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Don't you wanna come with me? Don't you wanna feel my bones
on your bones?
It's only natural.
Don’t you wanna swim with me? Don’t you wanna feel my skin
on your skin?
It's only natural—Bones (The Killers)
Life is made of many interconnected events. Things that seem unrelated sometimes can’t exist without each other. One action sets in motion a chain of reactions; the choice you make determines the path taken, defines what will happen next. The possibilities are endless: if I had done that, this wouldn’t have happened; if I had decided on something else, all this would have ended differently.
If I hadn’t been absent-minded enough to leave my book behind after U.S. history, I would never have had to go back for it. If I hadn’t had to go back, I wouldn’t have met him. James. God, James.
He was already in his seat when I rushed in, breathless and searching for my missing textbook. He sat in the third row, right in the front. His seat. My seat. I didn’t really notice him until I reached under the desk and he tapped me on the shoulder.
“This yours?” He held out my book. I looked up. Shaggy hair. Large, solemn eyes. Small feminine mouth. He broke into a smile while I continued to stare. “Ummm…hello?”
“Oh! Sorry, I, uh—” I stuttered, embarrassed at being caught gawking. ‘Yeah, that’s mine. Thanks.”
“No problem. You should probably get going. The bell’s going to ring in, like, a minute.”
“Right. Yeah, uhh… See you.”
He laughed. “Sure. See you.”
I dashed out of there before my frazzled nerves could betray me into saying anything more intelligible and so potentially more mortifying. For the rest of the day, I kept replaying the way he smiled. The way his lips curved upwards, shyly. The way it lit up his serious expression. Over and over; I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop watching it in my head so I could bask in the feeling it gave me.
That was the worst thing. His smile…captivated me. When he smiled, I wanted to smile. I wanted to be the reason for his smile.
I couldn’t believe how I was reacting to him. He was a guy, for god’s sake. A good-looking guy, yes—well, a pretty hot guy, if I was to be honest. Oh, god. This was ridiculous. I tried to replace thoughts of him with images of someone, anything, else. When that didn’t work, I resorted to the next best thing: ignoring them.
By the time I got to fifth period English, I was mentally exhausted. It certainly didn’t help me any when Ms. Reed announced that we were going to begin studying poetry. And the first assignment was to write a poem of our own.
“It can be about anything you want,” she told us. “Try to express your emotions.”
“Tap into your inner self,” someone said in a soft, breathy voice, and the class erupted into snickers. Ms. Reed blushed but didn’t say anything. She was new to the school, new to teaching. I felt sorry for her.
“I think it’s a good assignment,” I said, loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. I smiled at Ms. Reed. She blushed again, but the class had quieted down. She flashed me a smile of thanks before turning to the board and beginning to gush about Shakespeare. For the rest of the class, the red flush on her neck didn’t recede.
Jake, my best friend, smacked me on the arm as we walked out of the class.
“Ow,” I protested, even though it hadn’t really hurt.
He grinned. “You’ve got a secret admirer, Parker.”
“Huh?” Was it Him? Did Jake know already? How could he have found out so soon? “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, man. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice the way she was all over you in class?”
“What? Who?” Her? Wrong pronoun. Maybe Jake didn’t know after all.
Jake stared at me incredulously. “You seriously don’t know?” I shook my head. “I’m talking about Reed!”
“Ms. Reed?’ I asked blankly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Wow, you really didn’t notice.”
“Notice what?”
“The way she blushed when you smiled at her. Or how she kept calling on you to read those love poems, and actually calling your Bartimaeus—”
I winced. My first name sucked. “That didn’t mean anything, Jake. She was nice to me because I was nice to her, which is more than I can say for the rest of the class.”
“You’re too nice, you know. Always being fair and considerate and…stuff.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being fair and considerate and stuff.”
“I guess not,” Jake laughed. “I’d say ‘nice guys don’t get girls,’ but you’re really popular anyway.” He glanced at me. “Must be nice to be so good-looking.”
