Even though his pain had passed the stinging stage and was now entering the even more enjoyable throbbing phase, Peter didn't really take it all very seriously. He was more focused on getting through the mountain of pre-semester reading he had for his classes, especially British Lit, than to worry about a little bruise. The physical pain would last a day or so, he thought, but the academic pain would last a whole semester if he wasn't prepared.
And besides all that, he felt better overall than he had felt in a long time, in spite of the condition of his face. Weird. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he thought that it may have been because matches as intense as the one he just had were great workouts, both physically and mentally. Exhaustion sometimes has good side effects, he told himself.
He was just finishing the first chapter of a long historical novel when he got the call from Marty. Even though it had caught him off-guard, Peter was unwilling to acknowledge any significance to the injuries, partially by conviction but now mostly to provide some solace to Marty, who was obviously still worried.
But in spite of his best efforts, Marty simply wouldn't buy the casual dismissals and cajoled him into at least limiting the reading to two chapters and putting some ice on his face. He also insisted on stopping by the next day, the first day of classes, to check out the damage.
Peter had arranged his class schedule so that he could get home for lunch, and maybe even get a short nap, during most of the week. Naps were often essential for him, as he was one of those people who has a hard time sleeping. He was cleaning up the crumbs from his ham and cheese sandwich when he heard a bike being parked in front of the house.
A huge smile came face onto Peter's face the moment he opened the door. He had momentarily forgotten about the injury, not even thinking of the real reason why this guy was coming over. All he wanted to do was give him a rousing welcome.
But what he got in return was not at all what he expected. He saw Marty's eyes pop open and his jaw practically drop to the ground. "Oh my gosh..." he heard Marty say, his voice trailing off.
Peter became momentary crestfallen himself when his enthusiasm wasn't returned, but quickly realized what he had to do.
"Don't worry, guy, it looks a lot worse that it feels," Peter said with chuckle as he regained his smile. And his claim was mostly true. The pain had pretty much gone away, and any small complications weren't worth bringing up, though he did have to admit to himself that it really didn't look very pretty. He continued, "I can see fine, and the swelling is starting to go down already, so there's really nothing to worry about."
He thought that he had quickly recovered the right mood, but in his continued enthusiasm couldn't leave well enough alone. "And besides, they say that pain is mostly in your head," he blurted out before catching himself and cringing inside at his own clumsy choice of words.
But his continued denials didn't matter to Marty, who believed his eyes more than his ears. Like he had done the day before, he momentarily raised his hand, as if about to touch the wound, but again seemed to catch himself and pull back. "God, Peter, I didn't realize it would look like this...gosh, I'm so sorry!" His face continued to express nothing but remorse, and it stung Peter far more than the punch ever could.
"No need to apologize, no need at all. I know it wasn't intentional, so no worries. Besides, I'm not the vengeful type." he said, trying to continue the tone of levity that he hoped would diminish Marty's anxiety. At this point, after seeing his continued reaction, he cared even less about the wound itself and more about what this all seemed to mean to Marty. And especially how it all went back to whatever on that soccer pitch caused him to go into such a panic. Now wasn't the right time to dredge up any of that episode again, but the terrified look on his face wouldn't leave Peter's mind.
"So did the doctor bring a medicine bag for the house call?" Peter asked as he motioned him into the house. He asked it as a joke more than anything else, not expecting any kind of serious answer.
But Marty's eyes immediately lit up. "As a matter of fact, yes I did!" he said. Reaching inside his backpack, he pulled out some kind of small victual cocooned in clear plastic wrap.
"Oh yea, I, um...made this for you. I know it won't clear your eye up," he said as he presented it to Peter. "but it might help you feel better, anyway. It's Banana Nut bread. I don't cook much, but I kind of like to bake, so I hope you like it."
"You didn't' need to do this!" Peter said, almost not wanting to accept it, at least as any kind of a `make-up' gift. He motioned Marty into the kitchen after he took if from him, placing it carefully on the scruffy countertop that served as the social center for the 5 bedroom house. "Thanks so much, I know it will definitely help the recovery," Peter continued as he cleared numerous old plates and cups from around the cake.
"I hope so. Whatever will help," Marty replied.
