Subject: Blue Chapter One (Meeting Henry) Chapter One Meeting Henry Freshman year, fall 1989. I’m out of bed and do my best to open the door without disturbing my roommate. He and I are civil. We tolerate. He and I clash. We haven’t talked much. He seems frustrated with everything I do. The room fills with light. He rolls over as the door closes. There’s a buzzing coming from the hall lights, which never go off. The only other observation tonight is the heat. Being in this dorm with no air conditioning and on the third floor riding out a typical Tennessee September is my idea of hell to the tenth power. Passing the six pairs of doors leading to my destination, the communal bathroom. The door held open by a garbage can is solid wood unlabeled, titleless. Purpose and function withheld. Anxiousness grows seeing the entrance after lying awake till it was safe to take this trip. My goal is to jack-off, masturbate, beat my meat, explode, return, and fall into a coma. The shower is on filling the room with steam and even more humidity. Someone is in my happy place. Of course, someone else is needing their relief, which is all the inhabitants of this men ‘s dorm. Stopping before my feet reach tile to observe the interior with its lights providing a blinding beam as well as casting shadows across white surroundings. White never a good choice. No bleach could ever clean and sparkle this place. In the mirrors, I see reflections of open stall doors. There’s no denying my hardon. I’m lead to the first stall where I shut the door and begin an ancient ritual all males know. Whoever’s in the shower, their doing it too, I believe. Thoughts of another guy from the hall cock in hand hunched over while hot water sprays his chest is my fuel. Rapidly casting the role of shower boy, little time is needed to complete my task. Minutes, truthfully seconds I slide back on the seat and shoot into the bowl tidy and efficient. Lost in my head with post orgasmic shame, fear, relief, and some residual images of the star of my fantasy. I forget about the shower and the unknown person I’m sharing space. Standing, I flush, pull shorts up, and exit the stall. The guy from the room next to me is standing examining himself in, the mirror., Henry, I think, not that we’ve had any introductions or pleasantries. None of that’s happening this late night. He picks up his stuff and exits. I wash my hands happy in the knowledge of what he was doing, of having a partner in crime, of proof males, are all the same. There’s a bathroom so much closer than this one. Both of us deciding to walk past. I wonder how many other dorm mates use this one for a late night escape. I make it down the hall and back in bed, but I’ve lost the magic of sleep that’s left after cumming. Henry is from Virginia and a graduate of a military school. He likes milk and clean clothes. There’s more surely, but this is what I get observing him in the cafeteria and a discussion of why his clothes are in neat, tight bundles. A girl in the laundromat is making fun but really flirting. “I’ll show you how I make a bed sometimes,” Henry says with both their baskets in hand as the two exit. I’m here waiting for my dryer to stop with my head in a book. Concluding flirty Henry and I are nothing alike. He in his khakis, polos, and boat shoes contrasts me in grey proudly found thrift-store goods and Doc Martins. Henry is demoted in prospect and fantasy which is in its self a fantasy of having a boyfriend. Returning to the book I concentrate. I play this game with myself where I find a nice straight boy who I obsess over for about a week and then I decide that there is nothing to be gained by this activity and so I let him go. The reality is I would never want to be in a relationship with most of my infatuations. Besides I’m not normal. I’m from the Island of Misfit Toys. I’m the square peg that doesn’t fit in the round hole. Today is Friday, and it is relaxing to wake and know this. I crawl out of bed already with plans for what to pack for the weekend I’ll be spending in the women’s dorms with the only friend I’ve made, Kasey. The women’s dorms have air conditioning and room connected bathrooms. Making it easy to hide especially when her roommate goes home every Thursday. I dream cool freedom. Kasey and I smoke, get stoned and act stupid. She says she’s my fag hag and is hatching plans to get me laid. She says the burden of virginity is destructive. It is another tool society uses to choke submission into us. Most of the time we’re together I let her talk sitting at her feet in adoration. The reality is I’m not a virgin or a