ASHTON Read online

  “MANHOLE”

  Ashton

  THANKSGIVING

  ASHTON

  MANHOLE

  Friday Night Special

  Cum One Cum All

  Please Use Back Entrance

  Not the most original phrase I read in my lifetime, but I couldn’t help grinning. So, I have a thing for terrible puns.

  I heard the rattle of a door knob and stuffed the flyer into my locker before anyone could see it, with the rest of my stuff and took out my work uniform.

  Another day, another pile of grocery items to bag. My life was drab. Just another ‘entitled' millennial working multiple shifts to make enough money to not be evicted at the end of the week. It’s not as though I come from a wealthy background, both my parents were working class and I’m proud of it, but at least back then they had actual food. But this store in the middle of Brooklyn was the only reason I was still surviving in a place like New York. Thanksgiving was close by, and the stores were packed full of customers, even at noon on a weekday. Fall decorations were up, the smell of pumpkin spice scented candles and the sight of leaves turning, made me feel nostalgic for a better time, back home in Oklahoma with my parents who observed every holiday with gusto. How did I go from homemade pumpkin pie and Thanksgiving turkey to watching Rocky marathons with a pack of gummy bears and tequila?

  Rob, the cashier rang in another customer without a smile or a happy word, so the pressure sort of fell on me to be nice to the lady in yoga pants, who was carrying a baby in one arm. She looked frazzled, and when I smiled at her, she could only manage a tiny gesture of acknowledgement that could pass as a smile if one was so inclined I suppose. I wondered what I could do to cheer her up, but I knew that most people couldn’t be helped by grocery baggers and store personnel.

  It’s hard when you do this for a living and go home to your lonely bowl of microwave dinners. What did people do before they had SpaghettiOs and Ramen? In the tired emptiness of my apartment, I’m always alone but never at peace. There’s something going on in the background, the sounds of my building are the soundtrack to my drab existence. The Brooklyn apartment I rented when I first got here, because I was tired of living with my parents. Obviously, I’m a long way from home, but I wanted it that way. There are only so many lies you can tell your parents in person. Now that I’m here, they don’t have to think of me as another pathetic creature scrounging off them. I have three more siblings, I always felt like a burden. There are child prodigies, and people who are special, but I never had any real talent. I was one of those people, others tend to forget because honestly, what was there to remember anyway? If you want to know how truly forgettable I am, just look at my non-existent dating life.

  Sometimes I think I might have become someone if I had money, if my parents had helped, or if I had a better guidance counselor, that I would be different somehow if one of those things had happened differently. Other times, I’m not so sure. I used to believe I might have had a better present if people were more encouraging, more supportive, but now, at twenty-six years old, I can’t be bothered to dream.

  Some people are cogs in the system, to keep the real working parts and the true magic going. I was okay with that being me, I would much rather accept it, than subscribe to crazy fantasies I would never achieve. I used to, when I was younger, but not anymore. The disappointment when dreams don’t come true, was way too much.

  So, I bag groceries.

  From morning to night, every single day, I go to work, and I remember the things they taught me: meat with meat, frozen with frozen, and soft, perishables on top. I help people. People who were nice, and the ones who were not-so-nice, and occasionally I made a little extra dropping off those items at someone’s residence.

  And standing at their doorstep, or inside their living rooms, I caught a glimpse of their lives. Some were just as drab as mine, like the little old lady on the first floor, who had arthritis and used a walking stick. I think she gave me money just so she could have human interaction that didn’t end at the supermarket. Sometimes, she gave me sandwiches, or food she purchased from the deli, and I would sit with her, and have a beer (she always kept a few bottles in the fridge for guests that never came). I used to wish for a long time I was her grandson. My own grandparents were far away and out of my reach. I would fantasize about living in her apartment, which was much better than mine, and think about how if I took care of her, my life would be meaningful. I would do things around the house, run errands, and she would fuss over me and make me eat those delicious sandwiches. It wasn’t the food I liked so much as the way she would keep watch over me, in a way that only a grandparent can, as though afraid I would give it to the dog when she wasn’t looking.

  It had been years since someone made me eat my meal and finish it. In fact, I don’t think I can remember such a time. In my parent’s home, everything was all about whatever new model of offspring we were having that year, who would automatically get the bulk of the attention. My parents didn’t believe in birth control. Dad didn’t, to be exact. He once came home after having too much to drink and confessed to me that when my mom was pregnant, was when he was the happiest; it meant another nine months she wouldn’t leave him for some other guy. I know it sounds harsh. That wasn’t to say that my mother was cheating on him, she would never do such a thing, partly because she was as old-school as my father, possibly more, and she wanted to have kids. But he always knew she was out of his league, and that must have weighed on him, for him to be that insecure. Needless to say, we were all pretty pissed off kids, and sucked at being grownups. And I guess you could say I inherited my father’s insecurity.

