When Heart Becomes Home

Chapter 1

I rolled into Shelby, California, from Monterey Sunday night before the week-long Fifteenth Shelby High School Reunion festivities began. I was meeting the old gang at the legendary Trap.

The Trap still looked like an illegal love child of a derelict shack and a haunted house. As we went from middle to high school, all the kids I’d hung around had eyed the bar with longing and discussed at length every man we spied shambling in or out of it. The bar was the setting of our fantasies and speculation, fueling stories about adulthood and what we were going to do when we got old enough to drink there.

Of course, we were all in college by the time we got to the legal age of twenty-one, most of us out of town and too busy even to return for holidays. The few of my friends who’d stayed in Shelby never reported whether The Trap had lived up to our collective dreams or not.

So what better place to meet up before the fifteenth high school reunion?

“Wes! There he is!” A round of applause broke out from the four guys I’d hung around with back in the day. “We warmed you a seat.”

I strode up to the table with as much of a swagger as I could manage after an eight hour car ride. Stopping a foot or so from the table, I flung my arms out and, with a flourish, took a dramatic bow.

“Hail, fine friends! Good to see all of you again.”

I took a step forward to be properly greeted as they clapped and cheered. For geeks and outcasts, we weren’t a bad bunch.

The bigger than life Damien, once nicknamed Damn, Boy!, the only wrestler in the school’s motley out-and-proud gay population, rose and nearly toppled the table. As was usual then and seemingly now, he didn’t notice he was creating chaos, but grabbed and pulled me into a bear-smothering hug.

Over the past fifteen years, he’d competed on an all-state team, got an athletic scholarship, broke one of his knee caps, gave up sports, and was now a successful stock broker. He’d always said math was his superpower as well as grappling with hot men on or off a mat.

Damien let me go when Henry, once known as Egghead, inserted himself between us. He was still all of five feet five inches tall with a head belonging on a bigger body. His hair, once a mop of unruly curls, had thinned, and a little circle of scalp was starting to appear on top. But his memorable smile, the one which brightened every room, shone even in the drab historically grim Trap.

Back in high school, Henry had dominated debate in California, which had made him revered in our Podunk school. He had given the school and anybody he talked to or hung around with cache.

Henry released me and pointed to the guy sitting next to him.

“Wes, this is my husband James.”

The Neanderthal nodded as his arm firmly wound around Henry.

“Hey, Wes! Good to meetcha. Henry’s told me all about how you watched over him and protected him in school. I love you, man, cuz I love him.”

I’d heard about James through Christmas cards and periodic texts, but had never met him. Henry had said he was big, but since Henry was so short, I’d thought his husband would be normal size. James was more Yeti-sized.

I was startled both by his looks as well as what he’d said. I stared at him a second. I’d protected and watched over James? In someone’s dreams. Not that I remembered. Not really. Like all of us, I had scuttled around the school hallways and classrooms like a bug, hoping not to get squashed by the jocks, the populars, and the psychopaths.

Before I could say anything to James, Charles waved at me with a sharp twist of his fingers.

“Wes, my sista! You are looking fine tonight! You and me, we gotta get us some, right?”

Chuck-Chuck was being his usual cluck-cluck self. He had made a habit of straightening my hair and my shirts before we’d walk down the hall together on our way to class.

“You’re looking remarkably—” I had no words.

Chuck-Chuck resembled a Chuck Berry throwback with Good Golly Miss Molly pomaded hair, a flowing paisley shirt, tight red pants, and patent leather shoes. Or was he emulating Billy Porter these days? I was stuck with my mouth hanging open as I surveyed his splendor.

In a daze, I felt someone’s hand tug on my arm.

“Come here, you! I’ve missed you so much.” Zack, my and Chuck’s best friend, grabbed me, mussed my hair, and pulled me in for a bone-jarring kiss on the cheek. “You gotta meet my man. Teddy, this is Wes, once known as Gordo, the guy who integrated Shelby High. He made it bearable for all us regular queers.”

The tall black man, who put his arm around Zack’s waist, gave me a critical once over.

“Naw, he couldn’t a integrated it, babe. He a white dude.”

Zack slid over to stand in front of Teddy and playfully rubbed his butt on Teddy’s crotch.