While he was taking the gift, Peter had a chance to get a better look at `the guy in the blue shirt.' In all the tumult and tension of the day before, the only thing he had really noticed about him physically, besides his clothes and blond hair, were his blue eyes. Now he noticed the round face, wide shoulders and his very erect posture. Even though he was only a bit taller than Peter, he had a larger frame that probably gave him a 15 or 20 pound edge in weight.
The weather was warm, so he was only wearing baggy tan cargo shorts and a plain red t-shirt that fit loosely around his torso, pretty much like the fit of the one he was wearing the day before. None of the ensemble looked very new or stylish, but all were quite clean and appeared to have been freshly ironed, which was not typical of the maintenance habits of the average college student.
Peter couldn't help himself when he tried to sneak a peek at his biceps, which he tended to do with guys in short sleeve shirts. But the baggy fit barely allowed a glimpse, even when he stretched his hand out to present the cake.
"Hey, I know you don't have a ton of time. So let me give you the nickel tour. We just need to be kind of quiet, I don't think any of my other roommates are home now, except maybe Jeff, who's supposed to be studying but is probably sleeping," he said as he motioned with his head for Marty to follow him.
"We're all sophomores, we met in the dorms last year," Peter continued as they walked over to the stairs "I liked the dorms as a place to meet people and get used to the place, but it's a bit too crazy on weekends to get studying done. So I found some likeminded types and we all decided to move off-campus."
He took Marty through him the upstairs bathroom and four bedrooms, then returning to the downstairs and the small kitchen, living room, other bathroom, and finally to his own room, explaining that it wasn't always a bedroom.
"Yes, it was the dining room," he acknowledged. "I don't think about these things much, but my Pop is an Architect and he could immediately tell that it wasn't meant to be a bedroom when he walked in. This is where he said there used to be a door to the kitchen," Peter said, pointing to a smoother wall surface behind his bed. "I heard that real estate agents say that you can't rent dining rooms but you can rent bedrooms, at least to students," he said, with a grin that got a small smile in return.
"I think you'd have to be a pro to figure that out, Peter. I would never have been able to tell that out unless someone pointed it out." Marty said as he ran his hand across the subtle change in the surface texture where the patching had taken place.
Peter sat down at his desk, trying save the information on his screen and close the program before continuing the tour. Even though it was just the start of the semester, the room looked lived in and a bit disheveled, kind of like Peter himself. The bed was made, but not terribly precisely. Kind of like how Peter combed his hair, or didn't, as the case may be. There was nothing on the floor besides the rug and a row of lined-up shoes, and desk was reasonably clear, though there was an already an almost overflowing wastebasket. .
The desk itself was an unusual contraption, which Peter explained as he was closing the computer. It was store bought but customized by his Pop, in his own woodshop, with additional shelves and storage areas and even a little cubby for a small aquarium.
"Now, even I can tell this was modified by someone who knows something," Marty said, with enthusiasm in his voice. "It's really fixed up in a cool way, especially the fish tank. You're a fish guy?"
"Oh, yea, those rascals," he said with a smile after finally putting away the laptop. "I've always had pets. I grew up with a dog, which I really liked, but I wanted other animals, too, kind of my own. I had hamsters, gerbils, turtles, my Pop even built me a neat rabbit hutch in the backyard."
"And they were OK with all menagerie?' he asked.
"Not at first, no. But they gave me a chance to prove myself. They tested me and only let me start with something easy like the hamster. But I took good care of Freddy, the hamster that is, and they just let me keep going as long as I took care of whatever I got, which I did. I guess they were surprised that a little kid would actually take care of that kind of stuff."
"Most kids get all excited at first, then they get bored and don't take care of their animals," Marty said, "but it's interesting that you were able to be responsible and that they trusted you."
As he was saying this, he had turned his head from the aquarium to the wall above the desk contraption. Being almost completely covered with framed photographs, it was almost more attention-getting than the desk itself.
Peter could see that he was very interested in the pictures, but didn't disturb him as he was studying them, his head moving slightly as his eyes carefully scanning each row.
"Could I ask you something?" Marty said after his survey, crossing his arms across his chest.
`Yea, sure, go ahead.' Peter found himself oddly on alert, anticipating that some of his answers might surprise him.
