Remembering Christmas (23 page)

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Authors: Drew Ferguson

BOOK: Remembering Christmas
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As a thirty-six-year-old gay man, even one who was just coming out of a three-year relationship, Theo knew what it felt like to be manhandled by a strange man. But such indelicate indiscretions had only taken place in the privacy of his or the stranger's apartment or, on occasion, in the darkness of the backroom of a bar, not in the fluorescent-lit, open space of an airport surrounded by people of the heterosexual persuasion, half of them women and many of them children. It was a scenario that should have made him feel incredibly uncomfortable, but Theo was desperate. The only person he had had sex with since Neil left was himself, and the past few outings had proven unsatisfactory; in fact the last time he was intimate with himself he faked an orgasm. And he didn't even notice. Like the orphan on Christmas morning, he would take whatever gift he could get and incredibly, upon closer inspection, the gift of the new security guard was even better looking than he originally thought.
Second in line, Theo had a perfect view of the man who, shortly, would once again make him feel like a man. He saw that the guard had dark brown eyes as sharp as his dark brown buzz cut, skin as smooth as his ironed uniform, and perfect posture that made the most of his five-foot-eight-inch frame. From this vantage point he looked less like a Lifetime headliner and more like a cross between Tom of Finland and Tom Cruise, which meant he looked nothing like fair-haired Neil, which meant he suited Theo just fine.
Prior to the regime change, Theo had dreaded having to go through security with Burl Ives as the checkpoint guard. He knew it was a necessity, he knew there was no way out of it, but he kept trying to come up with some excuse so he could bypass the inevitable and avoid having to be felt up by the man who up until a few moments ago was feeling up every other man in line. But now with Mr. Finland-Cruise at the helm, he couldn't wait for his turn to be manhandled, felt up, and touched in any way humanly possible. Just as he finished tossing his belongings into the bin on the conveyer belt, things got even better.
“Next.”
Only one word and yet the security guard's Southern accent was unmistakable. Simultaneously rough and soft, equal parts command and invitation, the voice was so enticing Theo momentarily forgot that he was standing at the cross section of Blue Hair Avenue and Crying Kid Lane in Heteroland and thought he had fallen down the rabbit hole into some X-rated fantasy. He tried to smile, fully aware that his smile looked more like a smirk, and felt his arousal grow a few inches in length, as finally he was going to experience some Christmas joy. Maybe the trip would be worth it after all.
Taking a step closer to the gentleman who was about to show him some southern hospitality, Theo opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the security guard spoke first, this time sprinkling his Southern accent with some no-nonsense, but even more arousal-inducing Midwestern attitude.
“Raise your arms, please.”
Holy stocking stuffer! The trip was being salvaged by the second because here was a man who knew how to give orders. Neil had always been a bit too passive in bed. Theo dealt with it, but he preferred guys who easily took on the more dominant role in their relationship, especially if they were a few inches shorter than he was. Obviously, Theo was a bit more desperate than he had realized and involuntarily he took the X-rated fantasy a step further.
“Yes, sir,” Theo responded. It wasn't a completely inappropriate response except that Theo employed a tone that a) made it sound as if he too was from the South, which wasn't true, and b) made it seem that the man was a
prison
guard instead of an airport security guard or possibly even a plantation owner, which was most definitely not true. To his credit, the security guard didn't acknowledge Theo's tonal faux pas except for a two-second glare aimed directly at Theo's smiling green eyes, which could have been interpreted as a come-on or a come-off-it. Before he had a chance to decide which it was, the guard got to work.
As latex-clad fingers scampered across the tops of Theo's arms, then underneath, he tried to flex his outstretched arms as much as possible to show the guard, who he now mentally referred to as simply Mr. Tom, that he hit the gym several times a week. Moving on, Mr. Tom pressed against Theo's chest, back, and stomach until he was satisfied that Theo wasn't concealing any weapons of mass destruction on the upper half of his body. Now it was time to move below deck.
