The town of babylon, p.22
The Town of Babylon, page 22
“I’ll ask Simone in typing tomorrow.”
* * *
U need 2c him every day? We haven’t hung in 4eva,” Simone wrote above her drawing of Sister Anne, a frail, hunchbacked interpretation with pointy dragon ears.
“Sorry,” Andy wrote back. “Tutoring him in math iii & eng. He’s trying to get grades up. Wants to apply late admission to state schools.”
“Thought he was going to c.c.”
“Guess he’s trying to keep options open.”
“Okay, how about this Fri?”
“Track meet.”
“After? Carnival?”
“Deal,” Andy wrote, without clarifying that he’d already made plans to meet Jeremy there.
Simone did as she was asked and signed Andy in. Sister Anne was none the wiser, preoccupied instead with her Philip Roth collection, books she kept on hand but never recommended to the students.
The balmy, chaotic night of carnival arrived. Enormous steel beasts rising up from the school’s parking lot, their clunky parts spinning and whirling through the air. Roving adolescence. Screams in motion, nearby, far away, nearby again. The inescapable mix of cloying and savory aromas. Pavement littered with popcorn and peanut shells. An ephemeral world suffused with life.
It started off copasetic, Andy and Simone together, boisterous in their sounds and movements. Until Jeremy arrived. Then Andy was lost. Distracted. Where was Jeremy? What was he doing? Who was he talking to? If Simone stopped for even a moment to talk to anyone, Andy used it as an excuse to scamper off in search of Jeremy, often losing his place in line for a ride.
Barely an hour into the night, Simone left without saying goodbye. She was less annoyed by Andy’s flakiness, which she’d come to expect, than deflated by Mary’s cruelty.
Mary Ortiz and Simone had shared a hotel room during the volleyball semifinals at the end of the season. Mary—good student, light-skinned, long, shiny black hair, never took off her gold hoops, even on the court—had initiated. She swore she’d seen a ghost in the window of their room. “I’m sleeping with you,” she shouted. And without waiting for Simone’s reply, she’d slid into the bed, assuming the position of little spoon. For fifteen minutes, Mary alternated between exaggerated yawning and subtle inching, farther and farther back, until there was nowhere to go but in. On. Over. Under. Between. Then the ghost was gone, and Mary moved back to her bed. Her smell lingered—a flowery perfume layered over coconut lotion. It filled Simone’s nostrils and remained on her lips and fingers for days. But at practice the following week, the scent curdled. Mary’s smiles were awkwardly constructed. Her eyes, her neck, and her waist were aloof. She grew fidgety if they were alone and someone approached. There were a few more sleepovers, usually on Friday nights, during which Simone’s excitement remained only vaguely at bay. She chose a furtive patience, waiting for Mary to make first and second moves. Mary with such soft lips and warm skin and hair that tickled Simone’s face, breasts, and stomach. Mary whose fingers felt both tender and exhilarating inside of Simone, and whose insides seemed, to Simone, distinct from her very own, somehow softer and less resistant. Mary so giggly and nimble and perfect to the point of apparition. Mary who was dating Jerrod, the football player who’d graduated the year before. Mary beneath the carnival lights, looking back at Simone but not smiling. Mary who left without saying hello or goodbye. Mary who’d soon announce that she was pregnant with twins, Jerrod Junior and Jerry, due in September when everyone was starting college. Mary who’d be pregnant again the following year.
Simone’s relationship with Mary had fleeted past so quickly. It left Simone wondering how real it had been. Had Mary felt anything at all? Had Simone overreacted to something casual?
Simone kept all of this to herself. Who would she have told anyway? It was her father who had been prone to qualitative research. He’d been the one who kept the inquiries broad. Never assumed anything. Just Anyone special? It would have been easier to confide in him. And certainly Simone would have scored points with him by virtue of Mary being Black. “Please, oh please, don’t let her bring home a white boy,” she’d heard her father say. He’d said it with a humorous tone, but he’d said it more than once.
