Young Lather

Track

"Track?"

"Hey Celeste."

She could see him through the screen door, slumping on the couch in his living room. She opened the door and went in — the first time she'd been in his house, she thought. Kind of beat up looking, but not poor. Just maybe the kind of house where old stuff was fine, and making things clean and neat wasn't that important. Even though her own dad was the clean freak in her house, she still though of the look here as a 'guys' look, which fit the fact that Track and his dad were the only ones living here.

Track seemed to wake up a little. He sat up, and then he quickly stood. "Um, come in. I mean you're already in so... hi."

They looked at each other.

"So, hi," he said again.

"I just thought I'd say hi," Celeste responded, "because I haven't seen you for awhile."

"Yeah, I've been working and stuff. But, um, not today. Dad didn't need me today, so..."

"...Not since that thing at Big Bend." Track looked away, irritated. For some reason she noticed his hair was a mess. And not too clean. "I was worried about you."

"What?" he snapped, suddenly angry. "Worried about the gay guy? That's so typical — the girls worried about the gay guy. Like a fucking library book," he said, and then he flopped down on the couch again. "Typical."

But Celeste had expected the awkwardness. "Is that what I'm doing?" she asked.

"...What?"

"Worrying about the gay guy? Is that what it is?"

He looked at her. "Well what... Well I don't fucking know why you're here!"

"Are you gay or not?" Slam.

Track looked suddenly trapped. "...Do I have to... Is it your business if I am?"

"Are you? Are you into Lather?" Celeste suddenly felt like Kara with her questioning. "Sorry. It's just, we're your friends. We love you. I'm your friend." Track stayed quiet. "Yes, I'm a girl, and I care." And then, with a voice that carried much more meaning that just the words, "About you."

Track wouldn't look at her. She sat next to him on the couch. Close but not. The scene held for a long minute. A car drove by. The sound of wind in the trees filtered through the screens. Some kids' voices down the street.

"Lather's like a brother," Track said at last. "Like my brother, I mean... Except... Yeah, he's sweet. When I held him, it was... sweet."

Celeste didn't know about any holding. She knew nothing about Track and Lather's late party night encounter at the Logs.

"It was sweet," he said. "Maybe I could have... but nothing happened." After a pause, he twisted about to face Celeste, looking her in the eye. "I don't know if I'm gay," he said plainly. "I do not know. I don't know how to know. How do you know? I mean, yeah, I guess something could have happened with Lather." Celeste looked puzzled, and Track realized why. "It was late, after the party, that's all. I mean, maybe I would have, but I didn't. We didn't. ...I mean, I was drunk but he was totally smashed. It was just... like an accident that didn't happen. Just drunk shit, but maybe it could have been a... gay time, maybe. I don't know."

"...He's cute," Celeste said, mostly to fill the space. "I mean Lather's not... Well he's like you said. Sweet." Track smiled weakly. "So is Archie, and so are you," Celeste added. "That's why we're such good friends." And then, like something she had no idea she'd been planning for a long time, she put a hand on his leg. "We all love each other. That's the way it is. We'd do anything for each other."

Track looked into Celeste's eyes, and she into his. Celeste squeezed. Just a little — a very little — but it sent a wild rush of feeling through Track's entire body. Like being slapped, hard. What? Their eyes locked like magnets, and both became suddenly aware of breathing — of the stretch of ribs as breaths were drawn in. Of a thickness. Track swallowed. It felt like the moment might break. It was too tense — like being stalled at the top of a roller coaster.

So Celeste squeezed again, not so very little this time, slower, moving her hand as well, up a bit — up his leg — remembering Bret Simmons. But this was oh so different. This was Track. Again she squeezed. And moved. And now... touched. Barely. And then...

More. Slowly, deliberately, unafraid, Celeste ventured into new territory without hesitation.

Track felt, and then he looked down and watched, like he might watch a how-to video, or watch his dad open up an engine. He watched his own ribs as his breathing rose and tightened, and he felt like a spring being slowly compressed. The feeling in him concentrated, as though a narrow beam of hot sun reached only his middle, while the rest of him seemed infused with a cool breeze. He watched. Swallowed. Began to pant. So much from so little! The first — his first.

"Unh..." squeezed from his throat. It had been only a minute. "Unnnhhh," he groaned, and then a sound like freedom and shock almost burst from him. He burst, flying down the roller coaster's drop, then easing out, soon settling, the fast ride so definitely over. His breathing calmed, and still he watched as Celeste lifted her hand. He felt young and shy. He looked into her eyes again, smiling weakly. She returned his smile.

"So maybe I'm not gay," he said. Celeste kissed him quick. Just as quickly, confusion and embarrassment raced through him. "Uh... So... I should... take a shower," he stammered as he stood, pulling on clothing, hiding himself from her. "Uh, then maybe... Um, we could maybe—"

"Go for a walk?" she interrupted. "Yes, I'd like to."

She heard him upstairs. She heard footsteps. Doors. Water. She pictured him. And somehow Celeste, too, knew a taste of the roller coaster ride. She smiled and sighed.