Chapter Eleven

Frederick

 

Waiting in the coffee shop hours after finishing my latté and apple fritter has never been so full of fun— the joy and anticipation I’m feeling. In the hours since I first sent my text to Captain Gibson suggesting a meet up here, I’ve been on cloud nine. In my personal fantasyland, going over what we’ll talk about, what it’ll be like to talk with him today now that I’m not at my wits end with all the events of yesterday.

I imagine what it’s going to be like to open up more to him. To share more about my life before coming into the Navy, what I admire about him, and what I hope to achieve in the next 10 or 20 years of my life.

I imagine what Captain Gibson would say, sitting next to me. The stories he might tell me that he’s not told any other officer. I’d love to know about his first experience with another guy. The first time he fell in love. The first time he knew he was gay and not straight.

Feeling my heart aflutter, I can only imagine what his first time must’ve been like for him in the 1980s. I bet it was probably at school. I bet it was some sports captain. Maybe a paperboy, or a fellow he shared his route with.

You may think I’m dirty, but I actually begin to fantasize about what his first boyfriend — his first love — may have been like. A young boy on a bike with him delivering papers and kissing behind a tree between delivery spots. With that sports captain making out in the locker room. Watching each other change. I imagine him having a more youthful face, kind of like mine. I imagine Gibson feeling strongly for this man in his past.

“That would be sweet,” I murmur. “Cute.”

I sigh, enjoying my little fantasy. The little story I’ve written in my head, even if there’s no way it’s true. “Maybe it wasn’t anything like that. He could have been too closeted to allow himself to be that forward and open about his sexuality.”

I frown, and wonder if that’s the reason he seems a little distant. If it’s that reality that makes his coming out all the more important to him and the reason why he did it at the wedding, amongst friends.

Must’ve been a pretty powerful symbol for him. That wedding wouldn’t have happened in that way even one decade ago, let alone two or three. It being sanctioned and legalized by the government and all. I look out the window, then to the clock mounted on the wall. His meeting with me like this openly— in a coffee shop— would never have happened before he came out. And me, I would’ve never been brave enough to tell him my true feelings if I hadn’t come out of the closet. But, that’s why it’s important for me to spend more time with him. To make him feel relaxed and open about who he is and also let him know how into him I actually am!

With this thought I turn my attention to the clock again. It’s now just a few minutes before 2 o’clock. The earliest he and I said we would meet. Even though I still have a few more minutes until 2:00, I’m beginning to feel equal parts anxiety and excitement. But also fear and a looming depression. I really had to convince him to come see me today. I had to beg and plead with him to meet up here. I know it’s mostly because of the charges I accidentally brought against him (stupid fucking therapist) but I know part of it is because he’s still nervous. He’s still all new to this whole “out” thing.

Biting my nails, I look at my phone. No texts from him. Not even an “I’m on my way,” yet. Because he is so new to being out and proud, he might not show up after all. He might chicken out and not bother to text me. My stomach tightens as does my throat. He might realize what he’s about to do — go meet a man for coffee in a public place — then decide at the last minute that he’s not going to do it. He might decide it’s too risky. Too forward, after all.

Briefly, I consider texting him. Sending him a little something, just to see if we’re still on. So I go to pick up my phone and type on it, but then I think better of it. Come on, Frederick. Don’t be like that. If you text him now, and you ask what he’s doing… whether he’s coming… he might think you’re being clingy. Needy. And an older guy like him is not going to like that. Particularly with someone younger like me.

I set my phone down deciding that I need to give him more than a few minutes to text me and to get here.

I wait. For 15 minutes and then 20. It’s now past two and there’s been no text.

Now I’m really afraid that he’s not coming. That he’s just decided to ditch me. Stand me up and keep me waiting for at least an hour, or longer.

Which will give him plenty of time to bow out and come up with a reason or story why he didn’t want to get together with me after all. I sigh again, realizing I can’t just sit back and wait any longer. As much as I hate what it might do to the way he perceives me, or how excited he is to get together with me after this point, I decide I have to text him. Have to ping him with a reminder about our “date.”

Again, just as I go to type something to him, I stop. I pull back. Maybe it would be okay if he didn’t show up. Maybe it would be okay if he did break his word to me. I did accuse him of the worst thing possible, not to mention in the last year before retirement. I groan, slamming my head on the table. Maybe he’s upset at me. More than upset — pissed. And if he is, he has every right to be. And if he uses that as a reason not to come see me after all, I guess I can’t blame him.

