Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

by Donny Mumford

Chapter 2... First Day at Work, not good... then meeting Mark Baker is good

Today is not my first 'first day' on a job; mom was right about that. I've worked the past four summers at different jobs, and there's always a 'first day,' but Dad wasn't wrong either by saying this is a different situation. Screwing this up would be a bad beginning for my life in the 'real world.' And so what if being a UPS package handler is a crappy job? Crappy jobs are still worth doing well.

And, no, I'm not planning on making a 'career' at UPS. It's a start, and for my self-confidence, I need to make it a success. As for my plans, it's fifty-fifty I'll take night college courses in the fall or try the 'trade school' route. Contrary to what my parents believe, not going to college doesn't mean I'll end up living on the streets addicted to drugs.

My short-term goal is to earn enough money to live in my own apartment. When that's accomplished, and I expect to make it happen in a month or so, I'll decide about college or a trade school. I turned nineteen a month ago, but I don't think that's old enough to know what I want to do ultimately.

Those are some of my thoughts as I'm driving to the UPS office in Drexel Hill. Also, I can't ignore how unimpressed I was of yesterday's interview process. Plus, starting a new job the day after my interview is odd. As I'm parking, I tell myself to concentrate on basics such as looking people in the eyes when I speak with them and projecting an optimistic and positive attitude. That's easier said than done for me, and it doesn't help that I don't even know where I should go right now. Someone should have given me more information yesterday. Okay, I should have asked for more information myself, but getting hired took me by surprise, and I froze up.

At a quarter to seven, I'm inside the building witnessing a great deal of noisy activity with the night shift finishing up as the morning one is arriving. I stand here waiting for someone, anyone, to tell me what to do. An older woman with big hair taps my shoulder and asks, "Are you waiting to punch in?" I'm like, "I don't have anything to punch in with." She goes, "Oh, you're new, huh?" I nod, and she says, "There should be a time card for you at the time-card board. If you'll let me by, I'll show you where the board is. They don't tell new employees shit around here."

Mumbling, "Thank you," I step out of her way, but there's no card for me where she said there should be one. Feeling awkward, I'm looking around, hoping to see Tully as men and women are bumping me, so I guess I'm still in the way. This blows!

I'm about to try finding my way to Tully's office when someone touches my arm, "Mathew?" Turning, I see a young fellow in his mid-twenties who looks tough and rough in a way I don't care for. "Yes, I'm Mathew Burke," and he says, "I thought so. Hi, I'm Rich Gold. Come with me, and I'll get you started." Well, okay I guess, but Tully said someone named Vinnie would be training me. These people don't appear to have their act together.

Rich shows me a bank of lockers where I can store things like my lunch, a coat, or whatever. He says, "Bring a combination lock with you tomorrow." I nod, "Yeah, sure." Next, I follow him toward the back of the warehouse, the area I was in yesterday that's near the loading dock. We pass Tully's desk and enter a small room that has a couple of tables with chairs around the tables. Rich says, "This is where we take short breaks, lunch, or whatever. Sit down and I'll go over a few things with you." I notice that there are a couple of vending machines here, but Rich doesn't offer me the chance to use one. I could go for a cup of coffee but I don't mention it.

We sit and he puts the folder he was carrying on the table. He says, "Mathew, I'm the only full-time person in the package handler unit, other than Tully. Vinnie Austin was a full-timer but he unexpectantly quit yesterday after his shift. I don't know why. Anyway, I've been elected to train you this week in addition to my regular job, so I hope to hell you're a quick learner."

I've nothing to say to that, so he continues, "In this facility, the package handlers have been part-timers for a couple of years now. We need to have a few full-timers for stability. Also, I'm in position for promotion to UPS driver but first, I need to train my replacement so, haha, I'm motivated to get you up to speed as quickly as I can." I nod, mumbling, "Uh-huh," and then realize my eyes are looking at his forehead where the skin is peeling from a sunburn. I look at his eyes, and he says, "They're interviewing applicants for another full-timer as we speak, but you and I are not waiting for that."

He goes on, "This isn't hard labor, Matthew, but it's steady work. Eight hours of loading, unloading, scanning, and then sorting/stacking items. You, Mathew, are expected to meet the average quota, which is two hundred packages per hour. I wanna be up-front with you about that." He spends a half-hour going over safety rules and procedures using a flip-chart from the folder. Next, we walk outside where I watch a truck getting unloaded onto a conveyor belt.

Then, the folder he brought with him contains my electronic punch-in card and he explains what I do with that and blah, blah, blah. After going over the rest of the material in the folder for an hour, Rich tells me, "I want you to meet Marty Barret now. Marty is the Teamster shop steward. You'll want to join the union, of course." Teamsters? This is the first I'm hearing about Teamsters, not that I'm against unions.

I meet Marty who is an older man with a car salesman's smile. My trainer, Rich, says, "I'll leave Mathew with you, Marty. When you've finished, give me a call, and I'll take it from there." They bump fist, and Rich walks off as Marty nods at the chair he wants me to sit on and then tells me that the Teamsters represent not only UPS drivers, but all UPS's employees and blah, blah, blah with me nodding my head and trying to look interested. He shows me a grievance form and tells me I'm to complete one of these forms whenever I feel I'm unfairly treated. "Oh, and, um, union dues are only 2.5% of your pay. Um, sign here," and he points at the spot.

Well, why not? I sign, and then he says, "Oh, there's a small matter of a drug test. They should have already given you the drug test but since it was overlooked we'll do it now. Um, you are not a user of illegal drugs, are you, Mathew?" I shake my head, "Good, but I need you to pee in this bottle for me anyway," and he hands me a small plastic bottle. I ask, "Here?" and he laughs, "No! Haha, in the lavatory. I'll walk you down to the closest one." Inside the bathroom, he loiters near me while I pee. Awkward!

Back in his office, he chats some more about how beneficial the union is and then he's finished and I lean against the wall outside Marty's office waiting twenty-minutes before Rich shows up. He doesn't apologize for keeping me waiting and as we walk to the warehouse, he tells me, "Mathew, I need to do a few things now, so why don't you take your lunch break." I nod, mumbling, "Sure, okay."

After retrieving my lunch from the locker, I eat it alone sitting in the little room Rich said was the worker's 'break' room. Oh man, this has been a long four hours, plus I'm not used to eating lunch at eleven o'clock. Forcing myself to eat, I'm thinking how I haven't seen a single package handler under the age of, well, they're all middle age, and they're part-time help, so none of them eat lunch here.

After lunch, Rich and I work together the rest of the day doing what a new package handler, meaning me, does. I log out using my time card and then as I sit in my idling car, I try processing everything from my first day. Although I'm less than enthused, I'm determined to make this work. During my drive home I tell myself this is probably the worst day I'll have on the job, but as it turns out, I'm wrong about that.

At the local ACE hardware store, I buy a combination lock and then, Wednesday morning at work, I put my lunch in my locker, use the combination lock, and punch-in at the timeclock. I need to go looking for Rich and when I find him, we work for only two hours and then I'm on my own. What happened to his bullshit story about training me all week? My supervisor, Tully, is no help as he has responsibilities of some kind that have nothing to do with the workers unloading and loading trucks. Marge is a part-timer and she tries to help me with the differences between like-looking packages, but after a few minutes, she says, "Sorry, hon, but I gotta catch up on my production now. You're doing okay." No, I'm not.

