The Thunder in His Head Read online

  “That’s your decision to make, man. But if you’re not attending college, what are you going to do after you graduate? You need to have a plan because, frankly, you eat like a rhino, and your mom and I can’t afford to keep feeding you.”

  Nice to know both parents were planning to kick me out when I hit eighteen. “Okay, but I just don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “Fine. I’ll drop it. But this isn’t going away.”

  We arrived at the church, one of those majestic buildings situated on a sprawling, meticulously landscaped campus wide enough to use for landing cargo planes. Just half of the money that went into building that place would feed a small country. I suppose the members missed the part in the Bible about taking care of the poor and the hungry. It amazed me how people stroked their egos with cash. Of course, my parents weren’t any better, what with Mom’s BMW, Dad’s Lexus, and that house they bought that could be used as a school.

  I pulled the car into a shady spot beneath a stand of trees and shut off the engine. Before Dad could say anything, I turned to him and said, “Dad, are you ashamed of me?”

  Dad gave me another baffled look, this one tinged with a bit of anger. “What? What would make you ask me something like that?”

  “The way you look every time you get anywhere near the fact that I’m gay, that’s what. And I notice you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Kyle, I’m not ashamed of you. You’re my son. You’re one amazing kid. I’m proud of you, and I’m here for you. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Then why do you have to get so freaked out every time anything gay comes up?”

  “Because when I was your age, my friends and I gave guys like you holy hell. I’m not proud of it, and I wish now that I had been more understanding, but I made life hell for gays when I was in high school and college. I don’t want you to have to go through what I put those guys through. And to be honest, son, I just can’t wrap my brain around the whole gay thing. The idea of you hugging up with another guy makes my scalp itch. I don’t get it. I don’t get how two guys, or two gals for that matter, can be attracted to each other.”

  “Well, that makes us even, Dad, ’cause I don’t get what’s so hot about girls. But I don’t go looking like I’m gonna throw up when you’re with Stephanie.”

  “Not now, maybe, but for a while there, after you met her, you made it pretty clear that you didn’t like her and you didn’t want her around.”

  That surprised me. “No, I didn’t,” I protested.

  He laughed. “Like hell you didn’t. You remember that night when you were helping me move some of my stuff into my new place, and Stephanie showed up unexpectedly? You got so swelled up with anger, I thought your head was going to burst into flames. She tried to talk to you and you just scowled at her, wouldn’t even say ‘hi’ to her. And you weren’t too happy with me at the time, either.”

  I twisted out a mortified smile. I didn’t think I had been that obvious. “Well. I wasn’t trying to be mean….”

  “It’s okay. We both understood that you were just upset over your mom and me splitting up. But let me give you a bit of advice. Don’t go making a big deal of it every time someone gives you a funny look. Gay is not the only thing you are. There’s a lot more to you than that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the one thing about me that makes your scalp itch.”

  Another burst of laughter from Dad, this one louder. “That’s not true. That nasty room of yours makes me itch too. Seriously, son, I am trying. This part of your life is strange for me, but I’m doing my best to get used to it.” He reached over and ruggedly patted my knee. “So help me out here. Stephanie says you had a good time on your date. Tell me what you like about this Dwight fella.”

  I shrugged, feeling suddenly shy. “I like that he’s just a regular guy. You know, that you can’t look at him and tell right away that he’s gay. He’s smart. And he’s easy to talk to. It doesn’t hurt that he’s built like a superhero, either. But he needs to lighten up. He takes some stuff way too seriously.”

  “I thought he was all right,” Dad put in, looking thoughtful. “He seems like a nice, respectful kid. Lousy dancer, though. Say, aren’t all you sissies supposed to be natural born dancers?”

  I hauled off and punched Dad in the shoulder for that one.

  Dad looked at me for a second, grinning devilishly. “Oh, it’s on.” He grabbed me around the neck with his arm, laughing as he wrestled me down in the car.

