The Good Life

I was merging onto the Interstate when my cell phone gave a trilling ring, telling me someone had just left a message on my e-Love account. I slid the phone open and scanned the new profile that had appeared in the "interested" column. Twenty-five, good job, very pretty brunette. Damn. I almost deleted her, but then thought, what the hell, there might be something she's not telling. You do after all put your best foot forward on these sorts of sites. Well, everyone but me. I had used the worst photographs, played down all my selling points, emphasized my weaknesses, and actually added twenty pounds to my weight and subtracted two inches from my height. But still I wasn't catching anywhere near the right type of woman. All pretty, all successful, all full of hopes for the future with the guy of their dreams. The problem was, even though I still looked every inch the athletic golden boy I was in high school -- a fact which even creative photo shopping seemed unable to hide - I would never be that guy for them. I figured it would be another five years at least until I found what I was looking for, a nice woman, older, a little on the desperate side, happy to settle for "good enough". The women who responded to my profile were still too young to see any promise in a comfortable but passionless life as the wife of a gay man.

You have to understand, it's not like I hated myself for being gay. Well, not anymore. Back in high school my best friend Jason and I and a couple of other guys had spent most of our free time brutally bullying gay kids. Mostly we made nasty remarks, called them fag, dyke. We pushed them into lockers, stuffed their heads in toilets. On more than one occasion we beat the living crap out of them. Then, the last day of class our Senior year, Jason stole his dad's gun and shot himself.

And I knew instantly why he did it, why he hated himself so much that he would end his life, because it was the same reason I had hated myself. We were both gay. We were both gay, and that is why we bullied all those kids. The next couple weeks were the most difficult of my life, but on the other side I came to terms with who I was. I accepted that I was attracted to men. But what I didn't accept is that it would be allowed to have any part in my life. Maybe I cared too much about what other people thought, but the idea of being that weird gay guy, who gathered strange looks all around town, who none but the most liberal parents would let babysit their kids, who would never just be one of the guys, it made my stomach turn. Besides, stupid as it may sound, it never really occurred to me that I would be giving up anything more than physical passion. The thought of falling in love never occurred to me. I was

going

to be an architect, I was

going

marry a nice woman, have half a dozen kids, live in the suburbs, and give really great barbeques.

That

was the plan, and nothing was going to take it away from me.

I cursed when I saw the flashing lights in my rearview window. Had I been speeding? Had he seen me looking at my phone while I was driving? Maybe he just thought a young guy by himself driving a crappy red convertible that screamed "pot dealer" couldn't be up to any good. It wouldn't be the first time. I had thought more than once about trading in the piece of junk for something more respectable, but what can I say, I just loved the feeling of speeding along under the open sky.

I pulled over. As the officer approached I rolled down the window and looked up with what I hoped was an adequately apologetic smile, only to have my stomach leap into my throat. It had been six years, and time had changed him considerably, but even if it had been twenty years or fifty my conscience would never let me forget. It was Evan Chamberlain.

Back in high school my friends and I had targeted a lot of people, but there was one poor kid who got the worst of it, and that was Evan Chamberlain. I don't know what it was that made us go after him especially. Maybe because his parents never complained, and it made him an easy target. Maybe it was because he had the nerve to shower with us after gym class. Or maybe it was because he was so...normal. He didn't prance or mince around or lisp his words, he ate junk food, had absolutely no style, played contact sports, and did so many baseball related oral reports the teacher asked him to stop. If he could be gay, so could anyone, and that scared the hell out of us. I still hated myself when I thought about what I had done. Sometimes when it had been on my mind a lot I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror, but slowly it had fallen into the past. Now all the old feelings came flooding back.

"License and registration please, sir," Evan said calmly. Was it possible he didn't recognize me? I could barely look him in the face as I handed him my documents, but when I did my eyes went right to the scar over his left eye. I had given him that scar, when I had shoved him into the lockers Junior year and he stumbled and fallen down the stairs instead. He handed back my license and registration, then paused, I suppose waiting for me to ask what I had done.

