Meeting Ian Ch. 03

This one is far shorter and far less fraught also no sex. The topics bounce around because my life, contrary to this story's impetus, is not that interesting but I wanted to continue updating. I hope that you enjoy it all the same. Be aware... this story depends on my life actually occurring so it won't be the most consistent upload schedule (as well as getting prepared for grad school apps and moving to Germany (not grad school...working abroad)) As ever... drop me a line. I'm pretty good about answering e-mails/pms. Artie K. West.

No. No, I wasn't going back.

He was coming to me. I had walked home barefoot, pleased that the April weather was warm enough to not make me lose a toe. Surprisingly my roommate was home, rare for a weekend.

I didn't say anything to him just let him take in my ignominy. I trudged into my bedroom and just let myself slide down the wall.

Eventually, I felt disgusted enough to need to shower. In high school English classes, you learn that anytime a character is caught in the rain or takes a shower it symbolizes baptism or rebirth. I prayed while I was scrubbing down my body that the world of literary fiction would translate to real life.

I finally felt clean but my eyes still burned. I was glad I hadn't cried. I wasn't a crier. Sure, I was an obsessive, emotional wreck but I wasn't someone who cried. I've always been someone to make too much out of a relationship. It must be from my writing; I see the world in potential relationships but it's not real.

With this sad realization I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel. I stepped out into the living room. My roommate sat across from Ian, he opened his mouth, "This guy came over." My roommate wasn't a smart guy. I frequently wondered how he had gotten into college in the first place.

He had seen me in so much less. He had seen me naked—hell, two hours ago I had been inside him and yet I felt so vulnerable. I couldn't look at him. I continued into my bedroom.

Closing the door, I fought the panic. I didn't think I would have to see him again for the rest of the semester. I thought I was going to have the week to go home and decompress before coming back for the summer sessions.

I wasn't a coward though. I couldn't hide in my room and wait for him to go away. That just wasn't fair to him. I slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants; I wasn't going to dress up for him.

I slid out of my room. My roommate had made himself scarce. I don't know if I would have preferred him there as a layer of protection.

Ian looked concerned. Still incredibly beautiful, his hair which I first thought was tousled but is more sex-hair was exactly how I expected. But there was something wrong. There was a tightness around his eyes.

Ian was sitting on the couch, where I had fucked Sean the day before. Fuck, maybe Ian wasn't the only slut. Suddenly ashamed, I fidgeted in front of him.

He had to take the initiative, "Okay, so tonight was fucked, right?"

I knew he expected a smile, a laugh. It wasn't coming. "Yeah. I'd like to just forget it, if that's okay with everyone."

Ian grasped the back of his neck looking uncomfortable, "I shouldn't have suggested it."

"Why did you?"

"Why were you making out with Reilly?" Well, fuck. He had me there. I didn't say anything, sitting there with what I hoped was a mildly stony expression. He didn't force me to answer. We both knew why. We both knew how I felt. "I still shouldn't have done it."

There was an awkward pause for a moment while I plucked up the courage to ask what I had been thinking for nearly six months, "So what are you? Gay? Straight? Bi?"

He then said the worst sentence I've ever heard, "I don't like labels." He gathered by my glare that I wasn't going to buy that. "Look, I'm just sexual. I'll take whatever."

Well. Wasn't that just the most flattering thing I had ever heard. Glad to know I was one of an exalted bunch. I felt the weariness in my bones; I was still intoxicated. More than that, I was fucking exhausted, I hadn't had more than 4 hours of combined sleep in the past week.

"Ian, thanks for coming over and whatever but I'm just going to go to sleep."

"Want some company?" Was he kidding?
"No," I declared resolutely.

Ian merely nodded and stood, "Okay, Artie. I really am sorry."

"Not your fault, I knew what I was doing." I watched Ian walk to the door of my apartment. He paused and turned back to me, "I brought your shoes for you."

"Thanks Ian." I actually was thankful, it was thoughtful of him and I wouldn't have to go back to get them or ask Drew to bring them to me. Ian nodded and smiled sadly.

I didn't watch him leave but when I turned back he was gone.

