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Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
IT STARTED IN A PARK
by Macout Mann
Chapter 16
Spring Term
As soon as Sammie arrived at his dorm he called Vernon. "I need to open a bank account," he said. "Will you go with me?"
"It's no big deal," Vernon laughed. "Just pick a bank—-I use First National—-and go to the new accounts desk. They'll take your money and give you a receipt and some temporary checks to use until your printed ones come. You'll be in business.
"Merritt must have made good on his promise."
"He did that," Sammie said.
The next day classes began. Monday Wednesday Friday classes were an hour each. Tuesday Thursday classes were an hour and a half.
Sammie's English class and his new painting class met on Tuesday and Thursday. At the end of Christian's first Monday class, he said, "Mr. Caldwell, may I see you after class, please?"
When they were alone Christian said, "I'm sure you will do well in your new painting class, but if you do have any kind of problem, please let me know immediately." He was taking his new role as advisor very seriously.
Then at the first meeting of English, the instructor looked over the group and said, "Mr. Caldwell and Miss Jones, you are aware that you don't have to be here?"
"Yes, sir," they both responded, adding that they were looking forward to the second semester.
The Friday night workouts resumed as did the Saturday visits with the Harts.
Sammie's confidence had grown exponentially. Not only due to the efforts of Christian, Vernon, and Jim, but also from his experiences in Atlanta and the elan his bank balance gave him.
Ever since the first night he had gone to the gym he'd been thinking about it and he decided the time was now. He visited Christian during office hours and began by saying, "Mr. Ballard, I've always hated Sammie.' Can I be called Sam'?" he asked.
"Well, Mr. Caldwell, for the school records to be changed, you would have to change your name legally, but you can start going by Sam' whenever you want to. I'm sure Mr. Hart and Mr. Ramsay would be happy to call you Sam.' It might take a while before everybody did—some people might never change—but try it. Just be sure to sign your artwork that way."
It was interesting that Sammie had been welcomed by the other students in his painting class. The class was all sophomores and juniors, but Sammie was accepted as someone who should be there, a tribute to his newfound confidence.
Sammie had worn his appliance most of the time all during Christmas vacation, except when he was hustling, and had continued to do his exercises when Merritt was practicing the violin. Dr. Shelburne had noticed a decided improvement at their first session of the new term. His cadence was still a bit effeminate and he was definitely still a high tenor, but in the art department that was not disqualifying.
When their first assignment was displayed, Sammie also attracted the attention of the entire class. His watercolor was of Hardee Gym at twilight. One figure waited on the steps while two others approached. He had perfectly captured the fading half-light. The teacher especially praised his work.
A number of his classmates offered congratulations. One, a tall, handsome junior with brown hair and eyes came up and shook hands with Sammie. "Hi. Great work, man," he said. "I'm Hunter Bronson."
"Sam Caldwell," Sammie responded. "Thanks."
"You go to the gym in the evening? I can't imagine how you painted that, if you don't."
"Well yes," Sammie admitted. "A friend of mine and I work out a couple of times a week...and usually on Friday night."
"Maybe you wouldn't mind if I joined you some night," Hunter proposed.
Sammie also proved to be a natural in the water. While some of the beginning swimmers dropped out, forfeiting credit for a semester of P.E., Sammie excelled. Although the coach usually didn't pay any attention to what happened in his gym classes—his job was really to win meets—he called Sammie over to commend him on his form.
One Friday early in February Hunter Bronson did show up at the gym. Sammie introduced him to Vernon. Both appreciated Hunter's physique. Sammie had only seen him in school clothes before. Doug was also there, and it turned out that the two upperclassmen had been friends since Hunter was a freshman. They chatted amiably as the three of them worked out and Vernon approvingly looked on. Afterward, of course, He and Sammie had their usual fun at Vernon's place.
After class the following Tuesday, Hunter suggested he and Sammie have coffee. Sammie accepted, but he had no idea what they might talk about. Hunter, however, wanted to talk about Sammie's art. How he had started drawing. What sort of teachers he had had.
Sammie was not entirely frank with Hunter. He did say that he was self-taught and since he was bullied as a young kid, he turned to drawing for respite. Hunter told him again how impressed he was with his watercolor. "Sam, it was almost like I was there," he said.
Their coffee sessions became almost routine after art class, and they found lots of things to talk about. And occasionally Hunter would show up for Friday night workouts.
Vernon asked if there was anything going on between them.
"No," Sammie answered. "We've never even mentioned sex."
"Not that you wouldn't like to," Vernon teased.
With March came Georgia Spring, and with the warmer weather and flowering plants an invitation from Jim. During one of their Thursday get-togethers Jim mentioned to Christian, "Myra's curious about these university faculty guys that I say aren't pricks and even go to Mike's Place."
"Well it's nice to know we're not pricks. Dicks maybe but not pricks," Christian laughed.
