Pin Stripes

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Pin Stripes

 

Joseph stood there in front of my desk with his arms crossed, shaking his head. His face was scrunched up as if my idea actually smelled bad. He kept repeating his mantra: “No. I don’t want to do that. No.”

 “Come on, I need you to get them from the airport, I’ve got to go to the intern’s evaluation tonight so that he can get his credit, because you didn’t want to.” I leaned back and stared him down, proud that I was winning this argument. “Would you rather do that?”

“F**k no,” he blurted and then covered his mouth, realizing that he just inadvertently accepted my request for him to retrieve my parents from the airport. They were coming to town for my birthday because I was busy with work and they had decided it had been too many of those away from the family.

He opened a hole between two fingers, and informed me that, “His name is Jeffrey, by the way. The intern I mean. And I do not want to do this.”

Jeffrey came into my office at that moment, as if summoned, wearing simple black pants, black tie, and a white shirt, not looking up from the papers he held. He managed to get out, “I brought the reviews of the Prada Spring collection you-“, stopping when he collided with Joseph’s back, not moving him an inch.

Eight years ago, Joseph and I met at a convention for fashion bloggers and decided to merge our blogs. We both loved each other’s style and held similar philosophies about clothing. The things you wear say something about you, and about what you have to say. It shouldn’t be about price, about expressing your level of wealth. A smart man should wear clothes that let you know his words are important. An entertainer should look good; to let you know that listening to him is going to be pleasurable. With this in mind, we became popular by posting reviews about clothes that were only relevant to what the clothes say. We reviewed Prada, yes. We also reviewed local Goodwills.

“Oh,” Jeffrey said, surprised as if Joseph had run into him. “How’s it going, Joe?” He inquired quite politely. At this, Joseph turned his attention to Jeffrey, raising his eyebrows. Joseph had a thing with names.

Jeffrey cleared his throat, not as terrified as Joseph would have liked I think. “Joseph. I meant…Joseph.” Their eye contact lingered with little dedication to pleasing each other.

“Thanks Jeffrey, I’ll take them off of your hands.” I chimed.

“We’re still on for tonight, yes?” he asked. I grinned at Joseph, and told Jeffrey “Yea, we’re still on.” At this Jeffrey left Joseph and I alone.

“I hate Jeffrey” he said, very matter of fact. He didn’t hate Jeffrey; he just didn’t want to pick up my parents. He always felt awkward around them, and I do understand why, but they were nothing like his mother, and they accepted him totally. Joseph didn’t speak to his mother much anymore, but she loved him and he loved her. Her birthday was only a couple of days after mine.

I stood up slowly and cooed, “You know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to, and anyway, they love you.” He pulled his head back defensively as I approached, and it wrinkled the collar of his white oxford shirt. He wore this with a pair of red Dockers and classic black wingtips. The red pants were a bold choice, but I knew his shirt was a security measure, he would never wear something with those pants he wasn’t sure would work.

I grabbed his chin firmly and held him there for a second and thought about how the sharp hairs on his face shot off in every direction just like the unkempt hair on his head, which he actually paid no attention to. He didn’t get up at five in the morning to do his hair. Ever.

“Please?” I said.

His blue eyes went soft, and I knew he was mine. I planted a firm kiss of thank you on his lips.

I was fifteen the first time I kissed a girl. It was my freshman year of high school and we went to homecoming together. We kissed at the end of the night. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted something stronger, I wanted to be held tight, I wanted to be caressed and taken care of. I thought I was just into athletic girls, and so did my dad. You can only imagine our surprise when we found out I liked boys. He was put off by the idea at first, a lot. He thought I would go to hell. But when he found out I was still religious, still attended church, and later that Joseph attended with me, he decided my soul would be saved, and God would save both of us, in spite of our “unconventional situation”. After I came out, my life only continued to get better. I considered the possibility that God might value Truth over heterosexuality.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said, “But first I have to go back to the house and change my clothes, I don’t want them seeing me in these pants.”

