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"Meandering
Roads"
By Madison Aysha Dante Edited by Cattlin J. and SeOlder
The Peach Tree Junction was a queer bar just thirty miles east of Dallas, Texas; where the lights were bright and the roads ran far and long. The joint wasn’t upscale by any means, but if you tried to tell that to the patrons, you would have been greeted with jeers, doused in drinks and thrown out by a three-hundred-pound half-black, half-Mexican bouncer named Tiny with a penchant for ballroom dancing and wearing leather vests. This place was home to the few folks who frequented it; a Mecca for wayward souls, freaks and other outcasts to act without care, free from the judging, conservative, bible quoting, plague fearing eyes of the small minded ‘good ole Christian folks’ in a state where such a thing was the norm, the populace, the way of mother fucking life. If you didn’t fit or buy into what they were selling, in even the most minuscule of ways, then you, my friend, were just plain shit out of luck.
“Hey, can somebody zip me up?” Ross asked slithering into his tiny blue sequined gown.
“God you make me feel fat. Fat and old.” Michael groaned holding a stick of rouge between his lips like a cigarette as he zipped Ross up. “Oh to be in my twenties. How I remember them fondly. Now I am thirty-two. I am old. And I am fat.” He sighed wistfully.
“You’re not fat. You’re old, but not fat.” Ross teased.
“My, somebody’s in a good mood tonight.”
“What can I say, I had a good day of sleep.” Ross smiled shrugging his shoulders.
“Yo, you gilded cunts, tuck your dicks in and cough. Show is starting now. Ross, you’re on in three. Did you give Bob your music?” Brenda chimed in sticking her tiny little blond head in through the doorway. The guys all called her Mac truck behind her back given the fact that her last name was McClure and she was a tough butch who talked smart and didn’t take any shit. She was a little gal too, barely over five feet tall and her face was kind and sweet, but don’t be mistaken, she’d cut you if you so much as looked at her the wrong way.
“You got it darling.”
“What were you saying about frat boys?” Ross turned his attention back to Michael quickly glancing in the mirror making sure his wig was on straight.
“Nothing. Just think we got a couple of punk fraternity boys in the audience so ignore them if they try to start shit.”
“Great, that’s all I need. Stupid college kids.” Ross sighed despondently. “So. How do I look?”
“Well Ms. Tammy Wynette, you look beautiful!”
“Why thank you Ms. Patsy Cline,” Ross grinned. “Okay, that’s my cue. Wish me luck.”
As Ross walked up the stairs that led to the stage, he was thankful that the lights weren’t on because the darkness helped ease away some of the butterflies that fluttered throughout his gut like wild things possessed. He walked up the stairs slowly, carefully, each step easy and well timed so he wouldn’t trip over his six-inch stilettos and he waited behind the red velvet curtain for Ms. Kitten to introduce him.
Here at the Peach Tree Junction we’d like to tell you about our three drink special since some of you motherfuckers don’t like to drink but a’one. Three drinks to every one queer so quit being so cheap you goddamn faggots and get to ordering! And don’t forget to tip your barmaids! Shit, these bitches live for tips and unless you want angry trannie-spit in your bourbon, I suggest you just give a girl a dollar! Shit motherfuckers, a dollar a make a bitch holler, know what I mean? And a chick will do something strange, for a little bit of pocket change too! Okay homos, I’m Ms. Kitten and yes, I do purr, but only if you pay me twice, cuz twice makes you cum right! I know ya’ll sick of hearing my black ass talk so let’s get the talent out shall we? Coming to the stage, please take your left hand and beat the FUCK outta your right and welcome Ms. Tammy Wynette!
There were a few claps, a couple of cheers as Ross walked out, the stage lights nearly blinding him. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and said a silent prayer as he waited for his music to start.
