Message of Love (10 page)

I’d been gazing at the front of the restaurant when he arrived. I let the maitre’d help Everett up the one small step in the entryway, then beamed as he wheeled toward me. As I had anticipated, he also wore a jacket and tie. The maitre’d took his coat and offered us menus.

A plastic-wrapped bundle of flowers in his lap, Everett handed them to me, then I leaned in for a brief hug.

“You got flowers, too.” Everett eyed the vase as he scooted to the table.

“Marigolds.”

“And I got roses; so cliché.”

“No, they’re nice.”

“So, the Latin?” he gestured to my flowers.

“
Calendula officinalis
.”

“Very good.”

“It’s supposed to have medicinal qualities, too. People used to grind them up and hope for prophetic dreams.”

“That’s spooky. Maybe I should–” He made a playful gesture of nibbling on a petal.

“Careful. It’s also a diuretic.”

“Good to know.” He pulled his hand back, wiping it on a napkin with an exaggerated flair.

After the waiter took our drink orders (champagne seemed out of our league, so we had sodas), we shared smiles and a bit of silence held as we looked into each other’s eyes. I felt a bit of the nervousness of a first date, not that I’d ever really had one with anyone other than him.

“So.”

“Yes?”

“A bit of Paris Peace Talks, and then we can just enjoy ourselves. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good,” I said, as I folded my fingers together, sat forward, and waited.

“The reason I asked Connor along to the play; first he’s a  housemate, and you know the guys like to help, even when I don’t need it. It’s different at Penn. People just…get in and make friends.”

“We made friends at Temple.”

“Yes, but, it’s… Also, his dad’s in politics, and yes, he’s a snooty old-money arrogant preppie. But my world, I’m sorry, it’s different. Unlike you, I can’t trust in the beautiful serenity of nature for my future.”

“Okay.”

“And I can’t just rely on my parents’ connections after college.”

“Okay.”

“Some people don’t need to know about us. Some people don’t deserve to know.”

“But hiding–”

“I’m not hiding, Reid. We’re not hiding. I’m not afraid of people knowing. Connor’s not dumb. He figured it out. A lot of people know. And the important people; we tell them. We have plenty of friends who know.”

“Okay, but maybe they’re not going to be my friends.”

“And that’s fine. I’m sure some of your classmates at Temple are … not going to be my friends.”

“You like Devon.”

“Of course!”

“And you like Eric, don’t you?” My former roommate from my first semester had kept in touch, but had only hung out with us a few times.

“Eric’s great. But are you sure he’s not gay?”

“No. He’s just really cool about it.”

I actually hadn’t seen Eric in weeks. Although he’d been understanding when I’d come out to him, and told him about Everett, the two had only spent a few hours together one night when Eric came over to visit. As before, he’d unspooled a volley of curious questions about Everett’s life from a technical angle.

Still, our lives didn’t intersect much, and like other classmates and guys on my new dorm floor, I hadn’t opened up much to friendships. Every spare moment was spent with Everett. That left me with no one to talk to about Everett when such little tiffs sprang up.

Our salads arrived, and the waiter made a show of grinding a large wooden pepper mill. After he left, Everett still hadn’t lifted his fork. Quite hungry myself, I was chomping of some lettuce when I had to stop. Everett had a sad, ruminative look.

“I’m sorry. Was there something else?” I swallowed.

“Just… the other reason I asked Connor to go with me was… It was cold, and dark, and with the damn plowed snow up to my nose in the gutter… I couldn’t even get across the street. And you weren’t there. I know I’m all about being independent and everything, but sometimes, going out alone, I just get scared and frustrated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s just… We need more space.”

I fought a surge of panic, that neediness, of wanting him, of wanting to be wanted. Was he enjoying living alone more than he let on?

“Wait. You say you need to be away from me, but then you need me.”

“No, Reid. We need more space together, bigger than a dorm room. I want us to find a place to be together.”

“Oh!”

“It won’t cost much more. I saw a few apartment listings, and next semester we don’t have to be in the dorms. My mom can still get whatever payoff she probably got out of all this, and–”

“Are you sure you want to leave Ware? You seem really comfortable there.”

“Well, architecturally speaking,” he took on a faux-snooty tone, “It is the style to which I am accustomed.”

“But you want to do this?”

“Sure.”

“So, we can be together again?”

“Yes, off-campus, somewhere nearby.”

As I jumped up from the table, my salad fork flipped off the plate and I nearly knocked over the vase. Reaching around to hug Everett, I kissed his cheek a few times, until his hand touched my face.

“I take it you like the idea.”

I retreated back to my seat, and noticed a few couples in the restaurant were giving us an assortment of glances, both admiring and curious.

As the giddy anticipation settled, we ate our dinner, smiling, speaking little, except for small intimate jokes. Yes, it could work. It had to work, playing it cool. I would learn over the next months that it did work, for a while.

