Glen Bradford loomed at the bottom of the stairs. “Thomas!” He called loudly, “Come down here for a moment.” He lent a backward glance toward the two visitors who stood side by side in the living room. The middle aged man and woman seemed cordial enough, polite and reserved. The man wore a tailored navy blue suit with a black plastic name tag hanging over the breast pocket reading “Elder Philip Brown.” He was a tall man with dominant features, broad shoulders, thick limbs. His dark hair receding, thinning, an occasional gray patch eluding to his otherwise undecipherable age. He wore wire framed bifocals that shielded his sincere eyes.
At his side, he held a book tightly in his left hand. His wife next to him was visibly shorter. Her tag boasted her name proudly, “Sister Dora Brown.” Chaste in her floral print, ankle length Sunday dress on Saturday, she appeared as a modern day June Cleaver, pearls and all. Her hair was as white as snow and fluffed high on her perfectly round head. She wore a light shade of red lipstick to contrast her pale skin.
Together, Dora and Phillip Brown could have easily inspired a Norman Rockwell painting. Cute as a button. Pure as a bottle of spring water. Sweet as candy.
“Thomas!” Glen yelled again.
Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs. In a tank top and loose fitting jeans, his hair swept in a thousand different directions, he had obviously just woken up. He balanced himself against the railing and peered down upon his father. “Yeah. I’m here. You can stop yelling. I’m up.”
“I need you to come down, Son. There are some people here who want to speak with you.” Glen said in an inviting tone. So kind, in fact, that it raised Thomas’ suspicions immediately.
Thomas hesitated for a long second then began down the stairs, meeting his dad at the bottom. Dora and Phillip approached him, generous smiles plastered across there spirited faces.
Glen took Thomas arm and pushed the boy in front of him as if offering him up for assessment. “This is my son Thomas!” Glen introduced. “Thomas, this is Mr. and Mrs. Brown. They are missionaries from The Church of Holy Grace in New York.”
Out of casual respect, Thomas shook their hands and greeted them with a friendly “Hello.” His curiosity only grew. His Father never been to church as far as he knew. Much less a church all the way in New York. Something was very fishy about this.
Then, just as quick as he was to question their presence, he passed it off as innocent. This summer had been a strange one, after all. Perhaps his Father had been born again. The thought caused him to jerk with restraint. He wanted to laugh out loud. Crack up. He pursed his lips as not to allow a smile. He could just see it. Glen Bradford, sitting in the front pew of some church, a bible in his hands, singing some hymnal. “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.” It was unbearable. The muscles in his stomach had contracted, forcing an unusual noise through his nostrils. He hoped no one had heard it. If ever he had been entertained by a notion, this surpassed it by far. It was ludicrous.
Finally, Phillip spoke up, and Thomas was grateful for the distraction. “Your Father contacted us yesterday and informed us as to the unfortunate situation you’re in, Thomas.” He said this as he put his hand on Thomas’ back and ushered him toward the sofa.
Thomas sat down and Phillip planted himself next to him. “My unfortunate situation?” Thomas repeated, dumbfounded.
Dora sat across from them on the opposite sofa, setting her bible on the coffee table in between them. “We’re not here to preach to you Thomas. We’re here to help you. You shouldn’t feel as though we’re attacking you,” She stated consolingly, though her words gave him no comfort.
He gave them all a precarious glance and pushed a laugh, only not one of humor. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
Glen moved to the other side of his son and fell onto the cushion close beside him. He stared at him through sorrowful eyes, “Thomas, I have not been a good father to you. I know this. I let you down you when you needed me and for that... I am so, so sorry.” His voice began to crack as he took Thomas’ hand, “I also know that there are a lot of things you’re confused about. We’re going to help you.”
“Help me? Help me with what?” Thomas let his eyes wander the room. This had to be some kind of joke. He felt as if he had inadvertently slipped into the Twilight Zone or something.
Phillip Brown inched his way to the edge of the sofa, “Thomas, your Father has told us about your sexual preference. With you being young, we feel that with aid of therapy and the holy word, we can effectively-“
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Thomas intervened loudly as he yanked his hand from his Father’s grasp. He stood up smiling, still in disbelief. “You actually mean to tell me that you’re here to cure me from being gay?” He howled, clearly entertained by the gesture. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t wipe the mocking grin from his face. He wanted to be angry, but the blatant stupidity of these people who believed they could change him was undeniably humorous.
