4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Gary

S itting on the brown suede swivel chair in Mel’s father’s home office, Gary reached out to touch the stucco-textured wall and pushed. The chair began to spin in a circle, and he pulled his knees close to his chest as he stomach lurched from the chair’s motion.

“Mel, I think I might vomit,” he warned.

“Maybe you should stop spinning, then,” Mel said from the love seat across the room as she filed her nails, her legs resting on the mustard-yellow cushions.

“But if I’m spinning, it’s much easier for me to pretend that the centripetal force is the reason I feel like I might lose my lunch.”

“Uh-oh. Did one of your students proposition you again?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, one of my students has been stalking my office hours and not because she’s concerned with limits, either. I mean, clearly she has no personal limits, so why would she be interested in the mathematical concept?” Gary let his legs fall and stopped the chair with his feet. He curled his toes in the plush carpet. “But, no, that isn’t it.”

“Okay, so, what?”

“Remember Billy from the food court?”

Mel paused and looked up at him with a curious expression. “Really handsome custodian?”

“Right. Well, his real name is Jeff, and I’m interviewing him on Saturday.” Gary proceeded to tell Mel the story of how Jeff had called into the station to correct him for spreading misinformation on weather patterns. When he was finished, he scrunched up his nose and said, “And the worst part is, I like him.”

Despite the fact that his body had stopped spinning, his mind was still turning like a top.

“Oooooo,” Mel said, raising her eyebrows a couple of times. “Fun.”

“No, not fun. I hate liking people. We’re not in New York. We’re in Ohio. In our thirties . Chances of him being into men? Probably zilch.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m pretty sure the only other available gay man in Trumbull County even remotely close to our age is Kevin Hall, and we both know how that ended.”

“He wasn’t right for you.”

“I was clingy as cling wrap. No, worse, I was flypaper,” Gary said, cringing. “God, Mel, I basically smothered him to death!”

“He’s not dead .”

“Close to it. He took over the funeral home.”

“From his uncle.”

Leaning forward, Gary covered his head with his hands and let out a groan. “Look, I can’t let myself like Jeff. He’s cool, and he chases tornadoes. Besides, we both know how I am. I like people too much, too soon. Kevin wasn’t right for me, and, boy howdy, I knew that, but still...” Gary’s hands moved lower to cover his face. In a muffled voice, he said, “I wanted him to be.”

“But you know that about yourself now. Surely that counts for something.”

“If I let myself like Jeff, and by some miracle, he likes men, and by some even larger miracle, he likes me, I’m sure I’ll start to cling. And that’ll push him away,” Gary lamented from behind his hands. “It’s a pattern for me. ”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about college . It was a million years ago.”

“College and my master’s program. And it wasn’t a million years ago. Only ten.” After coming out from his silly hiding spot, Gary sat up straighter, shame still making his cheeks warm. “Every fling was the one . Ugh, I can’t even think about it now. It’s mortifying. Somehow, I managed to find several men who seemed to like me at Kent State, and yet, I messed up every single one of those relationships. Or, almost relationships. Like I said, looking back, they were only flings, and yet, I threw my whole self into each of them before I even knew the men well enough to... to know what flavor of ice cream they liked. Geez, I mean, I scared them away before I could even begin to know if they were right for me.”

“Come on. Don’t beat yourself up. With everything you’ve been through with your family...” Mel offered a half-smile. “I can see how it would be hard not to feel the need to try for that... for that promise of forever. You’ve been scared of losing people your whole life.”

“It’s pathetic.”

“Well, you’re older and wiser now.”

“Older, yes. Wiser? Eh . . .”

Mel tossed the nail file over to the desk. It bounced off, landing on the floor.

“Are you thinking of canceling your interview?” she asked.

Gary squirmed in his seat. “A little.”

“Don’t.” Mel swung her legs over to the floor, and Gary stared down at her lime-green leg warmers, kind of wishing he had a pair. “No one said you had to try to pursue him. Can’t you make a friend? I’m tired of being your only friend. It’s a burden.”

