Free Where You Are by J.H. Trumble Page A

local flasher had to describe himself to women?
    I laugh out loud. I’m walking Shep for my dad. It’s actually not that cold outside—I’m pretty sure the flashers are still doing a brisk business. I love walking around my old neighborhood. The houses are smaller than I remember, the trees bigger. But it kind of makes me feel like a kid again.
    I flex my thumbs. It’s been a while since I’ve carried on such an extensive conversation using the keyboard on my phone. And Robert is quick with the thumbs. My texts, on the other hand, always take a little longer to compose.
    The aging springer spaniel sits patiently while I thumb out another response.
    Ahahaha. So what did Santa bring you this Christmas?
    The pause drags out, and I’m beginning to think he’s grown bored or I’ve said something wrong when the next text comes in.
    So what do you like about AfterElton? The articles, right? Ha, ha.
    At first I’m confused. And then I get it. My Twitter account. Shit. But I can’t help being a little flattered, too, that he’s checked me out.
    The articles. Absolutely!
    My response sounds coy, but it’s the truth. AfterElton isn’t some kind of online Playboy for gay men, after all. It’s more of a pop culture news site, but the articles, columns, and such have a gay focus. The site has nothing to do with Elton John, but the name does refer to the musician’s public coming out, a milestone for gay men.
    It doesn’t surprise me that Robert knows about AfterElton. It does surprise me that he knows about me.
    But I’m more concerned that he avoided my question.
    Do you have brothers and sisters? he texts.
    Nope. Just me. Are you hanging out with Nic over the holidays?
    Ah. You know about Nic. IDK. Maybe. Two numbers that multiply together to equal 1,000,000 but contain no zeros?
    Math games. I loop Shep’s leash on my wrist and make a few calculations with my calculator app. 64 x 15625
    You’re brilliant.
    I don’t know about that!
    Shep gets a very long walk. I return him to the warmth of the house somewhat reluctantly.
    â€œYour dad and I are going to drive around and look at some of the lights,” Mom says as I unhook the leash from Shep’s collar. “You want to come with us?”
    â€œWould it be okay with you if I take a pass?”
    â€œOnly if you promise to take this cobbler out of the oven when it’s done.”
    â€œApple?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWow. You drive a hard bargain, Mom.”
    She laughs and swats me on the butt.
    Apple cobbler, huh? Sounds yummy.
    Even better with vanilla ice cream. What’s your favorite dessert?
    Apple cobbler with vanilla ice cream.
    I find myself wondering—is he flirting with me? Liar. Are you home yet?
    Just got here. Another Christmas bites the dust.
    The cynicism that seeps into his tone every now and then worries me. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a really tough time for him.
    Do you want to talk about it?
    Yes. No. I think my thumbs hurt too much to speak right now.
    I smile. My thumbs hurt too. I’m in my room now, the room I grew up in, surrounded by all my pre-adult relics. I pack the pillows against my headboard and lean up against them. It’s late, but I was hoping Robert might want to open up, and if he did, I wanted to be there for him. Before I can reply, though, he sends another text.
    So sleepy. Too much tryptophan.
    Go to bed, friend. Sweet dreams.
    I set my phone on the bedside table and slip under the worn comforter. I think for a moment about Kiki, and wonder what her face looked like when she saw all the toys under the tree this morning. I wish I could have been there. I called earlier, but she was too excited to talk on the phone. I know Maya has taken lots of photos and videos. She’s already sent me a couple. I can’t wait to see the rest of them.
    And then I find myself wondering about Robert’s Christmas. I