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: 10,000
Forty-one Days Later
The flight from PDX to Dayton International clocked a little over eight hours, including a two-hour-plus layover in Chicago. Though he left Portland just after five-thirty in the morning, it would be nearing five o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived in Ohio once one accounted for the three-hour time-difference.
Dave had entrusted Scoop with his car for the next ten days while Dave visited his father in Lima, and Scoop felt it was the least he could do to be awake and able at three-thirty in the morning to drive Dave to the airport (Dave had planned on taking a bus, but Scoop simply wouldn't hear of it).
Dave planned on sleeping for most of the lengthy flight, but it didn't happen. He wasn't sure if it was some mild anxiety about returning to Ohio after having been away for over two years or other thoughts which were occupying his mind. He knew that when he returned to Portland after his ten days away, things would be markedly different. On the first of June, Dave would begin a summer internship at the research department of a company that manufactured precision sheet metal products (it might not have been as interesting as an internship with the energy research lab which Dave also explored as an option, but it was more related to his field of study and its location was more convenient). Also, the month of June would see Scoop and the band busy preparing for their European tour for which they'd be leaving on the last day of June and returning to Portland on the twenty-seventh of July. This was the first time since Dave's move to Portland that Scoop would be elsewhere: they'd even spent holidays and semester breaks together, with Dave feeling like Scoop's parents and siblings were becoming extended family. The unfamiliarity of the immediate future was not a worrisome one, though: Dave knew that August would bring things back to normal with both Scoop and himself preparing for the upcoming fall semester. The few months prior were certainly filled with as much exploration into uncharted territories for Dave and, via association, the rest of his group of friends, and all of that resulted in an ultimately benign outcome for all involved (or all those that Dave actually cared about, at least).
It began with his talk with Scoop one Sunday morning in late February, his coming out to their mutual friends a couple of weeks later followed by a period of uncertainty and isolation which was vanquished one Saturday night in early April, a rowdy night at a rock club during which his friends welcomed his presence with open arms. Dark areas remained, though. Knowledge of his parents' separation and impending divorce, a legal formality at this point, was a another reminder, though an undesirable one, that things surrounding him, even those affecting him directly, were in a constant state of flux. If his parent's union of matrimony, something that Dave had always took in faith as a constant, was so easily reversed, nothing seemed terribly certain. Faith was indeed a fragile thing, Dave decided.
And there were some new faces and names, friends Dave made through online contact and physically getting out of his apartment during the dark uncertain period that dominated the month of March. There was Garrett who was a lot of fun but maybe just a little too wild for Dave's more reserved comfort-zone; there was Ralph, the former-trendy who was perhaps finding a more reserved comfort-zone of his own, a nice enough guy, another someone who could be a good friend someday; there were several faces to which it was easier for Dave to attach a screen-name as, despite their occasional conversations, he'd never met them in person and their actual names were exchanged few times (he was likely still titanK to these people).
And then there was John.
John's presence, though often invisible, was consistently felt in the events of the last couple of months. Their conversation at the Tardis Bar on a Saturday night in late February was the catalyst for Scoop's conversation with Dave early the following morning, the one in which Scoop reassured Dave that his sexual orientation was immaterial in their friendship. If Dave's next meetings with John were confounding, they, combined with Scoop's unconditional acceptance, silently encouraged Dave to be open with his friends about himself. The resulting events motivated Dave to seek friends and acquaintances via other avenues which eventually led him to seek John out in his absence, though not under the best of circumstances or assumptions. Though John's actions were often irrational and unexplainable (and debatably infuriating, even suspect), in the strangest of ways, Dave found in John someone to whom he could relate, even feel comfortable, someone who didn't hold Dave to superficial standards, someone who, when sufficiently calm, could be an engaging conversationalist.
John might not have been conventionally attractive on the surface in many peoples' eyes, but he possessed an infectious smile which Dave felt difficult to resist. The two also possessed the ability to make each other laugh, and this was something that they found arousing in each other.
The time that John brought his friend Katie to see Omnivore put the potential of their initial meeting at the Tardis Bar to the test, and both were rewarded with a likely conclusion: an incredibly fun time at the club followed by multiple occurrences of mutually-welcomed, if uncompromising, sex in the early-morning hours. Neither really seemed sure of what followed, however. John seemed to be trying to retain an emotional distance from the occurrence; Dave, though professing to having had a great time with John, seemed ambivalent, possibly sensing John's distance. Whatever the case, it didn't end there.
Dave was somewhat surprised to hear from John the following Tuesday afternoon. John had been put on a panel which was tasked with selecting films to be screened at an upcoming film festival and called to ask Dave if he'd be interested in sitting through one or two of them with him. Dave's agreement led to further meetings, sometimes a beer after Dave's classes, sometimes coffee at midday, sometimes they were followed by late-night chats at John's loft. Dave had even twice managed, after some amount of friendly persuasion, to talk John into joining him and his other friends for their occasional Sunday afternoon basketball games. These meetings, numerous as they became, however, were markedly casual and entirely platonic. It might have seemed awkward that the physical contact between the two of them was confined to greeting and departing handshakes, but neither questioned the practice, not even to themselves.
Dave certainly felt that there was something to discover in John, and their late night talks were sometimes revealing. As Dave accepted his parents' divorce as a certainty, John revealed that he weathered two divorces while living with his father. John had moved a great deal and lived in many places from a young age through his teens, a nomadic existence dictated by his father's whims and partner-of-the-moment (his dad was currently on his third wife, and, of his seven siblings, there were two of whom he'd never met). Though the revelation of John's family background offered Dave no direct insight into his current feelings about his parents' situation, John's openness was consoling.
There were also things John didn't reveal which Dave discovered on his own. Dave knew that John wrote something called fan-fiction, and searching on a few key terms revealed online works published by an author who went by the name Redcub 87, their profile picture being the same cartoon bear which Dave had seen on John's desktop image. Dave didn't delve too deeply into the works he found as he wasn't acquainted with the source material or the characters, but the small amount that he did read revealed that John was a competent writer with an engaging style whose craft was frequently hurried and sloppy. Dave also found some reviews of a documentary film which John had made a couple of years prior. Though the reviews were very positive, it seemed that the film was screened only briefly at the time of its completion and disappeared thereafter.