  Anyway, back to the present. As I was saying, my glimpses into people’s lives were varied. Not everyone lived in squalor. There were some who actually had a life, like this elegant looking woman in the better apartment complex a few blocks away, whose place had expensive furnishings, and who always wore some shade of red, no matter what time of year it was, and her lips were always a bright shade of the same color. She was always on her phone, barely paying attention as I dropped off the hefty bags in her kitchen. She paid me more than any other customer, probably because she was doing well, and seemed content with her life. She was good looking, in her thirties, and even though I never saw a man in her apartment, I was certain she had plenty of them. There was something in her demeanor that exuded pure confidence, and grace. I don’t know how people did it, how they became that way. How they were happy with who they were, and how they managed to live such full lives. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy, ever since I left my parents to live out here. I don’t think I’ve been happy back home either, it’s just, I have this picture of happiness, smiles that come to your face, without your control, and even though I can crack jokes, and be funny, I don’t think I’d ever actually break into a smile like people do in those romance novels. I’ve never been in love, I’ve never even suffered the kind of heartbreak to make me feel I belong somewhere, or that I could belong somewhere.

  Aliyah, my friend, and the only person at the store who wasn’t a total douche, gestured to me from the produce section. I knew what she meant. I checked the time, and took care of the last customer, told Rob I was going out for a smoke. He rolled his eyes at me, as though a five-minute smoke break in an eight-hour shift was an unheard of concept and went back to being a dick to the customers this time. By the time I stepped out, Aaliyah was already halfway through her smoke. She handed me her pack and I took one, and she lit it up for me.

  “Damn,” she said, all secretive. “Why do these construction guys have to be so hot? I can’t even smoke in peace without one of them taking their shirt off!”

  I grinned. I too had noticed the construction crew that had been working on a new project right across from us. I too had
eyed the ripped bodies, and the muscular forearms, the heavy work boots that made loud thuds on the concrete.

  “Do you smoke just so you have an excuse to take a break?” Aaliyah asked jokingly, and I was surprised she caught it.

  “Guess I’m not as inconspicuous as I thought.”

  “Oh honey, you’re pretty transparent!”

  “It’s my one act of rebellion,” I told her. “I always do everything by the book. For the most part, no one even knows I exist, that’s how quiet I am. So, this is my one thing, that I do, and it makes me feel a little better.”

  “Something tells me you have a major rebellious streak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She grinned and took out a folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket. She unfolded it and held it up to read. “Manhole. New gay club opens in your vicinity! Please use back entrance…is this a joke?”

  I felt stunned.

  Like someone had caught me in the act. I was flustered and fumbled saying the next words. “Where did you—”

  “This fell from your locker two days ago. Ashton, you need to be careful.” She handed me the flyer and I tore it up into tiny bits and shoved the remnants inside my pockets.

  “Sorry you had to see that.”

  “Hey, you’re my friend, I don’t give a shit who you sleep with! But you should have told me. How do you…manage? I’m your only friend. How do you live like that? Without telling anyone, and being so secretive all the time?”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be any more!” she said. “You can talk to me about anything, no judgement. God knows you listen to enough of my shit, and never judge! I just want to be there for you, okay?” she said, blowing out smoke and then continued without waiting for an answer. “What’re your plans for Thanksgiving?”

  Aaliyah and I haven’t known each other long. I’ve worked at the store for the past three years, but Aaliyah joined a few months back. And we’ve been friends ever since, mostly because we both have similar tastes and ideas about friendships.

  “So, are you going out with anyone?” she asked.

  “Just hooks ups here and there, nothing ever worked out.”

  “Where do you go to meet them?”

  “Well, there are a few bars you can go for cruising,” I told her. “But recently I like this new place, a lot of good looking guys, fresh meat, so to speak.”

  “Manhole?” she said with a sly grin. “That’s subtle!”

  “Don’t laugh,” I said. “I remember where your last hook up took place.”

  She looked fake-mortified. “You did not just remind me of that!”

  “That which shall not be named,” I said. “I’ll keep yours if you keep mine!”

  “Can I borrow a smoke?”

  I heard the words, but Aaliyah’s lips never moved. The voice belonged to a male. A stranger. I turned to face him and couldn’t move anymore because the creature standing in front of me wasn’t real—couldn’t have been. But paintings don’t smoke Marlboros, do they?

  “I was wondering if I could borrow a—” before he could finish, Aaliyah handed him her pack and a lighter. Those big, green, eyes. I barely came back to my senses when he lit up and started smoking right in front of me. “Thanks,” he was saying to me, even though it was Aaliyah who had given him her pack. What the hell was that? I wasn’t imagining things, right? This guy was really checking me out! I felt his crude gaze travel to my torso, and I wanted to hide my thin, unimpressive body.

  It was hard, but I managed to look at his full self, and to drag my gaze away from those eyes at last. Only, that just made it worse. It was a bit chilly, but he was sweating, carrying a yellow helmet in one hand, a tool belt around his waist, complete with heavy boots and gloves. At first, I thought it might be someone in a costume, until I was reminded that Halloween was far gone. But the only reason a hot, gorgeous construction worker would be staring at me, is if it was opposite day. I kept waiting for my brain to come out of the trance, but the stranger was already leaving. Before he left, he was smirking, probably at my helpless and pathetic reaction to his presence.

