FICTION
Gay Teens and a Bullet Hole in the Window
For three unsupervised, closeted kids, it was an invitation
We spent a half hour guessing at why there was a bullet hole in the window, before we took turns fighting the rusted door open, grunting, piling together into the darkness. The abandoned house was half crumbled and alone in a meadow of daffodils surrounded by pine trees on neighboring farmland, so I know it must have been February or March when we found it, even if I try to forget the date every year.
The light from the window showed numbers written in faded white chalk all over the place. Some numbers were more legible than others, but they added up to a lot by the time they reached the bottom of the last wall.
“I bet it’s money!” You thought it was enough to change everything. Maybe it was. Things certainly changed for all of us that day.
You were the one who was most excited about the possibility of buried treasure. Chris only stayed to help because he’d do anything you told him to do. He always loved you the most. That’s why he jumped into that dark hatch in the ground first. I wouldn’t do it because, even with that clunky old flashlight we got, we still couldn’t see the ground.
Whenever someone says, “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” or quips wisely about how there’s more to life than finances, I can still hear your voice yelling after me, as I walked away and you chased behind me. Your last words hit me along with the flashlight you threw at my back.
“It’s easy for you to say that money ain’t important, when you’re not sleepin’ on the floor of a trailer every night. It’s easy for you to say that money ain’t important, when you’re not eatin’ expired cracker cheese snacks that the grocery store gave your Daddy out of sympathy after the credit card was declined again.
It’s easy for you to say that money ain’t important, when you’ve never sat in the hospital with your Memah who got heat stroke from pickin’ strawberries all day, every day, no matter how hot it got, when you’d never watched family make decisions about money that would shorten one life, hopin’ that money might could give a future to others.
It must be nice to come visit and be safe with nature for a lil’ while, then go home to your nice city house.
Come’on Chris! Let’s go do what Ryan here’s too chickenshit to do.”
I wish I had stayed. I wish I had jumped into that hole in the floor for you and Chris. I wish I’d been braver.
Years later, two of us guys would drink Coronas together and carefully avoid talking about that day. Your drunk father interrupted us to ask where he knew me from. He was sure he’d seen me before. When I suggested it was from spending much of my childhood with his son, he insisted he knew my face from elsewhere.
“Ohh, you were that guy in that porno, weren’t you? I never forget a face. Lucky man. Those ladies were hot!”
My face felt uncomfortably warm. I didn’t know what to say, having never been in a porno. I’d also never wanted to sleep with any ladies, but he didn’t seem like the sort of person to share that information with at this moment … or ever. I didn’t want to out you by association. Without a word, you led me away to the place where we all slept under the stars together, holding hands and telling stories.
We walked past the field where we all used to take turns riding Moses bareback. Laughing, I reminded you of the time the long dead horse got spooked by the irrigation system shooting water into the air for the strawberry fields all around us. That was a biblical experience if I’d ever had one. Your advice to hold onto that mane for dear life probably saved me from getting a few broken bones that day.
You laid down towels for us to sit on.
“You know, we don’t live in that trailer anymore,” you said.
I nodded and took a swig, trying to pretend my body wasn’t tense from the memory of your words all those years ago. “I know.”
“My Mama finally got her dream house from the settlement.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
“Did I ever tell you I was getting married? Her name’s Jane. Nice girl.” You looked miserable.
“That’s real nice.”
We sat in silence and sipped beers that felt good, at first, against the oppressive humidity of the August night. We’d probably regret the heat they added to our bodies, when the last bit of golden liquid was gone. I was feeling a bit sorry I’d come. Some memories don’t need reliving.
You looked up at the stars. “Remember how Chris used to say that just below Orion’s Belt was where the stars were born?”
I almost spit out my beer laughing.
“Damn Chris.” I wiped away a tear that caught me by surprise.
Interested in signing up for the Medium to access all of our writers’ fantastic articles for only $5/month? If you would like part of your membership fees to support me and other Medium writers at no additional cost to you, sign up here or click on the membership link of your favorite writer to support them!
