that smiling, bro -- you’re creeping me out. Man smiles like that… He’s getting some.”
“Oh, hell yeah.” I laughed. I kept cutting garlic into small, even pieces. What I had with Shawn was coloring the rest of my life like a red T-shirt in the laundry with white 54 Z. A. Maxfield
socks. I didn’t have a thing to compare it to in my experience. Thinking about him made me smile, no matter what I was doing or where I was doing it. No matter that he wasn’t with me. When I thought of Shawn, a well of something boiled up inside me that hit my heart like an air bubble and stopped it, metaphorically speaking, making me feel dazed. All I could think was, What the hell is that all about?
By the time I started playing for the tables that evening, I was pleasantly tired. I wove between the customers playing requests, and much to Jim’s dismay they were mostly for the Irish fiddling tunes I’d begun to introduce a few nights before.
I heard him shout, “You’re turning my cantina into a pub, gringo,” but I shrugged it off.
I played what the customers asked for, and he knew it. Someone was having an anniversary party, and they had a lovely cake. Grinning, I played “Hava Nagila” at their request and turned to find Jim shaking his head. Shawn came in with some of his friends and acknowledged me with a jerk of his head and a smile. I noticed Kevin was absent from their group. At about seven I was playing “De Colores” when Jim motioned me to the bar. I finished up and walked over. He told me there was someone on the phone for me.
I took the phone, plugging my ear with a finger so I could hear over the crowd.
“Hello?”
“Cooper?” asked a male voice. He cleared his throat and said my name again. “Cooper?
Is that you?”
“Jordan?” My heart slammed against my rib cage.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “You still know my voice.” I said nothing; shock made my blood drain to my toes.
“Hey… Julie gave me this number; she said you were staying in some bar in California?”
“Yeah.” Right then there was an explosion of sound from the anniversary party as someone gave a comic toast.
Jim’s concerned eyes were on me. “You can take that in the office, line one.” He pointed to the phone on the wall. “It’s quieter.” He had to shout to make himself heard.
I nodded. “Jordan,” I said. “Don’t hang up, I’m going someplace quieter. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. I gave the phone back to Jim.
As I walked to the office, a thousand things went through my head. I sat in Alfred’s chair and stared at the phone for a full minute before I leaned toward it. I knew my past. I knew my heart. I picked up the phone with a shaking hand. “Jordan,” I said.
“Cooper, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too…” I fumbled. “Are you out?”
“Out? Yeah, I got out about a month ago.” The silence between us was thick and ugly.
“You never visited.”
St. Nacho’s
55
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. I didn’t stick around.”
“I know. You went to Minnesota and then out west. I got the postcards,” he said.
“My parents…”
“I know. They wanted you gone.” There was a long pause on the line. “I got it. I was sorry not to see you, but I understood. Julie told me.” Julie. Still cleaning up my messes. “Jules is a brick,” I said, not feeling the love at that particular moment.
“Yeah.” I knew he was squeezing the phone, I could feel the pressure he was putting on it from my side. “Listen. I…I wonder if you’d think about coming back.”
“No, I don’t think so.” No.
“Things have changed though, now. You know? I’ve changed. I went through stuff, man. Stuff I can’t even tell you, and you know I love you. I need you.”
“Jordie,” I said, automatically going back to the old name, the old ways… No.
“Coop, I’m sober now. I go to this church, babe. You’d laugh so hard, but they’re good people. They don’t care if you’re gay or
“Oh, hell yeah.” I laughed. I kept cutting garlic into small, even pieces. What I had with Shawn was coloring the rest of my life like a red T-shirt in the laundry with white 54 Z. A. Maxfield
socks. I didn’t have a thing to compare it to in my experience. Thinking about him made me smile, no matter what I was doing or where I was doing it. No matter that he wasn’t with me. When I thought of Shawn, a well of something boiled up inside me that hit my heart like an air bubble and stopped it, metaphorically speaking, making me feel dazed. All I could think was, What the hell is that all about?
By the time I started playing for the tables that evening, I was pleasantly tired. I wove between the customers playing requests, and much to Jim’s dismay they were mostly for the Irish fiddling tunes I’d begun to introduce a few nights before.
I heard him shout, “You’re turning my cantina into a pub, gringo,” but I shrugged it off.
I played what the customers asked for, and he knew it. Someone was having an anniversary party, and they had a lovely cake. Grinning, I played “Hava Nagila” at their request and turned to find Jim shaking his head. Shawn came in with some of his friends and acknowledged me with a jerk of his head and a smile. I noticed Kevin was absent from their group. At about seven I was playing “De Colores” when Jim motioned me to the bar. I finished up and walked over. He told me there was someone on the phone for me.
I took the phone, plugging my ear with a finger so I could hear over the crowd.
“Hello?”
“Cooper?” asked a male voice. He cleared his throat and said my name again. “Cooper?
Is that you?”
“Jordan?” My heart slammed against my rib cage.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “You still know my voice.” I said nothing; shock made my blood drain to my toes.
“Hey… Julie gave me this number; she said you were staying in some bar in California?”
“Yeah.” Right then there was an explosion of sound from the anniversary party as someone gave a comic toast.
Jim’s concerned eyes were on me. “You can take that in the office, line one.” He pointed to the phone on the wall. “It’s quieter.” He had to shout to make himself heard.
I nodded. “Jordan,” I said. “Don’t hang up, I’m going someplace quieter. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. I gave the phone back to Jim.
As I walked to the office, a thousand things went through my head. I sat in Alfred’s chair and stared at the phone for a full minute before I leaned toward it. I knew my past. I knew my heart. I picked up the phone with a shaking hand. “Jordan,” I said.
“Cooper, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too…” I fumbled. “Are you out?”
“Out? Yeah, I got out about a month ago.” The silence between us was thick and ugly.
“You never visited.”
St. Nacho’s
55
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. I didn’t stick around.”
“I know. You went to Minnesota and then out west. I got the postcards,” he said.
“My parents…”
“I know. They wanted you gone.” There was a long pause on the line. “I got it. I was sorry not to see you, but I understood. Julie told me.” Julie. Still cleaning up my messes. “Jules is a brick,” I said, not feeling the love at that particular moment.
“Yeah.” I knew he was squeezing the phone, I could feel the pressure he was putting on it from my side. “Listen. I…I wonder if you’d think about coming back.”
“No, I don’t think so.” No.
“Things have changed though, now. You know? I’ve changed. I went through stuff, man. Stuff I can’t even tell you, and you know I love you. I need you.”
“Jordie,” I said, automatically going back to the old name, the old ways… No.
“Coop, I’m sober now. I go to this church, babe. You’d laugh so hard, but they’re good people. They don’t care if you’re gay or
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