Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.
The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.
Thank you.
The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series Glee.
Approximate words this chapter: 13,500
Text of personal ad posted to bearhunter by username titanK:
Transplant from the Sartrean Hell that is Ohio and really liking it here in Portland
21 year old college student here. Basically an average guy into average guy things who just happens to be gay. Into sports, both watching and playing, video games, movies, and live music, prefer rock bands over club music, but it's all good. Mostly I'm looking to make friends with some people or a group of people but I'm open to greater possibilities. Kind of athletic so workout or running friends would be great. Pretty laid-back here, so hit me up to say hello and we'll go from there.
Dave hadn't dated much, though he was not a stranger to the process of meeting people online. In the immediate period following his move to Portland two-and-a-half years ago, he'd spent a not-insignificant amount of time chatting and emailing people on the various dating sites. He was too young to go to the bars and still too introverted on that particular level; but the personals sites gave him a sense of privacy, and his secretive habits were never questioned by his then-new roommate.
After a few months of sharing a dorm room, however, Dave and Scoop began to associate with increasing frequency. Dave found that he preferred the social and friendly real-time activities with his roommate and his other new friends to the world of late-night cyber-chatting, a world where the people which he was meeting could be walking distance from his dorm physically but may as well have been hundreds of miles away. Otherwise, he related to the interests of Scoop and his increasing number of tangible friends more than anyone he'd chatted with online.
Dave was interested in physically meeting people, though not necessarily for sex, but that happened also. During his first few months in college, the people with whom Dave chatted online fell roughly into three categories: the first were young men ranging in age from his own to about ten years his senior who seemed to be of approximately the same temperament as Dave but were content to communicate exclusively through their laptops and cell phones; the second group included men who were somewhat older than Dave who chatted politely enough but seemed evasive when pressed to actually meet, citing Dave's young age and that they themselves felt, as they put it, relationship-oriented; and, finally, men who aged into their forties and fifties and posted pictures of their body parts (if they posted pictures at all), often claiming to be bi-curious, married, or both. Needless to say, few meetings resulted. The ones that did were usually one-time meetings, affording Dave an amount of physical exploration, though it was sometimes clumsy, particularly if the other party was as inexperienced as Dave. There were a few meetings with men who claimed to be in their forties who, upon meeting, revealed themselves to be more likely aged into their sixties: these meetings never progressed beyond a verbal greeting and dismissal with Dave being as polite as he could possibly be given the circumstances.
Though Dave continued to check the personals sites periodically, his interest in them waning at times and increasing at others, his attitude became one of ambivalence: he wanted genuine interaction with other gay men but he didn't want the hassle that seemed to be attached to the dating sites. He understood that methods of meeting people existed outside the online universe, but he'd found a complacency in the privacy there. He generally updated his profiles when his interest in using the sites renewed, and he had become more comfortable with the routine despite his sporadic use. He had, during his later times on the sites, chatted with a few genuine men who were fifteen to twenty-five years his senior. Though no meetings with these men resulted, the ongoing chats helped Dave to feel assimilated into the community to a greater degree.
Dave was twenty years old when his visits to dating sites yielded what he'd consider to be his first actual date, that is, one which would include more than a groping session in a parked car or a quick and mutually-clumsy fuck in a darkened apartment. Not surprisingly, that first date didn't result in a second date. Much like his time in Lima, Dave found himself ill-matched with the young men he met; unlike Lima, however, he wasn't outwardly frustrated by this: the men he'd met here were generally easier for him to talk with than those he knew in Ohio, or possibly Dave's uptight nature had mellowed since his move to Portland.
As time progressed, there were a few men with whom Dave had actually met more than once. Most recently, Mark, another college student he'd met the previous fall. Dave and Mark went out a total of five times during a three-week period, even hanging with Scoop and some of Dave's other friends on two occasions. After that fifth date, however, neither Dave nor Mark had an interest in proposing a sixth date, and, other than the occasional email of a link to a viral video or the click of the 'like' toggle on a Facebook posting, their communication ceased.
By this present time, however, Dave knew the drill. His expectations weren't high, but he wasn't hostile to the process either: a strange kind of optimistic indifference. It was during this time that he had informally met a few men around his own age for coffee and drinks (now being twenty-one, he could legally visit bars). The meetings were friendly. In one case, with a boisterous, scruffy twenty-three-year-old named Garrett, a great deal of rowdy fun. In all cases, the doors were left open for future meetings, and Dave was enjoying a greater sense of belonging. In the two weeks since the dinner get-together with his friends, Dave's focus had shifted. Though he'd updated his online profiles and posted an ad on bearhunter, the bars were becoming a more attractive option for Dave as they offered direct, face-to-face interaction with others, though there were other reasons why he was drawn toward a change of routine.
He felt some degree of concern and responsibility for Chuck's departure from the band which his roommate was managing, despite Scoop's statements to the contrary that Dave was faultless in the matter. The two times he'd spoken to his father since being informed of the probable dissolution of his parents' marriage were marked with an uncertainty, as if the terrain of their relationship was no longer completely familiar. The wanting to be anonymous, in a place other than his apartment, the place where these things became manifest, was a constant.
It was the Wednesday night, specifically two weeks after the dinner gathering, when Dave came home to his apartment in the early-evening after his classes. Dave entered the darkening apartment quietly through the deck entrance. He could see that Scoop was sitting in front of the TV in the livingroom. Dave tried to move through the apartment without arousing Scoop's attention, but he heard Scoop call out his name while he was quietly striding through the kitchen.
"Dave?"
"Hey, Scoop," Dave answered softly as he entered the livingroom from the kitchen area.
"Where have you been keeping yourself?" Scoop asked with a tone of cocky friendliness. "Geeze, we share an apartment, and I've barely seen you in the past week."
"Just been kinda into getting out of the place lately," Dave answered, sounding somewhat unconvincing. "Y'know, kinda putting myself out there, trying to meet some new people."
"Well, between you being holed-up in your room late at night and going out weird hours, the old people in your life kinda miss you," Scoop reminded. "You been going to leather-bars or something?" Scoop added with a joking chuckle at the last.
Dave chuckled himself and shook his head.
"Seriously, Dave, the guys miss you."
Dave sat down on the edge of the couch, a fair distance from Scoop, dropping his bookbag and gymbag to the floor. "Yeah, and I don't feel so good about hanging out because I feel like I screwed up their band situation. How's the hunt for a replacement bass player coming along?"
Scoop let out a long breath and rolled his eyes. "Chuck's been talking up a storm saying that the other guys are hell to work with. So, like, the only people who seem to be interested are either not good players or not a good match for the band."
"That doesn't make me feel any better at all."
"Dude, those guys hold nothing against you," Scoop sat up and moved slightly closer to Dave. "They consider you to be a really good friend."
"Yeah, in essence they've chosen friendship with me over their band, except for Robbie who never weighed in on the matter," Dave spoke, sounding grave. "That doesn't exactly make me feel good either."
"Dave, don't sweat it, man. We'll find a replacement for Chuck." Scoop reached his hand up and patted Dave's shoulder roughly as Dave moved to stand from the couch. "Hey, where you going?"
"Uh," Dave sputtered his answer. "I was just gonna drop my stuff in my room and, uh, check my homework and stuff."
"Not so fast," Scoop spoke with a smirk. "Me and the guys are hanging out tonight at the Tap Room. They told me that I was to get to to come along and hang out with us tonight by any means necessary."
"Uhh," Dave groaned, an expression of mock-pain.
"Oh, c'mon. They wanna see you. You know you wanna hang with your friends too."
"Who all is going to be there?"
Scoop shrugged, facing outward then craning his head upward to address Dave. "The usual guys. Zack, Tony, Buke, Jack. Probably some of the girls also."
Dave hummed, sounding and appearing uncertain.
"Aw, c'mon," Scoop mock-pleaded. "The guys have been asking about you."
"Awright, I'll go," Dave said after exhaling loudly. "But we're both driving in case I want to leave early or something."
"No problem," Scoop spoke quickly, accommodating.
"Which means you can't get trashed," Dave reminded. "You gonna be able to handle that?"
