Authors: Frank Anthony Polito
Band Fags! (8 page)
Brad assures him, “There's nothing to be afraid of.” Then he adds, “We want to help youâ¦We want to know the truth. Why did you leave us? Were you afraid? Afraid of who you really were? Afraid of what you were feeling deep down inside of you?”
“Gimme a break!” I mutter.
“You can trust us, Jon-Erik,” Brad promises. “We won't tell
anybody
your secret.”
Suddenly from out of the darknessâ¦There comes a knock!
“Holy shit!” Brad jumps a mile. “Did you hear that?” Then he looks around the room for some kinda Presence looming in the dark. “Hell-ooo! Is anybody there?”
Another knockâ¦Then anotherâ¦And another.
“Jon-Erik Hexum, is thatâ?” Brad stops. Which is when he catches me knocking on the side of my put-it-together-yourself Sauder faux-wood laminated TV stand.
“Ja-a-ack!”
Then he pushes meâhard.
“Ow!” I practically holler, holding my shoulder in pain. “That hurt.”
“I can't believe you did that,” he scolds. “You totally had me freaked outâ¦I thought it was really him.”
“I'm sorry,” I apologize. “I couldn't help it.” But it's not like I didn't tell Brad what a dumb idea I thought it was from the get-go. And to twist the proverbial knife
and
pour salt on the proverbial open wound, I add, “This is sooo stupid!”
“No, it's not!” he vehemently declares.
“Yes, it is!”
“Well it's your fault if it doesn't work,” Brad insists, placing the blame right where it belongs. It
is
totally my fault because I
don't
think it's gonna work. And I tell him so.
He hisses at me, “Nonbeliever!” Then he shuts his eyes and starts in again with the chanting. “Ohmâ¦Ohm⦔
Because I can't possibly sit here for a minute longerâalong with the fact that it's getting late
and
it's a School NightâI come up with a quick way to get myself out of thisâ¦
“Oh, no!” I cry, in my best “Now
I'm
getting freaked out” voice. Then I jump up and pull the string on the overhead ceiling fan/lamp, flooding the room with light. “I just thought of something.”
“What?” says Brad, eyes still closed. Remaining in what he calls “character.”
“What if this really works?” I wonder. “Then what are we gonna do?”
“Um⦔ he replies. “That's the point, isn't it?”
“Yeahâ¦But what if something happens to us?”
Which is the moment when Brad loses it. He flings my hand away, opens his eyes, staring right at me. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jack? What if
what
happens to us?”
Okay, don't laugh at meâ¦But I've actually been worrying about this ever since Brad proposed the whole JEH séance idea. I mean, if JEH really was G-A-Yâ¦What if he was like a Total Pervert or something? Here we are, a couple of young and reasonably attractive boys. Who knows what he could try to make us do when/if he appeared to us?
Of course, Bradâbeing the sicko he isâwants to know
exactly
what I'm blabbering on about.
“Well,” I begin, “have you ever seen that movie
The Entity?
”
“I don't think so⦔ Being that his family can't afford Cable, how could he?
“It's all about this woman who's raped by this Evil Spirit,” I explain.
“Over and over again.”
“Sounds kinda hotâ¦Maybe we should rent it sometime!”
“I'm being serious,” I whine. “Nobody believes her when she tells them about it and there's nothing she can do to stop it from happening.”
“Soâ¦?”
“Soâ¦What if JEH tries to do something like that to us?”
Brad hesitates a moment. I can see he's thinking over what I've just said, carefully weighing our options. “You mean something sexual?” he ponders.
“You know what they say about guys who are
like that,
” I remind him.
“I never thought of that,” Brad admits. “But it's a risk I'm willing to take.” And with that, he rises to his feet, pulling the string on the overhead ceiling fan/lamp, plunging the room back into darkness. “Ohmâ¦Ohm⦔ he continues.
For like the next hour!