Phillip folded his hands and gave the others an look that clearly stated his discomfort. This was not the reaction that he had expected. From his previous experience in healing homosexuals, he always found them to be eager to change.
“No, Thomas,” Dora began apprehensively, wanting to avoid sounding like an enemy, “We’re not here to condemn you in any way. We just want to give you the chance to have a normal life.” Thomas scoffed at her, causing the woman to recoil back into her chair, “And what would that be, Dora? Do you lead a normal life?”
Dora stuttered nervously, “I- I-“ was all she could say.
Seeing his wife’s trouble, Phillip rose to meet Thomas face to face, “It’s common knowledge that homosexuals lead an unfulfilled lifestyle. It’s been proven time and time again. No one wants to face bigotry and discrimination and that’s what waits for you out there in the real world, Thomas. We can give you some hope. We have a wonderful facility in upstate New York where many have successfully altered their way of thinking.”
Thomas reeled around to meet his Father’s eyes. “You want to send me away?”
Glen approached him, doing his best to be empathetic, “It’s for your own good, Thomas. The reason you have turned out this way is because of the terrible things that I’ve done to you. It’s my fault that you’re feeling like this. I have made you this way because I was a bad father, and all I can do is trust that these people can undo what I have done.”
Only now did the anger outweigh the audacity. Thomas’ voice fell quiet and deep, a grave symptom of someone on his last leg of civility. “Don’t you dare take credit for who I am. I am far too humane to be the result of anything you’ve ever done to me,” he growled sordidly.
“Your Father has admitted to his faults, Thomas. He’s already taken the first step in healing. He wants to make a better life for you.” Phillip stated unconvincingly.
Thomas surveyed each of the people in the room, one by one. Phillip towered in front of him, maybe to block Thomas’ path in case he decided to run. Dora remained sunk into the chair just to his left. The sanctity that once dwelt in her expression had turned sour. She looked skittish as if she believed Thomas may hit her. His Father couldn’t contain his sadness. Glen’s eyes were red and wet. The corners of his thin mouth were turned downward into a frown. Thomas couldn’t find any reasoning. He despised their unreal intentions. He loathed their vulgar display of perverted righteousness.
Grinning, and pushed past Phillip, and then with blazing confidence, the willful boy rotated to meet them again, only now, he was not Thomas. From the holsters of his calfskin belt, he grabbed the ivory handles of the two pistols that rested there, one in each hand. Spinning them masterfully on his fingers with the naturalness of a savant, he brought them to a solid stop pointed directly at the three, domineering folks before him. Holding steady, ready on the triggers, he stared them down.
He saw Dora wearing in a long purple bodice, donned with violet pieces of ruffled lace. The bottom
was open in the front, exposing ankle high, thick heeled leather boots that lent themselves to the black fishnet stockings that reached only to her mid-thigh where portions of her garter belts could be seen. Her head was capped with a vintage hat that sprouted bright peacock feathers. In her hand she held a heavy slab of rock that appeared not unlike a gravestone, yet with closer observation, Thomas found it to be carved with the Ten Commandments.
Phillip stood at her side in a heavy, suede trench coat stained with the blood of all the boys he’s destroyed, though to him they were not simple stains, they were a way of keeping track of all the homosexuals who had suffered by his hands. Trophies of death. His face was dirty and unshaven. In his cheek he savored a soft clump of chewing tobacco, while a stream of brown spittle ran down his chin. An unusually large, solid gold cross dangling from the thin chain around his neck hung clear down to the middle of his stomach. He rested his palms on the bronze buckle of his tattered belt as he dragged the spur of his boot back and forth across the ground, digging it into the hardwood floor. A threatening gesture.
Thomas’ Father, Glen, wore a bandanna around the collar of his shirt which was cloaked by a ratted old cattle hide that draped over his torso. He held a rusted old shotgun over his shoulder and tapped the butt of it with his grimy fingertips menacingly.
“I have a news flash for you fellas. I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you. If you want me, you’ll have to take me outta here in a body bag, ‘cause you’ll have to kill me first.” Thomas sneered with a stiff upper lip.
Phillip took a daring step forward, “I done told ya boy,” the gruff man said in a voice that rumbled deep within his throat, “We ain’t here to have a showdown, boy. We’re on a rescue mission. It’s our job to make ya like the rest of us. We don’t wanna to hurt ya, we just wanna help ya improve the quality of your life, help ya understand that yer desires are unnatural and sinful, but can be defeated.”