`Um...who are the people in the pictures? I mean, don't want to pry or anything, but...?' he asked, with some hesitation.
Well, here goes,' Peter said to himself. It's mostly my family, all the people back home. You want the tour?' he asked getting up out of the chair and motioning toward the rows of identically framed photographs.
Sure,' Marty responded, Tour away!' He said, offering a hint of enthusiasm in his normally controlled voice.
`Well this, one here's my family, both my Dads and...' He silently cursed himself again. He was never sure how to approach this with people and how they would react. He normally didn't care what anyone thought, but this case was a little different. Sure enough, before he could go on, he was interrupted.
"You have two Dads, Peter?" The tone didn't sound judgmental or cynical, but certainly suprised.
`Yea, I do. The one on the upper left is my one Dad, we can him Pop. Which distinguishes him from my other Dad, who gets the Dad-word.' he said with a smile.
Marty didn't react at first, which gave Peter some concern. He felt his jaw get tense, but Marty didn't betray anything. He just looked like he was thinking.
"I've never known anyone with a gay Dad before, let alone two, Peter. It's real different from what I'm used to, not that my family is ...typical," he said, hesitating for a moment, almost like he regretted what he had just said, too. "But it seems like you turned out all right, you know how to kick a soccer ball. So they must have done something right," he said as he kept staring at the picture.
"Well, I guess I'd like to think that, but thanks in either case," he said as he felt his jaw relax. But Peter didn't want to press his luck, as this wasn't the only surprise that he might have for Marty. So he was about to move the conversation onto the next picture when Marty spoke up again.
"What do your parent's do, Peter?"
Surprised again, he stammered for a moment. "My Dad has been pretty much the stay-at-home parent. He's actually a lawyer, but he only worked full time for about year of so before my oldest brother was born, then he just worked part time so he could raise us kids. Pop, who I mentioned to you before, is a partner in an Architecture firm. He does the design part, not much management. He's won awards and stuff; he's really good at it."
"And this must be one of your brothers, no?" Marty asked, pointing to the next picture with three teenage boys in it, one of them obviously Peter.
"Yup, that's Bik..."
"Bik?" he asked.
"Bik, yea," Peter replied with a another smile, having had to answer this kind of question before. "My cousin, over here in this photo," he said, pointing to a striking brunette in the next portrait. "My cousin, EJ, who's just a little older, couldn't pronounce Benedict, which is his real name. She shortened it to `Bik." So everyone else just went along with it."
"That's neat. Kind of a unique name, but not funky."
"Yea I think so, too. We all got named for family and friends." Peter continued. "His full name is Benedict Robert, after our Grandfathers," he said as he nodded his head toward the next person in the picture. This other guy is my brother Robert; he's two years younger than Bik and 3 years older than me."
"So who are you named after?" Marty asked.
"Before I was born, my parents had real good friend named Peter Cassini. My Dad was even the Best Man at his wedding. He got killed in a car accident just before I was born, and his widow, who I call Aunt Kate, is my Godmother. She's right here." He said pointing to a woman in one of the other photographs, posing with a baby Peter and his parents at his christening
"I don't know how your Dads did it, but I can see a family resemblance." Marty remarked, a smile coming onto his face.
Peter just smiled back and chuckled, but didn't go into details and Marty didn't ask further. What was making him a bit more anxious was that, after talking about his Gay dad's and the rest of his family, that the subject of his own sexuality would undoubtedly come up.
Suddenly Marty's eyes caught an odd picture, a fashion advertisement from Target, the trendy department store, inside one of the picture frames. "Peter, you...look like this kid in the shirt and..." He drew himself closer, his face practically up against it. "Hey...it is you!" he said.
"Oh yeah, that," Peter said, with more than a bit of embarrassment, "I did a little bit of that in high school. Some guy saw me at a Mall and convinced my parents to let me try it out."
"Wow, that's interesting...do you still do it?"
"No, it didn't work out." Peter said, pausing for a moment but looking away back toward the first pictures.
"Didn't work out?" Marty asked. "What do you mean?