He decided that he'd perhaps explore Redcub 87's writing again at a later time. For the present time, however, Dave's final exams were looming in his near future followed by ten days in Ohio, a visit at his father's request. Before Dave's schedule became too hectic, Scoop and Katie, who it seemed were getting closer by the day, planned an extravagant double-date for themselves and John and Dave, a dressy dinner-cruise aboard a replica nineteenth-century steam-driven riverboat.
After the cruise, with all parties comfortably fed with prime rib, dessert, and wine, the four diners filed into Dave's car with Scoop volunteering to drive then back to their respective homes (Scoop had been modest in his alcohol consumption that evening, feeling that the responsibility to drive should not always fall to Dave; Dave, in turn, welcomed the gesture).
On this particular evening, John seemed less guarded, complimenting Dave on his appearance (and it was obvious from his expression that he liked how Dave looked that evening). Dave returned the compliment: seeing John dressed in a tasteful suit accented with a wildly-colored necktie and a bowler hat was refreshing, downright charming; and John's spirits seemed elevated with the temperament of his playfully-formal attire.
If the music accompanying the ride home caused John, Katie, and Scoop to sing along boisterously (John even coaxed Dave to singing along with Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You" when it came on the radio), the four of them succumbed to a quieter mood as they drew closer to their destinations. Scoop and Katie held hands across the front seats while John let himself fall against Dave in the backseat, eventually placing his head against Dave's shoulder, taking Dave's hand into his, and resting them both on Dave's chest. If their meetings since the night they spent together were merely friendly, the physical closeness of this moment felt out of place to neither Dave nor John.
Despite his earlier reservations, Scoop was taking a liking to John (probably a consequence of dating one of John's best friends), and Scoop asked Dave, at times numerous and regular, about the status of Dave's association with John. Dave's answer was always the same: he enjoyed John's company and was fairly sure that the feeling was mutual, but, beyond that, he had no answer.
And beyond that moment of physical touch after the dinner-cruise, the contact ceased. It didn't seem cold or abrupt to Dave, merely a consequence of their individual lives diverging for a time. Dave was busy with schoolwork, spending nearly every available free moment studying for his final exams; John's schedule hit a level of critical mass when his obligations for the upcoming film festival combined with a last-minute rush of editing work for potential entrants into that festival. It was understandable that, when Dave left a voicemail message for John, inviting him to have a drink with Dave and his friends when Dave's finals were complete, the response would come in the form of a text message a full two days later.
John: Sorry, I've been crazy-busy with this festival and all of the editing work. Looking forward to regrouping with you when this madness is over. I'll get in touch with you then, I promise. 5:53PM
Dave had received the message five days prior on Sunday the tenth of May; he was staring at it on the screen of his phone when the in-flight announcement was made, informing the passengers that they would soon be landing at Dayton International Airport. It was the afternoon of Friday the fifteenth of May, the sun was clear and inching toward the western sky, casting golden light and tall shadows. Dave felt anxious, some sense of nervousness, but he was certainly looking forward to seeing his father.
As Dave, with two soft carry-on bags slung over his shoulder, traversed the long ramp to the crowded concourse, politely dodging slower-moving people, he nearly broke into a jog. He could see Paul waiting at a distance, just beyond the arrival gate, raising his left arm into the air and waving: the sight brought an immediate and unmistakably elated smile to Dave's face. As Dave drew closer, he could see that Paul was smiling to an equal degree. As each pulled the other into his arms, exchanging a rough, solid hug, Dave felt his father kiss the side of his face.
"Hey, Dad," Dave spoke through an almost painful involuntary smile, one too genuinely inspired to be accompanied by a laugh.
"Missed you so much, David."
Paul loosened his grip after a moment, backing away so they could see each other's face. Paul's smile wrinkled at its sides; he blinked, visibly holding back tears, and Dave's eyes followed the action.
"You look great, David. Two years away is too long. When I saw you last, you were six months out of being a high school kid. You look all grown-up now, and I feel like I missed it."
"Aw, Dad," Dave's words countered, quick. "I'm still your kid. I'm still your little buddy. I'll always be."
Paul's smile lost its uncertain edge and he laughed, playfully slapping Dave's shoulder with his palm.
They took in each other's face again for a moment before Paul said, "So, are you hungry?"
Dave snickered and nodded. "I'm starved. I haven't eaten since, like, hours ago, and it was just some lousy turkey sandwich and a bag of peanuts."
Paul nodded again. "Well, what say we go claim your bags, get your stuff, and figure out what you want for dinner? This week is all about you."
Paul and Dave turned and began moving briskly in the direction of the baggage claim.
"All about me?" Dave asked, smirking. "I'm not complaining, but you've been planning this for weeks, you're on vacation from work for the entire week, and you're telling me that you don't have stuff planned out for us to do every day like I thought you would?"
Paul chuckled for a moment. "Well, starting Monday, yes, but tomorrow is just for you to recuperate and get your bearings from your flight, maybe we can do something tomorrow evening. Sunday, no specific plans, but one of the neighbors is having a barbecue if you're up for it."
Dave grinned, nodding. "So, since you mentioned it, what do you have planned for next week? What's Monday?"
"Monday, I have tickets for the Reds game in Cincinnati"
"Ah," Dave smiled and nodded as the two walked. "Been ages since I've been to a baseball game."
"Tuesday and Wednesday are open, but I have some ideas, like maybe going out to Cleveland on Tuesday, hitting some of the museums there, staying overnight, and coming back Wednesday. If you're not interested in that, there're some things to do closer to home, maybe catch a movie, or the Allen County fair is going on until next weekend."
"Any of that stuff sounds fine," Dave offered.
"Most of all, you and I have a lot of catching-up to do," Paul spoke, still smiling and clear-sounding. "Thursday we'll be packing because we'll be leaving early Friday morning to meet with your Uncle Jim and your cousins at Port Clinton for some fishing and boating. Staying through until Saturday. You up for that?"
Dave smiled. "Yeah, that sounds great. I haven't done anything like that since I was, like, in junior-high."
