Boys With Bruises

    allison dunsmore

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       As his inhale shriveled what was left of the joint, Carl examined his bruised arms the way he imagined a concerned parent would. Lying on his back, Carl raised the purple and blue clouds on his arms above him, the rain they stored he felt behind his eyes. But there would be no storm tonight. Carl appreciated how he was incapable of tears while high.

       Ed sat, back to the wall, his consciousness seeming to hover above him as he watched his only friend. With a sigh coming more from his heart than his lungs, Ed tugged the string on the lamp beside him, leaving them both in the darkness, only the disappearing joint daring to remain visible, only the collision of the sounds from the traffic outside and the television from the next room keeping them company.

       Carl turned his head in Ed’s direction, searching for a silhouette, satisfied in seeing one, even if it were only a figment created by his high. He imagined Ed’s scrawny body crawling towards him, claiming a spot beside him, so they could stare at the ceiling together, so they could feel each other’s goosebumps and find comfort in the fact that they weren’t alone with them anymore. Carl closed his eyes because when he did, his world became what he wanted it to. Usually when he did this it was to cast others further. Tonight this wasn’t the case. He squeezed his eye lids shut and felt the warmth Ed’s body would have given him. His thighs felt what would have been Ed’s long fingers tracing loopy cursive Ls moving closer and closer to his pelvis. His cracked lips replayed the first kiss they just shared. His eyes were shut when that happened too, so Carl had to convince himself that the scene invading his mind had actually played out in reality. Ed’s hesitant demeanor confirmed it did.

      “Are you going to go home tonight?” the darkness asked Carl in Ed’s voice.

      “Run away with me, Ed.” Carl ventured for the dozenth time, just as serious as every other attempt, but this time also ready. He’d a packed bag hidden under his bed two streets away, waiting for an occasion like this.

       Ed pulled the lamp-string to see Carl not sprawled on the floor like expected but sitting upright, already asking Ed again with his eyes. Ed sucked on his lips and without the consent of his will, his head began to slowly shake a response. Marijuana unfortunately didn’t have the same effect on Ed as it did Carl, and Ed began to cry.

      “Then yeah. I guess I’m going home.” Carl waited a few seconds to give Ed the chance to object. When he didn’t get an objection he grabbed his phone from Ed’s night stand and exited Ed’s room and then Ed’s house, shouting “Goodbye, Mrs. Taylor” on his way out the door.

      Carl walked down the dark, damp street, stopping under the mist swimming beneath the street lamp. He stood there for a moment, the last moment of the night he would feel completely safe, as if the light surrounding him were a shield from everybody but Ed, from every feeling but the quickly fading numbness from drugs.  Carl glanced back in the direction of Ed’s house, knowing the street would be empty but refusing to believe without evidence – something Ed taught him to live by.

 

      Carl was hesitant to follow through with Ed’s plan. “Are you sure you’re not just mad at me and want an easy way to take it out on me?”

      “You can get somebody else,” Ed said, grabbing a Dr. Pepper from the fridge Carl was leaning on in the garage, knowing full-well Carl had no one but him.

      “Show me again what you’re going to do.” At this point Carl couldn’t deny he was stalling. He watched Ed walk over to the punching bag hanging in the middle of the garage. Ed started to place his soda can on the floor beside him, but stopped and turned around.

      “Actually, if you hold this against your arm, it’ll show more. The cold does something to the blood.” Ed offered Carl his soda can and Carl reluctantly pressed it to the flesh of his upper arm, giving him goosebumps.

      “Shit that’s cold. All right, whatever. You don’t have to show me,” said Carl. “Let’s just get this over with.” He removed the can from his arm.

      “Uh-uh. Hold it there a little longer.” Carl got the impression that Ed was enjoying this torture. Did he just see Ed start to smile?

      “I’m taking it off. This is fucking freezing.” Carl took the can away from his arm and a big red mark took its place on his otherwise clear skin. Carl knew it was only temporary, but seeing the mark there gave him hope. Ed was right. People could ignore Carl, but they wouldn’t be able to not see this.

