Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard
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Chapter 10
Tristan returned to university with a new appreciation of Texas. It was the Texas of the beautiful Hill Country with its cows, grape vines and woods of junipers (called cedars here) and oaks, of broad daytime skies and humbling stars at night. It was the Texas of simple, friendly people who were no more simple or friendly than a lot of other people upon closer acquaintance and, in the case of Miss Lucille, with a tendency to the gothic. It was the Texas of dying towns and worn down farmers, crushed under the invisible hand of `big' hostile entities and always with the false hope of prosperity just beyond their grasp. It was, in fact, like a lot of other places--perhaps everywhere--a universal mixture of happiness and sadness, but unique in it own brand of each.
He liked Colton's family, even coming to terms with Mitchell and his wife, who just thought differently about--well, just about everything, but formed a part of the landscape just as much as those Baptist churches with the big crosses planted in their front lawns and the rundown shacks displaying the stars-and-stripes or (more disturbingly) the flag of The Confederacy above their sagging grey porches.
The Colton Problem, now capitalised, was as yet unresolved. Tristan tried to put it from his mind.
The first task upon their return was to see if the camera trap had captured a traitor. Hollis retrieved the camera from Colt's locker in the changing room and it was plugged in to his laptop. They crowed around. The camera switched on when there was movement detected. They saw the blackness vanish when the steel door was opened. There was Nguyen, the team's towel boy. He picked up one of Colton's jockstraps--a black one--and the screen went black as the door was shut.
"Well, let him have it. It's only a jockstrap and he's a pretty good towel boy when all's said and done." The others murmured approval of Colton's understanding attitude. The screen lit up again and it was a female hand that reached in. "I think that's Leesha!" cried Tristan. She dropped a pair of lacy black knickers behind a gym bag.
"I think they're a pair of Rachel's," said Hollis. They all looked at him.
Before he could speak, the door opened again. "Does everyone have my key?" asked Colton. "Hey! That's Rachel's bangle and that's a pair of Leesha's panties, I'm sure.
"They're trying to slut shame each other," said Tristan.
The door opened a fourth and final time. It was Hetch, there could be no doubt. He put his whole head in the locker as he hunted for the playbook. He found it and the screen quickly went black again.
"Well, what do we do?" asked Tristan.
"Don't know," said Colton. "I think we should hold on to the video, but let it ride for a spell." The other two wanted to argue, but Colton had great authority, especially when it came to football, and so they backed down.
Tristan bit the bullet, in this case taking half an antidepressant and shot of Jack' with a little water to wash it down, and sat in front of his laptop at Colton's desk. He sent the first email to his mother, not responding to the outrage of her last one where she took offense at his sudden departure from his grandmother's. He began by hoping her pregnancy was going well. He dredged up what he knew about the conditioni and said that he hoped she wasn't suffering from morning sickness and had been taking folic acid (He hoped that was right). Then he was stuck and sat staring at the screen. He then thought of something and related enough details of Thanksgiving as might be appropriate in some guidebook. He couldn't bring himself to say anything more personal. What could he possibly say? And he felt ashamed as he pressed send'. At least he had made an effort to keep the lines open and he consoled himself with this thought. Then he added a picture of himself on Tammy, with the caption that he was studying to be a rustler. He hoped the humour showed his mother his insouciance in the face of her provocation.
The second was to his father. He started by asking if he was back from Costa Rica. Then thought he'd better ask, in general terms, what he'd been doing there, although he couldn't have cared less--or as they say in the South, I could have cared less'--which never made any sense to Tristan. Then he asked politely after Cylvah, adding that he hoped she had a fatal disease, but quickly deleted that bit. He wrote something about his studies, which he felt was only fair as his father was paying good money. He added that he was enjoying his truck for the same reason, although it was Colton who was the main driver. Then he said that he hoped to see his father at Christmas, which was drawing near. He avoided using the word home', because he did not think of the apartment in Dallas as one.
Then came the two requests. Tristan felt very guilty for asking favours, but pressed on. There was the request `from my roommate's brother' for a job in shale oil and he attached Dacey's resume, which he had received. Lastly he asked if the cabin was available in January.
There was the problem of how to sign off. Was best wishes' enough? regards'-- even `warmest regards'-- sounded wrong.