I've pissed off two drivers before lunch and get yelled at a few times by different drivers on Thursday as well, and then the same thing happens Friday. The drivers hate my loading skills. The only other male on my shift is a retired postal worker, a black guy named Dinger. He tells me the drivers are picking on me because I'm new, and most of the drivers are pricks anyway. What he doesn't tell me is how I can do my job better. And, oh yeah, Friday morning, a driver told me I did an okay job of packing, but I'd put everything in the wrong truck. Both drivers had a good laugh about that as they smoked cigarettes watching me move everything.

Rich shows up again Friday afternoon to tell me I'm not cutting it. He shows me a printout that reflects the number of packages I handled. "Look, Matt, I know it's your first week, but if you want to continue working for UPS, you've gotta put in the effort." I have a strong urge to tell him to go fuck himself and tell him that his training skills blow, but the thought of getting fired in my first week is not something I can even contemplate, so I tell him, "You'll see my production soar next week, Rich. Guaranteed!" He pats my shoulder, saying, "I'm sure I will," and that was that.

Driving home Friday afternoon, I feel defeated because how the hell am I going to turn everything around on Monday? I was right thinking these people are disorganized and I'm frustrated beyond belief! I mean, I worked my ass off, skipping lunch even, and yet I still almost got fired. I manage to calm down, change my clothes, and then think about calling Dean. No, he'll be no help so I stay in my room pouting until I'm like, GET OVER IT, MATHEW!

With nothing better to do, I go online and again read everything I can from blogs about UPS workers. There is a lot of bitching about the workload and so forth, but if parttime middle-age women and an old retired man can succeed, why not me? At times I get myself in a cycle that I can't get out of and that's what happens with the UPS blogs, I read and read and read and read no matter I'm not learning anything useful. I know why I do this, it's my Asperger thing, but knowing that doesn't mean I stop doing it.

Friday, during dinner, I listen to my mom complaining about her supervisor at the Acme supermarket and hear dad telling her to get a better attitude because they need the money and blah, blah, blah. Finally, Dad waves dismissively at mom and then looks at me, asking, "Did you find out how much of your college tuition UPS will pay?" Right now is probably not a good time to mention I almost got fired. I'm like, "Not yet, dad, but I will." Mom says, "There's nothing wrong with my attitude at work, Nick, and..."

I don't wanna hear anymore so I go to my room and call Dean, and he's like, "Matty! Whassup, bro?" I ask, "Do ya wanna do something tonight?" He says, "I've got a date tonight." Hesitating for a second, I mutter, "A date? With who?" Dean says, "Never you mind with who," and I'm like, "Oh, Grace Falco, right?" He chuckles, mumbling, "Maybe. Anyway, I gotta finish getting ready. I'll talk to you later."

Well, I'm not staying in tonight. I've got a car now so I'll drive to the mall and kill some time there. And, oh yeah, tomorrow I'll be doing caregiving for Tommy Singleterry, which is never a good time. I feel wicked sorry for him though, and I promised to do it, so I'll do it even though it'll be a long, tedious day.

As I'm walking out the front door, mom asks, "Where are you going, Matt?" I mumble, "Out. I won't be late," and I keep walking. Before I bought my car, this would have been a far different scene. I'd need to make up something specific before I'd be allowed to take mom's car. Thank God those days are over! Sure, I wish I had something specific to do, but I'm on my own tonight and that's alright.

So, for no particular reason, I drive past the UPS building slowing down as I go past it. There's plenty of activity going on there. I'm just happy not to be part of it. Then I drive back around past Lewis' house without seeing him and then I drive to the bowling alley. When I get there, I see a couple of cars parked outside that I recognize so I know who some of the guys inside are, but I don't feel comfortable going in alone and hooking up with them.

Instead, I drive to the mall and go inside as if I might buy something. Or, maybe I'll see someone I know who will invite me to join them, um, doing whatever. I personally do not have the confidence to invite someone to do something with me because what if they said 'no.' How embarrassing for me would that be?

I'm looking around Macy's men's Polo section because I like Polo clothes. I rarely buy any though because they're expensive, and rarely on sale. A smiling saleslady with large breasts asks, "Can I help you find something?" I mutter, "Oh, um, no, I wasn't, um...."

Quickly walking from Macy's into the mall proper, I drift down the upper-level aisle feeling conspicuous. I don't get far before I'm concerned about two guys who just walked out of a video store ahead of me. I know them both from high school so I slow down. One is Dick Love, who was very friendly to me last year. Hell, we had lunch together a few times, and he suggested we hang out some weekend. I wanted to do that but it never happened. Unfortunately, tonight the guy he's with is someone I want to avoid. If Dick was alone though I'd pretend I didn't see him and then accidentally on purpose make sure I ran into him. Well, he's not alone, so...

To be safe, I take the escalator down to the first level and stop at a kiosk selling sunglasses. Thinking about the sunglasses Bruce had earlier this week, I'm holding my eyeglasses in one hand as I try a few sunglasses on, but none are like the one Bruce had. There's a sales guy who comes over cheerfully saying, "You look cool with those shades on," I put the sunglasses back, mumbling, "I was just looking," and, while putting my glasses back on I turn too quickly bumping into another guy.

Oh, I recognize him from high school too, he's Joe Lions. As I adjust my glasses, he says, "Dude, totally my clumsy fault." I shake my head, "Nah, sorry, Joe. I didn't look." He goes, "Jesus, Burke, you can talk, huh?" I frown at him, and he says, "I'm kidding." I mutter, "Oh, yeah, haha," and he says, "Anyway, how's your summer going? Where are you going to college?"

This gets more awkward because when I was straightening my glasses something flew in my eye. Taking my glasses off, I'm rubbing my eye, saying, "Jeez, Joe, sorry, but, um, something went in my eye." He takes hold of my arm pulling me to the Verizon store away from the crowded aisle. "Let me see Matt." He gently moves my hand away from my eye and then leans his head close to mine. His big brown eyes stare into the eye I was rubbing, but I can't keep it open for more than a split-second at a time.

Joe is a little taller than me and very nice looking. He's, um, extremely preppy too. Preppy Polo clothes and a short preppy haircut, and he's rah-rah, gung-ho about everything. A popular guy, and with his face this close it causes me problems and I make gulping sound in my throat as my cock firms up.

Joe mumbles, "Hold still," and he spreads my eyelids with a forefinger on the upper one and his thumb on the bottom one. Then, using only the pad on the index finger of his other hand he lightly touches my eyeball and then takes a step back to show me what was on my eye. It's a small speck of something glistening. He says, "Hard to believe something that small can cause major discomfort on the eye, huh?"

I shudder slightly, still feeling where his fingers touched me as well as his spearmint-gum breath that was moist against my face. Staring at his finger, I mutter, "Un-huh. Thanks, Joe." He says, "Sure, no problem. Um, who are you here with?" I'm now looking at his sexy mouth as I mumbling, "Oh, no one. I'm, ah, here alone to buy, um, something." He pats my back, saying, "Alone, huh? Well, so am I, so let's hang out. Whaddaya say?" He holds up a bag, adding, "I bought the jeans I came here to get and now I need something to eat." My eyes drift up too far and I'm looking at his preppy blond hair as I mumble, "Sure, okay."