“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman, giving all your love to just one man,” Ross’s pitch was perfect as he sang. Technically, he didn’t have to actually sing since he only needed to lip-synch, but he did anyway. It’s just that song made him think about being a little boy back in Fort Worth and dancing on the tips of his mother’s toes in the backyard as she’d sing that song, waiting for his daddy to get off of work. “You’ll have bad times and he’ll have good times, doing things that you don’t understand…”
He raised his head up, looked into the audience. Immediately his eyes fell upon a group of young men, all probably no older than twenty-two, but Ross couldn’t be sure because the glare of the lights were too bright to make you want to focus on any one thing for too long. He knew these were the guys Mickey had been talking about.
Ross stared at them, eyes squinted and cold with warning. He had dealt with their kind before, their type. Types that made it hell for a quiet little church boy that walked a little too softly growing up in East Texas. “But if you love him, you’ll forgive him. Even though he’s hard to understand,” he smiled, raising his arms up high to the lord as he descended the steps slowly, making his way through the crowd. Unlike most nights, he didn’t circulate the room, he stayed by the front row table where the frat boys all sat, most stone stiff, a few laughing their heads off. This annoyed Ross, pissed him off even. Who did these boys think they were coming in this place and this place of all places just to make fun of him? He made his way over to them with a smile and continued singing. “But if you love him, oh be proud of him, because after all he’s just a man…”
One guy was frowning. He had a baseball cap pulled over his head, his hair was long and dark brown, fell to his chin and the hick had the nerve to actually roll his eyes at Ross when their eyes met. Normally, Ross was a reserved kind of guy. He’d be more likely to run away from a fight than to run towards one, but there was just something about that night and the way the guy slinked down in his seat, almost as if he were afraid that by looking at Ross he’d catch some awful, awful disease that made Ross angrily -yet gracefully in six-inch heels, walk over to him. He planted himself right down into the guys’ lap, gently caressing his cheek as he continued to sing, using his real voice, making it loud, so loud that you could hear it over the music track. “Stand by your man, give him two arms to cling to and something warm to come to when nights are cold and lonely.” The man tensed up as the houselights fell on them. His face turned a dangerous shade of scarlet and being so close, Ross could see a sweet innocence to his face, like a huge part of him was still a child who was just out of his element and meant no harm. For half a second Ross actually felt bad, but then one of the guy’s friends spoke up.
“Yeah Wallace, get that lap dance! Maybe if you play your cards right, she’ll blow you later.”
“What do you say honey, wanna suck me off?” The guy laughed almost cruelly his hand pinching Ross’s backside. Ross jumped out of his lap with a grunt, glared and tried his best to push away the burning quake of rage that surged throughout his body like a cannonball as he stepped back onto the stage finishing the song out.
Once his set was over, Ross stormed back into the dressing room pissed, grunting as he yanked his wig off and threw it down on makeup table.
“I hate, hate, HATE straight boys,” he growled. “Why are they such assholes?”
“Whoa, what happened Rossy-boy?” Michael asked throwing his black wig on. It was amazing, Mike Newman was the only one of the ‘ladies’ who could get dressed and actually look pretty good as a woman in only a few minutes. Even Ross needed an hour to prep or so he thought.
“Nothing. One of those idiots just ticked me off.”
“Want me to tell Tiny to throw em out?”
“No…not worth the trouble,” Ross sighed sitting down picking his wig back up and shaking the curls back into place. “I think truth is I’m just mad at Jeff. He was supposed to be here tonight and I didn’t see him out there.”
“Goddamn it Ross, why are you still messing around with Jeffrey Dean Tillman? He’s an asshole -a married asshole with kids and a closet case that likes to beat up on you! When you gonna leave him alone?”
“That was only one time and I hit him first,” Ross stated resolutely. “He’s gonna leave his wife too. Said he would. He just has to make sure the time is right.”
“He’s the fucking sheriff in Cook County! The timing will never be right! He’s never gonna leave his wife and kids to go run off and be your husband honey, I’m sorry, but he won’t. This is Texas Ross or did you forget that?”
“Mickey, I don’t need this right now, okay?”
“What’s really bothering you sugar?” Michael sat down beside him, placed his hand on Ross’s back.
