The ambulance with Joel in it is on its way to the hospital. I'm experiencing a chill streaking through my body because of the look I saw on Robby's face, the grease on his fingers, and the grease on the metal rod I'd used to tighten the tourniquet on Joel's leg. I don't want to believe Robby purposely sabotaged Joel's ride on the mower. But what was a loose metal rob with grease on it doing in the lawn if it didn't come from the mower? Someone took the nut off the bolt so the wheel would come off as he rode down the steep grade of that hill. Is that what happened?
Robby said, "C'mon, Dylan, let's see what the conference is all about." I nodded, and we walked over to the group of our coworkers. The conference was a pep talk from Toby, "Let's get back to our jobs, guys. Joel's in good hands, and accidents happen, so let's try to be sure we do everything we can to avoid another one: safety first in the workplace! Now, let's be professionals and do our jobs".
The group broke up, and we resumed working with one less ride-on mower, so everything took longer. As we were finishing up the job, a flatbed truck came by to tow the mower onto it and took it away. By lunch, the word was out that a one-in-a-million chance of a bolt coming loose from the wheelhouse had caused the accident. It had never happened before in the long history of that model mower, but somehow that bolt became unscrewed and just fell out when it was on the slope. The wheel came off and, with that killer blade rotating so fast the blade was almost invisible, the mower tumbled over sideways all the way down the hill, running over Joel in the process and getting one whack on his ankle by that razor-sharp blade.
Most of the guys were astounded it wasn't much worse. Depending on how Joel tumbled out of the seat, the blade could have cut his foot clean off or, worse, cut his head off. The consensus was that the angle of Joel's leg was such that it wasn't open for a full cut through, more a glancing blow by the blade. Everyone was quiet because none of us ever thought this was a life-threatening job we're working at.
Robby and I didn't do our make-out after work. Everyone was in a somber mood thinking about Joel's misfortune, and I guess we're all thinking: There but for the grace of God go I, or something like that. No one talked to me about the accident, but they all patted my back or nodded their heads in approval of my possibly life-saving tourniquet. I did it on instinct more than a conscious plan, but I'm damn glad I did because I think maybe I inadvertently caused that, um, accident to happen. I felt sick on the way home.
Robby and I didn't talk about it after those first comments, and his expression almost said: Now you don't need to worry about Saturday night. I got another cold chill up my back just now, thinking about it. After everything is said and done, though, I can't help but feel deep relief. Joel was cruel to me all summer, but didn't deserve this. Chubby and I won't need to do any payback on him now. I'd like to think fate paid Joel back, but I don't think fate had anything to do with it.
Joel has a serious cut on his angle; he's not dead, so I'm blanking my mind about how it happened. I'm concentrating on not needing to worry about Joel every minute of every day at work. He won't be back to work this summer, and I'm not working on this crew next summer, so I'll likely never see him again. Did he get what he deserved? I don't know. I'm shaky, to be honest, and I really don't know what the hell to think about anything anymore. I wouldn't tell anyone this, but I guess I wouldn't mind if Joel suffered as much as he made me suffer. I know, I'm not too classy with that thought, but fuck it, Joel caused me a lot of worry and pain and humiliation. I'm not some martyr... The world turns no matter what, so I showered quickly and waited outside on the steps for Chubby. Our driver's instructor, Ms. Oberbite, is due in a few minutes. This has been the most bizarre Thursday ever for me, and I'm fighting the urge to overthink today's hard-to-believe occurrences. I want to concentrate on how glad I am to have this driver training activity to keep my mind off the, um, accident. If only I hadn't been right there at the scene of the crime, er, the scene of the accident! If I'd just heard about it, and not seen it happening, maybe then I'd be able to deal with it better.