Chapter 15

March 1981

“Treat your babies with care,” our professor cautioned with a half-serious air as my classmates and I took our share of small trays with seedlings just barely growing in their tiny square plastic containers.

Months of Botany studies had finally developed into actual growing. Our assignment was to nurture the sycamore saplings and eventually plant them as part of the university’s landscaping program. I had held the little tray of plants carefully as I returned to my room.

When Everett called to tell me he’d be a bit late with “some dorm thing” until about eight o’clock, I told him I’d meet him later. Then, on impulse, I decided to bring him a few of the saplings. He didn’t have any plants in his room, and I thought it would be a nice gesture.

Since it was a Friday, I wasn’t planning on studying in his room, so I filled the bottom of my backpack with a few clothes; a pair of socks, a T-shirt and underwear. I nestled the small pots inside my backpack, and carefully hung it over my shoulder.

It happened so fast, I hardly had time to react. The Broad Street train car wasn’t crowded, yet I stood, and placed my backpack on a seat near a train door. I didn’t want to risk jostling the plants.

At one stop, almost the moment the doors started to close, somebody shoved me. I fell to the floor of the car, and from my lower, almost sideways view, I saw a small kid rushing out of the door and across the platform with my backpack.

“And nobody did anything to help!” I said, frustrated after retelling the story to Everett.

“I’m sorry.” He consoled me with a hug.

“And then,” I fumed. “Some woman just said, ‘You gotta watch yo bag onna train.’ Like it was my fault.”

“Damn.”

“At least there wasn’t anything important in it.” I’d always kept my wallet and keys in my pockets.

“That sucks.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean your imitation of a Black lady sucks.”

“Ev! Be serious. What if he had a knife or a gun?”

“Sorry. I was trying to make a joke. You have to be careful. From now on, you should just come by earlier, and stay over.”

“That would be nice.”

“Yes.”

“So much for the survival of my sycamores in an urban environment.”

“That kid’s gonna be disappointed when he opens the bag.”

“What the hell would he do with the plants?”

“Probably try to smoke them.”

I shook my head. “It’s just so…creepy.” I felt nervous with the prospect of taking the train again without a returning fear.

“Do you still want to go out?”

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s just go get drunk.”

“My teammates don’t really do that. I think there’s a change of plans.”

Everett’s debate team had won regionals, and were headed off to finals in a few weeks, which would be held at Rutgers. The celebration had migrated to a larger party down the block, where to them, access to a keg and sorority girls was the lure.

Perhaps I’d hedged a little too long when Everett asked me to accompany him. As what, debate team cheerleader?

But he didn’t have to ask twice for me to go with him to the party. Two of his classmates, members of Lesbians and Gays at Penn, had been harassed by a cluster of other male students when they were putting up meeting flyers. As he was told, they were called names, threatened, and chased across Locust Walk in the center of the campus.

Other students were threatened, too. Residents of Dubois House, where many of the Black students lived, had received anonymous phone calls and threats of violence.  Suddenly, like the crime-ridden city, his elite school didn’t feel safe either.

But parties were parties. I’d been used to Everett deciding on a seat, always a sofa, so I could sit near him. But I didn’t get why until I’d sat down at the sofa’s mid-section to devour a bowl of chips, having missed dinner to meet up with Everett.

It was in his territory, over the bridge, in one of Penn’s multipart mansion rentals on the main drag, just south of the campus. One of his debate team pals knew they had a ramp in the back, not for wheelchairs, but for the sheer volume of beer kegs they rented.

Once again we’d parked in a main room. I did have to politely ask a couple to move, but they kind of jumped up anyway when Everett wheeled up by them.

Everett scowled, resigned himself, lifted his brow in a hint, and hopped off to the sofa. I followed, folding his chair and leaning it against a nearby wall.

I stood over him, as a waiter, mimed a beer-hoist. He nodded.

Upon my return, we sat. Beer sloshed a bit. He urged me closer against him.

I sensed a decidedly ‘not at all gay’ environment from the party. Every guy was talking to a girl or two, and the noisy talk resonated on two levels, a sort of growling assertively male rumble, sprinkled with frequent forced female cackles.

“Who are these people?” I wondered.

“Looks like… two sororities, a crew team, a bunch of Rosemont girls, and a herd of Whartons.”

“Where are your teammates?”

“Probably playing Trivial Pursuit in a bedroom.”

He sipped, we smiled. I hoped someone would bring us pizza. Out of his chair, just sitting, no one noticed him at first. Until some guy, apparently girl-less, struck up a conversation with Everett and I. What I more remembered was what the conversation wasn’t about; Everett.

When he sat in his wheelchair, and was the only one, especially in such a group, he basically took audiences, paired or single. Without his chair, he didn’t have to, what he called, “do the script,” his terse summation of the how he got injured, the yeahs, the whens, the what ifs, and try to steer the guy, all such people, the Brads, the Connors, to just talk about other stuff.

“But why aren’t you comfortable with–”

“I am comfortable. I’m just bored with that. Is there food here?”

