from No Irish Need Reply
Dare
Closets can be measured in various ways. Some are wide and walled with thorns, while others are narrow and restricted with girdles. No matter the size or scope, all closets are dank, keeping their prisoners wreathed in mendacity. Louis’ closet was wide and thorny. He had become accustomed to its borders and knew the door was transparent. He was sometimes shucked through the edges and creamed like corn under a hateful boot and a wicked taunt, but he knew the contour of life beyond the borders. He ignored the fundamental arrogance that grew in his own backyard. That was Louis’ closet.
Kevin’s closet was narrow and restricted. Other than the shadow in the hallway at Union Municipal, his closet was bordered by a drawn window shade and a parent proof door. It had a physicality he could well define, but it defied the dankness. To him, now that his love had been consummated within his bedroom arbor, just a whiff from the hollyhocks, Kevin lost sight of the lie that was forming within these four walls. His fears subsided when Louis entered this new world. He knew that when the lock was twisted and they reemerged into the living room that the secrets would be locked away again.
Louis had his secret down pat. He was careful not to raise suspicions at home. Louise never questioned her son’s lack of girl interest, or his occasional bruise, or the hidden box of condoms stuck beneath his tube socks at the back of his top drawer. Louise was misted by her grief and daunted by the business of makin’ ends meet. She managed to pay the rent from the Prom account, but was forever apologizing to Louis for touchin’ the green that was meant for the angels. Still, Louise was rarely home now — now that Min needed an extra hand in the kitchen since Mum’s death. Louise could have used that extra cash, but you know No Irish Need Apply. Sally Ann Poltowski was asked to help with short order (along with a nice raise). This silver lining did give Louise a stay of execution and double work (and more tips).
These career concerns kept Louise even further from the borders of Louis’ closet. Louis felt that if Louise had known he was gay (they say all parents know on some level), she would have run to the Palisades and tossed herself over. It would be the Catholic thing to do, after all — the Good Book that paved one’s way to heaven condemned Louis to the hell-fire for his misguided love.
Repent! Confess! Auto de Fe!
If he had been listening to the Gayly folk, he would have heard that organized crime members, pedophile priests and a Borgia Pope or three made it safely to the Pearly Gates with no more than a tsk tsk tsk for their confessed and exonerated sins. **** . . . well, No *** Need Apply. No, Louise would never know about her son. Louis swore that such knowledge would be the end of her and the end of him and perhaps the end of the Universe. You could look into Louis’ closet and see the prisoner within, reach in and give him a whack (as a public service). Still, leave him in the bubble that defined his path, at least until he met Kevin.
Kevin was also afraid of full parental disclosure. The thought of Sarah’s reaction to such news — news that was just seeping into his own noggin, making him queasy. Sarah was a stickler for appearance. Her home sparkled, her manners were important and she made book on the opinions of others — that cow Junie Dee, for one. Had Sarah suspected what went apace behind the closed bedroom-study door when Louis was in residence, Kevin would have exploded. He would have exploded had he known that on the Girls-Day-Out, when he and Louis were slithering beneath the pinstriped sheets, Sarah returned for her purse (apparently left behind in her haste). He would have been a skyrocket if he had seen her pick up his pants from the sofa, explore the hole with her index finger and than start toward the parent proofed bedroom door. She had reached for the knob, listening to the murmurs from within and had stopped just short of turning. She shrugged, folded the pants in their creases and draped them over the chair of the house. She retrieved the purse, and then it was off to see Elijah Wood. Yes, Kevin would have imploded like Ebbets Field had he known how close his closet came to parental puncture.
Louis became a daily fixture at the Borden House. Louise didn’t mind. She was working overtime and was glad that Louis had found a friend. Sarah didn’t mind either. She liked Louis’ manners, looks and, if Kevin had a boon companion, it was more than she could boast (although she would never admit it). No more rumors from school drifted through the Junie Dee phone line. The boys were careful, knowing that they could drift into the bedroom for their unrestrained study.
This evening the subject was calculus (again) and the dinner was spaghetti (again). The conversation strayed to wherever it wanted.
“I’ve got it,” Kevin said, finishing the problem. He was hovering over the notebook, pencil in hand. “I solved that sucker.”
Louis bounced from the bed. He was gazing at a Swedish Sluts porn mag, much to his disgust. He told Kevin there were better mags for the likes of them and he had some stashed behind a loose board in the pantry on Apple Street. He would try to bring them over soon. They’re very instructive, for the likes of us. For now, he gazed over Kevin’s shoulder and proofed the Calc exercise.
“You did it,” he said. “It’s about time.”
“You should talk,” Kevin said, gazing up into those dark eyes. “You haven’t worked on one yet.”
“What’s the point?”
