Wood: A True Lover's Story

Trent ran his hand through Wood’s hair again, anything to get a reaction. “I know it seems easier where you are, but it’s not.” Trent sighed. “You asked me if I knew what it was like to feel hated. I believe loathed was the word you used.” He paused, picturing his mother’s scowling face in his mind. He softly stroked Wood’s hair, refusing to let those memories snatch him away anymore. But the images were still just as clear as when he was a kid. “My mom couldn’t stand me. Still can’t. I was hot-tempered and a real troublemaker when I was young. My mom was gorgeous. She wanted to be a star, like an actress or singer. Had some real chops too. But she’d date these traveling musicians or fast-talking agents that’d come in and out of town to do shows on the oceanfront, and she’d chase behind them trying to get discovered, trying to score her big break.

“I was always in the way of her auditions or her purchasing the perfect outfit. I was nothing but a nuisance, annoying her for dinner after she’d worked a late-night shift at whatever random cocktail lounge. But the worst was when I chased off her boyfriends for being a foul-mouth, little pest. But I had to be mean, y’know. I had to get tough fast, because otherwise those dicks would’ve kept trying me. They’d act like stepfather of year when she was around, but when she left they’d knock me around. Eventually, I started to hit back. And I didn’t use my fists either. They were too small. I’d pick up a skillet, a shoe, whatever was close by.”

Trent went silent when he thought he’d heard Wood make a sound. But he’d been wrong. As he stared down at Wood’s drowsy lids, he could barely see the honey-brown swirls in Wood’s irises through his dilated pupils. “I’m gonna stay right here, all right? All day if you want. I called my boss and she said she got me for as long as I need.” Trent propped himself on his elbow, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hardwood floor. He wished he could get Wood in the bed, but he knew he’d already pushed his back too far as it was. The room was hot enough to cook popcorn, so he turned the heater down some and unwrapped one of Wood’s blankets from around him to check if he’d warmed enough. “Well, I can’t check your core temperature unless I had a rectal thermometer… and yeah, that’s not happening.” Trent smirked, but his smile quickly fell away when Wood continued to stare through him. “I think you’re warm enough.”

Trent talked to Wood about any and everything so he’d know he hadn’t left his side. He talked about the time he’d spent in prison and the way he’d behaved so all the other inmates thought he was psycho and no one would fuck with him. And about how lonely and despondent he became after Bishop was transferred. He wanted Wood to know that Trent understood him more than he thought. “The motherfuckin’ justice system. They lock us up in cages like animals for years and then release us back into society, armed with nothing but defensiveness and hostility, and then expect us to act like model citizens. What the fuck, y’know?”

He told Wood how much he hated the winter because not only did he love the beach, but he missed landscaping in the summer with Bishop and his crew. He craved the long sunny days of digging in the earth, inhaling freshly mowed grass, and cutting up with the fellas at lunch. “But the construction gig pays well and keeps me from having to dig into my savings during the off-season. I’m no electrician or anything, but I was promoted to equipment operator this year, so… I been pretty happy about that. The hotel we’re building downtown is fancy as shit too. It’s twenty-one stories, and it takes up half the block on Main Street.” He even told Wood about the potential job offer he had to stay on full-time in a salaried position.

Trent had to eventually stop talking and eat. It didn’t take him long to finish his two ham sandwiches, then drink some more water. He attempted to get Wood to sip some again but failed. Periodically, Wood’s eyes would slowly drift closed but not for long. After Trent was done rambling about prison, work, and his shitty family life, he started to talk about some of the crazy things he and Bishop did after they first met in juvie.

Trent had repositioned Wood onto his other side and made sure the covers were tucked around him tightly. He ran the pad of his thumb across Wood’s forehead and fingered a few strands of hair that’d fallen across his temple. “I wasn’t with some woman last night. Summer is my boss, and also my best friend. Like a big sis. I’ve never done anything with her, ever. And I was over there so late because… cuz I was being silly. And I’m so sorry, Wood. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call.”