Paul smiled, chuckled a deep, satisfied laugh, before asking, "So what do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Aw, Dad, I'd be fine with, like, pizza and wings or something."
"No way," Paul dismissed Dave's suggestion. "I haven't seen you in over two years. We have all week to subsist on pizza and wings, and we'll probably be having them for dinner tomorrow."
"So much for the week being all about me," Dave razzed, good-natured.
"Set your sights a little higher, David. I want to have a really nice dinner with my kid who I have missed like crazy. Steak. And beer. You're legal now. You drink beer?"
Dave giggled, almost embarrassed-sounding. "Dad, I'm a college student and my best friend manages a bar-band. Of course I drink beer."
Paul nodded and grinned, almost devilishly as they slowed, nearing the baggage carousel. "That settles it, then."
After dining on steak and drinking beer at Dayton's nationally-known steakhouse the Fir Club (after a twenty-five minute wait which they spent sitting at the bar and watching the Reds game on the television), they began the drive back to Lima.
"So, where am I going to stay at the house?" Dave asked. "Do I get to sleep in my old room?"
"You get your choice," Paul answered, nodding, assured. "You can have the guest room or your old bedroom, or you can crash on the gameroom couch for all I care. As long as you're happy during your stay, you can sleep wherever you want to."
Dave nodded. He was happy to see his father, and he was looking forward to the next eight days before he'd be returning to Portland on Sunday the twenty-fourth of May. Though the eastern sky was darkening, the setting sun was still shining golden when Paul turned the corner onto his block; Dave's mood darkened when he saw the realtor's for-sale sign in the front yard of his childhood home. He'd known that his father had put the house on the market, but until he saw the sign, it was something abstract; the sign was tangible, proof.
Paul noticed Dave's subtle shift in mood as he drove his car into the house's garage and helped Dave carry his luggage upstairs. Once inside, though, Dave's mood brightened again, though he was fatigued by the long flight and the heavy dinner.
In order to bypass hauling his luggage up to his old attic-space bedroom, Dave stayed the night in the guest room. He slept well and woke at seven o'clock the next morning to find his father in the kitchen making coffee.
"Hey, David," Paul greeted brightly, "Did you sleep well?"
"I slept like a rock, really solid," Dave spoke, a crooked smile and hair in disarray. "What do you have around for breakfast?"
"I was thinking we could just have coffee and go out for break..."
"Dad, we're probably gonna be eating out every day while I'm here in one way or another," Dave stopped his dad short. "I'd just kinda like to have a quiet morning talking and catching up with you over breakfast. I mean, if that's alright with you. And, um, if you have anything to eat around the house."
Paul chuckled. "Of course I have things to eat. I have some cereal and the normal stuff, eggs, bacon, fruit, bread, milk. I'm pretty-much just shopping for myself right now, though, so there's not much variety, just the stuff that I normally eat. Oh, I did get some various bagels from the bakery at the grocery store. I guess I did prepare on some level for a visitor." Paul nodded, perhaps betraying slight disappointment in himself though warmed that Dave wanted to have a quiet morning chatting with him over breakfast.
"Do you cook or anything?"
"Um," Paul looked blank for a moment. "Nothing above an occasional burger or fried egg sandwich. No point in cooking a meal for just one person, really. Been eating a lot of frozen dinners."
Dave rolled his eyes before opening the refrigerator and quickly checking its contents, gathering a few items, and taking them to the counter.
"Sit down and enjoy your coffee, Dad. It'll be my pleasure to make breakfast for the both of us."
"You can cook?" Paul shot a skeptical expression at Dave.
"Yeah," Dave grinned wide and crooked. "It might not be anything fancy, but I can cook. I guarantee it'll be at least edible."
"What're you gonna make?" Paul asked, visibly surprised.
"Just sit down and have your coffee," Dave reached for his father's shoulders and guided him to a chair. "Just a couple of omelets."
Dave reached into the cupboards for cooking utensils, two skillets, a cutting board, and two dinner plates. Paul watched, somewhat intrigued, somewhat baffled. Within twenty minutes, Dave placed two plates on the table: omelets and toast for each of them.
"It looks and smells really good," Paul eyed the plate with some hesitancy, the scent of bacon and fresh tomatoes combining with the visual of melted cheese and fluffy egg beckoning his senses..
"What are you waiting for?" Dave playfully goaded as he cut into the food on his plate. "Eat."
Paul smiled and dug into his breakfast. After swallowing his first mouthful, he proclaimed, wide-eyed, "This is awesome."
"Thanks," Dave nodded, eyebrow raised and smug.
"When'd you learn how to do this?"
"C'mon, dad. What'd you expect me to live on cold cereal and canned spaghetti?"
Paul shrugged, humming a questioning noise through a mouthful of food.
"I mean, my roommate's an awesome cook, and I got to be pretty good at it," Dave explained as he downed a gulp of coffee. "If I wanted something that I didn't know how to make, I just looked it up on a recipe website and learned how to make it. Stuff like this is pretty easy."
"I regret missing your transformation from kid to completely resourceful and competent adult, but the evidence before me is rewarding nonetheless."
Dave smirked and mock-bowed. "Glad you approve."
The two ate for some moments in silence before Paul spoke again.
"Uhm..." Paul began but nothing followed immediately.
"Hmm?" Dave questioned after a moment, wordless, mouth full of food.
"Uhm," Paul began again. "Um, I'm your dad, and I want to be your dad."
Dave shook his head, a perplexed expression.
"Um, I hope this isn't awkward. I mean, if you were, um, straight, it might be, um, expected of a father to ask his son if he's dating anyone or if he's met any nice girls." Paul's face flushed deep red at this point. "I guess what I want to ask is, um, are you dating anyone? Anyone interesting or, um, special in your life?"
Dave exhaled loudly, a sound of relief. "Dad, don't get yourself all worked-up."
Paul shook his head, seeming relieved by Dave's casual reaction, the normal color returning to his face. "Like I said, I wanna be your dad. I wanna talk about stuff like that with you. I care about you."
"I've dated a little," Dave began his answer. "Nothing serious. No one for longer than a few weeks. I'm trying to make friends first, I guess. I'm young and I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I'm looking for."
