He was so damn beautiful.

Another Country -3-
Erin Halfelven

When I reached the basketball courts in the park, Josh was already there, playing Horse all by himself. He had his own newer ball and my old worn one lay against the pole holding the basket up. He took a shot, and the ball went cleanly through the hoop.

If there had been a net, it would have made that sweet sound a good shot makes when the ball’s pebbly hide just kisses the cords.

He must have heard me running because he turned as he reached for the ball coming back at him, and he smiled. He had on gray gym shorts that I knew said Kabarker in purple letters above the left knee. And the Grateful Dead T-shirt his dad got at a concert in Calaveras showing Jerry Garcia in psychedelic colors.

His shoes were the worn-out pair he liked to wear when horsing around. No socks. The fine hairs on his legs were black like the hair on his head and chest, and the shadow around his chin and upper lip. His eyes were that bright brown; I think they call it hazel.

In the distance, a helicopter rattled above the desert, probably on a training flight. Somewhere further away, a jet engine purred and growled like they do when being tested on the ground.

Josh smiled at me, and I smiled back. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating. He was so damn beautiful.

*

Other guys arrived, including Chud, and we chose sides to play 3-on-3 half-court ball. Shirts versus skins, the usual, but suddenly, I didn’t want to take off my shirt. I had felt my nipples crinkle up looking at Josh, and there was no way I was going to play skins.

Josh had already pulled off his shirt, but I looked at Chud who still wore his, and I said, “I’m on your team, big guy.”

He nodded, but he had a sort of secret smile that worried me. The other guys who had all been on our JayVee squad picked sides, so it was Josh, Benny Marquez, and Ali Shah; all bare to the waist, versus Chud, me, and Dan Seaborg with our shirts on.

Keeping score was optional, the idea of the game was moving the ball constantly, taking shots, and making passes. The morning had lost any chill it had had, and we all were soon sweating. The light gleamed on Josh’s muscles, and I tried not to think about it.

About what? I didn’t want to think about what the about was about.

The game was rowdy, with lots of shouting and grunting, but it stayed friendly, and everyone was allowed to take their shots without getting fouled. The routine typically began with taking a pass in a forward corner, dribbling to backcourt, passing defenders, and then coming upcourt to take a jump shot or a lay-up. A successful goal meant you earned another circuit, but you had to make two more shots before starting the cycle again.

It was a pleasant way to work on ball skills and hang with your buddies at the same time. Two more guys arrived, and we switched to 4-on-4 after a break. Two hours of this went on, and we were ready for a longer rest, some Gatorade, and sharing a big bag of Cheese Curls.

The paperbark eucalyptus lining the Kern Avenue side of the park provided nice shade, and I sat with my back against a trunk, smelling the spicy menthol of the leaves and thinking vaguely of koala bears. I’d heard that they ate eucalyptus and wondered why we didn’t have any locally since we had tons of such trees planted in public spaces.

Chud levered himself onto a concrete bench, facing away from the picnic table it was sort of attached to. He seemed amused, and I kept an eye on him while trying to watch Josh horsing around with Gary Swopes, a long, tall senior from our school who had played on the Varsity team and was slumming on Saturday morning with us juniors and sophomores.

Josh and Gary were pushing and shoving and trash-talking each other; Josh, as a Skin, still bare to the waist, while Gary was supposedly a Shirt player for the moment, but he had pulled off his tee to cool down. The hair on his head was brown, but his body hair was red.

“You got it bad,” Chud said, and I felt my face turn red.

“Is it just our man Joshua, or does Snake turn you on, too?” Snake was Gary’s nickname, not just for his lanky shape but for his habit of making poisonous remarks just to get a rise out of people. He spent a fair amount of the school year in detention when he got so careless as to use his talents on members of the faculty.

I shook my head, not answering Chud’s insinuating question, so he asked another.

“How long have you known?”

“What?” I hadn’t meant to say anything and regretted it immediately.

“How long have you known that you’re gay?”

“I’m not!” I protested. I wasn’t looking at him now but knew his smirk had turned into a grin.

He scoffed, a noise like a boxer dog coughing up a Chihuahua. “I’ve known since I was nine,” he said.

I did turn then and stared at him. “What?” I asked, not sure what it was he thought he had known for nine years. “You… Me? I mean…?” I got to my feet, confronting him. “What?” I repeated.

His grin got wider. “Maybe you’re a slow learner?” he suggested.

I looked away to where younger kids were playing softball on one of the diamonds at the other end of the park. I got closer to him while making motions to brush grass and twigs off my shorts. “You’re gay?” I whispered.

He barely nodded. “Imagine my surprise,” he murmured. “All those wrestlers on TV that Abuelito and I watched.” He shook his head. I knew that Chud’s Mom was Hispanic and that Abuelito meant Grandpa in Spanish, and the local Spanish-language TV station was full of wrestling programs. It was like the national sport of Mexico and for a lot of Mexican-Americans, too.

“How…” I began, but I couldn’t think of what question to ask.

He laughed. “I’d try to teach you the password and the secret handshake, but you really are a slow learner, ain’t you?”

I frowned at him, and he laughed again.

“You’ve got a cute pout,” he said. “Does Josh like it when you beg?”

I glanced away to where Snake and Josh had been, but they had moved to the free-throw line of the nearer half-court and seemed to be starting a new game of Horse. Josh was facing me, and my gaze went to the crotch of his gym shorts and the bulge there.

“You’re going to have to learn not to do that,” said Chud. “Your turkey-timers pop right out when you do.”

I glared at him, but I had no idea what he meant until he grabbed me and pulled me closer. I couldn’t get away from his big hand around my upper arm while with his other hand, he grabbed first one nipple, right through my shirt, and twisted. Then he did the same to my other nipple. “These!” he chortled.

It hurt— a lot. I staggered when he let me go then, for the second time that day, I ran away.