Craving's Creek

Chapter 2-2

At the dinner table, I sit looking out the patio doors, watching fat pellets of rain drop like rocks into our above ground pool. I’ve already wolfed down my share of supper and my plate is licked clean. I’ve grown four inches this year and nothing seems to satisfy my hunger. I can almost see the top of my father’s head when I stand next to him. My mom says she’s thinking of putting a lock on the fridge.

“More salad, hon?” Mom shows me the big blue salad bowl full of greens no one at this table will touch while there is still a scrap of meat left. Or bread.

At my right, Summer is babbling something to Winter, and I notice Winter’s hair is getting fuller and darker like my father’s. While my father chews and daydreams about the money we’ll be making once his ship comes in, I study his long, serious face, and then I look at my mother; she’s all freckles and laughter. I realize my sisters are copies of my parents. Winter is my father’s spitting image, dark haired and intense, while Summer is like my mother with her orange hair and slanted blue eyes.

Who the hell do I look like then? Maybe I’m adopted.

“Too bad about the rain, huh?” My mother picks up Summer’s fork off the floor for the tenth time. “Still gonna go to the party?”

I shrug.

What am I going to do with my summer? I don’t have a job, unless you count hanging empty bottles on people’s doors as employment, but I lack the motivation to try anything new. I bought a used guitar last month, but that didn’t last long. I’ve tried playing my old Atari games, but video games put me to sleep. I used to read a book a week, but lately, I can’t even finish an Archie comic book. I haven’t submitted a short story to any magazines since my last rejection, which was last April. My brain is soaking in heavy, spoiled cream. I feel slow, like God’s stepped on the remote, and now everything in my life is caught in one screenshot—everything frozen still—just waiting for that click.

I don’t want to do anything but wait for Alistair to let me kiss him on the mouth. Will he ever?

“I’m gonna go anyway,” I say, grabbing the last piece of bread. “I don’t feel like staying home all night.”

“Is Alistair going?”

I shrug again and chew my bread.

“Well, his parents are gonna have to eventually let him out of that house,” my mother says, wiping Summer’s face. “His whole social life can’t just revolve around church.”

I know my mother doesn’t expect an answer from me. “Can I be excused?”

“You all right?” Her eyes tell me she understands more about my recent mood swings than she lets on.

My father is oblivious to our silent exchange and suddenly turns to me. “Hey, tomorrow morning, we’re doing the B section. I need you to be up bright and early, okay, pal?”

Our little suburban town is divided into sections in which the street names begin with the section’s letter. We live in the C section. I’ve renamed us the Cesarians. “How early?” I ask, hoping eleven. Another morning of collecting water samples awaits me. But three hours is thirty bucks.

“Eight.” My dad rubs Winter’s hair and grins at her. “You girls wanna go for a bike ride?” My father likes to tie up the buggy to his bike and take my sisters on long rides. Sometimes they’re gone for hours. Who knows where they go.

“I’ll be ready for nine,” I say and wink, praying he’ll let it slide.

He does. “All right, fine.”

After I’ve put my dish in the sink, I climb up the stairs to my bedroom. Inside, I stare at my open closet, dejected. I pull out some jeans and my black-and-white, long-sleeved Empire shirt. I dig through my first drawer for clean undies, smelling through them like a bloodhound. Downstairs my mother is hollering at me. “Ryde, phone!”

For a second, I wonder about making Alistair pay for the slammed door, but change my mind. I meet my mother halfway down the stairs and grab our new high-tech cordless phone from her.

“It’s Alistair,” she whispers.

“Yeah, okay, thanks.” I quickly go back to my bedroom and shut myself in. I make sure I’m cool. “Hello?”

But there’s only dead air on the line. I check my window and see him standing in his. I wave at him, and slowly, the embers inside me turn cold. I’m not angry about the door anymore. “Look,” I say, “I don’t care if you slammed the door in my face.”

“You didn’t go to the party?” He sounds upset. It’s not about the party. I know this. It’s something else. He’s lonely, but too proper to ever admit his feelings about anything.

“Yeah, I’m still going, but not right now.” I move away from my window. “So, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Sounds fun.” I lie back on my bed. Downstairs, I hear the clinking of dishes and my mother singing along with the radio. Then I hear Alistair sniffle on the line and tense up. “Something happened at your house?”

“They’re making me go to the camp again,” he says.

Those words hit me hard and I sit up. “What? But I thought last summer was your last. Didn’t they say you only had to go until you were seventeen and you’re seventeen—”

“No, Ryde, I’ll be seventeen next week. They say, technically, I’m still sixteen.”

I jump off my bed and shoot for the window. How can they do this to him? To us? This was going to be our first summer together. He’s been going to that Catholic summer creep camp all his life. Every damn summer. How am I supposed to kiss him if he isn’t here? “They can’t make you,” I say, my voice sounding like a growl. “It’s not fair—”

“Father Bilodeau says I’m gonna be like a counselor and that it’ll be fun, because I’m good with leading others. He says that I show promise. That I could even become a—”

“Fun?” I lean my head on the glass, talking low. “But I thought you didn’t wanna go away.”

He’s quiet for a while. “I don’t,” he finally says. “You know that.”