Theo couldn't conceal a sigh when Mr. Tom slipped his fingers inside the waistband of his slim-fit Levi's jeans. If Mr. Tom heard him he made no indication; he was deeply focused on his work, and it was clear that Mr. Tom wasn't a multitasker. Using Theo's belly button as the starting point, Mr. Tom rotated a finger to the left until it reached the apex of his ass and then another to the right. Immediately, Theo felt the area around his crotch grow tighter. He couldn't help himself; he was stressed, depressed, and repressed, and here was a hunky man in uniform kneeling in front of him mere inches from his crotch with his hands down his pants. If it hadn't been for the projectile vomiting of the pregnant woman standing in line a few passengers behind him, he would, without a doubt, have projected his own fluid.
Interestingly, Theo had never heard or seen projectile vomiting before. The one and only time he saw
The Exorcist
was on television, and that scene was cut out to maintain non-cable broadcast purity, and yet the moment it happened he knew what had occurred. He also knew that the woman had eaten cornflakes for breakfast. The smell was sour, the sound was gross, but Theo was grateful—his erection was gone.
While Mr. Tom continued to press against Theo's Levi's from inseam to ankle, front and back, his female counterpart ran to the aid of the vomiting pregnant woman. Theo kept thinking about the mother-to-be experiencing mid-afternoon morning sickness and stayed flaccid even while Mr. Tom ran his hands over the soles of his feet as if Theo was Ralph Lauren's exclusive foot model and Mr. Tom was a shoe designer in search of the perfect arch. Yes, the woman had ruined his fantasy, but he had gotten a little carried away so it was with only the mildest disappointment that Theo accepted Mr. Tom's dismissal when he barked, “Next.”
Five minutes later, his feet that were so-recently caressed were encased once again in brown leather driving moccasins not made by Ralph Lauren and straddling the sides of his carry-on duffel bag, also brown leather and also not made by Ralph Lauren. He looked around at the other travelers and saw that most of them were in groups, friends chatting, mothers holding babies, couples holding hands, he hated them all. How quickly the bliss from the dream sequence starring Mr. Tom had faded, no more heated fantasy, back to reality.
Theo grabbed another magazine from his bag, this one featuring high-priced furniture instead of high-priced celebrities. He couldn't afford any of the designer merchandise artfully spread out on page after page, but just looking at the accoutrements made him feel sophisticated and urbane while breathing in the unsophisticated and possibly baneful Midwestern ambience. However, the feeling of superiority was short-lived. No matter how hard he tried to occupy his mind he couldn't get over how annoyed he was to be sitting in the lounge area of Gate 27 waiting for Flight 422 to depart Lambert-St. Louis International Airport for Phoenix, Arizona, the new hometown of Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Franklin, Sr., his parents. They had lived their whole lives in Fairfield, New Jersey, and were planning on living there for the remainder until his mother's twin sister, Clare, was diagnosed with acute asthma and needed to move to a dry climate in order to breathe. Theo's mother, Alice, needed to be near Clare in order to breathe, so she and her husband made the trek from the suburbs to the desert.
Absentmindedly, Theo stroked the armrest of his chair, stopping abruptly when he realized that it not only looked, but also felt very much like the earth in Phoenix—faded by the sun and hostile to the touch. God, how he loathed Arizona! The state made no sense to him, miles and miles of sand and not an ocean in sight. Plus, every month of the year you had to walk around with a bottle of water and wear a sun hat to ward off dehydration and melanoma. You might be able to breathe easy there, but you couldn't live. You couldn't even keep time there, as the state ignored the time-honored concept of Daylight Savings Time, refusing to spring forward and fall back. It was an obstinate, stupid state, and as much as he loved his Aunt Clare and wished her a long life devoid of respiratory ailments, he resented having to fly from his adopted home state of Massachusetts to his parents' adopted home state of Arizona just to see them for the holidays.
