Rug burned in my tighty whities

“I was quite the baby when we said goodbye,” Robin whispered reverently, as he considered the man lying in the coffin behind his own bleary eyes. You could set your calendar by him, Robin thought to himself, as he remembered Tim’s monthly visits to Robin’s family. Even still, Robin scarcely recognized the man whose formerly tanned skin now lacked all of its characteristic warmth. He needs his sunglasses. He needs his sunglasses, Robin thought with a small smile. That man had a perma-sunglasses tan, even in the winter. You had to respect that commitment.

Robin had already said goodbye to this man one hundred times in one hundred prayers. He wasn’t the kind to pray, not anymore at least. And there were no combination of words that would have prevailed on God to rid this man’s body of leukemia, the violent insurgency that had laid his former pickleball partner so low in just a few months’ time. But Tim wouldn’t have wanted it differently, Robin thought to himself as his tried to push a grief strained smile across his face. No, it would have been uselessly cruel to petition God for Tim’s cancer to go away, Robin reasoned. Not while the man lying before him missed his wife so dearly that he almost seemed to sprint at death, forgoing chemotherapy treatments that could have bought him more time. More time for which he had so little use. So, Robin prayed for a quick passing, for Tim to drift away into some easy sleep in a warm bed on a silent winter night.

Painless.

Peaceful.

And he prayed also that Connie would greet him and take him by the hand, walking him through the mystery of death and onto whatever was to come.

“Tell Connie, Captain Underpants says hi,” Robin laughed, as the quiet tears of goodbye  began to spill down his face.

“Who’s Captain Underpants,” a voice asked, chuckling inquisitively. Robin turned to see a man with outsized features smiling a toothy grin. His curly auburn hair cropped his face and his cerulean eyes remanded Robin to babbling incoherence. “Well, you see, Connie, and underpants, and Tim, and me,” Robin stammered. “I’m sure there’s an explanation in there somewhere, but I don’t think I’m finding it,” the man teased. Robin’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t worry,” the man said, putting one hand on Robin’s arm and the other fishing into his pocket for a delicately woven white handkerchief, which he offered to Robin, “I trespassed on a private moment. My apologies.”  

“Don’t be sorry,” Robin laughed, as he dabbed at his eyes with the soft white cloth. “It’s actually rather funny. One of those inside jokes that just won’t die. And then when it does,” Robin’s voice trailed off has he wearily eyeing the coffin. “You really wish it would go on living,” Pearce said finishing Robin’s sentence. He took Robin’s hand gently and shook it, “But where are my manners, I’m Pearce.”

“Robin. Well Pearce, I would afford yourself at least a scosche of grace,” Robin added, “grief makes philistines of us all.”

“You’re right there. Maybe you can tell me how you knew Tim and Connie over coffee,” Pearce suggested, as he playfully squeezed Robin’s arm.

“A date from a funeral?” Robin whispered a little too loud, his incredulity causing several seated, silent mourners to stir and shoot stern looks at the prattling men.  

“The last thing Tim asked me was if I had a partner, and I had to tell him no” Pearce started, “it would be an insult to his memory if we didn’t. Besides, you can’t dangle a captain underpants anecdote and then not tell me,” Pearce deadpanned. “I’m just saying, we’ve both paid our respects. Tim wouldn’t want us lingering any longer in the dying place.”

---  

“So, captain,” Pearce addressed Robin with an eyebrow raised, “are you going to tell me why Connie dubbed you with that spicy sobriquet?” Pearce let the question linger like the steam gently floating above his richly roasted coffee, which he playfully blew into Robin’s face. Robin pretended not to hear the question as he looked out the window,  a look of contentment rested serenely on his face. Pearce placed his hand on Robin’s knee and gave it an impish squeeze. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. There’s no one else here but eavesdropping baristas.”

 “Who I told you was flirting with you,” Robin insisted with a knowing look.

“Pish posh,” Pearce said, casually waving his hand, discarding Robin’s assertion.

“He has already come by twice to ask if you need anything.”

“This place is famous for its customer service, just look at that sign in the window.”

“Yes TripAdvisor,” Robin deadpanned, “the Michelin guide for tucked-away coffee shops.”

“Don’t banter with me, Robin” Pearce warned. “Besides you promised me you would tell me about the nickname. It's what Connie would have wanted,” Pearce added with a sly wink.