His arm goes across my shoulders, "Great! How about we split a pizza at Bertucci's?" I go, "Okay," and, as we begin walking, Joe leaves his arm across my shoulders. Wouldn't it be fantastic if Joe's gay and he likes me? Now that I think about it, he's talked to me at school a number of times. I'm not good at keeping small talk conversations going, plus he's so popular I felt intimidated or something, and the conversations all fizzled out. He was always nice about it, though.

As we walk down the mall toward Bertucci's at the other end, Joe asks, "Where'd you say you're going to college?" I go, "I'll be going to Community College, um, at night, maybe." It feels so good being with someone at the mall, and then I hear, "Yo, Joe! Hey, Lions, up here! " Joe looks up and then yells, "Hey, Murph! Wassup?" Whoever Murph is, he's on the top level, and Joe doesn't appear inclined to join up with him. Just a 'shout-out' I guess.

We continue walking as Joe says, "Night school, huh? Do you have a job?" I tell him about my UPS job, and he goes, "Oh, jeez, um, UPS huh? Well, good luck with that, Mattie." I say, "But I might go to a day college next year. Where are you going?"

We're at Bertucci's now, so Joe tells the receptionist person, "A table for two," and she seats us. Joe chuckles and says, "Hell, you probably never heard of the college I'm going to. It's called Merrimack College. Yeah, my dad went there, so I'm a 'legacy' student. It's a smallish college in a suburb not too far from Boston." I nod my head, but can't think of anything to say to that. Boston may as well be on the moon as far as me ever going there.

An overly enthusiastic waitress asks, "Can I get you boys something to drink?" Joe says, "Yes, I'll have a draft of Blue Moon. What are you gonna have, Mattie?" The waitress, less enthusiastic now, says, "Yeah, well, I'll need to see some ID." Joe shows her his license, and she goes, "Okay, Richard. Do you want the orange slice with the beer?" Joe goes, "Of course," and the waitress looks at me. I shrug, then say, "Coke, please," and she goes off to get our drinks.

Looking at Joe's blond hair again, then dropping my eyes to glance into his, I grin, "I didn't know your name was Richard. I've always thought it was Joe." He goes, "I use my older brother's driver's license. We look identical." Nodding my head, I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh."

Looking at the menu, Joe says, "We don't need to get a pizza. I mean, if you'd rather have something else. It's my treat." Clearing my throat, I go, "No, um, that's okay. Pizza is good, but you don't need to treat me." Joe reaches over and touches my hand, "Yes, I do. You lent me lunch money last year, and I never paid you back. Don't you remember?" Oh yeah, I do. He adds, "I left my wallet in my locker that day, and I'd already ordered the cheeseburger platter. Christ, that would have been bitchin' embarrassing, but you slipped me the ten-dollar bill." I nod, "Oh, that time, yeah, but that's okay; you still don't need to treat me."

He smiles, "Yes, of course, I do need to treat you. But, um, I've always wondered, um, why are you so quiet all the time, Mattie?" Shrugging, I mumble, "I'm not always quiet." Our drinks arrive, and Matt says, "What kind of pizza should we order?" Taking a deep breath, I go, "Oh, any kind. I like all kinds." Joe tells the waitress, "Just make it a cheese pizza and, um, does that come with the house salad?" She nods, "Yep, rolls too." When she leaves, Joe holds up his glass of beer, so I hold up my Coke, and he touches my glass, saying, "To graduating, huh?" I can't help but smile, mumbling, "Yeah, for sure." This is so awesome!

I don't need to say much because Joe's a good talker, and he's funny in a self-deprecating manner, making himself the brunt of the stories he tells. He makes me feel relaxed enough to mention my horrid first week at work. With a straight face, he says, "I'd really like to kick your trainer, Rich whatshisname, in the nuts." I'm like, "Huh? Oh, haha. He, um..." Joe says, "He sucks for leaving you alone to deal with the asshole truck drivers, and you only on the job a couple of fucking days." Jeez, Joe is actually pissed-off about what happened to me?

We're eating with Joe talking in between bites of pizza and then, gulping down a mouthful of pizza, I say, "Yeah, I guess it pisses me off too, but, well, I didn't say anything to Rich because I'm determined to be successful, um, I just am." Joe has the warmest, kindest look in his eyes as he says, "I've no doubt you will be, Mattie, but I'd still like to kick whatshisname in the nuts." I laugh out loud and then stop when I realize he wasn't being funny. I often cannot differentiate joking or serious comments He's looking at me with a funny expression on his face. Probably wondering why I laughed, but all I can think to say is, "Thanks, Joe." He waves his hand and then finishes his pizza.

When we've eaten everything, Joe doesn't wait for the waitress, he leaves money on the table and says, "C'mon, I got a 'joint' we can smoke in the parking lot." I don't mind smoking pot. The thing is though, I've never bought any and, therefore, I don't do it very often. I don't know where to buy it. It's legal in Massachusetts for people twenty-one and older, which leaves me out.

We lean against Joe's car, a ten-year-old Chevy of some kind, passing the joint back and forth. Joe asks, "Do you have a girlfriend, Mattie?" I shake my head and hold the smoke in my lungs, and then, letting out the smoke, I mutter, "No." He chuckles, saying, "I like that. I mean, I like the fact you didn't feel it necessary to explain or rationalize the fact you don't have a girlfriend. You simply said 'no'. Heh, heh, that's cool." Was he kidding me again?

I'm grinning and then chuckling to cover all possibilities as Joe inhales some cannabis smoke. Hmm, he appears to be having a good time so I must be doing okay. Oh man, how perfect would it be if we became friends? Me and cool Joe Lions, wow! Yeah, it's the pot that makes me think something unimaginable like that could be possible. Joe exhales a long stream of smoke and says, "I don't either. Um, have a girlfriend, that is. Why don't good looking guys like us have girlfriends, Mattie?" Shrugging, I take the joint from Joe's fingers, mumbling, "I don't know." He asks, "Have you ever messed around with another guy? Goofing-off or whatever." Huh? Is he kidding again?

Holding the smoke in, I desperately try to think of what I should say to that. My heart is pounding fast, and, as I exhale, I try to say 'no' but cough instead. Joe laughs as he pats my back, saying, "Easy, buddy. Don't take that big a drag next time." I'm dizzy, and I stagger a little, so Joe gets his arm across my shoulders again and sort of hugs me against his side. My arm, seemingly on its own, goes around his waist and we stay like that for a long time. Well, it was closer to five-seconds but seemed longer and it felt nice.

Joe's looking me in the eyes with those warm inviting eyes of his as he asks, "Are you okay now?" Before I can say anything, a man about forty-five with longish dark hair combed over to hide his bald spot, says, "That wouldn't be an illegal substance you're smoking, would it Joe?" The man's upper teeth are prominent when he smiles. Joe says, "Nah, not with my fake ID, Mr. Bulger." The man laughs and then mutters, "Oh, well, I suppose it's okay then," and he continues walking to his car.