Bad luck put me the closest one to Joel when it happened, and consequently, I was there staring at his unconscious body seconds after he had been thrown from the mower. Now, the brutality of that real-life picture, that hideous visual, is seared into my brain. The flab of muscle and skin from his leg flopped to the side, exposing a deep slicing cut near Joel's ankle, bleeding like you wouldn't believe. A sickening glimpse of white bone was through all the blood and gore. The horror of it made me look away quickly only to see the ride-on mower, seemingly a living, breathing monster, pin-wheeling over and over down the steep slope of the lawn with its razor-sharp blade circling so fast it was almost invisible, making that weird whirring sounds like something out of a horror movie.
Wait! I'm not supposed to be reviewing that scene! Yeah, but everything coupled with Joel's inhuman scream, the initial scream Joel made as the blade sliced through his leg like a hot knife through butter, then the dead silence that followed as he feinted from shock and pain. Those things created a daytime nightmare in my mind. That thought made me wonder what part of my brain had taken over my senses, allowing me to do
something useful, like applying the tourniquet. In retrospect, it's almost incomprehensible that I did what I did; the brain is a mysterious thing.
Chubby's voice interrupts my thoughts, and thank God for that. He grinned and asked, "Whatcha thinking about, bro?" I'm like, "What? Oh, hi, Chubby. Nothing, um, how are you?"
Oddly, I didn't immediately tell Chubby about Joel's, ah, misfortune. Way back at the beginning of the summer, I had just started my job at Dickers Landscaping and Design when Joel first beat me up. I'd confessed all the details to Chubby right away, looking for sympathy, I guess. Back then, we decided to pay Joel a visit after my job was over for the summer. We were going to get revenge on Joel for beating me up. Chubby was planning on hitting Joel over the head with something first, maybe a steel pipe or a baseball bat, and then he and I would wade in swinging our fists and so forth. The hit on the head was to even the odds. I remember the sick feeling I had as I came out of my momentary unconscious state, laying on those dirty steps like a drunken bum and then throwing up in the shrubs next to the steps. Gross!
I'm feeling sorry for myself now and less sorry for that prick Joel with each rotten thing I remember him doing to me. In this frame of mind, I wanted to share the latest Joel news with Chubby, so I say, "Wait'll you hear this, Chubby. Something really weird happened at work today. You remember me telling you about Joel, right?" He nods, and I tell him what happened on the hill this morning. When I described the gore of the accident, Chubby pumped his fist, "Yes! There is justice in the world! Well, once in a great while, anyway." He wanted to hear about every little gruesome detail. He was pissed off when I told him Joel passed out, "He deserved to feel more pain, that prick! The way he bitch-slapped you and almost broke your skinny neck. Yo, Dylan, when he was lying there on the side of that hill with no one else around, you should have stepped on his nuts or something, break a finger, or something. You know, he'd feel that pain later when he came to."
Oddly, this conversation was making me feel better about the whole thing. Joel did deserve some payback, didn't he? He didn't get it bad enough from the, um, accident! The bastard is in no danger of dying, and until he heals, he'll be collecting his regular pay from workman compensation as he's sitting on his ass at home doing nothing except planning torture sessions for innocent, sweet boys like yours truly. Fuck him!
In my mind, I started formulating scenarios that got me feeling less and less concerned about Joel's injury, like thinking about how Joel had actually gotten off easy with that accident. Easy compared to what Chubby and I would have done to him and easy compared to what he'd done to me. Joel, maybe you should take better care of that ride-on mower you're using. Check the fucking nuts and bolts once in a while.
Interrupting this ridiculous line of rationalized thinking, I spotted a red Ford with a big STUDENT DRIVER sign on top pulling up. Chubby mumbles, "This is probably our instructor." I go, "Duh, ya think?" Chubby grins and squeezes my hand. Ms. Oberbite got out of the car, demanding our learner's permits. I showed her mine; then she got royally pissed off when Chubby comically said, "Oops, I'll be right back," as he was scampering up the steps, leaving me to make small talk with Ms. Personality.
