Accidents Never Happen Read online

  Joey’s dorm room was tiny, cramped, and smelled of dirty socks and cheap, spicy cologne. The room duplicated itself: each side housed a twin bed, a dresser, and a desk. But the two sides of the room couldn’t be more different. Joey’s was neat, tidy. His roommate was a slob.

  In the opposite corner of the room from where they sat, a small television with a homemade antenna comprised of a wire coat hanger and aluminum foil was housed on a stack of blue milk crates.

  The wall next to Joey’s bed was decorated with a poster-sized black-and-white photograph of a woman and a man. They stood at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, only seconds away from what appeared to be their first kiss. The wall on his roommate’s side of the room was covered with posters of professional skateboarders with names like Tony Hawk, Shaun White, and Chris Cole. There was a wall calendar featuring a half-naked Pamela Anderson as the model for the month of October. Two strategically placed pumpkins covered her outrageous boobs.

  They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. It was the first time they were alone. Finally, they did not have to be concerned with strangers who glanced at them with uncertainty, silently trying to define how these two men knew each other and why. No longer were they battling with the distractions of the city—the flash of the traffic, the buzz of the train, the rumble of pedestrians. Here, Joey knew they could be themselves, explore one another if they chose to; try to determine why they both felt so compelled to be in the other’s company.

  Albert unzipped his flannel jacket. The sound seemed unusually loud, magnified. He grinned a little and it was contagious, so Joey grinned, too. He peeled off the coat and Joey felt his breath stick in his throat. Albert wore a white tank top that revealed his solid arms, his cocoa-colored skin, and a tattoo on the back of his shoulder that read Love is a Battlefield in blue-black ink. His dark chest hair peeked out over the low neckline. His nipples seemed strained, pushing against the white ribbed cotton shirt, begging to be bitten.

  Albert kicked off his shoes. The black sneakers fell with soft thuds to the floor next to where his duffel bag rested like a sleeping cat. Albert stretched, cracked his knuckles, and let out a half sigh, half yawn. “Wow,” he said. “I feel like I’m at home.”

  This made Joey happy, because he never wanted Albert to leave.

  Joey’s stare remained on Albert’s skin. “Your house looks like this?”

  Albert kept smiling. “No, I mean…comfortable. You know, chilled out.”

  “Oh. That’s good. I want you to be comfortable here…with me.”

  Albert cleared his throat. “Where’s your roommate?”

  “He’s a dishwasher at some hole in the wall. He works the graveyard shift and sleeps through most of his classes.”

  Albert asked, “So…you and me…we’re alone?”

  Joey looked out the window. “He won’t be back until the morning.”

  Albert’s eyes moved to the calendar, to Pamela. Joey wondered if Albert found her attractive. Did the sight of Pamela Anderson give him a hard-on? Was he searching for proof that he still liked women? Albert’s gaze shifted to Joey’s mouth. He stole glances at Joey’s lips when he got the chance. Was he imagining what they’d feel like on his body? “Looks like you and he don’t got much in common,” he said.

  “I don’t have much in common with anybody,” Joey answered quickly. He licked his lips, passing the cup of hot chocolate to Albert.

  Except for the miniature wooden houses, there was little evidence to suggest someone lived and slept on Joey’s side of the dorm room. The houses were important to Joey; they were everywhere. He had built at least twenty of them. A handful of glue sticks stood like miniature statues on the windowsill.

  Albert seemed fascinated by the houses. He kept looking at them, and Joey felt awkward and self-conscious.

  “You got a lotta little houses, man.”

  Joey smiled, nervous. “Do you like them?”

  “Sure.” Albert relaxed, shifting farther back on the bed and leaning against the concrete wall. Joey waited for a second, and did the same. “But why do you make ’em?”

  Joey shrugged, kicking off his Adidas. “When I was twelve, I started walking around my neighborhood when things got bad at home. It was a nice neighborhood. Beautiful front lawns. Big front windows. We didn’t live far from the ocean. But the ocean is never far away no matter where you live in Maine.”