“My mom called me today. Said she wanted to see me.”
“Well fuck her, where was she when you were homeless? Where was she when you didn’t have a pot to piss in?” Michael yelled. He had met Ross seven years earlier, back when Ross was working the streets and developing a nasty little amphetamine habit. Ross had been a sweet, innocent and disgustingly naïve kid not aware of his good looks and he got used up a few times over before Michael spotted him, took him to the shelter where he worked and got him into a drug program. Ross’s story wasn’t pretty, but it was a lot less ugly than it could have been and to Michael and the rest of the Newman’s, Ross was like family. A little brother and another son. They had been the ones taking care of him, giving him a place to live and food to eat and love since he was nineteen so as far as Mike was concerned, Ross’s birth mother and the rest of his natural family could go screw themselves. They could ride the New Testament straight to hell for kicking Ross out at sixteen because he was gay and didn’t want ‘to be saved’.
“I know…” Ross trailed off sadly. “But…her voice Mike, man it was so good hearing it.”
“I gotta go on now, but we’ll talk about this some more later, okay?”
“Yeah Mickey, okay.”
* * *
“Wait, that wasn’t the plan!” Wallace argued lighting up his cigarette. He was a tall guy, actually, too tall, and just an inch shy of being halfway to seven feet. His ears were rounded, stuck out from the sides of his head like antlers and he wore his hair long to cover it. Truth was, his ears made him cuter, gave him boyish character, but if you tried to tell Wallace Sanchez that, he’d roll his eyes and call you a moron.
“I know and it fucking bites, but Tim said we gotta, so we gotta.” Jimmy replied rummaging through his backseat looking for his cell phone. Unlike Wallace, Jimmy couldn’t afford the luxury of long hair. His father was a marine, made him wear his dark blond hair closely cropped up top and damn near shaved off in the back. It made him looker older and meaner than he actually was.
“I really hate that guy,” Wallace took a drag. “We’re already members, but it feels like we’re re-pledging.”
“Tell me about it,” Jimmy sighed leaning his hip against the hood of his old, dirty, blue Trans Am. “Let me get a pull.”
“So not only did he make us come to this faggot bar, but now we gotta go find one of those…things in makeup and get their phone number?”
“Drag queens Wallace, they’re drag queens.”
“They’re creatures.” Wallace grunted turning his baseball cap on straight. “Did you see how the one sat on my lap?”
“You know you liked it. She -he, whatever was kind of cute. I’d definitely hit it.” Jimmy smirked.
“Not funny asshole. And give me back my cigarette.” Wallace smiled snatching away his smoke. “How are we supposed to do it? What? Just go up and say ‘Hey, I’m not like a fag or anything, but I want to like get your number so I can call you, make you think I like you, take you out on a date or something and then me and my buddies are gonna beat your face in just so we can say we did’ Yeah. Not gonna work.”
“Wait -beat up?” Jimmy asked and Wallace closed his eyes and cringed. He wasn’t gonna tell Jimmy that part.
“Listen,” Wallace took a drag off of his cigarette. “I heard Tim and one of the other guys talking in the car on the way over. Said they do this every once and a while. Find a fag, rough him up a little.”
“What?” Jimmy yelled. “That’s NOT cool!”
“Yeah, I know! I mean, hey, I don’t really get the whole dudes kissing dudes thing, but as long as it’s not on me, I don’t care. I don’t want to beat anybody up or anything, but what can you do?” Wallace shrugged his shoulders, his indifference pissing Jimmy off.
“Then why are we here? This is so fucking stupid! We can’t just go around beating people up -Wallace, let’s just leave. I mean, we’ll take my car, go back on campus and tell the boys you got sick or something. I don’t want to be a part of this, it’s fucking sick!”
“Would you calm down? I’m not even sure if I heard right. I mean…I could be wrong.”
“Wallace, shut up. No you weren’t. T.W. is just that much of an asshole.” Jimmy argued. He closed his eyes, buried his head in the palms of his hands and sighed. “It ain’t right. The whole thing just ain’t right.”