For the first night in many nights, I actually slept well. Maybe it was the exhaustion but probably it was the booze and my body actually needing it. Whenever my insomnia got bad, eventually my body would give out and I would be forced to sleep for 14 hours.

It was mid-afternoon when I woke. For a long moment, I didn't remember what had happened. I felt warm, refreshed and happy. Then I remembered and I just wanted to crawl back into the loving embrace of sleep.

But I had a life to live. I stretched out my body, feeling refreshed like I hadn't in a long time.

I didn't see Ian for nearly a week and though I thought about him from time to time, I was good with the separation. I saw Sean in class, he was more than attentive. He asked me out but I turned him down citing having to prepare for my final papers and projects. In truth, I felt like an asshole for fucking him and then turning around and fucking someone else.

It was the last week of classes, such a strange week of classes. The last day was Wednesday with finals beginning after that. Of course before we could get to those final few torturous hours, we had Patriot's Day. For those not from Massachusetts, Patriot's Day officially celebrates the battles of Lexington and Concord which started the American Revolutionary War. Sure, there are reenactments and people who actually cared about that but schools were off. For Boston, it meant the Marathon. It meant a fucking train wreck if you were trying to get anywhere but also the best day for doing nothing. For many college students it meant drinking a lot.

By this point, I feel like you can tell how Lambda celebrated. In truth, it was an event of epic proportions. Four other fraternities entered, and several brave sorority girls joined in as well. Because my school isn't known for its creativity the event was indeed called the Greek Marathon, redundant in two ways.

It was a race but there really were no winners. On go the contestant would shot-gun a beer then run about half a mile where they would take two shots another half mile two shots another half mile two shots another half mile to shotgun another beer. At the end you ran 2 miles, had six shots, and shot-gunned two beers. 2-6-2

I'll be very honest that I prefer my drinking to have 100 percent less running involved. Thankfully nobody took the running part seriously—well except for the 'roided up dudes but they could chill the fuck out.

The morning was warm, finally seeming like actual Spring. I stood on the improvised start line holding my beer and a key. There were probably thirty of us running. I was most worried about the puke factor, chugging a too cold beer and then running sounded like a recipe for disaster. As it was my first April in Lambda I was required to run.

The whistle blew, far less noble than the shot being fired to start the actual marathon. The sound of cans being burst filled the air as well as laughing and chugging as we all struggled immediately to swallow down the carbonated liquid.

My pledge brother Chase was the first to throw his can to the ground, yelling in victory before starting his jog toward the next house where the first of the shots would take place. I finished choking down the beer, crushed the can and felt the trapped air try to leave my body. Still, I couldn't stop smiling.

There was something so painfully idiotic about it that just made it delightful. Watching my Lambda brother's t-shirts covered in beer drift to the ground in favor of running shirtless certainly didn't diminish my mood. Of course drinking at 8 AM is always a recipe for a good time. It only becomes alcoholism when you graduate, until then it's all fun and games.

The first half mile was easily the worst, all that carbonation had people looking queasy. But Emily stood at the first table with lines of shots in tiny Dixie cups waiting for us, her smile at us all struggling made it worth it. I couldn't help but feel like a dick being unhappy running half a mile when people just down the street were going to be finishing 26 in just a few hours.

The shots were terrible: Svedka. I don't know who made that choice but it was wretched—straight gasoline searing the esophagus.

The race continued with a lot of joking and laughing. I could feel myself settle into a fine state of drunkenness but the race and adrenaline and laughing staved off the lethargy. The last table was back at 48. The table full of beers and keys were ready and I could see that the first wave of runners had already finished. Though slightly out of breath, I ran to the table intent on finishing strong.

A strong hand pushed mine away from the beers in front of me. My eyes shot up, Ian. He looked fresh—like he had just gotten out of a fucking shampoo ad. He certainly hadn't been running. His hair was pulled back in the man bun that he had started to affect. It wasn't my favorite look usually. For him, he just looked more masculine.

Ian handed me a beer, I didn't worry about why that one was specifically better. I just jammed the key into the side of the flimsy metal and started sucking.

