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Chapter 8 |
By the time I get back to my room, it's nearly 4:00 am. For a moment, I panic, thinking Sandburg's gone, but then I see the lump at the far edge of my bed, covers pulled up and only the top of his head visible. Interesting dilemma. I'm exhausted, but do I get into bed? Or just sit up a couple more hours, take him back to the shelter or wherever, then sleep? My outraged body decides for me. I slip out of my sweater and jean and slide under the covers, taking care to stay on the edge. I blink a couple of times, then sleep comes. And with it the dreams. Sleep is such a grey area for me; can't keep my mind in black-and-white focus like I can when I'm awake. I'm restless, muscles twitching. Despite being so tired, I awaken at my usual early hour, but on high alert. I'm not alone in this bed. Christ! Sandburg! I had completely blocked that. I roll over cautiously. Sandburg's head is on the pillow now, but the quilts are still pulled up to his ears. I'm in sheer panic mode. The college super bowl is two weeks away and I'm risking everything. Let me count the ways I'm fucked. Hit a teammate, over a guy who's not really one of us. Didn't report an assault. Have a minor in my bed. A male minor. Have I forgotten anything? I try to balance this against what's happened to Sandburg, but I keep selfishly returning to my own situation. Once again, it's all about me. I'm sorry for what they did, but Sandburg will have to go now, right now, before anyone finds out. I reach out to shake him awake, but instead a loose tendril of his hair catches my attention. I touch that instead. If I look closely, and I do, I can separate the strand into its different colors, despite the weak light. Where it leaves his head, it's smooth as silk, then about midway the waves appear. It curls around my finger. I pull another tendril free of the quilts and stroke that too. His hair slides and twists and binds my fingers to him. Every other sensation deserts me, leaving me only with silky hair flowing between my fingers like water. By the time I notice that Sandburg's eyes are open and he's quietly watching me, I have a handful of his hair. I freeze in place, the familiar paralysis of an episode locking my limbs. Frenzied thoughts chase themselves around in my brain, making clear thinking impossible, even as my body lies rigid. Fuck, I think, fuck fuck fuck. He's in my bed. I'm stroking his hair. He's going to scream. I am so fucked. I can't even blink, just stare at him as the last minutes of life as I know it tick away. His lips move but if he's saying anything out loud I can't hear it. Sandburg takes my free hand and holds it over his heart. Through my tee-shirt he's wearing, I feel the warmth of his skin, his solid chest and the comforting cadence of his heartbeat. Slowly the world begins to reappear. My fingers leave his hair. I hear his voice, 'It's OK, Jim, everything's all right now.' Over and over. When I can see again, he smiles at me. A feeling of such warmth, such reassurance, such, no, I won't say love, but something close, washes over me. I smile back. Close my eyes and drift off, more peaceful than I've felt in months. Everyone is still sleeping off their hangovers when Sandburg and I get up. He dresses in several of my shirts and my blue sweater, which, come to think of it, I've never gotten back, and a decidedly too big pair of sweatpants. Shoes aren't an option, so, with three pairs of socks on his feet, we made our way out to the truck. I want to surprise him, so I find a big department store in the frenzy of its New Year's Day sale. 'Wait in the truck, Sandburg,' I tell him. I buy a pair of sneakers, boots, a few thermal shirts, some Levis and a good pair of gloves. Kind of makes me happy to charge it all to William Ellison. Payback for Thanksgiving. Sandburg makes noises about refusing, but even I, insensitive as I am about emotions, can see that he's touched and thankful. And warm, finally. We drive around Cascade and the surrounding areas most of the day. We talk and laugh about many things, but studiously ignore what happened last night in the locker room and this morning in my bed. Eventually we stop at Wonder Burger for a quick supper. Sandburg tries to lecture about healthy food but is so hungry he finishes his bacon burger and fries before me. It's been one of the best days I can remember and I don't want it to end. 'Where to, Sandburg?' I ask with false enthusiasm, wanting so badly to take him back to my room. My human security blanket. 'Jim, I'm at the shelter until the dorms open,' he says quietly. I know that, but I don't want it to be true. We drive there in silence. Sitting in the parking lot, I have another chance to thank Sandburg for what he's done, and to apologize for what's been done to him. And if I were really brave, to tell him how much I enjoyed sleeping with him, literally. Of course, I say nothing.
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