When I didn't say anything he said, "I saw you on the cell phone, sir. That's a $250 fine now. Did you know that?" I couldn't speak. "It's a new law, so I'll let it slide. But keep you eyes on the road from now on, okay?" He turned to go.

That was it? He was letting me off? No way.

"Officer," I called. He reappeared at my window. With the roof down I could see him very well, and still there was no obvious recognition. "Officer," I stammered, "um, I don't know if you remember me, but, um, we went to high school together, and..."

"I remember you Mr. Dubach." His tone was flat.

"Oh." This was stupid. What could I say? After everything I did? "I am so, so fucking sorry. I was so out of line..." I trailed off, realizing how utterly inadequate that was.

Evan gave me an irritated stare. "What do you want Mr. Dubach? For me to forgive you?"

"Of course not, I..."

He bit his lip, a gesture that might have seemed impatient but I understood from experience was agitation. "Look, that was years ago. It was really shitty, but it's done, so..." I saw the car in the rearview mirror before he did, a dark SUV swerving in the right lane going at least thirty over the speed limit. Without thinking I grabbed Evan by the front of his uniform and yanked him over the door into my lap just as the SUV sideswiped the car, spinning us around forty five degrees in a shower of sparks and safety glass.

Evan scrambled up to catch the SUV's plate as it sped away, then grabbed his radio. Wide eyed he called in the accident while I sat in shocked silence. When he was done he looked at me.

"Mr. Dubach? Mr. Dubach, are you okay?" I heard him, but was still too out of it to understand. "Charlie!" That snapped me out of it.

"Goddamned fucking shit!" I screamed.

"Are you hurt?"

I was dazed, but everything felt alright. "No. You?"

"Fine. We should get out."

We stood in the grass on the shoulder, politely waving on the concerned drivers that stopped to help. Evan looked me up and down cautiously, as though still trying to figure out what just happened. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"After what I put you through you don't owe me shit." At least I could talk to him now without feeling like a piece of garbage. At least not so much.

He shrugged. "You really aren't that guy anymore, are you?"

I didn't know what to say, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question anyway. I wanted to tell him that I hated the person I had been, that I would give anything to be able to take it all back. Instead I stood in the grass and marveled how much Evan had changed in six years. The skittish, lanky, fiery eyed teenager I remembered was all but unrecognizable. Outwardly, he looked good. He had grown four inches since high school, making him a hair over six feet, and, from the way the uniform hung, had filled out very nicely. (Yeah, I know, but I can still look can't I?) His face was a big surprise. Though he couldn't be more than twenty five he looked well into his thirties (I hate to think what part I had in his premature aging), but that aside the boyish awkwardness of his teen years had disappeared leaving behind a very passable man. But I didn't know if all the changes were for the better. Despite everything, in high school he had always been upbeat, defiant, and smiled an almost shocking amount. This guy didn't look like he smiled much.

A squad car with a bent license plate pulled in behind Evan's. Evan frowned and reached for his radio.

"Um, Dispatch this is Chamberlain, it that officer Bryson responding?"

"That's a positive."

He released the button. "Fantastic."

He set his expression to impassive as a giant barrel chested cop walked over. "Officer Chamberlain," he smirked slightly, and said the word "officer" like it was a joke.

"Officer Dyson," Evan responded coolly.

"What've we got here?" he said, getting out a notepad and pen.

Evan gave his statement first, leaving out only what we had been discussing when the accident happened. Dyson was a perfect ass throughout. He talked to Evan more like some mall rent a cop than an equal, lecturing him on traffic stop safety, congratulating him condescendingly on getting the plate number, and even biting back a laugh when he realized that I had pulled Evan on top of me. That was the last straw. Dyson may not think much of Evan, but maybe he would show an accident victim a little more respect.

"Is that a problem, officer?" I said, trying not to let my contempt show.

Dyson's smile vanished, and he looked at me with embarrassment. "No sir. Um, inside joke. Could I please get your statement now?"

From that point Dyson was all business, and was even professional with Evan when they had to talk. The tow truck came and went and Evan gave me a ride to the car rental place.

"Well, thanks again," he said. "You couldn't have handled that better."

"I told you, you don't ever have to thank me for anything. That guy was an ass. And you have to work with him?"

