A Slippery Situation: Chapter 1
“Oh yeah, I saved up enough to get me some wheels. Nothin’ fancy, mind you…”
A sense of overwhelming incredulity had hit Tom upon hearing his boyfriend’s news. Surely, he pondered, the savings he’d scraped up from his countless, short-lived minimum-wage jobs over the past two years wouldn’t be able to net him anything even remotely half-decent? Lifting his tatty baseball boots from the thinly-carpeted floor, guiding a small brown suitcase through a chipped doorframe and onto the cold concrete of a dingy single-garage, his suspicious were confirmed. Staring back at him was the blunt-nosed, boxy outline of an ancient, once-yellow Chevrolet Chevette, in the process of being eaten alive with rust and with dents so numerous, he could only assume it’d been repeatedly attacked with a barrage of golf balls at some point in its life. Decent, it was not even remotely.
“Now I know what you’re t’inking,” a cosseting, bacon-tinged Irish tongue whispered gently into his ear, placing his supple hand on Tom’s shoulder “believe me, t’is little banger’s better t’an you give it credit for. It’s a good sledge, t’is; fifty bucks well spent in my book.” Tom’s blood went as cold as the snow-tinged breeze hurling itself into the garage from beyond the car’s nose.
“Sledge?! Erm, Nath, I can stay another day, ya’ know; it’s really not too much-” Nathan didn’t interrupt him, but his defiant saunter towards the driver’s door with the wind-chime of keys jangling in his right hand spoke a thousand words. The door just barely won the battle with its rusted hinges, creaking against them as it swung open, revealing a cracked, woefully-spartan interior that smelled as though a colony of mould had settled there, which, Tom suspected, it probably had.
“Grab t’ shovel for me, will ya’? T’row it into the back seats.” Nathan jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the grimy metal shovel leaning against the wall; the implement having seen much use a few minutes earlier hurling mounds of snow from the house’s drive with his gloved hands gripped around its handle. With a slightly queasy feeling taking hold of his stomach, Tom adhered regardless, threading the heavy shovel over the torn headrest and hurling it onto the rear bench. He gripped the handle of his suitcase like a drowning friend’s hand, dragging the wheels against their will towards the back of the car and gingerly loading it over the high lip into the un-carpeted rear hatch. It seemed that even the Chevette was uneasy about him coming along; the passenger door’s rusted chrome handle wobbled and flapped under his grasp, but the door itself remained firmly shut. Nathan was already one step ahead of him, though; even before Tom had raised a finger to attract his attention, the seventeen-year-old had stretched his lanky physique across the interior and hooked his paw around the handle, clunking the door into action.
“Th…thanks…” Tom murmured, tentatively meandering his jeans into the seat and pushing his secondary-school hoodie against the firm back-rest that General Motors had gleefully cut-costs on forty years’ prior. The passenger door was slammed shut, locking the pair inside the slapped-together cabin, and though Tom found himself decidedly uncomfortable, he could only imagine what it was like for Nathan; the lanky teenager’s curly mess of ginger hair covering a youthful, freckle-dotted face whisked against the roofline, and the thin steering-wheel just barely cleared the ruffled, dark-blue fabric of his waterproof trousers. What worried him most of all, however, was the sheer size difference between the minute pedals and the bulbous, snow-licked rubber boots covering Nathan’s feet; this was just asking for an accident.
“You absolutely sure about this, Nath? I’m serious, I can get the bus; it’s not too much trouble. You’ve done enough for me already” he pleaded, blissfully casting his mind back to the events of the night before; his boyfriend’s unwashed, encompassing musk straddling him from all sides, the taste of their warm tongues against one-another, and…
The sharp buzz of the Chevette’s battery-warning snapped him back to reality; the dashboard dimly lighting a handful of red words across its various dials, and as it did so, Nathan shot him a sly grin.
