Exiles in America(29)

“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