"Unfortunately. Dyson's a good cop, but he's a real dick when it comes to the whole gay thing."

"Sorry to hear that."

We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. It was a long way to the rental place. What on earth were we supposed to talk about? But he preempted me.

"So, what've you been up to?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, this and that." It was way more than I deserved for him to try to be friendly, even after what just happened. It nowhere near made us even.

"'This and that?' What about that tattoo on your arm? Navy, right?" He kept pressing, and I found myself telling him all about my four years in the navy and studying to become an architect.

"You needed the G.I. Bill to go to college? I always thought your family was pretty well off."

He sure was observant. I couldn't tell you a thing about his family. "Yeah, but my dad wants me to pay my own way. You know, build character, just like he did." Of course that was only half the story. What I didn't tell him was that I had wanted to give myself a few years breathing room before college because I couldn't bear the thought of running into any of my old high school classmates there. "Of course he wanted me to go into the family business..."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Contracting. You see those signs at construction sites for D&B Builders?"

"That's your dad?"

"Yeah. He even offered me a two year advance on my salary and a big bonus so I could get settled right away. But I've wanted to be an architect ever since he took me to see a Greene and Greene house when I was eleven. How about you?"

"All I've ever wanted to be is a cop. I joined the force right out of high school, and well, that's pretty much it."

It was my turn to start pressing. By the time we got to the rental place we were both laughing as Evan told me how as a rookie he was called in on a home invasion, burst into the house gun drawn, only to find a family of possums raiding the kitchen.

We pulled into the parking lot, and Evan paused before asking me, "You must be hungry. Want to grab some lunch?"

Well, I had already missed class. Evan was clearly a great guy. I still didn't know how he could stand to be around me, but if he wanted to be friends who was I to argue?

We ate at a little greasy spoon full of cops, all of whom either ignored Evan or gave him a weird look and then ignored him. I commented on it. "Oh, they're still getting used to me. It just takes some time, you know?" I didn't, but nodded anyway.

Evan and I really hit it off, and an hour later when it was time for him to get back to work he asked if I wanted to do something that weekend.

That Saturday we went to the city to see a baseball game. We had seats about ten rows up from the left field foul pole. Evan sat with his feet up, crunching some $5 peanuts and explaining to me in fine detail about the team's solid fielding and promising minor league prospects. He was particularly exited about the new first baseman's major league debut, a really talented hitter apparently. In truth I was more of a football man, but it was great to see Evan so open. All the guardedness and shyness had evaporated, taking ten years off him. When the first baseman's very first major league hit fell foul into the empty seats in front of us Evan made a dash for it, scrambling madly over the rows of seats, catching his foot, falling, falling again, (it was almost painful to watch) before just beating out a pot bellied forty something for the ball. He spun around and grinned at me, holding up the ball in triumph. I pointed over his shoulder. He looked confused. I cupped my hands to my mouth. "JUMBO TRON."

He spun just in time to see the replay of his decidedly ungraceful dash for the ball. When it turned back to live he smiled sheepishly and waved to the laughing stadium. He was blushing but still smiling when he came back to his seat. He put the ball in my hand. "That is a piece of baseball history," he said happily. He even bought an overpriced beer for the guy he had beaten.

Over the next few months Evan and I went to other baseball games. We also went to movies, went hiking, played catch and tennis and went to the batting cages. A lot of times we just hung out at one of our places. It was almost like being teenagers again. Evan was quickly becoming the best friend I had had in a very long time, maybe ever. The more I got to know him the more I liked him -- his sense of humor, his energy, his kindness, his bordering on fanatical devotion to helping people.

I also started to worry about him. He never seemed to date, and I was his only real friend. It was like at twenty five he had already given up on having a life and devoted himself entirely to his job. In his mind he didn't have to have friends or love, but he did have to be a cop. I didn't see any reason why he couldn't have both. I even took him to some GLA mixers on campus. He seemed willing enough to go, but then would just stand against the wall staring at his drink. Nearly every person he talked to hit on me first. I would tell them I was flattered but not available, but why don't you go talk to my friend over there? But after spending essentially his entire adult life alone he was shy and uncomfortable meeting new people. I thought he was cute as hell, but for some reason I seemed to be the only one. He did make some casual friends, the kind that he could go running with if I was busy cramming for an exam, and was thrilled about it. I thought he owed it to himself to aim a little higher.