"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but I wear a hearing aid. Some editor or photo handler for the agency had photoshoped my hearing aid out of one of the pictures. I guess it never occurred to me that they would do that, not that taking liberties with the photos is so unusual in that business," he continued. "But something like this, which is a bit more significant than a zit or a mole, is kind of different."
"My Dad blew his stack," Peter said, "not in front of me of course, but I heard about it."
"I noticed something in your ear the other day. That must be the hearing aid, yes?" Marty asked.
"Yea, it's kind of a cool one, I think. It's not very conspicuous when you're not looking for it, but when you are looking its kind of subtle thing, almost like piece of jewelry. Un-bling, I guess," he said as pulled his hair back to clear the view. "But I still keep my hair kind of long around the ears. I like the look, but it also keeps it low-key."
"Do you hear better in one ear or the other?" Marty asked. "I mean, is it easier for you if I focus on one or the other."
The question surprised Peter, because almost no one ever asked that. "It doesn't matter, really. My left ear is somewhat OK, it's just this one that needs some help," he said, using his right hand to point to the worst side. "But the hearing aid balances it out, more or less," he said, not telling Marty that he had almost no hearing in his right ear without the device.
"Well, I guess if you were to favor one side over the other," he said, having second thoughts, "I guess you could favor my right side. But it's really not a big deal."
Peter then put his hands in his pockets, like he usually did when starting on a discourse. "Anyway, getting back to why I had to quit the modeling thing," he continued, "I don't think I had quite the consciousness about disabilities that I have now, but my parents certainly did. My pop has Epilepsy, so he's dealt with the stigma of this kind of stuff his whole life, too. Anyway, they were really even more pissed when this photographer explained to them that he always `fixed the flaws.' I never saw the scene between that photographer and my parents, but I'm sure it wasn't pretty. They are both pretty calm people but that comment was too much, even for them, and that put the nail in the coffin of my modeling career."
"How did you feel about that?"
Peter was silent for a moment, looking at the picture then back at Marty. "At the time, I kind of liked the work, so that guy saying all that stuff was kind of a bummer. It was fun to get pretty good money and all, though it's a lot more work than you might think. Those shoots can take a whole day, and you've got to hold your body in ways that are supposed to look natural but really aren't," he said.
Looking back at the picture, he continued in a more serious tone. "On the other hand, it's hard to have someone tell you that you need to be `fixed,' that you're not OK just the way you are. I guess that kind of humbled me a lot, too, especially when people are always telling you how supposedly good-looking you are." He was a little surprised at himself for being so blunt and honest with someone he really didn't know that well, but for some reason it didn't feel so awkward.
He had intended to move onto another picture when a head suddenly popped itself inside the doorway. "Ha!" the intruder said, looking at Peter but pointing to Marty, "tell him that they wanted you to go to New York and LA, too! And your big mean parents STILL made you quit! Tell him!"
"Marty, this is my eavesdropping housemate, Jeff Coleman. Jeff, if you can behave yourself and act like a gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Marty."
Jeff stood a few inches shorter than Peter, and with his jet black hair and slight build made a strong contrast with Peter's athletic and blond friend.
"Well, helloooo, big guy, glad to meet you!" he said, his eyes conspicuously looking Marty up and down. "Peter, is this your new..."
Peter cut him off before he could get out what he assumed would be one of his predictable attempts at embarrassment and humiliation. "Marty is a friend from the soccer game yesterday, and if you're good you can have some of the cake he brought."
"Too late, Petee!" he said, I saw it downstairs on our communal countertop and already had some while you guys were in here. Really good, too!" he said, conspicuously rubbing his stomach before returning to his story.
"So, did you tell him that they wanted you to go to the coasts? That you were such a cutie that they thought you could go big-time till your boring parents made you bail out."
"Did they really want you to do that?" Marty asked, definitely curious.
Peter looked at the wall again, away from them both, but still answered. "Yea, but I really don't know why. There were a lot of guys who were better looking than me, who were into it a lot more than I was. They were all over that kind of stuff."
"Don't know why, pretty boy? Well, I can tell you!," Jeff claimed. "Look at these thin lips, very attractive, no? And this square jaw, the long brown hair." He said, circling around him and pointing his thin finger to each succeeding area before ruffling his hand through Peter's hair. "This sort of cheap bowl haircut that he seems to like isn't as flattering as it could be, but that can be fixed with professional help. But then check out the deep brown eyes, like looking into the soul!" He continued, now using both hands to point at each eye until Peter swatted him away.
