Chapter Six
At 5:59 I appeared at the dinner table. I slumped in my chair and waited for the inevitable fifteen minute prayer and then cold dinner routine. My mother brought out some nasty looking chicken with asparagus and rice. Hot or cold there wasn't any way that meal was going to taste good. Maybe putting it off for fifteen minutes wasn't such a bad thing.
"Dear Lord," my mother started after we all held hands. It was at least moderately creepy to hold hands with my parents and I felt like pulling away. I closed my eyes and started naming off players on the Denver Broncos in my mind. Anything to keep my mind off of the never-ending prayer my mother gave. Blah blah blah, obedience, blah blah blah submission. Does she really believe this crap?
"And we all said, amen," she finally concluded. I mumbled `amen' and then stared at my food. I'm just not very hungry. The asparagus smell is so unappealing. The chicken looks rubbery. Even the rice looked dry and overcooked. How do you fuck up rice? I poked at my food and moved it around the plate hoping it looked like I'd eaten some of it.
"Oh, Alvin," my mother said in her slightly condescending and annoyed voice. What now? "The guitarist in our church worship group broke his foot and we need a new guitarist starting right away. I told the worship pastor that you would be more than happy to play with the worship group. You are expected at the church on Friday to practice. Do you understand?" she snapped at me. What fresh hell is this? I have to play in the church band? I don't want to play in the church band. That's for dorks and old people.
"You volunteered me to play in the church band?" I asked with a horrified look on my face.
"Oh, yes. You have a gift from God and it's time you shared it with His people. No more playing the devil's music," she said, shaking her head. Seriously, the devil's music? She has to be kidding.
"I..." before I could even get the words out to protest, my dad interrupted me.
"You will be there on Friday to practice with the worship group. You will play well and reflect well upon our family. You will smile and be a good Christian while in the presence of other good Christians," he informed me. Fuck me. How much more of this shit can I take? I just nodded and pushed my food around some more.
"You may be excused, Alvin. Remember, don't shut that door before 9pm," my father said a few minutes later. Like I'm six years old and need to be excused from the table. I can't believe this load of crap. I went to my room and played guitar until 9 PM. Then I shut the door and locked it. I played my acoustic until my dad banged on the door at 11 and told me to go to bed. I don't really want to but decided that it isn't worth it to pick another fight.
The next morning I got up early and was at breakfast before 7 AM. Cloudy eyed and feeling hazy, I downed some cereal. It was the first food I'd eaten since I had a bowl of cereal the day before. My nutrition is shit and I wondered if I have lost even more weight since I've been home.
By 7:30 my dad had me cleaning out the garage. My mother has a habit of moving things out there for donation but she never actually makes the donation. It looks like today will be the day that all this junk makes its way to the Salvation Army. I started moving boxes out to the driveway. I've done what I was told and haven't said more than two words to my dad. I just don't have the energy to argue with him today.
I was in the garage when I heard a car pull up at 7:45. My father had begun loading boxes in his car and was outside.
"Hey Mr. Jacobs, is Alvin ready?" I heard Drago call out to my dad. Holy shit, Drago is here. I can't believe it. Did he not get my dad's text? That seems unlikely. I think he showed up anyway.
"You were told to stay away, Jenkins," my dad practically snarled at Drago. I stayed in the garage obscured by a stack of boxes.
"Alvin was serious about that?" Drago asked incredulously. I grinned. I knew that this wasn't going anywhere good, but it was still kind of funny to watch.
"Oh yes, it's serious as a heart attack," my dad retorted. "Now, please find your way out of here and don't think about returning," he said. I peeked around the box. Drago gave my dad a dirty look.
"Alvin and I have an arrangement and I don't really see what business it is of yours. So I'm going to grab him and we'll be on our way," Drago said with a big, phony smile on his face. My dad threw down the box he was holding and walked up to Drago. Drago had about four inches of height and probably 40 pounds of muscle on my dad, but dear old dad wasn't backing down.