  “Wonder what the picture in his basement looks like,” Aaliyah said and at first I didn’t understand but then I got the Dorian Gray reference and couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Pretty disgusting, I’m guessing.”

  “Who cares. I would sell my soul a million times if I could look that kind of hot,” she said. “You did notice that he was totally checking you out?”

  She noticed. “That really happened, right?” I asked, and she ruffled my hair.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “I don’t want to give Rob another chance to argue.” She rushed indoors, but I could no longer focus. My concentration was shot to hell by that encounter.

  Everything was suddenly harder to get through, and I kept thinking about that hot Adonis who worked right across from me, who somehow, I’d failed to notice until today. Or maybe he was a new hire? My brain was filled with possibilities, none of them sane or practical. In the next three hours that I spent behind the counter, I went through every single scenario in my head, that started with him naked and ended with him in my bed. Twice, I had to force myself to stop thinking about him, because it made me feel nervous and I forced myself to concentrate on groceries.

  At the end of my shift, Aaliyah left with her current boyfriend because it was Saturday. I had planned to go to the club, maybe hook up with someone, I hadn’t in a long time. And that might have something to do with the man standing across from me once again, the virtual Adonis, part of the construction crew standing opposite our store, making crude jokes.

  I felt electric as I made my way past the workers, who were standing around, talking about random stuff. I practically went by to have another interaction, expecting him to look at me, but he ignored me.

  Suddenly, it was like someone splashed me with their car and it was all thick mud.

  I told myself it was okay, that these things happen, it was probably just my imagination, the loneliness must be getting to me. Maybe Aaliyah was seeing things too. I was imagining things that weren’t there. He looked just like any other straight guy, talking about women and their hot female co-workers, and last night’s game. I was wasting my time.

  MARV

  I can’t believe how reckless I was today. There’s adventure and then there’s gambling. Going up to talk to him was a fucking gamble. The risk was just too much. I could lose my job, my friends, I could lose everything I built after coming this far, I wasn’t ready to make such a monumental sacrifice.

  It’s times like these when I question everything.

  Every decision that I ever made, the way I’ve kept my secret in front of the world, hasn’t been easy. I’m not some fresh-faced teenager anymore, I’m a fucking adult, I’ll be forty next year. And yet, after having decades of practice, and years of experience, I was almost about to slip.

  I’m standing there talking to the men in work with, and the guys I hang out with when I’m pretending to be straight, and I feel like a phony. They think I’m their friend, and I am, but is it really close of they don’t even know who I am? Is it worth all the secrets and the lies? I feel trapped. In a prison of my own making.

  Maybe I need to get laid. It’s probably the lack of sex that’s making me so impulsive. I’ll tell them I have a date as always. They’ll never figure it out. It’s not like straight men even go near gay bars and clubs. I can cruise in peace and get what I need from a mindless fuck.

  How long, Marv? How long will you keep this up? How long will you pretend?

  I went toward my pick up, my phone started ringing when I was in the parking lot. I saw the number and couldn’t recognize it. I picked it up and was greeted by a male voice. “Are you up for a meet?” the voice said, in a low, sexy drawl. “I’m really horny!”

  “Jacob? Are you fucking high again?” I yelled at the guy, an old one-night stand that kept bugging me for some reason and I som
etimes obliged him when I was lonely, or out of options, which was seldom the case. I was a built, passable looking guy with a decent tan and a nice apartment. I earn enough to be comfortable. It was enough to get some good prospects at the bars and clubs. As long as they remained one-night stands, I was okay with fucking them.

  “Daddy, come to me, please!” Jacob’s annoying voice trilled in my ear.

  “I have to go,” I said, and hung up. I know I was being rude, but the other option was to lead him on, letting him think that we might have a future just so I could keep fucking him, and that would be wrong. I’d made the mistake of fucking my stalker. Of course, things were going to get difficult, he wasn’t going to let me go that easy, but he will have to learn.

  I tried to ignore him and drove to my apartment, so I could change into something half decent and get the dirt and grime of the day off me.

  ASHTON

  I took a shower in the tiny stall of my narrow bathroom and felt a little better. I came close to jerking off but decided to save myself for later. I spent an hour shaving and cut myself twice. I don’t even have much of a growth. My chest is almost bare, that’s why I’ve always preferred the roughness of a hairy torso. The construction worker was definitely hirsute. Even through the shirt, his chest hair was peeking. At some point I’m going to have to stop thinking about him. But maybe it didn’t have to be now. By the time I stepped out of the shower, it was seven.

  From the left wall I could hear a television set spilling canned laughter. I tried to figure out what show it was, but the other noises coming from the other apartments, especially the fighting couple, were louder than usual. Even the baby in the apartment opposite to mine was screaming at the top of his lungs. I had lived with these people for years, and our only interaction was through the chance encounters in the hallways. I never felt the need to share my shitty life with someone, and after trying to get me to visit for a few months, they finally gave up.