Joe tells me, "He was my high school tennis coach." I go, "Oh, you were on the tennis team?" Joe nods, "Yeah, I was. Nobody came to watch our matches, so the tennis team isn't, um, wasn't well known." He grins at me, and I struggle to think of what I can say that will further this conversation, but can't come up with anything. I don't know anything about tennis.

Joe says, "And you were in the marching band. Everyone saw you because everyone went to football games." I go, "How'd you know I was in the marching band?" He goes, "You played trumpet and you were the best marcher. How could I miss you?" I'm like, "That was the only time I turned the wrong way!" Joe pats my arm and says, "C'mon, let's walk a little. Um, I was just kidding about you being the best marcher. It was a joke... everyone marched the same, as far as I could see." I mumble, "Oh, I thought you meant that time I turned wrong." He says, "I missed that time, Mattie." He chuckles and says, "Jeez, you're really something," and then he flicks the 'roach' off a cement pillar with red sparks flying off the pillar. In the night it was like a flare.

I'm hoping he'll go back to the conversation about doing 'something' with another guy. He means something gay, right? Joe does a marijuana-induced giggle and then tells me funny examples of how bad Clifton Height's tennis team was last year. I laugh when he laughs, still hoping Joe will put his arm on me again. The idea of me putting my arm across his shoulders skidders past my mind, but I immediately reject it.

Joe tells me about his brother, Richard, and how he got a duplicate driver's license at the DMV so Joe could use his original license to get served booze. Joe always looks right in my eyes when he talks, so I don't need to think about doing that myself, and his voice is so easy to listen to. Jeez, I could listen to him all night. I've thought of something to say, so when he finishes a story about his last tennis match and then bumps against my side laughing, I ask, "Um, ah, do you want to share a six-pack? I'd pay for it and, ya know, you could use your brother's license to get it and we could drink it at Kent Park." He makes a face as if I must be joking, but when I don't laugh he rubs my head, saying, "Jesus, dude, Kent Park, seriously? I haven't been there since I was a kid." I go, "Oh, yeah, you're right, it's for kids. I only go there once in a while. It isn't far from my house, so..." Oh, Christ, I shouldn't have said anything about Kent Park... cool 'in' guys never go there

My face gets red and hot, the heat clouding up my eyeglasses. Taking my glasses off, I clean them on my t-shirt as Joe says, "I'd like to get drunk with you, Mattie, but I can't tonight. Can I get a rain check on that, though?" I'm like, "Sure," and he says, "It's just that I've gotta get up early tomorrow to work with my old man taking down a broken fence and putting up a new one. Doesn't sound like much fun, does it?" I go, "No, it doesn't sound like a good time. Um, tomorrow, I'm not gonna have much fun either. I'll be taking care of Tommy Singleterry all day." Joe goes, "What? Do you mean the kid who was in the car accident two years ago? The paraplegic?" I nod, "Yes, him. Um, ya see I volunteered as his caregiver every third Saturday. Initially, there were many volunteers, but most have drifted away, so I don't feel right abandoning him too."

Joe's shaking his head, mumbling, "Jesus, that kid was such a prick. I mean, he didn't deserve what happened to him. Nobody does, but he was a bigmouth obnoxious bully for years." I mumble, "Well, he isn't now," and Joe says, "No, of course not. Ah, it's wonderful of you to do, um, whatever you do for him." He's probably thinking the worst things like changing diapers or wiping Tommy's ass. Yeah, that would be a shitty job, no pun intended, but Tommy doesn't wear a diaper. And even if he did, the poor guy needs someone who cares enough to do that. Someone other than his mom, I mean.

We're back at Joe's car. He casually brushes his fingers across my forehead pushing my hair to the side. I take a chance and look at his eyes and he grins at me, so I quickly look at his shoulder. Joe starts to say something but shakes his head and stops. I ask, "What were you gonna say?" He goes, "Oh, nothing. Um, where's your car, Mattie? I'll drive you to it and, hey, I think you're awesome for doing that, um, caregiving stuff." I shrug, saying, "Yeah, well, um, thanks. My car is only over two aisles," and I point to the aisle. Joe chuckles, saying, "Well, I guess you don't need a ride, huh?"

I can't think of anything that will extend being with him so I shake my head. Joe goes, "Hey, dude, I'm glad I ran into you tonight." I nod my head and he lightly punches my shoulder, saying, "Well, it's fun getting to know you a little better," and then he hugs me. Letting go of me, he adds, "We'll tie on a beer load next time, okay, Matt?" I nod, "Okay, Joe." With a wave, he gets in his car. I watch him drive away... and then walk to my car.

As I start the engine, I feel warm all over thinking about Joe touching my face and putting his arm across my shoulders and hugging me. What a night! I wonder if it's a sign things are gonna turn around for me?

Later, in bed, I jerk off thinking about Joe. When I climaxed it felt more real than when I think of Lewis, but I had basically the same result, meaning a fast and hard climax that was fantastic! Hmm, I may have missed an opportunity there with Joe, except what if I totally misunderstood his intentions? What if he didn't mean anything, um, gay. Yeah, I was right not to assume he did.

The next morning, as I'm getting dressed, Joe Lions is on my mind again. Hmm, I decide next time I should probably be more proactive and pursue the inherent possibilities of 'doing something' with another guy like Joe mentioned. If I ever get another chance, what could I say, though?

At breakfast, mom tells me, "I need you to go with me this morning to help grandma dig up some dead shrubs. Some of them have deep roots and we need your muscles." I say, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that today. It's my turn to be the caregiver for Tommy Singleterry." She goes, "Oh, for heaven's sake, are you still doing that?" I nod, "Yep, every third Saturday. You know that. I've been doing it for over eighteen months." My dad looks up from his scrambled eggs and frowns at me. I tell him, "They're depending on me, both Tommy and his mom."

Hesitating for a second, then my mom says, "You should know by now that the mother is a, um, well, she drinks too much. If she was more conscientious, she would be able to take care of her son herself." That pisses me off and I say, "She takes care of him every day. If I can give her a break for a few hours, plus show Tommy someone cares about him, I'm going to do that. What if it was me in that accident?" Dad says, "Watch your tone of voice, buster! That woman takes advantage of whoever she can. Today you're gonna help your mom and grandma... and no more talk about you doing that Florence Nightengale bullshit."

Getting up from the table, I control my temper and quietly say, "Sorry, but no, I'm not digging up shrubs today. I will not abandon my responsibility. I'm going to keep my promise to them, but I'll happily help with the shrubs tomorrow." Mom goes, "Your dad and I have plans for tomorrow." As I'm leaving, I say, "Next Saturday then. The shrubs don't need to come out today! They'll be there next weekend." I hear mom and dad muttering something about me being too big for my britches, but I'm out the door so I don't hear anymore.

As usual, I'm bringing audio cassette tapes, audiobooks for Tommy to listen to as an alternative to his TV watching. I buy them 'used' on Amazon. These four are Tom Clancy novels. Tommy recently recovered some usage of his right arm, which is wonderful, but he still can't hold a book and turn pages. He can say some words now too, although it's hard to understand what words he's trying to say.