“But still,” I mumble into the table, “I was so looking forward to us meeting.”

After a few long moments of trying to cool off and sort through my thoughts with my head still against the table, I decide to bite the bullet and text him. Just to see where he is, if he’s coming. Anyone would have the right to do that. Anybody who was expecting him somewhere would do that. So it doesn’t make me clingy or weird if I do it, I reason to myself, I’m just doing what any normal person would do. Something any other person would do when they’ve agreed to meet one another somewhere. That’s all it is. It doesn’t have to destroy my chances with him.

I text him simply and directly. Hey, Captain. Freddie here — (why the hell did I just write that?)— I’m just texting you to see whether you’re still on for meeting me at the Crazy Bean? We said that we’d meet sometime in between two and three a clock. It’s about 2:30 PM right now, obviously, so I just wanted to see where you were. If you’re headed this way or not, or if something else came up.

I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to end this text. How to make it less awkward. When I can’t think of anything right to say, I finish with, I’ll be waiting here until I hear something from you either way, okay?

With that, I send it and try to stay positive, imagining that he might still come. That he’s not going to get that text and just ignore me. Let me sit here for hours and hours until I “get the hint” and go home feeling young, dumb and needy.

To this text there is no answer.

There continues to be no response, 15 minutes later, 20 minutes later. And that’s when I am about to give up hope.

Until I see someone jogging toward the doors in a polo shirt and expertly pressed pair of khakis. I can’t be sure, but that man walks every bit like Gibson. He looks like him, too.

***

Just like my lonely heart was hoping, it is Captain Gibson wearing that fancy polo shirt and khakis. He must’ve ironed them. His shiny shoes are just as flawless. Even when he’s not in his Navy uniform, he wants to look his best. He is clean-shaven, his chestnut brown hair, streaked with a hint of gray sides, is beautifully combed. Not a hair out of place.

“Sorry I’m late, Frederick,” he murmurs as he comes up to my table and folds himself in to the chair across from me.

“I didn’t mean to be over an hour late to our meeting.”

The regret and shame in his tone makes me believe him. He wasn’t just hanging around avoiding me. Dragging his feet or whatever, trying not to come to this rendezvous of ours. He clears his throat, not sure where to look for a moment. He avoids my eyes more than he did last night and it sets me on edge some. There is some shame and nervousness, I’m feeling in the air.

“I had some… errands to run. Some things I had to do. People I had to talk to.”

Without him needing to say it, I know it’s about the case. About the damn charges I pressed without meaning to. All because I needed to go to “counseling.” I feel so small and miserable knowing that, but I still don’t say anything.

I just want to be happy. I just want to be grateful that he’s here with me right now. I don’t want to think any more about how fucked up the situation is between us.

“To be honest with you I’m late because I was meeting with my lawyer, Frederick,” he says quietly. His voice is even more somber, further weighing down my potential happy and grateful mood.

“And on top of that, I had a long drive.”

He clears his throat again, but just barely grazing my finger with one of his. Hesitantly, I meet his warm eyes. His liquid bronze beauty.

“I’d like to talk to you about some of the things my lawyer brought to my attention. I know it’s probably not all that legal, but I’m really interested to see what you make of it.”

I shake my head, not sure whether I’m nodding or not.

I understand Captain Gibson. I’ve been serving under him long enough to know that he’s one of those men who wants to do all he can to get someone out of trouble, when they’re deep in it. Whether that’s himself or another person.

But I’ve just been waiting so long… here… for this moment. I don’t want to talk about the case. I don’t want to hear about what he heard from his lawyer, or tell him what I may or may not know. I just want to be with him. I want to touch, kiss and hold him. I just want to be like this with him without any worries. No “real life” shit to fuck it up right now.

There will be all the hours, minutes and days outside of this coffee shop for that. After today, we may never get such an opportunity again.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now, Captain,” I whisper, feeling exactly like the needy little kid I didn’t want to be. The whiny boy I didn’t want to be for him. But I can’t help myself. My heart aches just thinking how talking about the case is going to drive us further apart. Get us out of whatever “mood” we might be able to get in, despite the circumstances.

“I just want to be with you. I want to be as close to you as I can. Closer than we can be sitting here like this,” I add, feeling my voice get extra husky and low in my throat. “We can talk about that later if you want, Captain. But please, I’ve been waiting for you for so long already, don’t make me wait longer.”