"Seriously, Christian, would you and Vernon come over one Saturday for barbecue? I'll sure not be pissed if you say `no,' but Myra really wants to meet you. And of course Sam will be invited too."
"I don't know why you'd think I wouldn't be honored, Jim. I'd love to meet your wife. And although I can't speak for Vernon, I'm sure he'd jump at the chance," Christian said. "Of course you'll have to warn Vernon to keep his dick in his pants around Myra and the kids," he laughed.
So a couple of Saturdays later the whole crew gathered at the Hart's. Jim had barbecued a pork picnic shoulder, as only Southerners know how to. Cooked for hours over barely glowing charcoal and small, soaked hickory limbs. Myra made "roast 'nears" of corn, beans cooked in onion and molasses, potato salad flavored with mustard, cole slaw, and sweet corn bread. All this was served with bread-n-butter pickles and iced tea. And as if that wasn't enough, homemade apple cobbler for dessert. She made the guys stop drinking beer and drink the tea during the meal.
Both Vernon and Christian were a hit with Myra. Vernon, being a Southern boy not from the aristocracy was well schooled in how to behave. Christian was warm, personable, and even though a Yankee, he had been in Sparta long enough to charm Myra, who was no dummy herself.
Sammie was thrilled to be with them all. The Hart boys were also thrilled to meet their friend Sam's grown up friends. The youngest called them "Misser Balyard" and "Misser Rumsee."
March also brought a declaration by Dr. Shelburne that Sammie's lisp had been completely reversed. She ran him through a complex set of readings and he sounded all of the "s" combinations without an error. His mental and muscular memory now always guided his tongue to the right place in his mouth. She announced that Mr. Caldwell was her most successful subject thusfar.
Spring Break was coming up. Merritt had invited Sammie to come to Atlanta, but Jim had talked his boss into putting him on as extra help, cleaning up the job site and doing shit details. He still had almost all his initial bank deposit left in his account, so he opted to stay in Sparta. That is, if Vernon would put him up. Vernon was reluctant? Hell no.
Sammie wrote his parents that he had a job and wouldn't be able to come home, not that he felt they cared one way or the other.
He learned a lot during that week. The rough ways and rough language of construction workers. Of course he'd been exposed to trash talk as a kid in Columbus, but now he was an "adult" and learned to participate with the best of them.
One guy on the crew, Buck Gordon, did have a hankering for Sammie. "I think your little friend's a faggot," he told Jim. "I wouldn't mind..."
"You make a move on that boy," Jim interrupted, "and you'll feel my dry dick up your ass," Jim spat.
Jim had told his boss that Sammie was a poor boy who needed help. Sammie's work impressed the foreman enough that he told Jim he'd put him on for the summer.
The big final project in Sammie's painting class was a portrait. He had originally thought of asking Jim to pose, but then decided that it would be more convenient if Hunter would agree to be his model. And Hunter quickly agreed. Sammie posed his friend in a work shirt with sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons left undone, revealing the brown patch of chest hair that came almost to his neck.
The finished portrait was a study in virility. Sammie intended to give it to Hunter after it was graded, but it was chosen for an exhibition of student art that wouldn't close until the end of the semester. When Christian saw it, he was so impressed that he asked to take it to Cleveland when he visited his parents during the summer. He said that he wanted his mother to see it, reminding Sammie that she was a famous painter. So it would be fall before Hunter could take possession of his painting.
Meanwhile, Vernon successfully defended his dissertation, which was on some obscure aspect of Particle Theory, and would receive his doctorate at commencement. Christian hosted a celebratory cocktail party for him, and asked Sammie to do another sketch of Vernon, this one with a shirt on, which was reproduced on the napkins used at the shindig.
Christian had also been successful in broadening the Art History curriculum. As his predecessor, Prof. Ziegler, got older, he had succeeded in reducing the number of art history courses actually taught to two, offered in alternate years. Beginning the next year Christian would teach the survey course each year and alternate years would teach Art in Classical Greece and Rome or Renaissance Art. If they proved to be popular electives, more courses might be offered and another faculty member might be added.
Shortly before the term ended Hunter asked Sammie if he intended to room with his same roommate next year.
"Not on your life," Sammie replied. "He's a total asshole and we've hated each other from Day One!"
"I suspected as much," Hunter said. "Jack is graduating, and I was wondering...would you like to be my roommate next year?"
Sammie was overwhelmed. "Sure. Sure. I'd love to, but..."
"But?"
"I don't think you'd wanna room with a `fucking queer.'"
Hunter couldn't stifle his laugh. "Shit, man, I've been convinced you were gay since we first met. My kid brother's gay, and he's a lot like you. That don't bother me."
Sammie almost teared up. "Fuckin' aye," he said, "I'd love to be your roomie, man."
"Let's shake on it then."