Gary’s head snapped up, and he caught her eyes. “Shoot, really? ”

“No! I knew that’d make you flinch, though.” With a playful smile, Mel stretched out a leg to tap one of his feet with hers. “Make a friend. That way, I won’t feel so bad for wanting to spend time with Ken on Saturday afternoons.”

“I’m sorry if I’m making you feel bad.”

“You’re not, I promise. But I’d feel better if I knew you had someone else to spend time with. Come on, Gary, make a friend. Or a boyfriend. And, hey, maybe you’ll hate him once you spend more time together.”

“Here’s hoping,” Gary sighed.

For the next half hour, Gary and Mel chatted about Mel’s boyfriend Ken, which was perfectly fine with Gary. Focusing on Mel’s evening plans proved to be a welcome break from obsessing over Jeff and his unbelievably beautiful face.

When it was nearly three, Gary left to go see his mom and sister. Even though Dawn was three years his senior, she still lived with their mom, though not really by choice. Eight or so years prior, her then-boyfriend had split once she’d become pregnant with their twins, telling her that he wasn’t really up for being a father.

Funny how history tended to repeat itself.

After a quick bicycle ride across town, Gary found Dawn sitting outside his mother’s three-bedroom colonial smoking a cigarette, while her kids—Gary’s niece and nephew, though, wow, he barely ever spent time with either of them—colored with chalk in the driveway. When Gary stopped to hop off his bike, she snuffed out her cigarette in the brown ceramic ashtray by her feet and stood.

“Little brother,” she said with a smirk. “Where have you been lately?”

“Busy, busy.” He unclipped his helmet. “Didn’t you say you had a box of stuff for me?”

“Yeah, three weeks ago,” Dawn said, her hand on her hip. “Mom said we need to start clearing out the little room off of the kitchen. I think her knees are starting to bother her too much to keep going up and down the stairs.”

“She wants to sleep in a closet?”

“It’s not a closet,” she protested, to which Gary raised an eyebrow. “Okay, it’s sort of a closet, but what else can we do?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Gary felt a twinge in his chest, making his heart ache.

“So, why haven’t you come by?” Dawn asked.

Because it hurts.

Gary fumbled for a less horrible response. “I barely have time to breathe in between my courses and the radio show.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Curse of showbiz, sis. I swear I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Alright, well, the box is on the back porch if you want it.”

Gary forced a smile. “Thanks.” He started down the driveway toward his niece and nephew, neither of whom seemed particularly interested in his presence, and knelt down. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Drawing,” his nephew Joey said, the boy’s tone suggesting that Gary’s inquiry was more than a little stupid. Look with your eyeballs, Gare!

Geez, he’d have to spend more time with these two. Despite the twins being around for nearly eight years, he still hadn’t figured out how to talk to them. Guilt twisted in Gary’s stomach. He looked over at Amy’s cat doodle. That had to be their cat, right?

“Is that Ginger?”

“Yep.”

Wow, these kids loved to chat, huh? Resigned to staying the World’s Most Mediocre Uncle (for the moment, at least), Gary pushed himself to stand and continued to the porch to find the box of knickknacks or heirlooms or whatever it was that Dawn had thrown together. He was happy enough to take it. Not that he needed more stuff to cram into his tiny house, but maybe he could have a yard sale later in the spring to take care of whatever he couldn’t use.

When Gary reached the porch, his mother came outside, her previously permed curls limp and her clothes in need of a wash. The knot in Gary’s stomach tightened even more.

“Hey, Gare,” she said, the smoke from her cigarette billowing into the air. “Don’t you pick up your phone anymore?”

“Uh, well, I’ve been a little busy,” Gary said, floundering through the excuse as his lunch threatened to creep back up his throat. “Some of my students are struggling, so...”

Nodding thoughtfully, she took a long drag of her cigarette. Thankfully, even though she probably knew the reason he gave was shit, she’d likely let it slide.

“Just take whatever you want from that box,” she said. “Donate or trash the rest.”

“Yeah, okay.” Gary rubbed the back of his neck. “So... how have you been?”

“Fine,” she said before taking another puff. “But my knees have been bothering me lately.”