"You will leave my property and stay away or I will call the police," he said pressing his finger against Drago's chest. Drago's phony smile faded quickly. I could tell that he wanted to break that finger off, but he just stood there looking at my father intently.
"Listen, Mr. Jacobs," he started to say but my father interrupted. He turned toward me in the garage. I ditched behind the boxes but he saw me before I was hidden from view.
"Alvin, go inside and don't come back out until I ask you," he said. I stepped out from behind the boxes and went around to the front door. I looked at my dad and then Drago. Drago smirked at me and I nodded `heads up' at him. My dad looked furious. "Hurry up, boy. Don't come back out here no matter what," he said. Jesus.
"Okay," I said in a snotty tone as I walked in the front door. I went to the kitchen and got another bowl of cereal. I could hear Drago and my dad shouting at each other but couldn't decipher what they were saying. I moved closer to the front window and hid behind the curtain while I ate my cereal and tried to listen to what they argued about.
"Fuck you old man," was the only thing I ended up being able to pick out and then I heard a car door slam and Drago peeling out in front of our house and speeding away. That ended about the way I anticipated. Yeah, Drago is never going to speak to me again. I wondered what horrible things my father said to him. Who knows? My father is such an asshole.
I ditched my cereal bowl and walked back out to the garage. My mother followed me out. My dad called us both over.
"If that boy shows up here again, do not interact with him and immediately call the police," he said, more to my mom than to me. I rolled my eyes and turned to go into the garage and get another box. My mom agreed wholeheartedly and I could hear the two of them discussing what a bad influence that atheist family was and how they made a bad impression on our whole community. What a load of crap that is. Drago's parents are so much cooler and nicer than my parents and Drago isn't a bad influence. He's a teenager for Christ's sake. He's no better or worse than any of the guys my age. Besides, where the fuck were they when he was calling me names and being a total asshat before the accident? They told me to ignore it and it would stop. Well, guess what? It never stopped. Until the accident. And then things changed. I still don't know why but then again I don't really care why.
The week proceeded pretty much how I expected--super lame. My dad was all over me the whole time, lecturing on how my behavior needed to improve and how I should have a better attitude considering how much they give me. Which is bullshit because they give Aldon every material thing in the world and I have to buy all of the things I want, like my guitars. And they give him all the love and support he can handle, while I sit on the sidelines wondering if they love me at all.
My dad forced me to clean out the gutters on our house and do all of the landscaping. I am used to doing chores around the house, but it is different since the accident. I get dizzy on ladders but he won't let me come down. He says I need to `tough it out'. I almost fell like twenty times, but managed to finish the job without actually falling off the ladder to my death. Alright, that's probably over-dramatic, but it was close a couple of times. I probably would have fallen in the bushes and just embarrassed myself.
The cognitive therapist was a waste of time. She performed a bunch of tests and sent me for an eye exam. I can see fine, lady. She gave me a huge questionnaire and then told me she needed to cancel our next appointment, so I won't see her again until next week. I feel like I probably need some brain strengthening based on the dizziness and fogginess and general brain problems that I've had since waking up after the accident but she seems out of her element. Like she's not sure what to do with me. I don't think she's used to dealing with people like me--who have actual brain injuries. Her normal clients seem to be depressed housewives and anxiety ridden losers. I decided to look up what cognitive therapy is when I got home from that appointment and discovered that she's just another kind of therapist--not some kind of brain guru who would teach me exercises to strengthen my brain. I need to talk to Dr. Winters to see why he has me seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist.
The physical therapist was okay although I got a lot more out of working out with Drago than I did out of my physical therapy session. It's like the guy is afraid of hurting me. He kept saying how `brittle' I am. Whatever. When I told him that I get dizzy on ladders and he said that I need to consult with Dr. Winters to see if I'm even ready for physical therapy. So it keeps coming back to Dr. Winters. I want a new psychiatrist--or none at all, and I want actual brain training--not the hippie-dippy cognitive therapy, and I want to workout with Drago instead of that goofy physical therapist who seems scared of hurting me. I can't change anything without Dr. Winters' approval.
