Page 4 of Spread Your Wings
Sammy handed Nicole a Styrofoam cup of black bean juice, and she huffed. “I take mine with cream. No sugar.”
Sammy waved her to the counter. A row of creamer packets framed a ceramic bowl of sugar and artificial sweeteners. “Help yourself.”
Nicole rolled her eyes as she pranced past in a cloud of perfume. She still smelled like the clay cake make-up they used for filming. That odor was another reason Sammy hated being on camera. He loved a little eye-liner now and then, but he drewthe line at pore-clogging clay. He already had a baby face. With acne on top of that, he’d be carded at every bar in the States for the next twenty years.
“Fantastic first show,” Tol, their producer, said. “You have the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, we’ll start interviewing the political leaders.”
One interviewee, an eleven-year-old girl, had called the politicians “kids.” Sammy had found the term endearing and ironic. Tomorrow, they would interview the “kids,” and learn more about Harold’s impending war.
Back in his room, Sammy slept until ten. He took another shower to wash the gel from his hair and let it air dry, leaving it soft. The air from the heating vent blew it all out of place. Sammy donned an Atlanta Braves baseball cap and his leather jacket. He headed out to see Sarajevo.
He made it as far as the front desk.
“Mail for you,” Mustafa called from behind the bulky computer monitor. Sammy had a tough time reverting to the silly nickname now that he knew Mustafa’s proper name. Every time he thought of it, he got the Queen song stuck in his head.
“Thanks,” Sammy said, taking the two envelopes, trying not to touch Mustafa’s fingers.
“Today, I work the early shift,” Mustafa said, his smile warm and inviting. “Let me know if you want to go sight-seeing this afternoon.”
“I would love to,” Sammy said, backing away, expecting Mustafa to grab his jacket collar and hold him back. “But I’m…”What?He wondered.Seeing someone? How is that going to come across to this straight guy who probably doesn’t evenknow you’re gay?“I’ll think about it,” he said, trying to keep the anguish of his indecision from his face.
“Oh.” Mustafa’s eyes hardened above his fake smile.
“See you around,” Sammy said, turning away before his face told more stories his words could never say.
He headed back to his room to deposit his mail, his hands sweating through the envelopes in his hands.
Gavin would never know,his brain reasoned.
I would know,Sammy reminded himself. He’d cheated on a math test in the eighth grade by copying answers from another student’s paper behind the teacher’s back. A high score on the test, one he hadn’t deserved, set him up for AP Math courses throughout high school. He’d struggled through all four years, with his mom grumbling about his B-/C+ grades every quarter. When he died, AP Math would be one of the seven circles in his personal hell.
He didn’t need another reason for guilt. He would stay true to Gavin. Maybe during the next call home, he and Gavin could talk about their relationship, now that sex couldn’t get in the way. Every time Sammy had tried to talk, Gavin had lured him into bed. The sex was great, but always left Sammy feeling empty and unfulfilled after he came.
He parted the daylight-blocking curtains and sat down at the desk to read his letters. The first one was from his mom. He flipped to the other one and opened it first. It had a strange return address in College Park, and no name. Weird.
Dear Sammy, it started in Gavin’s large, messy script.
His heart lifted. Gavin had taken him up on his plea to mail early and often. He hadn’t expected a letter from Gavin for another week or two, if at all.
I moved out of your apartment. I realized I don’t want to be alone nine months out of the year. I need you here with me, and if you’re not here, I need to find someone who is. I’ve alreadymet someone. I left my new address in case you want to stay in touch.
Thanks for the memories, like leaving me alone on Valentine’s Day. I hope you get to see Queen in concert. You always loved Freddie Mercury more than you loved me.
Wishing you the best,
Gavin
Sammy stared at the letter until his eyes burned. He even angled it sideways and flipped it over, searching for more of an explanation. Sammy had only been gone five days. He glanced at the postmark on the letter. February tenth, a week ago. What the actual fuck?
I’ve already met someone.Sammy wondered how long Gavin had been planning to move in with someone else. Worse, he wondered how long Gavin had been fucking around behind his back.
I have to get tested. Now. Today.
Sammy remembered New Year’s Day, when he’d mysteriously come down with the flu, two weeks after Gavin had it. Gavin had blamed it on unsanitary theater conditions when they’d gone to seeHook. Now Sammy wasn’t so sure.
“That bastard,” he said aloud.
Condoms. We used condoms, every time.The fact did little to reassure Sammy. He had to know.