Simone’s mother might have taken it well. Overall, Phyllis was fine, an easy person actually, but she kept a distance about certain things. In fact, she was never around. It seemed there was always a conference or meeting or field trip to attend. Distance was, as far as Simone was concerned, better than the puckered lips, wrinkled nose, and accordion brow that accompanied disapproval.
Simone could have confided in Eleanor. Voted most unique in the yearbook, jewelry made from candy, pixie cut, thigh-high striped socks, self-proclaimed bisexual. Eleanor was friendly and had glommed on to Simone during a ski trip at the end of sophomore year. Certainly she sensed something. Simone liked Eleanor well enough, but there was something about Eleanor that was too committed to the truth. Too confident. Too fearless. Or too good at concealing fear. Simone wasn’t ready for the sort of honesty that was Eleanor’s currency.
And then there was Andy. Familiar and funny. Kind and smart. But also self-centered and melodramatic. He’d been a good friend for years, but was now unreliable to the point of absence. He wasn’t someone to confide in, not about this.
* * *
Andy knew he’d done Simone wrong, but instead of following her home from the carnival or simply calling, he’d allowed Jeremy to soak up all of his attention, plenty of which was required that night. Jeremy had seen Andy step off the Ferris wheel with another guy, a charmless boy from a competing Catholic school who happened to be standing behind him in line. Jeremy was upset nonetheless. All the way home, he alternated between irrationally angry and irrationally silent.
“Wanna go to the movies?” Andy suggested during one of the silences.
“Or you could just go hang out with your Ferris wheel faggot.”
Andy, too, kept quiet after that, lamenting that he hadn’t stayed with Simone instead.
It wasn’t only Andy’s friendships that declined in those months. The previous semester, he’d gotten his first B—physics. If the relationship with Jeremy had bloomed even six months earlier, it’s possible Andy wouldn’t have gotten into college. Now, it seemed, Jeremy’s volatility was being triggered by the acceptances.
Andy’s celebrations had been muted around everyone except for his mother, who, for each letter, surprised him with a small gift: a box of eclairs from the expensive bakery near her office, skirt steak on Saturdays, Working Girl on DVD, the Soul Food soundtrack, family dinner at Athena’s. Henry, for his part, said nothing, which was no particular surprise. By that point, it seemed that he was more of a lodger than a family member. Álvaro’s responses were the same after each letter: I knew you could do it. The one rejection brought about a variation: “You could have done it.”
* * *
I’ll go with you,” Jeremy said. They were lying in Jeremy’s bed, naked apart from the beads of sweat and a thin sheet. This was the second Wednesday in a row of cutting class. None of the nuns, it seemed, had been the wiser.
“I’ll be in a dorm. We can’t live together.”
“My cousin goes to college, and my mom says he lives in his own place. We could do that. Find an apartment together near whatever college you pick.”
“Maybe. But the budgets all include dorms for housing. I don’t know if they’ll cover any other type of housing. And it’s probably more expensive.”
“I have some savings. I’ll get a job, too. They have pizza places everywhere. Or I can do whatever.”
“What about school?”
“They don’t have community colleges there?”
“Probably. I don’t know. I can call the schools and ask.”
Jeremy rolled over from his back onto Andy, both of them still sloppy and moist. “One more?” Before Andy could respond, Jeremy had pinned the underside of Andy’s leg to his chest.
“Condom.”
“Every time?”
“Sister Mackey says the vagina can have micro-tears that make sexually transmitted infections more likely for the receptive partner. It’s gotta be even worse for the anus.”
“Dude, you pay way too much attention in class.”
“C’mon.”
“But you’re the only person I’m having sex with. If I wear a condom it’s like you’re saying you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you here,” Andy said, resting his palm on his chest, “but I have trouble trusting up here.” Andy tapped a finger to his temple. “I’d be super nervous after. I promise it has nothing to do with you. My parents would kill me if I got AIDS.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten AIDS from going inside of me without a condom last week?”