Thomas rolled his eyes and tensed the left side of his face in disbelief, “Give me a break. Be honest with yourself. The only reason that you’re here is because you find me, and people like me, unacceptable. You sit here and tell me that you want to help me improve the quality of my life because all I’ll ever find is hate and discrimination. Now, this is my question, If you know this, then why do you choose to contribute to all that shit by trying to convince me that I’m not right in the head? That I’m confuuused,” he sang sarcastically, throwing their words back into their faces. “Is that how you help people? By telling them that they’re doomed? That doesn’t sound like help to me. That sounds more like manipulation to me. Call me crazy, I don’t know my bible as well as I probably should, but does in not somewhere say, ‘Judge not lest you be judged?’ I mean, excuse me for assuming, but doesn’t that mean that, as Missionaries of God, you’re the worst kind of hypocrite there is?”
Thomas held his guns outward, cocked his head and smirked, “It’s time to turn the tables, okay? What I am, who I am, is all in the cards. Not afraid to tell you folks that I didn’t choose to be gay, I was born like this. It’s a part of me. Now, since you’ve chosen to be so frank about my sex life, I’m sure you won’t mind me saying, Phillip, that when you take your little woman there, and throw yourself over her lap and beg her to spank your fat ass while you call her Big Momma, I don’t think God is exactly rooting you on. Now, of course, what you do in the bedroom is none of my business, in fact it makes me a little sick just to think of it. So, instead of taking an unwelcome interest in what I do behind closed doors, why don’t you go back to wherever it is you came from because unlike others, I can see right through you. So the next kid you decide to prey on, you better have enough common sense to ask yourself, Do you feel lucky, Punk?” Thomas began to put pressure on his triggers. He watched the faces of his three challengers fall in fear. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I just shot you down.”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Phillip grabbed Dora’s arms and dragged her toward the front door. She lagged behind like a rag doll, nearly falling over herself just to keep up. Thomas held his pointer finger up to his lips as if it were a gun, and blew on the tip to cool it off. He could hear them quietly arguing as they hurried away. Their muffled argument echoed through the foyer. “Did you tell him what we do?” Dora whispered in vain. “Don’t be stupid! I didn’t say anything.”
“Big Momma is not something you hear every day, Phil!”
“Lucky guess.”
“Did you tell him about the paddle?”
The door opened and then slammed hard. Now all was quiet. Glen crossed his arms and looked at the floor. He wondered, for a moment, how long it had been since he had mopped it. His reflection was not as crisp as he had particularly noticed when he bought the house twenty years prior. Time had dulled it. Time had dulled him. Maybe he had spent so much time doing the wrong things that, now, he had forgotten how to do anything else. It was some divine sentence that had been passed. The privilege of being proud was permanently denied to him. It was too late to suddenly change. Yet, something inside him stirred. It wasn’t anywhere physical. Not a twinge in his belly, or a flutter in his chest. No words could describe it. Although his attempt to salvage his relationship with his son backfired, he felt a certain peace of mind. Perhaps it was that Thomas was so proud. It sort of radiated from him now, a confidence altogether uncommon. Glen had once been so proud. Back when he was younger and had the reasons to be. He saw that courage, that dedication, in Thomas. When it came right down to it, they weren’t as different as either of them believed.
Glen sat down, “Okay. So I messed up again. I bet you’re used to that by now. It’s not like I’ve been very dependable to begin with.”
Thomas didn’t react. What could he say? His Dad was absolutely right. He wouldn’t, out of pity, comfort him.
Glen found the ability to look at his son, “I suppose you’re waiting for an apology.”
Thomas remained stationary, not permitting any gesture to give atonement to the man. “You don’t have to apologize to me. It would be a waste of breath. You have the rest of your life to be sorry.”
Glen sighed, “The rest of my life? I’ve been sorry, kid. It’s nothing new.”
“Then you should be used to it.”
Glen wasn’t surprised by the harshness in Thomas’ voice. He suffered a deep uprising of reality. This he knew. This he had known, and it hurt like hell. He had to say it aloud, though there was no real purpose because the answer had been apparent years ago. “You’re going to leave here soon... you’re never coming back, are you?”