* * *
Ross wasn’t really up for it -for this. The thing that involved him smiling politely at all the strange faces, pretending he cared about what they were saying all in hopes of encouraging them to order a drink and hopefully tip him a dollar or two for getting it. It had been an hour and still no Jeff. Ross really needed him tonight. Needed to talk to him, to hear his voice, to feel his mouth hovering above his cock. But just like always Jeffrey Dean wasn’t there, he was probably at home in bed with his miserable wife so as Ross knocked back a shot of whiskey, he cursed Sheriff Jeffrey Dean Tillman to hell.
“Baby, you know I don’t like it when you drink.” A gravelly voice suddenly whispered in his ear, a rough kiss being placed on the side of his neck. Ross smiled, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Well it’s about time J.D.” He turned around, threw his arms around Jeffrey Dean’s waist and pressed their lips together.
“I’m sorry babe. Had all this shit to deal with down at the station and then crap at home with Mary Louise and the kids. How was the show?”
“It was alright. I missed you though.” Ross sighed, playfully poking his lips out.
“Don’t do that,” Jeff stated firmly. “You know I hate it when you act like a kid.”
“I’m sorry. I was just messing around-”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff mimicked Ross rolling his eyes. “Why do you always have to talk back? I had a hard enough night as it was and you just want to add to it, is that it?”
Ross looked around the room. “No, I’m sorry. I was just…”
“I gotta go get more drinks.” Ross yelled over the thumping techno music as he began to ease his way through the crowd. He knew what would happen if he didn’t go away. It always happened, Jeffrey Dean making a scene for the littlest of things. Ross sure did love him, but god damn it he hated the man’s temper. It went up as high and fast as lit pilot light.
“Hey,” Jeff growled pulling Ross by his wrist. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
“Come on now Jeffie, you know I’m not trying to make you mad, but I gotta work.” Ross stated softly his stomach twisting with knots and tight with tension.
“Work can wait, we’re talking now.” Jeff’s fingers clenched around his wrist and Ross winced, pulled away and kept walking. There was no talking to J.D. when he got into one of his moods. Your best bet was to just wait them out.
Ross found solace in the dressing room, only needing to regulate his breathing and touch up his makeup before he could go back out and deal with the crowd. Michael, Shawn and Justin were all working the floor and for that Ross was thankful. He’d hate for his friends to see him so upset. Why did Jeff have to act like such an asshole all of the time?
Before Ross could even twist open his rouge, Jeffrey Dean came bursting through the door like a mad, hot bull, his fists balled, eyes a pretty shade of blue, but an ugly shade of angry.
“I was talking to you!” He yelled, his fist finding a nice little spot on Ross’s side to dig into. “I told you to wait! Why couldn’t you just listen?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ross yelled pushing him away. “Would you calm down?”
“Why do you keep talking back?” Jeff’s voice was dark, his nostrils flared, face not that of a sweet, kind man of thirty-eight who made love just as sweet and tender as only a lover could. No, his face was twisted with something sinister. He clipped Ross in the jaw once, the cheek a second time, sent him flying back on the makeup table; matte, lipsticks and foundations flying past Ross’s arms as he crashed into the mirror, shards of broken glass cutting into his arms, digging into his back and setting his right shoulder on fire.
Something broke. Something broke or it cracked or popped in his shoulder as he felt Jeff push him down. A strange thought stuck Ross as he fell to the floor like crumpled paper. He thought of how easy it was to fall in high heels. The burning pain in his shoulder was so strong that he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming.
Jeff hit him in the face again, a ribbon of red gushing from Ross’s nose like a swelled river in a rainstorm.
“Look what you made me do, look!” Jeff growled staring down at the blood mess of Ross’s face. “Shit. I’m sorry…” he sighed, his voice becoming heavy and he breathed with effort. “Go on… get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be in the car…take you home.” Jeffrey Dean reached down to help Ross up.
