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“Yo dude, need some help?”, I heard a voice behind me say. And not for just a cup of sugar, but to move my heavy ass furniture into my house! Damn, I was such an idiot.
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Here I was, Day One as their neighbor, imposing on them already. I had to return the frigging truck! I thought of asking the Lakes for help, but this idea made me feel uncomfortable. How stupid of me! I had to get that furniture in somehow.
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Half the afternoon had gone by, and here I was, stuck with half a truck full of furniture I could not possibly move on my own. My own short-sightedness and (yes, I’ll admit it) my insistence to save a buck had left me in an embarrassing situation. I grunted my way through my cases of books, as well as my computer, but the rest was too heavy for me to carry on my own. I started with the easy stuff first: lamps, chairs, box springs, night tables, etc. Clearly the Lake boy had already begun his summer muscle building program. I could hear the faint, yet exhilarating clanking of weights. I noticed the garage door to the Lakes’ was open. That July day I rolled up the U-Haul and began to unload my furniture.
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My experience with jocks was that they were far too engrossed in their own physical improvement that they lacked other social skills I cherished in a conversation, such as humor, wit, and, quite frankly, charm. I always liked jocks, although I always disliked talking to them. Lake said he had bought him a weight set last week since his son wanted to “bulk up” for football in the fall. Perfect white teeth, deep blue eyes, short, curly, brown hair with blonde tips, pouting lips: he was a real stud! The Lakes told me he played baseball and basketball the year before, and was a regional champion in wrestling on the varsity team, even though he was just a sophomore. I saw a picture of him in the hallway of the Lakes’ house. He was on vacation for two weeks with his cousin in Seattle. We talked for nearly an hour the first day I went to see the house and the following day I was on the phone with the realtor discussing mortgage options. I figured I could stand the Spartan conditions of the house given the property, its location, and the Lakes, who were the nicest couple you could ever meet. They were the deciding factor for my moving next door to them. I got along with all the neighbors, but the Lakes next door were the friendliest. Next to my house was a two story house, eerily reminiscent of something the patriarch of the Brady family might have designed. My house was the last one on Beacon Street before the slope down to the pond. Nor do they shed any light on the events of that summer the summer that changed my life, and the lives of the world. My job? I was a quality assurance executive for the marketing division of a regional defense contractor. I don’t think they would have minded in the long run, but only a complete break with my family and friends in Minnesota was going to break this gay man out of the closet. Mom and Dad had always been insistent on my need to find a girlfriend, and I could never break it to them that I was gay. Having been deprived of a true college experience (one of partying and drinking) my main goal was to find a job that was not necessarily lucrative, but rather far away from mom and dad, where I could live as I wanted, do as I pleased, and meet another man to make me happy. Originally from Minneapolis, I left my parents home soon after I received my Masters in Human Resources. Finally in this middle class haven, just outside of Philadelphia, I had something that I could claim was all mine, even if it was for all intensive purposes a “dump”. Still, with a set of fans and several yards of extension cord, I was prepared to make this shack my home. Low seven foot ceilings, a small cramped kitchen, no A/C, electrical sockets located in the least strategic places, and a basement that even my small 5’6” frame would describe as “confined”. The rent was cheap, the property was well situated, the lawn was immense, the neighborhood was safe all in all just a slice of suburban heaven. It was a disgustingly muggy July afternoon when I moved into the small bungalow overlooking the town’s pond.