Mrs. Singleterry answers my knock at the front. She's a small woman who some have said aged twenty years in the last two. She smiles, saying, "We can always count on you, Mattie. C'mon in sweetheart." Nine o'clock in the morning and I can smell alcohol on her. She has a 'shot' of vodka now and then throughout the day, but she's isn't ever drunk in my presence. And who can blame her for needing a crutch to deaden the reality of her and Tommy's situation? Tommy's father left for work a month after the accident and hasn't been seen since... what a coward he is.

I ask, "How is he today, Mrs. Singleterry?" Whenever she or I refer to 'he' or 'him,' we both know we mean Tommy. She says, "While I was sponge bathing him this morning, clear as day, he said, "Thank you, mom." As clear as day, Mattie!"

I very much doubt it was 'clear as day,' but I nod, "Well, the last time I was here, he said my name." Mrs. Singleterry hugs me. That makes me think of last night when Joe hugged me. Obviously, I had a very different reaction when Joe did the hug. Um, my body responded differently I mean.

Holding up the audiobooks, I say, "Tom Clancy novels," and Mrs. Singleterry goes, "He'll love them. Thank you, Mattie." Three Saturdays ago, when I was here, Tommy didn't precisely say my name, as I just told his mom. What he said instead of my name was, 'erd'. He meant 'nerd'. That's what he always called me when he'd see me in the halls at high school. He'd be like, "Hey, you, nerd. I need to copy your algebra homework." Like that.

It's getting awkward for me standing here with Mrs. Singleterry, so I say, "Well, ah," and I clear my throat, adding, "You can relax today, I'll take care of Tommy." She asks, "Do you think it'd be okay if I visited my sister this morning?" I'm like, "Oh, sure, um..." and she says, "Well, I'll change clothes and have a nice visit with my sister. Thank you." She smiles and pats my shoulder.

Okay, now is a good time to go into Tommy's room. I have a hard time deciding when it's proper to end an encounter with someone. Like now, I don't want to be rude so I wait for a strong signal from Mrs. Singleterry that we're done with our interchange. It's the same thing when I'm emailing or texting. I always feel I should send the last one so it doesn't seem as though I'm ignoring the last one send to me.

One good thing is Tommy's always clean. He gets a sponge bath every other day, plus once a week, a welfare worker or neighbor helps Mrs. Singleterry bath Tommy in the tub. He's six feet tall, and once weighed two-hundred pounds. That was before the accident. Now he weighs less than me. I can't imagine how humiliating it must be for Tommy getting bathed like that. Well, after two years, I suppose he doesn't care... he's just glad to get clean.

I see he's still in bed so I'll need to move him to his wheelchair later on. There are some awkward intimate aspects of caregiving; procedures that cause Tommy and me more or less embracing. Getting him from his bed into the wheelchair is an example of that or vice versa, or turning him in bed to check for bed sores, or feeding him, and especially massaging his body, etc.. Those kinds of things were once monumentally uncomfortable for me, and probably for him too, but now they've become more or less routine procedures, um, sort of routine.

I always try being cheerful, "Hello again, Tommy!" His eyes move to me as his lips form a sort of smile. The most awkward-caregiving I do for him though involves his penis. It's awkward for me, not Tommy. It's his favorite form of caregiving.

Tommy's spinal cord is not severed although he is a quadriplegic. His spinal cord is damaged but not separated entirely... I think I have that right. Anyway, amazingly, he experiences sexual orgasm. That is, in his mind he experiences it. Rarely is there any semen. I read online that all orgasms are partially a function of the brain. As far as I can tell from what I've read, scientifically, there are few certainties about orgasms. Lately, while doing a full-body massage, I've been stroking Tommy's penis for him as he's made it clear he's like me to do that. He still can't feel my hands on his body, but he must feel something when I touch his penis as it sometimes becomes erect.

I was told massaging is necessary to increase circulation, which is why I do it twice each day. Touching his penis is necessary for reasons besides the massage I mentioned. I'm not at all sure that stroking his dick is the right thing to do but he needs something to look forward to. I certainly don't do it because I get anything out of it... far from it.

His hair is short and so is his beard, usually a half-inch in length. His mom buzzes both at the same time, and it appears she did that just before I got here. I see a few short hair clippings on his forehead that I lightly brush off with my fingers as I say, "You're looking good today, Tommy."

Then I hold the cassettes up so he can read the titles. He says, "Anks," meaning, 'Thanks' Yep, that's more than he could say when I first began helping with his care. I say, "You're welcome," and then tell him, "I'll start with a massage as usual." He goes, "Anks," and I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Sure thing, dude. I'll do this massage and then again this afternoon, okay?" Blinking once means 'yes,' which is what he does.

Tommy wasn't especially good looking before the accident, and now that the paralysis has distorted his expressions somewhat, well, that hasn't done anything to improve his attractiveness. That, however, is the least of Tommy's, or my, concerns.

Standing behind him, I get my arms under both his arms to pull him into a sitting position in bed. After I adjust the pillow, I need to look into his eyes to see his 'blinking' answer to my questions, like asking him, "Comfortable?" and he blinks once. I smile at him and then begin vigorously to massage his scalp and the back of his neck and his forehead and under his chin and cheeks and then back to his scalp. After five minutes, I lean in front of him again, asking, "Is that enough?" He makes a sound, "Na," and blinks his eyes twice, meaning 'no.' I ask, "You want me to do it longer?" He blinks once as he tries to grin, so I do another five-minute massage of head, face, and neck. Then I move my hands down and massage his shoulders because he can partially feel me doing that as well.

After gently pulling him down flat, I say, "After your body massage, we'll go outside. Okay?" He blinks once. As usual, he's wearing a short sleeves and short pants pajama set. His arms and legs are very thin and I wince every time I see them but don't let him see me do it. As I'm unbuttoning his pajama top, I realize I didn't ask his mom if she took care of Tommy's urination, so I ask him, "Did you pee today?" Two blinks, so I'll need to take care of it 'cause he can't piss without help.

I pull his pajama bottom down and move his dick, which is, unbelievably, like seven inches long, into a bedpan. That's an example of how I've been touching his penis other than during a massage. There are two methods of getting him to urinate. Pushing on his lower belly sometimes will force it out. That doesn't work today. It's like I'm hesitant to press too hard so, instead, I use a catheter. I was taught how to insert it into his penis during my early volunteer days. But, oh man, another not-cool thing to do.

As his pee runs into the bedpan, I ask, "Did you do a bowel movement?" He blinks once, so his bowel movement has been taken care of, and thank God for that. As I said, he doesn't need a diaper. His mom or a caregiver inserts a suppository in Tommy's rectum, and then a bedpan is put under him. In about fifteen minutes, he evacuates his bowels. It's different for some quadriplegics I'm told, but this is what works best for Tommy. I've done that too, and it is not pleasant for either of us, but what at one time seemed unimaginable becomes less so after a while.

You might think being gay eases the way for me with the intimate aspects of Tommy's caregiving but it hasn't, not at all! Nothing I do has a sexual effect on me. There's no 'turn-on' for me and there is nothing about him, or what I do for him, I find attractive. What I feel mostly is deep compassion for his situation, compassion to the degree that I need to turn my head away at times as I don't want Tommy to see a few tears. I can't describe how sad, at times, I can feel for Tommy and his mom.