My session with Dr. Khan was weird. I told him what happened with my dad. I've found that it is becoming easier to talk to him, but I still don't trust him. The weird part was that he seemed angry when I told him how my dad pulled his controlling act and started an argument with Drago. He didn't mention me being gay, which was nice. I don't feel like talking about that again. After the appointment I didn't feel as irritated with him and actually felt vaguely better.
I still want to ditch out on all this therapy. Maybe meet with Dr. Winters a couple of more times and then be done with all of this. My brain is as it is and there doesn't seem to be anything these therapist-types can do with it, so why waste my time? I could be playing guitar instead. Or I could get a job and figure out how to live in the dorms in the fall. I still need to figure out the whole school thing, anyway. I keep forgetting. Even with stuff written down, I can't remember anything. I forget to look at what I've written down. It's frustrating. I talked to Dr. Khan about that at Thursday's session. He took a lot of notes and told me to talk to Dr. Winters.
By the time I got to my appointment with Dr. Winters on Friday, I was pretty fried. My dad had me do everything short of remodeling our house. I've washed my parents' cars and detailed the interiors, cleaned out the garage, cleaned the entire house on the inside, done all of the yard work and trimming and cleaned out the shed. If he could think of it, I did it. I was surprised that he didn't have me clean his office or scrub the sidewalks outside our house. I'd actually painted the garage floor with some sort of sealant after it was all cleaned out. The fumes from the sealant and the cleaning supplies made me dizzier than ever. Plus all of the lifting and strenuous work made me very tired. My dad berated me about that. Apparently I am weak and basically a pussy. He used the word `wus' but I know what he meant. Several times he alluded to me being less than a man. I was so tired and out of it that I didn't really argue him. I had a couple of snappy come backs, but I was pretty far gone by Friday. I had a couple of episodes, too, and my dad told me to snap out of it and stop being overly dramatic. Oh yeah, Dad, I'm totally having episodes to get attention.
"So how's my favorite savant doing?" Dr. Winters greeted me. I smiled for what seemed like the first time this week.
"Well, I've definitely been better," I said, slumping down in the chair across from his. I could have fallen asleep except that I needed to talk to him so badly.
"What's going on? Be detailed, I need to know exactly the symptoms and what brought them on. Do you mind if I record our session?" he said, pulling out a digital recording device.
"That's fine with me," I replied and then started telling him about the past couple of weeks. From time to time he would make me stop and he would furiously scribble notes down or talk into his recorder. I couldn't help it, I just let it all out. I told him about everything. I wished that he were my psychiatrist, even though all he did was listen. He didn't hardly say a word in response. It felt good to tell him what was going on, partly because I wanted him to fix me so badly and partly because he had this angry look on his face. His jaw was set sternly and several times it looked like he was going to say something but then changed his mind. The impression that I get is that he is super pissed off at my dad. It is similar to how Dr. Khan reacted. I am glad that they are on my side.
Once I finished telling him everything that happened, Dr. Winters asked me to wait outside because he had a phone call to make. I followed his instructions and went to the waiting room and promptly fell asleep. I haven't been sleeping well all week. But once I spilled my guts to Dr. Winters, I crashed out.
I awoke with a start when I heard voices shouting in Dr. Winters' office. The clock above the receptionist's desk indicated that I'd been asleep for over an hour. The receptionist looked disconcerted. I don't think that Dr. Winters shouts very often, if at all. He has a loud voice to begin with and he has such a commanding personality that I doubt he needs to yell at people.
Several minutes later, my dad burst out the office door. He was red faced and wore a livid expression on his face. Even his hair was disheveled. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry and I've pissed him off royally on more than one occasion. Dr. Winters followed him out.
"Alvin, you may return to my office," he told me. My father stopped and spun around.