  DWIGHT and I sat in the dark, watching Death stalk teenagers in the latest Final Destination flick. I reached over and put my hand on Dwight’s knee. He didn’t flinch at my touch this time.

  After a while, my hormones announced themselves so adamantly that my hand inched up from his knee onto his thigh. His quads felt warm, smooth, thick, and strong. I began massaging my way up his leg. Then his hand came down on top of mine. I thought that was his way of telling me that my fingers shouldn’t travel any farther north.

  I had called Dwight after Dad and I got back home from my practice driving. Dwight sounded happy to hear from me but harried, and when he asked me to go to the movies with him, there was a hint of desperation in his voice that practically begged me not to refuse. Not that there was any chance of my turning him down. I wanted to see the movie, and my only other options were to either have Dad drop me off or walk. But more than that, I really wanted to see Dwight again. I was glad that we had come together. Sitting through the movie squeezing on his muscular thigh was as close to heaven as I’d ever been.

  I didn’t really know what Dwight was thinking when we walked out of the theater into the afternoon sunshine. “That was a great flick,” he said as we headed for his car. “Thanks for treating me.”

  “No problem, man. I liked it too, but when the hell is Hollywood gonna come up with an original idea again?” I huffed. “The way they’re going with all these freaking sequels, we’ll be watching Final Destination flicks from the retirement home.”

  Dwight gave a polite, distracted grunt of laughter. We were at his car now. After we had both slid into the Corvette, he gave me this serious stare. “Is there a place we can go to be alone?” he blurted out.

  I couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes. He seemed rather anxious. Maybe something had happened to him at home and he needed to talk about it. Dad and Stephanie were at his place, cooking dinner, so that was out. And Mom spent just about every Saturday afternoon in her room watching the Lifetime Channel. Oh, wait. “My mom’s not home right now,” I told Dwight. “I just remembered that she’s doing interviews at some convention this afternoon. We can go over to her… I mean, to my house.”

  We made small talk as Dwight drove us to what I increasingly thought of as Mom’s house now. At times, I sort of felt split, as though I was just another possession of Mom’s and Dad’s that they would somehow have to divide in the divorce settlement. Dwight parked beneath the carport between the house and the garage.

  “I like your house,” Dwight observed as he followed me around to the front door.

  “If you can call it that,” I replied. “I’ve seen smaller hospitals.”

  “You got something against luxury houses?”

  “I don’t know. When I was growing up, I never thought anything about it. This was just home. But after my folks separated and I started hearing all these stories about people out there who can’t afford to heat their houses or buy clothes for their kids, I starting thinking what a waste it all was, people throwing away money on stuff they don’t need just to feed their egos when other people are starving.”

  “I guess driving a Corvette is pretty egotistical, huh?”

  Unlocking the door, I paused and turned to Dwight. “Oh, wait. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay, man. I never thought much of it either, but I can see your point.” He stepped up close to me on the porch, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the street. “Can we go in now?”

  “Yeah. Come on.”
/>   I led him into the living room. The house had the quiet hum of emptiness, but I called out for Mom just to be sure. When there was no answer, I pointed Dwight to the sofa. “Have a seat, dude. I’m gonna get us something to drink. You like root beer?”

  “Wait,” Dwight said, grabbing my arm as I started for the kitchen. His face had that keen look again. “Come here.”

  He pulled me down on the sofa with him. Despite his bulging muscles, I was still surprised at his strength. I hadn’t run across many teenaged guys as strong as I was. Once I was sitting next to him, I gave him a perplexed look, wondering what the hell was up.

  Dwight didn’t say anything. He just reached up, hooked a finger into the ribbed collar of my sweatshirt and pulled me slowly, inexorably toward him. I resisted because I still hadn’t realized what this was about. Then he brought his face to mine. I saw his eyes close as our lips met.

  That was a surprise, but a nice one. It was nothing like our kiss last night. His mouth moved hard and hungrily against mine. I closed my eyes, letting the feel of the kiss melt into me.

