24
Sam
He’s sitting on the porch steps when I get home from work the next day.He’s wearing his staples: a blue tee, nice pair of athletic shorts, a pair of Adidas.It’s a bright day, the sun warming up everything, and even parked in the truck, I can smell the mulch and the vincas that haven’t started to crisp up yet.
Mr.Somerset looks tired, but he smiles when he sees me, even gives a little wave.And then the smile drops off.He wraps his arms around his knees, and he sits there.
Well, hell, I think.
But there’s nothing to do for it, so I get out of the truck.
As I’m coming up the walk, I say, “Gran didn’t let you sit inside?”
“She offered,” Mr.Somerset says.He smiles again.“I thought I’d better wait here in case you decided to send me packing.”
Now that I can think it—now that I’mallowedto think it—I can tell myself that he’s got a great smile.He’s handsome.He’s hot.It’s a weird thing to think about Mr.Somerset, but it’s also not, because I’ve thought it before, just not all the way at the top of my head like that.It’s different, too, how I let myself look at his legs, at his arms, at the faint ticking of golden hairs.It’s like the real me is seeing him now, and he’s still the same, but I see more of him, because I’m more of me.If that makes any sense.
I don’t know what to say to him, so I say, “Do you want to come in?”
“I want to talk to you, if that’s all right.Out here.In there.Wherever you feel comfortable.”He pauses like I might say no, and then he says, “I want to apologize.”
I look at him for a while.And I know if we go inside, Gran’ll be hanging all over him—she’ll probably try to talk to me about his butt.And if I tell her to buzz off, she’ll snoop from the kitchen.So, I say, “One sec,” and I go inside.
Gran’s wearing her kimono, and she’s lurking in the hallway.As soon as I step inside, she whispers, “Did you see him?”
“He’s sitting on the front porch,” I say.“It’s not like he’s a ghost.”
“Oh Sammy, isn’t he a dream?I swear, when I looked into his eyes, my bones started toquiver.”
I groan as I slip past Gran to drop my bag in my room.
“And he’s a bi,” Gran informs me when I duck into the kitchen.“Like you.”
“You can’t say ‘a bi,’” I tell her.
Gran ignores that.“If I were twenty years younger, I could change him back.”
“Gran!That’s—that’s biphobic.”I’m not sure, though, so I add, “Probably.”
“The things I’d do to that tight little body.”
“Oh my God,” I say as I take two beers from the fridge.“I’m your grandchild.”
“Sammy, we can talk like this now!”
“I sure as hell hope not,” I say, and before she can reply, I’m headed out to the porch again.
She doesn’t follow.But I get the sneaking suspicion that she’s watching us through the windows now.
I sit, and I offer Mr.Somerset a beer, and then I say, “Shoot.I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I’ll get you a soda.”
“Sam, it’s okay.I don’t need a soda.I appreciate your thoughtfulness, which I definitely do not deserve.”
That’s a hard one, so I open my beer and take a drink.Mr.Somerset looks out at the street again.I can’t think of a time I was around him when Ididn’thave something to say.It seems like since the minute things changed, I’ve had a million things I needed to tell him, and now I can’t think of a single one.