"No, Alvin. You will go to the car with me. We won't be coming back," he spat out. I sat there, unsure what to do. One is my father and one is my doctor--the doctor that I trust to help me with everything going on in my scrambled brain. Should I just go back in Dr. Winter's office and face my father's wrath when I get home? He is going to be pissed off no matter what when I get home, so why not see what Dr. Winters has to say? If I leave Dr. Winters' office, chances are I won't get to come back. But my dad made my decision for me when he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up onto my feet.
"I said to go to the car, Alvin," he said, yanking my arm. He grasped my arm so tightly that I thought it would bruise. I resisted him.
"I'm not done with my appointment with Dr. Winters," I said, trying to pull my arm free. He actually held me tighter and I winced.
"You are done with Dr. Winters and all of this therapy baloney. Let's go," he snarled and pulled me so powerfully that I nearly fell. I managed to stay on my feet as he dragged me out of the office.
"You have an appointment on Tuesday, Alvin. I want to see you," Dr. Winters called out as we left the office. A security guard met us in the hall and escorted us to my dad's car. I don't know what went down between my dad and Dr. Winters, but it appears that they don't get along. At least Dr. Winters said I could come back. My dad is doing his best to alienate me from all the people in the world who are trying to help me. Even though I'm not super excited about all of the therapy, I am suddenly lost and upset that I'm not going anymore. I just want to get better. It seems like my dad wants to pretend that there is nothing wrong with me that a little hard work won't fix. Like I am being lazy and that is my problem. Even if that was true before the accident, and I'm not saying it was true--I'm just going on how my dad is acting--I have a head injury now. I may never be the same or right or whatever. My dad is determined to fix me his own way, I guess.
We rode home in silence. I want to ask him what happened, but don't have a good feel about how he will respond. I don't want to have a car accident because my father was so busy spitting venom that he wrecks the car. I am a little bit scared of him at this moment, so I just sat sullenly in the passenger seat. I want to go home and hide out in my room and of course, play guitar. Then I remembered that I had to go to the church tonight and practice with the worship group. I am supposed to meet the youth pastor, some guy named Guy. Who the hell names their kid Guy? As we pulled into the garage, I mentioned to my dad that I need a ride to church. I thought he was going to blow up and start yelling at me, but instead he calmly told me to get my guitar and come back to the car. I ran inside and grabbed both my electric and my acoustic and loaded them in the trunk.
He didn't say another word to me until we got to the church. I got out my guitars and he said he would pick me up at 9:30. I started to say that I had no idea what time we would be done, but he just drove off. I guess he will pick me up at 9:30 whether we are done or not. I walked up to the church and went inside. I've never been here before. My mother's obsession started while I was in the coma. It amazes me that she became so fanatical in such a short time. I guess she needed some attention, or something.
I wandered up to the stage and put down my guitars. It looked like the church could seat about 400 people. There was a drum kit and several other instruments set up on stage. I could hear some voices backstage, so I moved to the back. A hipster looking guy in his 20s wearing a beanie was talking animatedly with a larger woman in her 50s.
"Uh, hey, are you Pastor Guy?" I asked when there was a break in their conversation. They both looked at me surprised. They hadn't heard me come in, I guess.
"Hey, are you Beth's son Aldon?" the hipster asked as he jogged over to meet me.
"No, er, I mean, yes, I'm Beth's son, but I'm Alvin. Aldon's my older brother," I explained.
"Cool, man, I'm Pastor Guy, the youth pastor and worship leader," he said shaking my hand vigorously. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. He hadn't shaved or was purposely going unshaved--it was hard to tell. He wasn't bad looking, it was just the hipster thing that made him look like a douche bag. He turned to the woman who had walked over to us.
"This is Darlene, Pastor John's wife. She's the life-blood of our church. We would be nothing without her," he gushed. I shook her pudgy hand. She was tall, probably close to six feet and weighed approximately 300 pounds. She was a very large human being. I wondered what Pastor John looked like to have this behemoth of a wife.