So, yeah, Tommy bullied me in high school but I never hated him or thought much about it because there were a lot of bullies at school, and he was merely one of them. I didn't like being bullied, obviously, but I wouldn't wish his present condition on anyone. Tommy's situation seems inhumanly cruel and, um, Godless.

Using both hands I massage my way down over his entire body. Well, I say 'massage' although what I'm doing is rubbing and squeezing his body, stimulating circulation. I don't know how to do a professional massage but Tommy doesn't care. His dick got stiff during the catheter insertion. It's limp now that the catheter is out but when I gently squeeze on his penis it quickly becomes firm so I can then stroke it a few times. Jerk him off in other words, and the firmness quickly becomes a hard boner. I always look away and think of something else, anything but what I'm doing.

Tommy makes sounds I interpret as pleasure sounds, but I don't look long at his face for fear of embarrassing him. From the sounds he makes my experience tells me when an orgasm has occurred, or he thinks it has in his mind. As I said, this gives me no sexual pleasure or arousal whatsoever. Mostly, I make sure I don't show pity on my face. When he opens his eyes, I give him a 'thumbs-up,' and he tries grinning. I then massage his legs.

When I'm massaging his feet, I look at him and ask, "All good, Tommy?" He has a nice 'look' to his eyes as he tries grinning again, saying, "Es! Ank oou, 'erd." 'Yes, thank you, nerd.' Somehow I know that Tommy calling me 'nerd' is said good-naturedly. Maybe he's even mocking his own previous bully behavior.

After pulling up his pajama bottom and buttoning his top, I pull the wheelchair over, saying, "Would you like to go outside now?" and he blinks once. I think Tommy making facial expressions, and trying to talk requires a big effort and so he uses blinking to communicate most of the time.

After wheeling him down the ramp from the front porch, I push him around to the back yard. If it were me, I wouldn't want to be on display out front where people walk by occasionally. So, we spend our outdoor time in the back yard. Today I tell him about my job interview and then my first four days on the job. He can turn his head, and he does as he listens. I continue talking as long as he occasionally will turn his head to look briefly at me. Today he shows interest for almost two hours before his head droops, meaning he's getting tired. I stand up, and say, "Let's go inside and rest before lunch. Whaddaya say?" He blinks once, and I roll him inside.

Moving him back to his bed entails more intimacy than I care for, but there's nothing to be done about it. I pick him up by putting an arm under his bottom and my left arm around his back, the side of his face slides across mine, his lips leaving a smear of saliva. In bed, there are a few adjustments necessary for his limbs, and then I put the pillow under his head the way he likes it. "Are you okay, dude?" He blinks once and then closes his eyes. Whew!

He'll nap for an hour or so and I use the time to lay back in the armchair, and rest myself. Talking for almost two hours straight ain't easy, so that, plus observing Tommy's condition this up-close and personal stresses me out. You'd think I'd be blase about his caregiving after eighteen months, but I still get sort of emotional thinking about his, um, his life. I mean, get serious, a nineteen-year-old boy with little choice except to stare into the abyss seeing his life stretching out like this forever. The 'abyss' Tommy sees has gotta be something like Nietzsche's aphorism from 'Beyond Good and Evil.' For me the horrific situation Tommy and others like him find themselves in is in fact... 'evil'.

When Tommy wakes up from his nap, I get him to drink a bottle of spring water because, even in his condition, his body needs lots of liquids. I think he's trying to say 'massage' so I tell him, "Sure, we'll do a massage again before I leave, but you need to eat your lunch now." He blinks twice, so I rub his head, mumbling, "Okay, we'll have lunch later. How about listening to one of the Tom Clancy audiobooks?" He blinks once. I put one in the player, and we both listen for over an hour.

Finally, I flick off the player at the end of chapter six and say, "Let's eat." He seems okay with that, so I get the lunch his mom prepared for him from the refrigerator and feed it to him. I said, 'Let's' eat, but I never eat here. I have no appetite. He's an okay eater, but slow, so it takes an hour to finish lunch.

Mrs. Singleterry gets home as I'm taking the lunch plates and glass to the kitchen. She wants to know how 'he' is today, and I have only positive things to tell her. She says, "I wish I could pay you, Mattie. Tom seems the happiest after you've been with him." I shrug and then she hesitates before saying, "Gee, I hate to impose, but do you think you could come every two weeks instead of every three?" I say, "I'm sorry, but I'm not strong enough to do that, not on a regular basis. I wish I could help more, but doing this is upsetting to me. I do promise to be with him every three weeks for the foreseeable future." She says, "Thank you and I shouldn't have asked you to do more. I apologize." I see her glancing at the cabinet over the sink, which is where she keeps her bottle of vodka, so I say, "I better get back to Tommy." She needs her 'shot' of vodka and I can't say I blame her for that. I'd like a 'shot' myself.

By the time I finish the afternoon massage, it's almost three-thirty. Tommy is able to use the TV remote now and he puts on a Phillies/Dodgers game from the west coast. We watch that until it's time for me to leave. Before going, I give his shoulders a hug and say, "You're a brave guy, Tommy. I admire your courage, and I know you're improving. The improvement must seem slow to you and your mom but I can see improvement each time I visit." He says, "Om ore, p'eas." 'Come more, please.''

Omigod, he's so helpless and the pleading look on his face hurts my heart. I say, "I'll try, Tom. Um, okay, I can't do it regularly, but I'll come back in two weeks, okay?" He says, "Anks, 'erd," ''Thanks, nerd,' and he tries to smile. I grin, mumbling, "You're welcome, con artist." He does his version of laughing and after a final wave 'goodbye,' I walk into the family room where Mrs. Singleterry gives me a hug and says, "I heard you tell him you'll be back in two weeks. You're special, Mattie. Thank you, sweetheart." I go, "Nah, Mrs. Singleberry, I'm not special. Um, I can only do that once in a while." She says, "God bless you, son." Nodding, I say, "No problem," and go out the front door.

I guess I'm a wimp because I need to take off my glasses and let a few tears run down my face before starting the car. Those poor bastards, both of them.

At home, I go to my room and flop on the bed, exhausted. There's no hard work involved in Tommy's caregiving. It's mostly mental. I suppose it's my anger at the horribleness in their situation that tires me out the most. Rubbing my face, I force thoughts of Tommy and thousands of others like him from my mind. I need to think about something else; dwelling on that is wicked depressing. I try thinking about Lewis, but end up thinking about last night with Joe Lions. Then I give some thought as to how strange it is that I so easily converse, talk in general when I'm doing the caregiving while at other times I can't. Also, I'm noticing my crush on Lewis is evaporating and I'm starting to think he's a jerk and a bit of a snob as well. What's he think he has that he can be snobbish about?

Huh, well, I get a nice boner in my pants remembering Joe and me last night. Then my mom calls me for dinner. We always eat at six o'clock, and Saturday night it is always the same... we have ham and cabbage for supper. As much I wish we were having something else, I haven't eaten all day so I eat steadily. Mom says, "Stop stuffing your face for a second and listen to me. Next Saturday you're gonna help grandma dig up the dead shrubs, and no excuses this time!"