“Trust me, it’ll be worth comin’ along for t’ ride.” With his gaze still fixated into Tom’s hesitant eyes, his left paw felt its way to the choke and firmly pulled it outwards, before finally turning back around to face the Chevette’s instrument cluster. Though he was as mechanically-minded as a drunken monkey, it was obvious even to Tom that a forty-year-old engine on a day as cold as this wasn’t exactly going to spring into life with little fuss. His was proved right moments later as the car rattled and shook from side-to-side; the poultry starter-motor straining itself as it cranked the engine in a high-pitched spin, but to no effect.
“Eh, t’e carb’s a little outta’ tune; once she’s up an runnin’, she’s fine, but…” Nathan grimaced, kicking the sliver of metal that passed itself off as a throttle pedal in a series of firm pumps, before turning the key again. It suddenly caught with a gruff splutter for two seconds before cutting out, and on a rare occasion where third-time wasn’t the charm, the exact same result occurred; the car shuddering to complete silence with a thin haze of white smoke beginning to fill the back of the garage. For perhaps the first time in his life, Tom found himself silently willing a car not to start, and with this one, he was in with a pretty decent chance; the fall-back option of push-starting it voided by its 3-speed Automatic gearbox. As it transpired, however, it wouldn’t be needed; with some more pumps as the engine was cranking, it caught again, spluttering uneasily before rising to a roar as Nathan shoved the throttle to the floor and momentarily held it there, determined for the engine to stay running. That it did, coughing and howling as strongly as it could, before finally settling down to a choke-fuelled, surprisingly smooth idle, only offset by the rusted exhaust.
“See? She’s a good girl really; just needs a bit o’ encouragement.” Tom nodded meekly in agreement, biting his lower lip as a mumbled “uh-huh” escaped them; the verbal end-result of his quiet dismay.
“So, uh…” he began, realising that being stationary in the garage of Nathan’s semi-detached house was the best possible place they had on this entire 7-mile journey to make conversation, “I- I never asked last night; how are your Parents doin’?” Nathan shrugged.
“Eh, let’s just say t’at what’s happened, happened, and I’d kinda’ just like to put Mom and Dad outta’ my life for the time bein’. Besides,” he continued, anticipating Tom’s interjection with a speed only achieved by someone who knew him well, “Mom’s happy bein’ wit’ Peter; she says he treats her good, so…yeah, I won’t bother her.” Tom could tell that Nathan was skirting the elephant in the cabin, but the question burned itself so intently into his conscience that he had no choice but to say it.
“But…your old man; you…you told me he was…” The expression on Nathan’s freckled face remained calmly neutral, but on the other side of the steering wheel, Tom caught a glimpse of his left hand moving off the choke and curling into a tight fist.
“He’s fine.” The word was spat with such underlying malice that Tom physically shuddered, only now realising just how cold it was in the car; the broken heating doing little to dispel the air that caught his breath in a solidified grasp.
“S…sorry hun; I didn’t know it was-”
“Nah, it’s alright” Nathan quipped; his smile half-heartedly returning, “you, of all people, oughta’ know. You remember how he hurt his back at t’at warehouse a few years ago? Yeah, well two weeks ago it got so bad, I had to take him to Hospital.”
“Oh God; is he alright?”
“Yeah” Nathan muttered, “he’s O.K now, but safe to say we’ve not exactly been on good terms. I mean, t’ere is a silver-linin’,” he shuffled his backside against the seat, relaxing into it as if it were a storyteller’s armchair, “now he’s their problem; t’ey feed him, t’ey pay for anythin’ he needs. I don’t have to be his personal assistant twenty-four-seven, having to give up my school-life t’ care for his lazy fuckin’ backside.” Tom sat in near-silence for the next few seconds, if anything almost even more unsettled by how calmly Nathan had given him the news in the first place. He only looked up when the frown etched across his boyfriend’s face slowly inverted, glancing upwards to see Nathan adjusting his position in the seat and wrapping his right hand around the t-shaped gear-selector.