Robin studied the boy seated across from him;  Pearce looked well in a small coffee shop off a forgotten side street with his perfectly messy hair, pale blue eyes and cacao overcoat casually nestled against an ancient oak chair, subconsciously pulling Robin toward him. As he leaned into Pearce’s space, Robin surreptitiously smelled Pearce’s tobacco vanilla cologne intermixed with the rich black coffee he held in his hands. He was entirely intoxicating to Robin, who struggled to act like this wasn’t the first beautiful man who’d ever given him the time of day.

“It’s embarrassing,” Robin complained his cheeks turning crimson.

Pearce eyed Robin greedily, “what if I guess the color of your underwear, captain?”

Robin hemmed and hawed, scrunching his nose and puckering his lips toward his right cheek.

“Come on, make a wager of it.”

“What are you wagering?” Robin countered.

“I’ll show you mine,” Pearce whispered.

Robin relented, “fine, if you can guess it, I’ll tell you.”

Pearce wagged a finger invitingly, pulling on Robin’s invisible strings to make him lean even further forward. Robin shimmied forward like an obedient puppet, as he felt Pearce’s hands reach in between his trousers and his button up shirt, Pearce whispered, “powder blue boxers,” with a self-satisfied grin.

“Very clever,” Robin complained. “Well, a deal’s a deal.”

“Connie and Tim were swinging by my parent’s house after church,” Robin began. “I must have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, which meant I was all of 160 pounds of awkward gangly limbs,” Robin pantomimed a ‘dem bones’ dance to illustrate how he moved as a svelte teenager. “Every Sunday after church, my older brother and I would race upstairs, collect a change of clothes, and sprint back down the stairs with a reckless abandon in order to win the coveted remote.”

“Not big readers, I take it,” Pearce interjected snarkily as he drank his coffee.

“We’d just spent three hours at church,” Robin countered “would you be?”

“Oh, we were demons when our parents took us to church. I would run up and play with the curtains when my dad would get up to speak during testimony meeting,” Pearce chuckled.

“That’s nothing, I once tried to serenade the Alzheimer’s congregation when my dad took me on a visit to their chapel.”

“Damn shame they won’t remember that performance,” Pearce said with toothy grin. “What was your song of choice?”

“That’s a different bet.”

“Fair enough. You’re still paying off this one.”

“Right, right” Robin remarked as he rolled his eyes. “Todd had already beaten me up the stairs, but I surged behind him. We were both tearing off our ties and unbuttoning our white shirts as fast as we could.”

“Mmm… striptease roller derby.”

“Precisely,” Robin confirmed.

“Gives me an idea for later.” Pearce grabbed Robin’s knee and ran his hand up and down his inner thing.

“Well,” Robin giggled flustered by Pearce’s advances, “I. Where was I? I… uh made the mistake of  wearing a belt.”

“Rookie mistake,” Pearce chuckled.

“I know. I know,” Robin nodded.

“Anyway, I get my pants down and the two of us are both standing there in our boxers. Todd gets the jump on me. He grabs some clothing from the floor and starts sprinting down the stairs. I grab some shorts and a shirt and bolt after him. Todd jumps down the stairs as the doorbell rings. He ducks just around the corner when Tim and Connie let themselves in. I try to whirl around, but my foot slips off the stair and I slide down.”

“You’re kidding,” Pearce said, giggling, his face starting to turn red. “Tim and Connie got a face full of your ass?”

Robin nodded.

“I crawled back up the stairs, rug burned in my tighty whities.”

“The crawl of shame.”

“I hid in the laundry room until Tim and Connie left. Connie yelled, ‘Goodbye Captain Underpants,’ as she swung the door shut behind her. I thought I’d never live that down. She called me captain every time she saw me.”

“I suppose you did live that down, finally,” Pearce added as he smiled poignantly.

“Yeah, death of an inside joke,” Robin agreed weakly.

“Well, what about you?” Robin asked, raising one eyebrow.

“What about me?” Pearce responded, pretending not to know what Robin was referring to.

“You’ve seen mine. What color are yours?”

“Ah,” Pearce sighed, nodding and thoughtfully considering Robin. “Maybe you can see for yourself if you buy me dinner tonight.”

“It’s a touch early for dinner,” Robin remarked as he looked at his watch seeing that it was only four. “I know a place across town that does 4:30 seatings. We’ll practically have the place to ourselves,” Pearce responded, adopting a satisfied grin as he set his empty cup on the marble table and started dragging Robin from his seat.

“Thanks for coming in,” the barista eagerly called after the pair as they exited the coffee shop.

“Oh, he wanted to have a three way in the back room,” Pearce laughed salaciously. “You said it was just good customer service,” Robin asserted wryly. “I was talking about customer service. The best kind of customer service.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Indeed,” Pearce admitted with a boyish grin.

