The feeling grew and shifted, and as I drew closer to coming, the whirlwind moved into my chest, where a panic rose. In an instant I found myself pulled from the hold of the spider fingers. Frantic with anxiety like a drug released into my blood, I buttoned my pants, and pushed into the dark hallway and beyond into the main room. I stood catching my breath and leaking into my pants at my usual post, barely bothering to make a show of pretending to look at DVDs. A few men exited the hallway at intervals, each of them glancing up at me as they passed. I couldn’t even guess which of them had touched me.
Later, I’d instruct myself to memorize everyone’s shoes so I’d be able to know who was who at all times, but it was easy to forget to look at them, and even when I remembered to look, it was easy to forget who was wearing what.
CALLING THE COP WAS NEVER EXPLICITLY FORBIDDEN. I understood that it was discouraged, yes. And I understood, obviously, that it was awkward to phone when the kid was around. What no one seemed to appreciate was that it was at least as awkward for me as it was for the kid, and probably more so.
I knew the cop’s schedule, so I knew with a reasonable degree of certainty when he might be away from the kid. Over the years, we’d spoken while he patrolled the town in his cruiser, so it wasn’t such a strange thing to call him, really. In fact, it wouldn’t have been strange at all in any circumstance other than our present one.
He didn’t answer the first time I called, but just before I went to voicemail I heard what I was certain was the sound of him trying to pick up at the last moment. I didn’t know what had happened, but I was certain I recognized a crackle on the line, something going wrong. Whatever it was, it left me with the sense that the cop had just made it to his phone but failed to hit “talk” quickly enough, and in some fifty-fifty lottery of digital telephonies, I had mistakenly ended up going to voicemail when he had actually intended to take the call. I listened to his outgoing voicemail message, then disconnected.
On my second attempt, instead of selecting his name from my phone’s directory, as I usually did, I dialed his number manually. I’d recently found that though my phone would say I was calling his number, when I tried him all I’d get was an abrupt end to the ringing as if the call had connected, “Hello?” I’d say. “Hello, can you hear me?” Then, after a short pause the line would go dead. On one occasion, I rang seven times, and the same thing happened each time. I never did get in touch with him that day. He later told me that his phone hadn’t shown a single missed call from me. Who knew what was going on when technology was involved? Sometimes I really did think it was conspiring against us.
I grew sweaty at the thought that this could turn into another of those episodes, and I’d be trapped calling over and over again in a loop of uncertainty. But the second time I tried him, he picked up on the third ring. When I realized I was hearing his actual, non-recorded voice my eyes welled up instantly. He hadn’t forgotten me. We were still connected. That itself buoyed me, a sensation I desperately needed when we spoke, since remaining upbeat and casual for the duration of an entire conversation was all but impossible for me by that point.
“Hello?” he said. He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed. He sounded, as he always did in his slow, country voice, pleasant and patient and completely balanced and calm. He was exactly the kind of police officer you would want to encounter in the real world, being in natural possession of two qualities that most police officers famously lack: reasonableness and tolerant good humor. I had come to see him as an accidental Buddhist capable of experiencing the present moment as if from a great distance of time, seeing both its depth and its absurdity. The only place where his wisdom failed him was in his insane new romantic entanglement, which was utterly beyond my comprehension.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said, tripping over a cheery tone I should have practiced beforehand.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Did you just miss a call from me?”
“Yeah, I was on the radio.”
“Oh. I’m just trying to figure out if there’s something wrong with my phone. This one’s acting really weird lately.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Anyway. So, how’s everything going? Anything new happening?”
“Not really. Just the usual stuff.”
“You guys all settled in at the house now, got his stuff all moved in?”
“Yep, it’s all pretty much come together now.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, so far so good.”
“Very cool. I mean, I still think you’re completely crazy moving him in so soon, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
“We’ll see one way or the other, I guess,” he said. “Listen, I can’t stay on for too long tonight. I’m supposed to go talk to this guy about these scammers who keep sticking these ‘we buy houses’ signs everywhere.”
Oh, I loved when he let slip those little details about his world. A conversation about bandit sign scammers! It was both fascinating and utterly mundane—a tiny window into his daily life. Collecting those facts, gathering them together like a great nest made of tiny shreds, I could feel that I knew him inside and out.
“But you’re doing okay, sounds like,” he said.
“Oh, sure, everything’s fine. Everything is just normal and regular like always.”
I debated bringing up the arcade. Keeping secrets seemed like a bad idea when I was doing my best to execute a complete reversal and demonstrate my ability to be a perfectly open and transparent person. I went back and forth about it. Maybe my stories from the arcade would give me the appearance of being an adventurous, independent, and unpredictable person, the kind of man he would want to live with forever and ever, enjoying an endlessly changing and unknowable future together. Or maybe it would make me seem like a typical promiscuous homo whose claims of desperate, eternal love were all talk. He might even use it as an excuse to sever ties with me, as the kid was undoubtedly pressuring him to do. Then again, maybe it would spark some jealousy in him that would grow and grow until it changed everything. I decided not to mention the arcade yet. I could always bring it up later.
“I was thinking if you’re in the mood later this week, maybe you could get away and meet me for lunch. There’s a place right between us. Next to that motel on the highway. That diner that supposedly has such good fried chicken?”
“I can’t meet you for lunch.”
“We don’t have to eat if you don’t want. We could just hang out. Or even just get naked and have a little fun. Not that you’re not getting enough of that as it is.”
Silence.
“I mean, you know, I really do miss you a lot,” I said, “if that still means anything to you.”
“I know you do. You’ve just got to calm down a little. Let the dust settle.”
“I’m calm,” I said. “Honestly. I’m totally calm. I don’t want you thinking I’m not, because I’m doing a lot better. I mean, maybe I had too much caffeine earlier or something, but really I’m totally calm.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good to hear. But, listen, I’ve really got to go now.”
“Right, no problem. I was just calling to say hi.”
“Well, take care of yourself.”
“You too. And we’ll talk really soon. I might try you back tomorrow or the next day to see if you’re around.”
“Actually, don’t. We’re going out of town for a long weekend.”
“Oh.”