than girls, and believe me, that didn’t help.
“I remember the summer after graduation. My parents all but forced me into the car and dragged me down to Bloomington for my freshman year at IU. They told me about a million times that college would be better, and sure enough, they were right. Not at first, though. I was miserable through that first semester, but eventually I got to know some people, and for the first time I felt like I fit in somewhere.”
“How did you end up in the postal service?” Ed asked.
“Well, I lasted two years at IU as an English major,” Rick said, getting up from the table to refill his glass. “For someone who read as much as I did, it seemed appropriate. But I didn’t know what I wanted to do with it. I didn’t want to teach, like my folks, and I never really had any ambition to write. The summer after my sophomore year, when I’d survived the draft lottery, I took a summer job doing vacation fill-in for mail carriers at one of the Indy post offices. I loved it! Those long walks I mentioned? Well, this was just like that, only I was getting paid for it. I loved being outside, being on my own for most of the day. When I was offered a full-time job, I just stayed. My parents about died, let me tell you, but eventually they came around when they saw I was doing what I really wanted to do.
“Too, I was still struggling with the whole gay thing, and more than anything I wanted to be on my own to figure it out. I had my own job and my own apartment, and I think I really began to learn just who Rick Benton was. Oh, that wasn’t the end of the story. I had some big screwups ahead of me, but at least I was alive, living my life. For a long time I wondered if I’d make it that far.”
Ed nodded, chewing on his pizza. “Yeah, I remember feeling like that. When I got laid off at Marsden I moved back in with my parents. Geez, what a disaster! When I had the handyman thing going well, I bought this place, and it was a lot better. That’s when I started sticking my nose out of Porterfield, looking to see if there were any other guys like me around. It was such a relief, too, to be out of that factory. I mean, there I was Tim Stephens’s boy, and no one messed with me too much, but I could just imagine them all finding out I was a fag. I don’t think I would have survived it.”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “I’ve been pretty lucky with the postal service. Oh, it’s no gay-friendly place, but I’ve always gotten along well with everyone, and no one’s ever given me any grief. Plus, the rest of my body finally caught up with my height sometime in college. I began to realize that most guys won’t mess with a big, tall guy. Thank God for stereotypes! Why would anyone think a six-feet-two, two-hundred-pound guy who doesn’t swish when he delivers mail would be queer?”
They both laughed.
“You had me fooled,” Ed said, reaching for more pizza. “I had to see you in that bar last night to know for sure.”
Rick shook his head. “Oh, me too. When I saw you coming out of the restroom it took me a moment to figure out who you were. I mean, surely that sexy guy with the certified letter couldn’t be gay. No one I reacted that strongly to could be interested in me.”
Ed was blushing as badly as he had the night before. Fair skin can be a real bitch sometimes. “You really thought that?”
Rick nodded. “Walking my route the rest of that day, I kept thinking, if that guy would be gay, moving to Porterfield would be totally worth it. And you are. And right now it is—worth it, I mean.” Rick dropped his eyes from Ed’s. “I barely got any sleep at all this morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and how much I wanted to see you again. Hell, I was ready to come over here about two hours early. I drove around town, wasting gas, until I thought I could show up without looking too eager.”
Ed laughed, thinking of his afternoon spent with Carly Simon and all the anticipation.
“I remember the summer after graduation. My parents all but forced me into the car and dragged me down to Bloomington for my freshman year at IU. They told me about a million times that college would be better, and sure enough, they were right. Not at first, though. I was miserable through that first semester, but eventually I got to know some people, and for the first time I felt like I fit in somewhere.”
“How did you end up in the postal service?” Ed asked.
“Well, I lasted two years at IU as an English major,” Rick said, getting up from the table to refill his glass. “For someone who read as much as I did, it seemed appropriate. But I didn’t know what I wanted to do with it. I didn’t want to teach, like my folks, and I never really had any ambition to write. The summer after my sophomore year, when I’d survived the draft lottery, I took a summer job doing vacation fill-in for mail carriers at one of the Indy post offices. I loved it! Those long walks I mentioned? Well, this was just like that, only I was getting paid for it. I loved being outside, being on my own for most of the day. When I was offered a full-time job, I just stayed. My parents about died, let me tell you, but eventually they came around when they saw I was doing what I really wanted to do.
“Too, I was still struggling with the whole gay thing, and more than anything I wanted to be on my own to figure it out. I had my own job and my own apartment, and I think I really began to learn just who Rick Benton was. Oh, that wasn’t the end of the story. I had some big screwups ahead of me, but at least I was alive, living my life. For a long time I wondered if I’d make it that far.”
Ed nodded, chewing on his pizza. “Yeah, I remember feeling like that. When I got laid off at Marsden I moved back in with my parents. Geez, what a disaster! When I had the handyman thing going well, I bought this place, and it was a lot better. That’s when I started sticking my nose out of Porterfield, looking to see if there were any other guys like me around. It was such a relief, too, to be out of that factory. I mean, there I was Tim Stephens’s boy, and no one messed with me too much, but I could just imagine them all finding out I was a fag. I don’t think I would have survived it.”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “I’ve been pretty lucky with the postal service. Oh, it’s no gay-friendly place, but I’ve always gotten along well with everyone, and no one’s ever given me any grief. Plus, the rest of my body finally caught up with my height sometime in college. I began to realize that most guys won’t mess with a big, tall guy. Thank God for stereotypes! Why would anyone think a six-feet-two, two-hundred-pound guy who doesn’t swish when he delivers mail would be queer?”
They both laughed.
“You had me fooled,” Ed said, reaching for more pizza. “I had to see you in that bar last night to know for sure.”
Rick shook his head. “Oh, me too. When I saw you coming out of the restroom it took me a moment to figure out who you were. I mean, surely that sexy guy with the certified letter couldn’t be gay. No one I reacted that strongly to could be interested in me.”
Ed was blushing as badly as he had the night before. Fair skin can be a real bitch sometimes. “You really thought that?”
Rick nodded. “Walking my route the rest of that day, I kept thinking, if that guy would be gay, moving to Porterfield would be totally worth it. And you are. And right now it is—worth it, I mean.” Rick dropped his eyes from Ed’s. “I barely got any sleep at all this morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and how much I wanted to see you again. Hell, I was ready to come over here about two hours early. I drove around town, wasting gas, until I thought I could show up without looking too eager.”
Ed laughed, thinking of his afternoon spent with Carly Simon and all the anticipation.
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