"Dave, we live two miles from the place. If I get trashed, one of the guys can ride me back here tonight and I can go get my car tomorrow." Scoop paused momentarily. "I mean, that's not gonna happen, I won't drink much tonight, but in case I do, I'm covered."
Dave nodded, reluctant. "Okay. What time should I be ready to head out then?"
"It's not seven yet. We can get moving around nine, nine-thirty. No one will be there before that."
"Okay, then, let me collect my stuff and look at my schoolwork. I'll be ready around nine."
Dave lifted his bags from the floor and took them to his bedroom, entering and closing the door behind himself. He unzipped his gymbag and pulled the clothes from it, depositing them into a laundry-basket which was half-filled with items to be laundered. As he reached toward his book bag, his phone rang.
The words number not available illuminated on the screen as his face took on a slightly annoyed expression.
"Hello," Dave voiced, almost sternly into the phone.
"Hello, Dave?"
"Speaking."
"Hey, um, it's John from a few weeks ago. You remember? Pretty catastrophic burger date?"
"Yeah, of course I remember," Dave sounded abrupt, but he was trying to be nominally polite, hiding his annoyance with a fair proficiency. "And it really wasn't all that bad."
"I think it was, but it's nice of you to say that."
"What can I do for you, John?" The tone was as abrupt as it had been, and the annoyance was starting to surface.
"Uh, wow. Um, I'm between projects, you know, editing stuff, and I have a free night tonight, and I was wondering if maybe you'd want to meet me for a drink or coffee or something."
Dave exhaled, sounding like pressure was being released. "Ah, that sounds okay, but I already have plans tonight to hang out with some friends."
"Oh. Okay."
"But I did mean what I said last time we hung out. I'd be cool with hanging with you again, just that I already have something going on tonight."
"No, it's cool. Maybe another time then."
"Yeah. Take it easy, John."
"Bye. Have a good one, Dave."
The call ended, and Dave shook his head and shrugged, staring at his phone as the screen dimmed. Voice from the past, Dave thought; he really didn't think he'd be hearing from John again.
That was easier than I'd expected, John thought to himself as he ended the call. It had been almost three weeks since he'd seen Dave, and it must have seemed strange to call him out-of-the-blue like he did; but Dave didn't seem hostile to the phone call or against the idea of seeing him again, even repeating what he'd said before they parted that day, that he was open to meeting again.
Although Dave didn't take him up on his offer this evening, he felt the prospects of seeing him again weren't quite as hopeless as he'd imagined. And, despite Dave's not being available, John felt positive about the outcome, even accomplished, that he'd actually called Dave, asked him out, and was able to remain generally polite and coherent, and all this without the encouragement of Mandy, Katie, or Louis.
Mostly I'm looking to make friends with some people or a group of people but I'm open to greater possibilities.
The sentence from Dave's online profile was an approach that seemed worthwhile and one which John had not previously entertained, at least not consciously.
Faced with a night off and no plans, however, and little desire to work on his writing, painting, or gaming interests at the moment, John decided that he would venture out by himself, have a drink or two, and quietly celebrate the completion of the editing project he'd just finished.
Nobody knows
I know nobody cares what goes on in here
We have this door
Nobody gets in until I'm double-sure
The sound coming from the jukebox in the Tap Room wasn't particularly loud, but a speaker situated just above Dave's left shoulder as he sat at the bar was serving to rattle his already uncertain nerves. Scoop stood nearby, facing away from the bar, an arm's length from Dave. He was watching for their friends as they arrived.
The bar itself had a healthy-sized crowd for so small a bar on an off-night, and it was a popular hangout for some of the older college students who preferred the atmosphere of a somewhat slovenly haunt; or as Scoop once described the place to Dave, "It's a dive, but it's a cool dive."
Tony was the first to arrive, only minutes after Dave and Scoop. He greeted Scoop and took the seat at the bar next to Dave.
"Hey, Dave," Tony pronounced, loud and friendly-sounding as he seated himself. "How've you been? It's been a while."
"Hey, Tony," Dave responded, pleasant but less-enthusiastic than Tony's greeting. "I've been okay, just getting stuff done for school and concentrating on that end of my life."
"Yeah, well, I guess with the band on hold, there's not been a lot going on with the rest of us either," Tony said casually, "just basically, yeah, school, and looking for a new bass player."
Dave nodded, downward toward the surface of the bar, lifting his bottle of beer, taking a drink and holding it close to himself, reminded again of the responsibility he felt at Chuck's departure.
The bartender brought Tony's beer; Tony seemed oblivious to Dave's physical response remaining casual and upbeat.
Ronk and Shelly filtered into the bar, sighting Scoop first as he waved his arms, flagging them down. Ronk hugged Scoop roughly as Shelly watched and laughed, greeting Scoop in the process.
"I don't know that Ronk guy very well," Dave said to Tony as he observed, "but he seems like a pretty cool guy."
"Oh, he is," Tony responded. "He's a lot of fun, and he's an incredible soundman. Sometimes I think we owe half of our following to him because he always has us sounding so good."
By this time, Ronk and Shelly were approaching the bar; Ronk dived upon Tony grasping him in a manner similar to that with which he'd greeted Scoop. When they unlocked, Ronk turned to Dave, shaking his hand firmly and patting him on the shoulder with his free hand.
"Hey, Dave. Good to see you."
Dave nodded, summoning a smile. "Thanks. Good to see you as well. Hi, Shelly." Dave tilted his head, addressing Ronk's girlfriend who waved and smiled in return.
Dave mentally noted the less-physical, less-jovial manner in which Ronk greeted him. Although he felt slightly left-out, he reasoned that, as he'd said to Tony moments earlier, he really didn't know Ronk well; they were really only acquaintances. Still, he felt a friendliness to Ronk for the kind words and the supportive way he reacted to Dave at the dinner gathering two weeks earlier.
Ronk and Shelly returned to the the area where Scoop was standing, still nearby but migrating slightly toward the center of the room leaving Dave and Tony at the bar.
"So, is Meghan coming tonight?" Dave asked Tony.
"Naw, I was hanging with her and some of her friends earlier, but she has early classes tomorrow so she didn't want to be out late," Tony answered. "How's school coming along for you?"
"Pretty good," Dave answered, suddenly more animated and comfortable with Tony's question. "I have some big assignments, but I have a handle on that stuff so it shouldn't be a problem. How about you?"
"Well, with the band not working right now, yeah, I can concentrate on school a little more. Probably better than partying five nights a week anyway, right?"
"Yeah," Dave chuckled his answer, feeling more at-ease.
A flurry of loud-but-friendly voices coming from the center of the room drew the attention of Dave and Tony. They turned away from their drinks momentarily to see that Zack, Buke, and Jack had arrived, exchanging loud, rowdy greetings with Scoop and Ronk.
"The gang has appeared," Tony pronounced, retrieving a chuckle from Dave.
The group migrated to the bar near the place where Tony and Dave were seated. Zack reached out his hand, shaking hands roughly with Tony first, then Dave.
"Hey, guys," Zack nearly shouted over the sound of the jukebox. "Tony, hey. Good to see you could make it tonight, Dave."
"Good to see you too, Zack," Dave laughed, returning the handshake with equal vigor while Tony nodded, leaning back onto the bar and smiling.
Buke and Jack smiled and nodded in Dave and Tony's direction, a more reserved greeting.
"Hey, man, where's Robbie?" Ronk asked the group above the music.
"I dunno," Scoop answered. "I told him we were all hanging out tonight."
"Get him on the phone and tell him to get his lame ass here," Zack responded.
With this, Scoop produced his phone and drifted toward the center of the room, away from the noise originating from the speaker near the bar. The rest of the gathering followed while Dave and Tony remained seated. Scoop punched the screen of his phone then held it to his ear.
"Robbie?" Scoop's voice was loud enough to be heard by Dave and Tony over the din. "Where are you? We're all here at the Tap Room waiting for you to get your butt down here."
"All the guys are here, and Shelly's here too."
"Yeah, he's here."
"Aw, man? You sure? We're having a good time."
"Okay, suit yourself. Later."
Scoop appeared annoyed, tapping his phone, ending the call.
"Robbie's staying home and being lame tonight," Scoop informed the group, throwing his gaze toward Dave and Tony as he raised his head. "His loss."
