A Purple Winter Read online

  No, it wasn’t. David was lying. Covering up. He was so alone and fragile, hiding his pain behind clever remarks and a cynical nonchalance. I’d read enough books in the last years to help me understand human nature and he couldn’t fool me. I slowly turned around and gave him a warm look. “Why do you—do you da—ance?”

  For a moment, he stood there watching me. Then he shrugged. “I wasn’t good at hockey.”

  I could tell that he was lying again. I’d seen him dance that day and no one danced that way simply because they couldn’t play hockey. “Tell me how it feels.”

  Had I said something wrong? David suddenly seemed so troubled. “No one’s ever asked me that before.” He frowned, looking at me as though I was a strange animal he’d never encountered. “What game are you playing?”

  “Game?”

  David sighed out sharply. “This act. This little innocent boy act you got going on.”

  “I’m not an innocent boy,” I said defensively. I hadn’t stuttered, so I boldly added, “I have plenty of experience.”

  David’s face turned gentle. “Okay, you don’t have to take out your little gay black book for me.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I pretended I did.

  “So, you wanna know what it feels like to me when I dance? All right. I’ll tell you.” He moved closer to me. “It’s like being fucked. Just like being fucked deep and hard by another man. It hurts but it feels so good. Your body takes a pounding and after a while, you almost float out of your aching limbs, but you can’t escape yourself. You need it too much. And just when you reach that point of elation, it’s over. The song stops. Silence. The experience leaves you shaking, sweating, and spent.”

  Red-faced, I swallowed hard. I wanted to feel that. Needed to know what that was like. But with Nick. Only with Nick.

  “And since you have all that experience, I’m sure you know exactly what I mean, right?” David’s eyes glimmered with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “Ever have a man inside you, Lucky?”

  Nick was inside me always. Maybe not physically, but had David ever let anyone into his heart?

  “That’s what I thought.” He stepped away and grabbed his hat. “Of course, you’d like our magnificent Nordic Prince, Sir Nicolai Lund, to pop your very ripe cherry.” He scoffed, adjusting the wide-brim hat on his head. “Don’t hold your breath. Nick doesn’t fuck guys. And he’ll never let you touch him south of the border, if you catch my drift.”

  Maybe I didn’t mind. Maybe I didn’t care where or how I could touch Nick. As long as I could be near him, I’d be satisfied. Thinking of him now, I yearned to be in his presence again.

  David walked out of the room but in the hall, he called out to me, “Going to get some of my father’s shirts for you to try on.”

  I waited for him for a few minutes and then went to his bedroom window to peek at the yard. The Pinets had a big in-ground pool that was covered with a black tarp for the winter. I wondered if David still swam in it in the summer. Had he ever been a happy child? Had he ever laughed and chased his brother around the yard or enjoyed an afternoon of reading by that big blue pool? Leaning my forehead against the cool glass of his bedroom window, I understood that the Pinet home was much like my own. Full of ghosts and unspoken memories.

  I remembered having brunch at the Lunds and all the brightness and love beaming off their very walls. Wherever Nick went or however dark his moods could be, he carried that flame within him. David and I were like two desperate moths circling his heart. And one of us had a broken wing, but it wasn’t me.

  I glanced down at David’s nightstand, glimpsing a book there. It was a poetry collection by a man named Hart Crane. There was a short biography of him on the back. It said that he’d thrown himself off a boat into the Gulf of Mexico at age thirty-two. I flipped the book open where the page was doggy-eared. The poem was called Old Song. I read the lines, thinking of David.

  It was the loneliest thing I’d ever read. I’d never been a reader of poetry. This was a side of David I longed to know.

  “What are you doing?”

  I swiftly dropped the book on the nightstand. “So—orry.”

  “Don’t touch my shit.” He walked up to me and grabbed the book, before hiding it under his pillow.

  Mortified, I didn’t know what to say or do to fix my blunder.

  David sighed. “You don’t have to cry about it. I just—I just don’t like people looking at my things, that’s all.”

  I wasn’t crying. “What are tho—ose?”