Okay, I bet you're wondering what happensâ¦Does the spirit of Jon-Erik Hexum ever appear to us? And if so, does he take advantage of the pair of helpless 14-year-old boys who want nothing more than to unlock the truth behind his mysterious demise? Does he?!
What do
you
think?
“There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear⦔
âBand Aid
“Where to next?”
I can't even believe Brad's asking me this questionâ¦With only twelve Shopping Days left till Xmas, here we are running around Universal Mall like Chickens with our Heads Cut Off. Does he not realize
he's
the one who needs to shop and should have planned out exactly where we're going?
Every Christmas back when I was a kid, my Mom would take me to see Santa Claus at Universal Mall on 12 Mile and Dequindre. Which is pronounced “Dee-qwin-der,” in case you can't figure it out. Not the
real
Santa Claus, mind you. But one of his very convincingly disguised Helpers. After giving Santa's Helper my “What I Want for Christmas” spiel, I'd go for a ride on the carousel in front of his Village before my Mom would treat me to a frozen Coke and giant soft pretzelâhold the mustard.
Of course, back then it was called Universal
City.
I'll never forget the humongous mosaic on the building's façade depicting Saturn and her rings, smack-dab in the middle of the Universe. I could stare at it for hours!
So far Brad and I have been to Kresge's, Crowley's, and Montgomery Ward's. On top of spending forty-five minutes in Spencer's looking at Chippendales greeting cards, don't ask me why!
“I'm getting my Mom a book,” Brad decides. Then he heads off, weaving through the crowd of other Xmas Shoppers towards where he
thinks
the bookstore is located.
B. Dalton's is a Total Nightmare once we find it. Full of rummaged-through display tables and scattered books everywhere! Though a stack of 1985 Garfield calendars remains perfectly intact on their shelf. But maybe it's because Garfield is sooo 1982.
“Any idea where they keep the Danielle Steel?” Brad asks. Like I'd know.
“You're getting your Mom a Sex Book for Christmas?” I question. I can't even imagine Brad's Southern Baptist Churchgoing Mom
looking
at a trashy romance novel, let alone reading one.
“Hell noâ¦You think my Mom would even
look
at that trash, let alone read it?” he responds, reading my mind.
“Then who's it for?” I wonder. Though I'm pretty sure I can figure it out for myself.
“Duh!” he answers. Then he makes his way to the back of the store.
I follow Brad into the stacks marked “Adult Contemporary Romance.” I can't even believe some of the titles:
Leftover Loveâ¦A Ruling Passionâ¦Dark Remembrance.
And the covers! Half-naked guys with long flowing hair. Totally hairless, totally
muscular
bodies.
“Check this out,” Brad says, handing me some piece of trash he's just found on the shelf.
“âThey wanted to loveâ¦in a world that worshipped only pleasure.'” I read the words printed on the cover. “Gordon Merrickâ¦
Now Let's Talk About Music.
”
A dark-haired, well-tanned, shirtless man wearing light blue swim trunks rests poolside, a chilled bottle of champagne on ice in a silver bucket beside him. On the man's right shoulder rests a diamond pinky-ringed handâ¦Belonging to that of another
man!
I shove the book back in Brad's direction, hoping nobody's seen me touching it. “Gross!”
He echoes my sentiments with, “I know!” Then he reads me a passage, all about some guy named Ned totally coming onto another
guy
named Gerry.
To which I reply, “That's disgusting.”
“Waitâ¦It gets better.” With dramatic flair, Brad continues to the part where Ned drops down to his kneesâ¦and gives Gerry a blowjob.
“Gross!” I gasp, looking around to make sure nobody's paying attention to us. Which nobody isâthank God!
“Pretty trashy, isn't it?” Brad smiles before adding, “Let's buy it!”
I can't even tell you how shocked and totally appalled I am at this moment. Which explains why I blurt out, “No fucking way!” Which is probably the first time I've ever used the F-word in my life.