"Ah, nice afternoon for a drive," I stammered. She gave me a look as if I'd just called her a fat cunt, and muttered, "Are you being a wise guy, or what?" I'm like, "Huh? No, I; the summer is nice, ya know? Maybe too hot, or that is..." This woman could stare so hard at you that it was totally disconcerting. I looked up the steps, hoping to see Chubby as she said, "I do not tolerate being ridiculed, Romero. This will be reflected in your grade. You don't drive until I say you drive."
Trying to look contrite, I'm thinking, has this bitch ever ridden a ride-on mower? Maybe I'll ask Robby to get one ready for her. Instead of that, I say, "It's Newman, ma'am. Not Romero," and then, Chubby jumps down the last three steps, waving his learner's permit. "Somebody call my name?" I have to smile with him whenever Chubby shows his smile. Ms. Oberbite gawked at the smile and held up both hands, yelling, "Enough! You two think you're funny, but driving is serious business, so wipe those silly grins off your faces. You," pointing at me, "Get behind the wheel. You..." pointing at Chubby, "Let me see the learners permit and then get in the backseat and no more horsing around."
Our driving has improved, and Ms. Pain-in-the-ass was almost decent, but it was a tedious hour and a half. Later, we had pizza for dinner. As we ate our pizzas, Chubby was telling me how he still couldn't get over Robby smoking pot, especially because Robby rolled his own joints, which just didn't fit everything else about Robby Dickers. And he still hasn't said anything to me about smoking pot. Now with this Joel thing, I've got to wonder, what else don't I know about Robby?
Changing the subject like he does all the time, Chubby says, "Did you know the Declaration of Independence was written on marijuana paper?" With a mouthful of pizza, I mumble, "No shit, were the founding fathers high at the time they signed it, or what?" Chubby shook his head with fake disgust, saying, "You don't know your history, bro. They wrote it on hemp, which is what you roll a joint in." I nod, "You don't say."
He picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite, then, with a full mouth, said, "I'm sure you're aware that most lipstick brands contain fish scales." He looked at me with raised eyebrows as he chewed, trying to get me to tell him he was full of shit, but I knew that almost every factoid he spouted out was accurate, so I stared back at him and muttered, "Eww," and we both laughed.
It doesn't take much to get us to laugh. Sometimes, I stop and appreciate what I have in Chubby. Hardly anyone has a best friend they've known from the day they were born, or a best friend they get to see every day of their life, who they get along with better than anyone they know, and who it's so much fun to be with, and who they just plain love, and who they know loves them right back.
That's not something to take for granted, but that's what happens in life many times. The luck thing, I mean. We complain about our bad luck and take our good luck as our due. Chubby's like my identical twin, except we look nothing alike. Grinning to myself, feeling warm and safe somehow, Chubby continued with a few more factoids, but when he wasn't getting the response he was looking for, he switched to other topics like the Red Sox and the kind of car we were going to buy, and how quickly the summer had gone by. It was wonderful sharing this part of my life with Chubby. We're on the steps outside again. I'm thinking how Chubby has been in a very good mood after work recently, so I said, "Hey, you and Ricky seem to be getting along now. What's up with that?" Chubby lights a cigarette and shrugs, "Yeah, I told you that I changed my attitude and agreed that Rickie was right and I was wrong. He's a good guy and pretty much a fair boss. I do what he says, and life is much easier that way. That's all there is to it." He passes the cigarette to me and adds, "Rickie's actually cool when you get to know him." Inhaling some Cancer smoke, I say off-handedly, "He ever make you do anything you didn't want to do?"
Chubby's body stiffened briefly, then he snapped out, "What do you mean by that, Dylan?" Keeping my voice casual, I mumble, "Oh, I don't know. There must be aspects of working for Rickie you don't like. I just wondered what they are, that's all. What does Rickie make you do that you wish you didn't need to do? Like that..."
Sounding irritated, he says, "Are you interrogating me again?" Exhaling smoke, I mutter, "Don't get grumpy with me, Chubby. I had a tough day." He playfully mussed my hair and said, "I'm sorry about your trauma, Dylan. That was horrible!"