“No, silly. Wes attracted more straight d**k than anyone ever in the history of the school. We were hoping he’d turn all the men in the class gay.” His eyes twinkled, but his face fell. “But alas, they didn’t all fall to the potent homo pheromones Wes gave out.”

Zack turned to Teddy.

“Now, honey, you may shake his hand, but I’m not letting you kiss him. You hear me?”

The huge Teddy grinned and whimpered. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t it really turn you on if you saw my tongue in Wes’s mouth or around his—”

Zack whacked him a good one on the arm.

“You behave!” He turned to me. “And you behave, too! This is supposed to be a nice bar. We don’t want to scare the natives.”

Although I laughed loud enough to startle some of the other drinkers, I held out my hand. Totally ignoring it, Teddy pulled me in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Zack doesn’t seem to have changed much,” I muttered into his chest.

“Yeah, it’s why I married him. To get him off the market. You never know what somebody might do to him.”

“Thanks for protecting him.”

We were pulled apart by Zack.

“Enough. What’s going on? What are you talking about?”

Teddy grinned. “Just about what a great guy you are and how lucky I am to have you.”

“You better believe it.” Zack turned to me as the rest of them settled into their chairs. “So where’s…” He snapped his fingers a couple of times. “What was his name?”

“Edward? Gone. Timothy? Gone. Those were my last two since I saw you in Santa Cruz.” I held up my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, before we get going much further, I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone at our table and a couple of guys at adjoining tables stared at me. Well, I hadn’t planned on making this a PSA, but…Who cared?

“I don’t want you calling me Gordon or Gordo anymore. I’m not fat. I’ve never been fat. So calling me fatty is a lie and always has been. I know I told a couple of you I was thinking about legally changing my first name. In the end, I decided to keep it, since it’s a tribute to my grandfather, may he rest in peace. But for those who don’t already know, I totally go by Wes or West now. Thank you for your cooperation.” Everyone laughed like I hoped they would.

“I approve this message.” Zack gave me a high five. “As a bonus, I’ll drink to that.”

The rest of them around the table nodded and picked up their glasses. Uh, yeah. I didn’t have a drink yet.

I grabbed a waiter, who was passing by with a full tray. “Whiskey sour.” I turned to the table. “Anything for anyone else?”

To the shakes of their heads, I let the waiter go.

Some of them took sips, but the rest put their drinks down. The toast seemed to have been put on hold.

A couple of guys at the adjoining tables saluted me and drank, but my friends settled down for the time being, congratulating me for getting rid of the nickname that had made me the butt of so many jokes in school. El Gordo is not how anyone wants to go through their formative years.

The waiter was back with my drink, and we chugged to my getting rid of being called Fat Boy for too many years.

I watched the waiter saunter back to the bar. Cute. Not too young, not too old. Nah. I hadn’t come back to pick up someone at The Trap, no matter how eligible he looked.

I turned to Zack, puzzled about the wait staff.

“Wow. What’s with the help? I never thought this was a waiter kind of place.”

“You didn’t hear? The Trap has come up in the world. A Bay Area film crew came over and did a documentary about it and the famous people who’d had a drink or did something notorious here in the past. Most of the time, we can’t even get seats outside. But it’s Sunday, which is an off day. We got the last free table.”

I had wondered why we were all crowded around a table that started life as a telephone wire spool. True, the round piece of redwood nailed to the top of it added a semi-classy touch. Still and all, this was The Trap, and The Trap was supposed to be seedy and about as un-classy as a place could get.

The walls were weathered wood, the floors creaked and buckled, but the table tops and lights looked new. It was as if someone had called a halt to the renovation before it had gotten really started.

I looked around at the bar’s other customers, who all looked disappointingly respectable.

“So who are all these people? Tourists? Curiosity seekers?” Everyone but those in our group looked like they were waiting for something to happen. Did The Trap offer reenactments or something?

My friends stopped talking for a moment and stared at me. Henry nodded to the chalk board leaning on the top row of sample beer bottles.

Johnny Cash abruptly shut up about the ring of fire. Around me, the room sank into silence.

Open mick night—Sunday 8 to whenever: Ye haw.

Okay. Yeah, that explained it. Open Mick? I started to laugh, but no one seemed to be joining me. Maybe the misspelling was a Trap thing?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a spotlight go on in the corner where a mic and a stool were set up. A guy with a guitar walked onto the raised platform no bigger than one of the table tops. People stopped moving their chairs around and started to clap and whistle.

