Coda 01 - Promises

and yet, I wasn’t really sure why.
    “No,” he said, “I meant which one of the cheerleaders ?” In truth, I had barely noticed them.
    Soon my friends were swapping skin magazines with shaking hands and boastful laughs. I wasn’t exactly sure what they felt when they looked at them, but it was pretty clear it wasn’t the same as the mild embarrassment I was feeling.
    It wasn’t until I met Tom that I realized exactly how different I was. Tom played football with my brother Brian. They were best friends. I was sixteen; they were eighteen. From the moment he walked in our front door behind my brother, I was infatuated with him. I could barely speak to him but couldn’t keep my eyes off him. His laugh was enough to elicit physical responses that caused me to always have a school book in my hand when he was in the house— not because I was such a good student, but because I needed to be able to cover myself quickly. I walked a fine line between wanting to see him as much as possible and wanting to stay out of his sight. I knew Brian was watching me again with the same looks he had given me the day I blurted out Steve Atwater’s name: concern, bemusement, embarrassment. It was something of a relief when the two of them finally graduated and went off to college.
    After that, I was pretty sure, although I never said anything to anybody. I faked my way through high school. I never tried out for football because I was afraid of the complications that could arise in the locker room, if only in my imagination. I had a few dates with girls, but they were mostly group dates; we held hands a few times and a couple of them even kissed me. The kisses were, for me at least, completely uninspiring, bordering on disturbing, and it never went further than that.
    Once I made it to college, away from home, I finally allowed myself to experiment. I met guys at the club or at the gym and had a few brief but meaningless affairs. Never found anything I would have called love, but I knew after that, without a doubt, that I was gay.
    Needless to say, I never planned to be in my thirties and still alone. And being gay in a town this small isn’t easy. Colorado isn’t exactly a gay Mecca; it’s not the Bible belt, but it’s not San Francisco either. Most of the town knows about me, and most of them even accept me, but a few still look the other way when I pass them in the grocery store or refuse to deal with me when they come into the shop. Chances of finding a partner in Coda were almost nonexistent, and chances of me ending up alone seemed depressingly high.

    S O THAT night, Matt met my family. Lizzy went home from work early, ostensibly to get a head start on dinner, but I think the real reason was so she could fill in Brian and Mom before we arrived. Brian, of course, was courteous. Mom was sizing him up but seemed to approve.
    “Are you into mountain biking too?” she asked him at one point.

    “I sold my bike before I moved here. I liked riding, but in Oklahoma, there aren’t really any mountains to bike in. Why?” “Jared’s up there every time he has a day off. He goes alone. I keep telling him he shouldn’t. What if he got hurt?”
    “Mom, cool it. Have I ever been hurt?”
“You get hurt every time!”
    Oh boy, here we go. I was resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her. “Mom, bumps and bruises don’t count.”

    “But you don’t even wear a helmet!”
    She was starting to whine now. I hate the guilt trip, but I hate helmets more. “I do if it’s a hard trail. I wish you wouldn’t worry about it so much.”
“But there’s nobody with you, in case you need help.”
    “Talk to your other son, Mom,” I said teasingly. “He’s the one who won’t ride with me anymore.”

    “I can’t keep up!” Brian said, throwing his hands up like he was surrendering.
    “Anyway,” Lizzy cut in, “it’s not the trails I worry about. It’s here in town that scares me. Crazy drivers talking on their cell phones and never watching where they’re going.” She was shaking her finger in my direction. It was not the first time I had heard that speech. “You ride to and from work every day, and you never wear your helmet. It’s not safe. I bet Matt can tell you about all kinds of terrible accidents involving bicyclists who weren’t wearing helmets, right Matt?”
    He looked amused. “I know better than to get in the middle of a family argument.”

    “Brian,” I entreated, “save me from your