  “A shirt. And a sleeveless jacket vest.” He pulled out a pair of scissors out from his back pocket. He stretched the black silk shirt over my chest and shoulders. “Okay, that’s what I thought. Good. All right, so take your shirt off and we’ll have a look-see.”

  Take my shirt off? I bit my lower lip and glanced down at myself, feeling David’s intense gaze on me.

  “Come on, we don’t have all night.”

  My heart had begun to pound. I’d been shirtless in front of guys before, at the pool or in locker rooms, but this felt different. Would he appraise and judge me? Summoning up my courage, I pulled my gray sweater over my head.

  “Give,” David said in a thick voice. He tugged on the sweater in my hands and tossed it on the bed. He stepped back and scrutinized me.

  The air was chilled and made my nipples hard. I tried to act relaxed, but I was wired, barely breathing right. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the vanity mirror behind David. Those hours of lifting weights in my basement had not been wasted. My chest was well-defined and though I didn’t have a six-pack, my stomach was taut.

  “Alabaster skin. Not a hair on you, except for that red arrow pointing south to the playground.” David’s cheeks were flushed. Did he like what he was seeing? “And those little pink nipples I know Nick would love to suck on.”

  I blushed hard and fast, turning around to hide my reaction. I picked up the black shirt from off the bed, but David stopped me.

  “Wait. We need to alter it a little.” He slipped the shirt out of my hands and proceeded to cut off its sleeve, right at the shoulder. This wasn’t a Sears shirt. I’d read the tag. It was an Armani. “Ah, much better. Here, try it on now.”

  “Your dad—”

  “He probably won’t notice.” David’s voice wasn’t as confident. “Anyway, I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”

  “To Vancouver?” I slipped my arm into the gaping hole that had once been a sleeve.

  David helped me with fastening the buttons. “Yes, to Vancouver.” His dark eyes met mine. “And Nick is coming with me.”

  It hurt to hear him say those words, but I did my best to hide it.

  Then David gently fixed the shirt collar, his fingers grazing my neck. He wasn’t looking at me. “You’ll graduate, get a degree in finances, and marry the first guy who fucks you. He’ll be rich and you’ll never have to eat sloppy joes or canned Spam again.”

  How did he know this? I hadn’t even told Nick about the sloppy joes or Spam. That feeling of déjà vu came over me once more and I struggled to focus on David’s face. Why did this feel so unreal? Why did this room seem like a stage? I shook the sensation off. “I don’t want that life,” I said with assurance, though deep inside I was confused.

  “Listen to me,” he said with a serious expression, “I’m the only one who knows who Nick really is. What makes him tick? The secrets he keeps, even to himself. And this little town isn’t big enough for him. Sometimes I wonder if the world would be enough.” He brushed my hair back and held it there, away from my face. “We’re of the same kind, him and I.”

  Those words crushed my hopes but I swallowed the feelings down.

  “Hey, don’t take it so bad, Lucky. You’ve already won, anyway.” David moved back and chuckled dryly, obviously covering up his own emotions. “I’m not dumb enough to think Nick is coming with me because he loves me. No, he’s coming with me because he doesn’t want to fall in love with you. He’
s the wolf who’d rather eat his own paw than be trapped.”

  Though I couldn’t believe that, his words resonated with truth.

  Chapter 14

  We stood in line on a sidewalk downtown, near the wrought-iron gates of the club, and while David smoked cigarette after cigarette, I tried keeping warm by wiggling my toes inside my sneakers or shifting my weight from foot to foot. I was out here in a sleeveless shirt because David thought checking your coat in at a club was for losers. The pomade he’d used to slick my hair back was freezing on my head, but I didn’t risk touching it. I liked what David had done with my hair, and though I hadn’t been completely comfortable with the idea of wearing black eye liner out in public, now that I was seeing the crowd on the sidewalk, I had to admit that David had been right: I did fit in.

  From where I stood, I could watch the tall beefy security guys checking people’s IDs and my stomach did another somersault. Ahead of us, were a group of friends, some girls, some boys, all dressed in black, wearing army boots and chains for belts. One of the girls had shaved her head completely. She was stunningly beautiful and kept glancing back at me. I couldn’t tell if her large gray eyes were mocking me or enjoying my face.