"You're being careful, right?" Paul asked, a concerned expression, "Cautious?"
"Yes, Dad," Dave raised his head and addressed Paul directly. "Y'know though, would you have even asked that if I was straight and dating girls? Because, really, the same should apply."
Paul looked away, blushing again. "Yeah, you're right. I probably wouldn't have asked that. Sorry."
"Dad," Dave reached across the table for his father's hand. "I'm glad you asked. I'm glad you're interested. I'm glad that you're not just, like, ignoring that part of me, or in denial or something."
Paul shook his head and smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "Yeah, but it's awkward, and I'm messing up."
"You're not messing up," Dave corrected, voice louder and looking at Paul straight-on. "You're doing great. And next time you ask, it'll be a lot less awkward."
Paul laughed, relieved, nodding, as he returned his attention to his breakfast.
"Well," Paul continued, "you said you're trying to figure out what you're looking for?"
"Um, yeah, I mean, I know I want a long-term partner someday, but other than that, I'm not sure what I'm looking for in that person."
"Well, I just want you to be happy," Paul directed his eyes at Dave's.
"I'm twenty one," Dave reminded. "I'm young. No need to be married off yet."
Paul smirked and nodded. "Do your friends know? Are you, um, out to your friends?"
Dave was slightly humored by his father's being unaccustomed to using terms of the specific vernacular.
"Yeah, I'm out to my friends," Dave began. "That's a more recent development, but they all know, and they're all good with it. They love me just as much as they did before they knew."
"Just like me," Paul smiled directly at Dave, smiling in return.
"You mentioned yesterday that we were going to meet Uncle Jim and Aunt Sally and their kids at Port Clinton next weekend," Dave began.
"Yeah," Paul spoke, cutting a sizable piece from his omelet and lifting it with his fork. "Jim and Sally ask about you all the time. They're looking forward to seeing you."
"They, um, know about me then?" Dave's turn to sound unsure.
After swallowing and gulping a drink of water and clearing his throat, Paul's face became serious but benign. "Yes. Jim and Sally know, and their kids are, I think, nine and fourteen, and they know also."
"And they're okay with all of that? I mean, Jim always seemed like such a... redneck."
"You know, Jim is a member of that hunting lodge out at Northwood," Paul began, slowly, calm. "That's where we'll be staying next weekend. Anyway, that community up there, there's a couple of guys who live in a big A-frame house. It's about a half-mile from the lodge. They've been part of that community for as long as any of us can remember. Everyone up there knows that they're a couple, and it's something those people understand and accept. They might not talk about it in plain terms, they might not call them a gay couple, but everyone knows what they are. Anyway, everybody's friendly with them, and nobody gives them any trouble. Jim says they hang out at the lodge when people are there during the hunting season. They're always welcome and everybody likes them."
Dave was silent, processing the information.
"When things went bad for you in high school, David, Jim came forward and told me about that. I guess it was his way of saying that it didn't matter, that he loved you for the person you are, and the fact that you're gay didn't change that. His wife feels the same way, and they've taught their kids that too. When Jim told me that, it really helped me a lot."
Dave nodded, silent momentarily.
"So, um, where's mom staying?"
Paul's face hardened. "She's staying with her sister in Spencerville right now. She's looking for an apartment."
"Spencerville's pretty close," Dave mentioned.
"David, you really shouldn't make an attempt to contact or see your mother while you're here," Paul spoke, blunt, pausing for a moment. "I mean, if you really want to, I can't stop you, but that side of the family won't be nearly as welcoming as my side is."
"I get that, but, like, for the entire time since I've been away at school, I get cards from her on every birthday and for every holiday. I mean, they were just cards, but I was happy to get them from her, and seemed like she was making an effort."
"David, I was sending those cards and signing her name to them."
A cold silence fell between them before Paul continued.
"Um, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to do that, I know."
"It's okay Dad," Dave spoke with a thickness in his voice that passed quickly. "It just means that you wanted things to be normal. You wanted me to think that things were okay, that we were still something like a family."
"Yeah," Paul shrugged. "But when I told you about the divorce, it must have been really confusing, you having received conflicting signals every time you got a card in the mail. By then, I was sending those cards almost out of habit or something because I knew your mother's and my days together were numbered."
"I can't fault you for that, Dad," Dave spoke, clear and soft. "You did it because you care about me. It might have been wrong, but I might have done the same thing if I was in your situation about someone I cared about."
Paul raised his eyes to Dave's and smiled timidly. Dave smiled, although broader, in return.
If the weekend and the early part of the following week passed quickly, with Dave and Paul visiting Paul's parents early on Sunday afternoon, a neighbor's backyard barbecue Sunday evening, and a terrific time at the baseball game in Cincinnati on Monday (Dave and Paul took shifts driving the over-two-hour commute each way, Dave found himself, when immediate distractions were removed, dwelling on his feelings of displacement: he might have grown up in Ohio, but his life was elsewhere.
Tuesday and Wednesday were spent closer to home, and Dave was able to get out early both days for a morning run. After Monday's substantial driving, neither he nor his father were interested in a day-trip to Cleveland as Paul had earlier suggested. They visited the county fair on Tuesday, sampling so many various foods there that they didn't bother to formally eat dinner that evening (and getting caught in an early-season rainstorm on the walk back to parking lot, the downpour rendering their clothes soaked and their demeanor frantic and giddy by the time they reached the shelter of Paul's car).
Wednesday afternoon found the pair catching an action movie at the local multiplex theater and dining on burgers (multiple burgers) and fries at QP Burgers (something of a Lima fast-food legend, and something Dave truly missed in Portland; pickle on top makes your heart go flippity-flop: their slogan was etched on Dave's mind since childhood). Paul even bought a bag of burgers to take home so he and Dave could enjoy them with a couple of beers later in the evening. The burgers were as good as Dave remembered; the action movie, not so much: could it be that his brief exposure to independent films and low-budget documentaries made the action movies he favored only a few months prior seem trivial and vapid by comparison?
Dave slept in his old attic-space bedroom on Tuesday and Wednesday evening, lying awake for some time before sleep came. He didn't feel nervous or anxious so much as bored and restless. He quietly missed Portland and his friends there, but he knew he'd be home soon enough. The feeling that his life had permanently changed was a decisive one, real as the sign that advertised the house that he'd grown up in as being for sale.