---

“Do you ever think people should spend more time planning their funeral?” Pearce asked as he eyed the salad leaf speared at the edge of his fork. “I do,” Pearce added hastily, “I think they should spend at least as much as they do on a wedding.”

Robin looked up from his plate with a mouth full of eggplant parmesan and shot Pearce with a confused look. “Smaller bites, my guy,” Pearce noted gently as he dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“But think about it. You wear that tux once and then for most men, it doesn’t fit in one year, let a lone five. You're stuck in that funeral suit for centuries. That’s assuming you aren’t cremated, of course. Miss me with that from dust you are and unto dust you shall return nonsense. You go big. I’m not talking Egyptian big, mind you. But you might want to spend some time on the whole affair. I for one would go custom. Were I a woman, I would be decked out in sprawling couture." "Can't wait for the funeral looks on a Milan runway," Robin deadpanned." Pearce rolled his eyes and continued on, "Really think about the music. And be doubly sure of the people you choose to speak. My grandfather divorced my grandmother after cheating on her and the entire time, the trollop Diana’s grandchildren spent the entire time talking about what a drunken ass he was. Based, I know. But such exploits are perhaps best left for a best man’s toast. He was a cad. I just thought he was more than the boozy reprobate they made him out to be. I could have told them how he held me when I cried as a child. How he took my mother hunting and made everything special for her.”

“You come from hunting folk?”

“That’s why I have the red hair,” Pearce said, as he rolled his wrist for emphasis.

“You ever been?”

“My gay ass hunting?” Pearce exclaimed defensively. “No, but could you imagine how powerful I would be if I had.”

“If you’re thinking you’d be some kind of Kennedy or Vanderbilt. I don’t know. I think you’d be more of a Dick Cheney.”

“Watch yourself, I’ll shoot you in the ass.”

“Promise or threat.”

“Both.”

“Hm,” Robin sighed, as he looked past Pearce and onto the street; he studied the passersby, none of whom shared the grief he know felt. The emptiness that stirred within. He wasn’t sure what it was about funerals, but he’d never been to one that hadn’t rendered him forlorn blubber.

“You know my dad once said I should be a professional mourner,” Robin said, regretting the words that had just burst out of his mouth.

“What kind of job is that?” Pearce asked as he tilted his head to the side and smiled uneasily at Robin. “I become a mess at any funeral I attend. Take my mom’s cousin Georgette, for example.”

“Georgette?”

“She was born on George Washinton’s birthday. The delivery nurse called her a little Georgette, and it stuck.”

“Did she have wooden teeth?”

“No, but her hair rivaled yours. Any chance you have family out in Salina?” Robin asked cautiously.

“I’ve never even heard of Salina, so don’t you fret, Robin.”

“You really had me there. You almost look like a butch lesbian from rural Utah.”

“You wound me,” Pearce chuckled as he clasped his hands melodramatically over his heart. "Anyway, I could count the number of times I met Georgette on one hand, but as soon as the crowd began to sing the Mormon hymns, I was a mournful yawp.”

“An entire yawp. Did you weep, wail and gnash your teeth.”

“No but I did rend a garment.”

“So grief stricken were you,” Pearce said knowingly.

“Entirely inconsolable.”

“Then it is a good I came to your rescue.”

“No telling the state I would find myself,” Robin admitted, as he smiled at Pearce admiringly.  

“May I confide in you?” Pearce asked, his voice falling to a graver tone.

“Anything,” Robin said eagerly, taking Pearce’s hand in his. Robin softly caressed the outside of Pearce’s hand and admired Pearce’s impossibly big eyes, magnified by welling tears. He offered Pearce the gift of silence, as the man in front of him appeared to be battling a turmoil that threatened to overtake him. Pearce fidgeted uncomfortably, shuffling away from Robin and burrowing deeper into the corner. He wiped tears from his eyes and inhaled sharply. Robin got up from his seat and shuffled into the booth, cradling Pearce’s body in his.

“The men in my family have wandering eyes of the most restless kind. I couldn’t have been older than five when my daddy’s eyes wandered out the door and followed a buxomly broad to Jackson County Missouri.” Pearce almost chewed on the words as they spilled out of his mouth. The verbal viscosity of Pearce’s drawl perplexed Robin, but he realized the primeval Eliza Doolittle was escorting Robin through his own heart of darkness. Robin was grateful for the trust, but all he could manage was a singular incredulous question – “Missouri?”