He turned towards the clanking that filled the room. Colton was on the weight's bench doing his routine. Tristan didn't mind the noise and insisted that his roommate must wear only a jock. "How should I close this email to Dad?" he asked.
Colton put the bar on the rest and swaggered over, the straining mesh pouch of the jock pressing right into Tristan's face as he leaned in to read. Tristan gave it a lick and Colton grinned as he looked down. "Fag!" he said. Then, "Love from your faggy son', maybe?" Tristan snorted. "No, Tris, love', always go for love' when in doubt. Keep the high ground." Tristan wrote love' and pressed `send'.
They were settled on the big bed, both reading on their phones. Tristan saw that he had mail on his laptop and went to fetch it. His father had replied. Tristan relayed to Colton that Cylvah had organised Christmas dinner at some fancy hotel in Dallas. Two other expatriate executives would be joining them with their families and he said that they looked forward to Tristan's presence. `Wear a suit'.
"Sounds fuckin' awful," moaned Tristan.
"Hey dude," said Colt looking up from his phone. "Spend Christmas with y'dad then blow them off and come down to the farm."
"I could? That would be great, Colt. Ask your folks first, though."
"Don't have to, they asked me to ask when you'd made y'all 'rangements, 'sides, we can drive back n' I won't have to take the bus."
"Hey! He says he'll look out for Dacey and has passed his resume on to someone in Midland. Will you text him? The cabin is no problem for January; he just said to inform Mr and Mrs Brayshaw--they're the caretakers. They look after about a dozen cabins on the estate. He sent their email address."
"Your ole man is alright, Tris."
"I suppose so. Oh no, here is one from Mum." He turned the screen to Colton. There was no message, just an awful electronic Christmas card with falling snow and tinny music. The image was a picture of his mother posed formally with Rodger who was in a suit and tie and the two boys in their school uniforms. Underneath it said `Greetings from the Trefeusises'.
"Yeah, that's pretty shitty, Tris."
"I suppose she looks happy and..." A great sob suddenly welled-up from his breast. "Where did that come from?" he tried to say between gulps. His eyes were brimming. Colt put his arm around him and hugged him. "No, really...I'm quite alright...It's just that it caught me...unawares...and..." There were a few more sobs and then Tristan sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Let's go and see Parker and Hollis. Maybe we can play some R.E." They rose from the bed and Colt dried Tristan's eyes like a mother, but with his jockstrap that he'd picked up from the mess on the floor. Tristan saw it and laughed. They then left the room, just in their boxers, to visit their buddies who would, no doubt, be similarly attired.
One change since Thanksgiving was that Colton had seen Dr Baddeley and a stiff letter was drafted forbidding the coaching staff from training their quarterback to the detriment of his ribs. The football staff did not like it and the team's doctor was displeased with Colton going behind his back, but Colton stood his ground, even threatening to walk away if he was further mistreated, with the hint that he would sue. Coach Gleeson said little.
Surprisingly, they narrowly won the following week, with Matt still acting as offensive quarterback. Then, the week after that and played in freezing weather, was a great victory--a blow out win. Colton had returned to the team, his ribs mended, and he had directed a series of fabulous offensive plays that the other team, from San Antonio, could just not block.
Interestingly, Hetch Gleeson failed to appear at the after party, which Tristan had gone to. When he was next seen, he had clearly been beaten up, with his left eye almost closed up and he walked as if all of one side was bruised.
Colt decided to act. With Matt taken into his confidence and Hollis to back him up, they paid a visit to Hetch's apartment in one of the complexes on the edge of the campus. They knocked and when the door was opened they forced their way in. Hetch was flustered and said, "What do you assholes want?"
"What happened to your face?" asked Hollis.
"I was hit pretty hard during the game, you know..."
"You were warming the bench most o'the game, Gleeson. I saw you in the showers and you didn't look like that," said Matt.
"Well, the bruising was slow to come out."
"Bull-shit," said Colt, stretching out the word. "We need to cut the crap and have a little heart-to-heart."
"I don't see any reason why I have to answer to a jumped-up freshman like you, Stone. You're a fuckin' show pony and the sooner they see that, the sooner you and that fag of a boyfriend of yours will be back to Bumfuck Texas or wherever your faggy ass is from."
