Marie Sexton - Promises

“What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Are you kidding? Tell him the pregnant lady got tired and had to lie down. It’s not even a lie. I’m exhausted. But”—and she pointed a finger right at me—“I expect a full report in the morning.”

Two beers later, I was feeling completely relaxed. We were sprawled in patio chairs, enjoying the unseasonably warm evening.

“So, are you married?” I asked him.

“Nope.”

“Divorced?”

“Nope.”

“Ever come close?”

“No.”

Well, that seemed odd. At our age, I would at least have expected a near miss. Unless….

“Why not?”

He was starting to look uncomfortable now, fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle. “Guess I just haven’t found a girl I felt that way about.”

“What about a guy?” it was out of my mouth before my good sense could stop it. And, of course, I really did want to know.

“What? No!” He looked alarmed and a little big angry. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

That tiny flicker of hope that Lizzy had lit within me died. “It was just a question. It’s no big deal. Sorry I brought it up.”

“I’m not gay!”

“Okay.”

“Why?” It sounded like a challenge. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He would have found out soon enough anyway.

He was taken aback. He frowned at me, looked me up and down. “You are? I mean, I was kidding. I didn’t really think that you would say yes.”

I laughed uncomfortably. “Well, I am.” I looked him square in the eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“Well….” To his credit, he actually stopped and thought about it. He was fidgeting with the label on his bottle again. “I don’t know. I never….” The label came off, and he seemed confused about what to do with it now that it was free.

“You know, it’s not contagious.” I was teasing now and hoping he would realize it. But I was also pretty sure he wouldn’t be asking me out for dinner or beers anymore.

“I know. Of course I know.” He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed a little. He shook his head. “I’m being an ass. It’s none of my business who you sleep with.” A pause, and then, “Just, I want you to know”—his eyes were on mine again—“I’m not.”

I smiled. “Hey, I’m not gonna kiss you or anything.” Although the thought of doing exactly that was enough to make my pulse speed up a little. But it was apparently what he needed to hear, because he relaxed the rest of the way with a sigh. “Anyway, no self-respecting Coloradoan would date a Chiefs fan.” That made him laugh, and after that, we were back on safe ground. The conversation seemed to be forgotten.

LIZZY called me first thing in the morning. “Well? What happened?”

“He’s straight.”

“Oh.” She sounded as disappointed as I was. “Are you sure?”

“He was pretty adamant about it.”

“Oh, Jared,” she said sincerely. “I’m so sorry!”

“Lizzy, it’s okay. Really. I barely know the guy. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”

“I know, but you were so happy last night. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know, Lizzy. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t hoping. But he’s straight, and I guess that’s the end of it. I think I’ll live.”

“GET a haircut already, you friggin’ bum!” Lizzy was harassing me about my hair again. It was one of her favorite topics. “Really, Jarhead, whatever that look is, it’s out.”

I’m not a Marine. Lizzy finds it amusing to call me “Jarhead” instead of Jared any time she thinks I’m being particularly obtuse. Which is often.

The length of my hair is one of her favorite things to razz me about. The truth is that haircuts present something of a problem for me. There are only two places in Coda to get a haircut. There’s Gerri’s Barber Shop, where most of the men in town go. But Gerri is old school, one of the few people in town who treat me like I’m a pariah, so I can’t go there. Then there’s Sally’s, the beauty salon that most of the women go to. I had been there a couple of times, but it was miserable. The girls seemed to think that me being gay meant that I wanted to gossip with them about who was sleeping with whom or debate the merits of Brad Pitt over Johnny Depp (neither is exactly my type). Once, I let Lizzy cut it, but that was a disaster that neither of us wanted to repeat.

My dark blonde hair is thick and coarse and naturally curly. If it’s too short, I end up with curls sticking out every which way. But, if I let it grow, the curls at least hang down. I could have shaved it, but that seemed like too much maintenance. So what I end up with is a wild mass of curls. Even I have to admit that it bears more than a passing resemblance to an old-fashioned mop. I try to tie it back when we’re at the shop; if I pull the curls straight, it’s just barely long enough to reach the rubber band. But by the end of the day, half of it will have escaped.

“Lizzy, I like being shaggy. This way you and I match, see?”