“I guess,” Andy responded and smiled. “That was just once.”
“That’s wack, dude.” Jeremy closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, annoyed but also amused. “Fine, but this is my last one; you’re going to have to buy the next batch.”
“Okay. No problem.”
“No problem.” Jeremy affected a squeaky voice, before ripping the packet open and reaching for the bottle of hand lotion.
As the time to choose a school neared, Jeremy grew testier, more jealous, unkind. Although they rarely had cause to interact during school, they’d always acknowledged each other—head nods, soft pats on the back, lingering looks and handshakes, once, a stairwell kiss; another time, Jeremy followed Andy into the locker room and playfully massaged him through his boxers until a dime-sized area grew darker and eventually became quarter-sized, causing Andy to panic and pull away. Now it was Jeremy who seemed unsure. He wasn’t there in the morning. He wasn’t there at lunch. He didn’t wait for Andy after school. On Wednesday, there was no sign of him when it was time to cut out early.
Before Jeremy, Andy had been an expert at retreating. Always making an effort to hide how he felt and who he was, measuring himself against the other kids in the room. How did the boys move? Speak? How did the girls? How did the white kids? How did the Black kids? The few other kids who were neither? To what extent could he borrow from one without being admonished or ridiculed by another? Jeremy changed all of that. Andy had never before felt the power and weight of a mutual, romantic love. Being with Jeremy peeled back a layer of artifice, leaving him feeling new and alive, but also vulnerable. How many layers were there? he wondered. And how long would he need to be this happy and free before he could actually be a happy and free person? The person he would have been if the world were as it should be. What would become of him now if Jeremy disappeared?
* * *
What the fuck, man? You scared the shit out of me. How did you get in here? How long have you been in here?”
Andy had cut his last two classes. He’d been sitting in the passenger seat of Jeremy’s car for at least an hour. “You left it unlocked.”
“Fuck, Andy.”
“You’ve been ignoring me all week. You know I can’t call you, and you didn’t call me. In the hallways, you look the other way. This morning, in the cafeteria, you got up and left the table when you saw me coming. You haven’t given me a ride home since Friday. On Monday, I didn’t get on the late bus because I thought you were going to take me home. I had to go back and ask my coach for a ride. That was embarrassing.”
Jeremy leaned forward, setting his forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you being this way? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything. This is all me.”
“Me? Aren’t I at least part of you now?”
Jeremy lifted his head and turned to face Andy.
“I’m feeling a little crazy,” Andy said, in a low voice. “I think about you when we’re not together. I hate not being able to call or see you whenever I want. The other night, I was awake in bed just thinking of going to your place and climbing in through your window. I almost did. I got dressed and went downstairs but couldn’t find my dad’s car keys. I tried to sneak into their room to see if they were in my dad’s pants pocket, but he was still awake.”
Andy had been rehearsing this monologue for days. He’d managed to say it all, but at a cost. His voice had broken and tears were beading. He wrapped his arm across his face.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said.
Andy spoke into the crook of his elbow: “But why?”
“I don’t know. I’m a fuckup.”
Jeremy’s voice, too, was now plaited with emotion. Andy, aware that their classmates were scattering about the parking lot, thought twice before taking Jeremy’s hand. But it occurred to him that a friend would do this, not only a boyfriend, so he grabbed it.
“You’re not.” Andy rubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes and his nose.
“I am. I thought if I ignored you, you would leave me alone.”
Andy let go of Jeremy’s hand. “Why?”
“What am I going to do without you? Without this?” Jeremy shouted. “This is the only thing that makes me feel good. When I’m with you, I feel like something good is happening. Like something good is going to happen.”
Jeremy dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, while the tips of his fingers scratched at the top of his head, mussing up his hair.