I know what he’s saying. What he means. Does he feel the same about me? Does he think of me as much as I think of him? I spend my time planning our lives together. I watch his small attic window. See him standing there, half-hidden by the curtains. “What am I supposed to do all summer?” I ask desperately.

What I really want to ask is, How am I gonna live without you for two months?

“Ryde,” he says, “they don’t want me to spend too much time with you. If you’d come to church, like I asked you to, they wouldn’t be so scared of you and—”

“f**k church, okay?” As soon as the words come out, I want to put them right back in my stupid mouth.

“Oh, Ryde, that is a nasty thing to say, mister, and I’m asking God to forgive you right now.” He starts praying and I wait for him to finish. “And you’re lucky too,” he says after he’s done. “‘Cause God likes you.”

I shut my eyes, bite my tongue. “All right, thank you very much for taking care of my soul.”

“You’re welcome.”

I can’t help smiling. I press my hand to the window. The glass is cool from the rain. “Alistair,” I say, not really sure of what I’ll say next. I wait and feel him hanging on the line. I take a deep breath. “Never mind.”

I don’t want to tell him how I feel. I want to show him. Or maybe I want him to guess.

After we hang up, I stand at my window and reality sinks into me. Alistair is going to be gone all summer. I look around my bedroom and spot the clothes I picked out. Everything seems meaningless now.

“Knock, knock.” My mother stands in the doorway. “I thought you’d fancy a milkshake.” She walks in, and hands me a tall glass of foamy chocolate milk. “To perk up.”

I know I’m going to tell her. She probably knows it too. I’m going to come out to her, and I’m going to do it now. I’ve known I was gay since grade school. Can’t keep it in anymore.

“He must be feeling a little down about not being allowed to go to the party with you.” My mother sits at the edge of my bed and glances around the room. “You keep a very neat place here. Good for you.”

I take a deep gulp of the drink and wipe my lips. I don’t really know how to say it, where to start.

“Ryde, do you know how much I love you? I love you so much that if you told me you were a serial killer and needed me to hide the bodies, I’d help you.” She gives me a look that makes me feel small and humble. “You understand?”

Her love is so big, it’s like standing in front of the ocean with a straw. No matter how much I try, I’ll never be able to take all my mother’s love in.

“So, you got something to tell me?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “I do. But maybe you know it already.” I toss the words out in a hurry. “I’m gay.”

She reaches out for my hand. “Come here.” I sit by her and she pulls my head to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Ryde, baby. I love you.” She laughs and I laugh too. “Okay?” She kisses my hair and stands. “Don’t tell your father just yet. I’ll ease him into it in time.”

It’s so easy with her. It’s not going to be like that for Alistair. “Alistair thinks it’s a sin. You know what I mean?”

My mother nods gravely. “They brought him up like that.” She stares at me tenderly. “Do you have feelings for him?”

“Yeah.” I glance down at my socks, trying not to be embarrassed.

“I remember when he moved on our street,” she says, laughing again. “You followed him around like a shadow.”

“I don’t really know how to…I mean, how can I compete with God?”

“You don’t. You can’t. Look, bend his way a little. Reassure him. He’ll come around.”

Relief finally comes. “So you’re okay with it?”

“I was okay with it from the moment you were born.”

“Thank you, Mom.” I don’t know what to say. She’s fantastic. I’m blessed.

She hesitates a moment. “Take it slow with him, all right?”

I can’t go any slower than I’m going. I’m practically stopped. But I understand what she means. “He calls the shots,” I say.

She taps my hand. “Been that way since you were little boys.” Then excitement takes a hold of her. “Wait a second. I have a great idea. Dad and me, we’re thinking of taking a little time off. Maybe going camping with you and the girls, you know, like we used to. I mean, you’re seventeen, and this is probably the last summer we get to force you to come. What if I called Alistair’s parents and asked them if we can take him along with us—”

“That wouldn’t work. They’re making him go to that camp again.”

“What? I thought—”

“I know. So did I.”

“They’re really gonna mess that beautiful kid up if they keep at it.”

Now I feel like crying. “He has visions, Mom. Says he sees this angel and—”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Just that. He sees an angel sometimes and it freaks me out the way he believes it. He has these migraines and then, lately, it’s like he’s a whole other person. He’ll go from being sweet to being really dark.”

“Migraines can cause that, hon, and especially in teenagers, you know, with your hormones going wild and all, but Ryde, the boy should see a doctor—”

“Sometimes I think he’s gonna go…crazy.” I’ve spoken my worst fear and it feels real. “He’s always alone in that attic with his scissors and threads, or he’s at church being brainwashed.”

“Hey, hey, he’s got you, doesn’t he?” She grabs my hands. “As long as you’re near him, you’ll keep him grounded. Let me talk to Matilda. Let me see if I can persuade her to change her mind about sending him to that awful camp. She and I get along sometimes. I think she sort of likes me best on the street.”

“You write erotica. I doubt she likes you.”

“But I’m honest and that counts for a lot.”

I look out my window. Alistair’s window is dark. “So, we’d go back to the place we used to go, the one with no electricity and no toilets?”

“That’s right. If we’re gonna camp, we’re gonna camp.”

I stare at his window, silently calling him forth to it. “What was that place called again?”

“Craving’s Creek.”

“That’s right,” I whisper. “Craving’s Creek.”

I see his window light up.