“Jack!” Brad gasps in mock-horror. “Your Mom is gonna wash your mouth out with soap when I tell her what you just said.” Then he laughs.
“I mean it,” I tell him, putting my foot down. “We are not walking up to the register with that thing and buying it!”
“Watch me,” says Brad. Then he walks
right
up to the register and hands the trashy book to a middle-aged librarianesque-looking lady working behind the counter. “Good afternoon, Ma'am,” he says politely.
Without blinking an eye she tells him, “$3.95, Dear.”
At which point, Brad turns to me. “I need to bum a dollar, Jack.”
To which I hesitateâ¦Before reaching into my JC Penney Plain Pockets and pulling out a $1 bill.
“Merry Christmas,” Librarian Lady says once our transaction is complete.
“Merry Christmas to you,” Brad replies, all sweet and innocent. Then to me he says, “Let's get the fuck outta here!”
Five days later, we're back at my houseâ¦
“Oh, my Godâ¦I had another one!”
“When?” I ask. Though I'm wondering if I really need to know.
“This morning,” Brad informs me. “Right before I got up.”
“I hate you!” I hiss. Because I
still
haven't had one. Then I ask, “What's it feel like?” Because I have no idea and I'm dying to know.
“Good, I guess,” he tells me. Like it's no big deal. “Sometimes, I don't even know I'm having one till I wake up and I'm all wet and sticky.”
In case you haven't figured it out, we're talking about Nocturnal Emissions. Being a young boy, this is one of the first things they prepare you for in 6
th
grade Sex Ed. “Whether you like it or not, one day, you
will
have a Wet Dream.” Though I suspect my body didn't get the memo because at the ripe old age of 14-going-on-15, I've yet to experience the pleasure.
Meanwhile, Brad's been having them
every
morning for like the past year and a half. It's getting to the point where all he has to do is close his eyes and BAM! Or should I say, “Squirt?”
“This sucks!” I declare. “I'm
never
gonna have one.”
“Maybe if you didn't beat off so much⦔
To which I give Brad a look. Does he really think I do that? I mean, all the guys at school
say
they don'tâ¦But can you honestly believe them?
I ask, “Do you remember what you dreamed about this time?” Only because he's my Best Friend and we tell each other everything.
Which is why I'm surprised when Brad answers, “I don't knowâ¦I think
somebody
was giving me a blowjob. But I'm not sure exactly who it was.” Then he totally changes the subject. “Pass me the glitter.”
Yes, you did hear correctly. Yes, Brad did say, “Pass me the glitter.” As in that sparkly colored stuff used for writing your name on the top of your Christmas stocking. Or for decorating homemade Christmas wreaths. Which is exactly what we're doing at the moment. Making Christmas wreaths and decorating them.
The question you're probably asking yourself now isâ¦
Why the Hell are you guys making Christmas wreaths?
To which the answer would beâ¦Spring Break '85.
Shortly after Brad started working at Country Boy's, he got it into his head that we should go to Florida on Spring Break. My Grandpa Freeman lives down in Winter Haven from January till May and he says we can stay with him, no problem. The only thing isâ¦not only do we need to save enough for the plane tickets, we also need spending money for when we're down there. And $2.92/hour busing tables is not gonna cut it! Not even with tips. Which explains why we're making Christmas wreaths out of cardboard, tissue paper, and glue. With a dash of glitter.
“First you take your tissue paper and cut it into squares⦔
A long time ago in like 1965, when my Mom was a kid, she used to make Christmas wreaths with
her
Mom and sell them door-to-door. Or wherever she could get people to feel sorry for her and buy them. Which is why Brad and I spent the entire Saturday after Thanksgiving sitting around our kitchen table learning the Finer-Art-of-Christmas-Wreath-Makingâ¦
“Next,” my Mom continued, “fold the square in half, long-ways.” Which she did, demonstrating as she went along on a 4" x 6" piece of white tissue paper. “With your pinking shears,” she explained, “make four or five cuts along the fold.” This she demonstrated to perfection, taking up a pair of yellow-handled scissors with funky jagged teeth. “Then fold your square back the other way.” At which point, she used her nose to assist in turning the square/rectangle inside out, revealing five or six puffy loops where she had made the cuts.
