Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I have nothing to do today but stare at the wall. I bet Rafe has things to do. Letters to write to prisoners and kids to inspire and fundraisers to plan, or whatever they were going to do when they left to get dinner together last night. Rafe invited me but I didn’t relish the idea of humiliating myself further by having approximately zero to contribute to their conversation about systemic racism and cultural biases and all the other stuff they were discussing in the parking lot before I left. Rafe had started to explain, but I waved him off.
I scrub my hands over my face and consider just going back to bed and sleeping until work tomorrow morning, but I’m all fidgety and I know I won’t be able to sleep.
I hate Sundays. It’s not just that I have nothing to do. It’s that it doesn’t matter what I do. If I watch a game on TV or go running or do laundry or clean the house for the third time this week, it just doesn’t fucking matter. I’ve decided on cleaning the house again when my phone rings.
“Hi, Colin.” Even through the phone, the way he says my name does something to me.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to go running yesterday. If you’re free today, we could go.”
Part of me doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m basically free all the time.
“Um, yeah, I could do that.”
“Great. I’m already in the car, so why don’t I come to you?”
“Okay.”
I try to shake off my crappy mood before Rafe arrives, though thirty-six years of history should have told me that was impossible.
Rafe shows up cheery and energized, and I try to say as little as possible so I don’t ruin it. I’m in no mood to push myself today. I feel sluggish even though I got enough sleep, so Rafe and I are well-matched for pace. Def Leppard pumps me up for a little while, but the second we’re back at my house, I’m pissy again. I let Rafe shower first. My own shower reminds me of the other day when I jerked off thinking about him, and I’m swallowed up by a dark, tarry cloud.
What the fuck am I doing with him? What does this mean? And what happens next? Rafe’s made it clear that he expects something from me, and I… don’t like it.
I rub the towel over my damp hair. I still haven’t shaved it.
Rafe’s in the living room playing with Shelby. “So, what’s up with you?”
“What? Nothing. Why?” Mistake. Never ask why. Just deny.
“You’ve just seemed pretty quiet. And you look sad.”
“I’m not allowed to be quiet sometimes?”
Rafe raises his hands in the universally irritating I-am-blameless gesture. “Okay, Colin. Okay.”
Yeah. Damn right it’s okay for me to have nothing to say.
I walk into the kitchen and start making a peanut butter sandwich to have something to do with my hands. I hold the jar up to Rafe in question when he follows me.
“Sure.”
“I don’t have any jam.”
“Got any honey?”
“Dude, gross.”
“No, it’s good,” he insists.
I shake my head but gesture toward the cabinet.
When he takes a bite, honey oozes out of the side of the sandwich. “Want to try?”
I shake my head. Then I get curious and pull his plate toward me. I take a bite and the mark my teeth leave in the soft bread overlaps with Rafe’s. I chew suspiciously. It’s disgusting.
“Ugh, too sweet.”
Rafe chuckles and reclaims his plate. “I like sweet.” He winks at me and I feel my chest flushing for no reason.
“My brother used to eat peanut butter and cheese sandwiches,” I say.
“Which brother?”
“Sam.”
“That’s the oldest.”
I nod.
“That doesn’t sound good. What about Brian?”
“Peanut butter and grape jelly.”
“Grape jelly. That’s pretty bad too.” I nod. “And Daniel?”
“When he was younger, he liked this marshmallow fluff that one of the guys who worked with my dad used to bring over. Now, I think he likes peanut butter and cinnamon.” Well, I don’t have any idea about now, I guess. I haven’t shared any meal but Thanksgiving with Daniel in years.
“And you like just plain peanut butter, huh?”
“Dude, it’s not dream analysis or anything. I just like it.”
Rafe smiles; then his expression turns serious.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m really glad you came with me yesterday, but I hope I didn’t put you in an uncomfortable position.”
He touches my arm and I’m reminded of what Ricky said. I count, but even after five seconds he doesn’t take his hand away.
“Um. Well, no, but I just didn’t fit in. Obviously.” I snort, remembering the way everyone stared at me.
Rafe nods. “I know it probably seems that way. Really, though, the people there are pretty diverse. They’ve just been working toward the same goals for a long time. Sometimes….” He runs his hand through his hair. “Sometimes I think we forget that we had to learn about all these issues too. You know? It’s easy to talk to people who are already coming from the same place, politically. But the true test is whether we can effectively communicate those ideas to people who aren’t familiar with the issues.”