Eric smirks. “There isthat.”
I take a sip of my wine. After what we’ve discussed, I could use abuzz.
“So, you said you wanted to know more about me?” I ask. “How about we do a little quid proquo?”
“LikeSilence of the Lambs? ‘I tell you things, you tell me things,’” he quotes. “This isn’t for some deep dark secrets oranything?”
“No, just random fun shit, like to get to know each other better. I really want to get to know you,Eric.”
“Okay,” he says. “So what do you got for me,then?”
“Let’s see. I listen to a lot of podcasts. Science and history ones, mainly. I’m part of a flag football league…and also a volleyball league that gets together in thesummer.”
“Admittedly, the podcasts are kind of surprising, but not the other stuff. Considering how eager you were to learn how to surf, you’re obviously athletic, not to mention your fairly impressivebody.”
“Ah, you don’t need to flatter me, Eric. You already know I’m going to fuck you. So, quid pro quo,Eric.”
He smiles, obviously amused by the little game I’ve made of this, but I like the idea of keeping it light, especially considering he seems like he enjoys keeping his guard up, and all I want to do is help him lowerit.
“I don’t really play any sports. I mean, I’ll play pool or basketball with the guys I hang out with,but—”
“It doesn’t have to be sports, Eric. Shareanything.”
He thinks for a moment. “I never loved Ty’smother.”
I’m quiet. Shocked, really. I just said something that wasn’t all that serious at all, and he dropped a fuckingbomb.
“She was a good friend, but I was really confused when we got together. Had a lot of bullshit in my head about my sexuality that I was sorting out, and…and I knew it wasn’t right to do that to her even as we were seeing each other. I could tell it was more to her, but…” He tears up. “I did need her back then. I desperately needed a friend, someone to talkto.”
The despair in his tone breaks my heart. I can imagine him, this young guy, struggling to make sense of who he was in a very different time, when the world was crueler and less understanding. And him, being how he is about opening up in general, wanting to have someone to talkto.
He shakes out of hisstate.
“What?” Iask.
“Nothing. You told me about some activities you do, and then I got all weird withoversharing.”
“Eric, there’s no oversharing right now. I really appreciated hearingthat.”
“Quid pro quo, then. I think you owe me a little more than flagfootball.”
“That’s not really how this game works,” I say. “But I’ll let it pass thistime.”
I think for a moment about what to talk about when he blurts out, “Tell me some more about yourparents.”
“About?”
“How you metthem.”
Such a simple request evokes a powerful memory of that day, and it’s not something I needed a game to bring up. In fact, I wish I would have mentioned it to himsooner.
“I told you after that shoplifting mess, I got sent back to the state. So I would have been twelve when this happened. One day like any other, I was in the bathroom at the shelter. When I was coming out, I bumped into this guy in his thirties, who was heading inside. He was holding a case with this laptop, and he dropped it, and I could hear the thing smash as it hit the ground. You would’ve thought by the sound it made that there’d been a Tiffany’s lamp in it. The case opened up and the pieces went everywhere. I felt like shit. I could tell he was there because he was some parent looking at kids to potentially adopt, meaning I was going to get fussed at after he blabbed about what I’ddone.
“I was like fumbling all over myself trying to pick shit up and apologizing. I don’t know how many times I begged him not to tell Miss Judy—she was in charge of us and the one who would bring down the law if anyone acted out. No matter how much I asked him not to say anything, I figured it wouldn’t do me any good. And when he asked me for my name, I just knew he was going to get me into trouble with her. He said it was fine, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before I got into trouble, and in some ways, I was like, fuck it. What did it matter if I did get into trouble? What did anything matteranymore?
“I went back to my room, and sure enough, not a half hour later, Miss Judy showed up. She wanted me to come see this guy, Stan, and his wife, Charlotte. She didn’t seem mad, though, so I knew he hadn’t said anything to her. She led me to her office, where Stan and Charlotte were. She sat me with them, and we all talked, and it took me a while to realize that—holy shit—they were actually talking to me to possibly become adoptive parents. I’d smashed his laptop, and here he was thinking about taking me into their home. Like, who the hell doesthat?”
“It was obviously an accident. He knew that,” Ericsays.
