Coda 02 -A to Z

they weren’t laughing at all. “You’re not old, Zach. You gotta quit actin’ like your life is over.”
    Was that how I acted?
He glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. “I gotta go.”
    I knew he wanted to leave before Tom showed up. “You can stay longer. I’m sure he’ll be late.”

    “I’m sure he will too. The fuckin’ stupid thing is, you’re not even pissed about it.”

    “Ang—”

    “See you tomorrow, Zach.”

…Angelo
T OM ’ S comin’ over tonight, which means I’ll definitely leave early.
    No way do I want to pass that guy on the stairs, knowin’ he’s on his way to be with Zach. I know it’s none of my business who Zach sleeps with. Still, makes me nuts to think of them together. Can’t stand to think of Tom touchin’ Zach or kissin’ him or fuckin’ him. I tell myself I only feel this way ’cause Tom’s an asshole and Zach is my friend. Can’t be more to it than that.
    I’m headed for the door when I see the condoms. Brand new box of ’em sittin’ on the counter. I’m glad Zach’s bein’ careful, but at the same time, I feel some kind of madness buildin’ in me, knowin’ what they mean.
    Why should that stupid fuckin’ box make me want to scream and cry and rage and stomp my feet on the floor like a goddamn kid? Why do I want to rail at Zach, bolt the door, and pretend none of it is real? Must be ’cause Zach’s gettin’ some, and I’m not. Truth is, it’s been a long time for me. A long time since I let anyone touch me. Before I have time to think about it much, I open the box, take two, and stick them in my pocket. Haven’t been to a club in almost a year, but I know I’m goin’ tonight.
    Clubs are easy for me. I look younger than I am and I’m pretty small. Lots of guys seem to dig that. Always been able to take my pick.
    Years ago I did this all the time. Almost every night. If someone handed me a drink, I drank it. A joint, I smoked it. A pill, I swallowed it. Ended up in lots of bad situations with all kinds of people. Woke up in places I didn’t recognize. Then one night I went home with a guy. He wasn’t the type I usually went for. He was a big jock type. Pushy. Knew in my gut it was a bad fuckin’ idea. He gave me that vibe—same vibe I get from Tom—but I was drunk and lookin’ to score. We agreed on oral before leavin’ the club, but once we got to his place he wanted somethin’ else. Didn’t want to take no for an answer, either. Things got pretty intense for a bit. In the end I got away, and I’m pretty sure that guy ended up with a broken nose and a sore sac. Still scared the shit out of me.
    Didn’t go back to the clubs for a long time after that. Saved money for weeks to afford the tests at the clinic. Lucky as hell they all came back clean. That’s when I quit clubbin’.
    Mostly.
Thing is, there’s times when jackin’ off just isn’t quite enough.
    Since that night I got rules. First rule: I never take anybody back to my place. Won’t go to their place either, unless they live within walkin’ distance. Don’t want to have to rely on anybody for a ride home. I’ll go to their car, if they have one. Best bet is to pick one of the guys who work at the club, ’cause they can get us to one of the back rooms.
    Not tonight, though. Tonight I got a guy picked out. He’s sittin’ with some friends lookin’ way out of place. The club’s almost industrial. These guys look like they just wandered in off the fuckin’ golf course. They’re all starin’ around with huge eyes and nervous smiles. Slummin’, I guess. What the fuck ever. My guy’s got dark brown hair. Like Zach’s. But I’m not thinkin’ ’bout him. Wearin’ one of those stupid fuckin’ shirts with the little horses on it. Like Zach. I’m still not thinkin’ ’bout him.
    I lean against the bar and just stare at him. Know it sounds stupid, but it always works. Doesn’t take long for him to see me. When he does, he actually turns around and looks behind him, to see if I’m lookin’ at somebody else. I smile and wave him over. He’s probably in his late thirties, and he’s gettin’ a little heavy around the middle. Don’t matter. Not like I’m gonna be lookin’ at him.
    “Hey,” he says when he gets to me. Then he stops, ’cause he obviously has no fuckin’ clue what he’s supposed to say next. “We don’t gotta bullshit,” I tell him. “Want to go for a little walk with me?”

    His eyes get big. Brown eyes. Not like Zach’s.