I grab both of his hands and reluctantly push them away from my dick. “We should get going.”
He’s dazed and horny, his glasses practically fogged up with it. “In a minute. Just a few minutes.” He reaches for me again.
I step away from him, zip my pants up, and offer him my hand. “Come on.”
He relents and takes my hand. I help him to his feet, and once we’ve both got our clothes situated, I go into the sitting room for my duffel.
It was my old man’s, but I found it in Jimmy’s closet before I left home. He had his own room, while Glen and I had to share. I never felt it was unfair, never felt a pinch of jealousy in that regard. My mother and father left it just the way it was, with his bed against one wall, pictures of Joe DiMaggio, Babe Ruth, and Red Rolfe above his dresser, and his Sunday dress shoes, polished and ready for Easter service right by the door.
And the messy blankets flung aside, full of the smell of his sick and sweat, as he was lifted out of his own bed for the final time, blue eyes open to the oblivion that awaited him, and lips parted in a final gasp.
It was maybe a few months later, right around the first frost, when Glen asked if he might have Jimmy’s old room. My mother reached over the breakfast table and slapped him across the face. And then she sobbed over her runny eggs and the sausage from the pig we’d slaughtered, until my father stood up, ordered Glen and me outside, and put his arms around her.
Glen never asked again. Never mentioned Jimmy’s name to our parents ever again, as far as I know, and Jimmy’s room grew stale, dusty, the air heavy with his ghost. I went in one day, completely random and for no good reason. I opened his closet to see his clothes still hanging, smelling of mothballs and old leather, and that was when I saw the duffel.Sergeant Holdrenhad been sewn into a patch on the side. I wasn’t sure why Jimmy had it; if maybe our father had given it to him, or if he’d just found it and taken it for himself.
And so I took it for myself. I asked his ghost to forgive me, even though I didn’t deserve it. Jimmy had already given me more forgiveness than I will ever deserve, like some kind of Messiah, and I suppose I was taking advantage when I took the duffel.
I lift it with all its ghosts in my hand just as I feel Paul leaning up against me. I feel his lips graze my neck and the jab of his lingering arousal.
“Where’s your bag?” I ask.
“I don’t have one,” he says.
I look him up and down. “Just going to wear that the whole time?”
He pushes up his glasses. “I didn’t know I should bring anything.”
“Well, sure.” I grin at him. “For the weekend.”
“Oh.” He frowns.
“It’s cool.” I sit down and take out a cig. “Just go pack something up real quick. I’ll wait.”
He hesitates. “What should I bring?”
I shrug. “Clothes and stuff. Just whatever you brought when you came to your aunt’s house.”
He stiffens and his jaw hardens. “I didn’t, um…I didn’t bring anything.” He pauses. “It wasn’t, uh…planned.”
I look at him for a moment, but he avoids my gaze.
“My aunt went over,” he says, “to my par—pops’ house. Got my clothes and stuff. I couldn’t go.”
I nod like this makes sense. “It’s no problem, pal. Just bring whatever you’ll need. We’ll be coming back Sunday. So, two nights worth? Sound okay?”
He nods, blinks. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He quickly walks out the door, closing it behind him.
I wonder if this is too much, taking him somewhere. And then I wonder why he couldn’t go back home to get his things. Was it the fight? I wonder more about that, about what that could possibly mean, until I know I shouldn’t be wondering anymore. It’s absurd. Pointless. None of my business.
But why, I ask, why do I want it to be?
It doesn’t take as long as I thought.
I expected some traffic on the highway going east toward the city, but it’s practically clear as we make our way to Lake Arthur. Paul’s arms get tighter around me as I speed along and the cars thin out. I shouldn’t let him. For lots of reasons, but mostly because I’ve seen other fellas confronted and accosted. I did nothing, of course, because I couldn’t be anything other than relieved that it wasn’t me. But now that it could be me, I sincerely regret, and I pull away from him. Just a bit, loosening the connection. If he gets it, nothing in his grip gives it away.