“What? Come on, I’m not good-looking or popular. You are.”
“And really modest, too. You know, you’re the only guy I know who says that and means it. Genuine humility. No wonder I’m best friends with you.”
“Because I flatter you?” I joked.
“That, too,” he agreed, and laughed.
“Hey,” I greeted. What if he didn’t remember me? I thought nervously.
But instead of staring at me blankly, he smiled in recognition. I didn’t bother trying to analyze the surge of relief that loosened the knot in my stomach. “Hey,” he replied. “Forgotten any more books recently?”
“Nope. So, uh, you going home?” I asked the obvious, considering the fact that it was after school and he had his books in hand.
“Nah, I’ve got a club meeting to go to. Debate.”
“You don’t look like a debate kind of guy.”
“Looks are deceiving. You don’t like a—well, you probably aren’t what you seem to be either.”
“And what do I seem to be?” I waited expectantly.
He only shrugged. “Oh. You know. Regular guy, nice—by the way, I never asked for your name.”
“Parker,” I supplied, strangely disappointed by his reply.
“Just Parker? Or is it Peter, too?”
I laughed. “Just Parker. You don’t want to know my first name.”
“Try me.”
“Bartimaeus,” I said, grimacing.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Bartimaeus Parker, huh? Why not Bart?”
“Because it sounds stupid. Besides, don’t you think going by your last name is more mysterious?”
“I’ll bet it’s really popular with the girls.”
“Maybe. How about you?”
I immediately wanted to smack myself. What the hell was that?
He only raised an eyebrow. “I don’t judge people by their names.”
“Ummm, well, you know… I was kind of joking, and—”
“I get it. Look, I’ve got to go now. I’m already late for the meeting. See you around?” It was a question, not a statement, and I didn’t know why I had to struggle to come to a decision. Yes or no, Parker? It’s a simple question.
He didn’t even wait for an answer, just started walking away.
“Wait!” I called. He turned around. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”
“Should I?”
“I told you mine. I think we should make it a fair trade.”
He smiled, and I realized that that was what I had been waiting for. “It’s James,” he called out. “See you later, Spider-Man.”
“Hey!” I tried to grab the paper back, but he held it out of reach. “Come on, Jake, I didn’t come to your house so you could plagiarize my poem.”
“I’m not going to copy anything. Jesus, Parker, relax. I just want to get an idea of what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“Then tap into your inner self, not mine. Now give me my paper back.”
“No way. I’m gonna read it. If you’re so defensive, it must be something really good.”
“Jake, come on—”
“In the dark, in the light,” Jake began to read. “Everywhere I go, it’s you I see/Your voice, your touch, soft on my skin/Only things that I know in my dreams/I want to be the wind that caresses your body.” He looked over the paper at me. “Parker…who’s the lucky girl?”
“It’s not a girl,” I muttered, finally retrieving my poem.
“Are you trying to say it’s a guy?”
“What? No, Jesus. It’s not anybody. It’s—it’s just—”
“Parker, you’re not a closet queer, are you?
“No. Why are you so obsessed with the idea?”
“Seems like you’re the one who’s obsessed.”
“The poem’s not about anybody. It’s just…how I feel.”
“About your dream girl?” Jake joked.
“Yeah. Sort of like that.”
Jake clapped me on the back. “Well, I hope you find her soon.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
But somehow I felt that I already had. Only “she” was a “he.” What the hell is wrong with me?
I pumped my hand up and down faster, stroking him. My finger brushed over the tip of his cock and he shuddered. “Oh god,” he panted. “Parker.”
Encouraged by his obvious pleasure, I kept going, once in a while leaning down to brush my lips over his. He came with a loud cry and lay, spent, in my arms. I kissed the top of his head. “You okay?”
“Yeah…” he whispered. “God, Parker, that was amazing.”
