The cool night air sent a frigid chill down Jake's spine, a feeling that was heightened by the thin layer of sweat that covered his body. It was blisteringly cold outside, and he couldn't wait nervously in his car any longer. The windows were fogged up, his down coat was pumping his sweat glands into overdrive, and it was ten minutes past the hour—about as fashionably late as his OCD would allow him to be.
As the initial shock of the cold dissipated, Jake looked around the empty parking lot. One or two cars were pulled up right next to the dirty chrome siding panels of the diner; otherwise, the place was as vacant as could be for a weeknight two days before Christmas. That was fine with Jake, though. It was his first-time back home in almost ten years, and the thought of running into anyone from his previous life in Castorville made him sick to his stomach.
A lot had changed in the last decade. Not with the town; that would always be the same. But Jake had settled into a lifestyle that would still be treated as a criminal offense in that part of the country, and he wasn't too keen on his family or any ghosts from his past discovering that part about him. Still, men his age had a tendency to get horny from time to time, and Jake couldn't bear the thought of suffering through the holidays with his family with a nutsack full of pent-up sexual frustration.
He coddled his hands together, blew a fresh wave of moist heat into their core, and headed for the door.
Inside the diner, the harsh yellow lighting made the walls look a dingy brown, as if they hadn't been painted since the establishment had opened seventy years prior. A middle-aged woman with firecracker-red hair tied up in a bun and a stained white uniform that looked as old as the building looked up from the two elderly gentlemen she was conversing with at the counter. She saw it was just him and yelled, "Sit anywhere you like. I'll be with you in a moment," before turning back to the men and cackling an obnoxious laugh from deep within her smoker-lungs.
Jake's eyes lingered on the three individuals before turning and staring up the row of booths that lined the front windows. He passed a few and then sat facing away from the door, tucking his coat in between himself and the wall. Outside, the snow fell gently in the glow of the streetlamp. Jake watched it float effortlessly on the air, taking his mind away from his nerves.
He always got nervous before meeting someone new. It wasn't just when he met other men for sexual encounters; it was anyone new. But things were especially bad that evening, for if there was anything that made him more nervous than meeting guys for sex, it was coming back home. Put the two together and it was no wonder his hands were as sweaty as they were. He wiped them on his pants just as the waitress appeared from behind him.
"What can I get ya?" the waitress asked.
"I—I'm waiting on someone," Jake forced out.
"How about a drink while you wait?" she offered.
"Sure. A Diet Coke would be nice."
The waitress turned and walked away without another sound. Moments later, she came back and dropped a plastic cup of fizzing Diet Coke in front of him, then tossed a straw on the table next to it. She set two menus at the edge of the table and said, "Well, the name's Cherry. If you need anything, holler. If not, I'll check back in when your friend gets here."
"Thanks," Jake muttered, but she was already gone.
He looked around the restaurant, back at the two men sitting at the counter, as if they might be someone that recognized him. Jake certainly didn't recognize them, but in a small suburb like Castorville, there was a good chance that somehow or other one could trace a connection between the men back to his parents. It was just that kind of town. He might not know them, but that didn't mean they wouldn't know Jack and Cindy's kid if they bumped into him. He turned away and grabbed a menu, shielding himself from prying eyes that weren't there.
The door dinged and someone entered. Jake turned quickly to see if it was his date. He didn't know what the man looked like, only that he was older, a bit heavier, and what the man called average looking. But while the man standing in the door was very attractive, much to Jake's dismay, it was not his date, but something much worse. He let out a quiet, "Shit," and retreated back into his menu. "It can't be," he said, muttering to the menu as images of his tormented youth came rushing back into his head.
"What'll it be, Jerry?" the waitress called out.
The man slapped his hands down on the counter near the two men. "Root beer float hold the whipped cream, extra scoop of vanilla, and double the cherry," he said, giving the older broad a wink.
Cherry swatted him away and reached into the freezer, quickly assembling the dessert. "It's a cold one out there, Jerry. What are you doing out on a night like this? Ain't you got family or nothing to be with?"
"And miss the chance to have one of your floats? My family ain't worth it."
"You're too much, dear," Cherry said. "Now go have a seat and I'll fix the usual."