  Dwight’s left arm came up and around my shoulders. His right hand was twisting itself into the fabric of my sweatshirt, pulling it tight against my torso. His tongue thrust suddenly between my lips and into my mouth, and my whole body jerked with astonishment. I’d never experienced anything like that before. His tongue was sandpapery, and slippery, and very warm. It seemed such an audacious, outrageous thing to do, and it sent a thrill rocking right down to my toes.

  Dwight pulled away and looked at me. His mouth hung open, his face full of this amazement, as if he couldn’t believe what he himself had just done. I just sat there, waiting to see what he would do next.

  He pressed forward again, pushing me back onto the sofa, his mouth on mine once more. One of his hands moved down, sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. He moaned something against my lips, a desperate, almost angry sound.

  He reared back, pulling me with him so that we were sitting upright again. Grabbing the hem of my sweatshirt with both hands, he yanked the garment up and over my head. He looked at my bare chest, his eyes glazing over. I wished my muscles were in better shape. Then he planted both hands roughly against my shoulders and shoved me back down onto the sofa.

  Part of me thought, Damn, this dude is tough. That part of me was excited by what was happening. But as Dwight fell on me, another part of my head filled with hesitation and uncertainty.

  I don’t know exactly when I began to feel afraid, or where that fear came from. This was happening too fast. And it also wasn’t happening fast enough. The feel of Dwight’s body against mine, the brutal, desperately needy way he pawed at me, made me want things I couldn’t name. But it also made me want to heave him off, to get away from him.

  I tried to push him back, but he had my arms pinned to the cushions and I couldn’t get the leverage I needed. The only other option was to get my leg up and shove him off with my foot, and I didn’t want to do that for fear of hurting him. A little cry started somewhere deep in my throat, a laugh choked with irony. What the hell happened to the dude who, not even twenty-four hours ago, was too shy to kiss me good night? And why was I all of a sudden the shy one?

  I don’t think either of us realized the front door was opening until we heard it swish rapidly over the rug in the foyer. Dwight sprang off me in a single move, standing upright next to the sofa. I sat up anxiously, turning to see Mom coming into the living room with Reece.

  Mom was leaning against Reece, and his arm was around her waist, supporting her. She looked sick, her face pale and sweaty. Both of them stopped walking when they spotted us, eyes going round with shock. The next moment, Mom’s face sharpened into suspicion, followed quickly by anger.

  “Kyle? What in the world are you doing?”

  Dwight was standing as rigid as a post, his expression suggesting he had been caught burglarizing the place. I was naked from the waist up, my lips were still moist from Dwight’s exuberant kisses, and somewhere in all that hustle and bustle on the sofa, my jeans had been opened and unzipped. Trust me, her last question notwithstanding, my mom was not dense.

  “Who is this?” Mom snapped, pointing at Dwight.

  “He’s my friend. Dwight Varley. Dwight, this is my moms and her—”

  Mom wasn’t interested in introductions just now. “What are you doing here, Kyle? You’re supposed to be at your dad’s.” She put a hand to her forehead, looking sick again. “I can’t deal with this. Kyle, you get dressed and get back over to your father’s house. I am going to call him in fifteen minutes, and you’d better be there.” She leaned against Reece again, and he started guiding her toward the hall.

  I fastened my jeans, grabbed my sweatshirt, and stood up, staring at Mom. She looked really sick. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  “Just go, Kyle,” she said without looking back. “Get out of here.”

  Dwight was edging his way toward the door. I stared after Mom. She was sick. She had probably been sick for days and never said anything to me about it. I wanted to go to her. I had to help her. I couldn’t just leave.

  Reece looked at me. “Go ahead, Kyle,” he said calmly and firmly. “You can help best by doing what your mom asked. I’ll take care of her.”

  I didn’t want to go, but I obeyed. I pulled on my sweatshirt and followed Dwight out of the house.

  Ten

  “I’M OUT, Dad. See ya later.” All trussed up in my school uniform early on Monday morning, I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder.