“Would you?”
Glen wanted so much to be able to take this man who stood unwavering in his presence and turn back the hands of time so that things would be different, so that this very moment would never have come. He had but one thing to say in response, and it wasn’t an excuse, or in his own defense, it came from the purist of places... his heart. “No. No Thomas. I wouldn’t.” He didn’t move, but instead sat unusually still, focused hard on him, “I suppose the only thing left for me to do is say Good-bye. I have hurt you, I have hit you, I have cursed and disappointed you, and I have never regretted anything more in my entire life. You should know that those things I did weren’t because of you. They had nothing to do with you. I did them because I was angry at myself and I saw no hope. I was...” he paused, “I am a drunk. I am alone. I’m getting older every day. I didn’t do half of the things I wanted to do with my life. I took it all out on you... Because I knew you would always be there. Sounds dumb, I know. I never stopped to think of the consequences. Now that it’s all said and done, I guess the only true fatherly thing to do is let you go...” Glen trembled, his fingers shook, his breathing was shallow and short, with every fiber of his being, he fought to refrain from weeping aloud. He took a half second to collect himself and then sighed heavily as he stood. He had breathed it all away now. There was nothing more to say, nothing more he could do. The mask he forced upon himself was deliberately unintell
igible, at best, Thomas though, indifferent.
He walked up to his son, looking beyond where he stood, not at him. Thomas waited for him to speak but it was a few moments before he could manage. “I am your Father... I am proud.” And then he walked out of the house.
“I don’t really remember anything that happened last night,” Corey explained as he emptied the contents of his dresser drawer onto the surface. “It’s all a big blur. Kind of like after you wake up from a dream. You know something happened, you just don’t know what.”
Angie sat perched on the edge of the bed with her shoulders pushed up into her neck, “I wish I could help but by the time I got outside you two had already gotten into the ambulance.”
Corey began sorting through some old letters, ones from his friends back home. He hadn’t heard from them in a long time. They had most likely forgotten about him by now. As he processed Angie’s words, he had somewhat of a delayed reaction. It took a second, but upon internal replay, the reference jumped out at him suddenly. “What do you mean, ‘You two?’ He inquired curiously, turning to her as if just noticing she was there, now focused on her and her alone. Angie had to reiterate her last sentence in her mind, scanning it for something that may have been a dead give-away. She found nothing that would divulge any of her secrets or indict her of any crime. She brushed off her insecurity and answered him. “I mean you guys. You and Chris. Why?”
“Chris was there?” Corey asked softly.
Angie laid back on the bed and stretched her arms over her head. The subject of that ‘Chris’ had exhausted itself. She wanted to pretend the name struck no familiar chord. She was positive that wherever ‘Chris’ was, he would be grateful for the hype. She replied for Corey’s benefit only, “Yeah. He was there before anyone else, I guess. He went to the hospital with you.”
Corey put his hand over his mouth, “Oh my God. And here all this time I’ve been blowing him off. Why hasn’t he called me?!” Corey cringed in guilt. To think that Chris would have stuck by him last night, even after Corey had done everything but written him off completely. “I wish I could talk to him.”
“Well walk across the street,” Angie mumbled to herself.
“What?” Corey interrogated as he spun to face her again.
Angie knew he didn’t hear her, “I was just yawning,” She lied. “Can’t you call him?”
“No, I can’t just call him. You know he’s not out to his parents yet.”
“Right,” Angie spat in a dismissive tone, “I’m sure if you call to say thanks, they’ll all know he’s bisexual.”
Corey stuck out his bottom lip, “Bisexual? How would you know if he’s bisexual or not? You don’t even know him.” Oops! Angie shot straight up, her hair flying in her face. She pushed it back anxiously, “Or Gay! Or whatever,” she declared louder than she should have.
Corey moved to her said and sat down beside her. He didn’t let her out of his eyesight, “Why would you say Bisexual? Just because someone is not out of the closet doesn’t make them Bisexual. Why would you say that?”
Angie stammered for a convincing response, “I- I- I just thought that maybe since, you know, since he didn’t want to tell anybody, that it might be he’s not sure what he is.” She secretly prayed that he would buy it.
Corey leaned back inquisitively, “What would bring you to that conclusion? Being closeted doesn’t insinuate that he likes girls too. That’s what you’re saying, right?” He inspected her changing expressions, as if she were working hard to contort herself.