He nibbled at my neck. I sighed and pressed my hips against his, revealing my need. It was embarrassing how hard I’d gotten just listening to him moan.
James understood me without any words being spoken. He unbuttoned my jeans, dragged the zipper down. Then he inched them off, exposing sensitive skin. I shivered. “James?” I asked tentatively.
“Sit up a little,” he instructed, and I obeyed without thinking. It was only when he began to lower his head that I understood what he was doing.
“J-james,” I stuttered. “You don’t have to. It’s okay, I—”
“Shhh,” he hushed me. His hot breath gusted against my thigh and I groaned, my hips bucking up involuntarily. Mortified, I looked down at his bent head. His hair shadowed his face; I couldn’t see his expression, but the tip of his tongue was visible as he licked his lips. He nudged my legs gently. I spread them further apart, half-ashamed, half-eager.
The first touch of his mouth, moist and warm, was enough to make my mind shut down. My breath hitched. I tangled my hand in his hair and ohgodohjesusjames—I was going to come soon. I thrust forward and—
I awoke with the memory so fresh in my mind that it felt real. I knew it had all been a dream, nothing more; but the painful bulge in my pants was definitely there. Gritting my teeth, I pushed my hand down my pants and began to jerk myself off. I imagined James’s fingers stroking me, whimpered his name aloud. Then I buried my face against the pillow, hating the fact that I was thinking about another boy like this, loathing myself for wanting it anyway.
Then where did I belong?
The mass was half-over before I noticed the boy sitting in the pews across from me. It was James. I stared at him until he, feeling eyes on him, looked up and caught my eyes. He grinned at me, giving a little wave. I waved back before the memory of my dream surged up and I wrenched my hand down into my lap again. He gave me a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow in question. I couldn’t answer him, just shook my head a little to show him that nothing was wrong. I wish.
He mouthed, “After mass,” and I understood that he wanted to talk later. I smiled and mouthed back, “Sure.” I knew I shouldn’t; I shouldn’t go near him. But I wanted to see his smile. I wanted to watch the slow curve of his lips, the light that spread gradually over his face.
God, I was sick.
“Hello,” my mother returned cautiously. She was obviously confused about his nickname for me. My dad was only suspicious, a little hostile.
James seemed to notice this. “I’m James Dalton,” he introduced himself, courteously extending his hand. “Parker and I go to school together.”
“You half or something?” my dad asked bluntly.
“Dad,” I groaned. “Don’t be rude.” Although I did wonder about it myself. James looked Asian; but I noticed that his hair was a light shade of brown, wavy instead of straight. His nose was straight and tall, his eyes large and wide and a light hazel color, his skin pale, almost white. Everything about him, upon closer inspection, was a little strange, different; and yet somehow right. His features were simply a part of him.
He wasn’t bothered by my father’s question. “I am,” he answered. “My mom’s Vietnamese.”
My dad grunted. I jumped in before he could say anything else. “Are you here with her today?’
“Yeah. It’s the only reason I came to mass; she dragged me along.”
“You don’t—you aren’t very religious?” my mom asked, disapproval in her voice.
“Personally, I think it’s all bullshit.” James wasn’t as shy as his grave face suggested. “But of course, that’s only my opinion.”
“I see.”
At that moment, a woman came forward, calling, “James!”
James rolled his eyes. “My mom,” he said, and called back, “Over here, Mom!” He turned back to me. “I’ve got to go now,” he said, and grinned. “Bye, Parker.”
“See you,” I replied as normally as I could, considering the effect of his smile on me.
He waved over his shoulder as he trotted down the steps. I watched him speak rapidly to his petite, frail mother until they were both swallowed by the crowd of incoming churchgoers.
“Your friend is…” my mom began, faltering. “Interesting.”
Interesting? He’s fucking gorgeous. “He’s nice,” I said, defensively. And hot. Shit, I need to stop thinking about this. Stopstopstopstop. Stop.