Jake raised the menu up over his face as Jerry made his way along the row of booths. He took the far table against the back wall, the one right next to the jukebox. He dropped a quarter in and punched A17 before sliding into the booth. The old man stripped off his coat and wrapped his hands around his float, gazing out into the blustery night as "I Wonder Why" by Dion & the Belmonts erupted from the box. Jake peered over the menu and watched as the man nodded his head along to the tune.
It had been years since he had seen the old man. Ten years to be exact. Graduation Day, 2010. And the old man was just as good looking as Jake had remembered him. He must've been in his late sixties by that point, and the shaggy hair atop his head had gone from a dusty brown to a shiny silver, matching the few stray hairs that poked from beneath his checkered flannel shirt. His waistline had expanded a few sizes too many, but what else could one expect from a retired gym teacher? No longer getting paid to keep kids in shape, Coach Roberts had clearly turned his time and attention to indulging in more than the occasional late night root beer float at the local diner.
But Jake didn't care. His old coach looked better than ever and, if he weren't there to meet another old man—who was seriously running late at this point—he would seriously consider trying to find a way into Coach Roberts' pants. That is, if his nerves would allow it, which he knew they wouldn't. With that in mind, all he had to do was keep a low enough profile that he wouldn't have to engage with his former teacher. With any luck, the old man wouldn't even remember him.
Jake turned around and looked over his shoulder at the door behind him. His date was nowhere to be found. He turned toward the Coca-Cola clock on the wall and saw that it was now half past the hour. He was being stood up. Not all that surprising in a small town like Castorville, but disappointing, nonetheless.
As he turned back toward the front, his eyes locked with the old man's in front of him. Coach Roberts' jaw dropped slightly as a wave of surprised recognition drew across his face. He gently lifted his hand and gave Jake a slight wave, the shock turning into a sly grin.
A wave of panic washed over Jake. He had not only been seen, he had been recognized. There went any prospect of his having any fun that night. Hesitantly, he raised his hand above the table and gave his coach an awkward wave back, frantically trying to think of an escape. Then, before things could get any worse, he picked his menu back up and disappeared behind it.
Unfortunately, men the age of Jerry Roberts didn't understand the concept of seeing someone they knew—no matter how long it had been since they had seen each other—and not wandering over to strike up a conversation. Before Jake knew it, his former coach was standing over him, looking down at him with an astonished smile.
"Jake? Jake Matthews? Is that really you?"
Jake slowly lifted his eyes up from their buried position in his menu and took in the full view of his old teacher. The man was even better looking up close. His perfectly round belly could only be described as breathtaking; the tucked in flannel shirt pulled tightly over it, accentuating its shape and drawing Jake in. The man's face was clean-shaven and full, a warm and gentle smile lifting his round cheeks up into his twinkling blue eyes.
And just like that, Jake was that fifteen-year-old boy again, new to Castorville Senior High School, the boy too terrified to shower with the other kids after gym class. Coach Roberts had sympathized with him, allowing Jake to stay after class once the others had left. He would even write him a hall pass every time so he wouldn't be late for his next class. It had meant the world to that terrified freshman—more than the coach ever knew—and it wasn't long until Jake found himself with his first crush. Of course, if being a closeted-gay teenager wasn't bad enough, having a crush on his significantly older male teacher certainly sealed the deal. That crush made this encounter all the worse.
It was good seeing him again; it was something he'd never thought he'd get the chance to do. And now, when given the chance to look that man in the eyes once more, he was doing his best to screw it all up. Wiping his hands on his pants once more, he smiled back and said, "Coach Roberts, it's great to see you!"
"I knew it was you," he said, waving his finger at the young man. "I just knew it! What brings you back to Castorville? You visiting the folks for Christmas?"
"Yes, Coach Roberts," Jake replied, trying to be polite.
Coach Roberts shook his head. "Please, only my students call me that. Call me Jerry."
"I don't think I can do that," Jake replied.
"Yeah, it's easy for you kiddos to forget us teachers are real people with lives outside of the school. So, what are you doing in this dump anyway?"
"Hey!" Cherry yelled from behind the counter. She had clearly been listening to their conversation. "You better watch it."
Jerry turned to the waitress. "You know I love you, Cher."
"You best start acting like it," she said, turning toward the kitchen. "Calling my place a dump . . ." Her voice trailed off as she disappeared from view.
Jake waited until she was gone. "I—I'm meeting a friend."
Jerry cocked his head. "It isn't Zach, is it? Zach Biggsby?"
