“Well…do you remember the first night I came over, you told me that seeingStar Warsas a kid was what made you want to learn about filmmaking?” I ask.
He tilts his head in confusion. “Sure,” he says slowly, “but what does that have to do with summer activities?”
“There are two drive-in movie theaters here,” I explain, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice now. “They bothclose in the fall, but one of them will occasionally do a showing of a movie over the holidays. So I checked it out when we got here, and not only are they doing a movie tonight for Thanksgiving weekend…but the movie they’re showing is the originalStar Wars.”
Luke’s jaw drops, and he’s glancing quickly between me and traffic, like he’s trying to get a read on if I’m telling him the truth or not while simultaneously focusing on not running us off the road. “Are you serious?”
“Totally serious.” I nod, elated that my surprise is a hit. “And that’s not all. This drive-in has a couple of Spartan trailers on site that are fully furnished and can be booked for the night. So we can settle in, get some dinner and movie snacks, and watch the movie from bed. I figured it would be easier to just wake up and head to the airport from there, since the movie will be over late anyway.”
He catches me off guard by reaching for my hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. “This is perfect, Ry. I can’t believe you thought to do this for me.”
“Forus,” I correct him. “I loved going to the drive-in during the summer, and it’s been ages since I’ve seenStar Wars.So I’m really excited, too.”
We arrive at the theater well before sundown, and it doesn’t take long to get checked in and scope out the little trailer we’ll be calling home for the night. With its black-and-white checkered tile floors and burnt-orange accents, it feels like we’ve stepped into a diner in the 1960s. Just like the website says, the bed faces a window with a perfect view of the screen. There are two chairs out on the lawn in front of the trailer, but I’m hoping that Luke will opt to watch with me from the queen-size bed—a nice, close fit for two grown men.
Luke takes his time checking out the small space, opening every cabinet and appliance in awe. He seems so much youngerthan his thirty-nine years right now, and it’s so fun to watch. A few cars have parked out in the lot, and we decide to head over to the concessions bar before it gets too busy and we’re settled in for the night.
“I’m gonna need to do a fucking cleanse after this weekend,” Luke grumbles, looking at the haul of candy, popcorn, soda, and fried foods we managed to amass.
“I’m not even hungry yet!” I laugh. “You’re the one who insisted we get practically one of everything!”
“Go big or go home,” he says with a grin, tossing a handful of gummy bears into his mouth.
The sun is starting to go down, and we decide to eat outside and people-watch a bit before the movie starts. “The whole vibe here is so much different than what I’m used to,” he observes as we get situated with our pile of snacks on the patio table between us. “Everyone just seems so…I don’t know…nice? I mean, people are nice in LA, I guess. Maybe more laid-back than nice. But everyone seems like they’re friends here. Look at the way these people are just striking up conversations with the strangers in the car next to them. Who does that?”
I laugh, recalling my own culture shock moving to California. “That’s the way of the South.” I shrug. “I never knew anything different. Growing up, I was taught to always be polite to everyone and always offer a helping hand to someone in need. I think a lot of folks around here were raised the same. You definitely get your share of assholes and bigots, and I probably felt more scared coming out as gay here than I would have in California. But I think the trademark Southern hospitality shines through and overpowers the bad. No one I ever knew personally gave me a hard time about being gay. No one here is even looking twice at two men sharing this trailer with one bed. It’s like my mom always says, I guess: you can’t hate people up close.”
Luke seems to be mulling that over, chewing thoughtfully and watching cars arrive. “Your mom is really wonderful,” he says eventually. “Your dad, too. And Mandy. Everyone, really. You’re really lucky to have a family like that.”
“I know,” I agree softly. “I was happy to be able to share them with you.”
He smiles over at me, but his eyes are sad. I take a risk and ask something I’ve been dying to know: “What was your childhood like?”
His jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and he’s quiet for a long time. I wait, fighting the urge to break the silence and apologize. I want to know anything and everything I can about him, and I’m willing to wait however long he needs, whether that’s a few minutes tonight or a few days or weeks or months. He seems to feel things deeply, but doesn’t seem to want others to know it. So much of him is still a mystery to me.
“Lonely,” he says finally. He takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes. “The foster system is so overloaded, and things can happen at a moment’s notice. Every time I would start to feel even remotely settled or comfortable somewhere, everything would get uprooted. It was exhausting, knowing the rug could be pulled out from under me at any moment. I felt like I was the only one I could rely on for any kind of stability. I wanted friends, but I couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t be taken away. I wanted a family, but no one ever kept me long enough to feel like I had one.”
He tips his head back to look up at the sky. Even though he isn’t looking at me, I recognize the distance in his gaze, as if he’s miles away from this conversation. “My social worker did her best to place me. But at first, I was so quiet and so scared that I hardly spoke to anyone. Turns out no one wants a kid who won’t open up and try to fit into the family. And then once I got a little older, I did my best to be polite and respectful, but people arelooking to adopt babies and young kids, not teens. I was always in survival mode…until I aged out. And I guess looking back, I was lucky that I got a break in the industry right away. Those studios were cut-throat, and if they didn’t see something they liked, I probably would have been out on the street.” He closes his eyes. His voice is hollow; detached. “I don’t like to think about that much.”
My chest clenches. I can only imagine Luke as a little kid, with such a big heart full of love, and no one he felt safe giving it to. “There wasn’t anyone you connected with?” I ask softly. “Not a foster parent or a teacher or anyone who offered you any kind of guidance?”
He opens his eyes and folds his hand behind his head, face still pointed skyward. “A few tried. There was one woman, a foster mom I had when I was, oh, maybe fourteen? Her name was Alice. I’m pretty sure she knew I was gay. She triedso hardto get me to open up. She was so kind, and I started to think maybe she really did care about me. She made every effort to make me feel just as included as her own two kids, who were much younger. They were twins, like ten years old, maybe? I avoided them. And the husband, too. I don’t remember their names.” He pauses, brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before giving up. “She would come sit at the foot of my bed every night and ask how my day was and if there was anything I wanted to talk about. I always said no. She never pushed, but she always let me know she was there for me.” He swallows hard and shuts his eyes tightly again. “Your mom sort of reminds me of her, actually.”
“She sounds wonderful. So…what happened?”
He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I was there for a little over a year, I think. I was starting to let my guard down and really notice boys at school, and I started trying to work up the courage to talk to Alice about it when she would come check on meat night. But then she was diagnosed with cancer. And they couldn’t keep me anymore. The dad said I was too much of a burden, with her treatments and everything, I guess. I heard later they did everything they could, but they caught it too late. So that was that.”
“Luke,” I breathe out, my voice shaky. I don’t know what else to say.
He’s staring up at the sky again, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, like he just realized he split open his chest cavity and let me have a look around inside, and maybe regrets it now. He comes back to himself a little and clears his throat. “It’s crazy how many stars you can see out here. Compared to LA.”
“Yeah.” It’s an intentional change of subject, and I let it go. He’s already said so much more than I expected to get from him, and I don’t want to push. Instead, I point to a particularly bright cluster of stars directly above us. “That’s Pleiades, I think. You can see the constellations especially well out here in the country. Not much light pollution.”
He snorts. “That’s all we’ve got in LA. Lights fucking everywhere.”
“But you get like three hundred days of sun per year, so that’s a good trade-off, I think.”
“You fit right in then, sunshine,” he says, finally looking over at me with a smile.
