Chapter 8 Was I Dreaming?

WHEN daylight flooded my room, I knew it was time to face the music and see if our friendship had survived a night of—from my perspective—awesome sex! But I wasn’t the virgin here. Ellis was. Did Ellis hurt like I did my first time? I hoped not. I tried desperately to prep him as best I could, but there was still no guarantee that today he wouldn’t feel the repercussions, despite my careful planning. To his advantage, and to the detriment of my ego, I was on the low side of average. He should be fine.

I rolled over. Ellis was gone.

Shit! Why does every guy leave me? Either he was fixing me coffee or he’d freaked out entirely and left. Or, as my cynical subconscious whispered, his butt was still throbbing and he regretted every second. No matter what the answer was, an empty bed made me feel used and all my other bad experiences taunted me with I told you sos.

I grabbed some underwear and hurried into the living room. No one. Kitchen? No one. I made myself some coffee and mulled over what I could possibly say if and when he returned. I was no stranger to guys leaving in the middle of the night, but I’d never slept with a friend before. I wanted to kick myself.

Why didn’t I wait?

 

TWO hours later, Ellis bounded through the door, sweaty, out of breath, and wearing my “What Is The Speed Of Dark?” T-shirt. “Hey,” I greeted him, like I normally would. “Where ya been?”

 

“Out. I ran four miles and then played basketball with Russ.”

He said it like Duh! was attached to the end of the sentence. Was it me, or was he acting like last night didn’t happen? “Oh, okay,” I said. “I was just wondering where you were. That’s all.”

“You’re not my mother. I’m a grown man. I can go out if I want to!” Ellis barked.

Wow! Attitude. Not the optimal reaction I longed for. His defensiveness told me he wasn’t too thrilled with last night’s experience. Did I flat-out ask, or let it go? I went with my current trend and let it go. “Yup, you sure are.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I didn’t like the growing hostility. I hadn’t done anything. “Nothing. I’m just agreeing with you. You can do whatever you want.”

“Damn right,” he huffed as he stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door.

 

I called after him, “Although you could ask before taking my shirt!”

I heard the shower come on. A moment later, the door opened and my shirt came flying toward me. Ellis was angry, and I was not about to stick around. While he showered, I took the opportunity to grab my coat and leave.

I WALKED to the ever-popular coffee shop around the corner, where everyone loved to sugar themselves up on oversized chocolate muffins and cinnamon sticky buns, and ordered some comfort food of my own. (A chocolate chip scone and a cappuccino; I’m not original.) As I stormed out of my apartment and walked over here, I felt a sudden turmoil of emotions flooding my heart that I’d never experienced and didn’t understand. Did Ellis feel like this?

He regretted last night, I was sure of it. And what I lamented was fucking a friend who obviously wasn’t ready.

I took a sip of my drink and wiped the foam from my mustache—I really had to trim this thing—and fought the heat rising up the back of my neck. Was I going to cry? Oh, fuck no! I’d never cried over a guy before, and I was sure as hell not going to start now in the middle of Gossip Central. Me? An emotional train wreck? Wasn’t going to happen! But it was painfully clear that our friendship would never be the same, and that was what I honestly regretted the most.

I really felt like we’d had something wonderful developing between us. Way different than Jon and me, what Ellis and I had was… special. (I can’t even believe I used that word.) But it was. He knew me. Even in this short time, I really felt like he knew me deeper than Jon. It was in his eyes when he looked at me. Like he didn’t see a sarcastic hypochondriac with OCD and controlling tendencies, Ellis saw me—the real me. The one I hid behind a wall of cutting remarks and manipulative suggestions. How could I get that Ellis back after sleeping with him and ruining the remarkable start we’d had?

While throngs of cheery coffeehouse patrons milled around me, my mind flashed images of last night like a PowerPoint presentation of photographs flipping from one to the next.

Ellis was beautiful.
His voice moaning my name was beautiful.