At which point, Brad said, “I'm confused.”
At which point, I concurred. “Me, too.”
“Why'd you smell the tissue paper like that?” he asked, referring to that weird thing my Mom did with holding it up to her nose.
“I don't know,” she admitted. “It's just the way I've always done it ever since I was little.”
For a moment, I watched my Mom travel back in time. Long before little 14-year-old Dianne Freeman ever got It on with 17-year-old John Paterno in the back of his '67 Mustang at the Galaxy Drive-In, resulting in my not-so-Immaculate Conception.
Yes, you did hear correctlyâ¦Yes, my father's name is also John. And like me, everybody calls him Jack. Though I'm not technically a “Junior” on account of we have different middle names. He's John William and I'm John Robert. Which does indeed make my parents “Jack and Dianne.” Like the John Cougar song. Though for some reason, my Grandma Freeman decided to spell my Mom's name with an extra N, don't ask me why!
For a moment, she's no longer 29-year-old Dianne Paterno, sitting with her 14-year-old son and his Best Friend since 7
th
grade in their modest three bedroom home in Hazeltucky, MI. She's a 10-year-old girl again, making Christmas wreaths with her own Mom across town in Ferndale. Too bad my Grandma Freeman died when I was 7 and my Mom was only 22. I can't imagine losing my Mom
ever,
let alone at such a young age. Right then, I felt like giving her the biggest hug and telling her how much I love her. But since Brad was sitting there at the table next to me, I decided I'd better not.
Now with only seven Shopping Days left till Christmas, here Brad and I sit on my bedroom floor making homemade Christmas wreaths. Like a couple of Total Losersâ¦
“Can I ask you a question?” Brad says to me as I fold over my bijillionth white tissue paper square the way my Mom expertly taught us. “Who on
Days of our Lives
do you think is cuter? Pete or Bo?” By which he means Pete Jannings or Bo Brady.
Why Brad's developed this fascination with cute guys over the past couple monthsâand is always asking me if I'd think they were cute or not if I were a girlâis totally beyond me. I'm beginning to think he's testing me or something. Trying to see if what certain people at school, like Craig Gershrowski, say about me is true or not. How many times do I have to tell him, I don't judge other guys?
Though I probably would think Pete Jannings is cuter. If I were a
girl,
he'd totally be my typeâ¦Dark hair, dark eyes, and a totally smooth and perfect body. Not to mention his washboard abs, muscular arms, and beefy chest that pushes together in the middle kinda like cleavage.
Which is why I tell Brad, “I guess I'd think Pete's cuterâ¦If I was a girl.” Though being a guy myself, I can't stand him!
“You're kidding?” says Brad, making a face. “I'd definitely think Bo is cuter than Pete.”
“You would?” I can't help but call his criteria for judging men into question. “I don't think I'd like kissing a guy with a beard.”
“I would!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up.
“Bo's got a hairy chest,” I remind him.
“I know!”
“You like that?”
“Wellâ¦My sister Janelle says hairy chests are sexy,” he informs me.
“Really? They kinda gross me out.” I hope to God I don't have a hairy chest when I grow up.
Brad adds, “Jon-Erik Hexum had a hairy chestâ¦You know what I mean?”
Which is trueâ¦JEH was totally hairy, and it totally worked for him!
“I guess maybe I'd think they
both
were kinda cute,” I say. “If I was a girl.”
“Me, too.”
Suddenly, I remember something I forgot to tell him⦓My Mom got us a booth at the Longfellow holiday craft show this weekend.” For a mere $5, Brad and I get an entire folding table to ourselves where we can display and sell our wares to the General Public.