For the majority of the day Thursday, Dave and Paul packed and prepared for their weekend fishing trip with Dave's uncle's family, leaving the house to shop for last-minute supplies and, of course, for a pizza-and-wings dinner stop. The evening was quiet and found Dave restless; his dad lazily surfed channels on the television.
"Hey, have you told any of your old friends that you're in Lima for the week?" Paul asked, eyes slowly addressing Dave.
"No," Dave answered slowly. "I've lost contact with pretty-much all of my old friends. I mean, I didn't have many friends here when I left for Portland back in 2012, and, the ones that I did have, I haven't heard from them in a long time."
Paul was tired, exhausted actually, from the day, actually the entire week thus far; and he was sensing Dave's restlessness.
"If you want to go out, feel free to take the car, drive around," Paul offered, adding a smirk. "I can tell you're bored."
"What are you gonna do?" Dave asked, surprised at Paul's suggestion.
Paul chuckled. "Probably just go to sleep early. We have a lot of driving tomorrow morning, and I'm kinda winding down for the day." He lifted himself slightly from his recliner, dug into his pocket, fished out his car keys, and tossed them to Dave.
"Thanks," Dave spoke as he caught the keys using both hands. "I won't be out too late, and I'll call to let you know if I'll be out past, say, eleven. I'll be wanting to get some decent sleep tonight also."
Paul nodded a reply as Dave stood from the couch.
Lima hadn't changed much, if at all, in two years, Dave decided as he drove the routes around the town, just as familiar to him as when he'd left, other than a few closed storefronts, a few new specialty businesses and restaurants, and a few newly-developed housing and condominium communities. Scandals hadn't changed at all either, Dave thought to himself as he drove into the parking lot just as dusk had overtaken the sky.
Dave took a seat at the bar and ordered his typical beer just as he had nearly three years ago when he was underage and using a fake ID. The bar wasn't overly crowded, but there were a fair amount of people in attendance.
For the duration of three songs, the jukebox was pumping out typical thumpy dance-club music and seventies-era disco-diva songs: that hadn't changed either, Dave mused with a grin.
"Well, well, fancy running into you here, big boy."
Dave turned to the source of the theatrically-inflected voice over his shoulder to see a familiar face in the dim glow.
"Kurt?" Dave pronounced, sure of his eyes but displaying a quizzical smile nonetheless.
"The one and only," Kurt answered, giving a theatrical gesture, a kind-of modified combination of a runway twirl and a curtsy.
After a silent moment of mutual recognition, Dave and Kurt both broke into quiet laughter before speaking again.
"What brings you here?" Kurt began, "Last I remember, you were going to school in Portland."
"Yeah, um, well, I still am," Dave responded brightly if slightly stuttered, still somewhat taken aback. "Visiting my dad for the week."
"Aahhh," Kurt raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.
"What about you? Still in New York?"
"Yes indeed," Kurt answered after taking a long sip from his drink, a pinkish drink in a martini glass with a lime peel and a cherry floating in it that smelled fruity and strong even at a conversational distance. "I just finished my third year at NYADA. I'm here for the week house-sitting while Dad and Stepmom are away at Myrtle Beach."
Dave nodded and smiled, feeling warmed by the reunion.
"David, what say we go sit down at a booth and get caught up?"
Dave's smile broke a friendly, disarmed near-laugh: this was the most at-ease he'd felt in days. "Lead the way," he spoke as he slowly stood from his barstool.
The booth was situated under an overhead light, affording the two of them a better-illuminated vision of the other. Dave was struck immediately my an almost artificial luminescence coming from Kurt's face: a pasty, almost crackling layer of foundation. Kurt's hair was stretched to an exaggerated stiffened height, almost a parody of an appealing image; and his clothes, all angles and loud day-glow colors and impossibly tight pants, smacked of something more appropriate to someone in their teens. The image struck Dave as somewhat ghastly: the realization that Kurt was aging into his early twenties gracelessly. Despite this, Dave summoned a polite smile as he seated himself opposite the table from Kurt.
Dave was wearing a light-blue short-sleeved button-down shirt with a small, subtle plaid pattern, relaxed jeans, and running shoes, his complexion subtly and naturally colored from running, basketball, and other outdoor activities.
"You look good, David," Kurt pronounced, raising his eyebrows and grinning, slightly crooked and playful.
Dave smiled more fully, acknowledging the compliment. "Thank you, Kurt."
Kurt's eyes opened wider and scanned the length of Dave's form. "Still a fashion Philistine, though, I see."
Dave rolled his eyes but retained his smile and polite demeanor. "Hey, it works for me. I'd rather feel comfortable and look presentable than feel totally out of my element in something just to make a statement."
"Mmm, point taken," Kurt's eyes widened, affected surprise.
Dave addressed Kurt's eyes and nodded, raising an eyebrow and smiling, slightly crooked but appreciative.
"I mean, you're right, having the looks and the body for the cutting edge is not enough," Kurt expanded. "You need the attitude as well. Good for you for knowing your limitations. You're right to leave the daring, forward-fashion looks for the professionals." Kurt ended his sentence with a theatrical flourish, an arm gesture from a sitting position akin to the earlier standing curtsy.
"Yup," Dave answered, monosyllabic: agreeable but robotic. It occurred to Dave that many of the things that he secretly admired about Kurt four years ago, the guts to wear what he wanted to wear in public, the guts to be who he wanted to be regardless of what anyone felt about him, the attitude to speak his mind, and his free-spritedness, might translate as gross and unintentional parody when worn on a person just a few years older (or be interpreted as creepily superfluous and offensively conceited by a mind only a few years more mature).
Kurt took a long slurp from his red drink before flagging down a server and ordering another. Dave debated asking Kurt what he was drinking, but decided against it as it would likely lead, again, into Kurt's expounding of Dave's necessity to be educated in the gay social arts.
One thumpy dance song on the jukebox ended and led into another, and Kurt's face soured almost spastically.
"Don't like the music?" Dave asked, almost timidly.
"No, I hate this song," Kurt's mouth hung open and his lip curled cruelly as his eye leered in the direction of the speaker.
