Let It Beatle

Love, Love Me Dude To all my readers. Thanks for hanging in there with me on this unbelievable ride! I met Wheeler Ridley in a sandbox when we were both three years old. We grew up together and attended the same schools, played on the same teams and shared friends. In my mind, we were everything to each other. Until high school. Suddenly, the boy I’d thought my best friend in the whole world was the popular kid and didn’t have time for me anymore. He left me behind in favor of the superficial fame of the jock world, while I watched from the sidelines. I felt betrayed. It happened at a time when I realized something was different about me, too. I liked boys—and Wheeler especially, it turned out. I loved him, but he’d broken my heart. How could he not love me, too? I started to care a lot less about school, became sullen and uncooperative, eventually getting kicked off all my teams. My grades suffered, and nothing my parents threatened me with made a dent in my psyche. Relegated to the slackers and delinquents, I watched Wheeler work his way through the entire cheerleading squad and then most of the girls in his age group. He was voted prom king senior year, and was also class valedictorian, while I was in danger of not graduating. The possibility of having to repeat senior year finally got my attention. I decided that letting a selfish, arrogant bastard dictate my life choices was beneath me, and I needed to grow up. So he didn’t love me. So what. I pushed all thoughts of Wheeler’s abandonment deep down inside, focused on improving my grades, and managed to graduate high school—barely. My parents were actually relieved when I left home that summer. I’d become something they couldn’t understand. I had to find my own way. For almost a year, I backpacked across the country, working odd jobs and taking the time to figure out who I was and what I wanted out of life. By the time I found a place to settle down, I felt I could legitimately claim that I’d put Wheeler Ridley behind me. * * * * Fourteen years later, I owned—well, I still owed the bank plenty—a motel near the beach, not far from the freeway. It was on the edge of a medium-sized tourist town that tended to be deserted in winter and overcrowded in summer, as is the way of such places. I worked seven days a week and was always on call. I didn’t mind. When I needed a break, I asked Maury Landrum, a local, to help me out. He also worked seasonally with me during the busy months from April to October. Maury was eight years my junior and a very kind and conscientious human being. He helped his sister Sheila out a lot and watched over her triplets like they were his own, working as many jobs as he could in town when they were available to make ends meet and provide a little extra for all of them. We got along well together, and though I knew he’d be interested in something more between us, I held back, not sure if I wanted to go there with anyone. The hurt I’d had as a teen in the throes of my first crush was bad enough, and one-night stands were the pits. I’d given those up a long time ago. Maybe I was meant to be a bachelor. I’d met some interesting characters during my time as caretaker of these thirty units. It kept life far from dull. When things were slow, I caught up on all the sleep I lost in the busy season and worked on necessary repairs. The units were basic, cheerful, and clean, with cable and Internet service. I didn’t run a sleazy rent-by-the-minute joint. It was also LGBT-friendly and was advertised as such. Spring break marked the beginning of busy season, and brought out my vigilance for pranks and stupidity, but it never usually went that far. As it was the end of April right now, reservations had picked up, and Maury worked the front desk while I ran around checking on rooms and doing last minute jobs. Sheila helped me with the housekeeping once the kids were in school. One evening while I was winding down from a busy day and looking over reservations, I came across a name that brought back unpleasant memories I’d thought lost in time. There could be any number of people in the world with that name, right? I hoped it wasn’t him, please God, but at the very least, if it was, I should be able to handle my childhood crush’s presence without much of a fuss. I was an adult, as well as a businessman, and he would be here for only two days. I would be too busy to worry about things that should be bygones, at least for me. He likely wouldn’t remember me, anyway. And why did that thought hurt? * * * * Friday afternoon, the day of Wheeler Ridley’s arrival, I worked on the computer at the front desk, trying to rectify an issue with the motel website. The high school kid in town who normally helped me was out of town, so that left me to somehow figure things out. In the middle of swearing a blue streak, the bell above the door tinkled, announcing someone’s arrival. I put on my most welcoming smile and turned to face my guest. And froze. It was indeed Wheeler Ridley in the flesh, now an adult and looking like he’d stepped out of GQ magazine. His light brown skin and thick black hair were a testament to his Latino heritage on his mother’s side, but the green eyes were his dad’s. Though no more than a few seconds had passed, it felt like a lifetime to me. I cleared my throat and said, “Welcome to Misty View Motel. Do you have a reservation?” I thought if I played it cool, I could get through this. “Ah, yeah. It’s Ridley. Wheeler is the first name.” He adjusted the bag strap on his broad shoulder and waited as I clicked around on the computer screen. Good thing he couldn’t see my fingers trembling on the mouse. Okay, so he didn’t remember me. Why would he, anyhow? He’d forgotten me once we reached high school. It was a long time ago, I reasoned, and while he looked the same, I’d filled out a bit from the skinny kid I used to be and the long, Goth hair I’d favored in school had been replaced by a buzz cut. “Okay, Mr. Ridley, if I may see some ID and your credit card, please.” After handing them over, I completed the process in the system, then handed everything back to him, along with the keys. “Room 120. Go right when you leave here and it’s at the end of the corridor. I hope you enjoy your stay.” “Thanks, I’m sure I will.” He smiled at me and walked to the door. Before he left, Wheeler said, “You look familiar. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Probably just coincidence,” I said. He nodded and left. I sank into my chair behind the desk and covered my face with both hands. Why did I lie? Apparently Wheeler Ridley still had some power over me, all these years later.