believer in her views. I’m here because I need human contact that’s not judgemental or full of pity. Who am I to correct her. “Dear, you don’t need a boyfriend…trust me too much work and drama. Be like me a free agent always up and ready for whatever,” Explaining her life’s philosophy like an evangelist. We go out at night. She drives us all over the county up all matter of roads. We sing along to my mixtapes sipping on wine coolers munching on Cheetos. She has a redneck brother who deals pot but provides us free weed. He’s the hot bad boy of my self-abuse movies. He’s not in anyway a good guy. Kasey shared his arrest record, and still I have no doubts in a moments notice I’d be Bonnie to his Clyde. When the weekends over I return to my side of campus, late Sunday, I head back to my room. It’s empty and will be for the next couple of nights while the roommate is playing ball somewhere. I can relax and take care of myself whenever I want. Freedom is freedom even if it’s temporary. I lose track of Henry. Fine art majors receive access to studio space. This perk comes with the ability to sign out keys to certain areas of the fine arts building or The FAB…yes rus escort fab. More than having space or access to the building is the provision of a hiding place my own fortress of solitude. Admittedly, the air conditioning isn’t bad either. I’ve come to college with the ability to silkscreen, and I intend to be a printmaker. The school has a nice printmaking studio with all the tools. I’m in heaven. Always being artistic but with little focus, I discovered printmaking in a dark time. This was during my introduction to loneliness, and since I had little else, I excelled. Alone and inside myself hid deep in the basement of the FAB working on my first school print; there is no time. Nothing exists but this room with its air heavy with smells of oil and solvent and music. Not being the neatest person there’s a lot to clean up. Trying something new with just an idea totally without directions liberates me. I’m overprinting a collage of a single picture using red, black and gold ink. The photo is another first a self-portrait of sorts. Me, on my knees head back mouth open tongue out my hands behind my back. The print obscures my identity, but the knowledge that it’s me makes me feel like a true artist. Silly. Am I receiving the Host the Body of Christ or am I about to get a face full of cum? Is it church or a dark dank hall? Looking over the three prints the decision that this is it is made. It is what I want to say. I turn from the line of drying prints to finish cleaning. I have the sink almost empty. Loud music plays as I sing along. Funny how you can sing and at the same time have all these thoughts in your head. The song is This Corrosion. On daze, like this In times like these I feel an animal deep inside Heel to haunch on bended knees Living on if and if I tried, Somebody send me… please… Dream wars and a ticket to seem Giving out and in Selling the don’t belong Well, what do you say I’m taking my hands out of the sink turning to find something to dry them with and seeing Henry in one move that when I replay will be showcased in slow motion. There standing inside the double door with a guitar case in hand is my secrete. It’s all about the smile which is funny because I so seldom smile. No one smiles like Henry. I don’t move. We’re staring at each other my wet hands palm up like a TV surgeon and him with a tilted head smile. I make the first move which is to turn, dry my hands, and turn the music down. I know Henry will be gone when I turn around. Instead he’s standing looking at my work. “What is it?” “I’m not sure,” I lie. “Isn’t it yours…I mean you made it?” My mind is spinning. “It’s of someone about to take communion,” the clean answer. Finding the photo. “Is this you?” he asks. Robert Smith is doing his best to convince me Boys Don’t Cry as I’m trying to speak. “It is you….you have a little scar right there,” pointing out the tiny scar by my eye. I continue cleaning because I’m not sure what to say and Henry doesn’t seem to have this problem. He’s talking but I’m having this conversation in my head and not paying attention until I notice silence. He’s staring at me as if I’m an animal on the loose. “Have you given it a title or do you do that?” “I’m thinking of going over the top Catholic…. naming it Host….in communi….” “I know what Host refers to,” he says and randomly adds. “Are you going over to the cafeteria?” “No, not now, maybe later.” “Ok…..why not the Body of Christ?