"Really? Sounds like typical music for this kinda place, at least to me."
Kurt rolled his eyes, mock disgust. "Oh, I suppose if I was still living here in Ohio, this would be okay; but living in New York has really spoiled me. We're so much farther ahead of the curve than this place could hope to be. Or anywhere else, really."
At this, the server brought Kurt's second rosy-colored cocktail, and Kurt settled with him at the table before returning his attention to Dave.
"So where were we?" Kurt dramatically wrung his hands before continuing. "Ah, yes, you look good, David."
Dave's brow creased, confused at the nonlinear nature of Kurt's conversation.
Kurt reached out and grasped Dave's hand, Kurt's manner still twitchy. "It's okay. You're cute and you're smart. Maybe it doesn't matter that you're a tragic failure at culture. You'll get by on your brains."
Dave laughed for the lack of any other reaction, completely dumbfounded by Kurt's unconsciously insulting, elitist nature, finally saying, deadpan, "Thanks, Kurt; I appreciate that."
Kurt nodded, twitchy again, smiled and withdrew his hand, took another slurp of his drink, and asked, "So, do you like it in Portland?"
"Yeah, I really like it in Portland," Dave answered, face suddenly expressing a level of enthusiasm. "I mean I consider that my home now. I've been here in Lima for a week, since last Friday night. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, and I'm really happy to see him, but this place doesn't feel like home any more."
Kurt's face became more serious, an empathetic smile. "I understand. New York City's my home now. How are your parents doing?"
"Um, well, my dad is fine, we had a great time so far this week. My mom and him split, though." Dave's tone darkened. "I haven't seen her for a couple of years, and my dad says I shouldn't try to see her while I'm here."
Kurt's face pained. "I'm sorry to hear that, David."
"Yeah, well, I can't do anything about it. It's the way things are," Dave nodded, sounding quietly ambivalent. "So, um, how are your folks? Your dad? Finn?"
"My dad and my stepmom are great," Kurt pronounced strongly. "My dad made a lot of friends during the half-term while he was a congressman. He's thinking of selling the business and retiring early. Finn actually moved to Canton and is running the first satellite branch of Hummel Tire and Lube. If dad sells the company, he's planning to put Finn in charge of operations as part of the deal for the buyer. That would put Finn in charge of everything mechanical and exclude all things clerical." Kurt made a melodramatic sigh of relief. "Once he got out of the army, Finn went back to work at the garage and proved that he could run the shop fantastically. The business end of things, though? Disaster!"
Dave chuckled. "Well, that sounds awesome for Finn. I guess you're still in school, right?"
"Yes," Kurt squeaked, bright. "Beginning my fourth year in the fall. You?"
"Same," Dave answered, hoisting his bottle and downing a gulp of beer. "I have a summer internship that I'm starting on the first of June."
"Oh, congratulations!" Kurt clapped a quick and tiny ovation with his hands. "I have been in a couple of small productions and I do freelance and consulting work for a fashion magazine and its blog. Keeps me in designer socks, you know?"
Dave chuckled, feeling more disarmed than earlier as Kurt grinned and pumped his eyebrows up and down quickly.
"So what are you going to school for?" Kurt asked, sounding playful again.
"Electrical Engineering. My summer internship is at the research department of a sheet metal manufacturer. I know it doesn't sound very glamorous, but it's relative to my field." Dave took another drink and lowered his bottle to see that Kurt was staring at him with flirty eyes and a impish grin. Dave couldn't help but return the smile.
"What?"
"You being all beau-monde-tragic is suddenly sexy when it's combined with the idea of you performing lofty higher-math calculations in your head," Kurt spouted in a low, gritty tone. "You would be so incredibly hot in a pair of nerdy classes and a lab-coat."
At this, Dave voiced no reaction; he merely looked downward into the tabletop, grinned wide, and blushed.
"Are you seeing anyone, Dave?" Kurt asked. "Anyone special in your life?"
Dave shook his head, still smiling, the redness in his cheeks calming to his regular color. "Nah, there've been some guys I've dated here-and-there. Nothing for longer than a few weeks. Really, I think I just want to make friends right now while I'm concentrating on getting through school."
"Good man!" Kurt offered, impressed. "We're young! We don't need to be tied down! This is the time of our lives when we should be, uh, living! And, um, having fun! A lot of people make the mistake of thinking their first relationship is the one. I know I made that mistake."
Dave smirked at first but his face sobered slightly. "So, um, you're not with Blaine any longer?"
"Oh, puh-leaze!" Kurt rolled his eyes as if disgusted by the suggestion.
"Dude, I haven't talked to you in years," Dave spoke quickly, defensive.
"I know, I know," Kurt shook his head, retracting the venom of his initial reaction. "I broke up with Blaine a few weeks after I moved to New York after he confessed to cheating on me."
There was a silence while Dave listened and Kurt seemed to be waiting for a reaction.
"Well?" Kurt scolded, loud, causing Dave to jump in his seat, "Aren't you surprised?"
"Surprised at what?" Dave asked, quiet, "Surprised that he cheated on you or surprised that you broke up with him for it? Because, honestly, neither one surprises me."
"What?"
"I mean, Kurt, it probably would have surprised me a few years ago to hear that Blaine cheated on you," Dave explained. "Thing is, it doesn't surprise me now. I mean, there's no excuse for that behavior, but people do that kinda stuff. It doesn't surprise me that you broke up with him either because no one should put up with that."
Kurt nodded, quick, a slight scowl on his face. "I guess you're right on both counts. Blaine and I stayed friends, though. He proposed to me a few months later. I don't know what he was thinking because he knew I was dating this other guy at the time."
Dave shook his head. "He proposed to you when he knew you were dating someone else?"
Kurt rolled his eyes and bounced his head on his shoulders, taking another long sip from his martini glass. "Yeah, he knew. I guess he thought I'd drop everything to be with self-delusional, self-important Prince Blaine."
"Did the guy you were seeing at the time know about it?"
"Oh, no," Kurt answered. "I really didn't see a point in telling him. He and I are still together, though."
"Oh yeah?" Dave's interest piqued.