"And last, but certainly not least, this!" and before Peter knew what was happening, Jeff reached down and quickly pulled up his shirt, revealing the defined ridges of this abs and the thin waist. "And he doesn't even work, at least not a whole lot. It's all in the genes!"
Peter pushed the arms away and quickly jammed the shirt back down into his jeans. His face turning bright red, which, if he was not mistaken, got a momentary smile from Marty. "I think it's time for you to go, Jeff." Peter said.
"Say goodbye!" And with that he placed his hand solidly on Jeff's shoulders and pushed his errant housemate out of the room.
"By the way, big guy," Jeff said as he poked his head back for one last time as Peter reached over to the head of his bed. "Feel free to pop him in the noggin' again if it will get us some more of your delicious cake," he said as he quickly pulled back and out of site as a pillow flew out of Peter's hand and followed him out the door.
"Sorry about that, Marty. He's not a bad guy, but he gets out of control sometimes," he said as he reached his hands behind his neck to give himself a momentary massage, exhaling deeply with a sigh of resignation. It wasn't exactly the way he wanted to be outed to Marty, though he wasn't exactly sure that he had picked up on it, either.
Marty didn't acknowledge anything especially embarrassing or unusual about the Jeffrey encounter, he just nodded his head in agreement then diverted the conversation back to the remainder of the photo gallery. He seemed really interested in one in particular, with a more conventional family group in it.
"That's my Aunt Hanna and Uncle Kurt and my cousins. The girl on the left is EJ, the oldest of them."
"EJ, I think you mentioned her earlier?"
"Oh yea, Elena Julie. She's named after her grandmas, but I guess the name got too long, so they all shortened it. Anyway, she's not even a year older than Bik. Then there's Todd, who is my age and named after his Uncle, his Dad's brother. We're pretty close and really best friends, since we kind of grew up together," he said.
"Then next to him is Katherine, or Kate. She's the second oldest of that family, about Robert's age. She's named after an Aunt back in Europe."
And then, FINALLY," he said with a playful exasperation, "there's Michelle. She's named after my Pop, sort of. Kind of a stretch, since Mike is just my Dad's informal name. His long name isn't actually Michael, but I won't go into it now, too complicated," he said it with a laugh, but was at the same time a little breathless after going through the whole list.
"That pictures is at Bik's wedding, and that was at Robert's wedding last year," he continued, describing the rightmost picture in the bottom row, right above Peter's desk. Fortunately, it looked like he covered all the major pictures. He enjoyed talking about his family, but realized that he might sound like he was going on-and-on, not to mention that he wanted to ask Marty questions about himself.
As they talked and chatted about the pictures, Peter was enjoying the fact that he actually had a guy in his room who wasn't trying to just get him into bed. Even in the few dates he went on, it seemed to be a pattern that guys saw a visit to his room, even with the most innocent of motives, as a subtle invitation to start the fun early.
Just below the photos, conspicuous on Peter's table was a large red binder labeled "Gay and Lesbian Alliance" in bold letters, and just below than in slightly smaller type, "Peter Kovar, Treasurer." It was almost natural that one's eyes would go from the last picture and see the binder, which he had completely forgotten about.
There was one thing Peter had realized as he was getting older and in different environments. That as comfortable as he and his family were with him being gay, one could never know what a person's reaction might be. Almost unconsciously, he tensed up again.
"Jeeze Peter, I kind of gathered that you were gay from earlier, but I wasn't sure," he said, hesitating somewhat. "So your Dad's are gay and then you're gay, too...?" Marty started to say before he paused. Peter thought he looked a bit confused if nothing else, for the first time losing some of the confidence in his voice. But he seemed to recover quickly "...is that some kind of...um...TriFecta?"
Peter exhaled a sigh of relief and just smiled, rubbing his hand along the top of the binder. He was glad that Marty could make a joke of it, though it seemed to have somehow stunned him a bit, also.
`But why did I care so much anyway?' Peter asked himself. Though he never fit the role of a militant, he was about as out as someone could be and didn't worry about what others thought of him. This anxiety with Marty was something he couldn't figure out.