Colt slapped him so hard that he fell to the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. He tried to stand but Colton pushed him to the floor with his foot.
"Leave us for a minute, guys, I want to talk to Gleeson in private."
Hetch looked up in alarm, he was a big guy with all the required muscles, but Colton was bigger, and he didn't want the others to leave, but they did, standing in the breezeblock stairwell of the apartment complex.
A full twenty minutes passed before Colton emerged. Hetch could be seen closing his own door, so they knew he was at least alive. Colton said nothing until they had crossed the road and were seated in the windswept courtyard of the Geology Building.
"Well?" began Hollis.
"He was being blackmailed, just as Tristan thought. He didn't like me taking his place, of course, neither did his pa. That's why he 'lowed me to take that hit in the first game. That's why his pa was so tough on me. Seems like he loves his son in a twisted sort of way--and was cut up real bad when they drafted me. Blamed Hetch too for failing a semester and having to come back. But the son's afeared of his pa somethin' terrible. Didn't say it, but I reckon he beats on him too.
"So Coach Gleeson did that to Hetch?" asked Matt.
"Nah, it was the guy that Daryl Taylor saw Gleeson with in the gay bar in Dallas, the one who they reckoned for his boyfriend. That guy was not so much a boyfriend as his tormentor. He'd picked up Gleeson or maybe Gleeson picked him up, but right quick made him his bitch-- a cum dump' he said-- for him and a couple of his SBU teammates who like that sort of thing, the sick fucks. Gleeson was pretty tearful tellin' me this." Colton lowered his voice. "They tore up his ass pretty bad. He spent one night in emergency." The other two nodded gravely, Hollis muttering, Baptists'.
"Seems like it started out with Hetch offering him our game plays maybe for revenge, maybe so he could get the dude to fuck him, but then he found that he had to do what he was told or they'd spill all to his homophobe pa, Coach Gleeson. Had some pics on their phones. Seems like the SBU dudes like to bet on the outcomes too, illegal though it is. I'd sure love to prove it."
"You believe him?" asked Matt.
"Yeah, I do," said Colton. "I know when a dude's lyin' and when he's scared. Our boy was shittin' himself. Humiliatin' for a growed man, don'tcha think?"
"But the stolen plays?" asked Hollis. "They were fakes, weren't they?"
Colton grinned. "Complete bullshit and it was sure fun makin' em up. But they musta realised and that's why our boy was beat up.
"So, you gonna tell everyone?" asked Hollis.
"Dunno, I think I better ask Tris."
They found Tristan in the Library, Matt looking around in wonderment as it was probably his first time there. They dragged him away from his books and went for beer, even though it was early in the day.
Tristan had never seen Colton so worked up, outside of on the football field. There was a pulsing vein in his neck visible and his jaw was tight as he related events. When it came to striking the hapless Hetch, Tristan suddenly though of the ferocious Colton on the weights machine. Yes, there was this side of him too.
"So what do y'all think I should do?"
"You're asking me?"
"Yeah, I'm asking you dickbrain, 'cause y'all the smartest one of us all." He turned to Hollis and Matt. "Sorry dudes, but y'catch m'drift."
Tristan spent five minutes denying this assessment and then, over his second beer, he said, "I think you should make friends with Hetch Gleeson."
"How you figure that?" asked Colton, with great surprise in is voice.
"Yeah, he did the dirty on Colt and the whole team."
"All that is true, but you said yourself some of it was not his fault, even if he did start it. There's his fucked up relationship with his father. There's the fact that he's gay. There's the fact that your team is supposed to be gay friendly--here's a chance to put your money where your mouth is."
"I'm not puttin' my mouth nowhere near Hetch Gleeson," laughed Matt.
"He's hurtin', Colt, like you said. Wouldn't it be better if we could help him, have him inside the tent? I bet he's a real nice guy under all that."
"You're kidding!" said Colt, astounded. "You reckon he's a good dude?"
"Don't know for certain, but there was this story I read..."
Hollis and Matt looked puzzled. "He reads these dumb J.O. stories. Go on."
"Well, the lacrosse captain--or was it hockey? Well, he went around collecting damaged dudes and making them into brothers. He'd lost his own brothers in a mining disaster or something. The worst guy on the team, the one who had beaten up his boyfriend so bad they thought he's die and had done all sorts of mean stuff like planting drugs and slashing tyres, turns out that he was being abused by his own father who was the chief of police. The captain dude--he was like you Colt--well, he forgave him and he became part of the tribe after he got some psych treatment."