From the outside, The Trap had looked just like it had when we were in high school and wanted to be twenty-one so we could go inside and drink. We’d heard “our kind” weren’t welcome here, but like flies to flames, we talked big and said we were going to drink there anyway.

I always kind of thought I’d be disappointed once I stepped inside. As far as I was concerned the hype had to belie the reality.

“Live music? Have I landed in an alternate universe? The Trap wasn’t supposed to have entertainment. Remember? Old grizzled guys guzzling beer? War stories? Tales of woe told over hard liquor? What happened? What’s going on here?”

“Your mother didn’t tell you?” Zack whispered to me.

The guitarist had started singing with his audience happily clapping along.

I shook my head. The performer wasn’t half bad, singing sea shanties and folk tunes that seemed to go with the rustic setting around him. I looked more closely at the audience.

Twenty-somethings. A few people our age. Not an old timer among us. I turned back to Zack, putting my hands out in an “I give up” shrug.

“A few years ago they finished building Shelby Community College out by the reservoir. Two-year majors in forestry, nature preservation, and fire safety. It’s been going strong since it opened.” His forehead creased. “I wonder why she didn’t tell you. Or why you haven’t heard.”

I shrugged again.

“Got me. But it’s great for the town, right? Income for everyone?” I gestured around the table at our friends.

“Yup. It brought a lot of people who bailed back to town when they bombed in the Bay Area.” He ran his hand up Teddy’s arm. “I found Teddy in the city and brought him home with me. It also lowered the average age in Shelby by a few decades. Hence…”

His eyes went around the room.

Okay, one unrealistic dream about a decadent hometown bar destroyed. Not a bad development, I guess.

I leaned back and relaxed. The group of us sat and listened to the music, occasionally commenting, but more solidifying ourselves into a group again. Like feeling arms close around me in a hug, I settled into becoming one with my old friends. Coming home for the reunion didn’t look so bad now.

With relaxation came fatigue.

“Look. I’m beat. I’ll see everyone tomorrow. A tour of the school, right? Then golf in the afternoon?”

Egghead looked up and shook his head—as did everyone else around the table.

“Nope. You won’t see us again until the Big Reunion Trivia Quiz where we are going to trounce the competition from previous years and then the banquet and prom reenactment on Saturday night.”

“What? I thought there were other reunion activities all week. Including an all-important golf tournament.”

“Do you play?”

“Me?” I was as appalled as I sounded. “Not on your life. You guys?”

They all shook their heads.

“So why aren’t you going to the school tour tomorrow morning?” I was starting to panic. Would I be stuck socializing with all the people I hated and had escaped to get away from?

“Tomorrow we work.” Zack was looking at me funny. “I thought you had a job, too.”

“Yeah, I do. But I took the week off to be with you guys.”

“Well, not all of us can take off a whole week for reunion activities. We can’t fix plumbing, wire a business, interview a dying client for a will, and the list goes on while we’re goofing off. Some of us even have kids who need to be towed to and from games and whatnot. Anyway, it’s why we wanted to have some time to sit down with you before the reunion hoopla began.” Zack patted my hand. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll get together again on Tuesday to get ready for the Quiz Bowl. Some of us will be at the ‘concept meeting’ in the morning to see what this year’s rules are.”

They were all standing, checking phone messages, muttering to themselves, and generally getting ready to leave like a lot of others in the audience.

The singer had said he’d be back in a few, so I thought we’d shoot the s**t some more until he started up again. But I was wrong.

Getting more exhausted by the minute after my long drive, I rose. Fatigue hit me, and I stumbled forward a little to give everyone a hug. We all said goodnight. I assured them I’d be around all week if anyone wanted to get together.

Zack and Henry followed me to my car.

As I unlocked it, Zack leaned against the front fender.

“So, are you going to tell us why you really came to the reunion? It’s not like fifteen is your favorite number or anything, is it?” He smirked up at me. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you-know-who, does it, Wes?”

I must have looked guilty.

“Oh, no! God! Wes?” Henry asked. He stared at Zack, then at me. “Oh, no, no, no. I can see it on your face.”

I sighed. I’d have to tell them at some point.

“I’m returning the jacket.”