The taste of his skin, the pulse of his private muscles against my sensitive tongue, the quiver of his hands as he touched my face; all these memories collided against my painstakingly built façade of callous malcontent and roared, “Beautiful!”

I was not as prickly as people believed.

Jon told me eight months ago—after I declared celibacy following my last horrific dating experience—that I would, one day, take it all back. He knew I’d find someone. He said it would happen when I least expected it and when I wasn’t looking. Damn if he wasn’t right! Ellis just happened along when I was resisting the change that had occurred when Jon graduated. Ellis ended up with me after Stan….

I looked up, and there he was.
“Stan? What are you staring at?” I asked. He was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure I appeared any different than before. He’d never stared at me before. “Do I have foam in my goatee?” I quickly inspected my chin by running my fingers over the hairs. I didn’t feel anything.

“May I?” Stan asked, gesturing to the seat across from mine.

“Sure.” Stan sat and studied me as if he knew something. I hate when people do that. “If my grandmother died, please spit it out. I can’t stand the ominous anticipation.” I pointed across the table. “And if you start out with the anecdote about my cat falling off the roof, then I will personally stick a piece of scone up your nose.”

Stan didn’t grin. Uh-oh.
“What is it?” I asked again, trying my best to sound interested. “You had sex with Ellis, didn’t you?”

I nearly choked to death. As I coughed out the last dry crumbs from my lungs and grabbed for the cup of water Stan held out to me, I nervously checked the surrounding tables for shocked stares. None. Good. “Holy shit, Stan, can you say it any louder?” I was not pleased.

No reaction from him.

“He told you?” I asked, incredulous that Ellis would broach such a personal topic with someone other than myself.
“No. I watched him doing suicides this morning as I remarked the field for the game on Wednesday. I’ve never seen a man do suicides on his own without the coach threatening him at every sprint.”

“So?” I acted like it was no big deal. Ellis was a dedicated player; perhaps he felt some extra work was best for his stamina.

“Cole, let me tell you something. I raised six boys; one of whom was gay. I’ve seen all kinds of reactions to anger, confusion, and even love. When I saw my boy Ellis running suicides at full tilt, I knew something was up. He didn’t have to tell me anything.”

“But he could be upset about anything,” I rationalized. “It didn’t have to be about me.”

Stan nodded. “True. But he was wearing your T-shirt.” “That doesn’t prove we had sex.”

“No, but I think I know him pretty well. And besides, you have a huge hickey on your neck.”

I self-consciously covered my neck and protested, “How? He barely talks. Well, I mean, he used to not talk much before… he and I….” This was more complicated to explain than I thought. “Ellis and I became really good friends, and he started talking more as we hung out. I think I know him better than you do.” I don’t know why I got defensive over it, but the notion that Stan knew something about Ellis that I didn’t struck a nerve.

Stan sat there calmly. “I know everyone around here thinks I’m only the groundskeeper and housing administrator. No big deal, right? Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Housing has only been a recent addition to my job description, but I’ve been groundskeeper here for over thirty years. In that time I’ve learned how to gauge people. All people.”

“What do you mean, gauge people?”
“I figure them out by observing them.”
“You think you know Ellis because you watch him?” “Exactly.”

That didn’t seem like enough to me. “I don’t think you can know someone simply by observing their behavior a few times. You need verbal intercourse.” Shit, bad choice of words.

Stan smirked and leaned forward, crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “Joke if you will, and tell me I’m full of shit. I’m not bothered by your personality flaws.”

“Ouch!” I said, sitting straighter and leaning against the back of the booth. I wasn’t used to Stan’s curtness.

“I’ve learned over the course of sixty-three years that people don’t see me as a threat. I’m invisible for the most part, and they go about their business as if I wasn’t standing there at all. So I watch. I pay attention. I see what goes on, and I hear what people whisper about.”

