“William and Mary called,” he said. “They offered me the job. I’m taking it.
Just for a year. Just to try something new. It has nothing to do with us. It’s not
because I’m jealous of you and your history professor. I just need to try some-
thing new.”
Zack could have said: It has everything to do with us. Why can’t we talk
about us?
Or: There’s nothing between me and the history professor so you don’t
have to pretend not to be jealous.
He could even have said: If you hate your life and need to try something
new, that means you hate me, because I am your life.
But there was too much to say, such a backlog of silence. The psychiatrist
said only, “You’re right. It is practical. It’s just a year. You should take the job.”
And it was practical, a badly needed change, which was how they treated
the move over the summer as Daniel prepared by sorting through his clothes
and music and art supplies, and buying a secondhand car from friends in
Brooklyn.
Zack took the week off and rode down with Daniel to Virginia. It was a
six-hour ride to Williamsburg. They enjoyed the trip, the escape from the city,
the open road, the chance to play each other’s favorite tapes on the car’s ex-
cellent stereo system.
They arrived and unloaded everything at Daniel’s new apartment, the con-
verted garage of a white clapboard house at the far end of Indian Springs
Road. The owner, Miss Tolley, was an old-fashioned spinster who lived with
seven cats, all named after Greek gods and goddesses. Zack had forgotten
how oppressively humid Virginia got in August, how loud the cicadas became
after dark, their chatter rising and falling in waves. He and Daniel tried to
make love that first night, but it was too hot and their moves were out of sync,
their bodies hopelessly out of step. It felt like months since they’d last had sex
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
6 7
with each other. Zack couldn’t help feeling that they were over, that they were
saying goodbye for good.
Daniel drove Zack down to Norfolk the next day for lunch with Zack’s
mom and dad before Zack flew back to New York.
“How you boys doing?”
“We’re doing fine, Mr. Knowles,” said Daniel.
“Yes, sir, Dad. We’re fine,” said Zack.
Even after ten years, Edgar Knowles and Daniel were still on very formal
terms with each other. Daniel blamed Zack’s father for the formality, insisting
Mr. Knowles couldn’t get over the fact that Daniel was not only gay but Jew-
ish. Zack said the formality was a Southern thing—he still called his father
“sir”—but Daniel was not convinced. There was so much about Zack’s life
that Daniel didn’t get. No wonder they were breaking up. Were they really
breaking up?
Zack’s mother served a big lunch of ham salad, sliced tomatoes, and cole
slaw—“I forget, but you do eat ham, don’t you?”
After lunch, Daniel drove Zack to the Norfolk airport. They kissed good-
bye in the car: a series of quick, mutual pecks that ended with Zack kissing the
bald spot starting to bloom in the crown of Daniel’s head, a tender patch of
pink.
“Stop fussing,” said Daniel. “We need a break from each other. That’s all.
We’ll be fine.” He gingerly patted Zack on the shoulder and pushed him out
the door.
When Zack got back to New York, the apartment that had seemed so
small was suddenly enormous. Nights that had been too short were now end-
less. Zack thought he’d be able to accomplish a hundred things he’d been
putting off: books read, friendships resumed; he might even write a few arti-
cles. Instead, he fell into a deep funk. He slept more and watched too much
television, not just PBS but sitcoms and game shows. He came to life only
when he was seeing patients. He began to grow a beard, partly out of laziness,
but chiefly because he now hated the bland, round pan of his face, the timid,
chinless thing that returned his unhappy stare every morning. He needed a
new look.
6 8
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
“Seeing anyone?” Daniel asked when they talked on the phone.
“My patients.”
“I mean people. Friends. Or, you know—guys.” He meant Eugene, of
course.
“No, I stay in nights. When are you coming home for a visit?”
“Not until Thanksgiving. You should come down here.”
“I’d like to, but my schedule is very full for October.”
Zack didn’t tell Daniel that he was no longer seeing Eugene. They had
spent one more night together—here in Zack and Daniel’s apartment, in Zack
and Daniel’s bed—and Zack found himself hating the guy, a smug, fat, naked