Last of the Summer Tomatoes (26 page)

Boxes unpacked, computer hooked up, he logged in to e-mail Glenda and Billy. He paused his mouse over Sam’s e-mail address, wondering if he should e-mail him as well, or if Sam even wanted to hear from him. He thought it couldn’t hurt and sent Sam the same e-mail with his new address, although he didn’t expect an e-mail back. Actually, he didn’t want an e-mail back. Maybe a quick break was what he needed, not a drawn-out process where they e-mail daily, then every couple of days, then… nothing for weeks. Maybe an occasional “hi there” or on his birthday a “happy birthday.” No, better to stop now. He turned off the computer to settle in for the evening.

A knock at the door woke him up. It was almost eight, just a few minutes shy of his alarm going off. He shrugged on a t-shirt and sweats before answering the door. A scruffy-looking guy in torn jeans and wrinkled t-shirt stood there.

“Hey, I’m Simon. Just got in from Cleveland, moved in next door. Would you mind—jeez, mooching off the next-door neighbor already—I can’t find my coffee mugs, and I
really
need some coffee. Can I borrow one of yours? I
swear
, I’ll wash it out and return it this evening once I find mine.”

“Sure….” Kyle turned away from the door to grab a mug off the mug rack. “Here. I’m Kyle, by the way. Moved in yesterday.”

Simon took the mug. “Nice to meet you, Kyle. Again, sorry to mooch, but damn, it’s been a
long
ride.”

“I hear ya. No worries. Get your coffee.”

“Hey, maybe we can do lunch, see if we have any of the same classes. I’m majoring in sculpture with a minor in art history.”

“I haven’t picked out a major yet, other than liking to do sketches, gotta find my niche.”

“That’s cool. So, lunch?”

“Sure. See ya at noon in the common room?”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks again for the mug.” Simon headed back to his room.

It dawned on Kyle—he’d made his first friend. He didn’t have to hide his face or lie or make excuses or anything. He was… Kyle.

The first week of school didn’t give Kyle much time to miss the farm or Sam. He did get an e-mail back, Sam giving him his address, telling Kyle he missed him but school was going well. Kyle kept the correspondence with Sam light, nothing heavy, no feelings, just about his professors, homework, finding a job in a Chinese restaurant. Kyle had to smile as he typed that e-mail. He didn’t understand a word of what the family said while they were bickering about one thing or another, but it was a good job, bussing tables, doing dishes. He got a good meal each shift, and they didn’t charge him for it. So, four days a week he ate really well. The others? Well, ramen noodles isn’t known as college food for nothing. That is until the third week of school, when he got a giant box from Glenda.

He lugged it up the stairs to his third-floor room and laid it in the middle of the room. After that excursion, he didn’t even have the strength to put it up on the counter or even shut his door. He sat down next to it, wondering what on earth she had sent him that weighed a ton. He fished his pocketknife from his jeans and smiled as he pulled out jar after jar of various preserves and vegetables. He could eat like a king for months now. And there, at the bottom, slightly smushed, was a bag of fun-sized Snickers bars.

A rap on the door got his attention. Simon was leaning against the doorway. “Giant package from home?”

“Something like that.”

Simon leaned over to look at the haul. “Ewww, vegetables?”

“Dude, you have no idea.”

“So, you wanna hit the frat party tonight?”

“Frat party?”

“Yeah, the next building over houses the football frat for Columbia. You wanna go?”

Kyle grabbed the Snickers bag, ripping it open, handing a couple to Simon. “I don’t know, not exactly a football fan.”

“There’ll be chicks there.”

Kyle stiffened. He hadn’t said anything to anyone regarding his sexuality, letting everyone think what they wanted. Now… okay, he could do this. He wasn’t the Kyle who was scared of his own body any longer.

“I’m… I’m not into chicks.” He waited for the laugh and derision that never came.