“Like a spy?” I asked.
“Maybe. My point is that I’ve been on the campus long enough, and I’ve listened to and watched enough people over the years that little things rarely escape my notice. Call it stewardship of humanity, if you will.”

I felt slightly awkward, but there was a part of me that needed to know why his “stewardship of humanity” included Ellis and me—more specifically, our personal business. “What does this have to do with Ellis?”

He smirked again! I felt my anger click past simmer. “Cole, Ellis is working through some things.”

“And you think I screwed up his life by screwing him.” It came out harsh, I admit it.

Leave it to Stan to reply with calm logic instead of defensive whiplash. “No, what I’m saying is that you need to give him time to work through it. Let me put it to you this way—some men take out frustration on a pile of wood.”

“Huh? I’m not planning to become a lumberjack.”

“Cole, stop it. Let me speak. Some men take out frustration on a pile of wood. They may have a wood splitter, but when their wives upset them, they’d rather take a hatchet or a splitting maul and hack the heck out of each piece of firewood purely by muscle alone. It’s the testosterone in us, I guess.”

“What about the ones who don’t wield axes for fear of accidental amputation?” I could not resist inappropriate humor.

Stan didn’t hesitate to continue. “Some wash their car two or three times. Some take a six-mile run. Some move plants or trees in their garden, which didn’t need to be moved. Heck, some men even build a shed, or paint the whole damn house! Point is, it’s usually physical.”

I could see where he was going. “Like voluntarily running suicides on your day off.” I hung my head, and Stan didn’t say anything right away.

I didn’t run much myself, and I knew every coach had a different pattern of running for what they term “suicides,” but from what I understood, it was grueling and nowhere near fun. Suicides are run at full speed. The runner sprints to the ten-yard line, and then back. Then sprints to the twenty and back. To the thirty and back, and so on until they have successfully sprinted to each yard line and exhausted every ounce of energy they have in them. No one volunteered to run suicides.

“So Ellis is working through stuff; why conclude I was the stuff?” I asked.

“Intuition,” he answered with a grin. “Ellis likes you. I saw him a few days ago when I fixed the sprinkler head on the D-lot flowerbed. He thanked me for housing him with you.”

“He did?” My aching heart flooded with joy over one small comment.

“He did. I knew he was perfect for you.”
“I thought Jonathan paid you to find me a roommate?”

He was unfazed by my declaration. “True, but I knew Ellis would suit you beyond a simple friendship.”

“What? How? Wait…. What do you mean beyond friendship? Stan, were you playing Cupid?” It sounded absurd, but everything Stan had said pointed to that conclusion.

“Maybe a little. I told you I observe people. I notice things. I’d seen how he talked with girls but didn’t quite ‘connect’ with them. I have a gay son, so I’ve seen the way at least one homosexual man looks at other men. One day last year, while he was sitting in the quad, you walked by the humanities building and he looked up. He watched you walk all the way over to the library. When you disappeared from view, he grinned and leaned his head against the tree behind him. He sat there in the shade a full twenty minutes with his eyes closed.”

I gaped. I was stunned. And while this revelation about Ellis was thrilling, Stan’s confidence in his stalking abilities frightened me more than I care to admit. “You’re like the college creeper, Stan. This is not good. If the dean knew you were watching all the students this closely, you’d probably lose your job! You don’t have cameras in the dorms, do you? ’Cause that would be sick!”

“No,” said Stan, shaking his head adamantly. “It was to help you. Ellis was searching for his identity, and I hoped to give it a nudge by placing him with you. I knew you wouldn’t push, but I also knew you’d be too attracted to him not to go for it if the time was right. Don’t look so shocked, Cole. You and I have been friends for a while! Remember the older accountant that asked you out that time? You came back all depressed and rambled on about finding a nice, quiet guy your age instead of a middle-aged married guy having a crisis.”

