“This is one of my dad’s offices,” he explained as he ushered Ben inside.

“What does he do, exactly?” Ben asked as he peered into a shadowy sea of cubicles.

“Provides medical supplies. It’s boring, but he makes a lot of money doing it. Over here.”

At the end of a hall filled with doors was one with its window obscured by paper. Tim used another key on this door and flipped on a light switch. The room was small but well lit, thanks to the large window occupying one wall. Ben could see the backs of two easels that faced the window. Before them was a small desk topped by large pieces of paper drooping over the edges, each decorated with charcoal sketches. He looked at Tim, tacitly seeking permission to proceed. Tim nodded, but stayed by the door.

Ben moved to the desk first to examine the sketches. They all featured the exteriors of buildings. Some were more technical than others, but all of them experimented playfully with shape and form.

“Sometimes I think about becoming an architect,” Tim explained.

“They’re really good. This one is really great!” Ben held up what looked like a skyscraper that gradually widened the further up it went.

“That’s supposed to be a water tower.” Tim frowned to show his dissatisfaction. “I don’t know.”

“You should be proud!” Ben said as he set it down and moved to the easels.

Work had only began on one canvas, and the style was much different than Ben’s birthday present or the art in Tim’s room. This painting was realistic rather than abstract, and portrayed a man covering his face with both hands.

“Self portrait.” Tim chuckled nervously. “I’ve been working on that one forever. Hands are really hard to do.”

“I bet. Why your hands and not your face?”

“Don’t read into it. It’s just a part of me I can easily see. Maybe I should get a big mirror in here or something.”

“Or maybe I could model for you,” Ben joked.

“Why not? That would be cool! Of course I would insist on painting you nude.”

“In that case you should probably opt for the mirror.” Ben smiled. “It’s cool that your dad lets you use this space.”

“Mom insisted. Some of my paintings get pretty messy. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

Once he was away from the studio, Tim felt free to talk more openly about his art, his hand clasped tightly to Ben’s the entire way home. Ben felt he had been through a rite of passage, allowed to see a side of Tim that was even more intimate than sex, no small feat considering what they had done yesterday.

The revelation came then, in a quiet moment when Tim was parking the car, one that should have been accompanied by the swelling of music. His love for Tim was real. Ben had lusted after his body, yearned to belong to him, and later simply enjoyed whiling away the hours with him, but all that had evolved into something much more meaningful. He wished the current situation was appropriately romantic so he could say those words to Tim, but it wasn’t. He would wait until the right time. Until then, Ben would resign himself to expressing his love in a way that didn’t involve words.

__________

Chapter 13

With the coming of a new year, Ben felt himself reinvented. He enjoyed more freedom than ever, was in an increasingly serious relationship, and had even found employment. Ben had taken a part-time job at Zounders, a local supermarket, handling menial tasks such as bagging groceries or stocking the shelves. This earned him enough pocket money that he no longer had to beg his parents, even though they now gave him money twice as often in appreciation of his efforts. All in all, he felt very much like an adult.

Even the world seemed less lonely for an out-of-the-closet teenager. Evan, one of Ben’s coworkers, was a year older than he was and went to school in the neighboring city of Conroe. Evan was like a long-lost brother. They even looked alike, both being thin and blond, but Evan had a wicked sense of humor that was all his own. He was still in the closet but wasted no time in coming out to Ben when he found out about him.

Evan’s experiences at his school were even more limited than Ben’s. He’d only had one sexual encounter after loitering outside a gay bar one night, but hadn’t enjoyed the experience and hoped to find something more meaningful. He was cute and transparently interested in Ben, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Tim. Ben made it known that he was dating someone, but kept the details a secret, an attitude closeted Evan could understand.

Ben’s adult life reverted unwillingly to childhood for the five periods he suffered at school everyday. He still skipped first period, but he did so now with full confidence. His report card from the previous semester had the standard “C” that he always received in P.E., and showed no indication that he hadn’t been present for months. His name was simply one among the many that the coaches ignored in favor of more talented athletes and would likely remain so.

Spanish class was also out of the picture. With his minimal language requirements met, Ben was free to choose another elective. He chose journalism, in the hopes that it would fuel his occasional interest in writing. At the least it was guaranteed to be more enjoyable than struggling with a language he was unlikely to ever use effectively.

Journalism started slow, with tedious textbook studies of what constituted a good story and the formula for writing one. By the second month this gave way to preparing articles and photos for the school newspaper. The first few articles Ben submitted received good grades but didn’t get published. Feeling particularly sappy in the spring weather, he then submitted a love poem that the teacher immediately suggested should be printed in the next issue.

Ben was thrilled, not only because his work was appreciated, but because it had been a very progressive decision on Mrs. Jones’s part. His poem played the pronoun game and remained fairly neutral until the last couple of lines which were blatantly homosexual:

He looks into my eyes, mine mirrored in his,

and we each see a boy, lost in pauper’s bliss.

Mrs. Jones was no spring chicken and didn’t seem the type who would publish something so potentially controversial in a high school paper, but her enthusiasm suggested she was determined to go through with it. Perhaps literary types were simply more open-minded, Ben mused.

Two weeks later and his poem was in print. Ben grabbed a copy of the paper from the newspaper machines on his way to second period, only having time before class to check that it had actually been printed. The poem was there, right along with his name and everything. As class started, Craig whispered that his girlfriend had really liked it and that he was surprised Ben had written it. Ben decided to take that as a compliment. He received more good words in journalism and a few jeers on the way to lunch, but they didn’t bother him. He was most eager to hear what Allison thought.

“Did you read it?” he asked as she sat down next to him, the paper in one hand.

“Not yet; it’s been a crazy day. I will now though.”

She dug through her lunch bag and slowly nibbled on carrot sticks as she read. Her eyes were wide and interested as they worked their way over the lines. Until the end, that is, when her face scrunched up in puzzlement.

“What?” Ben prompted, his stomach suddenly nervous.

“It’s good,” was Allison’s answer, her face still reflecting confusion. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Exactly what Craig had said. “I don’t get what’s so surprising,” Ben insisted, starting to feel defensive. “Straight people aren’t the only ones capable of romantic feelings.”