Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

218 TRUST

TRUST

Late that night insomnia bit me in the ass and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want to wake J, and I didn’t want him to think if I left–i.e. went for a walk or something–that I was freaking out over something he had said.

Which led me to wonder, wait, am I freaking out over something he said?

We’d just agreed we weren’t in a serious relationship, hadn’t we? We agreed we were in the early days. The still-figuring-it-out days. Was that scary?

This whole concept that there was something to figure out was new to me. But not freak-out scary. I don’t think.

What I was thinking about mostly was the fact that the deadline for Digger was fast approaching. Six months we’d given him, and that would run out when the calendar turned to July 1st. We’d be in Memphis or somewhere then, I couldn’t remember exactly. I’d been trying not to think about it and I’d been succeeding, until I was lying there in the dark, under J’s arm.

It felt odd to be so sated physically, warm and comfortable under the covers with him, pressed together but utterly relaxed, and yet to have my mind racing. I kept waiting for it to stop and for sleep to come back around, but it didn’t.

I heard him snuffle sleepily and felt something damp on my shoulder. His mouth, kissing my arm affectionately. He shifted position and I settled even more under the crook of his arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He murmured. “Mm, bullshit. You’re tense as a string.”

“A guitar string?”

“Er, yeah. I think I meant to say bowstring, but I’m sleepy, and guitar string is more appropriate anyway.” He rubbed his face and propped himself up on one elbow. We’d left the light on in the bathroom and I could see his face in the dimness. “You need something?”

“Not something like that,” I said, knowing he meant sex. Not that I’d have said no if he suggested it, but he seemed to genuinely be asking. “Just, can’t sleep. Thinking about everything coming up.”

“The tour?”

“And, yeah. And the whole business with Digger.”

“You mentioned being kind of glad to be rid of him for the leg of the trip when I saw you in DC…”

“That’s not it. I really… did I tell you he’s my father? I can’t even remember.”

“You told me, but at the time you didn’t act like it was a big secret.”

“I didn’t?” I suppose I’d already decided to trust J that far back. “It’s not, not really. A big secret, I mean. I just don’t want it to be a… a thing. It’s just vaguely embarrassing, I guess.”

“Is it? Lots of people have family members working for them.”

“He’s just vaguely embarrassing, is what I mean, maybe.” I groaned. “He probably feels the same way about me.”

“Does he? Why? You’re incredibly successful for… oh.” He looked at me and frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Not so thrilled about the gay part, I don’t think.” It still wasn’t easy to say the word “gay” honestly, but I didn’t want to seem like a wuss in front of him, besides it would have been kind of ridiculous not to be able to say it while lying in bed with him. I mean, I know I’m ridiculous sometimes, but that would’ve been too much even for me. Meanwhile I was kind of impressed with how he seemed to know what I was talking about, and I knew what he was talking about, when we hardly said anything. That was kinda scary, but really nifty at the same time.