“Yeah, Dawn said as much.”

“If I hadn’t needed to work at that nursing home, helping lift those folks—”

Gary’s stomach soured more. “Yeah, I know,” he said, cutting her off.

But she continued on. “I mean, your father—”

“Mom, I have to head back,” he sputtered, cutting her off again. “Showtime, you know?”

“Always in a hurry.”

“Sorry.”

Gary took the box without opening it and then spun around before heading back to the front. He knew that as long as he was with his family, the knot in his stomach would just get worse. It was like the world’s largest ball of rubber bands had somehow found its way inside of him, and with each minute that came to pass, one more band stretched over top, more and more and more of them until eventually, there’d be no room to even breathe.

Barely managing to balance the box in the crook of his arm, Gary climbed onto his bike and started for home. In times like this, he vaguely considered purchasing a car, but he knew that wouldn’t be very economical. After all, he borrowed Mel’s or Dawn’s whenever he really needed one. Even if this stupid box ended up causing him to crash, he had trouble seeing how the temporary inconvenience of minor potential injuries could justify future monthly car payments and oil changes and insurance costs. No thank you. He was happy enough with his bike.

Gary raced home as fast as his legs could pedal, and by the time he reached his house, sweat was practically pouring out of him. The mild winter weather hadn’t been much help on that front. Once in the garage, Gary tossed the box onto the cement floor, bracing himself to hear something shatter, but the only sound was the dull thud of the cardboard as the box landed.

While unclipping his helmet, Gary took a breath to steady his nerves. Might as well see what he’d lugged across Niles, huh? Whatever it was would probably be relegated to the garage. No point in carrying everything into the house first.

Gary lifted the box and set it atop a barely used work bench, one that he’d inherited from the house’s previous occupants. The moment he opened the cardboard flaps, his knees nearly buckled, his breath leaving his lungs in one fast huff. For those first few seconds, Gary stood frozen, forgetting to breathe, only remembering to inhale once little colorful spots started to form in front of his eyes .

In the box, resting against a stuffed bear with mangy faux fur and one missing eye, was a photograph he hadn’t seen in years, one of a scrawny boy with short brown hair and a button-up plaid shirt—black and white in the photograph, but one Gary remembered as yellow and brown—cradling a baseball in his hands. Kneeling next to him was a man who couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than he was now—with a mustache and a receding hairline and a kind smile that was nothing more than a lie.

His entire body trembling, Gary picked the box back up and carried it over to the trash.

***

Gary stuck his fork into the bowl of freshly made potato salad for his seventh taste test. Moving the slightly mushy potato over his tongue, he tried to scrutinize the flavor—savory and tangy with a hint of sweetness—and wondered whether or not it was scrumptious enough to win Jeff over. Not romantically, of course. Well, okay, maybe romantically. No. Not romantically. Potato salad was not the way to anyone’s heart, no matter the circumstances. Especially not these circumstances. Jeff was a straight man coming over for a friendly interview. Nothing more. And to make sure it couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as romantic, Gary had taken out the worst set of bowls he had—white ones made with cheap plastic that had pictures of horrifying clowns on them (they were fairly standard-looking clowns, but to Gary, every clown in existence was horrifying)—to serve the food .

After tossing the fork into the sink with the pile of other taste-test forks, Gary took one of Mrs. Schmidt’s cookies and shoved it into his mouth whole. He hadn’t even chewed yet when there was a knock at the door, and then he sucked in a breath, nearly causing him to choke. Struggling to compose himself, Gary coughed and sputtered before forcing himself to chew, the taste of the cinnamon and chocolate hardly even registering.

Geez, that would have been an embarrassing way to exit the earth. Inhaling an entire cookie. What a bozo.

Swallowing both his nervousness and the mushy chewed remnants of the cookie, Gary hurried to the front door. When he answered, Jeff took one look at him and immediately cocked his head to the side.

“Uh, hi,” Jeff said.

“Hi!”

“Everything okay?”

Gary swallowed once more, his throat still tight and heart still pounding from his pathetic near-death experience. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem . . . frazzled.”