“Okay, so there’ll be lots of dudes there. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Kyle looked up at Simon. “You… you don’t mind I’m gay?”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Why on earth would I mind? That is, unless you are hitting on me, and I hate to disappoint you, but I like boobs.”

“No… I… damn, I guess this takes a little getting used to.”

“Dude, we’re in art school.
I’m
in the minority here. Which is why I want to go to this frat party. No offense to the girls here, but a lot of them are lesbians, and I want to expand my horizons.”

“I guess you’re right. I’ve seen quite a few flyers for LBGT groups.”

Simon smirked. “They probably need a hetero support group around here.”

“You may be right.”

Simon sat down next to Kyle. “So, come on, let’s go. Do you good to get out and meet new people.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing for three weeks, meeting new people.”

“No, you need to meet regular new people, not all these artsy-fartsy new people.”

Kyle laughed. “Is that how you see us?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t know about dudes, but regular chicks dig artsy guys. They think we’re more ‘sensitive’ or some shit.”

“I don’t know….”

“Look, you don’t have to go out trolling for dudes, just go out, have a drink, enjoy meeting new people. No one has to know you’re gay unless you want to start making out in the middle of the room or something.”

“I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.”

“And you can never have enough friends, right?”

“True.”

“So?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go. What time?”

“Wanna head over around eight?”

“Sounds good. Gives me time to work on some homework.”

“Mr. Chaleski’s essay on Renaissance art and its influence on the political climate?”

“Don’t you know it. That paper is going to be the death of me.”

“Eh, you’ll do great. You seem to have taken to this college stuff pretty good.” Simon got up. “Thanks for the candy fix. Catch ya at eight.”

Kyle waved him off. Maybe it would be a good thing to expand his horizons, meet some people outside the art program.

T
HE
room was crowded, jam packed with college students dancing, drinking, a few heteros making out. Kyle didn’t feel exactly comfortable, but not apprehensive like he would have a few months ago. A six foot six, 300 pounds of all muscle, and by the scrawl across his shirt, a football linebacker shoved a glass in his hand.

“Yo, here, have a beer.”

Kyle looked down at the frothy drink. “I’m not twenty-one yet.”

“Neither are most of the people here. I’m Brandon, by the way.”

“Kyle. And no one gets into trouble?”

“Not as long as we mind our own business, don’t get too loud, make sure no one drinks and drives, the cops and campus police leave us alone.”

“Weird.”

“They know it’s going to happen, so as long as we’re responsible, they look the other way.”

Kyle took a sip. He’d had a beer before, when Billy had stolen one from his dad’s fridge. It tasted the same, bitter, but really cold. “What are you studying?”

“I’m a football player. What do you think?”

Kyle shrugged. “Uh, physical ed?”

Brandon laughed. “You’d think. Nah, that was a trick question. Accounting.” Brandon gave Kyle’s arm a light punch. “What you in for?”

“Art school.”

“An artist. That’s really cool. I can’t draw worth shit.” Another huge player sidled up to Brandon, draping an arm across Brandon’s shoulders. “Yo, bro, what’s up?”

Brandon gave the newcomer a look. “You’re a little beyond tipsy, Eric.”

“I know. Screwed up my calc test. Drinking it off.”

Brandon looked heavenward, shaking his head. “Not the way to deal, bro.”

“What, you my dad now?”

“No, your friend. And believe me, you’re going to feel this in the morning.”

“Eh. Hey, who’s your friend?”

Brandon looked over at Kyle. “This is Kyle, from the art school down the block. Kyle, this drunken bastard is Eric.”

Kyle nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Eric sloshed most of his beer as he misjudged the distance between them and jerked forward into a half-arm hug. “Cool dude.”

Brandon pulled Eric back. “Dude, go sit down before you fall down. And you’re cut off.”

“Awww, come on.”

“Nope, no more.” Brandon brought out a permanent marker and put a red X on the back of Eric’s hand. “You’ll thank me when you’re not puking your guts up in a few hours.”

