how to apply the right grip of pressure and quickness. Exactly what I would have used on myself. That familiarity made everything stronger. I knew instinctively how to touch Cal, and I felt affirmed and confident. For months, we slept together on his single twin mattress. In the morning, we’d leave the bed and say nothing. I’d think about him during the day, waiting for classes and sports and then dinner to end. Looking for any excuse to go to bed early. I made myself sick with eagerness. One night Cal noticed me undressing and said, “You’re so giddy.” I flung my copy of O Pioneers! at his head and left for the bathroom. Brushing my teeth and brooding. “Enough,” I thought, but I didn’t hold out, not for long. The physical closeness seemed like the most natural extension of our friendship. Then, one Saturday morning, my father, arriving on time to take me for a driving exam, discovered his son, nude as far as he could ascertain, in bed with another boy.
He yelled, “Get up,” pitching a plastic binder and a small desk globe at the wall above us. My father kicked a floor lamp and left the room, slamming the door.
“Did you know he was coming?” Cal asked.
“I guess so.” I was amazed that Cal could speak, and more amazed that I was capable of a response.
Cal stood up from his bed and put on a pair of shorts.
“He didn’t see anything,” Cal said. “There was nothing to see.”
I got up, picked a towel off the floor, and wrapped it around my waist.
“I need to take a shower,” I said.
“We were tired and fell asleep talking.” Cal stripped the sheets off of his bed and tossed them in a pile at his feet. “Tell him that.”
“He won’t say anything.” I looked at Cal.
He folded his arms like the wings of a bird and turned his back to me.
When I returned from my shower, Cal had left and taken the sheets with him.
In the weeks between my father’s visit and Cal’s death, I hurt my friend in ways that frightened me. I thought of writing down these scenes, submitting them to Princeton. But, as it was, there didn’t seem to be any chance for acceptance.
My accident with Race left me uneasy around Tazewell and Kriffo. I didn’t avoid them, but they didn’t exactly seek me out either. Both guys kept busy with afternoon practices and away games. In the dining hall, I’d see them eating with the soccer team or strategizing with football jocks. I felt like an afterthought.
More than anything, I was afraid that Taze and Kriffo had helped Race string that noose up in my closet.
There was no privacy in Whitehall. No locks on bedroom doors. Our parents paid thousands of dollars for housing but the school didn’t even bother to give us a room key. Anyone could come into your place while you were gone, tie all of your laundry together, tuck leaking cans of sardines into your coat pockets, fill your shoes with shaving cream.
A few nights after I found the noose, someone banged on my door and shouted, “Fire, fire!” I recognized Tazewell’s voice and straggled out of bed, half expecting to find a bag of flaming shit outside my room. But the door wouldn’t open. I didn’t smell smoke but I did hear laughter. I went back to sleep. In the morning, it was easy enough to climb down my fire escape and back into Whitehall. The guys had locked me into my room by stretching a rope between my doorknob and the knob on the broom closet across the hall. For a moment, I thought of leaving my door locked that way and spending the rest of the school year entering and exiting through the fire escape. Turning this stupid prank into the gift of privacy.
I had a genius for both tying and untying knots. It was nothing for me to pull apart the loose mess that Tazewell had left behind. But as I crouched down in my sweatpants, unraveling the jumble of cord, I felt like I’d been demoted. I wasn’t a cool untouchable upperclassman, just some friendless Frosh. It bothered me that Taze would choose Race over me, but it
He yelled, “Get up,” pitching a plastic binder and a small desk globe at the wall above us. My father kicked a floor lamp and left the room, slamming the door.
“Did you know he was coming?” Cal asked.
“I guess so.” I was amazed that Cal could speak, and more amazed that I was capable of a response.
Cal stood up from his bed and put on a pair of shorts.
“He didn’t see anything,” Cal said. “There was nothing to see.”
I got up, picked a towel off the floor, and wrapped it around my waist.
“I need to take a shower,” I said.
“We were tired and fell asleep talking.” Cal stripped the sheets off of his bed and tossed them in a pile at his feet. “Tell him that.”
“He won’t say anything.” I looked at Cal.
He folded his arms like the wings of a bird and turned his back to me.
When I returned from my shower, Cal had left and taken the sheets with him.
In the weeks between my father’s visit and Cal’s death, I hurt my friend in ways that frightened me. I thought of writing down these scenes, submitting them to Princeton. But, as it was, there didn’t seem to be any chance for acceptance.
My accident with Race left me uneasy around Tazewell and Kriffo. I didn’t avoid them, but they didn’t exactly seek me out either. Both guys kept busy with afternoon practices and away games. In the dining hall, I’d see them eating with the soccer team or strategizing with football jocks. I felt like an afterthought.
More than anything, I was afraid that Taze and Kriffo had helped Race string that noose up in my closet.
There was no privacy in Whitehall. No locks on bedroom doors. Our parents paid thousands of dollars for housing but the school didn’t even bother to give us a room key. Anyone could come into your place while you were gone, tie all of your laundry together, tuck leaking cans of sardines into your coat pockets, fill your shoes with shaving cream.
A few nights after I found the noose, someone banged on my door and shouted, “Fire, fire!” I recognized Tazewell’s voice and straggled out of bed, half expecting to find a bag of flaming shit outside my room. But the door wouldn’t open. I didn’t smell smoke but I did hear laughter. I went back to sleep. In the morning, it was easy enough to climb down my fire escape and back into Whitehall. The guys had locked me into my room by stretching a rope between my doorknob and the knob on the broom closet across the hall. For a moment, I thought of leaving my door locked that way and spending the rest of the school year entering and exiting through the fire escape. Turning this stupid prank into the gift of privacy.
I had a genius for both tying and untying knots. It was nothing for me to pull apart the loose mess that Tazewell had left behind. But as I crouched down in my sweatpants, unraveling the jumble of cord, I felt like I’d been demoted. I wasn’t a cool untouchable upperclassman, just some friendless Frosh. It bothered me that Taze would choose Race over me, but it
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