The Music of What Happens(20)

“Dios mío,” she says, and I have to agree. Dios mío.

It turns out we aren’t completely scofflaws; we have thirty days from when we start working in the food service industry to get a card. Jordan is in violation, though, because someone on the truck needs to be able to show they know this information, and he hasn’t known it. Well, now we do. And we both pass the online test, print out cards, and suddenly we are permitted.

“So let me ask you,” I say. “What would you want to buy on a food truck if you were out today?”

Jordan reclines on my couch. “Cold stuff.”

I nod. “But like what?”

“Could we do like a frozen lemonade?”

“Hmm,” I say. “But is there lots of money in that?” I pull up YouTube on my laptop and we start watching videos. I search food trucks, and we watch whatever clips we find, and soon we are down the YouTube rabbit hole. I show him the video the Amigos love of the dog chasing the bear, and he shows me this video about all the things we don’t say when we text. It’s funny because it’s true, and also it’s the kind of humor that makes you think. Before Jordan, I didn’t know I liked that kind of humor, but I guess I do. Then he shows me this Randy Rainbow guy. It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen and it’s kinda hilarious in a very non-Amigos way.

I guess the truth is I assumed Jordan was gay, but since he never seemed to notice my existence, he was off my radar. I figured he probably had some adorable, lanky boyfriend somewhere and would have no time for an unrefined guy who plays Madden with his buds on Friday nights. And then, when we started to get to know each other last week, we had a task, and I was focused on the whole terrible boss angle. But now, for the first time, we’re kinda getting along, and it’s okay. I rack my brain for some sort of video I can show him that will nonchalantly show him that I’m gay too, because I don’t know if he knows. Or cares.

I settle on this clip of rugby players in Australia, where guys keep getting pantsed and don’t stop running down the field.

“Whoa,” he says.

“I know, right?”

“Do you play sports?”

“Baseball,” I say.

“Does a lot of naked stuff happen on the baseball field?”

I laugh. “Baseball diamond,” I say.

“That sounds kinda gay.”

“I guess.”

“So are you?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Okay. Didn’t know that.”

I have to look away, because something about the cutest of skinny white boys acknowledging my gayness for the first time is … a lot.

I stare at the floor, swallow, and say, “Well, now you do.”

And we sit there and kinda soak that in. That we are two gay dudes who before this didn’t know that about each other or like each other much, and suddenly Jordan isn’t totally the worst in my book, even if he’s nothing like me and my buddies. And I wonder if I’m okay to him.

I hope so.





Dorcas’s tongue has range and accuracy.

She’s the kind of dog who makes Q-tips totally unnecessary. If I just lie there in my waterbed and let her put her head on my chest, once in a while she’ll lift up her face, zone in on her target, and zap my ear with her sandpaper tongue. I’d say she’s gotten a good two inches up into my ear canal, which I’m sure is totally sanitary given the fact that her favorite hobby is sniffing other dog’s buttholes, but oh well.

We are luxuriating and undulating in my (water)bed on a Friday afternoon. We’re here because Max and I took another day off from the truck and made an awesome, amazing, epic plan, starting tomorrow, to achieve food truck world domination. I am not 100 percent sure it will work — not even 30 percent, really — but we definitely have a better shot than we did a couple days ago, when we were plan-free.

Dorcas laps my nose with her seemingly endless tongue. It’s amazing that she can rest her chin on my stomach and still reach my face.

I’m thinking about Max. Who is, apparently, gay. This is new information. I had him stereotyped as a basic dude bro. He is a dude bro, I think, but not a basic one. Nope. He showed me a very nonbasic dude bro video of football players losing their shorts, and I was like, Oh. Okay. Wow.

The tragic thing about this is that it was easier when I had nothing in common with him. Now that we did a truck exorcism together and I figured out he’s actually kinda cool, and now that I know he’s also gay, I have to contend with the mean practical joke of the universe. Which is to say: Now I have if not a gay friend at least a gay acquaintance. There are LGBTQ kids at school, but I am not exactly the most social person. So now I have a gay … something, and he is so far out of my league that we may as well live on different planets.

Yep. I’m pretty sure that’s worse. I focus on the Andy Gibb poster on my wall and ask: Andy, is this worse?

Yes, he says. Clearly worse, darling.

Dorcas turns her snout until she is facing me head-on, and she gets a little too up into my nostrils. I push her snout away, prop my head up on a satin pillow, and text Pam and Kayla.

Me: Whatcha up to

Kayla: Pretty Little Liars

Me: There are other shows out there. U should try watching one sometime

Pam: Nope

Me: Are u together?