…….. As your title…..if you’re going to go full Catholic.” With his back to me he adds, ” besides the picture looks like you’re about to take something else and it ain’t the body of Christ.” Fuck me. I have the perfect speech for moments like this. It’s been rehearsed. “True art is not about artistic intention but the emotions of the individual experiencing it.” The Body of Christ is pretty good no it’s damn good. ….more controversial then Host. Of course, it’s something else. My fantasy of ultimate submission. Why not just call it fellatio? The similarities in postures have been recognized before still; I wonder which came first the cocksucker or the communion. Fucking Henry. I finish cleaning going over and over the events that happened. What a stupid fuck. Why didn’t I say more? Ask him what he was doing or about the guitar, or say yes I’m going to eat? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. It doesn’t matter. Henry is not like me. Henry is not queer. I’m not sure I can have friends unless they’re female or fags. Straight boys are eventually going to want to brag and talk about pussy. I’d be out of my element or reveal myself, and that ends the friendship. I’ve experienced my share of straight boys who want to play. Those boys who want to beat off together or get their dicks sucked. It always ends the same…total denial….no friendship….a lot of self hate. I return to my empty room for the final night. Dick will be back tomorrow. I finish work and gather stuff for class in the morning. I strip keeping my boxers on and climb into bed. With the lights out I put on headphones and listen to a mixtape. Again I’m going over Henry and my interaction today. He’s next door right now. What is he thinking or has he even thought anything. Do regular guys rehash their daily experiences? I wake, and there’s a little light in the sky. I need to piss bad but stay balled up enjoying the pain and the side effects of needing relief. I choose to address another need first. Rolling on to my back to stretch out I slide my hand into my boxers. I construct an image and action staring the RA whose dark with more hair then I probably would like but he’s a great accent, and big hands always wearing shorts that are too small for his front and back. I’m sitting between sincan escort his legs, and he’s touching me. His body heat and breath are at my back as his hands explore my chest and dick. Lying my head back on his shoulder breathing deep I orgasm soaking my boxers. I put on shorts, rush to the nearest bathroom, and in moments I’m back in bed. It’s Tuesday. No class until 9:00. After a long day, I make it back to the room to change and prepare to head to the FAB. Grabbing a Diet Coke and backpack, I hit the door. It’s after 4:00 and the stairwell and lobby are full of guys and gals. Semi-unsupervised youths unwinding is a time-honored activity found across college campuses nationwide. Henry, guitar case in hand is standing smiling and chatting. Turning I head towards FAB, but at the last minute divert to the post office to check my mail spending a little time reviewing bulletin boards. I enter FAB on the side dedicated to theatre and music. Casually strolling down halls looking over all the flyers attached to boards and doors here. I climb a flight of steps that end on the east side of the large building lobby. Claiming the center of the room and standing under the large brass chandelier is Henry with his guitar case. He’s smilling. “Hey.” “Hey, to you….practicing again?” “Yeah….ah….no….I mean I do practice, but it’s just for me…..I hang here in the practice rooms. They’re quite an airconditioned.” It goes silent for a moment. Neither of us moves. We just stare. Holding the case handle with both handle Henry breaks. “What are you working on….is it the same stuff?” “I’m just escaping like you right now,” I reply It’s at this point our nervousness is broken by the school minster whistling as he comes into view. His office is on the main floor. Father Grange and I have an agreement that involves me meeting with him once a week. “Hello, Alan, who’s your friend?” Father Grange in his happy northern accent. “Father Grange this is Henry, Henry this is Father Grange,” a little formal. Stepping forward, Henry reaches out to meet Father Grange’s hand, and they begin a conversation. I take the moment to escape. “I’m sorry I need to get downstairs.” I have to empty my bag to find the keys to unlock the workroom I share with two others. I’ve met Robin, but Stephen is a mystery. I leave the door open while I run to get the boombox from the print shop. The workrooms are large and big windowed with cabinets and counters around the