‘To talk to Parker, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Who is this?” Jake asked me, as if James wasn’t right in front of him.
We were sitting outside during lunch. I was trying to decide whether I was delighted or terrified that James had come to talk to me. One look at the obvious tension between Jake and James, though, told me that it probably wasn’t going to be “delighted.”
“I realize that it’s below you to notice me,” James said coldly, “but since it’s not you I want to talk to, Morrison, I don’t care.”
“You guys know each other?” I asked, bewildered.
“We have physics together,” James said at the same time as Jake sneered, “I don’t know any fags.”
James’s spine stiffened. “Fuck you, Morrison.”
“You’d like to, wouldn’t you, Dalton? Or maybe it’s Parker you want.” His face turned ugly. “Is that what you want to talk to him for? So you can come onto to him?”
“Christ, Jake,” I blurted, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jake turned on me. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? How do you even know this homo?”
“Oh look, the imbecile can rhyme,” James taunted. “Jealous, Morrison? Maybe you should recite poetry to Parker, if you want him. Because it seems like you do.”
“Son of a bitch—” Jake lunged at James. Startled, James tripped and the two of them thudded onto the ground.
I got up hastily, trying to separate them. Finally, I managed to pry them apart, but not before several teachers noticed the fight and rushed over.
“Who started this?” one of them asked me. Two others were restraining Jake and James. Jake was yelling at James, trying to break free; James was silent but sullen, and he looked ready for another fight. “Who started this?” the teacher repeated when I didn’t answer.
I said, “Jake, sir,” and looked apologetically at my friend. He turned his head away.
James didn’t look at me, either, as he was led away. I was left behind on the quad with students gathering to whisper about the fight, and I wondered what had just happened. And, more importantly, why?
“No. Not okay. Jake, what the hell happened out there?”
Jake sighed, a rush of static over the phone. “I just kind of lost my temper. That fucking cocksucker—”
“James,” I corrected him. “His name is James.” Anger began to curl in my stomach. What right did Jake have to call James those words? What did he hate so much about him? And, I wondered suddenly, if I was gay would Jake hate me?
“Whatever,” Jake cut into my thoughts. “Anyway, Dalton—I dunno, he just really pisses me off.”
“Why?”
“Jesus, Parker, I don’t know. It’s just—he’s just…” Jake was silent, and then he blurted. “It’s like all the girls in our class like him or something. They think because he’s quiet, he’s shy, and that his big eyes and his stupid fucking ‘pensive expression’ mean he’s deep when the truth is he’s a bastard.
“How do you know this?” Jake’s voice was laced with dislike, but I was jealous of him anyway, jealous that he at least got a chance to know James.
“Because, I sit behind him. I’ve talked to him.” Jealously stirred again. “He’s so—so smug. The way he acts, it’s like he thinks he can get anything he wants. Or,” Jake added quietly, “anybody.”
“But why would you say he’s gay?”
“He is. Trust me, Parker, he told me so himself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. This one time, he was—he was flirting with me and I asked him if he was coming on to me and he said…he said maybe he was, so I should just drop the act because he knew I liked it.” Jake was breathing hard by now. “I called him a faggot, and he said, ‘Sure I’m one. And what are you?’”
I gripped the phone tightly. James was gay. James liked guys, too. Maybe—maybe—
“Parker?” Jake’s voice was tentative, vulnerable. “Parker, you aren’t—you don’t like him, do you?’
“I don’t know, Jake. I really don’t know.”
“James, I have to go,” I said tersely.
“We need to talk.”
“We’ll talk later. Right now I’ve got to get to class.”
“No!” James’s outburst startled me, and he calmed down when he saw my surprise. “No,” he said more calmly. “I don’t have time. I need to go to a debate tournament in five minutes, and then I’m leaving—”
“You’re leaving?” I was stunned. “But—where—”
“Vietnam.”
“What?!”