"It's great to meet you Alvin," she said. "Beth has told us that you are a guitar player and we can always use more musicians," she pumped my hand hard. It was similar to shaking hands with an overweight bear. I noticed that Darlene didn't mention that I'm a talented musician, just that I play guitar. Wow. I can just picture my mom telling them how I `tinker' on my guitar. I'm guessing that they don't really have high hopes for my skills. Of course I doubt these songs are all that technically difficult. They probably just need a body to stand in and look Godly, or something.
"Uh, thanks," I said. I pulled my hand from her sweaty grip and wiped it on my jeans.
"Well, Guy, I need to head out. Be sure to lock the back gate before you go tonight," she turned away from Pastor Guy. "I'll see you on Sunday morning, Alvin," she said to me and then she left. As soon as she was gone, Pastor Guy's body language completely changed.
"So, let me show you around," he said, grasping my arm. It is still sensitive from when my dad grabbed me earlier, but Guy's grip was light. He stood close to me and rubbed my arm. "It's really good to have you here. I think we're really going to get along," he said looking directly in my eyes. What the fuck did he mean by that? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that he is coming on to me. Maybe I don't know any better because it sure feels like he is hitting on me. I'm sure that I'm reading this wrong because pastors in churches aren't gay and don't hit on men they just met. Or do they? I guess I wouldn't really know considering how little I've attended church. I smiled nervously.
"Yeah, I'm uh, looking forward to getting to play in front of an audience," I said hoping that I didn't encourage him. I'm really not interested in hipsters. Although he is kind of cute. Get that fucking beanie off his head and change his clothes...hmmm. Damn, I need to get my mind out of the gutter. It would be kind of funny, though, to get in Pastor Guy's pants and have my mom find out. Ha. She would be so pissed off that I seduced someone at her fancy church.
"Come on, I'll show you the stage and then we can look all around the grounds. The rest of the band won't be here until 7:00 so we have plenty of time to get to know one another," he said. When he said `get to know one another' he gave me a look. A lusty look. My life just keeps getting weirder all the time.
"So you'll stand over here," he led me to the amp where I could plug in. There was a stand for my electric and another for my acoustic.
"Do you have the set list handy?" I asked. "I need to hear the songs on YouTube and then I'll be able to play them," I explained. He looked excited.
"You can play by ear? That's so cool," he gushed. He pulled a playlist out of his backpack and handed it to me. "Here's your copy. We're playing some really good stuff this week. Darlene and I pick the songs based on Pastor John's sermon. The songs are often geared for an older crowd, but this week we get to play some songs that rock," he told me. I seriously doubt the songs rock. I don't really know what worship music sounds like. I'm guessing that it isn't hymns since I don't see an organ anywhere, but I can't imagine that the songs rock in any meaningful way. I glanced at the set list and didn't recognize any of the songs. Not that I thought I would.
"So we play four songs before the sermon and one song at the end," I murmured.
"Yeah," Guy answered, even though I hadn't asked. "Sometimes we'll do two songs at the end, but not this week," he said. "I'm so psyched that you're here," he said and gave me a side hug. This guy, Guy, God that is annoying, is extra affectionate.
"Thanks, man," I said, shrugging out from his hug. He smiled at me and grabbed my hand. Holy crap, I think he's holding my hand. This keeps getting more bizarre by the minute.
"I want to show you my office," he said and pulled me by the hand to the stairs. He let go so we could ascend the flight of stairs. "My wife, Shayla, is home with our baby son, Titus," he told me. What? He's married and has a son? How did he convince some woman to marry him when it's so obvious that he's gay? Alright, that is rather bigoted of me. I have no place talking about gay or straight or otherwise. But seriously, this guy has to be gay. Maybe he's bi. I mean he has a wife and baby. Closet case? I don't know and probably shouldn't be making assumptions.
"How old is your baby?" I managed to choke out. I need to stuff my opinions about his sexuality. I hate when people make guesses about me, so I should shut up.
"Eight weeks!" he exclaimed. "He's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. I mean, aside from his wonderful mother. Shayla and I got married just over a year ago and she's really changed my life for the better," he raved. Huh. Maybe he's just a nice guy, ugh--Guy the nice guy--and I'm being an ass for thinking he's interested in men. And me specifically. How arrogant is that, really? I've been seeing this attraction from men all over the place lately. I think it's just me. I'm interested in men and I've been projecting it onto every man I meet. Well, the good looking ones, anyway.