“…but I’ll be damned if t’at’s gonna’ dampen t’ mood; I’m not forgettin’ last night in a hurry! Come on, let’s hit t’ road.” The handbrake creaked in protest at being separated from its companion, but with a slow crawl, the Chevette inched forwards out of the garage, soon filling the interior with some desperately-needed morning light; albeit, a grey, dreary haze of passing snow-clouds that poised on the verge of undoing Nathan’s toils with the shovel. He gingerly moved his boot over to the middle of the foot-well, but the moment he pressed down, a teeth-clenching grinding noise emanated through the firewall from the front of the car. Tom frantically glanced over to see the steering wheel turned considerably to the left, only for the car to continue stubbornly on its straight trajectory. It finally gave into the laws of friction a considerable time later, coming to a shuddering stop at the very edge of the drive.
“Well,” Nathan chortled, “at least we know t’e brakes work!”
≠
The disparity between how children and adults viewed a snowy day was staggering; as the car wiggled and meandered its way along one of Easthampton’s major, two-lane suburban streets, toddlers and teens alike gleefully hurled snowballs at one another, admired lopsided, grit-riddled snowmen and dived onto sledges at any open ground they got the chance to. Their Parents could only resort to standing there like statues, freezing and bored out of their minds, but at least they weren’t enduring the perils of driving down a snowy road, even one that’d seen the gritting machine an hour earlier. Foregoing the financial burden of snow tyres, drivers skidded, honked and uneasily advanced their way past and around each other, with a large People-Carrier almost skidding into the Chevette as Nathan cautiously set off from a junction.
“Ya see, t’is is what I’m talkin’ about” he quipped, as they recovered from their small heart-attack, “you could be t’ best driver in t’e world, but all it takes is one idiot!” Tom sniggered.
“Just be glad you weren’t in a car with that one idiot like I was a few years ago. Some friend who I didn’t realise was a complete dick until too late; yeah, his brother took me home from school once, and…well, all I’ll say is I didn’t realise a car could go that fast!”
“I know whachya’ mean” Nathan nodded, fighting the back of the car on a patch of black-ice, “but- oh, wait, look to your right quickly; I gotta’ show ya’ somethin’.” Through the grimy window, Tom’s rimmed-spectacled vision set upon a quiet cul-de-sac branching off the main road, adorned with small, but decently-modern terraced houses.
“Down t’ere’s where my new house is. It’s a student house; I couldn’t find anythin’ else, and I stumbled upon it when the girls livin’ t’ere were advertising a spare room in the local corner shop. I’ve just gotta send off two more forms, t’en I move in next week- what? You hit ya’ funny-bone or somethin’?” he diverted, staring perplexedly at Tom’s fabric-padded arm that was hiding a painfully obvious snigger. Eventually, he could hold it in no more.
“I’m sorry, but” he burst out laughing, “you’re moving in to a house made up entirely of girls! The female variety, the ones with those two round things on their chest!”
“Yeah, what about them?”
“I mean this sincerely, bud, but…well, you’re the gayest guy I’ve ever met! Imagine if one of ‘em came onto you; they’d be blind not to” he grinned, lapping up the seventeen-year-old’s lanky physique, only marginally obscured by his thick clothes. Freed of steering duty by a red light, Nathan took his hands off the wheel and shrugged disinterestedly.
“Simple; I’ll just tell em’ straight” he spoke candidly.
“You mean tell ‘em you’re not?” The sheer range of situations Tom was envisioning in his mind overrode any and all social etiquette he’d learned over the years; the thin seatbelt was struggling to hold him in as he repeatedly slapped the knee of his jeans.
“Look, Tom, you’ve made your point; I’ll be fine, O.K?” A hint of irritability lined Nathan’s voice as the road began to widen, with the buildings of Easthampton growing increasingly sporadic behind them. Soon, the Chevette found itself merging onto the sweeping Motorway heading out of the City, withering under the gaze of large trucks that were performing the rare act of moving faster than a car.
“Wanna’ put some music on?” Tom asked hopefully, resolutely dreading the boredom that would inevitably come during the three-junction distance between them, and the exit towards his home Village of Elmgrove. To his hesitant relief, Nathan darted his right hand to the square under the heater controls that housed the car’s original factory stereo, adorned with buttons and switches that Tom couldn’t even begin to work out the function of. Utilising a clearly well-honed multitasking act between the radio and the gritted, four-lane sea of tarmac ahead, he crackled the radio into life seconds later, with its pre-set channel funnelling a muffled, barely-audible female newsreader’s voice half-heartedly into the cabin.