Ross took his hand, ran his tongue over his lips and when the thick, rich, metallic taste of blood greeted him, he lost it, threw his body on top of Jeff’s using all of his might to punch, dig and rip anywhere that he could. Now see, Jeffrey Dean wasn’t a big man, but he had an inch of height on Ross and at least twenty pounds of muscle and it only took a moment for him to push Ross off of him.
“What’s your problem?”
“Asshole!” Ross yelled or he cried or he did a pitifully pathetic combination of the two and before he knew it, the door was thrown open and Jeffrey Dean was already rambling up a fabled tale to someone that Ross couldn’t see because his crooked white-blonde wig obscured his vision.
“See this mess?” Jeff started, his voice so calm that it made Ross want to vomit. “ He did it. I told him not to drink so much. Done went up and cut himself acting crazy.”
“I was just looking for the bathroom…heard yelling…everything okay?” A man asked. His voice was deep, rich with the heavy twang and easy drawl that only a purebred Texas boy could have.
“Get outta here Jeffrey Dean Tillman or so help me god I’m gonna call up your wife and tell her about you and me!” Ross yelled, tears of anger streaming down his face washing away the pale and ugly paste of makeup revealing the pretty of his soft, freckled skin.
“He’s drunk. Don’t listen to anything he says.” Jeff laughed. “I’m the sheriff. And you are?”
“Get out Jeffrey Dean!” Ross yelled.
“Okay! Jesus…” Jeff grunted his footsteps retreating.
“Hey… you okay?” The man asked walking towards him, his voice so full of concern that it made Ross want to open up and tell him all of his secrets. Of course, that was stupid and would only happen in a make-believe kind of world where there were only happy endings and butter-pecan ice cream for dessert and fudge turnovers for breakfast.
“I’m fine.” Ross sighed heavily wanting to be left alone.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Just go away,” Ross sighed feeling the warmth trickle from his open wounds, running down his neck, shoulders and arms like maple sap.
“The blood is coming out pretty fast. I’m in med school. Let me take a look at your shoulder, if you punctured an artery that bleeding won’t stop until you’re dead. My name’s Wallace, what’s yours?”
Ross could feel him coming closer, the tangy sweet smell of the stranger’s aftershave rolling over him like a fog.
“Ross.”
“Hi Ross.”
“Hello-” Ross looked up. “Get away from me asshole,” he growled recognizing the sweet, naïve face.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want-”
“Me to suck your dick, right?”
“Excuse me? No…” Wallace trailed off; the bloody mess of a man in a white-blonde wig crumpled on the floor surrounded by tubes and bottles of makeup and cracked glass was that thing -the drag queen that had serenaded him. “Shit.”
“Fuck off straight boy. I don’t need your fucking help.” Ross tried to stand, put his hands on the wall to pull himself up only to feel a sharp pain dart up his arm so fast and sudden that he had to clench his thighs together to keep from pissing on himself.
“Come here,” Wallace sighed. “ Easy now, I got you.” He pulled Ross up, led him to a chair. “You gotta get to a hospital man. There’s a lot of blood here…do you like…have anything…I mean, your blood…it’s on my hands…”
“What, AIDS? Because all faggots have AIDS right?” Ross spat laying his head down on the table. “No. I don’t have AIDS. Hate pink too. Shocking I bet.” He laughed dryly closing his eyes. He felt tired…so god damn tired.
“Hey!” Wallace smacked Ross’s face gently. “Hey…Ross…look at me. Oh shit, I gotta get you to a hospital.” Wallace stated, a mild panic setting in as he wrapped his arms around Ross’s waist. “Come on dude, keep your eyes open.”
“No, get off of me!” Ross yelled mustering the last of his strength to push Wallace away. “I’m not going to a hospital. I don’t have insurance…” and the rest of Ross’s words faded away as his world went black and Wallace scooped him up in his arms.
