The Art of Hero Worship (11 page)

Maybe he’s bi.

He’s about the manliest man I’ve ever met,
and I always thought that possessing major masculinity meant a man
had to be straight and…. Right now, the subject of sexual
orientation clearly confuses me and upsets me to a degree.

I decide to make toast.

***

We have another awesome day, swimming and
sunbathing on the tiny beach in front of the cottage. All day I
fight the urge to touch him, but more than that, I struggle with
the desire for Liam to touch me. I want him to push me down on the
sand and do whatever he likes to my body, but I think he’s as wary
as I am. Neither of us is the world’s best communicator, and
because we’re driving home later this afternoon, there’s no way we
can drink beer to loosen up.

After we go out to a simple lunch at a bagel
shop, we head back to our cozy little cottage. And despite the fact
that I’m unsure of what I’m doing—I have no clue what this
thing
is between Liam and me—I just can’t fight my urge to
connect with him,
really
connect with him, one more time
before we part. I’m aware that we probably won’t see each other
until we go back to Batcheldor College, but I’m also aware that the
past two days have been my best since the shootings.

“Shit, I’m beat. You up for a nap?” I have
no idea if he buys my fake exhaustion so I yawn for added
emphasis.

The way he looks at me almost breaks my
heart. On this hulking, burly, heavily bearded man who has more
power in his little finger than I have in my right arm, I see more
fear than I saw on his face in the dark theater last April. “You
sure it’s what you want?” He’s giving me a chance to back out of
what I’ve clearly suggested, and he glances away as he awaits my
answer.

“I want to.” And Jase, the follower, leads
Liam into the cottage.

We go straight to the bedroom, where the
sheets are rumpled and the blanket is pooled up at the end of the
bed, just the way we left them this morning. Liam and I climb onto
the bed and lie flat on our backs, so close our shoulders
touch.

“I’m still sandy from the beach,” he says in
a listless monotone that I decide immediately is not even remotely
natural.

“So am I. A little sand won’t hurt us.”

“’Kay.”

I turn toward him and admit the truth. “I’m
not gay.” I hear him sigh, longer and louder than usual. “I’m not
gay, but I feel stuff for you I can’t explain.”

Apparently my second brief confession is
sufficient to set Liam at ease. He wraps his arms around me, and
once again I experience a measure of peace and contentment, as well
as a feeling of being bonded in a way that can’t be broken.

“I’ve never been with a guy, but I wanna
make love to you, Jase. I’m not sure what this makes me, sexually
speaking, and I’m pretty sure I don’t care.” Liam doesn’t dance
around it. “I can make this something you’ll never forget. Let
me.”

I nod. I want this. I want to feel the way I
felt last night. But still my mind races with questions about my
sexuality and his sexuality, and Liam knows it.

“Sshhh. Settle down. It’s gonna be
okay.”

He’s right. When I’m with him, everything’s
okay. He’s proved this time and again.
He’s my hero, isn’t
he?
So I nod again and then I settle down as he told me to do.
And I wait for what comes next.

“Maybe we should rinse off in the shower,
Jason. There
are
some things sand
will
hurt.”

***

As I stand under the stream of water, I
again think about Ginny. I remember the first time we made love;
she had been an unlikely virgin. Her outer image was so cool and
“whatever, dude” that I almost didn’t believe her when she’d told
me that she’d never before “gone all the way.” I’d tried to make
the first time memorable for her, as I’m sure Liam wants to do for
me. With Ginny, I’d felt pressure, though, to perform and to
satisfy and to be aggressive enough but not too much, and all in
all, the experience was more stressful than satisfying.

I wonder if Liam feels similar pressure or
if, because we’re both guys, first times somehow aren’t as
noteworthy.

After he rinses the sand off his body, we
return to the bedroom, still naked from the shower. We stand there
looking at each other with wide eyes until he urges me, “Lie down
on your stomach. I wanna rub your back ‘til you’re relaxed.”

To relax me, it might take quite a lot of
effort—Liam could still be rubbing my back at six tonight—but I
flip onto my belly anyway. “Okay,” I say.

He climbs on my ass and speaks softly into
my ear. “I’m gonna rub your shoulders really hard. It might hurt a
little but when I’m done you’re gonna feel like a….”

And suddenly I’m back…
I’m back on
the floor of the theater with Liam’s weight pressing me into the
seats, protecting me from being shot. In an instant, I’m terrified
and sweating, and at the same time I’m frozen. He whispers into my
ear, “I’m gonna push on your back really hard and I want you to
squeeze as much of your body underneath the chairs as you can, got
it?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t do this
again… no… not again!”

The room is dark… pitch black… all I can do
is absorb the fear and hear the—

Pop-pop-pop… pop-pop-pop….

“Ginny… I’m sorry, Ginny… I lost you… I let
you die!”

Pop-pop-pop….

“Liam… where are you, Liam? Liam!”

Pop-pop-pop….

“Hey, Jase… Jase… it’s okay. I’m here….”
He’s a million miles away.

My breathing is ragged… I have to control
it. Small breaths… short breaths….

“No more short breaths, ‘kay? You’ll faint…
so you need to breathe deep. Do it with me.”