“Minor choking incident,” Gary said with a flippant shrug. He stepped aside to make room for Jeff to walk past him. “Welcome to the lair of the infamous Gary Graham.”

As Jeff came inside, he snorted and said, “I wasn’t aware of your villain status.”

“I’m only known to my nemesis...” Gary took a pause, crossing his arms over his chest as Jeff kicked off his shoes. “Hm, what’s the opposite of a graham cracker?”

Jeff shrugged off his coat. “Something healthy?”

“Graham crackers are healthy. Or, they were supposed to be.” Gary took Jeff’s coat and hung it on the coat rack. “Did you know they were invented as part of the temperance movement? But, you’re right, they have a lot of sugar now.”

“You keep a lot of useless facts in your head.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say useless . I have to keep my listeners entertained.” Gary moved through the living space toward the room that had been repurposed as his radio studio and motioned for Jeff to follow. “I’d say the current graham cracker might be the nemesis to the original graham cracker. What do you think?”

But Jeff no longer seemed interested in Gary’s continued commentary on the protagonist-villain relationship of certain snack foods. Instead, he was looking around, probably trying to figure out how the heck Gary could operate a radio station in such a small space. Which, well, to be fair, it wasn’t easy. Still, it was fun.

Gary opened the door to the transmitter room.

“Want to see the transmitter?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

Gary’s FM transmitter was located inside what was essentially a large storage closet (but had probably been a second bedroom for the previous owners). It was the most impressive thing in the room—a hair taller than Gary was himself with a lot of colorful flashing lights and important-looking buttons, some of which had functions that Gary still didn’t quite understand. It was probably the piece of equipment that Gary was most proud of, but only because it was the newest, having cost him a good chunk of his savings.

“Generates a lot of heat, huh?” Gary said as Jeff ran his hand over the metal.

“Feels like it. It probably heats your whole house for you.”

“Yeah! Isn’t that neat?”

“Sure, radio man. Super neat.”

Jeff’s tone—sarcastic yet playful—made Gary’ s heart flutter.

After Jeff was finished inspecting the transmitter, they went back to the studio room. Rocking back and forth on his heels, Gary forced himself not to babble, instead letting Jeff take some time to look over the other pieces of equipment, even though he really wanted the two of them to chat some more. Once Jeff had flipped through a few of the manuals that Gary had left lying around, he walked over to the broadcasting table, eyeing the setup. He tapped the mic a couple of times with his index finger, and the sight made Gary’s smile broaden. Jeff seemed... impressed, maybe? It was hard to tell.

Running the entire station out of his home was no small feat. Gary knew that compared to much bigger stations in cities like Cleveland or even multimanned stations in rural areas, his little setup wasn’t much—a control board, a microphone, a single cart machine (mostly unused), a reel-to-reel tape recorder, a cassette player, a modulation monitor, an EBS encoder and receiver, and two turntable preamplifiers—but seeing Jeff be maybe a little intrigued by it, boy, was that something. Gary’s chest swelled with pride.

When Jeff took a seat in Gary’s chair, Gary’s smile broadened even more, and a little feeling of fondness pulled at his heart as he watched Jeff spin in a little circle. By the time Jeff slowed and swiveled to face him, Gary could feel that he was absolutely beaming, his cheeks now sore from his incessant smiling.

Smirking, Jeff said, “You look pleased.”

“Pleased as punch, honestly,” Gary replied with a shrug, hoping he could feign even a crumb of nonchalance, though he knew he was probably botching it. “I’ve never brought anyone in here before.”

“No?”

“Nope. No need. I mean, my friend Mel has seen my setup, but no one else. And trust me, she isn’t the least bit impressed. ”

“But I seem impressed.”

“Uh, yeah. I thought so, anyway.” Gary’s smile started to falter. “Are you, in fact, impressed?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff replied with a half-smile. “How’d you afford everything?”

“Oh, well, I had to purchase most of the equipment used,” Gary explained. “There was a station up near Cleveland that was closing, and I basically stole everything from them. Had they sold each piece individually, they’d have probably made a lot more money, but I think they were happy to unload everything in bulk. And most of my records I bought from yard sales.”