"Thanks, Chub," but he never did address the Rickie question. I didn't press it because, obviously, Chubby wouldn't tell me anything negative about his window-washing job. He might be doing something gay with Rickie, and maybe he's forced into it somehow; maybe he's even come to accept it as okay, but I'm convinced it's not really Chubby's nature. He's just doing what he must to accomplish our money goal. It's not the same as me at all; I'm homosexual through and through. Odd, but sometimes I wonder how long I've known that fact in the subconscious part of my brain.
Thinking about all that made me go way back in my head to recall that erotic gay fantasy I used to have all the time while jerking off, pre-Carl days. The fantasy where I was getting fucked by a mystery boy who was rough with me but who turned me on like I could hardly believe, and who I desperately wanted to please. What a fucking that mysterious boy gave me, and how hard that fantasy would make me cum, spunk shooting out of my cock as my hand flew up and down the shaft of my boner, stars exploding behind my eyeballs. That certainly should have been a clue to me that I might be gay, a clue like a sledgehammer over my head, but I never picked up on it till Carl showed me. I'm still grateful to Carl for outing me to myself because it's mostly been wonderful since then.
In bed, after a nice snuggling time with Chubby. We'd been on the recliner watching the Red Sox win for a change, I spent some time thanking God that I wouldn't need to deal with Joel anymore. Yeah, yeah, I know who I should be thanking. After a while, I thought about what a good Robby person was, and wondered how he could have...
Shaking my head, I thought about something else and ended up jerking off, thinking about fucking Robby, but close to climaxing, I was thinking how awesome Willie fucked me. I shot off on the sheets, thinking about how Willie gives me those hickeys with me all wrapped up in his arms and legs, his boner up inside me. Gasping and shuddering, I see it's only a quarter to eleven, so what the hell? I'll try calling Willie's cell phone. Up out of bed, I grab my phone and get back in bed, but on the side without the wet cum spot this time.
Speed dial, one ring. and before I could say anything, Willie said, "Dylan, baby! I'm so glad you called. I miss you already and fuck if I don't need to go to Maine on Saturday, so that means I won't see you for so long, and our last date was so fucked-up and jumbled with highs and lows. I know I mostly caused the lows, and I was thinking about you just now, pretending you were going with me to Maine and how much fun the drive up there together would be. We'd stop somewhere real private, and I'd fuck you just the way you like, and we'd make out till we were both so hard again, and it would be so awesome, you and me. And...."
Willie can have a stream-of-consciousness sentence that lasts for a long time, so I butted in with, "Willie, I can't go to Maine; you know that. I was disinvited, but I wanted to talk to you because something unbelievable happened today. I'd like to know what you think about it." He asked in a hushed voice, "Oh my God, what happened, Dylan?" I told him about Joel's accident and how I wouldn't be spending Saturday night and all day Sunday getting trained by Joel to be submissive like Willie thought would happen, and what did he think about this development?
He was silent for a few seconds and softly said, "I'm happy the accident happened, and I'm very glad you don't need to go with him. I've been thinking about our date on Tuesday and how I said stuff to you that I didn't mean. I thought I meant it when I said it, but I'm beginning to see that I don't mean it. The only thing about the Maine trip that would be great is if you were coming too. I lost interest in the trip when they disinvited you. I don't want to be with Larry, I want to be with you."
Now it was my time to be quiet. I'm not good at thinking appropriate things to say on the spur of the moment, so what I said was, "Can we go out tomorrow night?" Willie was initially taken by surprise. He said he thought I had driving lessons on Friday, which normally I did, but we had that lesson today. He told me from now on, I come first, ahead of Larry, and that it was a relief for him to finally recognize the truth of the matter. He said he'd been fucked-up in the head about our relationship for a while now, but he didn't know what to do about it. Larry had been giving him messed-up advice, and Willie says, to hell with Larry.