walls. There’s tables on wheels, stools, and worklights. If you need anything else there’s a storage room at the end of the hall. I press play on Ian Curtis in mid-song. Yesterday’s prints, due Friday, are here to be matted. A class requirement. “Fuck, I thought I would never find you,” Henry says pretending to pant as if he’s run a marathon. “I’m not hiding,” Henry lightly punches my arm. We lock eyes. “That’s for leaving me with Father Whatever.” “Grange and I didn’t know I was supposed to wait on you, ” What I thought about saying was I didn’t know we had a date but chicken me didn’t. “Alan you intrigue me.” Henry knows my name. “What’s this…oh from yesterday….cool.” “Matting them is the last step before I have to turn them in…or hang them in the student gallery on 3.” “So, you have to put these up for others to see?” “Yes, Mr. Allison requires all assignments to be hung….art is public he says.” “I’d be too nervous to put myself out there like that.” Changing the subject. “Can I assume you have a guitar in that case or are you a gangster?” I joke. “I told you I play guitar.” “It could all be a lie. The only evidence is you walking around with a case.” “Well, you’ll have to come see Friday at noon when I’ll be playing during chapel.” “Right…really….you’re kidding?” “No, Father Hobbit hit me up to play…so thanks for that.” “Can’t make any promises….and you’re welcome.” “Oh hell fuck no you’re coming.” We go quite already running out of things to say. There are lots of thoughts in my head. Things I’m sure others guys, straight guys don’t think about or say. So, I stay silent and continue with what I’m doing. Henry won’t last long it’s all over when he discovers I’m queer. We won’t fit. We’re not supposed to fit. Besides, I made a promise to myself that if asked I would answer truthfully. I’d already been cast out at a school, from a family, and a town I knew I could survive. So, if Henry asks I answer. “Whose stuff is this,” he asks looking over Stephen’s stuff. “Stephen but I’ve never met him. I don’t think he lives on campus.” More silence from me. “You don’t talk much.” What does one say to this. I took time to answer. “Sometimes I do….it’s just I’m not sure what to say to you…we don’t know each other.” Henry turns and comes to me. “I apologize for not introducing myself, I’m Henry Case,” he says as he extends his hand. I immediately think of the pocket knife my grandfather had given me years ago. “Nice to meet you Henry I’m Alan Layne, ” we grasp hands. His hand is warm and moist the way I fear mine always are. “How long should a handshake be?” “I’m not sure, but I can guess it’s shorter than this one.” We both laugh as we release our grips. “Tell me something,” Henry demands. “Like what? What do you want to hear?” “Normal stuff…..start with how did you get here.” “It’s not very interesting.” Henry smiles. “I want to hear it.” “It was the last stop on a world tour and I chose to stay.” “Really?” “Sure…a tour…. an escape..run away…do you think I made a good choice?” “Yes, I do,” he says with a big smile. Neither of us says anything. We’ve been standing all this time. I sit down on the floor crosslegged as the silence is broken by Henry. “Everyone wants sıhhiye escort to run away.” He sits. “Away or towards it didn’t; doesn’t matter.” “K, not sure what the difference is…how did you really end up in the northeastern Tennessee sticks?” “Family connection….Father Grange is friends with my uncle who was kinda watching over me. I needed someplace to go and he helped.” “Father Hobit strikes again.” I think about the lie of omission and decide I made no promises on leaving things out. “On the positive side, I’ve ended up here with no car, no airconditioned room, and……” “Me?” “and you?” Henry is laughing “You do that a lot,” I say “What do I do a lot?” “Laugh” “Sorry,” “It’s nice,” I say followed by a long silence just music playing. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?” Henry rises. “Left at the end of the hall…no light switch the lights come on when you get a little inside the door.” “Save my seat I’ll be right back.” Watching Henry leave I’m feeling something in my stomach. I remain on the floor for a while, but begin to doubt Henry will return. I get up and get the guitar case placing it on the counter and opening. I’m disappointed when I find a guitar with braided strap and paper label saying, Alverez. One mystery solved. Henry is as plain as me. I start matting my prints becoming unaware of anything else around me. This will be perfect. Henry not returning is fine. I knew he wouldn’t last long. I put the knife down and change