Chapter 14

After the argument the previous night with Will, Timmy thought he should better go right home after work. Hustling at Carrie Nation's bar would have to wait. Although his lungs were still full of gunk, the antibiotics had helped him to maintain a feeling of being half sick, rather than of being completely immobilized. His ears were only mildly achy and clogged. The hitchhiking went well for a change, and he arrived at home only semi-tired.

He heard music playing as he climbed the stairs to the apartment. Ah, it was the rather obscure Tom Rush on the stereo. Maybe Will was in a good mood.

Timmy unlocked the door, carefully relocked it behind himself, and put his backpack in his room. He quietly made his way along the short hallway to the living room. He found Will with guitar in hand, pretend finger picking along to the music as he listened intently. Timmy guessed he'd soon hear Rush's version of "Urge for Going" in Will's early morning practice.

"Hey, man," Timmy greeted Will.

Will looked up, nodded at Timmy, then reclosed his eyes and returned to his intense concentration. Timmy recognized Will wanted to be left alone, and went to the kitchen to warm a pot pie.

Every so often, Will lifted the needle aside on the stereo, repeat the particular riff on his guitar, and then listen to the album again. He would practice each phrasing until he could play it without error, then allow the record to progress to the next part of the tune. Eventually, he played the entire song alone without the record playing at all. He nailed it without mistake.

"Evenin'," Timmy said. "That sounded like it was coming along fine," he commented matter-of-factly, making conversation but trying to avoid saying anything that would scare Will away.

"Yeah," Will said in a short manner, dismissing his playing. "How are you tonight?"

"Not too bad," Timmy acknowledged. "I was hoping you and me could spend some time together tonight."

"Oh?" Will asked skeptically. "Why's that?"

"Well, you know," Timmy hedged. "Uh, we haven't gotten along too good yet, and maybe if we get to know each other better, it might help."

"It could," ventured Will. "Is that why you're home early?"

"Well, yeah. I thought it might be a good idea. You want to have a cup of cof... , er, uh, tea with me? Herb tea?" asked Timmy, catching himself as he went.

"Do you have any?" Will asked doubtfully.

"Er, no, but I'll go and get some at the grocery store," said Timmy.

"I thought you didn't have any money," stated Will suspiciously.

Timmy grimaced. "Yeah, but I managed to get a couple of bucks from gathering cans and bottles. I'll be right back." He flew down the stairs and scarfed some tea from across the street. Coming back, he was chagrined to realize he would have to use Will's kettle and mugs to make the tea, as he still had no household supplies himself.

"Uh, Will? Gee, I forgot, but could I use your stuff to make tea with? I have to wait until payday to get enough money to get my own things," Timmy begged, embarrassed.

"Actually, Timmy, I don't mind as long as you ask. It's ok, I can wait until you get paid if you promise to clean up after yourself," Will offered.

Suddenly, it dawned on Timmy what the problem had been. Will hadn't been possessive, he had just wanted the respect of common courtesy. He smacked himself on the head, and told Will, "Now I get it. I'm really sorry I didn't ask before."

Will smiled. "And I'm sorry for being so hard on you. I was pretty angry when I found the TV broken."

Timmy remembered he had promised to take it to the repair shop. "When do you want me to take it in to get fixed?" he asked Will. "What shop do you want me to take it to?"

"I'll call Vinny's tomorrow and see if he can take it. His place is in the alley behind the pizza house, just around the corner. You could probably carry the TV there, it's so little," Will said, thinking out the problem.

Timmy felt vastly relieved, since he didn't have a car. He realized Will was being pretty friendly. Maybe he should flirt with him a little to see how far he could go.

"Will, I hope you don't mind me asking, but I keep wondering. You're such a good looking guy, and I don't see anybody in your life," Timmy probed.

"Ah, Timmy, I've got Christ in my life, He makes me really happy," replied Will, with a silly grin on his face.

Timmy thought this was pretty dumb, but he asked Will to tell him what Christ meant to him.

Will just glowed. "He is my life, Timmy. Since I've accepted him as my Savior, He has made me very happy."

Timmy thought Will sounded like a broken record, and not at all genuine.

"How does He make you happy, Will?" he asked, trying to get past Will's prefabricated rhetoric.

"I hear the birds, now, and I know He made them. I feel the light of the sun. I call on Him to make me a better person," Will gushed. "I know if I please Him, I will be with Him when the end times come."

"So is being with God all about pleasing Him?" Timmy asked.

"Oh yes," enthused Will. "I know He loves me, the least I can do is be the most righteous person I can be. He helps me to do that." Timmy noticed how Will did not straightforwardly answer his questions.

"Oh, ok. Don't you just get lonely sometimes?" Timmy tried coming at Will sideways to evade the barriers.

Will was silent for a moment, and looked haunted. Then he brightened, and said, "I know when the time is right, God will give me a mate. He has other things for me to do, right now."

Timmy gently asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?"

"Um," responded Will, stymied, "Er, I'm 32."

"And how long have you been serving God?" demanded Timmy, trying to bring the point home.

"I accepted Jesus into my life twelve years ago!" boasted Will, proudly, and just not getting it at all.

"Did you ever ask Him for a partner?" Timmy laid out his next bit of logic.

Will's face fell. "Yeeessss," he admitted, and, "Yes," again when Will asked if Will had asked God for a lover lots of times.

Timmy snorted. "Must be God doesn't care whether you're happy." Timmy may not be overtly religious, but he knew Will was way off track to expect God to fill Will's wishes rather than His own.

Will didn't get mad. He just looked at Will, and said, "I try to have faith," but his face was sad.

Timmy put his hand on Will's arm, and smiled at him. "I understand," Timmy said, looking deeply into Will's blue-grey eyes. Longing filled Will's eyes, and he leaned slightly toward Timmy, then caught himself and tore his eyes away. At that moment, Timmy knew that he would eventually bed Will.

Timmy put his hand to Will's jaw and gently turned him back to face Timmy again. "I would like to sleep with you tonight," Timmy said quietly but sensually to Will.