Clam and oyster shells crunched as guys walked to their cars and left the parking lot. Zack and Henry were silent, staring at me. No judgement, just waiting.

“It’s time for me to leave high school behind. To make a total break, I have to return Manny’s jacket and walk away.” I sighed again. “He’s never going to contact me and ask me to return it. I’ve asked my mother whether he called to get my phone number. But no. There’s never going to be a miraculous second chance and happily ever after. I need to go out there and find someone I can get so close to I want to marry him. I’m tired of being alone. And dammit, I’m tired of comparing every guy I get together with to him. I’ve got to erase him.”

Both of them looked at me a moment and nodded.

“You know he’s still a hunk and a half, right? I’ve seen him around town a time or two.” Henry’s glasses and the glare of the bar’s security lights made his eyes invisible. Was he warning me or merely making a statement of fact?

I shrugged. They sighed.

“Good luck, baby.” Zack gave me a half-hug.

Henry touched my arm.

We went to our cars and drove away.

They understood. It was all I could ask.

* * * *

I drove to my mother and her new husband Raymond’s recently built house, a big home with a guest cabin in the backyard next to an in-ground pool.

While I was growing up, my mother had been a waitress at Mama D’s Diner on Main Street. We’d lived in the furnished apartment over it. Two bedrooms, an open living-dining-kitchen, and one bath. Mama D and her Diner had been more of a home than the apartment had.

Mother always dreamed of living in a big place with walk-in closets, separate living and dining rooms, a kitchen with an eat-in space, and a pool. Seven years ago, after a five-year courtship, a local mogul named Raymond had married her and given her what she wished for.

Fortunately, when I got there, the lights were off in the big house. I could walk around it to the cabin without having to come in and talk. I had all week to talk. By the time I left next Sunday, my mother would know everything happening to me and my Monterey friends since the last time she and Raymond had visited. She made it her business to keep up with me. Or at least make sure I knew how happy she was finally since becoming the lady of the manor.

Lying in bed staring at the ceiling, the lights from the pool casting wavy lines above me, I fantasized I’d fallen through the water into an alternative universe. An alternative Shelby.

I’d seen and acknowledged a lot of semi-familiar faces tonight at the bar which had popped up from the surrounding darkness. A girl from chem class whose experiment had exploded and stifled us in a fog of a thousand farts. The kid from math who decided one year to go head to head with Henry and had been vanquished by our Egghead.

So many faces and so many memories assaulted me while I was sitting in the altered Trap. The building still sagged and buckled on the outside, but the redwood table tops and the musician crooning away in the corner, and the fact it was open at all on a Sunday weren’t normal for The Trap of my youth.

Henry and Zack with husbands from outside our group added another layer of unreality.

My mother had told me in phone calls over the years that things had changed here in Shelby. I’d heard the words, but didn’t really understand what she meant. Shelby was, well, Shelby. It wasn’t the kind of place to change.

Through all my memories and images from tonight, I shied away each time they turned to Manuel Garcia and his letter jacket, the jacket currently sitting in the bottom of my luggage.

Was I ready to face Manny? I sighed.

I had never asked either my mother or my friends what had become of him. I just couldn’t. Had my attitude about him changed after all these years?

Could I bear to look him in the eye and hear him talk about having a lovely wife and nine hundred kids? Could I bear to hear about a son who was going to be an All-State football player, carrying on the tradition he started?

Was I willing to have his mythical son learn his father had a gay lover in high school? Was I willing to tell his son or daughter or wife he’d agreed to go with the lover to the prom and stood him up?

Manny had dangled the damned letter jacket in my face for months, promising it to me when the time was right. I had stumbled on it under the bleachers the night of the prom where he said he wanted to meet me.

I’d been so furious at being stood up, I’d bent down and pulled it from the dirt and taken it in spite. I’d hauled it to college with me in Los Angeles, intent on punishing him. I figured he’d worry about it. I hoped he’d call my mother and then get in touch with me. He hadn’t. Sure, I’d always had the intention of returning it, but…

Both the jacket and I were back in town. My course was clear: Find out where he lived and drop it off at his house. No message. No telling him or his wife or his kids how I’d cherished the jacket and the memory of him and our love for fifteen years. Just give it back.

It was stupid to keep it any longer. It didn’t smell like him anymore. It was time to let it go.

I needed to be free.