~*~
Ross woke up thirsty. The kind of thirst that made your tongue feel as dry as parchment paper and your throat bare and tight. At first he had no clue where he was, but then the sickly sharp acidic scent of rubbing alcohol and bleach wafted around him practically punching him in the gut. He opened his eyes squinting and blinking fast trying to clear away the yellow and white spots of his vision. He was in a hospital. He coughed, looked around for a pitcher of water. Weren’t they supposed to keep stuff like that around handy? He pressed the call button beside his bed, waited a full five minutes before he pressed it again and no one still arrived. He could tell he was in some shabby community hospital just by all the noise going on outside. That and how dingy the room looked, like everything was three years older than they should have been, including the mattress that felt too stiff under his backside.
“Oh, you’re awake.” An older woman with a pleasant smile and delicate, aged features spoke walking into the room.
“What happened? Why am I here?” Ross asked his voice barely above a whisper. Sitting up a little he expected to feel pain, but surprisingly felt nothing. It was like he was numb, his body coated with an almost tingly frozen sensation that made him think that if he wanted to, he could probably just jump out of bed and go home.
“Take it easy, you had surgery. You were beat up real bad. Your brother brought you in. Now I’m Nurse Shelly and if you need anything, you just give me a holler. There’s gonna be some cops who are gonna wanna talk to you.”
“Wait…surgery…cops…my brother?” Ross asked, his thoughts swimming in a sea of confusion.
“Settle down sugar. I know you’re thirsty let me get you some water. You’re on a lot of pain medication right now and some blood thinners, try to take it easy.”
“Why,” Ross paused to take a greedy sip of water. As he swallowed, the chalky aftertaste of blood and gauze made him cringe. “Do the cops want to talk to me?”
“Because you were the victim of a hate crime. That’s illegal son.”
“What are you talking about hate crime?”
“Oh sweetheart, I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be,” Shelly smiled. “But what happened to you just wasn’t right.”
Ross looked at her, green eyes open wide with alarm, full pink lips hanging askew.
“Hate crime? No. I think you got it all wrong. I was in a fight, but nothing like that.” Ross coughed, taking another sip of water before continuing. “You said my brother brought me in?”
“Yeah. He’s right outside, been pacing around like a fretting rooster in a hen house all night.”
“Eric? My brother Eric is here?” Ross asked. It just didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in almost as long as he hadn’t spoken to anyone else in his family and Eric had made it quite clear five years ago that having a queer brother was just as good as having a dead one.
“Eric? I think he said his name was Wallace. Give me a minute sugar, I’ll send him in.”
Ross closed his eyes easing down into scratchy sheets. Whatever medication he was on must have been strong enough to knock out a mule because every time that he blinked he was sure he’d fall asleep.
“Hey,” a voice stated knocking on the door.
“I suppose I should say thank you.” Ross sighed not bothering to open his eyes and give Wallace a proper hello.
“No.” Wallace replied gruffly.
“Good. I’m not. Lord knows how much this hospital bill is gonna cost me.”
“It’s a free hospital,” Wallace sighed walking over to the bed. “I don’t think you gotta pay for anything.”
“Frat boy, everybody gotta pay for something somehow, someway. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”
“You know what, I think I’m gonna just go. I don’t need this shit from you.”
“Hey buddy, ain’t nobody here stopping you from leaving.” Ross opened his eyes that time looked up at Wallace coldly. Their eyes held for a moment, Wallace staring down at him curiously, blue-green eyes squinted, peaked with curiosity.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What? No, just go on and let me sleep in peace.”
“Whatever.” Wallace mumbled walking towards the door. “By the way, the doctor said if I wouldn’t have brought you in, you would have bled to death within an hour. So yeah, you’re welcome,” he threw over his shoulder. “Sleep in peace.”
* * *
“I can’t believe he did this to you.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“I’m so gonna kick his ass -no, I’m gonna get Tiny to kick his ass and then I’m gonna kick his already kicked ass!” Michael grunted pursing his thin lips together in one straight line. He glanced down at his best friend, the man he thought of as a younger brother laying bruised and battered on a ratty hospital bed, countless stitches threaded through the skin on across his shoulder like tiny cords of barbed wire.