The group murmured collective disappointment as they migrated further toward the center of the room. Dave mentally filled in the blanks of Robbie's side of the conversation, lowering his head and his gaze back to his beer.
"Robbie's a cool guy, but he'e weird sometimes about hanging out," Tony voiced, sounding observational but intending to relax a perceived tension in Dave.
"Or who he's hanging out with?" Dave's response was low-pitched but direct.
"He's uncomfortable, maybe, but he'll come around eventually," Tony assured. "He's a good guy."
Dave nodded, not appearing especially satisfied with Tony's assessment.
After a short span of silence no dialogue which seemed incongruous in a bar filled with loud noise, Tony spoke again, changing the subject.
"Hey Dave, you remember that last show we did, a few weeks back?"
Dave glanced in Tony's direction. "At the White Box? Thursday night show? It was about a month ago at this point."
"Yeah, that's the show," Tony recognized. "Were you, um, checking out that guy who was setting up that guitar-rig?"
Dave's mouth dropped open slightly, a hint of a smile, then widening to an embarrassed smile as he faced downward. "Yeah, I guess I was."
"It's cool," Tony replied with in a genuine tone. "I never would have thought twice about it until that dinner thing when you came out."
Dave chuckled, disarmed, suddenly more comfortable. "Yeah, well, like anyone else, something catches my attention, I look at it."
"Cool by me," Tony nodded. "It's nothing you ever need to explain or apologize for either."
Dave paused for a moment, appearing thoughtful as he turned to face Tony more directly. "Y'know, the way you were at that dinner thing after I, um, came out, I really appreciate how you reacted and how supportive you were. Even, like, right now. I mean, a bunch of my friends are here, but they're all at the other end of the room. You're sitting next to me and talking with me." Dave stopped short of revealing the fact that the reception given by some of his other friends felt somewhat cool.
"They're all fine with you, Dave," Tony reassured. "And maybe I'm feel like just sitting at the bar and keeping it low-key tonight."
Dave smiled and nodded, staring forward into the space behind the bar.
"I've been thinkin', though," Tony began, shifting the conversation, "I've never been with a guy before, but I guess I've always kinda been curious."
The smile dropped from Dave's face, his stare firmly entrenched into the empty space before him.
"I was wondering if, maybe, you'd be up for foolin' around sometime. See what happens."
Dave shook his head slowly. "Nuh, I don't think so. I don't think I'd be up for that."
"I thought maybe you might be," Tony sounded unaffected by Dave's response.
"Um, you have a girlfriend, and I guess I assumed that you're straight."
"Yeah, Meghan and I have talked about it, and she seems cool with it. Might even want to watch if I get comfortable with it."
Dave nearly gasped and shook his head. "I really wouldn't be cool with that. I mean, nothing against you or anything, but I don't think I'm up for being some bi-curious person's experiment."
"I thought it might be cool because we're friends and we already know each other and everything."
"No," Dave mumbled quietly, appearing to physically shrink on his barstool.
"It's cool," Tony assured. "I'm not bummed out or anything. Just thought I'd throw it out there." Tony stood from his seat and patted Dave's shoulder. "I gotta go hit the little-boys'-room. Be back in a couple."
The feeling of Tony's hand on his shoulder, a gesture that would have been comforting five minutes before, sent a spasm of tension through Dave's spine. He also felt a level of relief that Tony had excused himself to the lavatory.
Dave didn't want to be where he was. Despite the close proximity of his friends nothing felt right. While the rest of the group was now gathered at the opposite corner of the bar and Tony was elsewhere, Dave sensed a window of opportunity. He collected his change from the bar, left a tip, and quietly walked toward the exit door, stepping out into the cool night air.
He made his way to his car and pulled out his phone, scrolling his list of contacts for Scoop's number. As the names of friends and acquaintances rolled by, he caught sight of Garret's number. He stopped scrolling and rolled back, stopping on Garrett's name.
It was still early, barely nine-thirty, and Dave had had a great time hanging out with him the previous weekend. He volleyed off a text message to him.
Hey there. What's going on?
Dave continued down his list of contacts to Scoop's name when an incoming text alert sounded.
Garrett: Hey Dave! Not much. Hanging with some guys at the Hound & Butterfly. Wanna join us? 9:36PM
Dave smirked. He was cheered by the immediate and enthusiastic response. He knew where the club was located though he'd never been there before, and it had a reputation for being a gay-bar with a laid-back atmosphere. The distraction of some new faces might lift the last half-hour's quiet anxiety. He returned a message to Garrett.
Don't go anywhere. Will be there in 20.
Returning to his contacts list, Dave again located Scoop's name and shot him a message.
Hey. Sorry I had to bail on you. It was feeling kinda weird. See you back at the apartment later tonight.
Dave set his car in gear and drove it onto the road as his phone sounded two incoming messages.
Garrett: Awesome. See you soon. 9:38PM
Scoop: Ok. See you later. 9:39PM
John didn't frequent many gay bars, but he generally felt comfortable at the Hound & Butterfly. He stood at the bar, scanning the occupants of the place, not sure if he was feeling social or interested enough to strike up a conversation with anyone. Certainly, running into a friend or acquaintance could change this, but he hadn't seen anyone he knew save the bartender and some of the staff.
As far as John was concerned, the Hound & Butterfly was certainly preferable to HM Massacres, the trendier of the two gay bars located on the same block in Old Town. John wasn't the fighting type, but the clientele which HM Massacres attracted often pushed him to his boundaries of rage with its fashionable elitism and affected exclusivity.
From the bar at the Hound & Butterfly, John could see almost the entirety of the room. The place wasn't exactly bustling, but there was a fair amount of patrons: the usual assortment of polite older men and more-reserved guys in their twenties and thirties. That is, save for one somewhat noisy table of younger-looking guys; and even then, just one of them. It was a table of three men who appeared to be in their early twenties. One of them, a taller flannel-and-jeans-clad young man with wild hair and a beard just shy of being unkempt was downright loud, though he seemed harmless enough. His two friends were more laughing with (or at) him than contributing to the friendly ruckus he seemed intent on creating. Though they seemed slightly out-of-place at the Hound & Butterfly, they would have been downright alien at HM Massacres, that's for certain, John decided.
John couldn't decide if he thought their presence was annoying or refreshing, almost feeling the urge to introduce himself. No one else in the place seemed to mind their antics, and John was technically celebrating the completion of a project. That's when the door to the place swung open and the loud boy stood and began waving frantically to attract the attention of the young man who'd just entered the bar. It was Dave, and the loud boy, appearing jubilant, greeted him with friendly punches to his shoulders; Dave's immediate facial response was as buoyant smile.
John blanched as he lifted his drink and moved to the furthest, dimmest end of the bar. He watched as Dave approached the bar and ordered a beer. As Dave returned to the table of others, beer in hand, John stepped slightly out of the shadows, confident and relieved that he hadn't been seen.
Though he couldn't hear the conversation coming from the table, John could see Dave smiling and laughing with the other young men, and the sight made him nauseous and livid. Fear of being discovered kept him from trying to get closer to the table so he could hear the conversation, but the sight was enough to send him trembling. He finished the remainder of his screwdriver, half the drink, in a single gulp and quietly signaled the bartender that he'd have another. His next drink was gone in less than a minute.
Dave looked incredible: the smile hadn't left his face since he'd entered the bar, something John hadn't even approached accomplishing in the three times they'd actually met. Fuck, John thought, feeling like he was going to explode.
The four young men stood and approached one of the bar's pool tables and began playing. Dave and the other two, though obviously having a good time, seemed restrained in comparison to the loud, unkempt boy. When a nineteen-eighties-era power-ballad came over the speakers, the loud boy began to ham it up, much to the amusement of Dave and the others, holding his pool cue like a guitar and singing into his beer-bottle as if it were a microphone, ridiculously close to Dave, causing Dave's face to blush as he laughed at the other man's display.
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Even some of the other patrons of the establishment seemed amused by the loud boy's merriment, but John had reached his limit. He couldn't watch any more of this. He wanted to drown his feelings in alcohol, but he couldn't stand to see Dave having a good time with these other people any longer.
