Incident at Zhenbao

Geoff was right. Dale wasn’t his real name, I came to find out. But that was none of Geoff’s business. I fought the urge to drink—and lost—and wallowed in erotic memories of Thanksgiving. I even tried some academic damage control with the extra time on my hands trying to goose myself into a B average, but I kept coming back to HoJo’s, and what happened so spontaneously that night. For the first time I felt sex might be okay. I wished I could be… happy… maybe “comfortable” is a better word for living in my skin. I needed confirmation that my gymnast friend existed. Hell no, I didn’t use the floor phone. I used the pay phone outside the dinky bus station down in the village during a pouring rain. No answer gave me a crummy feeling deep inside. Two more times I tried before he finally answered. “Oh, hi! This is Tom! Tom Hamilton. You remember me, Ken…” I hated to remind him where we met. A hotel bed seemed so trashy, “… from the hotel?” He did!..., even before I’d finished with my shaky intro. I tingled. He sounded happy to hear my voice. I talked nonsense for too long, then got to what I was really there for. “Yeah, I was wondering what you were doing for Christmas?” His words came back about family plans, of course, and he remembered I had no family. “Well, I hope you have fun in Colorado with everybody. Should be great skiing. Let’s talk when you get back, okay?” My heart was drenched by the icy rain. I don’t remember hanging up the handset, and only vaguely remember hoofing up the hill to campus beat by the violence of loneliness and how it tore my soul and troubled my mind, and drained me physically. I’d proved Geoff wrong and proved myself right: Kenneth Brewster, aka Dale, is a real person. I bet myself I’d be alone at Christmas, and sure as Hell, I was the sorry winner. I chose to believe Ken was telling me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. Christmas in the Rockies, sleigh rides, skiing, all the stuff families do together. And Geoff sympathized with me too, but they were off to Europe and there just wasn’t room, so he said, but I think he had a mile or two of foreign cock lined up. Jim certainly was no option. And Mark had some family reason that stuck in his throat—it wasn’t my business anyway—but he looked and sounded like he would if he could, and he wanted and tried, but too late, he said. Was there somewhere for me to go? I couldn’t imagine where. The Dean of Men was no help either. The Ridgeston Inn would close after Christmas Day for repairs, so I’d have to move again, somewhere until January 9th and classes started again. “Find a place in town,” the Dean suggested. With Karen, thought I, but could not even smile at my own sick joke. “I’m sorry.” The Dean pooped out a word right there between shit and syphilis. Jim and Johnny straight out of the bottle became my best friends and counselors. And the goddamned payoffs to Jim Bradley continued. I couldn’t stand much more. Of anything, actually. “That was a good rehearsal,” Mike said as we left the chapel. “Only eight more days 'til we do the Christmas Oratorio! Exciting, eh?” “Yes, I hope I don't mess up.” “You’ll do fine. You’ve got most of it nailed. Then only a couple more weeks ‘til Christmas holiday. It’s coming fast.” This was one of those rare times when Mr. Kelly hung back and didn’t dash away or join others after rehearsal. Now I felt tongue-tied as we walked back to Taylor Hall. Everything I’d piled up inside was stuck. His unctuous voice did things like that to me. “You…” “I…. Sorry, go ahead, sir.” It seems everybody breaks a long silence together. “Thanks… I heard you plan to be on campus over Christmas.” “You hear everything, don't you, sir?” I said in a accidentally brazen way. “Sorry, I don't mean to be rude.” “It's my job to know.” He hesitated. “The Dean told you the dorm would be closed, right?” “Yes. Frankly, that sucks. But I lined up a pad off campus.” “You hopped on that real quick.” He studied my face as if he didn’t believe my lie. “I just let the Dean’s office know that I’ll be staying over Christmas,” Mike said casually, “It’s traditional an administrator is always on campus, so I volunteered this year. Taylor Hall will be open.” “You mean I can stay?!” I blurted, forgetting my flimsy lie. “But since you’ve got a place… you’re all set, right?” Instant strategy adjustment required. “Actually, it would save a lot if I didn’t have to move. I mean… yeah.” “It’s up to you. Let me know what you decide in time to make arrangements. Be careful, you may lose your down payment if you to break a rent agreement.” “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem, Mr. Kelly. I’ll get right on it.” My feet were on the ground, but inwardly I was jumping up and down. “Whatever. I’ll make sure you have access to the Sports Center.” My feet never touched the stairs as I bounded to my room. Mike was my fucking obsession, the eagle eating at my liver like Prometheus. I was a child in some ways even at eighteen, with a body and urges of a man, a perverted man no less. I was told to follow my heart, follow my dream. Foolish advice I got from people who didn’t know shit about my dreams, some of them wet, and they all included him. Mike possessed my English class, Geology and Chem Lab, and he swam laps with me inside my head, sometimes spurring me on, sometimes distracting me to the detriment of the Sea Dragons. Tuesday and Thursday nights at choir practice and Sunday mornings at church I could snuggle up to Mike professionally and maybe brush against his arm or lean close to him to trade thoughts. I tried to play it cool and avoid gossip or getting razzed as a brown-noser. The tightrope was thin and slippery, and I lived in fear every day that someone, including that special someone Mike, would expose my infatuation. At Christmas, I would be alone in Taylor Hall… with him. The magnificent agony of that thought smacked me right between the eyes.