“Huh.”

“Yup.” Gary clapped his hands together. “So... wanna start the interview?”

“Might as well.”

“Alright, I’ll set everything up. Just hold tight for a minute.”

Gary moved to the table, and when he leaned over Jeff to pick up the tape recorder, a rush of nervous excitement flooded his veins, shooting through his circulatory system and causing his heart to race. Jeff had a special something about him. He practically radiated coolness. Like the Fonz, but one hundred times sexier. Even though Jeff wasn’t tall—the top of his head came to Gary’s brow ridge—he had a larger-than-life kind of presence, and Gary couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it.

After Gary had the recording equipment set up a few minutes later, he left to find a second chair. Wheeling it back into the production room, he tried not to let on how unsettled he was, taking care to keep his expression friendly and neutral. Once he was situated, he started to record.

“Hi, everyone. Gary Graham, a.k.a. Graham Cracker here, interviewing our local severe-weather fanatic, Jeff Russo, who called into our program last week to correct me on a couple of very large misconceptions I’d had regarding tornadoes and tornado safety. You see, Jeff is what he calls a ‘storm chaser,’ and, well, I had never heard of such a person before. I mean, what a fantastic-sounding hobby. I thought it would be fun to interview Jeff for our evening program so that we could learn a bit more about this interesting pastime. Welcome to the program, Jeff.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Tell me, what is storm chasing, exactly?”

“Just... what it sounds like. I try to see storms.”

“So, while everyone else is running away from a storm, you’re running toward it?”

“Not really.”

“Can you elaborate a little?”

“I try to stay far away. But I watch the clouds form. Sometimes I see a funnel.”

“From how far away, exactly?”

“Quarter mile or so.”

“Do you photograph them?”

“Sometimes.”

For the next ten minutes, the interview progressed like that, with Gary coaxing pitiful one- or two-word answers from Jeff. There were occasional brief segments where Jeff said something a little more thoughtful, but by the end of the interview, Gary wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to air it.

Gosh, he hated to admit it, but he suspected the interview probably wouldn’t be interesting to his listeners. Every time he’d tried to pull a more colorful answer out of Jeff, Jeff had clammed up even more. It was like the hobby was... like it was private for him. Geez. Tomorrow, Mel would probably really razz him over the whole fiasco. Had he actually been fretting for the whole week over this ?

Not that he hadn’t been enjoying hanging out with Jeff. He was nice to look at. And nice to listen to, too. He even smelled kind of nice—musky and manly and maybe a little like vanilla or some kind of scrumptious treat. But, yeah, this interview? Probably not the best material for his show. He couldn’t believe he’d spent hours worrying that he’d fall in love with Jeff over the course of their chat, only to have Jeff barely talk.

With the lackluster recording session behind them, Gary led Jeff into the kitchen so that they could have the potato salad and cookies. Seeing the spread through less-nervous eyes, Gary had to fight the urge to smack his forehead with the palm of his hand. It was probably the strangest midday snack on the planet, especially in the wintertime. Potato salad in February? Nice choice, Gare.

They both took seats at the table, and after a moment of a sort of awkward silence, Gary started on one of the cookies. While he was munching, Jeff eyed the potato salad with what looked to be suspicion.

“So, there’s no mayo?” Jeff asked.

“None.”

Still wearing a skeptical look, Jeff took a bite. After a few seconds of chewing, he nodded and said, “Not bad.” He stabbed a few more pieces of potato with his fork. “I kind of like it.”

Gary’s face lit up. “I knew you would!” He picked up the plate of cookies and held it out to offer Jeff one. If Jeff liked the potato salad, surely he’d enjoy the cookies too. “Chocolate chip?”

“Uh, maybe later.”

Oh, right, Jeff was eating potato salad . Why on earth would he want to mix the flavors of vinegar and chocolate? Gary’s cheeks warmed, and he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Afraid it won’t mesh well with the potato salad, huh?” he remarked .