  Joey took a breath and continued. “I would walk around for hours, even when it was dark. It seemed like the whole world was eating dinner without me. I wanted to be with a family—any family. I wanted to be with the dads that would laugh and the moms who would say things like, ‘Eat your green beans, dear. They’re good for you.’ I would sit on the sidewalk or the curb outside of a pretty house as the sun went down. I would pretend I lived there. I imagined what life was like inside.”

  Albert stared off into the distance, as if he were visualizing Joey’s memory. “So you started to build your own little houses?” he asked.

  Joey grinned. “Only because I got into trouble a lot.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to get into much trouble, kid.”

  “I really love blue raspberry Popsicles. You ever have one?”

  “Nah, I don’t like sweet stuff too much.”

  “I can eat boxes of them.”

  “A whole box? But you’re so skinny.”

  “When I was a child, the rule was that I could eat one as long as I didn’t make a mess. But sometimes—especially during the summer—they would melt faster than I could eat them.” Joey stopped for a moment and finished with, “I would get punished.”

  Albert’s eyebrow shot up again. “You got hit?”

  “No…she never hit me…she put me in the basement for a while.”

  Albert looked like he wanted to kick someone’s ass. “For how long?”

  “A day or two,” Joey answered. “Sometimes longer. One day while I was down there, I pulled out my stash of Popsicle sticks. I’d hidden them so my mom wouldn’t know I was eating so many. My dad had a little work station in the corner. I found some carpenter’s glue in a drawer and so I started to build a house—a better house than the one I lived in.”

  “So you could pretend you lived there, right?”

  “Yeah. Or sometimes, I would pretend that my mother lived inside of it. And I would burn the house to the ground in a fire pit we had in the backyard.”

  Albert shook his head. “Man, you really hated her, didn’t ya?”

  Joey’s body tensed. “No…I never hated her. I just wanted her to be somebody else’s mother.”

  Albert asked cautiously, “So…her death…it was an accident…right?”

  Joey shook his head and his eyes moved to the window, to the snow dancing in the neon glow. “Accidents never happen,” he said. “You said it yourself earlier—at the book store.”

  “What about you, then?” Albert asked. “You said you were an accident.”

  “I was. I am. So that means I never happened.”

  Albert banged his head against the wall a couple of times lightly, joking but frustrated. “That sounds like fancy school talk to me.”

  Joey laughed. “I’m not fancy.”

  “Well, good. ’Cuz I ain’t either.”

  “They gave me a scholarship to come to this place.” He looked around the dorm room and then to the window, where the skyline stood, jagged against the dark night in the distance. His eyes closed a little as the word slid from his lips, “Chicago.”

  Albert beamed. “Your parents must’ve been proud of you.”

  Joey’s half smile faded. “My father was.”

  “He died, too?”

  Joey looked away, flinched. “He wasn’t supposed to be in the car, remember?”

  Albert waited for a second and then asked, “Did she do it on purpose?”

  “The cliff?”

  Albert nodded.

  Joey answered, “No.”

  “How then?”

  Joey shr
ugged. “It was an old car. The brakes failed. Besides, she was a shitty driver.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Albert nodded. “Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe her foot slipped and she hit the gas ’stead of the brakes.”

  “Maybe.” Joey became aware of how close they were sitting together. His head was pressed against the wall behind them. His face was turned sideways; he could see Albert’s profile. In the light, Albert’s features seemed softer, romantic. The silhouettes of snowflakes drifted down Albert’s cheek. He looked like a leading man in an old Spanish movie; the type of hero who would rescue the heroine and ride off with her into the sunset on a white horse by the end of the film. He was breathtaking.

  Joey felt the sudden urge to touch Albert, to curl up next to him. Instead, he remained still. He glanced down to the bed. His right hand was just inches from Albert’s left. Their fingers leaned toward one another’s with subtle longing to touch. Joey lifted his eyes and stared into Albert’s. Joey inhaled and felt a slight ache, a tiny tremor somewhere in his heart. He knew he wanted Albert. He had known it since they’d first met. Joey just didn’t know if it was possible.