“…residents of Whiteheart Lane were given a rude awakening in the early hours of this morning when a fire swept through the nearby Mental Institute, engulfing the entire building and burning it to the ground within minutes. Mercifully, as far as official reports state at this time, all the patients were evacuated and are safe, however one member of staff reported her car stolen. Police are yet to confirm if the two events are connected, and the cause of the fire remains unknown.”
The end-of-news’ peppy jingle burst through the tinny speakers, but Tom was completely ignoring it. He’d caught onto Nathan’s behaviour; the abnormal stiffness to his joints; the suddenly-wide-eyed look in his eyes; the clockwork, silent movements of his jaw.
“Nath? You alright, hun?” Colour rushed back into the boy’s face.
“Um, yeah, I was…I was just imaginin’ what t’at must’ve been like. I’m just glad everyone got out.” Tom nodded slowly in agreement, allowing the radio to retake its share of the noise once more.
“And now, the traffic with Denise.
Thank you, Jane, and motorists looking to escape for some holiday cheer are in bad luck; all lanes of the Route 27 Motorway heading south-bound towards Easthampton are closed, after a multi-car pile-up just past Junction Five-”
“She wasn’t kidding about that; look” Tom gasped, diverting an outstretched hand across the interior. Over the brow of a small hill, the motorway levelled-out and curved to the right, before cutting a planner-defined straight-line through a large hill, splitting the feat of nature clean in half. The engineering marvel came into view at the exact same time as a sight that caused their stomachs to drop. What had been five or so family cars had, through a combination of excess speed for the conditions and lack of awareness, been turned into a twisted sculpture of buckled car frames on the other side of the barrier, resembling a grotesque piece of modern art. Trim pieces littered the road at the forefront of the accident, and the parade of blue, flashing lights illuminating the scene did little to quell the stomach-churning dread of the fate that awaited those involved. As was the case with any large-scale accident, drivers going the other way had made it their duty to slow down and inspect the damage; practice that almost got the better of Nathan. He’d become so preoccupied on gawping at the scene that he came within millimetres of crashing into the small Toyota in front, snapping his attention away and frantically swerving the Chevette out of the way of its slower obstruction just in time.
“Jeezus….” was all either of them could say, coincidentally in unison, at the sheer freak-show that presented itself through the car’s grimy windows.
“N…Nath…” Tom stammered, “w-we’re, we’re not gonna’ end up like that, are we?” Nathan’s hand darted across the car and wrapped itself around Tom’s faintly shaking hand, gripping it tight as he gave Tom a look of pure, cold defiance; the likes of which he’d never seen before.
“You, are not, gonna’ be in any danger; not on my watch. I’ve got you t’is far, we’re not throwin’ it all away now. Understand?” Gulping, Tom meekly nodded.
“y…yeah, I do. Sorry, I, I just-”
“Hey, you’re perfectly within your right t’ be scared. T’ important t’ing is how ya’ deal wit’ it.” However, as the traffic resumed, he was gripped by a sudden logistical barrier.
“Wait, t’ highway’s closed; t’at means…” he drummed his hands on the top of the wheel, tilting his head downwards slightly and biting his lower lip, “I’m gonna’ have to come back along t’e Country Road; ya’ know t’e one; past Brockenhurst and t’e like?” Tom gasped.
“Nath…those roads are un-gritted…and you’re gonna tackle them in this turd?!” He flailed his hands madly at the jolting interior-trim, “Please tell me you’re joking?”
“Tom, I’d love nothin’ more t’an to stay at your house until the roads are better, but you’re the last person I need t’ remind t’at your Mum…well, she’s better off not knowin’ what’s gone between us, and I’d t’ink me stayin’ over wouldn’t exactly be doin’ any favours at keepin’ t’at a secret. Besides, she was the person who hooked me up with Layla and got me that job in the coffee-van in t’e first place, after all, so I kinda’ wanna’ keep on her good side, ya’ know? You’d be surprised how many people come t’ visit some old house at t’is time of the year, and most of ‘em demand a coffee!” Tom half-heartedly chuckled along, but paused, debating whether to just accept and move on, or try to convince him otherwise. If there was one thing he’d taken away from countless experiences with Nathan, however, it was that he was decidedly firm about whatever action he chose to take.