      With one long breath deeper than the rest, Carl searched his friend’s eyes for his intentions. He slowly nodded, more to himself than to Ed, and walked to the punching bag. With one more long breath, Carl pressed his stomach to the punching bag, wrapping his arms around it and grabbing his wrists on the other side. It was an unusual position for Carl, but it gave him a sense of security. Weird, he thought, that his body should feel this way right now while his mind is full of simultaneous dread and optimism. He shut his eyes and squeezed them and his core as tight as he could so as not to lose his balance. “You sure you’re not mad at me?” Carl said with closed eyes.

      “I promise.” Ed said frustratedly as he paced back and forth the garage.  “But that soda doesn’t do shit. It was for second guessing me.”

      Without letting go of the punching bag, Carl quickly turned his head to Ed to see if he was kidding. “You son of a bitch!”

      “Okay. And this is for talking shit about my mom,” and before Carl had time to mentally prepare himself, Ed’s fist was raised and in motion towards his arm.

      Carl squeezed his body tighter against the punching bag as Ed struck him. Ed punched and punched the same spots over and over. Ed felt liberated. He knew he was doing his friend good, but he couldn’t help but imagine Carl as his classmates – all the ones who whispered about him in class, who nudged their friends when he passed in the halls, who stared a few seconds too long.

      “Fuck, that’s enough!” shouted Carl, and as soon as he stopped feeling the blows come his way, he went inside, slamming the garage door behind him, leaving Ed in the garage with nothing but the still-swinging punching bag and his own exhaustion.  

 

      Carl’s high intensified the impression of the diamonds the chain-link fence was putting on his back. He was stoned and all he could think to do to put off going home was pluck every individual blade of grass surrounding him until he thought of a better plan. He pulled another out of the ground and inspected it. This blade of grass had an ant on it. Carl took the joint from his lips with his free hand and positioned it on top of the ant. He watched closely the ant’s torso squirm as it scorched then he wiped the grass with the remainder of the severed body on the tip of his joint and continued to smoke. The smoke tasted differently to him, but then Carl decided there was no way he could taste that little ant and he must be just high.

      “Mind if I hit that?” the voice beside Carl startled him.

      Without saying anything Carl looked at the boy beside him. It was the kid from the bus, Ed. He extended his arm and Ed took the joint.

      “So, if you don’t mind my asking, how come you always get off at this stop?” Ed took a long hit and with the smoke still in his lungs he added, “Don’t you live like two streets down?”

      Ed released the smoke and Carl stuck his hand out to get his joint back. Carl didn’t feel the need to open up to any of his new peers. That only led to judgment, Carl knew from experience. And just because they rode the same bus didn’t make them friends. Maybe they’d sat together once, Carl thought, but he still didn’t know anything about this guy besides his name and bus route.

      “I mean, ‘cause if you need somewhere to smoke, you can come to my place. My mom’s chill.” When Ed saw that Carl wasn’t interested he added, “And I can get you back for this. I got stuff at my place.”

      Ed waited for a response, but all he got was a brief nod from Carl. He took that as enough of an invitation to sit down next to him and continue talking.

      “Is everything all right? I know you’re new here,” Ed intended on saying more but his eyes met Carl’s for the first time and he lost what he was about to say, as if the sun scorched the words as they came to him and that was the reason he suddenly felt a little heated. Carl held Ed’s gaze and maybe it was because he was high, but he felt he knew Ed, like Ed had been sitting beside him for their entire lives at that fence and they only now just started to speak to each other because before they had no reason to. They sat in silence until Carl looked away and continued plucking the grass.

      “I can’t go home,” said Carl, still turned away from Ed.

      Ed was hesitant. “How come?” 