This beer was better than the first, though they were the same Bud Light. This one was room temperature. In normal life, room temperature beer belongs in the third ring of hell. But when chugging it's amazingly better.

I crushed the can between my fingers and threw my hands up. An outsider might have laughed at my glee but exercise is hateful to me.

Ian chuckled at my Rocky stance, "Way to finish."

"Thanks for not giving me the cold beer. Way to look out."

He shrugged, "Least I could do."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I decided to switch topics, "Why didn't you run?"

"Someone has to be in charge of the festivities." Wasn't that the truth, Ian always seemed to be in charge especially when it came to fraternity stuff: a by-product of being the face of Greek Life on campus.

I was pushed out of the way by the stragglers needing to finish their final beers.

I stripped out of my shirt as I started chatting with my fellow athletes. I knew I would need to put it back on when he started walking over to the actual marathon but I was enjoying the breeze in the meantime.

I let the sun dry the moisture on my chest, loving the camaraderie with my ersatz-brothers. My own brother and I had never been this close. Though he was only three years older, he was more the jock type... getting a D1 scholarship to college while I was journaling out my very angsty feelings (I guess not that much has changed). And yes, I would trade for his life in a millisecond.

There didn't seem to be any distinct directive but all of a sudden the group was moving forward away from the house. It was time to amble over to the Marathon and watch the real athletes preform.

If you've never seen the Boston Marathon, I would highly encourage it. There's never a day where you feel more a part of something. It's not just watching people run. It's cheering and the victory of it all. The refusing to back down in the face of extreme adversity. I wasn't in Boston in 2013 but believe me, Boston Strong lives on.

We weren't near the finish line, it's a mad house down in Copley Square. But Greek Life posted up several miles away and cheered just as loudly for the winners as the people who showed up hours later.

There's a camaraderie that comes with the sheer volume of victory in the air. With so many people jammed in all together, we were sardines even miles from the finish line. I could feel toned arms and abs against me the whole afternoon. That combined with the booze made me punch-drunk and giddy.

A few hours in, I felt an arm being slung over my shoulder. I glanced to the side, feeling stupid for feeling disappointed at the deep, smiling face. It wasn't Ian. Drew was a pretty good second place.

"Having a good time?"

"You know it," I murmured.

"Good. Today's a fucking holiday. Let's drink!" Out of nowhere, he produced beers. I had no idea how he smuggled them in. It didn't make me feel super safe that he had managed it. But it was beer so I said fuck it and drank some more with my brother. Feeling all the fraternal love in the world. Still, I glanced around the group. I didn't see him; I didn't search for him but he wasn't there. I didn't want to think about that. I turned my head back to the race back to the victory and the friendship.

It was a terrific beginning to the last week in Boston before my small vacation back in the warm ensconces of Charlotte, NC. I didn't see Ian again before I left, I'm not one for heartfelt goodbyes or ceremony. I did get an angry text from Emily that I hadn't said goodbye but I thought she was overreacting. I would be back in 8 days.

I didn't know what to expect coming home to my parents. My mother hovered over me relentlessly and my father tried to make small talk in the way he always did. It was both a comfort and a drag. I was pleased that they hadn't changed very much because that would have been shocking but for them to seem like they had been frozen in amber until I came home again was equally off-putting.

It wasn't much of a vacation. Charlotte is a boring city in a fucked up place. North Carolina doesn't like GLBTQ people... you've heard of the "Bathroom Bill". Could anyone blame me for trying to get the fuck out of there?!

I spent most of my so-called vacation writing my final essays while my peers were still in Boston in musty classrooms trying to figure out their exams. Lambda was one of the top Fraternities on Campus for their GPA's but we still were scrapping the bottom of the barrel and the strain on the members was amusing to watch through rapid texts asking me for help.

I couldn't talk though. I was feeling the strain as well. I'll admit that the warmth was nice, though any time I have to write four papers... it's not a fun time.

I was lounging on the porch, taking a break from my paper on the 19th Century American Sentimentalist movement (riveting subject) when I got a text from a brother in my fraternity: Jason.

Jason was a quiet kid, not someone I hung out with regularly.