“Okay. Wait!  What do you plan on changing into?” I asked.

He looked at his feet like a guilty child and said, “Blue Polo”.

“What pants?” I asked, playing up the interrogating parent bit. He shrugged.

“You are not wearing those damn sailor pants!” I told him. He laughed at this, which made me smile. He had found them six years ago. They were navy blue with thick white pinstripes, and came with a slim fitting jacket. He always wore the pants, never the jacket.

“I love those pants!” he said and got quieter. “I love you.”

 I sighed and told him what a pansy he was, and at this he drew an imaginary tear falling from his eye and backed out of the room, presumably to go work in his own office.

I called my mother to let her know that Joseph was going to be picking them up from the airport, and she agreed to this. “Tell Joey we said we’re excited to see him, sweetie.”

“He prefers Joseph. I’ll tell him. See you tonight, mom. Love ya.”

 We left the office at about eight that night. It was dark out, and it was quiet, as we walked through a fairly nice part of downtown. I put my arm around his waist, and he put his around my shoulder, and I rested on him. His heart beat was strong, and as we walked together and tried to stay warm, he said surprisingly loudly, “We should’ve gotten milk when we passed WalGreens”.

I smiled and looked at him. “We don’t have any cereal.” We were having a bit of a fairy tale moment.

When we got home, Joseph went into our bedroom to change his pants and grab his watch, which he forgot this morning. I grabbed a pair of khaki chinos of mine, and went into our bedroom to suggest he wear those instead. I found him holding his watch with a glazed look in his eyes, staring into the drawer he had pulled his watch from. The watch wasn’t too flashy. Joseph cared more that he could clearly see the time. The only other thing he kept in that drawer was a framed picture of the only woman he ever loved.

“You could go see her, you know.” I told him, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorway. We’d had this conversation a hundred times, and I had a pretty good idea of how he was going to react.

He slammed the drawer, looked at me, and cocked his head. His eyes were sharp. “Are you really going to start this right now?”

“You haven’t seen her in years, and it’s her birthday. You know you can work from out of town, there’s no reason for you not-“

“You know exactly what my reason is!”

It was true. It was after dating me for 6 months that Joseph finally came out to his Mother, who lived alone after his father passed. We were visiting her at the time, and when he told her, it was like she sort of shutdown. She didn’t  say anything other than “okay” and wouldn’t look at either of us. On Sunday, when we all went to church together, the pastor stood and asked if anyone would like to request a prayer, and Joseph’s mother immediately stood up.

“My boy Joe and his friend have been taken over by Satan, and think that they are homosexuals! Please help these boys find their way back into the light of Jesus’ heart!” She pleaded, in front of everyone Joseph had grown up with, and known his entire life. She was just trying to help him, her son, save him. She still loved him. But at that moment, he became scum to the people from that town he grew up in, people he loved dearly.

“Alright”, I said, “Just think about it”.

Later that night, when I got home, I found father had gone to sleep; he was no match for the change of time zones. I did however; find my boyfriend and my mother, who was wearing a bright blue and yellow blouse with black slacks, drinking wine and laughing, at a considerable volume. They were excited to see me, and when I hugged my mom Joseph looked on with what I determined to be longing-- although at the time I thought it was for me.

“What are you two still doing up?” I asked through my own giggling at the scene in my living room.

Joseph answered sarcastically, “We are having a bottle of wine, Paul. We are laughing, and we are discussing life, and love, and family.” His voice got lower when he said “family”. He slowed down, giving himself a chance to hear the word out of his own mouth I think.

We went to sleep, and I woke up early in the morning to check my email. I went to our home computer, and found an airline ticket printed for two days from now. I smiled, and at that moment Joseph emerged from our bedroom, wearing his blue pin striped pants, a white shirt, and to my surprise- the jacket that came with the pants.

“What’re you grinning at?” he asked, and smiled.