Page 25 of Him
“Uh, okay?”
Jamie’s mouth opens and then closes. And opens again. “This is why you didn’t call me for four years? Why you ignored my texts?”
“Well…yes.” I’m so confused now. I just pled guilty to assholery in the first degree and practically molestation. And he’s worried about a few texts.
His face turns another shade redder. Then he takes off running again, and I’m so startled that it takes me a second to chase him.
He’s running faster now. He lengthens his long strides and moves his arms with power. The athletic shirt he’s wearing hugs each muscle as he moves, and I am jealous of that piece of polyester fabric.
The loop around Mirror Lake is a little under three miles. I don’t know what’s in his head as he runs the rest of it. I’m a few paces behind, confused and disheartened. On our way back through town, we pass all our old haunts—the fudge shop and the toy store that sells rubber-band guns. A bakery called Miracle on Icing.
I don’t see Jamie’s face until he slows to a stop in front of the toboggan run, locked up again for the summer. I wish we could go back to a simpler time when climbing some chain-link was my biggest offense.
When he turns his sweaty face to me, there’s still anger in it. “You didn’t talk to me for four years because you thought I’d freak out about you sucking me off.”
“Uh…yeah.” But given the resentment in his voice, it’s clear I’d fucked up in some other way that hadn’t made it into my calculus.
His hands are clenched into fists. “Is that how you see me? Some uptight asshole?”
On a bench nearby I see a young mother scoop up her toddler and walk away from us, frowning.
But Jamie is on a roll. “It was just a little sex, for God’s sake. Nobody died.”
And I’m probably going to swallow my tongue now. “I… It was dishonest.”
“Ah. Thanks for punishing me for your dishonesty. A four-year sentence. I went off to a strange college where I knew nobody, wondering how I’d been such a shitty friend.”
Well, fuck. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. It sounds inadequate. To both of us, I’m sure.
Jamie kicks a trashcan. “I need a shower.”
My traitorous dick volunteers to join him, but I keep my big trap shut as we walk the last block and climb the stairs. This had not gone the way I’d anticipated. My worst-case scenario had involved Jamie recoiling in horror at my gayness and accusing me of manipulating him into fooling around.
I’ve spent four years riddled with shame over what I’d done, and now it turns out I should’ve felt ashamed about something entirely different. Jamie didn’t care that I’d blown him. He cared that I’d abandoned him. And knowing I’d hurt my best friend much more deeply than I’d realized twists me up in knots.
I hesitate at the top of the steps, calling out to his rigid back. “Um, Canning?”
“What?” he mutters without turning around.
“Am I finding somewhere else to sleep tonight?”
He sighs. “No, jackass.”
10
Jamie
Twenty-two seems too old to be giving someone the silent treatment. Not that I played those sorts of games when I was younger. I’ve always been a talk-it-out guy. Face your problems head on, don’t freeze the other person out.
That’s Wes’s specialty, freezing someone out.
Can anyone say “still bitter?”
The two of us haven’t really spoken since we went running. At dinner, he’d sat with Pat, catching up on the last few years. Then Pat banged his spoon on a water glass and introduced Wes to the campers. “Frozen Four champion…” and “number two in the nation for points scored,” and “guaranteed to see some ice time in Toronto next year.”
The eyes of the boys around me grew wider and wider. They’d hung on every word. Meanwhile, Wes had sat there cracking half an “aw, shucks” smile, looking cocky and carefree.
Maybe he’s not as carefree as he looks, my conscience suggests.