  Joey had fantasized about being touched by rough, calloused hands. He secretly pined over the guy he shared the dorm room with; watched him sleep and studied the curves of his thick penis through a peach-colored bath towel always hanging like a dare from his hip bones.

  Albert didn’t turn away. He held Joey’s stare, as if silently challenging him to take the moment a step further. Sitting next to Albert made Joey feel he was capable of building the perfect house. Already, in his mind, he was designing it. He would include a terrace so Albert could look down at a garden.

  Joey thought about his sister and what her reaction would be once she got his letter. Lily would read it while sitting at the kitchen table. She wouldn’t cry. She would be angry. She’d break something. He hoped she wouldn’t hurt herself, even do herself in. Finally finish off the damage that had been done to her, mostly by Cooper McGill and his dirty friends.

  Joey would be alone if Lily stepped over the edge. He already missed his father, but Joey knew in time his memory would fade. He would travel through life the way he was meant to, the way it was safest: alone.

  Unless Albert decided to take the journey with him. But it was only a slim chance Albert would stick around. He was simply curious about being with another man.

  And once that curiosity was fed, Albert would be long gone, back to his bitter wife and boxing rounds.

  Albert

  Albert’s mind swam with the events of the day: meeting under the train tracks, the dinner at the coffee shop, the post office, the book store. The time spent with Joey felt sped up, like someone was playing a cruel joke on them, robbing them occasionally of minutes and seconds when they didn’t have an eye on a clock or a watch.

  Albert had been conflicted since he had met Joey. Part of him wanted to stand up and leave, insist to Joey that he liked women. He loved tits and ass and pussy and especially ladies with long legs. He wasn’t a queer and had no plans to become one.

  Yet there was a part of him that wanted to devour Joey. He had flashes of imagined instances when he grabbed Joey, bent the kid over, and banged the hell out of him, hard. He would hold him after, real tender-like, and tell him that no one—and he meant no one—would ever hurt Joey again.

  Finally, Joey spoke. “There’s probably going to be a funeral.”

  “There is,” Albert said. “When you were in the bathroom earlier your sister called.” He pointed to an answering machine on the dorm room floor. A digital red number one blinked back up at them. “She left you a message. Said the funeral is Saturday.”

  Joey’s eyes were still on the machine when he asked, “Did she sound upset?”

  “Nah, man. She didn’t sound broken up about it.”

  “That’s because she’s not. She hated our mother. I mean, really hated her.”

  Albert swallowed and spoke. “So…who did it?”

  Joey looked him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

  Albert held his stare. “The brakes,” he said. “Who cut ’em? You or your sister?”

  Joey’s mouth moved, slipped down into an expression revealing his inner feeling of guilt. “Are you kidding?” he said. “My sister could never do anything like that.”

  Albert brought his knees up, toward his chest, placed his elbows on them. His toes curled inside of his white socks, digging into the faded quilt that they were sitting on. “What about you?” he asked.

  Joey was quiet for a moment before answering with, “What do you think?”

  Albert took a long look at Joey, trying to imagine him killing someone, his own mother. “I think I’ve known you less than a day, man, so…uh…it’s hard to say,” he decided.

  “Is that so? I was under the impression you had me all figured out.”

  “Nah, man, I don’t.”

  Joey sat up a little. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Albert looked confused. “I’m here ’cuz you invited me over.”

  “Why did you say yes? We’ve spent the whole day together. You’re not sick of me yet?”

  Albert smiled. “No.”

  “No?”

  “What—you don’t believe me?”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  That sounded like a dare to Albert, and he never backed down from one. “I will if you will.”

  Joey crossed his ankles again. “Fair enough.”

