I pushed end on my cell phone.
I stood up and felt the starch in my shirt crack and gouge into my side. My arms were the complete opposite, sweat pouring out of me as if a dam had been broken. It felt as if the phone in my hand was going to melt.
My face began to rush with warmth starting at my chin flowing towards my eyes. My lungs ceased to hold as much air as the previous breath. It felt as if my upper body was about to burst. I couldn't believe what I was about to do. On the table in front of me was a white scrap of paper that held the instructions to a turning point in my life. Not many people get fair warning of a life-altering event.
I guess I'm lucky.
I didn't feel very lucky.
Once crossed, there was no turning back. I had to know. I consciously tried to calm down. I still had to face my roommates before I left.
It was Thursday night, my parade square night. They all knew that I was leaving, but calling in sick to my Sergeant was my only defence. I needed to get out of this house, but I needed to shower. I'm glad Joy's apartment was only five minutes away. I grabbed my bathroom bag and headed down the hall.
The TV was playing in the living room. Four crumpled men sat unmoving, some barely clinging on to consciousness. One was at the dining room table doing some homework. Another was actually watching the TV. His eyes were glazed over, not sure if he was stoned or affected by the bad programming. One was sitting on the floor reading a book, content to be in his own world separate from the reality that he lived. Another one asleep on the couch snoring. It was Jeff. His sixth beer toppled in his lap next to a half-empty bag of chips. The beer was completely empty.
“Any one need to use the bathroom?” I didn't really expect an answer.
“Huh,” the studier grunted. The question shook him from his entrenched reading.
“Nah, I'm Good Man…” he snapped back to his book and feverishly began to write again.
“OK here” toted the bookworm not looking up from his book.
“What?” drawled the TV watcher. I then realized that he was stoned. Jeff remained silent in his intoxicated slumber.
“Never mind…”.
I continued down the hall to the linen closet. I flung open the door to find an eruption of towels, facecloths and hand towels. Fuck, I hate this place , I thought. Not knowing what was clean or dirty, I searched for a folded towel. It was a good indicator of its cleanliness. Tucked in the back was one that I snatched up. I gave it a reluctant sniff to determine if in fact it was clean. It was. I tucked it under my arm and proceeded down the hall.
The five of us were living in this house while going to university. The owner, Jacob, and his wife lived in the basement unit. The rest of the house was for us. He charged $550 a month plus $100 each for cleaning and laundry. His wife would come around and lecture us for being so messy, but she felt like we were her own kids. She enjoyed us being around and treated us like gold. My parents liked the fact that there was an adult around. It was my first time living away from home and my mother was worried. My father, who every time he could, reminded me that I wouldn't have “roommate problems” if I just attended military school. He has always questioned the fact of my going to civilian school.
“The military taught me everything that I ever needed, what is so special about this school?” he would preach while puffing his cigar chewed to strands at the end. My roommates were another matter all together.
They were the stereotype of post-secondary education males. Every mother warned her daughters about this type of boy. Not only were the beer bashes frequent, they were sexually charged and full of immaturity disguised as machismo.
Jeff was the self-proclaimed “leader” of the group was always the center of attention. He was cocky, tall and self confident, almost to the point of self-righteousness, but teetered to the left more. He was about 24, dark hair that matched his strong features. At first glance you would thing he was Adriatic, but on further inspection, the Italian would come out. Stereotypically he talked with his hands, and, under extreme circumstances, would have a slight accent. He carried a strong jaw line that continued up to his thick sideburns. His stylish messy hair rested above his sea green eyes, which in turn floated above his simple contoured nose. Still a jock through and through, I despised his lifestyle. Jeff became the long standing subject of my nocturnal emissions. He was still feeling the sting of embarrassment of the phone call he made a few weeks ago. I am glad he made that call.
I entered in the bathroom and I locked the door behind me. For extra security, I pulled out the drawer next to the door that swung inward. This should prevent any unwanted entry. I undressed and turned on the water. Adjusting the temperature, I again thought about was I was about to do. A new tingling sensation was growing in me. I re-adjusted the water a little colder and tried to regain myself. I couldn't walk around the house tented like that and I wasn't about to ruin anything for later. I felt each drop of water hit my skin like a spark stinging the surrounding area gently. I hung my head as the water formed a veil around me.
Why did I have these feelings? Gay was not a word spoken in my home. It was Fag, or ‘AIDS-case'.
I remember the first time that I “felt it”. It was grade eight. We had just finished gym class and it was time to hit the showers. As the boys started to disrobe, my eyes began to dart around the room. From the flash of tight skin here, to the start of a patch of chest hair there, to the full on sight of a penis. It was not like my dad's that I had seen many times in the context of a shower or going swimming on the base. It was new and different. Not developed fully, but dramatically intriguing. One that particularly grabbed my attention was the oldest kid in the class and particularly well developed. His shoulders were wide and ominous which broke off into a perfect “v” shape down to his navel. His chest was coated in light hair that formed the path to follow. His legs were attached to his torso by large strong muscles; the tops of his thighs were outlined by perfect hips that coddled his crowning glory. In my many years, all fourteen of them at that time, I had never seen male genitals that well developed. My only point of reference was my dad and his collection of porn. As I rose to go to the shower after admiring his beauty, my problem stood straight out in front of me and in front of all my classmates. To this day I have never been more embarrassed. I dressed and faked sick so I could go home. I am glad it was May and I only had to deal with the jeers for one month.
I washed my hair and scrubbed my body, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. I ran the towel over my damp body and let it trap all the remaining water on me. I wrapped it around me, unlocked my fortress and headed down the hall. As I passed the living room, it was as if nothing had changed, the tableau had not shifted during my absence and I was mildly curious to see if they were still breathing. I kept walking.
I entered my room and shut the door. I dropped the towel on the floor and searched for my uniform. Remaining in the military and my martial arts training was a condition of my going to a civilian school. My highly polished boots sat protected in the corner of the room, above it, pressed, was my shirt and pants. My jacket and hat sat draped neatly over the chair next to the door. I collected my items and got dressed. I primped and made sure that everything was in order. Gloves white, boots gleaming, seams razor sharp. I open the closet door and scooped up another pressed uniform jacket. It was women issue. I sure hope it fits Joy. Along with the other hat, I folded the jacket and placed it in my duffle bag. I looked at my self in the mirror. When I next see this image, it will be different.
Will I recognize it?
I have to know.