  “Hold on, man,” Dad yelled from his room.

  I sighed. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be.”

  Something about the way he said that sent dread slipping down my back like a cold finger. Dad had gotten a call just minutes after Dwight dropped me off at the town house Saturday afternoon. Dad took the receiver and shut himself away in his room, so I knew the caller was Mom. I went out onto the patio where Stephanie was grilling shrimp, certain that the upcoming conversation with Dad was going to be anything but fun. But when Dad joined us a few minutes later, he was his usual jokey self, never mentioning anything about his talk with Mom. Nor did he say anything about it Sunday. Dwight sent me a text that afternoon apologizing for what happened at Mom’s, and I texted back that everything was okay. I went to bed Sunday night thinking I’d dodged that bullet.

  Now I perched on the arm of the sofa, head slumped, resigned. Dad hurried into the living room in slacks, dress shirt, and tie, carrying a blazer over his arm.

  “Why are you looking so whipped?” he asked. “I’m giving you a ride to school.”

  “What for? You and Mom have been making me walk since I was twelve.”

  “Can’t I do my boy a favor?”

  I shook my head, frustrated. “Whatever.”

  In the car, as we rode out of the parking lot, I reached down and turned on the radio. Dad immediately switched it off again.

  He took a deep breath. “What’s going on with you and Dwight?” he asked carefully.

  I shrugged off the question. “Nothing.”

  “Kyle, I know you sneaked him over to your mom’s Saturday while she was out. I’m not angry with you, but I… your mom and I are a little worried. There’s so much disease out there, and you have to be so careful these days—”

  “Dad, I didn’t have sex with Dwight, if that’s where you’re going with this. I haven’t had sex with anybody.”

  “But it sounds as if the two of you were headed that way when your mom came in Saturday.”

  “Well… yeah. I kind of wanted it to happen, but then I kind of didn’t. You know what I mean?”

  “Not really, no. Why don’t you translate that into English for me.”

  It was cloudy and cool, with a hint of rain in the air. This was the first morning we’d had so far where it actually felt like autumn. I stared ahead at the leafy gold-and-green arch the trees spread over the street. “I think Dwight had some trouble going on
at home Saturday. He was all stressed out, and I figured he wanted to talk about it, which is why I took him to Mom’s. But after we got there, it was like he needed something more than just talking. We sort of went at each other. After a while, I wasn’t really as into it as he was, for some reason, but he… he just needed it, and I didn’t want to turn him down.”

  Dad gave a heavy sigh. “So, your first time wasn’t going to be with someone you felt really close to, it was just about you feeling sorry for somebody. Is that the gist of it?”

  “Was your first time with someone you felt really close to?”

  “No, but that’s beside the point.”

  “It always is when it comes to you, Dad.”

  “Son, you’ve barely known this Dwight kid two days. You don’t owe sex to him or anybody else just because they’re having a bad day. As a matter of fact, don’t have sex at all until you’re sure you’re ready for it, until you’re sure it’s what you want.” He was barking out his words, the way he did when he got upset. I wanted to tell him to heel. “Do you have condoms?”

  “I’ve got the box you gave me last year.”

  “I need to get you some new ones. No matter what, just be careful, for God’s sake, okay?”

  “I will.” I didn’t want to get him any more agitated than he already was, but I had been worrying about Mom all night. “Hey, Dad, how did Mom sound when you talked to her Saturday?”

  “Pissed.”

  “She didn’t sound sick or anything?”

  “No. Why are you asking?”

  “She was supposed to be doing interviews all afternoon, but she came home early. She was so sick Reece had to practically carry her to her room. She didn’t say anything to you about that?”

  “Man, your mom doesn’t talk to me about her personal life these days.”

  “Well, she sure isn’t gonna tell me a damn thing. Can you ask her what’s going on?”

  His eyes filled with reluctance before I could even get the question out. He rolled his head to one side, sighing again. “That’s something you’re gonna have to handle on your own, son. Just tell her that you’re worried and ask her what’s up.”