John was far enough away from the pool tables, and the bar area was dark enough, enabling him to slip out of the exit door undetected. Once outside he breathed the cool night air and it calmed him slightly. He still wanted to drink. HM Massacres was around the corner. He hated the place; but, then again, he hated how he felt at that moment. In theory, HM Massacres was a perfect environment for his current state of mind.
"Dave, man, I'm really glad you texted me tonight," Garrett said as he flopped into his seat across the table from Dave, returning from the outside and having said goodbye to his other friends for the evening. "Great to see you again, man. Hopefully, we can make this a fairly-regular thing."
Dave chuckled in return. Garrett's smile was charismatic, and it played well with his disheveled appearance. It was even enhanced by a degree of jovial drunkenness when they'd met before during the previous weekend. Tonight, however, the drunkenness had crossed the line from jovial to sloppy, no doubt amplified by his fairly-regular excursions outside the bar, most recently to see his friends off and the presumed farewell-blaze implied therein.
"I had a good time too," Dave answered finally. "I'd been hanging with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, and it felt kinda weird, awkward. I felt like letting off some steam, so I thought I'd see what you were up to."
"Good call, Dave," Garrett leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed upon Dave and a smug grin on his face; Dave registered a small amount of discomfort at this, looking down into the tabletop.
It was getting late. Though the music was still loud, the sound of the few other patrons remaining at the Hound & Butterfly was subdued. Dave swiveled his head around, taking in the nearly-vacated premises. His eyes landed again on Garrett's, unchanged from moments before, then back to the tabletop.
"I should get moving," Dave spoke, suddenly animated and purposeful. "They're gonna be closing the place up on us. You need a ride?" Dave stood up from his seat and watched Garrett smile hazily as he slowly sat upright, preparing himself to stand.
"I live close enough to walk home, but if you're offering, I'm taking," Garrett's speech was slightly slurred as he scrambled gracelessly to his feet.
"Dude, you're not in any condition to walk more than, like, twenty feet in any direction," Dave spoke plainly.
"You sayin' I'm drunk?" Garrett grinned wide at Dave, inches away from his face, eyes narrowed and head cocked, exhaling fetid breath.
Dave recoiled, closing his eyes and turning away from Garrett's face, grimacing slightly. "Dude, you're smashed. Let's get you home."
Though it required a few seconds for Garrett to become effectively ambulatory, he walked out of the place unassisted without the overt appearance of inebriation, Dave following closely behind.
Garrett seated himself in the passenger's seat of Dave's car without event, giving Dave quick directions to his apartment building. Dave had set the car in motion, concentrating on the road ahead, when a flash of light in the periphery of his right-side vision caught his attention. He turned to his right to see that Garrett had a small pipe up to his mouth and was attempting to light it, striking his lighter repeatedly.
"Dude!" Dave's emphatic verbal reaction wrought a stunned expression from Garrett. "Don't smoke that stuff in my car. It'll take me forever to get that smell outta here!"
"Oh, sorry, man," Garrett replied, dull, placing the pipe into a clear plastic bag before sliding it into his shirt pocket.
The remainder of the short ride was silent, Dave not bothering to turn on any music, and Garrett seemingly oblivious.
Dave slowed and stopped his car on the street in front of Garrett's building, the door to his ground-level apartment a short walk from the curb. "Hey, man, thanks for getting in touch with me tonight. I had a good time," Garrett spoke as he turned to face Dave, dimly-conscious expression on his face.
"Ah, hey, man, I had a pretty good time, so I'm glad I did," Dave spoke, markedly more casual than he had minutes before.
Garrett's expression, though still vacant, widened into a dazed grin. "You wanna come in for a while, man?"
"Uh, no, I don't wanna do that," Dave's tone betrayed his marked unease at the question.
"Aw, c'mon," the words dragged, consciously melodramatic, "I'm horny."
"You're trashed, and you might pass out in the middle of something, and that thought is kinda unappealing to me," Dave's words were measured and breathy as if exhausted by the task of voicing them.
Garrett's smile fell slightly before he began laughing again. "Well, okay then." Garrett turned his body away from Dave, opening the car door and slowly climbing from the car and standing upright on the sidewalk.
"You gonna be okay?" Dave asked, conscious of Garrett's compromised state.
Garrett smiled, almost smug. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Keep in touch, okay?"
"Yeah, no problem," Dave spoke, indifferent but nominally honest as he watched Garrett close the car door and walk to the building. He continued to watch until he was sure that Garrett was inside before he put the car in motion in a direction toward home.
The ride wasn't long, not at the present post-midnight hour: traffic was sparse, nonexistent even. Dave lowered his window, the cool night air soothing on his forehead. He was thinking about nothing though the uncomfortable feelings left by the evening's events lingered.
When he arrived at his apartment, Scoop was waiting for him in the livingroom.
"Hey, Dave. So you ditched your friends?"
"Scoop, sorry. It was really not feeling right."
"Yeah," Scoop lowered his head, understanding Dave's impressions and becoming less confrontational than his initial greeting implied. "Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I was thinking everything would be the same as it always was."
"Scoop, man, you can do very little wrong in my book, ever," Dave reassured as he sat down on the couch next to Scoop. "Ronk seemed fine, and Zack was great, but Robbie wasn't there. Having heard your half of the conversation, I can only assume why. Buke and Jack were keeping some kind of distance, something that never happened with them before. I can't pretend that hanging with those guys felt like it did a month ago. I can't pretend that something isn't different."
"Tony seemed to be cool with everything," Scoop noted. "You were chatting with him at the bar for a while, then you disappeared."
Dave exhaled, loud and slow. "That wasn't good."
"What?"
"You can't tell anyone. I probably shouldn't even tell you, but I will because you're my best friend and I trust you with my life." Dave paused for a moment before addressing Scoop directly. "You really wanna know?"
Scoop raised his eyebrows, a vacant expression mixed with curiosity and slight interest.
"Tony said he was, um, curious, and he said that he wanted to, like, fool around with me or something."
Scoop's gaze dropped from Dave's eyes and his mouth twisted at one side, a puzzled expression. "Um, what about Meghan?"
"He said that they'd talked about it, and she might want to watch once he gets the hang of it."
A silence hung in the air until Scoop began to chuckle, increasing in loudness and intensity. Dave snorted a laugh as well.
"The fuck you laughin' at?" Scoop forced out between cackles of laughter.
"Fuck you," Dave retorted, similarly broken by snorts and snickers, "you started it."
The two gradually regained their composure, falling quiet again.
"Doesn't seem like you drank a lot," Dave noted.
"I didn't," Scoop confirmed. "Once you left, I got kinda serious and a little bummed out. Kinda tried to figure out what happened. Then I came home early, after only a couple of beers, thinking you'd be here."
"Sorry."
"No, man, no need to apologize," Scoop was understanding. "If it wasn't feeling cool, you were probably right not to hang around. Where'd you go anyway?"
"Ah, I texted a guy I met over the weekend. Met up with him and his friends tonight." Dave paused, thoughtful. "I had a good time with him then. I had a decent time with him tonight, but he parties maybe a little too hard for my liking."
"Harder than me and, like, the other guys?"
Dave grinned, laughed almost futile. "Um, I don't have any aspirations with you guys beyond the friendly and practical."
Scoop was silent, a confused expression.
"I'm never going to be physically intimate with any of you."
"Ahh," Scoop nodded at the clarification.
"Trust me, Scoop. This guy, attractive though I might find him, became really unappealing when he tried to smooch me with hours-old Beam-and-four-twenty-breath."
"Ew, yeah, that's uh," Scoop stammered, "I gotcha."
"I'm gonna crash for the night," Dave spoke as he stood from the couch, "I didn't plan on being out so late."
"Hey, Dave," Scoop raised his head, addressing Dave directly, "sorry I dragged you out tonight, especially since it was not so good."
Dave smiled slight and shook his head. "Don't apologize. I told you already, you can do very little wrong as far as I'm concerned. You couldn't have known it was gonna be, uh, weird. And, I kinda appreciate the fact that you flagged me down to get me to hang with you and the guys. Regardless of the results. I know your heart and mind were in the right place."
Scoop nodded. "Good night, Dave."
"See you sometime tomorrow, Scoop. Good night."