tape as I look at my work. I like it. I begin to sing along to a song I love. Everything about it makes me happy. My sway becomes a full-blown dance. I raise my voice and wave my arms above my head. They shifted the statues for harboring ghosts Reddened their necks, collared their clothes Then we danced the dance `till the menace got out She gathered the corners and called it her gown Please find my harborcoat, can’t go outside without it Find my harborcoat, can’t go outside without it Spinning around I catch Henry staring/watching me. I stop and try to stop the music with my mind, but it continues. My heart races. This is not the Alan I show to people not even to friends. I’m embarrassed. Henry comes closer with his smile and blue eys. He takes my hand beginning to dance. I don’t move. This song is going to be over, and I don’t remember what’s up next. Henry without letting go of my hand wraps his arms around me. His chest is pressed against my back. He’s holding my hand tight and over my heart. I’m shaking. I can’t get enough oxygen. I’m going to pass out. He kisses my neck. “Slow down kid…breath.” “What is this?” I ask confused and trying to decide if this is fantasy or reality. “R.E.M,” another neck kiss. “No, Henry….what are you doing?” I don’t move. I can’t move. Instead he takes a hand along my neck then bushes my face with fingertips. All this while singing along to the tape. He turns my face and places his lips over mine. I move away. I look at the floor scared to look at him. There’s silence. This is too much. I’m screaming inside. “I thought you…..I mean aren’t you….I thought we’re alike,” he slowly says. The first time I’ve seen Henry unsure of words. “In what way are we alike? “Henry, in what way?” Henry and I in direct eye contact me answering. “I’m like no one,” I declare too loud. I pick up my backpack and leave. I don’t turn off lights or shut doors or say goodbye. I leave. I can’t go back to the room I can’t deal with Dick right now. I head to the library. I can hide there it doesn’t close until midnight. I climb the steps two at a time go through the big heavy doors and enter into quite. I decide to go to the listening lab. I choose three albums and get assigned a cubby. I put on the big heavy over the ear headphones. I place the album on the turntable, and the familiar beginning of Back in the USSR floods my ears. I’ve got 90 plus minutes of the Beatles’ White album to hear. I’m not in a hurry to analyze earlier events. But there’s no way my mind is going to allow me to avoid any of it. It is too much to think that Henry and I are alike. Him being like me hurts my head. We are nothing alike. I’m awakened by one of the librarians telling me it’s time to go. I’ve fallen asleep and drooled on the table. I wipe up and return the headphones and records. I apologize and take my leave. The night is cool. The lights across campus paint everything is an orange glow. A few people are out and about this late. Some are couples walking hand in hand others are groups laughing and some are solitary like me. I’m not looking fondly on going to the dorm. I have an eight a.m. class Wednesday. I climb the steps and open the dorms front door. In the lobby/living room, guys are playing pool, watching TV, hanging out. I don’t have to look I’ve seen it before. I head towards the stairwell and the three flights it takes to get to my room. No one is in the hall. Stepping into the bathroom I catch the reflection of someone that I don’t know. When did I become this awful guy? How did this happen. I’m overcome with anger and sadness. I’m exactly what my dad called me….Alan the Destroyer. Now that I destroyed my family I’m working on tearing me down. I shut the stall door. I’m not going to cry. Fags cry…..I sit pants on and stare at the stall door deciding the next step to take. How can I be here and feel that I’m nowhere. I stand up and drop my pants and claim a pencil from my pack. A lead pencil with a metal body and tip. This is a special device one that is never used for writing. My tool. One that I always have near me. Placing it in my fist I don’t have to pick a place or even look cause it doesn’t matter. I relax and bring the device hard and fast down on my upper thigh. My eyes close and fill with water. I bite the side of my mouth until I taste blood. Without looking I move it around expanding the hole making the pain more real. I remove the pencil and return it to my bag for later use. This was good…I’m bleeding. Toilet paper can barely keep up. I watch each new piece bloom with my blood. That case knife didn’t kill me and neither will Henry.