“I’m fine, would you please just sit down? You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m sorry Rossy-boy. I just…look at you.” Michael placed his hand on Ross’s bruised cheek, swallowed down the thickness in his throat that made him want to cry. “He really worked you over this time.”
“I’m finished with him Mickey, for good this time.”
“Swear it.”
“I do. I swear. Never again. Never again.”
“For the love of god I hope you mean that because if you don’t…he’s gonna kill you. Mark my words that man is gonna be the death of you Ross Peters.”
* * *
“Hey, at least he’s okay. I mean if he died, then that would have sucked ass.” Jimmy smiled sipping his beer.
“He was just so rude. I mean, hell, I drove him to the damn hospital, he could have at least said thanks.”
“Correction, I drove him to the hospital. You carried him in. And I had to clean the blood out of my backseat because you wanted to spend all night in the waiting room for a stranger.”
“Whatever,” Wallace mumbled flipping the channel. Today was just another lazy day around the frat house and whereas most of everyone else was still sleeping off their hangovers, Wallace and Jimmy had been awake for hours. They were the only med students in the house and their gross anatomy class started at six. “All I’m saying is he could have been a little appreciative is all.”
“I get you. I wouldn’t worry about it, at least your conscience is clean -oh yeah, as I was scrubbing blood out of my leather, I found his wallet. Think we should give it to him?”
“He was wearing a dress. Where the hell did he put a….you know what, never mind. How are we gonna find him? Should I just drop it off at the hospital?” Wallace asked truly perplexed.
Jimmy laughed, “We have his wallet idiot. His address is on his I.D.” Jimmy stood, left the room for a moment only to return with the wallet and tossed it in Wallace’s lap.
“Ross R. Peters.” Wallace read the name slowly, his tongue tracing over each word like fingertips to leather. “He looks normal.”
“He probably is normal -god, you Texans are such bigots. Back in New York, we don’t give two flying fucks who or what you fuck as long as it’s over eighteen, doesn’t shit in grass and says yes.”
“Well things work a little different down here in Texas.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Oh shit. I got a physics test today. Shit! I gotta study man!”
“Hey, what am I supposed to do with this?” Wallace asked calling out to Jimmy holding up the wallet.
“Just drop it off. He doesn’t live too far from campus, you can walk over.”
“What if I don’t want to.”
“Then I guess the poor guy not only got beat up, but he lost his wallet too.” Jimmy grinned retreating up the stairs.
* * *
The doctor told him he needed at least two weeks rest, which meant no working and no money from work. He’d been put on blood thinners with strict orders not to do any heavy lifting or strenuous or he could run the risk of developing a blood clot.
Ross tossed and turned in his bed for close to an hour, but he couldn’t fall asleep, not with J.D. calling him every fifteen minutes. It was bad enough when Jeffrey Dean sent flowers to the hospital with a little ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ card attached, but he had the nerve to actually call Ross’s house too saying a thousand different whispered promises and murmuring a myriad of apologies. No matter how sweet and genuinely sorrowful Jeffrey sounded on the answering machine, Ross swore to himself that he wouldn’t give in, that he wouldn’t take him back. No, not this time, not ever again and the throbbing pain in his right shoulder only made him swear it all over again as he slipped a Percocet across his tongue.
The phone rang again, loud piercing through the quiet hot June afternoon and like the twenty calls that preceded it, Ross ignored it holding an icepack to his cheek. He got lucky and didn’t have a black eye, but the fist-sized plum stain on his cheek told a chapter in the tale of what happened.
The buzzing of his doorbell made Ross jump. No. It couldn’t be. Surely Jeff would know better than to show up on his doorstep. Still, the thought that he had made a fear seize up in Ross’s chest and he sat stone still, too afraid to move as he heard the bell ring again.
“Hello, anybody up there?”
That voice wasn’t Jeff’s. Ross breathed easy.
