In the taxi on the way to Penn Station, Mark felt as if he was in a daze. He cupped his cheek in his hand, rested his elbows on his knees and stared out the window, hugging his messenger bag to him. The rain showed no signs of letting up. He sighed audibly, getting a glance from the driver in the rearview mirror. Mark sank back into the faded vinyl of the backseat, feeling slightly miffed at the way Roger had ushered him out the door, as if he was ashamed or something. It was Mark's first time doing anything like that—that is, having a one-night stand; let alone having a one-night stand with another man—but for some reason, he felt no regrets.
He tried to piece together the events of the previous night, but it was coming to him only in dribs and drabs: the band show at Mesh; splitting up from his friends; Roger's easy smile; the drunken kissing on the subway; feel of tongues, teeth, lips and hands on his body in the darkness of the bedroom…the fleeting pain followed by mounting pleasure. The alcohol had definitely gone to his head and he was willing to do anything at the time.
Had he liked it? He wasn't sure. But…if he had liked it, wouldn't that make him gay? He wasn't gay, he was sure—or was he? Memories of being bullied in high school suddenly came back to him, particularly a recurring incident in which Chad Hurley would pin him against the locker room wall, calling him a dickless fairy or a faggot. Up until this point, all of the girls he'd "dated" were set up with him courtesy of his mother through her volunteer work at the Scarsdale Jewish Community Center and the temple. They'd all been disasters, the most recent of which had been Nanette Himmelfarb.
Nanette, who'd dumped him a year ago, was a well-built girl with thick, black hair and eyes to match; not to mention a great ass that all the boys in Mark's Hebrew school class lusted after. She was smart; in high school she'd been a member of the National Honor Society and Student Council secretary. In college, she was on the student government and pledged Alpha Epsilon Phi. She was also the rabbi's daughter. The match had made Mama Cohen proud, and gave her high standing at the temple. Mrs. Himmelfarb made her head of the oneg committee, what an honor! Mark and Nanette became the pet couple of the congregation, a prize that their mothers loved to show off. They were "a good match, a fine match, a respectable match". And how convenient: Nanette, the rabbi's daughter, set up with a Cohen boy! "After all, you can't have a shul without a Cohen," joked the yentas.
But their relationship never went very far. By their third or fourth date, they learned that they had next to nothing in common. They didn't share the same taste in music or movies. Nanette was pretty and popular, charismatic and driven. Mark, on the other hand, was withdrawn, and preferred to stay by himself. About six or seven months into the relationship, they'd each completely checked out; but learned how to keep up appearances so well that Mrs. Cohen and Mrs. Himmelfarb had already started planning the wedding—that is, until Nanette came home for winter break after her first semester of sophomore year at Syracuse to announce that she'd fallen in love with an Israeli boy, and they were leaving school to go to live on a kibbutz in Haifa. The mothers nearly ripped their clothing and sat shiva in mourning at the loss of "such a fine match." Mark and Nanette, however, parted as friends.
At Penn Station, Mark refused to look anyone in the eye, not even the woman at the ticket office who politely wished him a good morning and took his crumpled ten-dollar bill. He purchased his return ticket and headed towards Amtrak, ready to return to his mundane scholastic life in Rhode Island that he wasn't sure he wanted anymore.
Mark stumbled into his dorm room at Brown around ten in the morning. The rain hadn't reached Providence yet, but the sky was overcast and the air was cool. His roommate was awake, stretched out on his bed and reading Being and Time, his shaved bald head gleaming even in the dimness of the room. Mark's appearance must have been disheveled, because Benny's first utterance upon Mark's entrance was, "Whoa—what did you get up to last night?"
"Huh?" Mark frowned.
"You owe me one, by the way. Your mom called here earlier looking for you."
"Fantastic." Exactly what I need right now. She probably wants to set me up with the new cantor's cousin's daughter or to help me get over Nanette or something. He unwound his scarf from his neck and set down the messenger bag containing the camera. He shrugged off his jacket.
"Don't worry. I covered for you, told her you went to the library. So…something go down after Alison and I left?" Benny smirked raised an eyebrow. He tossed aside the book.
"I stuck around the Village for awhile," Mark said, kicking off his sneakers. "Went to that place on Bleecker, saw the band you told me about."
"You saw the Well Hungarians at Mesh?"
"Yeah. Got some footage." Mark knocked on the bathroom door, and when silence assured him that neither his suitemates were in there, he opened up and proceeded to brush his teeth.
"Those guys are awesome, aren't they?"
"Mmm," Mark agreed around his toothbrush. He spat into the sink. "I didn't know you were into that kind of music."
"Why, because it's not rap or hip-hop?" Benny inquired defensively.
Mark nearly gagged on his toothpaste. "N-no!" he said defensively, peeking his head out from the bathroom. "I just…you don't…seem…like the t-type to…uhm…to like…stuff like that." He shoved the toothbrush back into his mouth before saying anything more.
"Right. Anyway, who was she?"
"Hmm?"
"The reason why it's two hours to noon and you're just now getting home. Who was she?"
Mark paused. He brushed his teeth for several seconds, trying to formulate an answer in his head. He must have been silent for too long, because Benny called out his name once more.
"Mark? You drown?"
"I…no," Mark replied. He spit once more and wiped his mouth with a washcloth. "I…sorry, what'd you say?"
"I just want to know about who you were with last night," Benny said nonchalantly. "What was her name?"
Mark casually strolled out of the bathroom. He took his time sitting on his bed, pulling off his socks. The memory of Roger's body pressed against his, the scruff of his stubble smoothing against his neck, his breathing hot and heavy in his ears, was still vivid in his mind, above everything else. The way he'd clung to Roger's shoulders, his nails digging in. "I don't remember."
Benny laughed loudly. "That's my boy!"
That's my boy, the words echoed in Mark's head as he shot Benny a watery smile. He couldn't help but wondering if he was anyone's boy now.