“Nooooo,” Angie cried in a long ascending tone, “I just thought that it would be assuming for me to call him gay when he hasn’t made any attempt to call himself that.” Sounded good.
“But you’ll call him bisexual,” Corey assessed pointedly.
Angie’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop right into her lap. Her pupils darted to the side and then back to Corey, “I called him that becauzzzzzzzz,” If she elongated her last word it would give her more time to conjure up something, only now she was sounding like a bee. Thankfully, Corey bounded to his feet, “Oh! It doesn’t matter. I just need to see him. I’m leaving day after tomorrow and I can’t go without seeing him at least once.” He walked to the window and stared across the front yard at the house across the street. He noticed a bright glare coming from the window directly opposite his. The sun appeared to be reflecting off of something. He tried to adjust his vision by squinting but he could not make it out.
Angie bounced from the bed, “It’s past three o’clock. I have to hurry and get home. My Mom will be home from her poker game in a half hour. I promised her that I’d suck the gas out of the lawn mower. The car is low on fuel again and my dad hasn’t gotten his check yet, so... BYE!” And like she had jet propulsion on her shoes, she sped out of the bedroom. Corey glanced around the empty bedroom befuddled. “Bye.”
From behind the telescope, Gabe watched Angie come out of the Evans’ house, jump on her ten speed bike and peddle off down Harrington. He positioned the scope back to its usual position; Directly into Corey’s bedroom window. It had become unfortunately familiar, that sinking feeling that devoured him every time he saw Corey and Angie together, or saw Rachel and Corey together. He couldn’t suppress the fear of being caught. It was a constant burden that weighed heavier each time he had to speak to any one of them. He often ran the possibilities through his head. It would be so easy for Corey and Rachel to compare notes, and though he made sure to cover his tracks, he wondered if he had missed one somewhere along the way. The uncertainty alone was enough to drive an otherwise sane man, insane.
As he watched Corey through the lens, he felt as if he were standing in his room with him. Seeing his so close made him more accessible, like he could touch him, and Corey would feel him. He could speak, and Corey would hear him. And while the prospect of having Corey within reach soothed him, he knew that it was just the workings of his powerful refracting eyepiece, and it lessened the effect. He may as well be a million miles away. It was all over. Almost. After tomorrow it would all be done and over with. He could resume some degree of normalcy. No more hiding, no more lying. He could just vanish, and the happenings of this summer will become a distant memory. He anticipated the end. He had went into this situation expecting this great change, and yet as it came to a close, he found that while many changes did occur, they were not for the better. Not for the betterment of himself, not of his relationships. A part of him missed the monotony of life before Corey. He yearned for those Sunday afternoon walks with Rachel. The freedom he had once so enjoyed. As he thought back, that was ultimately what he had been trying to do. Keep all of that under glass as not to compromise it. Now it was all gone and he was fighting to have it back. The moment he picked up the telephone to call the boy across the street, his life changed forever.
Another part of him recognized the fact that he was headed to this place anyway. Rachel would have come into her own one day. She would have realized that the Earth would not have stopped turning without him. The sun would still shine. And she would venture out on her own. But, had he not set the wheels in motion, maybe he would still have her... even if just for a while. Then again, without Corey, he would have never been able to comprehend the vastness of the awaiting world, and all its offerings. His Father’s church would never have been saved. And this hope... this amazing feeling of invincibility, this ignition of the fires of life, Gabe would not wish that away for anything. Corey had become his muse. He strengthened him in a way that Gabe never imagined. Corey had rescued him from the shackles of rhetoric. Always taking things at face value, accepting things without question. Doling his way through an artificial existence, never looking beneath the simplicity of the surface, never wanting to. Without Corey, things would have most definitely been less complicated, but isn’t that where the interesting stuff happens? In the heart of complication. We’re confronted with issues and we resolve them, therefore learning and growing. It’s like a
collection of references on the resume of life. One who suffers no hardships ever has the chance to question the purpose, or understand the reason. Maybe that’s what this is all about, this everyday chaos we call being human. It’s not about life and death, but about the events in between that give life and death it’s meaning. And the meaning, it has a very different definition for each individual. We breathe life into everything we participate in, situations, executed decisions, circumstances, relationships. It’s how we handle ourselves in these events that allows us to grow. We basically write the handbook for our own survival as we go along. We process information, act accordingly, and taste the fruits of consequence. Some are good, some rotten. But afterwards, we’re less apt to pick the rotten again. It’s a matter of taking your life into your own hands, and using your God given capabilities to improve the quality of it. It’s an extended education. For the lot of us, it takes a while to master. Bottom line, it’s all in the choices we make. We choose to be healthy, but if we poison ourselves, we become ill. We choose to love, but if we love one who chooses not to love in return, does the heart not ache? We choose success, but if we do not work, where will it come from? We choose happiness. We choose a religion. We choose a way of life. In a mansion in Beverly Hills, or a grass hut in Cambodia? We choose simple things. Cappuccino or coffee? Black socks, or brown? The Wall Street Journal or USA Today? It’s all up to us. We’re our own leader. No one else can be held accountable if we get lost.
