Two years earlier…
Sweat rivulets ran down my spine under the black graduation gown. I knew my clean, pressed white shirt with the required collar was drenched. And I hadn’t worn a t-shirt under it in the humid, ninety-five degree heat. My fellow college graduates and I baked under the raging sun as we stood in line across the street from Keller Hall.
Inside, family and friends fanned themselves with folded paper programs. Each listed the names of four hundred students about to receive their degrees from the University of Illinois School of Commerce and Business Administration.
All around me, young men and women buzzed with animated excitement, wiping sweat from their brows and chattering about future plans. I envied them. For me, graduating college was anticlimactic as I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had a business degree but no clue what to do with it.
Salty drops of sweat irritated my eyes, making them water. I pulled up the hem of my gown to dry them. A young woman standing next to me smiled.
“Emotional day, huh?” she said. I had shared a few classes with her over the years. Her name escaped me.
“I’m sorry?” I said, dropping the gown. It felt like a heavy wool blanket in the blistering heat.
“The tears. My mother and I had a good cry this morning too. It’s so cathartic, graduating. I think she’s more thrilled than I am to be finished. Fourth generation alma mater and all that.”
“Mmmm,” I mumbled, wishing I could just melt into the storm sewer and be done with it.
“Did your family find seats? My dad was here when the doors opened so he could get the best vantage point for pictures.” She beamed with family pride.
I could not think of a way to say my mother couldn’t be bothered to make the four hour drive without sounding whiny, so I said nothing. I was the first person in my family to ever go to college, much less graduate with honors. I wasn’t surprised none of them thought my accomplishment was worth celebrating. Now if I were winning the Heisman Trophy, they would have rented a bus.
Someone spoke unintelligible words into a megaphone and everyone more or less lined up. It didn’t matter. Although I had no idea what he said, I followed the person in front of me like an obedient little lemming. An over-cooked lemming. God, it was hot!
When my name was called an hour later, no one cheered, no one clapped. The only person smiling was the short woman with orange hair and glasses dangling off the end of her nose waiting with my diploma. I walked across the stage, shook her hand, accepted the blue faux-leather folio and exited, stage left. Instead of returning to my seat as instructed, I kept walking, right out the auditorium front doors.
Twenty minutes later, I was back in my dorm room, exhausted and irritable. I ripped off the heavy gown and tossed the funny square hat on the bed. Both were drenched and starting to smell. I boxed them up for return. I needed my twenty dollar deposit back. I changed into a t-shirt and shorts after wiping the sweat from my body with a slightly mildewy bath towel.
It was over. I stared at the same cardboard boxes I had been schlepping up and down Interstate 57 for the past four years. All that work, all the late nights. For what? A piece of paper with fancy calligraphy?
A college diploma was supposed to be a big deal. It meant I was smarter now, or at the very least more employable. I pulled the diploma cover from the top box and opened it. It was empty. Just a small note tucked in one corner informing me my diploma would arrive in the mail in August, fourth class, bulk rate.
I sighed and flopped back onto the bed. College had been more about escape than education. A place to hide from everyone, including myself. The past four years had been a suspension of real life, where I could focus on safe, non-threatening activities and ignore the growing conflicts within. I might have had a degree now but I was still gay. And still very much alone.
The resident advisor interrupted my little pity party with a clipboard and forms to sign. He did a cursory inspection of the room, then nodded to himself and I signed where he pointed. We shook hands and he left. Time for me to go. The university was done with me.
I made two trips to the parking lot, stacking boxes on a hand truck. My eyes hurt from the glare of the sun. I returned the hand truck to the office, grabbed my last box and left the place that had been my home away from home, my safe haven.
I was staring at my beat up Ford Fairmont, hoping it would start this time, when one of the guys from my floor, Fred Thompson, put a hand on my shoulder, scaring the crap out of me. The box in my hands went flying.