"So this is it," he said as we walked into a closet-sized space. He turned on a lamp sitting on the desk. The room wasn't much wider than the desk but it was long and narrow. There was a couch pushed up against one wall. "Sit down, tell me about yourself," he said and he sat down on the couch. There wasn't anywhere else to sit, so I sat down as far away from him as I could. He scooted over to me. I laughed nervously and he patted me on the thigh. "Don't worry, I don't bite," he said smiling at me. Fuck me. I've heard that line in pornos before. At least he didn't add, "unless you want me to," or "at least not hard," or something.
I looked around and read the posters on the walls. They are all Christian propaganda--lots of motivational crap. I just kept a phony smile on my face and tried not to cringe. "So, how long have you been a youth pastor?" I finally asked, avoiding his request to get to know me better.
"Almost three years. I came to Boulder Baptist almost a year ago," he said proudly. "Have you attended here for long?"
"Oh, uh, no. My mom started attending a while back. I've never really been here before," I said hesitantly. I don't want to offend him with my lack of a Christian background. I don't consider myself an atheist, but I'm not a follower, either.
"Oh, where did you go before?" he asked.
"Nowhere. We weren't really churchgoers before," I said. He looked surprised.
"Wow, your mom is super dedicated. I wouldn't have known that she was a new attender," Guy said. "So tell me about you. Are you in school? How long have you played guitar? Do you have a girlfriend?" he asked. Girlfriend? I almost laughed out loud when he asked about a girlfriend. He looked so sincere.
"Oh, uh, I just graduated from Centaurus High. I'm going to CU in the fall. I've played guitar since I was three. No girlfriend," I answered in as few words as I could.
"Cool. I went to Broomfield High. That's where I met Shayla. We've been together since our sophomore year," he told me. I had to resist the urge to say `neato'. He is just so upbeat and kind of dorky. It brings out my sarcastic side. Alright, I'm always sarcastic.
"Do you play guitar?" I asked, remembering that there were a couple of guitars set up on the stage.
"Yes!" he said enthusiastically. Is there anything that doesn't excite him? "I've only played since I was thirteen, though. I really like worship music. What kinds of music do you listen to?" he asked.
"I listen to rock music," I said. I'm pretty sure he didn't want to hear about the experimental rock or progressive rock I listen to. Considering how much my mom hates what I listen to, I imagine he would have a similar response.
"Nice. I don't really listen to anything unless it's on K-LOVE or Air One. Have you checked out Air One yet? It's for a much younger crowd," he told me. I have no idea what he is talking about so I just shook my head `no'. He rubbed my thigh again, this time a little bit higher. If he goes any higher he is going to get up close and personal with Little Alvin. Who is starting to stir. He is pretty curious about all this touching even if I think Guy is a hipster doofus.
"Don't worry about it. I'll send you links to their websites. I think you'll really like the songs they play," he said now resting his hand just below the head of my cock. He had to know what he was doing. I mean, I was starting to get hard and he was so close to touching me. What the hell? I just sat there. I suppose I should pull away but it is such a weird experience that I froze.
"Cool," I said softly. I was putting most of my mental effort into not getting a full erection. That would just be too much. Finally, he kind of rubbed up and more or less caressed the head of my cock and then pulled away.
"Right on. Let's get out of here and I'll show you the rest of the upstairs. We can head down to the stage and I'll show you a few videos to get you familiar with the songs we'll play on Sunday," he said. I swallowed hard and tried to think about seeing Darlene naked. That did it. My cock started to go down before it spurted any precum. I was worried for a sec that I was going to have a wet spot where he touched my cockhead. Fuck me. Did he really not notice what he was doing? Or was he testing me to see how I react?