Though the temptation to sleep past his alarm was great, Dave dragged himself out of bed at his regular time, forcing his daily morning routine, and feeling better for it my mid-morning (though a late-afternoon catnap after his return from classes was planned and acted upon).
The early-evening found the apartment vacant save for himself, and a late starting-time Friday allowed the potential of another late-evening out. Dave wondered why he even entertained these thoughts, as if the previous evening hadn't made him weary enough to avoid any bar-scene, but, as the evening drew on, his restlessness won the internal contest of wills.
Thursday night found Dave visiting HM Massacres for the first time, having had one of his online acquaintances drop the name in a text message as a place where they could be found with some regularity. Dave was becoming more comfortable with the scene, having visited other such bars recently, as recently as the previous evening, all of those times meeting people whom he'd met online; this was the first time which he'd gone to such a place by himself. Dressed casually and low-key, he found himself somewhat at odds with the others in his age group who were in attendance; Dave walked slowly but with a purposeful gait, doing his best to visually negate the fact that he felt out of place amid the thumpy club music and fashionably-clad pretty-boys. Standing against the bar were two pleasant-looking, casually-dressed men, attractive but markedly older than Dave. They nodded a greeting politely in Dave's direction; he smiled and returned the nod as he approached the bar, seating himself on one of the barstools, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.
After the bartender had brought Dave his beer, he swiveled on his barstool, facing away from the bar and taking in the rest of the room. The kinetic, repetitive music was loud. I'd give anything to hear a Nickelback song right now, and I don't even like Nickelback much, Dave thought to himself, hell, I'd settle for a dance song I recognized or something.
"What's that you're drinkin'?"
The question shook Dave from his thoughts to the man who had asked the question, the man who was sitting a few stools to Dave's right. The man was older than Dave but friendly in appearance, similarly understated in dress, and wearing a curious expression.
"It's a Straub," Dave addressed the man, lifting his bottle and holding it in the man's direction enabling him to better see the label in the dimly-lit bar.
"I've never seen that before," the man spoke, eyeing the label more closely; his voice was somewhat high-pitched and urgent-sounding, but his tone was polite.
"It's from out east," Dave expanded, a relaxed smile forming on his face. "I'm from Ohio originally. Straub is made next door in Pennsylvania."
The man smiled and nodded. "What brings you to Oregon?"
"School, mostly," Dave smiled, crooked and sincere, "and the need to get out of Ohio."
The man smiled and held his bottle across the seats toward Dave; Dave raised his and tapped the neck of his bottle to the other man's, returning the smile.
A few seats from Dave on his left side, he could hear four young, trendy-looking men talking loudly with obviously exaggerated flamboyance. He was trying his best to ignore them when the loudest of the group, one with a ridiculously lofty blonde coiffure and a layer of very obvious concealer spouted, almost as if making some kind of announcement. "Oh, guess who was here last night? John, the excitable twink cruelly born in the body of a red-haired cub and prone to fits of philosophical malaise over his unfortunate shape and inability to tan."
The three other laughed to varying degrees at their blonde friend's assessment. "Oh, yeah," a self-starved, primped, dark-haired version, resembling a malnourished Adam Lambert, chimed, "what was his issue du jour?"
"Issue du jour?" the blonde sassed, loud. "More like issue du moment!" More laughter as Dave leaned toward the small crowd, trying to be inconspicuous as the skinny blonde continued. "If there was an issue, any particular issue, he was hiding it behind a wall of tipsy and trashy, making a spectacle of himself. Wasn't pretty, and not really in character for John. Dismissible as he is, I felt kinda bad for him." The blonde snapped his tongue and rolled his eyes, melodramatic, insincere, and aloof.
"Last time I saw him was a few weeks back," spoke one of the quieter, more understated, less jovial of the group. "He was all aswoon over having met the dreamy-eyed bear of his wildest fantasies."
A moment of speechlessness was followed by a loud group cackle, the sound one might expect to result if a lit firecracker was tossed into a henhouse. The blonde, apparently always first with a reaction, almost howled, "'Dreamy bear?' Oh, honey, tell me another!" He raised his hand and held his sleeve to his forehead, feigning a sob of laughter, "Such creatures don't exist."
Dave stood and moved himself closer to the gathering, speaking tentatively but loudly enough to be heard, interested in the conversation. "Hey, excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear. That John guy you're talking about?"
"Well, If there was any truth to it," one of the others rattled on as if Dave had not spoken, "I'm sure that thing fell apart."
"Of course, you know how he operates," the blonde, clearly the ringleader in this group nearly squeaked. "Drags a couple of dates out of some poor loser, disappears, and laughs about it to all of his friends."
"He didn't seem like that this time," the quiet one spoke again, "seemed like he was really into the guy for real."
"Um, excuse me?" Dave spoke louder but still retaining a sense of decorum. "I don't mean to intrude, but that John guy you're talking about? He come here often?"
"Excuse me, are you talking to us?" the blonde man turned sharply, insect-like, casting his head downward and addressing Dave with eyes rolled to their uppermost extreme.
"Um, yeah?" Dave answered innocuously, a hint of a grin on his face.
"No, you only think that you could be talking to us," the blonde answered; the others remained silent, expressions becoming vague.
"Excuse me?" Dave's voice rose in volume.
"Calm your tits, Jethro Bodine," the blonde said through a snap of his tongue. "We were talking amongst ourselves, we don't remember inviting you, and it's such a cliché to use an overheard conversation as an invitation to try to get into our pants."
Dave's expression dropped as if slightly hurt before his face became hard and his eyes narrowed. "Don't flatter yourselves," he spoke in a low-pitched monotone as he pushed himself into the young man's face causing him to back away in apprehension. "You are far from the kind of guys I'd hit on. All I did was ask a simple question in a polite manner. You didn't need to be rude about it."
The blonde man braced himself straighter, more upright, inhaled audibly, spoke: slightly shaken but hiding it as well as he could. "Well, I'll relay this message from John: bottom-feeder though he may be, I'm sure he's not interested that someone asked about him." his eyes traveled the length of Dave's form from his face downward and back up with an expression of disapproval. "Besides, what are you doing here? Are you sure you're really gay?"
Dave moved himself more closely, stopping a fraction of an inch before their noses collided. "You're lucky you're in here with all these people around, because if you talked like that to me outside, I'd beat the fuck outta you and throw what's left into a recycling bin. Understand?"
Dave backed away slowly, but his eyes remained locked on the other's until his gaze dropped downward, defeated by Dave's words and expression; the others in the group watched, stunned, as Dave slowly returned to his barstool.
Dave wanted to leave immediately, angered by the exchange, but he wouldn't give the young, trendy group the satisfaction. Something about the conversation troubled him. He faced the bar and took a deep drink from his bottle before being shaken once again by the voice of the older man on his opposite side.
"Don't let those kids get to you," the man offered, an understanding but confident smile on his face. "You're alright. Once they reach about thirty, they'll have nothing left to offer: four pathetic guys doomed to grow old without grace, creepy and still wearing hot teen fashions into their fifties."
Dave smiled and nodded at the man politely, though slightly taken aback by the man's bluntness. "Yeah, thanks. I was used to coming up against that in Ohio, but it's the first time I'd seen it here."
"Buddy, they're all over," the man chuckled.
Dave shrugged and smiled, nodding in agreement. "I have nothing against the trendies as long as they respect that we come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors."
"And flavors," the man added with a wink which, oddly, did not project as creepy. Dave laughed in response.
"Hey, man," a quiet voice snagged Dave's attention from over his other shoulder. "Sorry about my friend before."
Dave craned his head to see the thicker-built, quieter young man from the group at the far side of the bar. "Well, that's nice of you, I appreciate that, but you aren't the one who should be apologizing. Your friend, though, might want to work on his people skills."
The young man shrugged and shook his head, a humble expression of humored futility, before speaking again. "That John guy you were asking about, though?"
"Yeah?"
"He really doesn't come here all that often."
Dave nodded, trying to appear indifferent. "Thanks. Thanks for a straight answer."
"I really don't know him all that well," the young man expanded. "Sometimes he's kinda hyper, like, some might say obnoxious, but it's also kinda fun. My name's Ralph, by the way." With that, the young man extended his right hand.