Her hair is about the same color as mine but longer, and her curls are more like soft waves. She flipped it over her shoulder and gave me the finger and then turned to Ringo.

“Ringo, tell Jared he needs a haircut!”

Ringo looked up in alarm from his schoolwork on the counter. Lizzy let him work on homework as long as we didn’t have customers. “What? Are you talking to me?”

She rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Honestly! Nobody listens to me. What’s got you so perplexed over there?”

“Advanced algebra.” He threw his pencil down on his book and pushed his hair back off of his face with both hands. “How can anybody do this stuff?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Lizzy assured him.

“How? I don’t understand any of it. My teacher just follows the book. My parents can’t help me. Nobody can explain it to me in a way that makes sense.” He picked his pencil back up and put his head in his hand as he bent back to his task. “I hate it!”

“Jared can help you.”

“What?” Ringo and I exclaimed in unison. I was horrified that she would suggest it, and he obviously was, too, judging by the look on his face.

“Jared’s really good at math. He’s supposed to be a physics teacher, aren’t you?” She gave me a piercing gaze, which I turned away from. “Maybe he can tutor you.”

“Maybe.” Ringo looked pretty skeptical. I didn’t say anything.

Lizzy left shortly afterward since she had opened the shop that day. We didn’t have many customers that afternoon, and Ringo spent most of his time trying to puzzle out his math problems. There was a lot of erasing going on, and I could tell he was getting frustrated. Every once in a while, he would glance up at me, and I knew he was debating whether or not to ask for help. I ignored him.

Finally, as I was closing out the register, he said hesitantly, “Jared, you really know how to do this stuff?”

“I really do.”

“What did she mean, you’re ‘supposed to be’ a teacher?”

“That’s what I planned to do when I went to college.”

“So why didn’t you?”

I could have given him the same answer I had given Matt, but for some reason, I told him the truth. “The same reason you don’t want me to tutor you. Some people think that just because I’m gay, I’m going to molest every young boy that crosses my path.”

He was quiet for a minute, and I could tell I had embarrassed him. I felt a little bad about it, but I couldn’t exactly take it back.

“That’s what my dad says.” His cheeks were bright red, and he wouldn’t look at me. “He says I shouldn’t be alone in the shop with you. I tell him Lizzy’s always here. He doesn’t know that she leaves sometimes.”

My hands were shaking a little, and I was trying to control the urge to slam things around. “I’ll be sure to keep my distance then.”

“The thing is, you’ve never tried anything with me. I’ve never seen you hit on anybody.”

“Kid, I’m gay. I’m not a pervert, and I’m not a pedophile.”

“I’m not a kid,” he said indignantly.

I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Of course, being seventeen, he didn’t feel like a kid, even if he seemed like one to me. “I know. I’m just saying, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean that I can’t control myself. Or that I don’t have standards. Do you hit on every single girl you see? Even the ones that are only fourteen? Or the ones that are dating other people?” Well, he had just turned seventeen; so maybe that was a bad example. “What about Lizzy? She likes men, too, but you don’t worry about her making a move on you.” I actually saw the wheels turning then as he thought about that. But I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Either he would figure it out or he wouldn’t, but I didn’t feel like staying on the soapbox. “Forget it, Ringo. I’m locking the doors. Turn the lights off when you leave.”

“Jared, wait!”

I turned around. He was chewing on his lip, tapping his pencil nervously against his book, but at least he was looking at me. “I’m never going to pass this class without help. I can’t pay you, but I’ll work off the clock if you’ll tutor me.”

“What about your dad?”

He shrugged a little. “He wants me to pass. I’ll work it out.”

His sudden change in attitude surprised me. Maybe I really had gotten through to him a little bit. Or maybe he was really that desperate to pass. Either way, I was also surprised to find that the idea of tutoring him wasn’t as dreadful as I had thought at first. I was actually looking forward to having something different to do. It might even be fun.

Fun?

That was a pretty sad indication as to the state of my social life. Still, sitting at a counter in a hardware/auto parts store wasn’t exactly stimulating. At least this would exercise some of my neglected gray matter. I could almost feel those unused parts of my brain waking up, stretching, and looking around to see what was going on.