So it all made sense, and he was stunned by the profound clarity in which he saw it. He chose this path. Now he must get out of it and yet maintain his dignity, and, at the very least, the friendships of those involved. He could never imagine Rachel or Corey being absent from his life. They were good people with honest intentions. Gabe cast off his selfish desires and opted for a more realistic ideal. He knew that he could never recapture the level of trust that Corey and Rachel had given him in the past. But if he had the opportunity to explain his distorted thinking pattern, they would forgive him for his trespasses. It was a bit far-fetched, but it was his only hope. Gabe didn’t like the terms. He knew, despite his attempts to reassure himself, they would both end up despising him. He resorted to his previous decision. Tomorrow was his last day in Sadie. It will all be over. A faded memory.
However, it did seem appropriate to call Corey one last time. After last night, he had to hear his voice, just to make sure he was, somehow, still himself. The notion that such a horrific event may have changed him somehow made him nervous, it was not unheard of, when confronted by tragedy, to become an altogether different creature. He had heard the Geese speak of Josephine Cotter many times, the ex-school teacher, whose husband beat her head into a glass windshield resulting in her becoming a virtual hermit. Now she allegedly roams the sidewalks of the small apartment complex outside town wearing snow boots in the summer and shots in the winter, never uttering a word. People change. Things change people. Some things can never be undone.
The effort seemed harmless enough, but Gabe, while a boy of esteemed intellect, had a heart that was undisciplined. Thus, he had not yet trained his heart to be subservient to his brain. He picked up the phone, a bolt of sheer excitement running through him, and he dialed.
Corey answered after the first ring. “Hello?”
That soft spoken voice was like a drug, wiping his brain of all his logic. He reverted back to square one. “Hi,” he greeted quietly, grateful to hear him again.
Corey broke a pleased grin and leaned against the wall. He was now thoroughly distracted. Though his time in Sadie was waning, packing his clothes suddenly took a backseat to a more qualified competitor. This call. “Your ears must have been ringing. I was hoping you would call.” “You were?”
“Yeah. I know you were there last night. Angie told me that you went to the hospital with me. I didn’t even know you were there.”
Gabe rested one hand the sill still staring at Corey’s window, only now, without the help of the telescope. “I was worried about you. You okay?”
Flattered by the inquiry, Corey’s grin transformed into a coy smile, “I’m fine. I’m on some really great pain killers so... you know, I feel better than usual,” he laughed in jest and then silenced before continuing, “I want to see you tonight. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“You don’t want to see me,” Gabe toyed flirtatiously.
“Yes I do! I miss you.” Corey replied just as teasingly.
“If you miss you me so much how come you quit taking my calls? Every time I tried to get a hold of you, your dad said you were out.” Gabe stated trying to sound offended.
Corey exhaled, “A lot has been happening. I had a great deal of thinking to do.”
“About what?”
“About me and you. The last time I actually saw you, you were standing under my window asking for a second chance. Then, you sort of just disappeared.”
“We’ve talked since then! I was calling you every day, and then all of a sudden you were too busy to give me the time of day. It’s like you were second guessing our relationship. You left me in the dark.” Gabe argued.
“Well even if I’d wanted to call you, or talk to you, how could I? I don’t have your telephone number; I have no idea where you live. What am I supposed to do, walk the streets until I find you? I never told you to stop calling, Chris. You just lost interest.” Corey said, now more serious than he realized.
“I never lost interest. You’re not the only one dealing with issues you know.”
