Chapter 2

“Well, then, there now,as James Dean said in the movie Rebel Without a Cause—remember how we could quote all the lines to each other? Remember when we found out Sal Mineo was not only gay, and had a crush on James, but had posed naked for a classical-type picture? The New Adam, right? Oh, good times! Whenever he looked at James with those cow-like eyes, with his devotion and desire, oh, my God, I about came in my pants right there in the theater and every time later watching the video I’d swiped from the video store.

I chose a Worldtour ship, Something Something Rain, I think, perhaps because of its slightly weird name or because, while huge, it’s not mega-huge. I got a stateroom near the top, with a balcony. I’m so sorry we didn’t do this when you wanted to. I’ll always regret that.

I ate dinner in the formal dining room last night, and I wish I hadn’t. I sat at a table for eight, part of which was a family, another couple, and the rest of us strays. There was wine, lobster, soup, waiters, the whole thing. But during the dessert, there was the most awful scene. Quiet and tasteful, you understand, as befits the upper classes, don’cha know, but the undertones were right out there in plain sight, if you know the signs. In short, this ritzy asshole and his bitch-thin wife with one of those costly wedge haircuts had been quietly but continually ragging on their exquisite teenage son the whole meal.

Of course, my please be gaydarwas buzzing furiously! And I think, accurately, from the various things I overheard.

“Why can’t you be like your brother Junior? He’s already earned a full football scholarship, and he’s a year younger than you.”

And then dear mother, “This art history thing is fine for a passing fad, but where will it get you in life? Some shop? Living in some attic? As a newspaper critic for small shows in some forgotten fly-over state? Is that what you want? You can’t make a living in art. Maybe you could teach kindergarten. But, really, Savin? You’re an adult; act like it!”

Finally, the boy stood, steaming under a white face, his upper cheeks burning, and excused himself, saying he felt ill. I’ll bet he felt ill. Hell, I felt ill! I felt so bad for him. It brought back so many sad and painful memories.

I was only able to finish the meal by thinking of what you might have said to them, and it brought me a small smile as well. I do miss you so much.

Besides, they said newspaper criticlike it was a bad thing.

I went by the photo area, not because I wanted to see any photos of myself without you, but I did see the one of that damn family. The boy is just as sweet in the photo as in real life.

Oh, my God, Richard, did we look like that as teens? I doubt it! No, we were wearing plaid shirts and khakis with grease in our hair and trying to fit in. I felt like I had buck teeth and an overbite and overalls, compared to how neat the other boys looked. And out of one hundred kids in my high school graduating class, apparently, I was the only gay one, though later I heard that one of the girls who had never married had been very athletic in school.

You know what that means, right? Nobody had even heard of lipstick lesbians or, God forbid, transsexuals back then. I can’t believe there were no other gay boys. It’s not fair! Though if there had been, I probably would have outed myself, so to speak, in the locker room. It was bad enough on the diving board, but everyone got wood up there sooner or later. Sometimes, we had to swim nude. Nobody liked that. Well, two of the rowdiest, dumbest jocks did and were always poking fun at the less well-endowed boys.

I got smart and bought a block of Internet access. Just used it to check my Facebook page and see if anyone responded to my mass-email yet, but nope. I’m disappointed. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. You were the one who attracted friends to us. It’s like we had your friends and our friends, but I had no friends of my own. I think I’ve made one on this cruise. I don’t even know if he’s gay or not, but we talked a long time in the hallway while the plumbing was being fixed. I feel like this cruise is damned, but why should I care? I don’t plan on finishing it, do I? Sorry to sound so bitter, Richard, but neither you nor anyone else is ever going to read this, so the hell with it, just like all my other casual writing. I guess I shouldn’t be greedy, though.