“Who’re you looking for?” Ross yelled down through the window. He couldn’t quite see who was downstairs, his vision of the porch obscured by the flowerbed sitting on Mary Jacob’s windowsill.
“Ross Peters! I have his wallet!”
“My wallet? Come on, I’ll buzz you up.” Ross wasn’t sure just what compelled him to glance in the mirror before opening the door, but something did. God, he looked horrible. His face all bruised up, his arms cut and bandaged. He needed a haircut and badly at that, his dark blonde almost brown hair inches too long on the top and too shabby in the back. He was a sight only made for sore eyes.
He took a calming breath and opened the door.
“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes not meeting Wallace’s. He hadn’t realized that Wallace was so tall and yet so unthreatening in, loose blue scrubs, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, his hands twisting his baseball cap firmly on his head.
“Hey…um…found your wallet in my friend’s car.” Wallace’s tone was distant, kind of cold and Ross couldn’t say that he blamed him, after all the last time they spoke Ross was yelling for him to get the hell away from him.
“Listen…about before, in the hospital,” tentatively Ross looked up. “I should have um…should have thanked you for, you know, what you did. I kind of didn’t realize all that you did.” Ross found himself laughing nervously, holding his door open wider. “Can I get you like a drink or something.”
“Um…I don’t know. I’m kind of in a hurry.” Wallace paused, took a closer look at Ross sizing him up. He was small, not too small, but definitely four or five inches smaller than him and easily thirty pounds lighter so feeling confident that if Ross tried something that he could take him, Wallace shrugged his shoulders and walked inside. “Got a beer?”
“Yeah. Coronas okay?”
“That’s the only thing I drink.” Wallace replied glancing around Ross’s apartment. It looked so…normal. The walls were painted white, the furniture was regular and not flashy and full or sparkles and with gold lamee throws draped across it. No paintings of naked men hanging on the wall or pornographic magazines sitting on the coffee table. No, in fact, there was a bible sitting on there.
“Yeah, me too. Can’t stand nothing else and you know in Texas just about everybody drinks Lonestar. Can’t much stand the stuff myself.” Ross replied walking into the living room handing Wallace his beer. “You can sit if you want.”
“Yeah, yeah sure.” Wallace replied quickly uneasily taking a seat on Ross’s couch. Ross sat as far away from Wallace as he could, unsure as to why he even invited him in the first place. Surely the medication was just getting to him, making him act without thinking.
“Yeah…like I said before, thank you for helping me.” Ross looked away, took a sip of beer, his eyes darting around his living room before glancing back on Wallace. He was surprised to find Wallace’s eyes on him, almost like he was watching him, studying him and something nervous fluttered between them and they both looked away. “Why um…why did you drive me?”
“What do you mean?” Wallace took a swig, but didn’t look at Ross.
“To the hospital. I mean, they said you drove me in. Why didn’t you just call an ambulance?”
“I don’t know…just figured I could get you there quicker. I wasn’t really thinking,” Wallace laughed. “There was a naked dude in a dress bleeding in my arms. Kind of messes with your thought process.
Ross chuckled softly. “Well thanks. You had my friends worried though. Said they came in, saw blood and broken glass and no me. Thought I’d been murdered until I called them the next day.”
“Sorry about that. The exit was like right there and I just kind of left. Like I said, I had a man in a dress bleeding in my arms. Wasn’t really thinking.” He smiled.
“Well thanks again. Sorry I was such a dick to you.”
“It’s cool.” Wallace nodded his head. “Hey, can I ask you something?” He continued, turning all of his attention back on Ross.
Ross’s body tensed and his guard flew up. “Depends,” he said slowly.
“Why do you wear dresses?”
“What?” Ross laughed.
“I mean, you’re gay right?”
“Yeah, are you?” Ross asked sarcastically.
“No way, not me!” Wallace yelled and then blushed, lowering his voice and looking away. “I mean, it’s just you look…you look normal, like the way you are now. Like a guy. You want to be a girl or something?”
“Are you serious with this question?” Ross laughed and Wallace’s blush deepened. |