“You read my mind.”

As I returned with a paper plate full of anything edible on the already scrounged dining room table, Everett already had two admirers, both blonde young women. I stood back, nibbled on pretzels, until he saw me across the room leaning in a doorway. With his plaintive eyebrow raise, a helpless tiny shrug, I realized I had to save him.

The girls actually turned out to be a lot of fun, and amid this babbling four-way chatter session, I decided to just move toward a segue, jostling myself back beside Everett, dislodging the more buxom of the pair, who, it seemed having just learned of Everett’s disability, had begun to nudge herself just a bit too close to him.

They didn’t get the message, until my arm slung across Everett’s shoulder, and I rubbed his neck.

A gasp. “Oh, mah gawd. Are you guys…?”

“Yeah.”

Another gasp. “Figures. The two cutest guys in the room.”

The party was so noisy, I wasn’t sure whether we were offered drinks, or that they were leaving. One of the girls walked off, apparently put off by us being gay, but the other hung back.

“So, how did you guys meet?”

Then came what had become a familiar mutual smirk. Everett would choose one of many euphemisms, obscure yet declarative, which referenced that wintry day in a forest where we nearly froze our butts off in a first-time smooch and yank session.

“Arbor Day Club!”

The intent sailed over her fluffed hair and into the kitchen, where someone else laughed at something else.

“That’s nice,” she smiled, then didn’t. “Look, I don’t remember whether it was in
Cosmo
or some sister told me. You both seem set for the night, but we’re kind of on the prowl, if you will.”

“Okay,” Everett withheld a full-on smirk.

“So, I read that women who are with guys attract other guys’ animal competitive instinct, and I think half the crew team is here.”

“So, we’re bait,” Everett nodded.

“Now you got it.” She winked, then stood. “Beer or the hard stuff?”

Drink orders taken, I tickled Everett.

“Wow. I ought to sell autographs.”

“Why?”

“They knew who I am.”

“Ev, you’re, like, famous. You’ve been in the student paper, how many times?”

“Yeah, but see, they’re just nice to us because we’re a cute innocuous pair of homos. That’s why.”

“That’s why what?”

“That’s why I want to sit by you, without the chair. It’s easier for them to just be at ease, themselves, not all …sympathetic, apologetic; mentioning some crip relative–”

“Right.”

“And thank you for moving in.” He leaned against me. “So can we have fun now, my little crime victim?”

“Yes. Fun. Now.”

“Okay, cool. So just…scoot over.”

“Okay.”

And then I gave him a smile and an affectionate head rub, and perhaps a few heads turned, but we didn’t bother to look back, until the ladies returned with beers.

We watched from our vantage point, as, true to her promise, a series of paired male suitors presented themselves, until, through some secret code between them that Everett pointed out to me in the whisper of a golf tournament announcer, the ladies chose bachelors Number Two and Three, and retrieved them through what Lindsay, her name, I finally discovered, called, “a retrieval.” Their suitors hadn’t been dismissed, just put on hold. We saw them hook the boys in at the end of another room.

“Marvelous,” Everett clapped his hands like a mad professor. “The mating ritual of their species is so complex.”

“I couldn’t disagree more.”

“Then you agree.”

“How?”

“That’s a double negative.”

Both of us a little buzzed, that night Everett offered a woozy confession as we prepared for bed. A light rain had started as we were headed back to his dorm. As we undressed, I hung our wet clothes on a chair and a coat rack he’d attached to the back of his door.

“So, I’m going to be getting kinda naked with some other students.”

“Naked?”

“I’ve been asked to participate in a series of physiotherapy students’ practicums.”

“Say that again?”

“Prac-ti-cum.”

“More poking and prodding?”

“Sort of. They’re going to chart my workouts and do some kinds of tests. And,” he peeled off his undershirt, tossing it to me, “I’ll get massages.”

“With some hottie doctoral student?”

“No. It’s with a bunch of different students. It might be a little weird. There’s one cute Japanese guy, though.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Aren’t you always?”

I offered him a sour face. “Can I offer you my services now?”

“Sure. Get the unscented stuff. That last bottle was like strawberry creamcakes.”

As the rain outside continued, after getting the lotion and a towel, he stripped and lay down on the bed.

I rubbed his skin, his calf hairs swirling out as I circled what remained of his leg muscles. He blushed, perhaps just from the blood circulation, or from seeing his legs admired as well. It seemed to make him feel good. As my hands traveled up his back and to his shoulders, he started singing softly, another of his old time songs, so I must have been doing something right.

And later, atop him, the lotion making a few funny sounds as our skin pressed together, I felt that scar rubbing against my hips as I slid, occasionally poked, or dabbed, inside him, just to say hello.

But I couldn’t do what I’d done with him before his accident. With Everett, I had to be careful. Besides, just nibbling his ear, with his arm reaching back to clutch some part of me, and the rain tapping on the window, despite all our odd adjustments, it felt right.