Jesus! I nod, "Yeah, well, that's not a news flash, mom. I already promised I'd do that, didn't I?" Dad emphatically says, "You should have done that today, that's the point, big shot! It's time you tell those people you've graduated high school, and you won't be able to do that nursing stuff anymore." I go, "No! I'm not telling them that. And why do you care anyway?" He says, "They're taking advantage, for chrissakes!" I mumble, "So, why do you care if they're taking advantage of me? It's my life, right?" Mom says, "You're getting awfully fresh, Mathew." I say, "I apologize." Is it any wonder my first objective since graduating is to move to my own place?

After dinner, as I do every Saturday night, I call Dean. He never calls me, but he's my only friend. Well, the only one I have the balls to call is what I mean. I don't call anyone else 'cause I wouldn't want them to think I'm trying to 'leech' on to them. Dean answers his phone, "Hey, Mattie, whaddya wanna do tonight?" Oh good, he wants to hang out with me! I go, "I'll pick you up, and we'll decide then, okay? Um, how was your date last night?" He says, "That is private shit, my friend. Dating is something you know nothing about, so discussing it with you is pointless..." I go, "Whaddaya mean by that?" He mumbles, "I'm joking, jeez! I'll tell you all about it when I see you."

Hmm, I've got the time, so I give a thought to jerking off before showering but, no. It's like I'm not in the mood after spending the day with Tommy. Even though I masturbate twice on a normal day, well, more like three times a day, I feel guilty doing it the days I'm Tommy's caregiver.

When I pick up Dean, he wants us to stop in at the bowling alley and see if anything is happening there. It's a favorite hang-out spot, so there's always something happening there, most of which I'd prefer avoiding. What I'd like being part of ain't likely to happen at the bowling alley. We go inside and Dean immediately hooks up with Charlie Snyder and Charlie's shadow, Artie Guy. I say 'his shadow' meaning you always see Artie wherever Charlie is. They're both okay guys though and we all do half-ass hugs 'hello' with Charlie saying, "Mattie Burke! Wassup, dude." I mumble, "Hi, Charlie." Artie is as quiet as I usually am. He does a small hand wave, mumbling, "Hi, Matt." I grin, "Yo, Artie."

Then, Charlie says, "Jesus H Christ, Dean! A fucking buzz cut, dude? You're not still in grade school, ya dumb fuck." Dean mutters, "Eat me, Snyder," and Charlie asks, "Ya got any shit on you, Morris?" He means marijuana, obviously. Dean shakes his head and Charlie looks at me and then goes, "No sense asking you, is there Mattie?" I shrug, muttering, "I don't know where to buy it." He doesn't hear me because he's saying 'hi' to a couple of guys coming through the door. I hang back because one of the guys is Terrence Baker. He's an asshole if there ever was one!

The other guy is Terrence's cousin, Mark Baker, who seems nice although I don't know him very well. He's a cute fucker who went to my high school and graduated with me. Those two rarely hang out here. As I sneak glances at Mark, I hear Dean asking, "You guys slumming tonight with us poor boys, or what?" Yeah, Terrence's and Mark's families live in a 'good' section of Clifton. There's no 'rich' section in Clifton, but those guys live in a new housing development of larger single homes.

God, Mark is cute though. I took notice of him mostly because he is one of the cuter guys in my graduating class. His red hair is cool-looking and I like the way he combs it. Mark is slim like me, and about as tall too but he looks wicked young for his age. The few times I've been around him he's been super cool and very friendly. Going back a few years, we were in a few classes during our sophomore year. Since then, he and I haven't been in any classes together. And, come to think of it, that's weirdly unusual 'cause Clifton's high school isn't huge.

I hang back until Mark isn't talking to anyone and then work up my courage to say, "Yo, hi, Mark." He turns and goes, "Hey! Whassup, Mattie? It's been a while, dude. You're looking good." I nod, "Yeah, jeez, thanks... you too. Um, can I ask you something?" He grins, "Sure, go ahead," and I ask, "Did you graduate early? I mean, no offense, but you look really young." He lightly hits my shoulder, and says, "Shit, I hear that all the time, but no, I'm nineteen. You look awfully young yourself, ya know, for a high school graduate I mean," and he pinches my cheek like my Aunt Rita used to do. I didn't expect that, but Mark smiled friendly-like at me afterward, so it's okay.

I see Mark's asshole cousin, Terrence, hit Dean's arm while nodding his head at me, saying to Dean, "I see ya got the turd with you. He's like gum on your shoe, huh?" Dean goes, "What? NO! Mattie's cool." Mark, standing next to me, says to Terrence, "You're a major league asshole, Terry," and he tugs on my arm getting me to walk a few steps away, as he says, "Don't pay any attention to him! My cousin is such a loser..."

Shrugging, I don't care what Terrence says and, desperate to come up with something to say to Mark, I go, "No problem, um, I got hired at UPS. That's where I'm working now." For a second Mark is confused by my abrupt change of topic, but then he says, "Oh, no shit? UPS, huh? Are there any job openings there? I need a job." I tell him what I know about that and he tells me he might apply online.

The other guys are walking ahead of us, but Mark seems content hanging back with me. He's telling me something about him being worried he caught the 'clap' from a girl he supposedly fucked in the back of his old man's SUV. As he talks, I can't stop looking at his sexy mouth with his moving sexy lips. Omigod, I'd love to kiss him! When he notices I have nothing to say about his bullshit story, Mark drops that story and asks what UPS is paying per hour.

As we slowly wander toward the arcade section, I tell him about that. He and I are more or less following the other guys, and then Mark's obnoxious bigmouth cousin, Terrence, loudly says, "I got ten bucks that none of you pussies can beat me at 'Shadow Dies Twice'." That's a video game, new at the arcade. Dean goes, "Christ, Terry, nobody even likes that Japenese game, bitch!" Terrence gives Dean the finger and then they bump fists. Gawd, how in the hell can Dean be friends with that asshole?

Mark is snickering at what Dean said to his cousin so, to get his attention again, I touch Mark's arm, saying, "Fourteen dollars an hour is almost $30,000 a year." He goes, "Huh?" and I say, "It'd be wicked cool if you got hired there and we worked together." He says, "Oh, yeah, UPS, sure. Thanks, Mattie. I might apply," and then he yells to his cousin, "Ya know what, cus? I'll take that bet." Gee, I'm disappointed Mark's going to play that game with Terrence.

They walk over and put money in the machine. I figure, no problem, I'm used to being on my own so, heh heh, ever optimistic, I look around hoping to see Joe Lions. Yeah, I admit that's kinda pathetic of me but I can't help myself. I know he's not at the arcade section so I scan the twenty bowling lanes and the food court and see he's not there either. I didn't think he would be.

Walking over to stand next to my security blanket, Dean, I watch Mark lose the game and after Mark pays the ten-dollar bet to his cousin, Terrence yells over to me, "Hey, Burke, here's two bucks, get me a Coke." Frowning at him, I say, "Fuck you. Get it yourself," and he gives me the finger, saying, "Faggot!" and then he says, "C'mon, guys, let's get something to drink."

I walk behind everyone to the food court and then see Mark is waiting for me to catch up. He says, "Taking that bet was stupid of me. Christ, I should know by now Terry isn't betting money unless he knows he's gonna win." I mumble, "He sucks," and Mark, ignoring that, says, "Dude, do you realize that we haven't seen one another since graduation?" I'm like, "No, um, really?"