Dave nodded, his expression becoming impatient as he finished his beer. "Thanks for the info, nice to meet you. Dave here." Dave took Ralph's hand and shook it, firm but brief.
Dave stood and left a tip on the bar, nodded and smiled to the older man, nodded pointedly, almost accusing, at the young man, and left the establishment. It was still fairly early in the evening, and Dave's Friday classes wouldn't begin until the afternoon, but he didn't want to be out any longer. For as much as he didn't necessarily want to be at home, his interest in being elsewhere had deflated. Something in the verbal exchange with the young men had messed with him, gotten to him, like he was the punchline of some inside joke among gay young men who belonged to some exclusive caste to which he couldn't dream to aspire. The feeling intensified as he neared his apartment.
Dave entered the darkened apartment quietly through the deck entrance. The apartment was dark, no light coming from the living room or Scoop's bedroom: Scoop was likely hanging with the other guys tonight.
Dave retired straight to his bedroom. He turned on a small light, keeping the space dimly-lit. Unlike most nights, he didn't turn on his laptop. He didn't want the distraction. He lay quietly on his bed, thinking about the evening's events, the conversations at the bar, and John. He hadn't thought of John in two weeks. In Dave's mind, John had been resigned to the status of an unimportant memory, but the memory had returned and was expanding in Dave's thoughts: a phone call last night, an overheard conversation and near-confrontation tonight. What seemed to be a very brief, closed chapter in Dave's life suddenly created questions and called for answers. Dave didn't know how to get in touch with John, but he new a few places where he might be found. He could start by visiting Stumptown Coffee Roasters and asking Mack some questions.
Dave felt an odd sense of déjà vu getting off of the trolley near Stumptown Roasters. It was nearly the same sunny day as it had been back then, but he didn't feel the positive vibe he'd felt that earlier day. He felt angry and laughed at. It was something he hadn't felt in years, and its rottenness was intensifying progressively: life was complicated enough without this level of bullshit. Dave could handle the shallow insults from the fashion-monkeys; but the confusion surrounding John was eating at him. He felt that John had fucked with him, and it was his first inclination to fuck with John right back. But first, he needed to find John: answers and a sense of closure couldn't happen until then.
"Hello, welcome to Stumptown," Mack said as Dave entered the door, little bell jingling above his head.
"Hey," Dave said, looking at the board and trying to figure out what he wanted. "How are your lattes here? I don't come here much."
"Well, when I'm working, they're fantastic," Mack said with a broad smile from beneath his jaunty driver's hat.
"Alright, I'll take one of those. And a couple of these biscotti."
"Sounds good," Mack nodded as he rang Dave's order. "You new to the West Coast? Most people don't start off at Stumptown alone. We're kinda intimidating to transplants."
"Nope, not really," Dave said as he watched Mack making his latte. "I'm actually a PSU student. I just usually make my own coffee, I mean, that's why we have coffee-makers, right? I'm just usually not out this early or in this part of town." Dave paused, moving forward with the purpose of this visit. "Hey, I got a question for you though? You work here on Sundays, right? You know John, don't you?"
"Roger that," Mack said absentmindedly as he poured out Dave's drink with a sidelong glance as Dave asked about John. "I know quite a few Johns, actually. Which one are you thinking of?"
"Red hair? Bouncy personality? Beats up on himself a lot?"
"Ah. Yeah, haven't seen him in a couple of weeks actually. Arianna said he was having issues editing his latest film and he'd been holed up. She'd practically had to pry him out of the booth with a crowbar to get him to leave. Says he's not talking much, just sits there for long stretches and edits," Mack said with a shake of his head. "Why? You looking for him?"
Dave nodded and thought of a quick story. "Yeah. We're we're in a book-exchange, and he's got my copy of The Kite Runner."
"Well, he's probably taking pretty good care of it," Mack spoke, expression becoming slightly suspicious. "He's always pretty good with other people's stuff." Mack paused. "Huh. You're in a book-exchange with him, and you don't have an email addy or phone number?"
"Nope. He didn't leave me with anything like that." Dave was convincing because the last sentence was completely true, and his expression must have cleansed the skepticism from Mack's mind.
"Listen, next time I see him, I'll let him know you're looking for him. What did you say your name was?"
"No, it's okay. I'm sure we'll bump into each other."
"No guarantees there. If he's not here or the editing booth, he could be doing church stuff. He's a tenor in the choir." Mack paused for a moment. "Oh, and the Q Center. And karaoke at Barrelheads, though I think it's been a long time since he's done that."
Dave picked up his latte from the little perch Mack had laid it on. "Well, thanks anyway." Dave nodded and raised his cup, a visual parting gesture.
"No problem," Mack smiled, "enjoy your day."
Dave sat outside where Mack couldn't see him. He faced toward the sun, brightening in color and warmth everyday a little moreso now, and thought about how Mack had described John. Dave wondered if John wasn't hiding out more due to embarrassment than dedication to filmmaking. He snorted. If this was true, John probably had reasons to be embarrassed.
He opened his phone and typed "gay churches portland" into the search, unsure of which church John actually attended. When calls to both of the churches on the list went unanswered, he moved onto trying to find the Q Center. He whistled when he saw the location on the map: Mississippi Avenue. Dave knew that John liked food carts, and there was a corral right behind the place. Dave had never been to Mississippi Avenue, but the place had a reputation for being queer-and-artist-friendly: it added up to an ideal stomping-ground for John.
Dave finished his latte and his biscotti, pocketed his phone, and jogged to catch up to the stopping streetcar.
A helpful, if slightly bored, front desk associate at the Q Center had told Dave that (1) John hadn't been there in a couple of months due to an internship and (2) he loved their library. Dave recalled John's bookishness and peeked into the library for future reference, mentally noting the place. He'd never seen so many queer-interest books in one collection. It wasn't overwhelming, just good to know it was there; and it appeared to be a comfortable environment to read or study if the location was convenient during a period of downtime, something to file away for later.
Conscious of the immediate, however, Dave left the place to catch the streetcar back to campus. He had a comfortable amount of time before his first class began and, in all likelihood, would be early by the better part of an hour, but, then, he preferred not to be rushed.
The remainder of the weekend passed without significant event, merely Dave imposing his regular routines upon himself with greater strictness and discipline than before. By the early part of the following week, however, Dave's focus shifted once again. This began with the weekly Sunday evening phone call from his dad. It's interesting, Dave observed, that the most trivial of conversations were welcome and pleasing before learning of his parent's inevitable divorce; now, given that certainty, talks with Paul remained trivial but became void of pleasure. The closeness he felt with his consistent group of friends also seemed altered given the tension of last week's meeting with the gang: conscious or not, Dave had been branded with outsider-status. Even his friendship with Scoop, one which he held dear and unshakable, felt nonetheless colored by recent events. These things points combined to make Dave feel rather uncomfortable, even in his own apartment; and given the lack of previously-available distractions in his life, Dave's simmering disturbance at John increased exponentially into a quiet rage.
Dave still adhered strictly to his daylight routine of leaving the apartment early and going on his morning run; the typical school-day remained unaffected as well. The downtime, late-afternoon, and evening hours were where the shift in habits occurred, increasingly as the hours wore later.
Despite this shift in habits, Dave remained diligent concerning his school work. Assignments and reading were done during his breaks between classes and in the evening hours in the campus common areas. Dave was drinking a fair amount of coffee at the beginning of the week, and he could be found in the local coffeeshop into the evening's later hours before he returned home. Though John still crossed his mind, Dave didn't think much about tracking him down; rather, he thought more about flying off-the-handle at him if he actually ever did run into him by chance. These priorities changed on Wednesday of that week.
Dave's final Wednesday class had been cancelled, though the instructor had left the students with a rather large reading assignment. This left Dave with a large block of unclaimed afternoon hours and a fair amount of reading to accomplish. Dave had thought about visiting the library at the Q Center again to get a better look at it, and this event afforded him the opportunity to do that.
Upon his arrival at the Q Center library, Dave spent a small amount of time exploring the bookshelves and finding items of interest: possibly a place he'd visit more frequently during the summer break. Eventually, he settled himself into one of the chairs and pulled his Statistical Analysis textbook from his bookbag along with a can of energy drink which he'd bought just prior to catching the streetcar: the can was still cold.