“Oh, sorry, Jack. Here, let me help you with that,” he said. Together, we returned my meager possessions to their box. He brushed his hands off on the front of his shorts and looked at me with a strange expression.
“You got a sec?” he asked.
“Sure, Freddo, what’s up?” I replied.
“I just wanted to say it’s been great living with you and the other guys these past four years. I’m glad we all decided to stay in the dorms. It kind of kept us all together, you know?” He was looking a little teary-eyed, which was not normal for him.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s been good, but I’m kind of glad it’s over now. Aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m glad I’ve got my diploma, but I’m gonna miss the card games and pizza nights with my buddies.” He laughed as we both remembered some of our more raucous games. “Hey, what I wanted to ask you was, would you like to come up to my parents’ house in Schaumburg and stay for a week or two? You could maybe look for a job up there. I start my new job the day after tomorrow, so I won’t be around much, but you could use my car to go on interviews if you can line any up. It’s my mom’s idea.”
He seemed a little sheepish asking me this, like he was only doing it because his mom said he should. I had met both his parents on a couple of Parents’ Weekends, and they were very nice people. They always treated all of us guys to a great steak dinner on Sunday, which was a big deal. Steak was always better than another slice of pizza.
“Wow, Fred, that’s huge. But I don’t want to put your family out on account of me.”
“Well, it was my mom’s idea,” he repeated. “She was asking how all my friends did with college and I told her we all got jobs or were going to grad school—all except you. She asked me what we could do to help and I said I knew you really didn’t want to go back home. She said to have him come up here, we’ll help him find a job.”
I was stunned. These virtual strangers were concerned about helping me find a job?
“Seriously, Fred? I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll come. If I know my mother, she’ll have interviews lined up for you before you arrive.”
I so wanted to say yes, but I’d promised my mother I’d come straight home. Ugh. I felt like such a child. “I have to go home, Fred. But if nothing works out down there, can I call you?”
“Sure, yeah, that would be great.”
“Thanks, Fred. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Save your thanks for my parents, and only after you find a job. Then the pizza’s on you!” He laughed as he grabbed his backpack and headed for his car.
I watched one of my only friends walk away, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. My attachment was purely emotional. Fred was straight as an arrow. Unlike most of the other guys I hung around, he had at least three different girlfriends throughout college and, with one, it got very serious. He was even talking engagement, but as often happens with young love, they wised up and acknowledged it was more hormonal than true love. They parted friends. I knew my virtue was safe with Fred. Too bad though, because he was kind of cute. And he had a killer smile.
As expected, my car barely survived the trip home. I had many white-knuckled moments during the four hour trek, with worrisome sounds coming from the engine and dark, smoky exhaust billowing out the rear end. I got some strange looks when I stopped for gas and didn’t turn the engine off, as signs on the pump warned I should. It was a choice between blowing up or being stranded in the middle of nowhere with empty pockets and a car that wouldn’t start.
The idea of returning to the small Illinois town where I grew up, less than an hour outside of St. Louis, depressed me. I had had a taste of life outside the family pressure cooker and I didn’t want back in. But I was stuck with no job, no money, and nowhere else to go. Life sucked.
It was late when I pulled into the gravel driveway and parked in front of the detached one-car garage with the broken door. I turned the ignition off. Then the engine sputtered and died. Out of morbid curiosity, I tried to restart it. The engine cranked for two seconds, then silence. Perfect.
I sighed and stared out at nothing. I hadn’t been back to this podunk town since the previous Christmas. I usually took any job I could find on campus to avoid having to come home. Unfortunately they closed the dorms that season, so I had had no choice.
As expected, no one came out to greet me. No dog barked, happy to see me. No neighbors waved. I laid my forehead on the steering wheel and tried not to cry. I wasn’t happy I was home, either.
I found my mother sitting on the couch watching some newscast on the television, cigarette in hand and a full pack at the ready. The ashtray on the table next to her needed emptying. I tried not to cough from the smoke. It would only earn a dirty look, not fresher air.