      “It’s my parents,” Carl left the sentence there to dangle. He took another hit from the joint and handed it back to Ed. When their fingers met, Carl suddenly turned towards Ed and told him everything. How his mom had gotten so depressed from her third miscarriage that she decided she wasn’t meant to be a mother and began denouncing Carl as her son in their home. How he saw his dad every evening, but they hadn’t exchanged a single word in weeks. Carl felt so comfortable with Ed that he almost exposed the reason his father suddenly despised him, but he caught himself.

      Ed could only bite his lip and shake his head in empathy until he told Carl what needed to be done.

 

      Ed tossed the hood to his sweater over him so that his neighbors standing several feet away would get the hint to quit looking in his direction. He stood there at the bus stop breathing as shallowly as possible so as not to move too much and draw their attention. While waiting, he watched a squirrel across the street scurry around the trees and pick up something and nibble at it. Suddenly the squirrel paused, perked up as if it heard some important announcement, then ran into the street, barely missing the wheels of the bus.

      Ed was first to get on the bus, heading straight for his seat in the last row, as that was the one always left empty for him. As he approached, however, he saw the seat was taken by someone he hadn’t seen on this bus before. He slowed his stride, disinclined to take his usual seat since someone else was there, but not wanting to sit anywhere else either because that meant sitting next to someone he knew. Surely he couldn’t turn around and go back to the empty seats in the front that he already so confidently strode passed. He dropped his backpack in the middle of the row and sat at the edge of his usual seat, leaving much space between him and the current occupant.

Ed turned his head toward the boy resting his head on the window. The boy could sense this and he lifted his head and turned toward Ed. Ed raised his eyebrows and gave a half smile to the boy as greeting. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to have to share his seat after today.

      Carl debated whether or not he should introduce himself to this guy that sat next to him. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk, but Carl could sense his eyes upon him. Carl decided against it and continued watching the road pass with his forehead pressed against the cold window until finally he turned to face this boy. The boy sat there awkwardly with his eyebrows raised and a smirk that he couldn’t have been aware looked so dumb. Carl upturned the corners of his own mouth and quickly brought his gaze back out the window.

      “I’m Ed.” The boy said, adding after a short, awkward pause, “I normally sit here,” as if that justified his introduction.

      “Carl,” was all Carl felt necessary to respond.

      “You must be new.” Although Carl was making him feel foolish for speaking, Ed could appreciate the fact that he found someone else as to-himslef as he tended to be.

 

      Carl looked in the mirror and scrutinized the boy before him – just like everyone else did when they found out. This time, Carl could be anybody, but he only got one opportunity to make this impression. Actually, thought Carl, he could be anyone except himself. At his last school, the name Carl became synonymous with queer, and queer for some reason, came with a negative stigma. Despite having the best jump shot on the team, never missing a free throw, and always starting every game, Carl’s basketball skills became tainted with his unrelated attractions. The only reason he was so good, according to his teammates, was because of course he would try harder than the rest of them – Carl’s fantasy was to be surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, athletic guys probably. His teammates stopped putting pressure on him when they played defense during practice and just let him score. They didn’t want to risk him copping a feel if they came too close. Then his points didn’t matter anyway because they just gave them to him and that became why he was so good. He would stay away from basketball at this school, he promised himself, as he grabbed his backpack and left to find the bus stop.

      Two streets away the tray in the microwave in Ed’s kitchen was spinning and Ed stood still watching it, wondering if it was true that standing this close to the radiation would give him cancer someday. Would he start getting sympathy stares when he lost his hair, he wondered. And all for a sausage biscuit. The beeping from the microwave timer broke his trance. Ed ripped off a paper towel to wrap around his hot biscuit and ate the entire thing before reaching the bus stop at the end of the street.

       Carl stepped into his new room. It was empty with nothing to offer him except for a door to hide behind. The movers wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow so Carl had only the carpet for comfort. He gently shut the door behind him and rested his back on it. Carl couldn’t decide if he felt more like he’d escaped or just moved imprisonments. Either way all he knew was that he yearned for an inmate to find out with.