While Dave sometimes read through his assignments and took notes on his laptop at the same time, this time he found himself merely reading the text and highlighting passages, planning to reread it and take notes at another time, possibly later in the evening. Though the theoretical side of subjects such as these bored other students, Dave often found himself drawn into the material: he thoroughly appreciated the communication of science and higher math through language, and he sometimes found himself nearly lost in it.
Minor sounds, voices, coming from the reception area were detected in Dave's ears but dismissed as he was absorbed in his text. Only when the sight of something, a figure in the periphery of Dave's vision, came and then quickly vanished did he elevate from his rapt state; and even then, it was a slightly delayed reaction. That's when he realized that he recognized that mumbled tone bubbling from the reception area. He started out of his waking-trance, jumping to his feet and darting to the reception desk.
"Was someone just here?" he asked the girl behind the desk.
"Uh, yeah," she replied.
"They left in a hurry," Dave pressed.
"Oh, that guy said that he forgot something. Yeah, seemed like it was an emergency."
Dave walked quickly to the exit doors which afforded a fairly wide view of the street. In the distance, he saw a fast-walking figure, a heavy-set male with a backpack, appearing to have red hair. Dave looked downward into the wastebasket by the door. Near the top was a crumpled paper cup, the same style used by Stumptown Roasters, a drinking-straw and trace of a clear red liquid at the bottom of the cup: Italian soda.
John was here, and he fled when he saw Dave in the library.
Dave's rage reawakened, loud. It was undefined, but it was surfacing. Concentrating on his reading assignment was futile at this point. The afternoon was growing golden, and evening would soon darken the city.
Dave arrived at the Tardis Bar at a little after eight o'clock in the evening. The late-dinner crowed was dispersing, and Dave sat at the bar, a stool away from a dark-haired, heavily-tattooed man. The man appeared to be in his thirties, and was typing into a laptop between swigs of beer.
"This place convenient, or do you come here for the atmosphere?" Dave asked, approachable but with a hint of sarcasm.
The man looked annoyed at first until his eyes registered Dave, then his attitude lightened.
"A little of both, I should think," the man replied, smiling flirtatiously. "I write the Dr. Who trivia questions."
"Oh yeah?" Dave's interest piqued. "Do you know a red-haired guy named John? A little heavy-set? Glasses? Beard?"
The man nodded slowly, smiling, raising his eyebrows quickly, knowingly. "Oh yeah. Doesn't come here too often, though."
"Do you know where he does hang out?"
The man didn't verbalize an answer at first, merely shaking his head slowly, almost trance-like. "He knows his Dr. Who trivia, but he doesn't come by all that often, though he used to." The man paused for a moment before offering his hand. "Rich here. You are...?"
"Dave," Dave said as he shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you, but you're not likely to see me here too often."
"Aw, why not?" the man held out the last word in melodramatic mock-disappointment.
"Because Dr. Who's not really my thing, and this place isn't terribly convenient to me." Dave finished his beer in a single gulp and moved to stand up at which point Rich reached outward, groping Dave's arm."
"Aw, c'mon," Rich almost pleaded, "hang out and let me buy you a beer."
Dave grinned, incredulous. "Are you for real?"
"Oh, I'm real. Stay a few."
The man bought Dave another beer, and, as a result, the two spoke for over an hour; well, Rich talked and Dave listened though almost all of the information was of no use to Dave. He didn't need to ask any more questions about John because it was apparent from early in the conversation that the man knew nothing of use. He volunteered that John liked to lip-synch (badly) to songs by Heart. He also volunteered that he'd never seen John get drunk, or even drink (dispelling Dave's possible theory of John being a lush: information, yes, but not useful, really).
It was nearly ten o'clock when Dave left the Tardis Bar. The streetcar ride home was longer than he had anticipated: arriving after eleven o'clock, entering his apartment quietly, and retiring to his bedroom.
Like the previous day, the daylight hours passed routinely and without event. He took a streetcar to Stumptown Roasters in the early evening hours. There, over coffee, he reviewed the day's assignments, making some notations as needed, completed a short reading assignment, and checked his email on his laptop.
As night descended darker, he caught a streetcar to Barrelheads, primarily to check the place out. It was a typical bar-and-restaurant combination, appearing slightly upscale but not snobby. Dave had two beers at the bar, and he was informed that karaoke was a weekly Saturday night event. He was there less than an hour, returning home just before midnight.
By Friday, Dave's routine had become mechanical, and Dave himself was becoming machine-like. His first class being in the afternoon afforded him another combination of stops at Stumptown for coffee and a brief stop at the Q Center Library to review his notes before going to class.
After his Friday classes ended, Dave caught a streetcar to Old Town where both HM Massacres and the Hound & Butterfly were located. He stopped in HM Massacres first. The place was rather empty as it was too early in the evening to be fashionably late, Dave mused to himself. There were a few stray patrons around the place and one lone person on the dancefloor who appeared starved and too old for the trendy clothes he was wearing. If Dave had been feeling less like a robot and more human, he might have enjoyed watching that particular display. In his current state, though, there was no entertainment value to be had in it.
As the club began to become more crowded, Dave left and walked around the block to the Hound & Butterfly. The place was fairly crowded itself but not uncomfortably so. Dave stood at the bar ordering his his regular beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Hey, remember me?"
Dave turned to see the face of a man he recognized though it was not terribly familiar.
"From last week?" the man said. "At Massacres? Asshole friends?"
"Oh yeah," Dave smiled at the ridiculousness of the point which brought back the memory. "Uh, Ralph?"
"Right!" the man exclaimed, excited. "You remembered?"
"Well, it's not exactly a common name," Dave opined, "and it's hard to imagine those guys lowering themselves to hang out with a guy named Ralph."
Ralph rolled his eyes, mock embarrassment, and laughed. "Dave, right?"
"Yeah, now, see, that's impressive," Dave nearly exclaimed. "I've got one of the most common names out there, and you remembered it."
"Well, I felt kinda bad for the way those guys talked to you."
"You know, you could do a little better in the friend department," Dave suggested.
"Yeah I know," Ralph nodded. "Maybe that's why I'm here and not there."
Dave smiled and nodded agreement as his beer arrived, disarmed and feeling suddenly human again.
The two took seats next to each other at the bar, eventually ordering appetizers: nachos and stuffed potato skins.
"Hey, you ever talk to that guy you were asking about last week?" Ralph asked.
"No," Dave's answer was quick.
"I don't know that guy well, but he always seemed like a nice guy."
Dave was silent but observing, nodding.
"Some people like to make fun out of him I guess," Ralph added, "but he always seemed like a decent guy to me."
Dave nodded again. "I've had my share of people mocking me."
"Looking at you, that doesn't sound too wise on their part," Ralph observed. "Looks like you could do some damage."
Dave smirked, almost smug. "Well, you saw me being made fun of in action last week."
"Yeah, I also saw you threaten the guy who mouthed off at you," Ralph grinned. "That was sweet. He'd had it coming for a long time. We all knew that."
"Well, then, if you all knew that, why was I the one that put him in his place?" Dave asked, almost rhetorically. "Wait, I'll answer that. He was the one making the rules for that little clique, and the rest of you were too busy following to think for yourselves."
Ralph's smile fell to a crumpled smirk. "Yeah. I'm not gonna fight that one. You got me there. And I guess my solution is just not to hang with the guy any more, so I guess I'm still a coward."
"Naw, doesn't make you a coward," Dave responded, no longer confrontational. "Just means you're evolving, that's all." Dave turned and looked from Ralph's face downward and back up. "And you look more comfortable in the casual-clothes than you looked last week."
Ralph smiled, almost a giggle. "I feel better with the present company as well."
It was well past midnight, actually closer to two o'clock when Dave returned to his apartment, quietly opening the door to see Scoop in front of the television. Though Scoop appeared to be asleep, his voice surprised Dave as he crept as quietly as he could toward the hallway.
"Hey, Dave."
"Oh, man," Dave nearly jumped. "What's up, Scoop? Thought you were asleep."