“Oh, not forever. But I’m going to be gone for a month. Maybe more. My mom’s uncle is dying, and he wants her to be there with him.”
“Why do you have to go? Can’t you stay here with your dad?”
“…my parents are divorced. He lives up in Virginia.”
“Oh. I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry. Just—” James sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t have much time.”
“When are you leaving?” My voice sounded small.
“Midnight on Saturday.”
The bell rang, but I ignored it. “So…what do you want to talk about?”
“First—what did Morrison tell you about me?”
“Jake? He said…that you were arrogant and really smug. Like you thought you could get anybody you wanted.”
“Really? And did he tell you that I was a queer?” His lips curled into a sneer, mocking Jake, mocking himself.
“He said—yeah, he said that.” I paused, then plunged ahead. “He said you came on to him. Did you?”
“Christ!” James’s face twisted in anger. “Parker, look—yes, I flirted with Morrison. I’ll admit that I liked him—”
I froze. My body seemed to go numb. “Then what are we talking for? If you like him—”
“I liked him. Parker, don’t you get it?”
“Get what? That you were after Jake? That you don’t give a damn about me?” I started to get worked up. “Why did you ever talk to me?”
He backed me up against the lockers. “Why?” he whispered. “He brushed his lips over my chin, across my jaw line. “God, Parker, you are so clueless,” he breathed.
“N—no I’m not. Stop it. Stop it, please, James,” I begged as he began suckling my neck. “Please, this is wrong. You can’t—”
He pulled away abruptly. I sighed in relief, even while I felt myself begin to harden. I willed my body to calm down before I looked up at James. His eyes had darkened, and he lowered his eyelids, refusing to meet my gaze. Eyes hooded, he asked in a low voice, “Do you really think this is wrong, Parker?”
“Yes,” I said, voice trembling. “Yes, it is. I’m sick, James. I—we can’t. It’s wrong to feel this way.”
“Who says it is?”
“It just is. James—”
“I have to go,” he muttered, turning away.
“James—” His name ripped out of my throat, a strangled sound. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” I didn’t know why I was apologizing, or what it was I was sorry for. James was right. I was clueless. I didn’t know anything, only that he was going to leave and I didn’t want him to go. At least, not without knowing, not without finding out—
James seemed to read something in my eyes. He strode back, and I reached out, grabbing his arms. Without thinking, I kissed him. His lips were firm but soft at the same time; he yielded to my tongue and I gently probed his mouth, tasting him. He moaned softly. “Parker,” he mumbled against my lips. “I really have to go. I’m going to be late—”
“Don’t leave—”
“I’ll be back.” He kissed me again. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back, and then—”
“And then what?”
“And then we’ll see where this goes. Take your time, Parker. Think about it while I’m gone.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to? I’m sick,” I started to babble. “I’m sick. I barely know you but I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you, even though we’ve only talked like three times, and—”
“Parker.” He gripped my chin. “Parker, listen to me, you are not sick. There is nothing wrong about the way you feel. You have to believe me, because I feel the same way about you and—” He broke off. “Parker, please don’t hate yourself. Please don’t.” I didn’t answer him. I was too stunned by what he had just told me. James felt the same way about me. “Parker, are you listening?”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Yeah, I heard you.”
“Promise me you’ll think about it while I’m gone.”
“I promise,” I said automatically. “Yes, I promise.”
He smiled. “Okay. I’ll see you later then, Spider-Man?”
This time I answered him immediately. “Definitely.” I reached up to trace his mouth with my finger, for once without any trace of self-disgust. “Take care of yourself…MJ.” He laughed, and I stood there, watching the way his eyes lit up. God, James. He was beautiful when he laughed. I loved his smile, his laughter. And, I finally asked myself, what could be wrong with that?
I made a choice about Jake. Or, rather, he made the choice to start avoiding me. It hurts, and I miss him. But I know there is nothing I can do about it.
Life is made of many interconnected events. You make a choice, and then you see where it leads you.