“I’m home, Mom,” I said from the kitchen doorway.
“Shhh…I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, waving me off. I sighed and went out to retrieve my boxes.
My car looked dead, sitting forlornly under the big maple tree. I knew the feeling. I popped the trunk and stared at the six boxes, mostly filled with clothes and books. I saw the empty diploma cover peeking through the top of one. Not exactly a key to my escape. I resisted setting it on fire.
I hauled two smaller boxes through the hallway and up the narrow stairs at the back end. Muffled heavy rock music came from the spare bedroom. I closed my eyes in dread. Terry was home.
As quietly as I could, I slipped into my bedroom and set the boxes on the floor. I tiptoed back down the stairs, hoping to avoid a confrontation. It was always a confrontation with my brother, never a greeting. Why was he home? How long was he staying? I ground my teeth and cursed the day. Maybe I could find a park bench to sleep on.
Two more trips and I had all my worldly possessions relocated to my room. I set the last of the boxes on the threadbare blanket covering the sagging twin bed and flopped down beside them. I was staring up at the stained ceiling when Terry barged in.
“Hey, dickwad. You’re back. Gimme ten bucks.” I didn’t move. He kicked my shin. “Come on. I’ll pay you back next payday.”
“Cut it out, that hurts!” I yelled, sitting up to rub my sore leg.
“Stop being such a wuss, Jackie.” He pinched my shoulder, taking my breath away. “Come on, I ain’t got all day. Cough it up.”
“I don’t have anything. I’m tapped out,” I said.
He laughed. “Mr. College Bigshot graduates without a pot to piss in. Serves you right for thinkin’ you’re better’n everybody else. I’ll bet you’re beggin’ for a job at McDonald’s inside a week.”
“Where are you working?” I asked.
“Meyer Roofing. Pay’s shit, but it’s steady.” He grabbed my wrist, twisting it to check my watch. “Fuck, I gotta go.” He looked at me, his brown beady eyes boring into mine. “I know you have money, faggot. Cough it up…now.”
I didn’t budge. I was tired of his threats. His mouth twisted into an evil grin, his expression channeling Charles Manson. I felt my bladder weaken.
His rancid breath scorched my nose as he leaned in to intimidate me. “I’m gettin’ laid tonight, asswipe. And you’re not gettin’ in my way. I’m not asking again. You’ve got two seconds to give me what I want, or I’m taking it. One…”
“Get off of me,” I said, shaking my arm loose. I reached for my wallet, like he knew I would. I pulled out a ten. “Here, take it. And you better pay me back when you get paid,” I said.
“You gonna make me?” he taunted. I said nothing. He smiled in victory. “That’s what I thought. I’ll think about payin’ you back, if I don’t have other expenses before then. Girls don’t put out for free, you know.” He laughed. “You ever even fucked a girl, Jackie?”
“Leave me alone,” I said, looking down at the floor. “You’ve got your money. Just go already.”
“I don’t believe it. My older brother is still a virgin at twenty-two. What the hell’s the matter with you? Your dick don’t work? You even know what to do with it?”
“What I do with my dick is my business,” I said weakly.
He grabbed me by the neck and came nose to nose again. “Is that so? Tell you what, Jackie…I ever hear of you fucking around with another guy, I’ll rip your fucking dick off and shove it down your fucking throat. You hear me, faggot?”
I stared into the bottomless pits of his eyes, knowing he wasn’t joking. He’d make it his mission to destroy me, as painfully as possible. I felt the tears coming, as they always did. Terry shoved me backwards on the bed in disgust.
“How the hell did I get such a sissy boy for a brother?” he said. He spit in my face, turned his back on me and walked out of my room.
I wiped his spit off my face with the bedspread and let the tears flow. I hated my life. I couldn’t live like this. I wouldn’t. I would find a job and move into my own place as soon as possible. And I wouldn’t be leaving a forwarding address.