“He’ll see… Liam, if I breathe deep, my
chest will rise and I’ll make your body move and he’ll see and
he’ll kill you….”

“One… two… three… nice and slow… breathe
with me….”

Against my better judgment, I do as he says,
but as soon as my breathing slows down, the comforting weight slips
from my back, and I’m cold and alone and exposed.

Pop-pop-pop…

“Liam!”

“Jason, you’re safe… you’re with me at the
cottage… and we spent the day swimming in the bay, remember? And I
won’t let him hurt you… not ever.” There’s a hand in mine and it’s
huge and strong… and a beard scratching the back of my neck…. “Open
your eyes… you’ll see that you’re safe.”

I trust the voice in my ear… I really do. If
he says to open my eyes I should open them. When I crack open my
eyes I see one thing—one person—and it’s the one person I need.
“Liam….”

“Look around… check out where we are.”

We’re in a dingy old bedroom of a
salty-smelling cottage with views of the ocean out the open
window.

“You’re okay, and Dom DeSalles is dead. He’s
never coming back and, besides, now you have me to look out for
you.”

Just like that, I’m in the cottage again…
and I’m humiliated. I want to cry, but I’m determined to stop the
tears that have welled up in my eyes from spilling down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry… this has happened to me at home but it has never
happened when I’m out.”

“It’s alright… I think you had a flashback.
No worries at all. I’m just so glad I could be here for you.”

I turn toward him and hug him tight. “We
were about to… to
do something
… weren’t we?” The dreamy
romantic energy between us is lost but I’m willing to try to
retrieve it.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just hold
you for a while.”

Without letting go, I say, “Holding me is
just what I think we both need and… and it looks like you saved me…
again.”

“It is my life’s greatest goal.” He says it
with a smile and a wink, but I can tell he’s not joking.

August

My bedroom is hot and stuffy as the screen
in the window above my bed tore the first time I forced the
stubborn window open this summer, and, in order not to invite in
bugs, I’m forced to keep it closed. There’s no cross-ventilation in
the room and it feels like a late-August sauna in here, but I
continue to pack my boxers and socks as neatly as I can into a
rolling suitcase. This less-than-demanding task has left me with
the solitude I’ve been avoiding since I returned from Cape Cod. A
perfectly unwelcome environment for thinking.

After my short trip to Cape Cod, I’d
improved psychologically, and I did so rapidly. Therapy sessions
became incredibly useful, where before they were exercises in
futility. I got in touch with my friends from high school, Kendrick
and Dan; we went to a Red Sox game, a couple of hometown barbeques,
and swimming in the local reservoir. I even reached out to Mom in
an effort to let her know I’m on the path to recovery, despite the
fact that she never really listens to much that I say.

And I visited Ginny’s parents. We grieved
together. It was painful but brought about some closure in that
aspect of my life.

I slid back into regular eating and sleeping
habits, and I even hit the gym in an effort to get in shape. And
maybe I’m not planning on going into a theater any time soon, but
overall, I’m like a different guy than I was before I went away
with Liam.

I have no clue why I returned from Cape Cod
so much changed for the better in terms of my mental health, but I
try not to question it because it’s a good thing. All I can say is
that my improvement had something to do with hope. The only problem
is that I’m not sure I like the guy I’ve become.

And maybe because I know I’m going to see
Liam face-to-face within the next few days, as we’re going to be
living in the same dormitory, I finally level with myself.

Better late than never, right?

I used Liam to again rescue me from my life
at the sludgy bottom of the barrel, which was where it had ended up
by mid-July of summer break. I took just enough from him to gain
the sense of hope for the future I needed to rejoin the world of
the living. Once I had that precious hope, I tucked it against my
chest and ran off with it, refusing to acknowledge that I got it
from him… and thinking I could pretend it was mine all along. But
the new mentally stable Jason isn’t even close to being as genuine
as the terrified, needy one who went away for a weekend with the
friend from college who saved my life, time and again.

But like I said, I don’t ask too many
questions. Closely examining the ins and outs, the why’s and why
not’s—it’s just not who I am.

Needless to say, I haven’t stayed in contact
with Liam. He has my cell number, and used it a few times to check
on me. Likewise, I have his number, but I never returned his calls.
I heard them come in, waited as they rang, and watched as they went
to voicemail. Where they’ve remained, never having been listened
to. And I’ve sat alone on my bed a hundred times,
a thousand
times,
staring at the cell phone on my desk, wanting so badly
to dial his number. But I’ve never followed through.

I’m not sure of the exact reasons for my
inaction—maybe it’s because Liam reminds me of the violence and
terror I want to forget, but more likely it’s a personal sexuality
issue. When I think about him, I first get warm and soon become
overly hot, my stomach tightens and my throat grows an enormous
lump. Then I start to feel vulnerable because, not only has Liam
seen me at my lowest point, he’s taken me to my highest with his
hand and his mouth and his simple words. I’m caught in an awkward
place between wanting him, needing him, and feeling compelled to
reject him, because
I am
not gay
and what Liam
represents is a totally new kind of life that I’m not sure I can
embrace. And no, I’m not homophobic—shit, I never even set my
sights on being traditional! This whole
having romantic feelings
for the man who saved my life
thing has taken me by surprise,
that’s all.