Jason: Where are you living for summer?

Artie: The dorms- ugh.

Jason didn't bother questioning the ugh, no one likes living in the dorms. Especially in Boston, the dorms are smaller than prison cells—that's real. There was a Sixty Minutes on it.

Jason: I got offered an internship in San Francisco...

Artie: Congrats man!

Jason is a computer science student, one of the smartest people I've ever met. I wasn't surprised that he was offered an internship for the summer.

Jason: Thanks... but I now need someone to sublet my place. You interested?

Well, fuck. Yes, I hated living in my tiny dorm room. I hated sharing a bathroom, I hated having to swipe in past a proctor every time I left and came back. But, Jason lived at 48. I was there all the time, I reasoned with myself. Surely I would be there most weekends if I stayed in the dorms. But living there was a whole other matter, seeing Ian every day wasn't going to help me get over him. Or would it? Maybe seeing everyone he fucked would ease me down—realize that I didn't want to be one of the masses.

With more confidence than I felt I replied.

Artie: Yeah, sure. I'm going to pull my room reservation with housing.

Jason: Awesome man! Thanks. I guess I'll see you in September.

I didn't bother to remind him that I was going to be working in Germany in the fall semester.

Of course, my mother was sure I was signing up for some hostel. Her hands flew around as she chastised me in the way only a true Southern woman can. By the time she ended her tirade I thought my balls had crawled up to my pre-pubescent state. Luckily, I made it out alive when my dad got home and we worked it out rationally. It was cheaper than the dorms and even my mother couldn't argue with her son finally integrating into the hyper-masculine fraternity. I'm sure she would just tell all of her tennis buddies about it. They never actually played tennis, they watched the hot Latin tennis pro play while sipping gin. My kind of life.

After finally getting my paper finished, I was just stuck in Charlotte with little to do but entertain my mother. I love my mother but after half an hour it's really just too much. The third day without the excuse of papers looming to hide in my room I was ready to pull my hair out—or hers. Pulling out my mother's hair would be a travesty though, so much money was put into the maintenance.

In an effort to stop a follicular genocide, I got in my car and went to the only place I could think of: a Barnes and Noble. It might be the most stereotypical thing in the world but they had a Starbucks and WIFI and I was hoping to get some work done of a more erotic type.

I had been sitting enjoying one of their black tea lemonades when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Though this story hasn't made me out to be this way, I really dislike when people touch me—at least when I don't know it's about to happen.

I jerked really hard, saving my shirt and laptop in the nick of time from a cascade of ice and sugary lemon-tinted water. The hand left my shoulder and I followed it in my spastic flail. Well, fuck me. Standing grinning at my display of an utter lack of grace was Rhodes.

Don't judge him too harshly by his name, it's very Southern and very old money. I had grown up with him, gone to the same elite private school since we were learning the Golden Rule and the alphabetical order. He wasn't the smartest, I had helped him with homework on more than one occasion but he was pretty. Curly black hair that he had shaved the side off of but the top flopped down in his eyes. He looked like a hipster take on Clark Kent.

I stood immediately putting my hand out for the now natural complicated handshake that turns into a hug. It felt strange to be so apart from him. I had lost my virginity to him in the bathroom of our elite private school my senior year. Well, at least I blew him in the stall.

"Hey Rhodes, how have you been man?"

"Doin' good, just here to pick up a book for class." It was always strange to me how early we got out compared to the other Universities, silly trimester system.

"Still playing?"

His eyes light up. They were luminescent; the same bright blue they had been in high school. Rhodes had been a pretty good soccer player. Not a great one. He had gotten a small scholarship to play for a college in the city. I had always thought it wasn't worth it. Nothing could have kept me there but Rhodes adored soccer more than anything, "Yeah, starting striker this whole year."

"That's great."

There was a slight pause, the awkwardness that comes with time spent apart. We knew each other only two years ago but in those two years we had become entirely new people. I would be unrecognizable to even myself.

"So what's up with you?" He asked, rocking back on his feet. We were still standing. It was a good thing the café portion of the B&N wasn't crowded; else we would have been really in the way.