"How'd it end?"
"Dunno. Writer stopped posting."
"That is so fucked up," said Colton. "Basing what we should do here and now on some story that y'all read cross-eyed and with y'dick in y'hand." The other two laughed. "Y'all can't do that in real life."
"What about the about the Gospel of St Matthew and those parables?"
"Huh?"
"Well, Jesus telling the people to `love thy enemy' and the Good Samaritan dude. There's a fictitious story that people are supposed to base their real actions on."
"Good point," said Colton after a pause. "And one delivered by an atheist. Good shaming, Tris."
Tristan grinned. "Just don't tell Mitch and Kelsey or they'll be wanting me to go with them to the happy clappers. 'Course the Bible has better English than Goin' Down in Lehigh, but the similarities are quite interesting."
So it was that Hetch Gleeson appeared at the table in Nonno's with the regular Sunday night crowd. Colt had threatened to `beat the shit' out him if he didn't come and Leesha and Rachel had been warned to keep quiet by Colton who returned their respective underwear.
Several others at the table did not know that Hetch was gay so he was pretty tense and quiet at first, perhaps also chagrined at mixing with freshman. Some innocuous remarks about football passed his lips. He bought a round of beers.
"What are y'all plans this year, Mister Footballer?" asked Alexinia who was opposite. The whole table turned to him.
"Well, if I finish two units, I'll have my degree in Computer Science by January and I can graduate. Then I'm goin' to leave this shit hole."
"Back to Chicago?" asked Hollis. "That's where you're from, ain't it?"
"Yeah, m'dad came down here four years ago and I moved with Mom when my sister and me finished high school. Last year moved off campus when Dad got me the apartment. Thinkin' of moving to LA or someplace. I'd like to start afresh and away from my folks. They don't know I'm gay, you see."
"You a gay boy too?" asked Alexinia.
"Yeah!" said Hetch with a trace of defiance. "Like cock better'n vag." Then he went red and looked down at the table sheepishly.
"Well, your plum welcome here, friend," said Colton in a way only a Southerner could get away with. "There's one or two here that'll oblige you in if you smile purty and buy them a beer." He looked at Tristan who rolled his eyes and gave Colton the finger.
"Thanks, Stone. I'm real sorry for being a shit to y'all."
Some of the others at the table didn't understand the comment and Colton spoke up. "Our teammate was hurtin' and having a rough time, like we all have. He done some bad stuff, but that's all right now." Colton, the quarterback had said it; that was sufficient for all.
"That was very well handled, Colt," said Tristan who was lying in bed reading.
Colton was standing in the open doorway of the closet pulling off his tee-shirt in the way jocks do: from the hem first and with arms crossed. He looked hot. "Well, it was y'all suggestion, Roomy. That jerk story got it right. Did y'see Hetch smile when Matt and Deshawn asked if 'n he wanted to see The Irishman? I don't reckon Hetch has many good buds. Is a bit of a loaner, apart from purely football stuff."
"He probably lost any friends he had last year when they all graduated."
"Maybe so" said Colt dropping his cargos to the floor where they would stay unless Tristan took them to the wash. "Anyway, I'm mighty obliged to you, Tris, once again. Y'all helped me cement by position with t'other dudes."
Colton was wearing, not his habitual plaid boxers, but a pair of Tristan's bikini briefs--an expensive European brand. "Fuck you look hot in those," said Tristan who was watching. "Your arse looks amazing."
Colton turned around grinning. "What about from this angle?"
"Fuck, your bulge is huge!"
"Yeah, well I've been feeling sexy in 'em the whole day. Had to beat off in the Library restrooms. Do you reckon Hetch would 'preciate a Snapchat?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea. He already suspects you're gay and no straight boy would wear those."
"Well, I ain't gay," said Colt about to take them off. Tristan told him to sleep in them.
"I know that," said Tristan as Colt pulled back the covers on his side. "But I'd really like to lick your straight boy muscles while we jack off. Would you be up for that?
"Fine as cream gravy, Roomy," replied the quarterback who began by straddling Tristan on his knees, thighs parted and flexing his guns.