“We’re supposed to be studying,” Kevin said. “You know, like, learning something.”
“What’s the point?” Louis repeated. He closed the book, and then kissed Kevin’s forehead. “We’re here in our cave — our lair. Study time’s over, I think. We’re here to be together.” He kissed him again, this time smack on the lips. Kevin kissed him back, but suddenly flinched, moving away. “What’s the matter?”
“Ma,” he said. “You never know when she’ll spring on us . . . like a cat.”
Louis bounced on the mattress, shaking his head.
“You’re hard on Mrs. B. She’s very sweet. She likes me.”
Kevin leaped on the bed, propping his head in his hands and giggling.
“Would she like you if she knew you were courtin’ her son?”
He batted his lashes.
“Courtin’?” Louis said with a Southern drawl. “Like Miss Scarlet?”
“Yes ‘um,” Kevin drawled back. He sat beside Louis, posing like one of the Tarlatan twins. “Miss Scarlet, will you take bar-be-que with me at the pahrty?”
Louis rolled in the bedspread, shawling his head.
“Why Master Borden,” he flirted, “you’ll make a girl blush. Do you want to take me to the bahll?”
“Can I, Miss Scarlet?”
“Go ‘way! What kinda girl do you think I am?”
Kevin grasped Louis’ cheeks and held him still. He planted a cinematic kiss on his face that would have made Rhett Butler blush. This was followed by a wrestling match, the sheets splayed across the bed as they twisted. Suddenly, Kevin sat up and raised his hand for silence. They held their merriment in suspense like two drunks on quicksand.
“I think I hear Ma,” Kevin whispered.
“I don’t hear . . .”
“Boys,” Sarah bellowed from the kitchen. “Supper’s almost ready.” They both sighed. “Louis, do you like hot sausage?”
“Sausage?” Louis muttered, poking Kevin in the sausage. Kevin wrestled him away. “Yes, Mrs. B, I love that sausage.”
“Shhh! You’re so bad,” Kevin said.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
Louis zoned to the serious. Kevin followed suit.
“Did you see the look that Bruce gave us today?” Kevin asked.
“Shit. I thought he was gonna puke when he saw us.”
“Well, we gotta be careful near him. He’ll tell his mother and she’ll tell Ma.” He looked away. “It’s terrible to think that one slip at school and Ma would find out. I can’t imagine how she’d feel hearing something like that from that fucking cow Junie.”
“You could always beat her to the punch,” Louis suggested.
“What do you mean?”
Louis winked.
“Tell your mother yourself.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me. She’d die if she knew I was . . . gay.”
There, he said it. He had thought it, read about it, entwined himself within Louis’ soft body in tribute to it and even reconciled himself to a life in the closet for it, but he had never said the g-word. It rolled off his tongue like molten iron into a steel cauldron. So much so that Louis winced.
“She already has a gay son,” Louis said. “She’s gonna find out sooner or later as more and more people at school figure it out.”
“They’ve figured you out, Louis, but not me.”
“It’s gonna hit home.”
“Then how come your mother doesn’t know? I’ll tell my mother, if you tell yours.”
That was a sure-bet dare that would never be taken.
“Never,” Louis said. “And my mother doesn’t have any connections to the school like your Ma.”
“You’re being a hypocrite,” Kevin said. “You want me to spill the beans to Ma, yet you’d leave yours in the dark. That’s hokey.”
Louis pouted.
“I was just helping. You said that you’d hate it if she found out from someone else. What better way to prevent that than to tell her yourself? My mother’s different. She’d never understand. I’m all she has and . . .”
“What’s your point?” Kevin said. “You’d have my Ma turn on me, but you wouldn’t . . .”
“No.” Louis held his head. Tears stood in his eyes. Breath hitched. Kevin rubbed his back. “My mother has had too much heartache. There never seems to be a minute’s peace for the woman. I couldn’t think of how hard she’d take it if she knew.”
“She must know already,” Kevin said. “I mean, people can tell what you are a mile away.”
Louis let the tears fall.
“Well maybe so, but what’s not discussed is best not discussed . . . sometimes.”
Kevin kissed his cheek, catching the salty flow.
“Same here, man. Same here.”
“Everything’s ready,” Sarah shouted. “Come and get it, boys.”
Louis sighed.
“I really like Mrs. B,” he said. “I’d hate to hurt her, Kev.”
Kevin looked to the parent proof door, and then scurried to the window shade, releasing it and the hollyhock aroma. He unlocked the door, and then turned to Louis, his arm extended like an escort to a cotillion.
“Miss Scarlet,” he said with a gracious nod. “Are you ready for your place at the Bar-be-que?”
Louis arose, taking the arm.
“Why, I thought you’d never ask, you cheeky devil.”
Edward C. Patterson