"Yeah," Kurt pulled his cell phone out of his stylish leather messenger bag and began poking at the screen, accessing the photo gallery. "This is him and me right here."
Kurt turned the phone for Dave to see the screen.
Dave nodded as he saw the image on the screen. "He's a handsome guy. You two look really great together."
"Thank you!" Kurt grinned almost childishly as he retracted the phone, considered the image, and held the phone close to his chest for a moment before returning it to his leather bag. "His name is Adam, he goes to NYADA also, and he's just great."
"That's cool," Dave remarked. "Similar interests and similar course of study, I guess?"
"Yeah, and he's from England," Kurt offered, excited. "Has the foreskin and everything."
Dave's face stretched and eyes popped: an uncertain expression of vague discomfort followed by a nervous laugh.
"Adam and I have been together for about two-and-a-half years."
"That's a long time," Dave offered, relieved that Kurt's latest statement contained no descriptions of physical details. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Kurt forced a rehearsed blush, smiling modestly.
"Two-and-a-half years? You two must be pretty serious."
"Oh, c'mon," Kurt giggled. "At our age, who's really serious? Especially in a place like New York City."
Dave was struck silent by Kurt's statement: a puzzled, almost stunned expression on his face. Kurt looked away, still smiling, but with a hint of embarrassment reddening his face. He reached for his martini glass, almost instinctive, as if it functioned as a security blanket.
A disco-era song on the jukebox faded out to a loud rock-guitar, and Kurt's expression shifted to one of mocking sarcasm.
"Oh, my word," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Who would play a song like this here?"
"Oh, c'mon, I love this song!" Dave protested, smiling a crooked smirk and singing along quietly when the vocals began.
"I am still liv-ing with your... ghost, lonely and dreaming of the west coast, I don't wanna be your down-time, I don't wanna be your stupid game..."
"Oh my god, David, you're singing?" Kurt's jaw dropped in charmed astonishment. "I've never seen you do this before."
"With my big black boots and an old suitcase, I do believe I'll find myself a new place, I don't wanna be the bad guy, I don't want do your sleep-walk dance anymore, I just want to see some palm trees, I will try and shake away this disease..."
"Oh my god, David, you're adorable," Kurt encouraged, smiling and watching Dave's confidence build as his voice increased in volume.
"We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind, swim out past the breakers, watch the world die..."
"I'm not annoying anyone, am I," Dave asked, self-conscious, smiling and swiveling his head after the first chorus.
"No, nobody can hear you back here but me, and I'm loving this."
"Second verse gets louder," Dave warned, grinning, a slight blush to his cheeks.
"Go for it," Kurt challenged.
"I am still dreaming of your... face,"
With the full-force of the music amplifying the second verse, Kurt began to bounce and pivot to the beat in his seat, raising his hands and pumping his fists, mouth open and smiling at Dave
"Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away, I don't wanna be your good time, I don't wanna be your fall-back crutch anymore, I'll walk right out into a brand new day, You'll see me rising in my own weird way..."
"Go, David, you're killing it," Kurt spat as he playfully toughened the expression on his face, reflecting the hard-driving nature of the song.
"I just wanna feel some sun-shine, I just wanna find some place to be alone..."
Kurt joined Dave from across the table on the final chorus, boisterous smiles on both of their faces.
"We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind, swim out past the breakers, watch the world die, yeah watch the world die..."
As the final chords of the song decayed and it was replaced by another thumpy dance song, Dave chuckled to himself, and Kurt reached across the table, gripping Dave's shoulders roughly.
"That was awesome!" Kurt exclaimed.
"Thanks," Dave spoke, quiet and humble-sounding but beaming a smile.
"I had no idea you had that in you!"
"Um, neither did I, really, but my best friend and roommate back in Portland manages a rock band, and I guess I saw enough of their shows for something to rub off on me," Dave explained.
"Well, that was," Kurt smiled and nodded, pausing a moment, falling back into his seat "a really amazing side of you that I never knew existed until just now."
"Thanks again, Kurt. Means a lot coming from someone who sings professionally."
Kurt nodded, still smiling, and leaned back in his seat, drinking again from his cocktail. "Adam had to stay in New York this week, he's in a show; otherwise I'd have asked him to come and stay with me while I house-sat."
Dave nodded, still smiling and slightly dazed from the adrenaline of a few minutes before. "I bet you talk to him every day while you're away, though, right?"
"Mm-hm."
"A couple of times a day?"
"Usually three," Kurt answered.
"That's cool," Dave smiled and leaned back in his chair, lifting his bottle and gulping its final contents, placing it onto the table and silently considering ordering another.
"So, I got the folks' house all to myself," Kurt spoke low and breathy, almost a whisper. "You wanna come back and keep me company tonight?"
Dave's eyes widened and his smile collapsed after several stunned seconds: a delayed reaction. "No, Kurt, um, I wouldn't feel cool doing that."
"Oh, c'mon, why not?" Kurt whined, playful. "I know liked me back when we were in high school, and you're being just... irresistible tonight."
"Kurt, high school was... years ago."
"C'mon," Kurt prodded, "It'll be your high school fantasy come true."
Dave closed his eyes and shook his head. "Kurt, I'm a different person now than I was back then." He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Kurt's. "And what about Adam?"
"What about Adam?" Kurt's words seemed dismissive until he saw Dave's expression showing greater alarm, at which point he added, "What Adam doesn't know won't hurt him."
Dave shook his head. "So, what happens in Lima stays in Lima?"
"Yeah," Kurt uttered, bouncing his head, agreeable. "Something like that."
"Kurt, I can't."
"C'mon, Dave, you said before that you expect people to cheat."
"What I said was that it doesn't surprise me to know that people cheat," Dave corrected. "Doesn't mean that I expect it. I don't think anyone should expect it unless they have an understanding of an, uh, open relationship or something."
"How do you know that Adam and I don't have an open relationship?" Kurt quickly countered.
"Because you said before that what Adam doesn't know won't hurt him," Dave paused for a moment before furthering, "Implying that if Adam knew, he would be hurt."
The two sat silent and tense across the table from each other for several minutes: Dave studying his empty beer-bottle and Kurt staring into Dave's downward-turned face with a slight frown.