“He said he was heading to America’s Eden,” Pearce noted as a pained wisdom hid behind his smile. “I didn’t hear from him for three years.”

“I’m sorry,” Robin managed, as he held out Pearce’s woven handkerchief, offering it back.

“That’s a thoughtful gesture, but your sympathy is well premature. We missed him less than he missed us,” Pearce sighed nonchalantly, as he looked down to a roll sitting on the bread tray in front of him. Pearce took it in his hands and started picking at it apart, pulling one piece from another. Pearce looked down at the mess he made, “I’ll make sure to leave a generous tip,” he managed through tears. “Anyway, cards started trickling into the mailbox. One here at Christmas and then a couple of birthday cards. At any rate, we get a call, from the old man asking to meet up for dinner.” Pearce’s eyes alternated between glances out the window and at his half-finished salad. “He was taking Renee to the Florida Keys and wanted to make it a family trip. Mom didn’t want us to go – I can see that much now. And I’m still mad at myself for asking. I betrayed her that day. But he dangled gators and Disney. A compelling offer for a nine year old.” “I’ll say,” Robin interjected. “Must have been some trip.” “It was,” Pearce sighed. “It was a trojan horse of a trip. A spectacular week that ended with the bastard announcing he wanted shared custody.”

Pearce paused for a long moment – “and I said I was okay with it.”

Pearce struggled inside Robin’s arms like a miniature golden doodle that never liked being held too closely – Robin’s childhood dog. He moved his arm from Pearce’s side to his shoulder, hugging him loosely. “My mom went with it. I think she wanted too much for us that she just couldn’t give. So it was every week at dads, every other Christmas, every other birthday. Until father ditched the buxomly broad and mother agreed to make us a happy family once again.”

“She took him back?” Robin asked.

Pearce cozied into Robin’s arms and rested there as a memory he couldn’t suppress slowly seeped out of his lips. “The bastard cheated again and again. I kind of think Jesus was right – ya know about that whole thing when he said you should cut your eye out if it offends you. We would have been a happy family with a blind father,” Pearce mused nonchalantly.

Robin felt Pearce receding behind his affection, his voice sounding like it was coming from someplace else entirely. He was now speaking with the boy behind the boy – the one who never grew up. The one who died and went to neverland. Robin lingered in neverland with the boy who now wore his affection like a parfum as he sidled into Robin’s waist.

Vanilla with foreign notes.

“Mom slept with one eye open and kept a bell on the door. Dad somehow kept it together. And they seemed happy for a while until they dropped Linney and me off at college.” Pearce inhaled sharply, a shrill whistle that pierced the empty restaurant. “I’ll never forget Linney showing up at my door. Halfway across the state.” The words rang hollowly, like a far off bell tolling.

Halfway across the state.

Halfway across the state.

Halfway across the state.

“‘Dad is dead,’ Linney said. ‘He got in a fight with Uncle Jeremy. He ripped into the house and shot him.’”

“I fucking hated him” Pearce wept hot feisty tears. “I hate him for leaving. For coming back into my life. But I really fucking hate him most for dying.”

Robin searched for something to say, as he considered the boy who clung to him fervently, almost cutting off his circulation. I just want to make him feel better, Robin prayed to himself as he pleaded for the words to say.

Feeble words compared to inexorable grief.

 “Quite Roman of your family,” Robin said uneasily. “The fratricide of it all,” Pearce laughed through bitter tears as he gestured flamboyantly before wiping his eyes with the handkerchief. “Maybe my Uncle Cain roams the woods like some kind of Mormon Cryptid.”

“I don’t suppose you also have big feet,” Robin teased cheekily.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Pearce countered, as he eyed Robin suggestively.

---

“Crashed out a restaurant. Am I as sexy as I feel,” Pearce announced as he sat astride Robin in his black briefs. “You’re at least as delirious,” Robin teased as he absentmindedly played with the thin fabric of Pearce’s waistband. Pearce removed his hands from Robin’s face, shoving them deep inside his briefs and winking at him, daring him onward. “Don’t do that, Pearce,” Robin pleaded softly. “You’re hands were almost halfway down anyway. You looked like you needed encouragement,” Pearce playfully mocked.

“You’re drunk,” Robin responded plainly, fishing his hands out of Pearce’s briefs. Pearce grinded on top of Robin, moaning softly, “Your dick doesn’t seem to care.”

“I’m being serious, Pearce,” Robin said earnestly, as he lightly moved Pearce from atop him and then stood, silently considering the boy who sat in front of him. He seemed smaller to Robin sitting there. His eyes were bloodshot from tears and alcohol and more tears.