“Never said I was,” Corey snapped. The momentary silence that followed offered no satisfaction. Corey knew that he had drifted away from Chris. The time that had passed since their last conversation allowed no renewal of the longing that Corey once so earnestly spoke of. He felt small, as if he were guilty for not feeling the way he used to. Almost felt arrogant. Certainly there was no one else offering up their heart the way Chris had. And it’s not that Corey didn’t think it was good enough, it was just clear that the spark, the passion, the anticipation had dissolved. Corey fought this. He wanted to be smitten with him again. He wanted to experience that unfounded curiosity about this voice on the other end of his line.
Gabe was the first to speak up, “Have you been writing?”
“No. I should be, but there will be plenty of time for that later on. I only have a few more pages to go anyhow. My publisher will be happy to hear that. I could use the money. Most of my advance was spent on tuition and registration. My dad wanted to pay for it but I insisted on carrying myself. I can’t get used to being an indigent. It’s not my style.” Corey sat down at his desk, his hand supporting his head. He wanted Chris to say something that would stir those stale embers, so he took it upon himself to provoke such a declaration. “Tell me what happened last night, Chris?” His voice trailed off to a whisper.
Gabe stiffened. He refused to tell him that Thomas had been there. He thought before replying, careful not to fumble his words, “I saw you laying there in the road... and I walked to your side as they put you on a stretcher. I held your hand, and I prayed that you would be okay.”
“How did I get to the road?”
“I- I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast.”
With his disappointment obvious, Corey didn’t pry for any further details, “I don’t remember anything either. All I know is that I was grabbed from behind and pulled into the shadows behind the school. I guess it’s a good thing. It’s the first time I’m actually happy with censorship,” he laughed to break the temptation of pursuing the grim subject. If he gave into it, he would go mad. His brain had chosen to block the majority of it for a reason, perhaps because it would be too much. “I want to thank you for being with me last night. It means a lot to me.”
“It meant a lot to me to be there, Corey. I love you.”
Those words, once so wanted, needed, now made him cringe because he couldn’t reciprocate the way he believed he should. He loved Chris for loving him. He love
d him for being with him in his time of despair, but he did not love him as a lover. To say it that way and allow it to be interpreted as such would be misleading and dishonest. “I love you for saying that.”
“But do you love me?” Gabe pressed, wanting to hear it without the sly disclaimer.
Oh no. Why did he have to put it so plainly? Corey wanted to say yes. He wanted to gratify Chris with the expected answer. But, he wouldn’t do that. He liked Chris. He cared about him. But he didn’t love him. He had never loved him. It was an infatuation, a whimsical indulgence in something he himself wanted so badly. This was supposed to be his boyfriend. How could he deny his own boyfriend this sentiment? Hadn’t he thrown away all of that fairy tale crap when Chris begged him for forgiveness. Maybe he should just say it. Just because he didn’t share the same feelings for Chris now didn’t mean he never would. “I love you, Chris.”
Hearing that somehow nourished Gabe, and he settled into a more secure mode. “I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll spend our last day in Sadie together,” Gabe suggested happily.
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” And with the pit in his stomach ever growing, Corey hung up the telephone, just as Timothy peeked his head around the corner of his open bedroom door.
“I’m leaving. You want to walk me to the car?”
Corey jumped having been startled, “Sure,” Corey chirped, quick to dispose of his drowning thoughts. He jumped from his seat and grabbed his sweater off the rail of his bed.
Timothy watched him closely, “Who was on the phone?”
“Chris,” Corey replied without any indication of the conundrum he had become embroiled in. “Oh,” Timothy joked, “Loverboy.”
Corey shuttled him a sarcastic sneer as he straightened his collar.
“I assumed that was over with. You haven’t mentioned his name in quite a while... or are you just trying to subside my constant nagging to meet him?” Timothy queried half suspiciously.
Corey stepped up to him as he pulled his hair from the back of his sweater and it fell between his shoulder blades, “Don’t worry about it, Dad. In forty eight hours we’ll be on opposite sides of the country, not much can happen.” He moved past him down the hallway.
Timothy followed, his overnight bag in his hand, “Can I offer my opinion without it being perceived as meddlesome?” He asked as the trampled down the stairs.
“You know what they say about opinions Dad?” Corey said as he raised his eyebrows and opened the front door for his father.
Without missing a beat, Timothy took advantage of the fact that Corey hadn’t outright said no. “I like your friend, Tom. He seems like he’s got potential.”