Theo took several deep breaths, each one a little slower like his analyst had taught him in order to push out the negativity and only allow positive thoughts to inhabit his bloodstream. Out with evil Arizona, in with good old Christmas dinner. Out with the blazing hot sun and cactus trees decorated with twinkling lights, in with watching
The Year Without a Santa Claus,
his favorite Rankin / Bass Christmas Special for the thirtieth time. Out with all the annoying, repetitive small talk he was going to have to engage in with his relatives, in with embracing being a single gay man during the holidays. What?! No. Take another breath. Out with being a single gay man during the holidays, in with a horrific—though not fatal—accident befalling his ex-partner Neil as he and his latest boy toy, Pockmarked Peter, drove to Vermont to spend their very first Christmas as a couple with Peter's pockmarked parents in their little pockmarked cottage on a pockmarked village at the base of some ugly, pockmarked mountain! He was making so much noise breathing in and out and in and out that he almost didn't hear his name.
“Teddy?”
Out with dwelling on the past, in with celebrating the future. Even if the future wasn't worth celebrating just yet.
“Teddy? Is that you?”
Looking up from his magazine with visions of a horrendous—though it must be noted again,
non-fatal
car accident—still dancing in his head, Theo felt like he was looking into the harsh Phoenix sun; he couldn't make out who was standing in front of him and why that unseen person was addressing him with a name he hadn't responded to in well over a decade.
“Teddy! It's me, Rob.”
Suddenly it was as if a mass of clouds swept in from the east and softened the harsh, ugly Phoenix sun so Theo could see who was standing before him. Seeing was one thing, believing was another. It was him, it was indeed Rob, but it couldn't be, it was impossible, there was absolutely no way that Rob was in the airport standing in front of him. It was a hallucination, that was it! A byproduct of the last few months of emotional turmoil, the angst of having to travel during the holidays, the Mr. Tom interlude interrupted by the projectile vomit, the collection of all those feelings had snowballed into an avalanche that now threatened to bury Theo alive right there in the airport. He was having difficulty breathing, but he knew that the only way to convince himself that he was hallucinating was to reply to the mirage; when the mirage failed to respond, he would know his mind was just playing tricks on him and he wasn't being visited by the ghost of Christmas Past.
Squinting up at the vision, Theo asked cautiously, “Rob?”
And then the ghost of Christmas Past spoke again. In a thick, New Jersey accent that Theo knew all too well, “Dude! This is freakin' unbelievable!”
It was no hallucination, it was Rob.
“Dude! I knew it was you!” Rob exclaimed, squealing like a man from New Jersey who has no idea that squealing is something that only tween girls should do in public.
Before Theo could fully comprehend what was going on, Rob grabbed his hand in a firm handshake and yanked him up out of his seat, causing his magazine to fall to the floor. He didn't even notice; he was mesmerized. Smiling warmly, Rob threw his left arm around him in a hug that was even more welcoming and pressed Theo close to his chest. Just as Theo thought he would faint from the warmth of the physical connection, Rob pulled back and rested his palms on Theo's shoulders. The silence crackled as both men took each other in and was only broken when Rob spoke. “Seriously dude, I can't believe it's you.”
Neither can I,
Theo thought,
after all this time, in the most random of places. For years I imagined what it would be like to see you again, to say all the things to you that I never got a chance to say.
“Dude, say something!” Rob said again in that same squeaky voice, slapping both of Theo's shoulders lightly as if to jumpstart his dialogue.
“Merry Christmas,” was all that Theo could manage.
Rob threw his hands up and laughed. “Well yeah, you too, but after all this time that's all you can come up with?” he replied. “Come on, Teddy, you can do better than that.”
“My name's not Teddy.” And in today's performance the role of the bitchy queen will be played by Theodore Franklin, Jr. “Sorry I didn't mean it like that,” Theo stammered. “It's just that I haven't, you know, been called that since . . .”
“High school,” Rob said, finishing his sentence.
That wasn't what Theo had wanted to say, but he didn't think he should make another bitchy comment so soon after his first one. “Exactly.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Rob said, “Sorry, I forgot you're, uh, Theo now, right?”

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