"I was kinda half-asleep. This is the third night in a row that you've come in kinda late, just about sneaking in. You've been out every night this week, when you are here you're quiet and secretive, and I don't think we've said anything to each other of substance since sometime last week." Scoop sat upright and shifted to a farther side of the couch, signaling to Dave. "Dave. Sit. Talk."
Dave nodded and shrugged like a kid who'd been busted doing something mildly wrong by a teacher; he sat on the couch, a sheepish expression on his face.
"Okay, Dave, I know you feel responsible for Chuck leaving the band despite what I've told you," Scoop spoke, a serious tone. "Maybe that makes hanging out with me and the other people awkward or something. I also know the last time we all hung out last week was kind-of a disaster. I know the thing with your parents hit you hard." Scoop exhaled loudly.
Dave was silent, eyes fixed forward.
"I guess you're looking to meet some people on your own level or something," Scoop continued. "I mean, You're my best friend, but I know I can't understand your experience like other gay dudes can. Fuck, I'm sorry I think I'm talking in circles or something."
Dave shook his head, looking as if he was about to speak when Scoop spoke again.
"Um, Dave, I guess you're not around, and I kinda think about that, like, are you out late drinking or something? Maybe I'm a little jealous because I might think I'm losing a best friend or something."
"It's nothing like that, Scoop," Dave finally spoke quietly.
"It's just, like, you've always been really protective of me and our friends, and you've always been the rational one who never gets too trashed to think straight, and maybe I feel like it's my turn to be protective, but, then, I don't know what you're up to and you haven't been talking and..."
"Dude, stop, please," Dave spoke, loud enough to cut Scoop off in mid-sentence. Dave audibly drew a breath and exhaled loudly before speaking again. "So, still no replacement for Chuck?"
"Not yet," Scoop answered, sounding almost relieved that the conversation was on more familiar territory again. "We're trying out some people tomorrow."
"Chuck still running his mouth? Making things difficult for you?"
"Nah, seems to have quieted down. He can only complain for so long before everyone gets sick of it. Besides, it's his word against three other guys'. Otherwise, he and Emily moved in together."
Dave rolled his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head, nearly smiling.
"They deserve each other," Scoop expressed. "They'll drive each other nuts in no time. They're gonna need to hire a tailor to sew them a straitjacket-built-for-two."
Dave snickered at the mental image. "They might enjoy that. Can you imagine Chuck yelling, 'Emi-LEE!'" Dave verbally mocked Chuck's rage-voice.
"Gee, Dave, thanks for that adding that," Scoop laughed. "I never considered the kink-potential. You are hanging out in leather bars, aren't you?"
Dave laughed, full-on for a moment. "No, nothing like that."
Scoop's laughter calmed, and he spoke again, earnest. "Dave, man, I guess what I said before, I'm worried about you, and I don't know how to approach talking to you about it because I've never had to do that. You're the guy that's always sensible and talks to me when I'm all messed-up. I'm trying not to let the fact that you're gay have anything to do with this, but I can't help thinking that it does." Scoop paused. "You're not seeing someone, are you? Because if you are, I think you'd tell me. You know I'd be cool with that, right?"
After several seconds of silence Dave spoke. "You remember that John guy I went out with a couple of times a few weeks back?"
Scoop's face scrunched, a mixture of a thinking expression and confoundedness. "That red-haired guy with the beard from the Tardis Bar? The wackjob? You're not going out with him?"
Dave let out a snort at Scoop's blunt characterization. "No," Dave's face sobered, "but I'm looking for him."
"Oh, man, you're not hung up on him are you?" Scoop sounded simultaneously sympathetic and pitying. "Dude, you can do way better than..."
"Let me explain," Dave interjected. "Last week I was at a bar, and I overheard some guys talking about him. I guessed they were friends of his. I came up in the conversation, and I didn't like what I heard."
"What did they say?" Scoop became suddenly animated as if wanting to take to the streets at that late hour and hunt John down himself.
Dave shook his head and raised his hands in a settling gesture toward Scoop. "They didn't really say anything specific other than they were just kinda laughing at me like I'm some kinda joke." Dave and Scoop stilled as Dave expanded. "I know I shouldn't care, I should just let it go, but it's been bugging the crap outta me. I was nothing but nice to this guy, and I didn't hold anything against him. Hearing his friends joke about me when me and him never did anything beyond having coffee and lunch together was just fucking..." Dave shook his head, searching for the right words which never came. "It was just fucking with me. I want to talk to him, but I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him when I find him. If I find him."
"Don't do anything crazy," Scoop followed quickly, a nervousness in his voice.
"I'm not gonna do anything nuts," Dave assured. "I might yell at him or something. I might not even do that."
"Dude, he's not worth it," Scoop countered.
"Yeah, I know," Dave nodded, seeming fully aware of the truth of Scoop's statement and the absurdity of his quest.
"Well, then," Scoop paused a long moment before finishing, "why's it bothering you so much?"
"I guess because there were always people in the community who made me feel unwelcome," Dave answered. "There were people who were kind to me, sure. The older guys were always nice to me. The guys my own age, though, some of them were polite enough, but even they usually made me feel clueless. And, yeah, some guys were just fucking rotten to me. It's like if I could go back now and tell them the fuck off, I would. And yeah, maybe I'm projecting everything I feel against all of those guys onto this one guy, but I feel like I gotta do something."
Scoop nodded, silent and resigned before speaking. "I gotcha. Do what you gotta do. Just don't, like, get arrested or something, okay?"
"I'm not that crazy," Dave spoke with a chuckle. "I'll probably just talk to him rationally and tell him what a fuckup I think he is."
Scoop laughed. "Oh, do that. Definitely. If you tell him in a civil tone of voice, it'll freak him out, especially if he thinks you're gonna go ballistic or something. He probably knows he has it coming if he ever runs into you again."
"I think he saw me a couple of days ago at the library and took off running when he realized it was me. I didn't get a good look at him, but I'm pretty sure it was him."
"Oh, shit," Scoop nodded, confident, "then he knows he has it coming."
Dave smiled crooked, almost mischievous. "You ever tell off any of the girls that fucked with your head?"
Scoop let out a chortle. "Nah. I've thought about it many times, but I never did. Most of the time, it would have just made me seem immature or something. There are a couple of them, though, I would have liked to tell what I really think of them." Scoop paused and addressed Dave with a sardonic grin of his own. "I mean, I'd still really like to tell them."
Dave's smile lessened in intensity as he addressed Scoop's face. "Why can't gay dudes be more like you? This dating thing would be a lot easier if they were."
Scoop grinned wider. "Yeah, well, women just make me crazy. Sometimes it kinda makes me wish I was gay." Dave laughed at Scoop's assessment, and Scoop furthered, "And you don't help matters, being so damned sensible."
Scoop stood from the couch and patted Dave's shoulder. "I'm gonna go crash. Take it easy, don't be such a stranger, and don't do anything nuts, okay? Hang out with me and the guys sometime. Get your mind off this crazy stuff. Sometimes bros-before-hoes is not such a bad approach."
"Yeah, yeah," Dave dragged the response; he remained seated. "If I can't track him down soon, I'll forget about it. Wasted time. Thanks for talking, Scoop. You might have talked some sense into me after all."
"I owed you one. Hell, I owe you more than that, but it's a start. See you tomorrow."
"G'night, Scoop."
Dave remained seated on the couch for a few minutes, cataloging the events of the last week. Either he was close to finding John or he was close to giving up. He hadn't lost interest; on the contrary: the appetite to confront John had intensified mid-week. The trail, however, seemed somewhat exhausted, and aside from camping outside the building where John worked, whose precise location Dave didn't know, or surprising John by arriving at one of his church services, something Dave couldn't envision himself doing even if he was irrationally obsessed, Dave felt that he'd retire the pursuit if the next evening's visit to Barrelheads yielded no results.
After a fairly typical Saturday morning and afternoon consisting of running, a visit to the laundromat, and an early-evening nap, Dave dressed casually and departed for Barrelheads. It was fully dark and nearing nine o'clock when he parked his car along the street next to the building. He could hear music and the sounds of a singer coming from inside the club as he approached the entryway.
Referenced music:
"City Kids" by Motörhead
"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison