Invited

Chapter 36

( Todd Barnstable )

Sunday, I got brow-beaten into going with Mom and Dad to visit my grandparents. Mom laid a guilt trip on me, reminding me how my grandparents never forget my birthdays with money and then gifts for me at Christmas. Yeah, they have always doted on us grandchildren, my two cousins, and me.

My Mom's brother, Uncle Tony, and sister-in-law, Aunt Carella, and the two aforementioned cousins, both girls, were there too. The occasion was my Grandmother's 68th birthday.

The girls, Paisley and Brianna are older than me by three and five years, respectively, so they've always treated me like a little kid. The older one finally got engaged, although her fiancé was clever enough to weasel out of attending this birthday party, I guess you'd call it.

It's been apparent to me for years that my grandparents don't care how old their grandchildren are when they give us hugs and kisses hello. I say that because they do it as if we're still six years old. Being hugged and kissed in that manner by my 69-year-old grandfather lost much of its enchantment ten or twelve years ago.

Anyway, my lack of small-talk ability during family social occasions like this one has always been chalked up to shyness, which is okay with me. Even if I had the small-talk gene, which I don't, it's doubtful I'd be able to get a word in any way, considering my two cousins vied for the opportunity to tell embellished, boring antidotes about their recent lives. Yawn!

And, considering Billy and I haven't been to the barbershop for almost two months, it was awkward seeing Uncle Tony, but he got the awkwardness out of the way quickly. As soon as we greeted one another, Uncle Tony commented about Billy and me not coming for haircuts 'recently.' I used Billy's Covid 19 as the reason for that and got the distinct impression Uncle Tony didn't care all that much one way or another. So, wasted awkwardness on my part.

The birthday party was in the form of a luncheon prepared by Arnold's Delicatessen consisting of a huge platter of cold cuts, pickles, hot banana peppers, a large plastic container of coleslaw without mayo, and potato salad, also without mayo. Hmm, mayonnaise is the ingredient that makes coleslaw and potato salad taste good. There were also various rolls so that everyone could make their sandwiches. As we did that, many phony compliments were heard from my parents, uncle, and aunt about how spectacular everything was. Get serious; in what world is a cold-cut platter without mayo spectacular? Well, my grandparents looked proud, though.

Calling a deli platter spectacular was a major exaggeration, but I was happy for my Grandmother. Then the birthday cake was a one-layer cake in an aluminum pan. This one was a yellow cake with vanilla icing. That was good, actually. Yep, buttercream frosting.

If they had thought to offer a few beers or any alcoholic beverage, it would have elevated everything to a tolerable level for me. However, there was no mention of that, so tedium describes the three hours I sat there on a footstool eating from my paper plate. The footstool was the only available place left for me to sit. At one point, I looked at my Grandparents' grandfather clock, and, I swear, the minute hand went back a few ticks. Hmm, how is that possible?

I've given a negative assessment of the birthday party, but no one there had an inkling of my true feelings about those three hours spent at my grandparents, three hours I'll never get back. No, I was not a grumpy wet-blanket party pooper. A smile never left my face as I forced laughing at the not-funny stories told by Paisley and her sister.

Paisley has always envisioned herself as the life of any party, the party starter who eventually will become famous as a comedian on Saturday Night Live or something. She better get busy with that, as she's already twenty-one and working at Allstate as an underwriter's assistant, whatever that is.

Not only did I maintain a smiling, friendly face through all of this, but I used all my pathetic amounts of willpower not to call bullshit on half the things the girls said.

In the backseat of my Dad's car during the ride home, listening to Mom and Dad talking about how well Mom's parents' health is and how good it was seeing them so happy to have everyone there, I had a guilty conscious for thinking negatively about my sweet Grandmother's birthday party. Yeah, she did seem wicked happy. Gee, though, what is it like being a sixty-eight-year-old person? Impossible to imagine. But, Gawd!

Back at the house, it's too late to do anything this afternoon, so I stripped out of my dress clothes, such as they are, and put on cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Lying on my bed with my hands behind my head, I think about texting Billy. Texting him yesterday worked out very well for me. I was initially concerned I might appear to be imposing myself on him, but that didn't turn out to be the case.

No, he said he was glad I texted, so my question is, should I text again, or would that seem pushy? Recently, there's this niggling concern at the back of my mind that Billy hasn't been as committed to the concept that we're boyfriends in love as he was a month ago. He's still happy to be with me, and I feel perfect being with him, but his heat for messing around with me seems to have dimmed. I'm hoping it's only because of the Covid he's been dealing with, except I noticed his reduced enthusiasm for our messing around before he contacted Covid.

The dinner tonight was put off until later as Mom and Dad had cocktails after that so-called spectacular deli lunch at two o'clock. Later, Mom made a late dinner of chicken/vegetable soup from last night's roast chicken dinner, and we had that with a salad. It was almost eight o'clock when I finished dinner, and still hadn't texted Billy.

He hadn't texted me either, so I screwed around getting clothes laid out for work tomorrow, then took a shower so I wouldn't need to get up early and do that in the morning. It would have been nice if Billy texted me, and it's curious that Pat hasn't texted me either. He hasn't texted for three days, or has it been four?

On the bus Monday morning, I thought back to all those years when I rarely received a text from anyone and how now I get concerned when I haven't received a text in two or three days. Well, the world turns, and things change.

This is Billy's first day back at school, so he probably was catching up on missed assignments last night. Why did Pat stop texting, though? Of course, he could have been doing the same thing as Billy. On the other hand, I should have texted them, and then I'd have known for sure what they were doing.

At work, operating the envelope-opening machine, I decided that I should be more aggressive with texting. Well, not aggressive exactly, but more willing to do it. If someone I text feels I'm imposing on them, let them tell me that.

I'm not clueless, so I know this is no brainstorm of an idea. It's merely acting more or less like everybody else as far as texting goes. Fear of texting has been one of my weird hang-ups, one I've had for years that makes no sense. Mark was right when he said I'm as good as anyone, or something to that effect, so I'm entitled to text as much as the next guy.

With that in mind, during my coffee break, I texted Billy. "Hey, Billy, how is your first day back at school?"

To my surprise, he texts right back, "Hey, Gary. It blows so far. I'm between classes and the only one wearing a mask, studying for the boring reviews that have started for finals week. Wish you were here, ha-ha!"

I texted back brazenly, "How about tonight?"

He texted, "Not tonight or Tuesday night, babe. I'll be in a study group at Ronny's house those two nights. See you Wednesday night, though."

Ronny's house? That's not what I wanted to hear.

Hmm, am I supposed to text back now? His wording sounded like 'the end.' How do you end a string of texts? I better text one more time. "I miss you. See you Wednesday after dinner. Good luck with the studying."

He sends a thumbs-up Icon.

Huh, yeah, that's an excellent friendly way to end a string of texts. Gulping coffee, encouraged at how well the texting went, I send George Brown a text. "Hey, George. How about golf this weekend?"

George texts, "You're on! My class just started. TTYL."

Ha-ha, this is fun. It's almost like having a conversation, but I need to get back to work now.

Grinning, pleased with my texting, I'm stuffing the machine with envelopes and thinking how the texting was very, um, regular of me. Also, very mature in the way I dealt with the disappointment of not seeing Billy until Wednesday. He sent a thumbs up, ha-ha. Fuck, an icon; that was cool!

Yeah, but it's still puzzling how Billy is casually dealing with our lack of messing around. It's as if it's not amazingly special anymore.

Still, perhaps I'll also be putting my primary emphasis on studying over messing around when I go to Community College in the fall. That's hard to imagine, and I don't want to dwell any longer on a scary thought like that, not right now, anyway.

Hmm, during my lunch break, maybe I'll text Pat asking about his date last night. Maybe not, though. If I text him, he might think I'm implying we should mess around tonight. Hmm, but what's wrong with implying that? Of course, there's a chance he might be in Billy's study group or another study group. He has finals next week too.

I better not text him, but gee, I'd like to see a photo of Pat's date last night. That would be interesting. I wonder which one of the three guys Pat told me about was the lucky one? See if the guy was cute, ya know?

As I'm considering texting Dave Summerset about golfing with George and me, the machine makes a scary ripping sound and tilts, or whatever it's called, when it just stops. Goddammit, I didn't see the staples in that manilla folder! Looking around, I don't see my handsome boss, so I quickly start unclogging the machine the way he taught me.

Getting the thing running smoothly again, I consider who else I can text and think of another Groege, George Hawkins. He has always been very friendly to me. He's easy to talk with, except I don't know what I could text him about. He's in college, too, so he's probably dealing with finals next week or maybe this week. Hmm, what college is he attending? I think it's out of state, so texting him makes no sense.

Oh, you know who I'd like to text? Todd Barnstable, that's who. I've always thought if it weren't Billy, it'd be Todd, who I could feel comfortable messing around with. At the time, though, I was only thinking about kissing. Wow, Omigod, that was another lifetime ago.

Yeah, but just thinking about kissing Todd makes my dick shiver. Damn, holy shit! A good tight hug and a kiss on his lips!

Hmm, what it is about Todd that has always intrigued me. It could be that, within groups, he has always been as awkward as me. Plus, he'd always give me this unfathomable little smile whenever we saw one another at school.

I'd like to know what he meant by that smile and how he's been handling life since graduation. We hardly ever talked. Just friendly obvious conversation like in the lunch line, we'd ask each other what we're buying for lunch. That's about as deep as our conversations ever got, but that little smile made me grin back at him. The last time we spoke was at graduation practice when he said, "Big times ahead, huh, Gary?"

Not sure what he meant by that; I just nodded and said, "I'll say, Todd." We were two sucky conversationalists.

Todd is short at about five-foot-seven, about an inch shorter than Billy. He has a smaller body too. I guess you could say he's cute in a goofy kind of way. Not traditionally cute like Pat, or Mark, for example, but still cute, sort of. Oh, fuck, I don't know. Maybe he's not cute, just small and youthful looking. Heh-heh, he's the only guy I've ever known who, every time we spoke, I wanted to hug him. Yeah, very odd.

It's weird, but yeah, I felt like hugging him and telling him everything would be alright, as if he didn't already think that. Hell, he probably did because he had the second or third-highest graduating GPA in our class. A brainiac, in other words. A brainiac who probably was confident that everything would be okay. If so, you'd never know it from how he acted. Gee, Todd Barnstable...

Having finished opening all today's envelopes, I'm daydreaming about who to text as I shut down the machine and take my sweet old time doing it--then, startling me, my phone pings in my pocket.

Fishing it out, I see a text from Mark. "Are you eating lunch today?" Speaking of texting, huh?

Oh, Jesus, it's twelve-oh-eight! I hustle to the elevator. Waiting for it, I text, "I'll be there in two minutes." I'm getting the hang of this texting thing!

Mark is at the entrance joking around with a security guy. He mutters, "Here he is," and smiles, patting my shoulder, "How was your weekend, Gary?"

Walking outside, I tell him about it, and he goes, "Hey, that was sweet of you to visit your sick boyfriend Saturday night and then go to your grandmother's birthday party yesterday; wow! And how's your boyfriend doing with the virus?"

I tell him Billy's back at college today, but "I won't see him until Wednesday night because he's in a study group preparing for final exams."

Walking to the Chinese restaurant, he tells me about taking his girlfriend to the Q Club. "That's a gay club, Gary. Have you ever been there?"

Shaking my head, "Nah, some friends, or I guess they are acquaintances more than friends, went to a gay club Saturday night. I don't know if it was the one you went to. What did your girlfriend think about you taking her to a gay club?"

Inside the restaurant, waiting to be seated, Mark shrugs, "We were both excited and interested to see what it's like. We didn't stay long, though. It was drag queen night. A contest for the hottest drag queen or something. That's never been my kind of thing."

We get seated and order our lunch. Waiting for it, I ask, "Aren't the menu prices a lot higher than the last time we were here?"

"Yeah! Goddamn, they're like twenty percent higher, but so is every other thing you want to buy. The cost of living is going through the fucking roof."

I go, "It's because of two years of Covid, supply train screw-ups, and then the asshole Russians invade their neighbor."

"It's not the Russian people. It's their politicians; then, the people get brainwashed by propaganda.

"Effing Putin then. He starts a war, causing energy prices to soar."

Our food arrives. Mark says, "Humans' instincts about warring are stuck in the stone age. The Earth is five billion years old, but humans have a recorded history of only 5000 years which isn't even a blink of time in the Cosmos. Anyway, waging war is as old as civilization itself. Modern man hasn't lost many of the instincts of our ancient ancestors. Our brains have invented a hardly believably super-advanced technology without any leap of advancement in our Stone Age brains about wars."

Dipping my egg roll into the wicked hot yellow sauce, I mutter, "That's interesting and a bit disturbing as well. You should meet my boyfriend sometime. He knows as much bizarre information as you. I'm never sure of its accuracy, though."

Mark grins at me and looks awesomely cute, saying, "Here's some more bizarre info. Modern humans retain Neanderthal DNA to this very day. That archaic link to humans as far back as 400,000 years ago, before they became extinct 40,000 ago, was having sex with what became modern humanity. Today, Europeans have one to two percent Neanderthal DNA while the African population has zero to one percent."

Shrugging at that astonishing bit of news, I say, "Well, hell, everybody knows that," and we chuckle.

The rest of our lunch was me asking questions about what the Q Club was like. After that, Mark asked about how things were going with my love affair, and I told him much more about Billy and me than I thought I would. He seemed interested, and it felt good to say things out loud to my friend Mark, things I've never said to anyone else.

Then, back at work, I was assigned duty on the loading dock, loading boxes on a truck. There was a lazy twenty-something-year-old guy with many tattoos who I was supposed to be assisting, but mainly he was bossing me around and not doing much else. I loaded the truck myself and thought again about texting Todd. But it's the same old problem of what the hell could I say in the text?

After work, back home in my bedroom, I get out my senior yearbook and look under the B's for the last name Barnstable. Holy shit, there's Todd! He's not doing the little smile he always gave me, though. His expression in the picture looks as if someone just pinched his ass. Ha-ha!

Is he cute, though? In a way, he is if I stretch the parameters of cute to the max. Well, no, he's not exactly cute. Still, there's nothing, um, incredibly unattractive about him, like a huge nose or a significant indentation in the middle of his chin, or anything wicked noticeably unattractive like that. He has a normal chin, not what I call an ass chin. He looks like a typical high school graduate, although perhaps too young to be graduating.

No, seriously, he's okay looking with light brown hair combed with a part and his bangs to the side. I could show him how to comb a pompadour like the one Pat combed for me. Yeah, he wouldn't think that strange at all. Riiiight! Ha-ha, nothing unusual about doing that for a straight friend. He'd probably dial 911...

Flipping through the pages until I get to the listing of us graduates. As I recall, it was optional to include our cell phone numbers which almost everybody did. I never gave a thought to listing mine, but Todd did. There's his number right there. I'm in the middle of a vast texting binge, so I type his number into my phone, getting a buzzing feeling in my nuts as I do it.

Lying on my bed, I'm making a face because texting Todd is a wildly crazy idea. Yeah, but seriously though, what could I text him about? I'm high on texting today and pretty sure I'm going to do this crazy thing, but I need to have a reason for texting that doesn't sound, um, insane and certainly not gay! Hmm?

This is so stupid! Giggling, I type, 'Todd, I hope you remember me, Gary Wallingford. Sorry to bother you, but as I remember, you always knew what was happening. So, what's the date for our senior class reunion? Thanks.'

Oh fuck, that's totally incoherent. It hasn't even been a year since we graduated. Omigod, a class reunion; that is so fucked! Ha-ha! Laughing and reading the text over, I add, 'I'm sure you did fantastic your freshman year at college, being you're a brainiac and all. Are you still doing your little mysterious half-smile?'

Heh-heh, needless to say, I'm not 'effing sending this text! I got a buzzing in my dick while typing it, though.

Seriously, though, it would be so cool if I could think of something sensible and real to text him about. Billy's sociable, and I'm trying to be a little more like that.

When I think about it, Todd and I could have been friends if one of us had invited the other to do whatever. We didn't need to be gay friends, just regular friends who couldn't think of much to say to one another. Heh-heh, nothing to see here, folks. Just two silent friends. Jesus, I need to get real!

Dropping the phone on my bed, I get up and look at myself in the mirror over the bureau. Picking up a comb, I comb my hair again. I'm not liking the shagginess of it now. I used to go three months between haircuts, but now, after five or six weeks without a haircut, I don't like that my hair is over the tops of my ears, and the curls are taking over. Dammit!

I'm about to go to the bathroom to wet my hair and put Pat's hair foam on it to get it under control when Mom calls me to dinner. I'll mess with my hair later, or I probably won't need to since it appears I'll be staying in tonight.

Back in my bedroom after dinner, I've lost interest in texting. Now I want to get out of the house. Now I'm unlike what I was used to for years when I thought nothing of staying in night after night. That ended a year ago. My bedroom was my sanctuary back then, but after almost a year of going out and doing things with Billy, staying in has become too boring.

Yeah, I've got money, and the last time I bought new sneakers was when I purchased a second pair doing the lawn-cutting job last summer. I've got Mom's car, so I'm going to the mall to buy sneakers. And maybe new skinny jeans too. If I run into someone I know, I'll practice being sociable.

Washing up in the bathroom, I wet my hair and rubbed the hair foam in. Yeah, that's right, curls; you can't handle this 'effing hair foam. A nice straight part on the side, then a small pompadour in front like Pat showed me. Huh, wet like this, it looks as if my hair is painted on or is a plastic wig.

Fuck it. When it dries, it'll be fine. Changing my shirt, I look at my ratty sneakers wondering why I waited so long to replace them. The old grass-cutting sneakers I pick up from the floor of my closet, intending to throw them out.

Almost at the stairs, I pat my pocket and feel the Marlboro box with two stale cigarettes but no cell phone. Back to my bedroom, I'm like, where the hell did I leave my phone? There it is, peeking out from a wrinkle in the bedspread.

Ya know, if I see someone I know at the mall, I'm determined to start a conversation instead of avoiding them as I did in the old days. Seriously, I am!

Yes, I need to work on being sociable. Not as sociable as Billy, but take baby steps in that direction. Something like saying, 'Hey, wassup?' when I see someone I know--a conversation starter.

Grabbing my phone, I hear 'PING.'

What? Glancing at it, OH NO, NO, NO!

My finger hit the send button when I picked the phone up. That insane text I left on it was sent to Todd. No, it wasn't, was it?

I stare at it, and yeah, it was sent.

As I reread the text, I feel heat soaring, my face getting cherry-red and burning hot until it's glowing with heat. The embarrassment and humiliation are so intense I feel hot tears forming in my eyes!

Bent over, standing at the end of my bed, sweat breaks out on my face and underarms; this is horrifyingly terrible! My hand is shaking, so I throw the phone. It hits the bed's headboard, bounces off it, and lands almost precisely where it was when I picked it up a minute ago, a lifetime ago.

Grabbing the pillow, I put it on top of the phone and shake with the humiliation of imagining Todd reading that inane, insane text. What to do? What can I do that won't make it worse? How do I cancel my email address? I'll get another phone with a new number, or...

And, yes, fuck this texting horseshit! I'm done with that!

I'm not cut out to be texting anyone! This would never have happened if Billy wasn't in that stupid study group. I wouldn't have been thinking about texting if he and I were doing regular stuff together. If he hadn't gotten Covid, if this, if that, if shit!

Sitting at my desk, sweating, my hands going through my wet, sticky hair, I'm thinking as hard as I can... what should I do?

Then, from under the pillow, a muffled 'Ping.'

No, that wasn't my phone! I get up and go downstairs, hearing music from the kitchen where my Mom and Dad are talking and sipping on glasses of wine. What am I doing down here?

I start back upstairs, hearing Mom, "Gary?" I yell, "I forgot something," and run upstairs. After staring at my pillow, I sit at my desk again and go online to Google. Then type, 'sending an erroneous text message.'

Why did I use bold letters? It doesn't matter. Google misinterprets my question and gives useless bits of advice about stuff I don't care about. That stupid useless Google.

Looking back at my bed, I tell myself to get real. You've never actually been friends with Todd; blow him off. Or text him that you were high on drugs or drunk and fucking around texting nonsense to everybody in the senior class. Some bullshit like that. Yeah, make a joke out of it, out of yourself.

Who am I kidding? Oh, balls!

I get up and throw the pillow against the wall. There's my enemy; my phone. It's just lying there containing the humiliation of a lifetime, snickering at me for thinking I could text as ordinary guys do.

Feeling the heat rising in my head again, my face turning red, I pick up the evil phone and glance sideways at the text from Todd that's right there on the front of this treacherous device. It's not a short text from him, and I think I saw, 'HAHAHA!'

Huh? Frowning, I glance at the text and, yeah, 'HAHAHA!' plus, 'Any thoughts of being a brainiac were quickly erased from my mind during my freshman year at the University of Pennsylvania. How did your freshman year go? Oh, and it's a bit soon to have a class reunion. And very funny about my pathetic smile, Gary.'

What? Very funny? What to do? I know! I text Todd a thumbs-up icon.

Fuck, I'm sure that was the wrong thing to do. My phone rings and I drop it like a hot potato. Oh, maybe it's not Todd calling. It's probably Pat.

Picking up the phone and, no, it was not Pat. I nervously say, "Hi, Todd. Um, whassup?"

"Wassup? You're cracking me up, Gary; that's wassup. What made you text me that hilarious text?"

"I don't know. I, um, wasn't going to send it, and then, I don't know what happened. I was goofing around texting random people from my, um, from our yearbook."

He chuckles, "Are you on drugs or something? I mean, your text took me totally by surprise. It was hilarious, though. How are you?"

"Ha, me? Oh, yeah, it was just a joke kind of thing. I'm fine. Um, I was going through the yearbook, you know, aimlessly for no reason, and I saw your picture, and, um, that is, I was joking about texting random people. Ha, I saw you weren't smiling in your photo, so... ah..."

He goes, "So you wanted to cheer me up. Well, you did that, thanks."

Nodding, starting to feel that wonderful sense of relief. What a great thing relief is. I mumbled, "Well, that's nice. Um, I mean, but I need to go to the mall now, so..."

He says, "Seriously? Do you mean the mall at 69th Street? That's where I'm at right now."

"Yes, the 69th Street mall, but I thought you'd be studying for finals or something."

"No, I'm in a, ah, well, I was in an advanced course, and we finished with finals two weeks ago. I'm home for the summer without a lot to do. Well, not totally without anything to do because I'm going to take two summer courses, but other than that, I finished my freshman year."

Can I believe this? Not sure what to say, but then I don't need to come up with anything to say because Todd invites me, "Why don't we meet at the food court and have a milkshake or coffee or something?"

Still flustered but very surprised at how conversant Todd was. Even though he can't see me do it, I nod, "Uh-huh, yeah, okay, thanks for inviting me, um, I mean, I'll see you there in half an hour."

"It'll be great seeing you, Gary. Maybe we can think of something to talk about... haha. See ya."

Wiping the sweat off my face, I'm so relieved Todd took that as a joke. How the hell did I get myself into this?

Oh yeah, I thought of Todd as someone to text. Well, fuck this; I'm off texting now! It didn't work out for me. No, wait, it did work out, but, holy shit, Todd's correct; what are we going to talk about?

I'll worry about that later; right now, I want to look as cool as possible. Sitting at my desk, I was grabbing my hair in my fists, frustrated beyond belief that I had sent that text, so I needed to fix my hair.

Taking deep breaths, I feel myself calming down by the second now that it's begun sinking in that Todd was sincere about taking that text as a funny joke. Well, I'm the joke, but he doesn't know that. He thinks I'm funny. That's a joke right there! Oh, maybe I'll tell him the pickle-slicer joke if I can remember it.

In the bathroom, I start over by wetting my hair, then rubbing in more hair foam. Combing it, it again looks like a plastic wig, but it will dry by the time I drive to 69th Street. Changing the shirt, I'd earlier changed for something better, I put on the lightweight hoodie that I think is cool. Then pull off my cargo shorts and put on my newest skinny jeans that some misguided dorks say are going out of style. Skinny jeans are the coolest jeans ever invented.

My sneakers look like shit, but that's my legitimate reason for going to the mall in the first place. Now I'm goofily excited about seeing Todd, about him wanting to see me! The name Todd is an odd one, though, but that's not his fault. He didn't name himself.

What the hell? I spray the littlest bit of AXE Body Spray in the air and walk through the spray. Looking at myself in the mirror, I pat my pompadour, then shrug; I look pretty good.

Practicing being cool, saying in my head, "Hey, Todd, wassup?" I go downstairs and yell, "I'm going to the mall," and slam the door behind me before my folks can ask twenty questions about why I'm going to the mall.

Driving, I get this nervous feeling in my gut. Why am I exposing myself to this stupid reunion? This isn't like me at all. Yeah, but that's the point! I can practice being sociable with Todd. Who better? I mean, he and I are pretty much at the same level of sociability.

Hmm, I'll bet a hundred dollars Billy doesn't remember Todd. That's if he ever knew him in the first place, so it'll be fun telling Billy about this.

Still, I'm nervous, but I'm going forward with it just the same. Every rational brain cell in my head tells me there's nothing to be worried about, yet I am. Gee, he does have a dumb name, though... Todd. Hmm, wasn't one of Abraham Lincoln's sons named Todd?

Parking at the mall, I again ask myself, 'Why are you putting yourself through this?' Taking a deep breath, I tell myself for the tenth time I'm doing it to try to be more socially normal by overcoming a childish hang-up, forcing myself to grow the 'eff up!

It's something like that, anyway.

Getting out of the car, I walk purposefully, faking confidence by purposely walking past slower walkers into the mall and directly onto the escalators and up to the second level.

Seeing an old-school chum, what's so terrifying about that? The thing is, though, Todd's texting didn't seem like fake confidence. It seemed like a regular guy's texting, so he may have outgrown his social backwardness during his freshman year at college.

I should be encouraged because he's a year older than me, so maybe I'll make a similar leap in personal growth during my freshman year. In the meantime, I'll fake it by being cool and calm, not saying a lot, and using Billy's smiling method of covering up uncertainties.

Approaching the food court, in my mind, I practice saying something better, like, 'Yo, Todd, great to see you!' You know, saying that in a cool way, casual, in an offhand manner, and not like it's a major big deal to hook up with an old high school friend.

Holy fuck, there he is, sitting at a table by himself, drinking coffee and typing on his cell phone. Macy's shopping bag is at his feet, so he has already bought whatever he came here to buy.

He looks as he did the last time I saw him, but he seems older. Yeah, that's a brilliant observation, considering he is a year older. He's wearing a University Of Pennsylvania T-shirt, cargo shorts, and hightop sneakers without socks; his legs are as skinny as mine, but, like most guys, his calves have short curly hairs on them. He looks harmless.

Putting his phone on the table, he yawns and then looks my way. Seeing me, his eyes open wide as he does that exact half-smile, he always did when we'd see one another at school. Maybe he smiles like that when he sees anyone he knows.

Getting up, he says, "What happened to your curls?"

He steps over and gives me a regular guy hug, a quick hug hello that I wasn't expecting, so it gets awkward because I hug him back a second too late and then too long.

He extricates himself from my arms, "Gary, great to see you. I'm so glad you sent that crazy text. How are you?"

Smiling brightly, I say, "Good, Todd, great to see you. I'm doing great; how about you?"

Wow, that came out perfectly! Or close enough.

As he's mumbling, "I'm good too," he's looking past my shoulder, frowning. Then, sounding perplexed, he says almost as a question, "Andy? Hey, ah, what are you guys doing here?"

Huh? I turn my head and see some strange-looking guys about our age. The one Todd called Andy is doing that weird and annoying wide-open-mouth smile you sometimes see women celebrities do. Big wide, open mouth with many large teeth, plus you can see that dangling thing at the back of his throat dangling there. Gawd! That annoys me!

Next to him is an overweight guy the same age who's smirking more than smiling, as if he thinks he's too cool to smile. He has an awful lot of an unnatural shade of red hair and a lot of dark roots showing.

When Andy thankfully closes his mouth, I notice that he has a tiny nose. It's similar to a small bird's beak. Hmm, is his weird nose a result of Nature being comical, or perhaps a Rhinoplasty that went terribly wrong? He's grown an unattractive thick black mustache to maybe draw attention away from his nose.

They're both wearing low-hanging, oversized cargo shorts and what looks like slippers on their feet. The fat guy has big glasses with bright green rims and a brightly colored Dashiki shirt. Andy is pale-completed with black frizzy Afro-type hair, and he's wearing a skin-tight purple T-shirt.

They appear to be an odd-looking, bizarre-acting, gay weirdos couple. Or am I being too critical?

Todd glances at me, and I have what I hope is a neutral expression. He sort of rolls his eyes, perhaps because both of his friends are overdoing their gay swishy routine, flaunting their gayness in a way that's either a good job of acting or these guys are gay as May for real. Most likely, it's a little of each.

With a sigh, Todd mutters under his breath, "Sorry, Gary," and then does quick hugs with both guys. Andy gives Todd a quick hello kiss on his cheek that Todd casually wipes at with a hand while introducing me to them and them to me using first names only.

The fat guy's name, a nickname I'm assuming, is Snooty. He says, "Ha-ha, we've got to stop meeting like this, Barns."

Barns is obviously a short nickname for Todd's last name.

We all sit down, and Andy, leaning too close to my face, asks me, "So, Gary, how do you know our boy, Barns?"

Subtly moving my head back, reverting to my unsocial behavior, I looked at Todd and let him explain we went to high school together.

Then Todd tells me, "These two oddballs were in the accelerated freshman course I was in, or most of the same courses anyway." Then he asks the two guys again, "What are you boys doing here?"

As an aside, he says, "They grew up together, both living in Lancaster with their Amish neighbors."

Laughing, Andy goes, "Oh, yeah, it's fun driving a car behind one of their horse and buggies." Which still doesn't answer Todd's question.

Snooty stands, "I'll get us coffees, Andy," then he asks me, "Coffee, Gary?"

I nod, "Yes, thank you. Um, with lots of cream and sugar, please."

Then, I'm the same old me, not saying anything as Andy finally tells Todd what brings him here from Lancaster. "We're staying with Art Fraizer in Philly. You don't know him, but he's here at the mall somewhere. He has a membership to something called the Q Club in Media."

Wow, that's the gay club Mark was telling me about.

Andy goes on, "Anyway, we were on our way there when we saw this mall and decided we needed to buy wife-beater t-shirts to wear in the club. Do you want to join us? We can rock that joint as we did at the Green Room."

Todd's eyes shift to me, then back to Andy's, saying, "No thanks, um, ah, as I said, Gary and I are high school friends just, ah, getting reacquainted. I don't, um," and he looks at me, asking, "You don't want to experience a gay club, do you, Gary?"

I force a laugh, "Oh, um, no thanks, but you go, Todd. It's fine. I was coming to the mall to buy sneakers, so..."

Andy grabs Todd's arm, saying, "He's so fucking cute, you hound dog you!"

Todd frowns, "Knock it off, Andy. Gary and I aren't, um..."

Snooty, carrying a cardboard container holding three coffees, interrupts. Holding a cup up, he says, "Extra cream and sugar for Gary, although he seems plenty sweet without the extra sugar."

Andy shakes his head subtly, "Cool it, Snooty."

I could put them all at ease by telling them I'm gay, except none of them have mentioned anything about them being gay. Snooty and Andy don't need to say it as they're silently screaming it to everyone who cares to look at their act. Todd, by association, is almost certainly gay too, but maybe not. In any case, I'll keep my mouth shut and let it play out.

Keeping my mouth shut is nothing new to me, and I continue with that during the next ten minutes as we drink our coffees. Those three discuss their University of Pennsylvania experience with forced overdone laughter at not especially funny antidotes, but maybe you had to be there.

The guy they mentioned, Art Fraizer, never shows up, so, after finishing their coffees, Snooty and Andy say appropriate things about nice to meet me and what an unexpected joy it was seeing Todd; then leave to find their friend and buy wife-beater t-shirts.

Blowing his cheeks out as Todd exhales noisily, then mumbles, "I could have done without that. Sorry, Gary. I did not hang out with those two, although I was in classes with them. A friend of mine, Joe Black, and I went to a gay club with them once. Other than that, we didn't hang out."

Shrugging, "No, no problem. They were fine, Barns," and chuckled at calling him Barns.

"Yeah, that nickname stuck when a stuttering professor called attendance to it on the first day of class. He got stuck, stuttering on the Barns part of Barnstable; "Barns, Barns, Barns, ah, Barnstable, Todd. Heh-heh. I was happy with the nickname. Todd isn't a name you hear very often after the nineteenth century."

Grinning, I mumble, "Yeah, well, it's good to see that you've developed the art of casual conversation. I'm still working on that."

He laughs, "Uh-huh, you and I never got into deep conversations, did we? I, for one, was always waiting for you to suggest, um, something, anything. Um, in case it wasn't obvious, I'm gay, by the way. Just to be upfront and get that out of the way. After meeting those two, you had to be wondering."

Shaking my head, I lie, "You're gay? No, I wasn't wondering. Um, are Snooty and Andy boyfriends?"

"Nope, they're not. Not that I asked them, but they told me at lunch, like the second day of the first semester, that they've both been out as gay since middle school, but they've always been best friends, and they don't want to screw their friendship up by, ah, you know, getting involved with sexual situations. How about your sex life?"

"Huh?" He quickly adds, "I mean, a cute guy like you must have girls nagging you for attention."

Ignoring that, I ask, "Um, do you have a boyfriend now, or if not now, have you ever had one?"

Shaking his head, "Nah, no boyfriends. This past year, I've come out of my shell a lot, but not enough to, you know, get into dating a guy. I'm not dating a girl either, though, ha-ha. That one time I hung out with the two guys you just met, I got drunk and told them I was gay but a virgin. After that, I got teased by Andy and Snooty a couple of times. Other than those two, my being gay never came up with anyone else."

Nodding, struggling to keep up my part of the conversation, I go, "Huh, um, are there a lot of gays at the university?"

Shrugging, "I don't know. Probably the same percentage as in the general population. In my accelerated course, Andy and Snooty are the only gay guys out of twenty-three male students; they're the only ones I'm aware of, anyway. I mean, other than virgin me."

It's so unfair of me not to tell him I'm gay, except I should have done it earlier, and now it's too late. It would seem, um, wrong, or sneaky, or something. I still need to do it, though.