That was a strange thing for him to say 'cause we never hang out. He says, "We were an awesome team for that science project, right?" What the fuck? Oh, yeah, he means we were in the same science class sophomore year and the teacher randomly assigned us partners for a project. I can't remember what we did, but I say, "Yeah, that was cool."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, mumbling, "Hold it, dude, there's something on your glasses," and he takes my glasses off me and wipes at the lenses with his thumb. Well, that smears it worse but I put my glasses back on without cleaning them. Mark's heart was in the right place. He mumbles, "You should get that fucking LASIK procedure, ya know?" I shrug, "Yeah, now that I'm working, um, I'm thinking about doing that. It's expensive though." He shrugs, mumbling, "Thirty thousand a year, dude, you'll have the money."

Mark pats my back again and then sort of rubs it, saying, "I can't believe, us being simpatico an all, that you and I never connected, um... ya know?" I go, "Whaddaya mean?" He grins at me, mumbling, "You know damn well what I mean," and he squeezes the back of my neck giving me the chills. I hunch my shoulders until the chills let up. Jeez, all this touching Mark does is surprising me. With his hand still gripping the back of my neck, he shakes my head a little, asking, "You don't have 'wheels' tonight by any chance, do ya?" I say, "Well, yeah, I've got my car here. I just bought it a couple of weeks ago." He's like, "Oh, no shit? Hey, that's cool. Ya know, I gotta tell you something. Um, it's that I was wicked disappointed when I found out you didn't go on the senior trip. You didn't go, did you?" I shake my head, mumbling, "Nah, I didn't want to." I didn't go because Dean already had his roommate for the trip, so...

Mark says, "Dude, I put you down as my preferred roommate. Fuck, when you didn't even sign up they assigned me that fat dude, Carl Hyson. If you signed up we coulda been roommates!" I nod, "Oh, yeah? Well, fuck me, I would have liked that. Why didn't you tell me?" He shrugs, "I, well, I didn't see you, right?" Shit!

He says, "Ya want something to drink?" I go, "Yeah, I guess, but I'm pissed I didn't know about that roommate thing." He winks at me, mumbling, "Yeah, me too. Um, what do you like to drink? I'll get it for you." I tell him, "Oh, thanks, um, an orange soda, I guess," and he pushes past a couple of girls at the refreshment stand and gets two cans of orange sodas from the cooler. I'm thinking about how awesome it would be to spend the night in bed with Mark.

He pays for the sodas and, handing a can to me, says, "Let's grab that table." We sit at the table he pointed to and then he grabs my arm and whispers, "Mattie, what I'm about to tell you is between you and me only, okay?" I nod my head and he goes, "I've got two premium joints." Out of the corner of my eye, I see his cousin, Terrence, pouring a little of his Coke on Dean's buzzed head. What an asshole move!

I say, "Pot, huh? That's awesome, but let me ask you something. Um, why'd you put me down as your preferred senior class trip roommate when we haven't talked since our sophomore year?" He has a startled expression, and then says, "We've talked! We were in line together getting those dufus graduation robes and hats." I'm like, "Oh, yeah. We said 'hi', but I mean from sophomore year on we never.."

He's yelling something to someone so I stop talking, but hmm, Mark was pretty friendly in line getting our graduation robes and whatnot, but we didn't have any kind of conversation or anything like that. What I remember is he said, 'Yo, whassup, Mattie?' and then, as he usually does, he touched me when saying that. He's a big 'toucher'. I was like, "Hi, Mark,' and then a girl grabbed Mark's arm and they talked, and that was it.

Mark touches my arm again, and goes, "So, ya wanna smoke 'em with me?" Looking back at him, I go, "The two joints? Sure." I make myself look into his eyes, adding, "Thanks, Mark." He grins at me, mumbling, "You're the shyest motherfucker I ever met, ya know that?" Then he mumbles, "Um, obviously, no offense intended." I can't think of anything clever to say, so I snort out an inappropriate laugh and mutter, "None taken." He drinks some soda while staring at my face. I look away and then he says, "Yeah, Jesus, you shoulda gone on that fucking senior trip with me. We would have been great roommates." Looking at the table, I mumble, "I guess so."

Dean comes over wiping his head with some napkins. I say, "Why'd you let that dip-shit get away with pouring Coke on your head?" He goes, "We were only fucking around! Jesus, Mattie, get a clue." I make a 'face' and he punches my shoulder, saying, "Listen up, Charlie's brother is gonna meets us outside Gambols Bar. He's buying a couple of six-packs for us. You two homos need to chip in five dollars each." Mark says, "Nah, not me, fuck that! I've got other plans." Dean gives Mark a hard 'look' and then he says to me, "Give me five dollars and I'll save a couple of beers for you." I ask, "How are you planning on getting to the bar?" Dean goes, "I'm riding over with Terrence. Give me five bucks, bro." I usually do what Dean says, so I give him five singles and he says to Mark, "And you... you're not getting any of the beers, asshole," and then he walks away.

Mark goes, "You don't need to do everything he tells you to, Mattie." I shrug at that, and he says, "Well, fuck 'em, we got two joints to smoke. We'll wait until they take off 'cause I'm not sharing this weed with anybody but you." I say, "Thanks," and he rubs my back again, "Haha, I gotta say though, smoking grass is not as much fun now that it's legal, huh?" I say, "It's not legal, Mark. Not until we're twenty-one." He goes, "Oh, yeah, you're right! That's makes it cooler."

As we finish our sodas he's telling me more about the senior class trip to Pittsburg and what it was like sharing a bed with fat Carl Hyson. The first night two other guys were in their room with them. Markie goes, "It was a screw-up obviously. Anyway, all four of us smoked a few joints blowing the smoke out the window and we got 'high' as shit so, naturally, we couldn't stop giggling and 'grab-assing' in bed. Yeah, I wish you were there, ya cute motherfucker." I'm rubbing my cock under the table thinking how 'hot' that would have been.

It's weird but I had no idea Mark liked me this much. I make myself look him in the eyes again, as I say, "Damn, dude, I wish I'd been there with you." He chuckles, "Yeah, well, whaddya gonna do? Except, hey, I'm thinking maybe you and I can make up for the missed 'grab-ass' action later tonight when we get 'high', huh?"

Well, I'm not sure what he means by that. How could we do grab-assing while smoking a joint, or is he mocking me? Is that what's happening? I can't tell from his expression if he's serious or kidding, so I'm not at all sure how to react.

As I said, that's a big problem I have; I can't read clues from facial expressions or tone of voice, or whatever. Not like everyone else seems to be able to do. To cover all bases I smile and nod my head as if I agree with whatever, and then say, "Don't break my balls, okay?" in case he was joking. He again reaches over and swipes his finger across my forehead pushing my long hair away from my eyes, saying, "You need a haircut, Mattie." I go, "Yeah, I know," and I hesitantly before reaching up to touch his red hair in front where it sticks up. It feels stiff so he must put some hair product on it. Mark doesn't move his head; he just stares into my eyes and smiles, then asks, "You ready for this?"

continued in chapter 3... ' Am I Ready For What'

donnymumford@outlook.com

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