Corey was rattled by irony. He grabbed for a retaliation but found only air. “How do you know Thomas?” He questioned his attention suddenly aroused.
Timothy grinned proudly, “I have my ways,” he taunted as he continued out onto the porch. “I’m not completely out of touch with things.”
Corey followed him down onto the walkway, “Well, what did he say to you?”
Timothy didn’t stop to respond, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and spun to face him, walking backwards toward the garage, “I know that he likes you an awful lot.”
“Nuh-uh!” Corey denied, unable to hide his excitement.
“Yuh-huh!” Timothy confirmed playfully. He turned back and opened the garage door by remote control and took his keys from his pocket to open the trunk. “You should really give him a call. Invite him over for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll order a pizza or something.”
“Since when did you two become bosom buddies?” He was inebriated by the idea of Thomas gaining his father’s acceptance.
After slamming the trunk, Timothy opened the driver’s side door and stepped inside, inserting his key into the ignition. He was entertained by Corey’s frustration.
Corey stood, blocking the door. He wasn’t about to let his Father go anywhere without some explanation, “I’m waiting,” Corey demanded, the smile on his pale face visible from outer space, “When did this all happen? I know you dad, it takes a lot for you to embrace someone, especially when you know it’s somebody I like.”
Timothy looked somberly into his Corey’s eyes, “It does not. I’m not as fastidious as you think I am, Corey.”
“Yes, you are,” Corey assured.
With his feet firmly grounded on the cement of the garage floor, Timothy hesitated, “Okay, so I am,” he agreed.
“So tell me,” Corey persisted, “Since when?”
“Since he saved your life,” he said, his voice losing its solid tone, exchanged for a more hushed expression. Corey studied his Father’s face acutely, as if to detect some trace of comical relief. He found none. Their discussion had unexpectedly raised more questions than it answered.
“Thomas was there?”
“He came and got me. Told me what had happened. He rode with us to the hospital and waited there for the police. He knew who did it, he told them, and they were all arrested. If Thomas hadn’t stopped them-“
“-Stopped them?”
“He did what I couldn’t.”
Corey’s chest throbbed hard as he listened.
“I better hurry. I want to get there before dark. I hear we’re in for some rain tonight, and I hate driving in the city. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Timothy asked with a kind and gentle taking of his Son’s hand.
Corey’s nodded and stepped back.
“I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. Keep the door locked,” he directed as he shut the door and started the car.
Corey watched him pull out of the garage, down the driveway, and out into the street. He honked his horn, and then vanished from view.
And then he ran. He ran like hot coals rested beneath his feet. He charged up the onto the porch and barged through the front door. He grabbed the phone from it cradle and dialed Thomas’ number. It rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. “Shit!” Corey yelled as he slammed down the receiver. His mind was flooded with a thousand overlapping thoughts. Thomas. Thomas. He had to talk to him. He had to know what happened.
Discouraged, he curled up in the corner of the sofa, his face resting against the velvety material. He put his arms over his face, shutting out the penetrating light. In a matter of a few minutes, the troubles rolling in his mind slowed. The questions gone unanswered dimmed and the confusion gave way to much needed sleep. Thank God for pain killers. It did little more than soothe the physical aches, for the worst hurting was deep in a place where nothing could alleviate it but a sense of control, and you cannot control what you do not understand.
Corey understood nothing anymore. Not Chris. Not Thomas. Not Angie’s reluctance to be close to him. Not Rachel’s sudden distance. Not his Father’s interest in this woman who was nothing like his mother. He didn’t even understand himself. Where had those days gone when he knew... He KNEW. In the blink of an eye. In the blink of an eye. When did it all change? What should he do now? There had to be something. There had to be a way to make it right. Could he go back to the beginning and start all over again. Could he erase the past five months? Did he want to? No. No. There was only one place to go from here. One place left. Ahead. He dreaded this eminent day, and yet he awaited it with nearly grotesque anticipation. Now it was here. Afraid? yes, more than afraid. Terrified. But it had been giving brief clues to its coming. Now it was here. This death of innocence. It was the beginning of the beginning. The dawn of a new age. Time would move faster now. Things would come aggressively, and in turn, affect him less and less. He drifted into this numbing slumber a child. He would awake an adult. It was over.
sixteen
The Ballad of A Broken Heart