"I'm gonna get going, Kurt," Dave spoke finally, rising from his seat.
Kurt stood as well and summoned a small, polite smile. "It was nice seeing you here, Dave."
"Good seeing you too."
"You do look really good."
"Thanks."
"And as much as I would have loved you to spend the night with me, I respect you for turning me down."
Dave nodded and huffed a defeated laugh. "Thanks again. I think."
Kurt smiled more fully. "It's something admirable, even if I didn't get what I want."
The two stood facing each other for a time, both smiling subtly.
"Can I at least get a hug before you leave?" Kurt asked. Looking upward at Dave, bright-eyed.
"Yeah," Dave laughed, almost choked out of his mouth as he reached outward and embraced Kurt for a long moment.
"You gonna be okay getting home?" Dave asked. "I only had one beer. I'm okay to drive, but promise me you'll call a cab if you have more to drink, okay?"
They unlocked their embrace, and Kurt nodded. "I promise. I'm probably not going to stay here any longer anyway. Probably just go back to my parents' house and have a nice, long phone conversation with Adam."
Dave smirked. "Tell him that you ran into a guy you went to high school with. Tell him you made him sing for you."
Kurt's face brightened and broke into a gentle laugh as Dave backed toward the door, still facing Kurt, still smiling, and waving.
The flight from Dayton to Portland was somewhat less taxing than the one from Portland to Dayton had been. Dave's flight left Dayton International just before eight o'clock in the morning; like his flight ten days earlier, it was over eight hours in length including a two-hour stop (this time in Denver), but unlike the earlier flight, the three-hour time-zone difference worked in Dave's favor: it would be only one-thirty in the afternoon when Dave landed at PDX.
Also in contrast to the earlier flight, Dave had no trouble sleeping in transit. The boating and fishing excursion with his aunt, uncle, and cousins, excellent though the trip was, left him exhausted. The week had been filled with rewarding experiences (and a few less-than-rewarding ones as well), and he genuinely loved the time with his father, but he missed Portland and was eager to be going home.
As Dave passed through the arrival gate at PDX, he saw Scoop waiting for him on the concourse. As he approached, he unzipped one of his soft carry-on bags and pulled out a baseball cap, placing it firmly on Scoop's head upon arrival.
"What's this?" a baffled Scoop reached for his head and removed the hat to consider it.
"My dad and I went to a Reds game. I brought you back a hat."
"Cool," Scoop commented, perky, as he returned the cap to his head after admiring it for a moment.
The two instinctively moved toward the baggage claim area, Dave barely slowing from his earlier pace.
"Did you have a good time?" Scoop asked as they walked briskly.
"Yeah," Dave answered, bright. "I loved seeing my dad and some of my other relatives I hadn't seen in literally years. Ran into an old friend or two as well. That was interesting."
"Yeah?" Scoop sounded skeptical.
"Yeah. Interesting. Nothing more to say about that, really." Dave paused for a moment before asking, "How's it been with you?"
"Ah, the usual," Scoop replied. "Gearing up for that tour, but we have a whole month to do that. Did you miss me?"
Dave snickered. "Dude, I love my dad and some of the other people who I guess I never really realized that I missed before I saw them last week; but, yeah, I missed you, and I missed all my other friends, and I missed Portland. It's my home, and it's good to be back."
The two gathered Dave's suitcases at the baggage carousel and moved through the bustling areas around the ticket counters, into an elevator, and eventually arriving at the parking garage. They loaded Dave's bags into his car. When Dave began to walk toward the driver's side, Scoop shook his head and grinned.
"Sit yourself down in the passenger's seat, Scoop began. "Your brain is probably mush from that eight-hour flight. I can handle the drive back to our place."
"If you insist," Dave shook his head and smiled, seating himself in the passenger's seat as Scoop instructed.
Scoop drove the car out of the garage and into the afternoon sun. Dave swiveled his head, observing the surroundings.
"Scoop, um, my car is as clean as it was when I left."
"Yeah, I know," Scoop replied.
"Um, I told you that you could use it while I was gone. Did you use it at all?"
"Yeah," Scoop answered. "I used it a few times. I don't think I put more than fifty or sixty miles on it, but I drove it here and there."
"It doesn't look like you used it," Dave offered, still taking in the car's interior.
"I made sure I kept it clean," Scoop turned to smile at Dave. "Even washed and vacuumed it out for you."
"You feeling okay?" Dave asked with a smirk.
"Dude, you let me use your car for a week while you were away. It was the least I could do to make sure it was cleaned out for you when you came back."
Dave shook his head, smiling. The two were silent for a moment before Dave spoke again.
"How are you and Katie doing?"
"Katie's great. We're getting along great. She stayed over a couple of nights when you were away."
"That's cool," Dave nodded. "Y'know, you don't hafta wait until I'm away to do that."
"Well, the opportunity just didn't ever kinda present itself until last week," Scoop answered. "Katie will be going to Europe with me and the band also."
"That's awesome," Dave offered, approving.
"Hey, you heard from that John guy?" Scoop asked. "Talk to him at all lately?"
"Nope," Dave answered, low. "I got busy with finals and he said he was crazy on his end with film-festival stuff. Said we'd regroup after that. Katie heard from him? They're like best friends, right?"
"Actually, Katie hasn't heard from him except for some text messages and stuff like that. She said he was really busy with that film-festival as well, but that's all gonna be over in a couple of weeks."
Dave eyed Scoop's face thoughtfully as he drove. "You kinda grew to like him a little, didn't you?"
"Yeah, John's alright," Scoop answered. "I mean for a guy who came off like a complete nut-case at first, he kinda seemed to become a normal kinda guy. I mean I still don't know him all that well, but we've all had good times together, and Katie will vouch for him. You kinda like him?"
"Yeah, and I don't know how exactly I feel about him."
"What's that mean?"
Dave chuckled. "What that means is I like talking with him, and I've had fun with him, and, yeah, we had really awesome sex one night. I'd see him again. Other than that, I can't say how I feel, and I really don't know how he feels."
Scoop shrugged and nodded. "You guys seemed like you coulda made a cool couple."
"Yeah."
Referenced song: "Santa Monica" by Everclear