"Okay," I said and we headed out. He took me around and told me about all of the offices. I couldn't care less, but I pretended for his sake. We went down another set of stairs and ended up in the Children's Ministry. He told me that they have twelve classrooms for infants up to high schoolers. His area of expertise is middle school to high school kids. He told me all about the sleepover they just did and how they did some kind of scavenger hunt in Denver a few weeks ago. It all sounds so nerdy. I guess there are kids that are interested in all of that, but I just can't imagine it.
We ended up back on stage and he played videos for the five songs we would play on Sunday. As I expected, they were easy songs to play. I know I will have to spice them up a little so that I don't get bored. He was amazed that I can play the songs just from watching a video once. I didn't tell him about the accident or my new talents on guitar.
The rest of the band showed up and we practiced the set together. They are all very nice people. Two ladies in their fifties play piano, a good looking Hispanic guy named Jonathan plays drums, and a chubby, bald guy named Walter plays bass. Guy is a surprisingly good singer and plays decent rhythm guitar. He wasn't too excited about the additions I made to the songs we played, though. He told me to keep it simple. Yeah, that wouldn't be too hard.
We played through the set list twice. We had to coordinate with the lights and audio crew, which was more of a challenge than playing the songs together. The audio crew had to match up the lyrics on the screen above us so that the parishioners could sing along. It seems that the church could use some help in the audio/visual department because Guy constantly needs to assist them with their job. But after the second go through, things came together pretty well. We decided to meet again Sunday before service to play through the set one more time. I can't believe it but it is already 9:20 and my dad is going to be here to pick me up in ten minutes. Guy walked me outside to wait for my dad. The rest of the band said their goodbyes so it is just the two of us.
"It's been really great getting to know you better, Alvin," Guy said, giving me yet another hug. His body feels good against mine, but he thoroughly confuses me. I have a feeling that he is in deep, Christian-based denial about his sexuality, but he is hot for my body nonetheless. I tried not to give off any vibes that I am interested and I certainly didn't get all touchy feely the way he did, but I didn't pull away either. I'll let him make the moves and go along with what he offers.
"Yeah, I think we played well together," I said, patting him on the back. He released me and looked me in the eyes.
"We definitely play well together," he said. I suppose that there is more than one way to read that statement. "I can't wait to see you again on Sunday," he said.
"Totally, dude," I said, trying to keep the moment light. I can't afford to get a boner right before my dad pulls up. And just then, my dad did pull up. "There's my ride," I said, turning to get into Dad's car.
"Goodnight, Alvin," Guy said and slapped my ass. I jumped a little bit, shocked that he would do that in front of my dad. I turned and looked at him in confusion and then my dad called out for me to get in the car.
"Lates," I said and loaded my guitars in the trunk. I got in the passenger side and waved goodbye. My dad didn't say a word, so apparently he didn't see anything or if he did, he didn't think anything of it.
When we pulled into the driveway, my dad pulled out my phone and handed it to me. I am shocked. I pretty much figured I was never going to see my phone ever again.
"You can have this back on the condition that you don't contact Jenkins or anyone else I tell you to stay away from," he said. I took the phone with a huge smile on my face.
"Thanks, I really appreciate it. And I won't call Drago or whoever," I said.
"Good because I will be checking. I put a tracking device on your phone and also a monitoring device so I can see who you're sending messages to and getting them from. If I see anything I don't approve of, I will take your phone for good," my dad said with a grim look on his face. Jesus, what an ass. I feel like an errant twelve-year-old. Who tracks their adult children? Fuck, I have got to get out of this house and fast.
I hurried up to my room and started scanning my messages. There wasn't much there. All of my messages from Drago were gone, as was his contact. All of the doctor's offices were deleted. I don't know what to think of that. It seems like I should be going to see some doctors even though a few days ago I wanted to bail on the whole thing.
One contact that was still there was Landry's. I was psyched. I quickly sent him a message to check and see if we were still on for tomorrow night. He confirmed just as quickly. We texted for a few and I explained briefly what had been going on. We set up to meet the following evening. I spent the rest of the night playing guitar.