“What if this is the only way I can connect?” Pearce asked seriously.

Robin stood as his heart silently rended for the boy sitting in front of him.

“Not drunk. Just fully one hundred percent intimate. You are seeing all of me.” Pearce cried softly. He stared unflinchingly at Robin, eyes twice bloodied from tears and alcohol. “So take all of me or nothing at all. Take the boy who waited by the door at Christmas. Who waited by an unfilled grave. Who waited to be loved by a father that never truly knew him.”

“You never told him.”

“No,” Pearce admitted. “A gay son with daddy issues. I’m almost sorry for being this cliché,” Pearce laughed sardonically.

“Come off it,” Robin chided. “Your only cliché if you look at the surface, which is pretty difficult not to do with you,” Robin said as he wiped the tears away from Pearce’s cheeks.

Pearce wrapped his arms around Robin’s waist and cried into his abdomen. “You may only see brokenness,” Robin whispered as he played with Pearce’s curly red hair, picking up tresses and letting them fall, “but I see the opening of light and love.”

“That’s a really lovely thing to say,” Pearce responded sincerely, his pale blue eyes flickering in the soft candlelight. “But just please don’t leave me alone on this couch. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave,” Pearce pleaded.

“Where else would I go?” Robin asked cheekily, “it’s my apartment.” He cradled Pearce gently and kissed him softly on the head until his breath slowed. Robin sat in silence as slow heartbeats fell with the tenor of the midnight hour, which signaled to Robin it was time to retire to bed; he picked up Pearce and carried him into his bedroom. As he leaned down to softly lay Pearce on the bed, the auburn haired angel in his arms opened his eyes and wrestled Robin down onto the bed, pinning his arms above his head.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Aye, aye captain,” Pearce responded with a wry smile, eyeing Robin with feverish intensity, making unflinching eye contact as he lowered his face to Robin’s giving long wine-drunk kisses.

---

“What the fuck, are you dying?” Pearce shouted at Robin as he walked into the door. Pearce stood wearing a pair of Robin’s sweatpants with the waistband of his briefs sticking out prominently. A bulbous vein protruded from his forehead as he held the note detailing Robin’s diagnosis.

“It’s barely cancer,” Robin chuckled flippantly. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“It’s colon cancer, Robin,” Pearce responded, as streams of emotion torrented through his eyes, his fists balling in frustration.

“Don’t hit me I have cancer,” Robin deadpanned, trying to make light of the burgeoning frustration between the two.

“Is this why you wouldn’t bottom yesterday?” Pearce asked abruptly.

“You ordered a chicken Caesar salad, and I had eggplant parm. What are you even talking about?” Robin asked incredulously.

Pearce bombastically rolled his eyes, placing a hand squarely on his hip. “This the kind of stuff you share with someone. I went all the way to the floor with you last night. I told you about my dad,” he said exasperatedly. “Everything.”

Robin groaned internally, as he held the coffee and scones in his hand and looked at Pearce, who wore the kind of frustration reserved for someone who describes themselves as an “empath.” Like he was a martyr suffering the cross of everyone else’s trifling setbacks. It’s a good thing this was only a first date. All the secondhand suffering would be like Ebola to a petticoat wearing Victorian boy, Robin thought to himself. 

“You need help,”  Pearce began, on the verge of tears. “You know that. I’m creating an opening, and you’re laughing me out of your apartment.” 

Robin’s cheeks reflexively puckered and his right eyebrow rose – an unspoken I already did, just not with you. 

“Well sometimes hookups don’t always know when it is time to leave,” Robin shrugged caustically.

Pearce stood, staring resolutely at the ground, trying to hide the naked pain that spread across his reddening face.   

Robin groaned again, realizing he’d taken things too far. “Look,” he began, trying to adopt a more conciliatory tone, “I have pastries, let’s just go back to the couch and how things were yesterday.”

“I should be going,” Pearce responded slowly, as his eyes frantically searched the room for his suede bomber jacket.

“It’s hung up in the closet. It didn’t seem right to leave it on the floor overnight,” Robin chuckled subduedly.

“It did come off rather abruptly,” Pearce admitted.

“It’s a shame about the cancer though. I don’t think you’re made for topping, Robin,” Pearce sighed as he kissed Robin on the cheek and closed the door behind him. Robin stared at the closed door waiting for someone to come back. The someone he’d kicked out.

His coffee cooled.

His scones grew stale.

His cancer spread.

His dick softened.