"Evan, I know that you're lonely. There are lots of great guys out there. You could get one easy if you just acted like you do around me. Why don't you try?"

"It's not that easy. Society teaches you how to date women, not men. I've never been any good at this."

"Just be yourself."

"Yeah, for some reason I kind of have an aversion to doing that." He saw the guilty look on my face and flinched. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I deserved it."

"We're past all that."

"No. We're not." He tried, he really did, but I didn't know if he would ever be able to look at me and not see the high school bully just a little bit.

I had wanted to tell him for a while that I was gay. It had been awful not having anyone to talk to, to confide in, and Evan was the first person I knew who I felt I could really trust with this. I don't know why I thought this was the right moment, but for whatever reason I found myself blurting it out. "Evan, I'm gay."

Evan just blinked at me obviously. "Yeah."

"What! You knew?" Oh God, if he knew, who else had figured it out?

Evan seemed to read my mind. "There are two reasons people have bullied me as bad as you guys did, because they're psychopaths or because they're trying really hard to convince themselves they aren't gay. Besides," he grinned, "I see the way you look at other guys. Don't think I didn't notice you checking me out the day of the accident."

"What?!"

"Don't panic. You're actually really good about it. Subtle, I mean. The only reason I can tell is that I can relate. Have you told anyone else?"

"Nobody." I almost told him all about my home in the suburbs plan, the wife, the kids, the barbeques, the whole thing, but thought it would sound like I was accusing him of something.

"Don't."

"What?"

"You may think it's hell keeping it hidden, but trust me it can be a lot worse. Just keep it to yourself."

I felt slightly sick. Despite the shame I would always feel regarding Evan, ever since I realized I was gay right after high school he had been sort of a hero to me. Someone who was himself, unapologetically, and if you didn't like it you could go to hell because he wasn't going to change for anyone. That took such an immense amount of courage that I had assumed that was just who he was, that he stood defiantly on some higher plane where no one would ever be able to touch him or hurt him. He was showing me now just how wrong I had been.

"What?" he said. "Don't give me that look. I hate being gay. I fucking hate it. Back in high school I thought things were changing, only a few years at most and it would all be okay. Now I don't know if it'll ever be okay. When people look at me they don't see a nice guy or a good cop. They see a queer. I'll never have a family of my own. You're the first real friend I've had since I came out. I can barely even do my job because nobody respects me. It's just not worth it."

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

Evan's tone softened. "I'm not telling you to make you feel bad. I'm telling you so that you know. Coming out can ruin you whole life."

"It's not that. It's not just that. Evan, that guy you were in high school...I admire the hell out of him. I hate to see you like this. It's fucking breaking my heart." That was more than I had intended to say, but it was absolutely true.

After a moment's surprised hesitation, Evan put his hand on my back. "I'm sorry. That kid had a lot of guts, but he didn't know a lot about the real world. Besides, he said squeezing my shoulder, "at least now I've got you."

Even now, seeing him down off the pedestal I had placed him on, I had to admire his strength. And he was right, he did have me. To the ends of the earth. I put an arm around him. I wished I could show him that he was wrong, that he could be happy. That he was the greatest guy in the world, and someday everyone would see that.

It was like that. In my mind Evan was great, he was brilliant, he was brave and selfless. He was even fantastically good looking. Yes, I was indeed enough of an idiot to have that thought cross my mind nearly every time I saw him and still not get that I was falling for him. I was even thick headed enough to wonder why it took me several weeks to notice how green his eyes were, how handsome, how bright his smile, how strong and graceful his body. When we went out I was increasingly confused by how it was always me who would get hit on. I knew I was good looking (a fact I was unable to get away from), tall and dark with a strong athletic body and chiseled features. And I have to admit that my soft brown eyes seem to have a certain draw. But in my eyes Evan was at least a match for me. The guys and girls should have been all over him.