  And of course, Nick was yet to show up. What would he think of my new look?

  “Now, tell me again…what’s your name and birthday?” David threw his cigarette butt into the snow pile by the garbage bin near the street.

  His friend had made these fake driver’s licenses. They looked pretty real to me. “My name is Peter McTa—a vish. Born on—on, um—”

  David let out a brisk breath. “Say it again.”

  The girl with the shaved head glanced back at me once more and there was a little smile creeping up on her lips. Wanting to impress her, I tried again, “Peter McTavish, born October eleventh, 1969.” Proudly, I smiled at David.

  He laughed and squeezed my cold shoulder. “There you go, little boy.”

  The girl chuckled into her black glove that was cut off at the fingers. She’d painted her nails purple. Mesmerized, I stared at the color. Purple. A memory of my childhood resurfaced. Something about red and blue paint. Mixing it. A heart. I couldn’t remember anymore.

  The line moved again and we were close to the moment of truth. Music spilled out into the busy street, mixing in with the sounds of traffic, car horns, people talking or shouting on the sidewalk, and soon enough, the frenetic energy seeped right into me, making my heart pump hard. The people ahead of us were stopped at the gates and while they showed the giants guards their IDs, I had time to take a few deep breaths.

  Before I knew it, we were facing the security guys. With an air of aristocratic condescension, David showed the man in the black hooded sweater his card, and after being quickly cleared, walked into the small front courtyard enclosed by graffiti painted walls, without the slightest glance back at me. I watched him pull the glass door and go into the mysterious club. I was stunned he’d left me alone. Then the guy asked for my ID and I fumbled with it, before finally handing it to him. He ran his beefy fingers along the card, reading it with furrowed brows and then eyed me over. “October eleventh, huh?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Now I’d be ridiculed, sent home, and Nick would leave with David for Vancouver tonight.

  “So what’s your zodiac sign?” The burly guy cocked his head, smirking at me.

  Last year, Aunt Fran had given me an intense course on astrology, birth charts, and numerology. Nick was a Leo. I was a Cancer. And October eleventh was a Libra. I blurted the word out like the bouncer was the Sphinx and I was Oedipus, and then moments later, I was inside the club.

  I looked back at the gates twice. I couldn’t believe I’d actually gotten in.

  Inside, on the first floor, it was dark, gritty, full of misfits. There was art everywhere and the paintings hanging on the black walls were like those drawings I’d seen from that poet Blake. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and I wondered how I’d get through the night without using my inhaler. All around me, people were drinking and yelling, sitting on chairs that were barrels painted black. I loved it. I wanted to get drunk and crazy. But I had ten dollars in my pocket and something told me I wasn’t a light weight when it came to alcohol. Walking through the crowd, near the pool tables, I spotted David at a pin ball machine. He wasn’t playing it. Only sitting on the glass top, swinging his long legs and smoking a cigarette. He looked like he lived here. He reminded me of my gargoyle, but not in the hideous way. Only by way of protection. Of chasing the evil spirits off.

  “So you got in,” he said, blowing smoke in my face. “Good.”

  I was fairly sure he didn’t mean that. But I was here and bent on having a wild time.

  “Let’s get a beer.” David slipped off the pin ball machine. “I’m buying.”

  We made our way to the bar, but people, mostly guys, wouldn’t let us by. Roughly, David elbowed his way through to the bar top and leaned in while I apologized to everyone I touched and stayed behind a row of guys who were drinking beer straight out of the pitcher. None of them seemed to notice me. The decor might have given the impression of violence or dark things, but actually the atmosphere was friendly, laid-back, and I didn’t feel threatened at all.

  David pushed two beer bottles into my hands. “Let’s go visit the second floor, shall we?”

