Chapter 4

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At 11:55 CJ closes the door behind him as he

steps out onto the front stoop. They live in apartments that

stretch away on either side of him and across the street in row

after identical row. This time of the day, only a few cars line the

parking lot—most everyone’s at work. Everyone but him and the woman

next door, who watches kids all day. Sometimes if it’s nice out,

she takes the whole gaggle down to the swing set at the far end of

the apartment complex. CJ thinks only one or two of the kids are

hers. The rest she watches to make money. Last month he would take

his board down to the swings just to show off—the little kids loved

his kick flip, that’s one of his best moves. But then someone in

management posted the NO SKATING sign and fuck that. He’ll take his

board elsewhere.

Today he has it tucked securely beneath his

arm, a heavy, welcome weight. On the stoop he jiggles the doorknob

to make sure he’s locked up, then pats the pocket of his hooded

jacket to make sure he remembered the keys. For a heart stopping

moment, he can’t find them, and he checks the breast pockets of the

flannel shirt he wears under the jacket, he checks the front and

back pockets of his cargo pants, the sides—

There.Through the thin fabric, he

feels the keys in his side leg pocket and he slips his hand in to

touch the cool metal. Jeez, if he locked himself out again, Richard

would have to drive him home and he’d be late getting back to the

office and CJ would feel like shit. Pulling his hood up against the

late autumn chill, CJ hefts the board beneath his arm and checks

the door one last time. It’s locked. Shoving his hands into his

pockets, he ducks into his hood and starts across the parking lot

for the entrance to the complex, where the bus stop is.

He’d like to skate over there but doesn’t.

The stretch of tarmac is tempting, but when the signs went up

around the complex, someone on the management staff came knocking

on their door one Saturday afternoon when Richard was home. CJ was

in the kitchen, making sandwiches for the two of them, when whoever

it was from the office stopped by. Richard answered the door.

From where he stood by the stove, CJ could

hear a woman’s voice and he leaned back to look down the hall.

Richard barred the way like a sentinel, holding the door shut so CJ

couldn’t see anything but the sun around the edges. “Mr. Moyer?”

the woman said. For a brief moment the light darkened as she tried

to peer into the house, but Richard moved to block her path. He’s a

very private person. “I’m from the office, and we just wanted to

point out a new amendment to the lease. Perhaps you’ve seen the

signs we’ve put up? I know your roommate has a skateboard.” CJ

listened quietly. Anyone caught violating the rules of the complex

was subject to eviction, she continued. Was Mr. Moyer aware of

that?

He was. In brisk, businessman tones Richard

thanked the woman, told her that he would make sure his “roommate”

noticed the new signs, and good day. When she started to say

something else, he closed the door, quietly but firmly, in her

face. CJ expected her to knock again, but she didn’t. He looked up

as Richard came into the kitchen. His guy stopped in the doorway,

folded his arms across his chest, and watched him.

CJ turned back to the sandwiches. Suddenly

his eyes stung, must’ve been the onions he cut for their roast beef

and turkey clubs. As quietly as he could, he sniffled because his

nose felt drippy. He shouldn’t be upset, he told himself. She was

probably going door to door telling people about the signs, even

though they received a notice in their mailbox the day before. And

he’s the only one in this whole complex who skates.

He started to apologize—for what, he wasn’t

sure, but he thought maybe he should anyway, just in case Richard

was mad at him. Before he got the words out, though, his lover

crossed the room and wrapped his strong arms around CJ’s waist.

Burying his face into CJ’s neck, Richard sighed his name, his

realname, not Ceejor babybut “Charles.” CJ

squeezed his eyes shut, scrunched up his whole face—he hated that

name. In Richard’s voice it made him sound so old.“I’m

sorry.”

For a moment, CJ couldn’t speak. He swallowed

against a lump in his throat and tried to sound confused. “For

what?”

Richard’s arms tightened around his waist.