Desperate to push past his embarrassment, Gary took a cookie from the plate and proceeded to repurpose it as a spoon, scooping up a hunk of potato salad. What better way to shift the mood than by being wacky? God, he’d probably regret this. Bracing himself for a possible retch, Gary shoved the mess into his mouth.

He chewed once. Surprisingly, the flavor really wasn’t all that unpleasant. He gave a small nod to Jeff, who only stared with wide eyes at the rest of the potato salad-topped cookie in Gary’s hand.

“Uh, what the hell was that?” Jeff asked.

“Innovation, I think.” Gary swallowed and tried the mixture a second time. “Oh yeah, hits the spot. Kinda. Hits many spots at once, really.”

Jeff let out a little snort-laugh that was really way too adorable. “Does it hit any of them well ?”

After shoving the rest into this mouth, Gary held up one of his hands and rocked it back and forth while chewing. Somehow, the stupid stunt made Jeff smile even more.

Gary’s stomach flip-flopped excitedly from the sight. Ho-ly heck, what a smile that was. For the next couple of seconds, Gary couldn’t stop himself from staring. And Jeff didn’t stop smiling either. He only cocked one of his eyebrows, probably wondering why Gary suddenly looked a little thunderstruck.

Damn, the way Jeff’s eyes were crinkling at the corners was nothing short of magical. Okay, so, Jeff’s interview may have been the most snore-inducing recording ever fit to tape, but his smile had enough oomph to oust Mona Lisa from her throne. If Gary could have come up with a saying that meant the exact opposite of “you have a face for radio,” he’d have blurted it out right then.

Jeff thumbed over his shoulder. “So, maybe I should...”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Gary rubbed the back of his neck. “Unless...”

“What? ”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Jeff stood up from the table and moved to the counter, where he placed his empty clown bowl in the sink. Then Gary showed him out. As he watched Jeff shove his feet into his sneakers, Gary couldn’t help but wish he’d had the courage to ask Jeff to stay. Jeff’s company had been distracting enough that it had taken his mind off of that stupid photograph. But maybe it was for the best if Jeff left. It wasn’t like the two of them could really be anything. Gary had no business being in a relationship anyway, not with how clingy he knew he would be. And, well, considering the whole heartbreaking AIDS crisis, he should probably be careful about how often he hopped into bed with someone, too (which hadn’t happened in forever, but Gary knew that, if Jeff ever showed interest in him, he’d hop into bed with the man. Or whatever might be even faster than hopping. Leaping, maybe?).

What’s more, Gary shouldn’t even entertain the possibility of friendship either. Despite what Mel had said, Gary had no need for extra friends. His time was limited enough. Besides, the more people he had in his life, the more he had to worry about people leaving his life, especially if he became close with someone, and so, if he and Jeff ever became friends, he’d probably spend their entire friendship obsessing over whether or not Jeff still wanted to stay friends, which was really no way to live.

Rationalizations like these continued to circle through Gary’s mind as he escorted Jeff to his car. And even though he knew he shouldn’t even be hoping for either friendship or romance, Gary couldn’t really refute how much he’d enjoyed their time together or how incredibly cute Jeff was. Especially while he’d been eating wintertime potato salad out of a silly clown bowl.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately—depending on which part of Gary’s brain was still rationalizing—that wasn’t going to happen.

They reached the car, and Jeff stepped up and opened the door. “Alright, well, see ya, Gare,” Jeff said, climbing in without any sort of hesitation.

“Take care, Jeff,” Gary replied, and Jeff nodded slightly and shut the door.

Once Jeff’s car was far from view, Gary wrapped his arms around himself to stave off the cold. Then he turned and headed back into his house. The moment the heat from inside hit him, he barely suppressed a shudder, little bumps pebbling over his skin from the temperature change. It was nice to be back inside, out of the late-winter chill.

He knelt to take off his shoes, and when he noticed Jeff’s coat still hanging on the coat rack, the sight of the bright blue-and-black nylon fabric had Gary’s heart pitter-pattering in his chest. Funny that Jeff would forget something like that. Especially since it was only forty-two degrees outside.