  Albert took a deep breath. His words were rushed, nervous. His mouth felt dry. “I’m here because I like you. I feel like you and me…we just…well, we know each other…it’s like this connection…I can’t explain it…I figure you’re probably a queer and either you won’t say it or you just ain’t never messed around with a guy before. Maybe you’re thinkin’ you want to do that with me. But I don’t think I can. Even though I like you. I don’t mean I like you like a man likes a woman, I mean…you and me…we’re really messed up…in the head and shit like that…so I figure I like being with ya…’cuz now I don’t feel so messed up. You make me feel…happy…and I ain’t ever felt like that…like something good is gonna happen to me…ya know?”

  A moment passed before Joey spoke. “Are you scared of me?”

  Albert’s jaw tightened. “I ain’t scared o’ nothin’.”

  Joey reached out. His hand landed on Albert’s thigh. It was the first time they had touched since they were at the book store. “Nothing?”

  Albert looked down at Joey’s hand, at his half-bitten nails and gnawed cuticles. “I told you—”

  Albert felt Joey’s fingers tense against his black sweatpants. “You’re not a queer. You have a wife. I know.”

  “You’re mad at me?”

  Joey pulled his hand away. “No.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Maybe.”

  Albert shook his head. “I don’t understand it myself. It don’t make sense to me, Joey.”

  Joey’s eyes returned to the window. “Maybe it’s not supposed to.”

  “Nah. It has to for me. If it don’t make sense, I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

  Joey closed his eyes as if he were carefully choosing his words, seeing them written out in his mind before he said them. “I see so much in you, Albert.”

  Albert gave him a strange look. “What are ya sayin’?”

  Joey reached up and touched the tattoo on Albert’s shoulder. He traced the letters in the word “love.” Albert shuddered a little, but if Joey noticed, he didn’t let it show. He said, “I would if I could.”

  “I know you’re having thoughts—”

  Joey chose to say the word in a whisper. “Thoughts?”

  “About me and you. About me and you doing stuff. Queer stuff.”

  Joey folded his arms across his chest. “Is that so bad?”

  Albert felt his body weaken, as if someone or something had stripped the rage out of his soul. “I don’t know.”

  On impulse, Joey
leaned over and kissed Albert’s cheek. It surprised them both that Albert didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again and Joey was startled, concerned that Albert might actually cry.

  “Whatcha do that for?” Albert asked.

  “Because,” Joey said, “I think you’re beautiful.”

  Albert blushed a little, looked down at the quilt, at the paisley pattern of red and gold. “But I’m not.”

  Joey reached for Albert, lifted his face up by his chin. He looked him deep in the eyes and asked, “Who told you that?”

  Albert sniffed. “Bonnie.”

  “Then she must not love you, Albert.”

  The words stumbled out of Albert’s mouth, and they hung in the air. “Could you?”

  Joey folded his hands, placing them in his lap like a child sitting in a classroom waiting for story time. He nodded a little. “I think maybe I can.”

  Albert exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and wiped his palm on the front of his sweats. “Wow,” he said. “That’s some serious shit, Joey.”

  Joey’s mouth slid into a half grin when he asked, “What about now? Are you scared?”

  The expression on his face answered all of the unanswered questions in the room, but Albert spoke anyway. “Ya don’t scare me, kid.”

  “Are you sure?” Joey asked.

  Albert knew that the question had many meanings.

  Albert nodded. He leaned into their first kiss, the moment, the absolute point of no return. Their eyes closed in unison and their breath became one. Their mouths met and they were hungry. They tasted of chocolate and snow, of an unspoken promise.

  Albert pulled away first. He was shaking. “I’m nervous,” he admitted. He glanced down to his sweatpants and hoped Joey hadn’t noticed how hard he was, that their kiss had made his cock throb. He thought about it for a second: about pulling the waistband of his sweats down and guiding Joey’s mouth to his dick.

  “Why are you nervous?” Joey said with a grin. “It’s just me.”

  “I don’t think…I’m not ready to…”