the brick wall in front of the liquor store to catch our breath. "Jesus Fult, are you alright?
He looked at me for a moment, then shot me a grin. His mouth was full of blood, painting all his teeth red, but the smile was good-natured and genuine. He turned his head and spat a stream of blood onto the ground, wiping his hand across his lips when he was done. "Five by five. So what say we go take Banksie up on his little offer?"
***
An hour or two later, we were back at Eton. Being nearly two in the morning, we could hardly waltz in the front doors, but the situation was nothing new to us. We took our usual route, climbing one of the big tree that grew against the south side of the building and walking along the roof till we came to our dorm room window, which for obvious reasons we never locked, and slipped inside.
I sat on my bed and watched while Fulton washed the blood from his face and cleaned his cuts with that awful iodine stuff. "I wish he wouldn't wear that damn ring all the time," he muttered as he dabbed at his face gingerly.
"If I see that fucker again, I swear to God..."
"Oh, shut up. I got off easy and you know it. Let's go."
We sneaked quietly down the hall until we reached Charlie and Adam's room. I knelt down beside Banks' bed and shook him gently. "Banksie, Banksie, wake up."
"Wha? Did I score?" he muttered as he opened his eyes. "Portman? Christ, what are you doing here? What time is it?" he mumbled groggily as he turned on the lamp on the bedside table.
"It's real late. Sorry to wake you like this, but Fulton and I wanted to know if we can still come with you tomorrow."
Adam propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Huh? Oh yeah, no problem. But I thought you guys went back home."
"Uh, yeah, we did, but we decided to come back," I said quickly.
"Right," he said, looking from me to Fulton. When he saw Fulton's face, he did a double take, but didn't say anything. Just then, we heard some stirring sounds, and Charlie was looking at me, blinking.
"What's going on? Portman, is that you?"
"It's nothing, they just wanted to know if they could still come tomorrow. Go back to sleep," Adam said in a soothing voice.
"Oh, okay. Great." Charlie closed his eyes and rolled back onto his side. Thank God for that, I thought, otherwise we probably would have had to spend all night making up excuses, and I knew the last thing I felt like doing was fielding anxious questions and listening to a lecture about fighting.
Adam turned back to me and said, "Bus leaves at 6:30, we have to be outside the school by six. Pack before you go to bed, and I'll come by in the morning to make sure you're up."
"Thanks Banksie," I said. I really was grateful; Adam gave new meaning to the word 'discreet.'
We slunk back to our room and shoved our few remaining clothes into Fulton's hockey bag, along with some CD's and shit, before curling up in my bed. Too worn out to do anything else, we just lay there, our bodies fitting snugly together like a couple of puzzle pieces.
"Guess we'll have to tell them tomorrow, huh Portman?" Fulton said sleepily.
I wrapped my arm around my boy's shoulders and squeezed, relishing the little giggle my touch earned. I stroked his hair while he planted little kisses on my neck and I was reminded of his words that night we'd first got together. 'Everything that's wrong with my life, you make right.' God, I only wished that were true. He was right though, everything bad just seemed to fade away when we were together, and for now, I was just happy that he was here, warm and safe beside me. Everything else could wait until morning. We'd deal with it then.
*Sorry this is so late, there were some computer problems at my school, but that didn't stop me from writing, so check back soon, I should have another instalment posted in a day or two. You're right Cards, that is from an Everclear song. My best friend loves Everclear, and made me promise to sneak a line in there for him to spot.*