“Fine. I’ll get a soda.”

“Get some aspirin while you’re at it.” Eric sauntered off toward the table full of sodas.

“So you’re the alcohol monitor?”

“Unless I want to be picked up for underage, yeah. As I said, if we police ourselves, the police stay away.”

“Smart.”

“They don’t let just anyone into Columbia, football scholarship or no.” Brandon grinned.

Kyle eased up a little, getting introduced to most of the offensive line, whatever that was. He definitely was going to have to read up on football to understand what these guys were talking about. He glanced over to see Simon making headway with a pretty young redhead. Yeah, good decision to come to this party.

It was two in the morning when Kyle finally made it back to his room. Simon had made his hookup with the redhead, waving to Kyle as they shut the door to Simon’s room.

Kyle shook his head, muttering to himself. “At least someone got lucky.”

Not that he had any illusions about hooking up with anyone anytime soon. He fell asleep, his dreams filled with Sam.

Twenty-One

T
HE
fall semester seemed to fly by. Kyle was excelling in his classes, which pleased Glenda to no end. He always e-mailed or called her when he got a test score back, good or bad. But it was almost always good news. After the large food package, she sent him some smaller gift packages, always with something from the garden and his Snickers. He missed her and Walt, and yes, Sam, but he dared not believe he would ever see them again. Even after he got an invite to Thanksgiving, he had to refuse, partly because he couldn’t deal with seeing Sam again, partly because the Chinese restaurant was going to give him extra hours as most of their waitstaff were college students going home for the holiday. The extra money would come in very handy.

It was a Sunday afternoon, relatively warm for a November day. He itched to get outside and sketch, wanting the openness of the farm’s pastures and trees, but instead, had to settle for the outside corner café that had a pretty good view of a park. He grabbed his sketchpad and pencils, making sure he had enough cash for a few cups of coffee. He was way too proud to sit at a café and
not
order something. He knew personally how hard the waitstaff worked.

He found the perfect table, off to the corner a bit near the wall, away from others who were also enjoying the outdoors. The picture was coming to life, the colorful trees bursting with reds, golds, oranges, the kids running and yelling. He still wasn’t great with human bodies, faces he could do, but could never get the proportions of the limbs right. That was what this art school was for, to learn how to do this well and to do it right. He didn’t notice two guys come up behind him on the sidewalk.

“Well looky here, some nancy boy is drawing a pretty picture.” The blond one with a swastika tattoo on the back of his hand grabbed Kyle’s sketchbook, roughly thumbing through it.

“Please give that back.”

“Aww, what is nancy boy going to do?” Swastika thug held the pad above his head.

“I don’t want any trouble. Please give it back, and I’ll leave.” Kyle stood up, gathering his pencils. Thug number two, with dark brown hair and a grotesque skull tattooed on his neck, advanced on him.

“Ya gots plenty of trouble. We’ve been lookin’ for ya.”

“What?”

“You’re trouble, and we don’t like your kind here.”

“My… my kind?”

“Artsy faggot.” Thug number two picked Kyle up and slammed him against the wall. “Why yas gotta come into our neighborhood and spread your AIDS all around?”

“I… I didn’t, I don’t….”

Thug number two punched Kyle in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“You’d better put him down if you know what’s good for you.” Kyle focused enough to see Brandon and three of his very large friends standing behind thug number two.

Thug number one pulled a knife. “Why don’t you nancy boys just mind your own business.”

“Because you’re hurting our friend there, and we don’t like it.” Brandon had at least six inches on thug number one and a good forty pounds of muscle, but Kyle knew brawn was no match for a knife.

Thug number one scowled. “Guess we gotta show who’s boss around here.” He lunged toward Brandon, who, despite his size, quickly sidestepped the knife, grabbing thug number one’s arm. One quick move and the arm was broken at the elbow, hanging at a weird angle, the knife on the ground and thug number one nearly passing out.