"I can't believe you'd want to be treasurer of anything," Marty continued, studying the binder, "I was treasurer of my hiking club in high school and was responsible for collecting everyone's dues. You'd think that kids in a good-cause environmental group would be more honest and reasonable, but that wasn't the case, at least at my school," he said with only the hint of a smirk. "I hope your group makes it easier on you than mine did for me."
"We'll, I guess I get what's left after they've spent everything else on beer and pizza" he replied. He was relieved at Marty's seeming nonchalance, but again didn't want to press his luck by saying what he really believed, which was `porn and condoms.'
Peter removed his hand from the book and leaned up against the desk chair behind him. "Enough of my droning on about my own family, Marty," he said, genuinely wanting to find out about his background. "What about you? Do you have any siblings?" he asked.
"I have a younger sister," he answered, with a surprising burst of enthusiasm. "She's just a year younger, and is starting her freshman year. She's really smart and got a ton of scholarships," he continued, with obvious pride. "I did all right in high school, but she was the one who really shined. She was valedictorian of her class and got a National Merit Scholarship, too."
"What's her name?"
"Angela. Angela and me, that's all the family," he said, then quickly but somewhat reluctantly added, "I mean, it's just her and me and my Mom, too."
"She, my mom I mean, is from a big family, so I've got lots of cousins and stuff, though I'm not real close to them, at least not like you and your family. I guess you might say we wouldn't name our kids after each other." Unlike the irony in some of his comments, there was none here.
Having just one parent, though not as unusual as having two gay parents, was still not the norm. But since Marty didn't elaborate on the maternal situation, Peter didn't ask further. But what little he could gather from nuance and tone of voice didn't seem very positive, unlike his obvious pride in his sister.
They had just started to talk about their academic majors when Marty suddenly looked at his watch.
"Oh shit!" he said "I've got to head out Peter, I have a work-study job in the library and should have been out of here 20 minutes ago."
"OK, let's get you packed and get you out of here," Peter replied as he scooted around Marty, leading him out of the room and back to the kitchen to retrieve his backpack, which he had left on the kitchen counter. Peter was just about to open the door for him to leave when Marty paused before going out the door. It surprised Peter, as he was surely in a rush, but he didn't move or make a sound for a few moments. Then he suddenly spoke up.
"Hey, it was really good talking to you and all. I meant to ask you, um... if you're interested, if you wanted to reconstitute our team for the intramural soccer league?" He asked. "You might already be on a team and all, so if you can't, no problem..."
"Yes!, of course" Peter answered, obviously happy to be asked. "I think I can track down at least half of them. I have your number on the cell phone history, so I'll give you a call, OK?"
"Sounds good!" Marty said, as he swung his leg over the frame and got onto his bike. He gave Peter a brief wave of his hand and he was off down the driveway.
Peter went back to his bedroom and prepacked all his books for his late afternoon class, allowing himself the chance to sleep until the last minute. His usual pattern last year was that he would lay down in bed and maybe get to sleep after 45 minutes or an hour or so of just lying there, if he got to sleep at all. If he had a late class, he'd lie there as long as possible even if he didn't sleep, then grab his backpack and run out the door.
Kicking off his shoes but keeping his street clothes on, he pulled some books off the bed before pushing the covers over and crawling in, then placed his hearing aid on the nightstand and set the alarm clock. To make sure he woke up, but didn't disturb his housemates, he normally didn't use the sound component of the alarm but a flashing light and a device called a bed shaker that went under this mattress. He then pulled the covers up over himself and plopped his head on the multi-colored pillow.
With all the excitement and tension of the first day of school, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep at all. Normal days were difficult enough for him, but special times like this made him especially alert and unable to relax.
As he lie there on the bed he thought about the visit from Marty. He seemed like a really good guy. And kind of cute, too, though not in the way that people like Jeff judged good looks. And in spite of his own anxiety about coming out or somehow alienating him, he felt a certain calmness around him that put him at ease.
Suddenly, he felt the vibration of his alarm and he looked up at the clock face. He wiped his eys and shook his head in disbelief. He'd just been asleep for two hours.
As always, I hope that you all are enjoying the story. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think.