“G…good point” he finally resorted to blurting out, “but let’s just get home first, alright, Barista Boyfriend?” he giggled; merely the formation of the pun calming his nerves considerably.
“Cheeky sod” Nathan grinned, jokingly knocking him on the shoulder as he shot a jovial smirk at his central mirror, “but I’d have a slightly easier time of it if t’is sodding Jeep would get off my arse!”
≠
Tom’s family home looked almost unrecognisable beneath the cossetting blanket of white that cushioned it two-metres deep; even the most modern, two-storey, detached vision of Middle-Class suburbia so often became homogenous after a bout of heavy snowfall. The line of trees that guarded the edge of the road just before it like a rotated carpet, though, were enough to distinguish it, and the Chevette smoothly coasted onto the kerb under the steady guide of Nathan’s extremities. It came to a slithering stop perfectly in the middle of the uphill, eight-square-metre driveway, at which point the house’s front door was flung open, revealing a dressing-gown-clad, decently built female shape from far away.
“Ah, Tom; you made it back! How was the journey, sweetie?! Nathan looked after you alright?” his Mother called, directing her barrage of questions through the Chevette’s window at the conspicuously-eye-rolling Seventeen-year-old in the driver’s seat as Tom unloaded his sports-bag from the boot. He whipped his hand up briefly at a vague attempt at a wave, before sauntering over to the passenger window as confidently as he could.
“I’m just gonna’ say goodbye, Mom!” he called back; Nathan had already reached over and rolled down the passenger-window by the time he turned around again to face his boyfriend. There was a certain tangible allure to engaging in their private talk with his Mother in such close proximity.
“Nath, I…thanks; thanks for takin’ me home. You…well, you sure took me places I never thought I’d go, and yeah, I’m talkin’ about last night” he chuckled, feeling a warm blush take hold of his cheeks. He fractionally leant forwards, on the verge of pouting his lips, but even the vague proximity of his Mother stopped him dead in his tracks.
“’twas my pleasure, Tommy-boy. Your Mom hasn’t discovered Telegram yet, has she? No?” he grinned at Tom’s relieved head-shake, “well t’en just hit me up tonight. I’m only working’ twelve-‘till-four t’day.”
“You go and smash it, hun” Tom grinned, air-kissing as the best compromise he could think of. Nathan flashed a wink, bringing a flattened palm underneath his lips and blowing a considerably more powerful kiss across the interior. Tom affectionately pat of the Chevette’s window-frame, feeling a grim sense of respect for the beaten-up, rusted, ratty black-spot in General Motors’ history that had defied the odds to get him home safely. He bit his lip, sighing forlornly.
“Just…drive safely, alright? I thought my Dad was a careful driver…that was up until he got three speeding tickets within the space of a single mile when he was alone in the car!”
“Why’d’ya think I brought the shovel?” Nathan grinned, shoving the diminutive brake-pedal to the floor and clicking the gear-selector into Drive, “I’m not a boy-racer, Tommy-boy; you know t’at. See ya soon, ya derp, now go off and endure your normal life for a change!”
“Touché, prick!” Tom couldn’t hide a snigger as he slapped the Chevette’s window, giving a final wave before turning on his heel. He instantly regretted convincing his Mother before setting out for the “sleepover” that his converse shoes would be more than enough; the fresh snow had covered his ankles, and was melting at the exact moment it soaked into his socks.
“Well Nathan took the time to shovel his driveway at the crack of dawn this morning” he muttered with a hint of contempt; it was amazing how merely the existence of a caring, self-sufficient boyfriend made him realise just what his previous life had been missing, he thought, as a 4x4 shot past their house at a speed only a vehicle of its type could have any hope of achieving.