We talked about how Willie had been letting Larry run his life and how Willie saw things differently now. His true feelings were coming out at last and it reassured me that our relationship was true love. Oh, man, that was awesome, but then I thought about Robby, and my dilemma about two boyfriends. Is that even allowed?
Robby who loves me and, almost certainly, might have, maybe, did an ill-advised, brave-stupid-thing to help protect me and payback Joel for seriously mistreating me. I fell asleep feeling wonderfully fortunate about having both boyfriends, but miserable because I can't be true to both and therefore need to figure out what to do about that.
When I finally did get to sleep, I was bothered by two nightmares. In one Robby was running after Joel with scissors, but Joel was unaware of it. They were both naked with Joel's bigger cock swinging between his legs, hard, with a purple head. Robby's short cock was stiff, pointing straight out from a shaved crotch. Everything in slow motion, and I was trying to scream something about never run with scissors. I woke up from that nightmare feeling weird and jumpy. Another nightmare seemed to happen as soon as I fell back to sleep. It was about this huge Joel face, chopped up like his face had been caught in the mower blade. In the dream, I was in the back locker room where Robby and I do our morning make-outs. Joel's bloody face shimmering in the air whispered warnings to me about something that I couldn't understand.
Jesus! That nightmare seemed to go on for quite a while. Behind Joel was a very little kid, about five years old on a tricycle who was laughing behind his hand. The face on the little boy was Robby's, a little boy in short-shorts, a Band-Aid on his knee with little red sneakers and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, but the little boy had Robbie's face at his current age. I woke up sweating, got out of bed mumbling, "Fuck!" and went into my bathroom, shaking and shivering to pee and put cold water on my face. The next time I woke up it was morning.
Friday morning was cloudy, gloomy, and humid. I felt very disoriented with a feeling of impending doom from unknown sources. After a night of bad dreams and lying awake wondering what might happen at work today. I mean, regarding the one-in-a-million chance a wheel bolt would come loose on Joel's ride-on mower? For another thing, I wondered if Willie would again change his personality on our date tonight. I'm hoping he'll be the sweet boyfriend he was on the phone last night. Mostly, though, I'm agonizing over what I should say to Robby about the, um, accident, and should I acknowledge I know he did what I think he did?
And then I thought again about those fucking dreams I had! Overall. I can't remember ever feeling guilty and in danger and grateful and unsure of myself, all at the same time. Guilty and in danger because I think I know what caused that horrible accident and grateful because I knew I wouldn't have to spend a night and a day with Joel, and uncertain because I don't know what to think or do about any of this stuff or if anyone is going to be in trouble over this so-called accident.
Hurrying to get dressed, I was outside waiting when Chubby opened his door. He sees me and says, "What's wrong, Dylan?" I guess my worries were advertised on my face. Chubby can read me like a book. I tried to sound carefree and upbeat, saying, "Oh, nothing much, Chubby. I talked with my friend Willie last night and I need to help him with something tonight, so I hope you won't get pissed at me."
He shrugs, "No, of course not. We're like brothers, Dylan. I'll always have your back. Do what you gotta do, but I'll miss not seeing you until Sunday." Then breaking we hugged and he said, "Hope you're not in trouble again." I hugged back and assured him I wasn't in trouble, then I said, "Again? I'm never in trouble." He grinned at me and shot me with his index finger, pulling the trigger with his thumb, saying, "Okay, Dylan, just ragging on you! See you Sunday morning," and he was off.
Watching him run off to work, I got a lump in my throat, thinking about how special his friendship was to me. I was also thinking about how much I love him. When Chubby turned the corner, I did a big sigh, then went inside to brush my teeth and then grabbed a baseball cap, and ran for my bus. During the bus ride, I tried to prioritize my concerns. Number one is finding out if there had been any overnight developments about the accident that might get someone I care greatly for in trouble, and number two: what to say and how to act around Robby. I'm not going to say anything about him taking the nut off the wheel bolt if he even did take it off. My plan was to act totally ignorant of everything, which wouldn't be much of a stretch for me.
To be continued...
