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I give him another kiss on the side of his head, then hug him against me tighter. “I’m your man, now and always.” I feel totally proud of us and right with the world. “Fuck the losers at the club. None of ‘em are good enough for you anyway.”
Bobby doesn’t say anything, but I swear I feel him cling to my side tighter after those words. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.
Three minutes later, he goes: “Shoot, you’re gettin’ hot. Why the hell you sweat so dang much?”
I shrug. “It’s a Strong thing.”
9
BOBBY
I smooth out my black pleated slacks, then do up the last few buttons on my mustard yellow uniform shirt. My fingers fumble at first with the shiny black bowtie around my neck, but I finally get it even on both sides, despite feeling like its suffocating me. I can never get anything to fit right around my neck.
Or maybe I’m just in a zone right now and nothing feels right.
A zone called: my straight best friend just kissed me two nights ago in a dirty hotel room, then cuddled me to sleep.
All yesterday after we got back to Spruce and he dropped me off here at my house, I’ve been in this totally alien state of mind. I keep stopping in place for no reason, my mind going back to that hotel room. It’s like I’ve been stirred awake from a deeply moving dream and am now being haunted by it all day long.
I literally question at times whether it actually happened.
If Jimmy Strong … actually kissed me.
“Hon, you ready yet?” comes my ma’s voice through the door.
I yank at the straps of my dumb shiny red suspenders, making them snap. The things keep tugging on my shoulders all weird.
Maybe everything’s going to feel weird for a while.
Or maybe the sadistic manager of the movie theater is just trying to humiliate all the swagger out of his employees.
Seriously, I look ridiculous.
“Oh, you look so cuuute in your uniform!” cries my mother when I finally emerge from my bedroom. “Oh my goodness, I gotta take a picture on my new smartphone!” She races to the kitchen to fetch it, nearly tripping over a meowing Delilah on her way.
I roll my eyes, standing awkwardly in the living room, ready to go and get my first day started. “I think you lost the right to call it your ‘new smartphone’ six months ago when I first got it for ya.”
She rushes back into the living room. “Oh, you’re so funny! Now how do I take pictures on this thing? Do I gotta talk to it?”
I snort. “Here, bring it here. Let me show you.”
Showing her takes ten minutes. Then suddenly I peek at the clock and realize I’m going to be late if I don’t head out right now.
“Your pa will give you a ride on his way back out to Fairview. Traffic should be light since everyone’s at church.” My ma gives me a big kiss on the cheek, then does a giddy little dance with her feet. “I just can’t wait to hear about your first day! Do you get off at five or six? Tell Mr. Lemon I said hi and asked about his kiddos!”
A minute later, I’m in the car with my pa, who’s as silent and stoic as a stone. He just gives me a few eye-scrunching smiles that come out of nowhere as the radio gently plays music. We drive the seven blocks and the one main street to the theater. Really, I could have easily walked, but I think my pa feels guilty for working all the time and wants to spend any spare minute he can with me.
“Thanks, Pa,” I say when we pull up to the curb. “I can walk home after my shift. It’s just a little bit of a walk, and—”
“Nonsense, son. Not in this heat.” My pa gives me yet another squishy smile. “I should be back this evening sometime around six. If you get off early, just wait for me at Biggie’s down the road.”
There’s no sense in arguing—or turning down an opportunity to dodge some harsh summer sun. “Yes, sir.”
“Now you have yourself a good first day, alright? Remember to respect your superiors, like I’ve always taught you.”
“Yes, sir.” I pop open the car door and step out.
“And son?”
I shut the door behind me, then peer in through the rolled-down window. “Yes, Pa?”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout money. Just have fun at work. Enjoy it, make some new friends. You used to love goin’ to the movies. Now you get to see all the behind-the-scenes. And Mr. Lemon is a nice man! When you love your job, you don’t work a day, right?”
His warm, dopey brown eyes have a glaze of guilt across them, which his words only make worse. I wonder if he and Ma actually had an argument or two about whether or not I should go and get a job this summer. Maybe he wanted me to stay home and enjoy my time with Ma and Jimmy and my friends. Maybe he resents that we’re in such a position where I have to pitch in, too.