  Holding a beer in each hand, I followed him up the dark stairs. After we’d reached the second floor, I stood there for a moment with my mouth open. David said something close to my ear, but I couldn’t hear a word against the sound of the music blaring out of giant speakers that circled the dance floor. It was so dark up here, it was difficult making out faces, but silhouettes were everywhere, and at times, the lights would flash brighter, revealing the crowd of people crammed together on the dance floor, and then for a few seconds, I could see the smoke and dust in the air and my throat would feel tight. The scent of spilled beer and sweat was everywhere, but I didn’t mind it. People were bumping into me on their way to the back bar, their various scents lingering for a few seconds, leaving an imprint behind. Being so close to people, all these strangers, was electrifying.

  David leaned back against the wall in the narrow enclave that faced the dance floor and we drank our first beer, watching people. I gulped mine down fast and started on the second one before David had a chance to finish his. I was feeling the effects of the alcohol, the euphoria slowly washing over me as I rested my head back on the wall, letting go and sinking into the night. I could have stayed like this forever. Invisible, yet included. But where was Nick?

  Then David nudged my shoulder with his and pressed his mouth to my ear. “There he is,” he yelled, tossing his chin up at the dark mouth of the staircase.

  Nick was making his way to where we stood, his blond hair visible in the grainy darkness, his white T-shirt contrasting the blackness all around him. He glided through the people, a head taller than everyone else, clad in simple worn blue jeans and that plain white tee. Suddenly, everyone seemed artificial, every look—contrived.

  I was losing my breath simply watching him scan the room as though he was on board of a ship searching for land. Or a white whale.

  David set his bottles down by my feet and left, cutting through people to get to Nick. Drinking the last of my beer, I witnessed their reunion. Nick squeezed David’s shoulders, shaking him a little, his face lighting up with a heart-stopping smile. Then he spoke into David’s ear and David pointed in my direction. Immediately, Nick left David standing there and walked right up to me. I remembered the cut off shirt I was wearing and the eye liner, too, and suddenly wanted to hide. But it was too late.

  Upon reaching me, Nick bent to me ear. “Hi…beautiful.” His breath smelled like black licorice, ginger, and a hint of alcohol. “You came.”

  Still leaning against the wall, I smiled, trying to act cool. He’d called me beautiful. I could die now.

  Nick laughed and I saw the white of his teeth flash, and then he leaned in close again,
saying more words into my ear. Though I didn’t understand, I smiled again, elated and tipsy. He discreetly skimmed my hand with his thumb and winked.

  I wanted to feel his tongue in my mouth. I hesitated and touched his arm, staring into his eyes. The chemistry between us was giving me an erection and I quickly gulped the last ounce of my warm beer, hoping to keep my head.

  Then David was back. Screaming something into Nick’s ear, he led him away to the dance floor. But as they were leaving together, Nick reached back and grabbed my wrist, pulling me along with them.

  Seconds later, I was right at the center of the jam-packed dance floor, with David and Nick surrounding me. Lost in a sea of limbs, crushed and shoved to the sound of a song that seemed to be all screams and percussion, I gave up control. The air was dense as water, and my eyes were stinging from the running eyeliner, but I was too entranced by Nick’s body so close to mine to care about anything else. I couldn’t keep up with the beat. Couldn’t make myself heard against the deafening music. Couldn’t fight or resist the bodies pushing up against me, but I was flying—soaring with happiness and carelessness, hooked to the look in Nick’s blue eyes flashing at me under the lights.

  And then also…I was dancing.

  * * * *

  Freedom is Siouxsie and the Banshees.

  I bet Regan is a junky.

  Papa Smurf is a dictator.

  Inside the bathroom stall, I leaned my forehead to the black metal door, trying to decipher the next graffiti, but then I had to spit again.

  When I turned to bend over the toilet bowl, my stomach heaved a little, though nothing but bile came up. I jerked the thin toilet paper out of the broken dispenser and wiped my mouth with it. I’d been locked up in here for ten minutes or more. Nick and David were still at the bar, probably having more shots of that evil liquor Nick loved, something called Yeggermaster or whatever. That was what had been on Nick’s breath before. He called it “Christmas in a glass.” I’d had four or five of those awful things, and then more tap beer, followed by a shooter called Windex, which was vodka and blue curaçao, I’d learned. I’d only ordered the drink because it was the exact color of Nick’s eyes. It had made my throat clench, my mouth water, and the room spin.