Page 28 of When Ben Loved Tim
He’s quiet for a moment, which is all the answer I need, but he responds anyway. “That depends on what people are saying about me.”
“What if they find out that you’re friends with a gay guy?”
“I don’t care,” Tim replies. “I mean, the sort of thing my ex-girlfriend said,thatmattered to me.”
“Understandably,” I say, “but how will you feel if people assume that you’re gay? Because they will if you’re seen with me.”
“I’m dating Krista,” Tim says. “Isn’t that proof enough that I’m not?”
It hasn’t been enough for me, and I doubt it will be for others. But if he’s willing to take the risk, then so am I, because being friends with him will come at a price. When his buddies learn about us, they’ll pay even more attention to me, and not in a nice way.
“Doyoustill want to be friends?” Tim asks suddenly.
The question isn’t easy for me to answer honestly, since I want way more than that from him. So I settle for a different truth. “Just try and stop me!”
He grins at this, and I’m glad, because I’m in too deep to back off now. I can’t stop thinking about the sketchbooks in his underwear drawer, and the painting on his bedroom wall. I liked him enough when I thought he was a jock. Now that I’ve seen the hint of an artist’s soul… I’m not ready to put the L word on it yet, but it’s safe to say that I’m infatuated with him.
“Oh wow!” Tim breathes.
We’ve just crested a long bridge and are high enough to see where the land gives way to water, a small city nestled up against the shore.
“Have anything like that where you come from?” I ask.
“Definitely not,” Tim says, still in awe.
I notice his fingers twitch and wonder if he’s fighting the urge to draw. I wish I could broach the subject without revealing that I snooped. Maybe if I start putting paper and pen in front of him, he’ll be unable to resist and will reveal himself. I’m surprised he has any secrets at all. I didn’t think he was the type. But it does give me hope.
We both need to use the restroom, so we stop in a touristy part of town and walk down a street filled with little shops. One of them is a gallery. Tim pauses to look in the window, but when I ask if he wants to go inside, he feigns disinterest. Is that what he’s doing with me? Should I invite him in and find out?
“This is cool,” Tim says, “but I want to see that water again.”
“You’ve got it!” I notice how he picks up the pace on the way back to the car. “Your ankle seems to be doing better.”
“Yeah!” Tim says happily. “It almost feels normal again. I’m tempted to stop using this dumb boot. But I won’t,” he quickly adds when noticing my concern. “I’m gonna follow doctor’s orders. And milk it for all the sympathy I can get. Have you seen the way people keep opening doors for me? I might start wearing it all the time.”
“I think it’s the crutch more than the boot.”
Which he currently has tucked horizontally beneath an arm. I worry about him not using it, but he really does seem to be doing fine without. Although when we drive to the shore, I insist he take it with him and am repaid when we begin to navigate sandy ground. Tim slips a few times, but the smile never leaves his face. I watch his gelled spikes tremble in the wind, the orange light from the setting sun making his bronze skin glow. I stop to take off my shoes, wanting to walk barefoot through the lapping waves.
“You’re making me jealous,” Tim says as he watches me pull off my socks.
“You still have one good foot,” I reply.
“Yeah, I guess I do!”
He plops down on the sand next to me and starts undoing the laces. Soon we’re walking side-by-side along the beach, his blue shoe dangling from my fingertips, since he needs his hands free for the crutch. Just one of them really. But like a faithful puppy, I kind of enjoy getting to carry his shoe around.
“I wish I could go swimming,” Tim says longingly.
“I’ll take you to a great water park sometime,” I offer. “They have a wave pool, one of those lazy rivers, and a bunch of water slides.”
“Sounds cool!” he says. “We should do that!”
Of course that would put us both in swimsuits. I’m not sure I have enough self-control just yet. “We should probably wait until next year,” I say. “When the weather warms up again.”
At the moment, the days are still plenty hot, but the nights are getting colder. I don’t want summer to end. I wish we had met at the beginning of the season, when he first moved to town, so we could have had three glorious months together.
“We’ve gotta come back here too,” Tim says, eyeing the water again.