“Please don’t be upset,” Andy begged. “What can I do? I don’t want to leave you either. We can figure something out. I’ve narrowed it down to two schools. Both are driving distance away. Five, six hours. You can visit whenever you want, or—I called the school, there’s a community college nearby, and we—”
“Let’s get married.”
Jeremy’s red eyes, tousled hair, loosened tie, and unbuttoned shirt made the proposal seem dire and unintended, but also honest. Andy felt little control over his lips, which extended upward into a glorious smile.
“I mean it. I only need you,” Jeremy continued. “With you, I’ll be happy. I know it. I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I want everything and everyone in our way to just, I don’t know, disappear. Everyone tells us our lives are beginning and everything’s gonna speed by and we’re supposed to make the most of it. If that’s true, then I want it to begin now. With you.”
Jeremy was shouting. Andy scanned the immediate area around the car. The tailgating portion of the afterschool procession was over, and now everyone was caravanning away, cigarettes lit, hands hanging out of their windows. Andy was torn between happiness and caution, but also envy and admiration. Only a secure person could be as vulnerable as Jeremy had just been; only someone who didn’t care what others thought could be so honest.
Jeremy leaned across the gearshift, digging his elbow inadvertently into Andy’s thigh, and flicked open the glove compartment. A few papers threatened to spill out as he rifled through the contents. He pulled out a packet of gum, unwrapped two pieces, popped one in his mouth, and was about to take the other before stopping himself. “Want?”
“No, thanks.”
Jeremy then took the two thin sheets of foil that had encased the gum and rolled each one up. He tied one around the ring finger of his left hand and pressed the ends tightly until they held steadily. “Give me your hand,” he said.
“What?”
Jeremy took Andy’s left hand in his right. “Will you?”
“What?” Andy said, with an artful smirk that transitioned quickly into the widest, most anxious smile he’d ever felt across his face.
“Marry me, Andrés.”
“I will.”
* * *
Andy accepted an offer. It was from a prestigious university that no one from St. Ignatius had ever attended. It was also the one that awarded him the most financial aid. He’d gone with his parents to visit the verdant, hilly campus in May. When he returned, Jeremy was again behaving erratically, changing plans at a moment’s notice, sitting taciturn beside him, looking for any reason to disagree with Andy—about food, about a movie, about the color of a passing car. The proposal a couple of weeks earlier had remained a theoretical prospect; they hadn’t talked at all about what they would actually do. For some reason or another, Jeremy hadn’t been able to contact the community college nearest to Andy’s school. Andy wondered if he had changed his mind, but then Jeremy suggested they drive up to the school (“Let’s scope it out together”). In the days before the trip, Jeremy’s car broke down, and his parents wouldn’t loan him one of theirs.
By mid-July, their future remained in limbo. Jeremy was working at Tony’s, shaping dough and sweeping. Without a car, he couldn’t deliver pizzas and, consequently, collect tips, the source of most of his money. All of this led to more irritability, arguments, and long spells of silence, interrupted only by moments of passion, a pattern similar to the one Andy had known all his life, the downward spiral of fear and affection that he’d grown adept at managing and, occasionally, breaking. It was all made worse by the subterfuge—lying, hiding, borrowing cars—required to see one another.
“What if we ran away?” Andy asked Jeremy.
They were parked in the nearly emptied lot at the beach. Up above, the sky was a severe, almost catastrophic indigo, framed below by dune tops, each sprouting blades of grass, like the new, desperate beginning of a life or its final days. The windows were down, allowing for the intermittent sound of rolling waves slapping against the coast. Everything was at once comforting and ominous. Andy hadn’t been here since the end of spring, when he and Simone had dropped acid and hung out on the beach, a reunion and a reconciliation. It’d been a bad trip for Andy; the stress of everything swirling in his life had sucked the light from the hallucinogenic effect and trapped him inside of his own mind. The experience had been both an allegory and a consequence.