“You remember that?” I cringed. I’d tried everything to block it from my memory since it was that horrible. Telling Stan was obviously not the greatest decision either, but I didn’t know he was a stalker.

“I remember everything, Cole. It’s a curse. We went for a drink, and after your third beer you said, and I quote, ‘A muscular jock would be tasty to wrap my legs around as long as he was smart enough to spell the word Sanctiloquent.’ I think that was when you were reading a book for your religious studies class and felt pious for ten minutes.”

“Ha ha. I doubt it. I remember the book, and I do recall making that comment. But with as many times as I told you not to house me with a jock, I find it odd that you’d do it anyway. What if I was the worst thing to ever happen to Ellis? What if he hates me forever? How could you manipulate our lives like that?” I seriously wanted to know.

“Because you’re my friend, Cole. I like you. You remind me of my son.” His face darkened slightly, and he whispered, “My son died of AIDS five years ago.”

I was instantly nauseated. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.” I reached out and touched his hand. “I didn’t know.”
His lip lifted at the corner. “I know. I didn’t mention him to get sympathy, but I hope you can understand. I love working here because I’m drawn to kids. My kids are grown and living in several different states. My son died before I got a chance to know him and accept his lifestyle. I’ve talked to his partner a few times since the funeral, but I don’t feel like I was a part of anything meaningful. When I met you, I felt this resurgence of fatherly pride. I wanted to see you happy. And I hoped I could somehow make amends with my son for not taking the time with him by being there for you.” I could see he really needed my approval. He was practically begging me with his eyes.
“I guess I understand. But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Ellis practically bit my head off earlier.”

“I bet he’s torn and confused over whatever happened with you. Give him space.”

 

“I am, that’s why I’m here. But what if it’s not enough? What if he hates me?”

 

“You had sex with him, right?”

 

I furrowed my brow. That was not a normal question. “I’m not describing the sex, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

 

“No, I’m only making sure. I didn’t think Ellis would run himself that ragged over a simple kiss.”

 

I was still dubious of his intentions, so I answered slowly, “No. It was… sex.”

 

He let out a breath and sighed, “Good.” And he looked a little too happy about it.

“Stan, I think I’m done here. If you keep talking, I’m going to see you as some old pervert who has nothing better to do than fuck up young gay men by meddling in their sex lives. For my sanity, and the potentially virginal ears eavesdropping on us from the neighboring booth, please leave.”

Stan’s eyes went wide. “Oh, okay.” He didn’t look offended. He appeared more worried or astonished at my unswerving dismissal than anything. He stood and backed away. “Then, we’ll chat another time.”

“Yeah, another time,” I answered with a nod. And Stan left.

It was a disturbing conversation, yet insightful. I’m not sure the board of trustees would agree with his behavior or even consider it ethical. It was slightly perverted, if you ask me. But… he was trying to be my friend, and he did say I reminded him of his son. I guess I could forgive him for making me a little uncomfortable. But what Ellis and I did behind closed doors wasn’t anyone’s business, least of all Stan’s!

My ears picked up the college radio station playing softly thought the speakers overhead. It was Maroon 5. “Put your hands all over, put your hands all over me.” I groaned. I put my head in my hands and allowed the words of the song to slingshot me back into my mental PowerPoint presentation of last night’s snapshots. We felt so good together. I had to believe he felt something for me. If I couldn’t hope for that, then I might as well move out now. I couldn’t live with Ellis if he hated me. I didn’t understand why I felt so restless over this one guy. Why did my next move depend on Ellis? Why did I feel the need to try so hard with him?

As if on cue, I heard the fading lyrics of another Maroon 5 song. (It must have been a play block.) “Why does the one you love become the one who makes you want to cry?”

Love? Surely not.

“I simply don’t want to lose a friend,” I rationalized. I shook my head and walked over to the trash can to deposit my napkin, and placed my empty cup in the appropriate tub. “Love has nothing to do with this,” I scoffed and headed home.