Finishing his coffee, he says, "You seem awfully blase about those two outlandish gay guys dropping in on us like that, and then me being gay. Do you know many gays? I didn't personally know any in high school."

I'm like, "Weren't you aware of the LGBTQ club in high school?"

"Yeah, I was, but I still hadn't yet admitted to myself I was gay. When I did, early in my college freshman year, I slowly came out of my shell. As I said, though, I was not out of my shell enough to act upon my gay inclinations."

He seems so different from how he was in high school!

I finish my coffee, and, for something to say, I ask, "Do you want to have a smoke outside? After coffee, or with coffee, I always feel like smoking a cigarette."

"I'll keep you company, but I don't smoke."

That was another of my lies. The one about coffee and smoking, but I guess now I need to follow through with it, and, anyway, I want to spend more time with him to find a way to come clean and tell him I'm gay. It's crazy of me, but heh-heh, even though he's changed, I still want to hug him and tell him everything will be alright.

"Thanks, it'll only take five minutes to puff on a cigarette and get my nicotine fix. We can step outside and, um, well, thanks for keeping me company. It's great seeing you, Todd, or Barns. That's a good nickname."

Grinning, "You're like I remember you, Gary. I'm glad you haven't changed."

Walking to the escalator, I say, "No, I've changed, Todd. I'm different, but still not sure what to say at times. Hey, when I saw you last, it was at the practice for graduation on the football field, and you said, 'Big times ahead, huh, Gary?' so what did you mean by that?"

Frowning, he mumbles, "Gee, I don't remember that."

Todd carries his Macy bag, and we go down the escalator, then outside, stopping next to the door. I light a stale cigarette, and it makes crinkling sounds as the dry tobacco ignites. Exhaling smoke, I mumble, "You probably meant exactly what you said. Big times ahead, meaning the rest of our lives."

He says, "Yeah, I suppose. Um, please don't be insulted by this, but all through senior year, I struggled with the knowledge that I was probably gay and thought that you would be the perfect person to help me figure that out somehow."

Startled, I go, "What? Why did you think that?"

Waving a hand, he goes, "No, I didn't think you were gay or anything, but I could see myself trying something, um, something gay with you. You know, just to try it out, heh-heh. Sorry! No offense intended, Gary. I mean, come on, you're, well, you're wicked cute, and we seemed alike in many ways, so, ya know, I'd feel safe trying something with you. I never followed through."

I sucked on the cigarette, freaked out that I had the same thoughts back in high school about him being someone to try kissing with, to see what it'd be like. Talk about a lost opportunity.

What to say, though?

Todd chuckles, "You're speechless, and I don't blame you, but I meant everything I said as a compliment to you, Gary. Nothing negative about you at all."

I mutter, "This 'effing cigarette is too effing stale," and flick the cigarette into the street. Stepping to Todd, I put my arms around him and hug him as I kiss him, then say to his startled expression, "Everything will be alright, Todd." Taking my arms away and stepping back, I'm not even blushing!

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stares into my eyes, then murmurs, "No. Um, you're not gay, too, are you?"

Feeling oddly cocky, oddly confident for once in my life, I nod, "Yep, and I realized it and admitted it to myself about the same time you did. The difference is I lucked into a wonderful boyfriend who guided me, and himself at the same time, into a sexy and wicked fun and loving relationship."

Shaking his head, he mutters, "This is unfucking believable. My instincts were correct about you, but I was too much of a pussy to act on them. If I had acted on my instincts, maybe I could have been your wonderful boyfriend, and we could have guided one another into a sexy, wicked, fun, and loving relationship."

For the first time in my life, I feel like the experienced, confident one between anyone and me about, ah, anything. The thing is, though, I'm doing everything wrong. I'm being too serious as I ask like a pompous ass, "So, how did you like your first kiss with a guy?" As if I'm some big deal doing an underling a favor.

He's matching my inappropriate seriousness, mumbling, "It happened so unexpectantly that I don't know how I feel about it. Could you do it again? I'll be ready for it this time."

I say, still too seriously, "I did everything wrong. First, I should have had a Tic Tac to counteract my ashtray-smelling mouth; then, I should have made it more fun and not some serious matter because it isn't a serious matter. A kiss between gay friends should be nice, not serious. We should be grinning and chuckling about it."

He looks serious, saying, "Okay, that makes sense. Do you have any Tic Tacs?"

"No, I don't," and then we both finally burst out laughing as our brains sort everything out, realizing we're acting as if we're back in the lunch line asking what we're buying for lunch.

"Not only do I not have Tic Tacs, but I couldn't have picked a more inappropriate spot to kiss you."

We nod and look around at the shoppers coming in and out of the mall door next to us. I must have given a few of them something to talk about.

Todd shrugs, "I don't mind the location, and I didn't notice your ashtray mouth. Um, do you think you could buy some Tic Tacs?"

Grinning and chuckling, I put my arm across his shoulders, saying, "If you want to follow me in your car, on the way, I'll buy some Tic Tacs, and then I know an appropriate spot we can go to kiss in private.

"Don't you need to buy what you came here for first?"

"No, I'll get new sneakers another time. Where did you park? I'm right over there."

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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