Angie sat on her bedroom floor. Photographs and letters were scattered about her. She held a roll of tape in her hands and ripped off a small piece. She picked up a picture of Rachel, Corey and herself, all smiling with their arms around each other on their graduation day. She placed it onto the page and taped the corners carefully. Next to it she wrote; “My best friends.” This was to be her chronicle. Her way of looking back fifty years from now and knowing what a treasure her life was. Filled with moments that would bring smiles to her face and those she told the stories to. This was hers and hers alone. Moments filled with laughter and heartache, confusion and epiphanies. “What a story,” she thought. What a story it would be, yet unfinished. This would be a time worth remembering always. Her love for Corey, her cherished friendship with Rachel, her new found worth. So many turning points. Angie listened as a knock came downstairs. She stopped coldly and waited. Maybe it was Corey.
Her mother screeched up the stairwell, “ANGIE, YOU HAVE COMMMPANY!” She hated when her mom wailed like that. As though she were summoning her from a million miles away instead of from one floor up, loud and flat. She jumped to her feet and raced down the steps, she stopped on the last one, staring into the drawing room. All words escaped her. She had been thrown off by him... the way he sat there in her living room, talking to her mother, half smiling. Gabe Cavanaugh.
Her Mother sat across from him smirking proudly, “Look honey! A boy! And he’s here to see YOU!” She exclaimed, ecstatic that Angie actually had a real boy coming to see her. Why was that such a shocker? Many boys had come to see her... a few at least. Corey! But he was gay. There had to have been at least one come before.
Her Mother looked fanatically at Gabe. Dottie Feldon was a large woman with bleach blonde hair and brown roots that showed her true color. She was in her puppy dog slippers, the ones she always wore around the house. Her long, black polyester skirt hung over her chubby ankles. Her white shirt had evidence of the tomato soup they’d eaten for dinner.
“Can I get you something to eat? We have appetizers and plenty of leftovers in the kitchen. How about a drink, we have Lemon Aid, Apple Cider, Grape Juice, Soda Pop, Iced Tea?” Dottie offered excitedly.
Gabe shook his head modestly, “No thank you, Mrs. Feldon, I’m fine.”
“Well, how about a little candy. We have mints, chocolate bars, granola bites-“
Gabe cut her off, “No, really, I’m not hungry.”
Dottie noticed her daughter’s harsh expression. She rushed over to Angie who stood frozen in the entrance way and whispered, “Get over there and talk to this boy! You just stand there like a yard ornament; you’ll scare him off, go talk to him!” She demanded.
“I don’t want to talk to him, make him leave.”
Dottie held her chest and gasped as she flung her finger in Gabe’s direction. “You get over there now. He’s a real boy Angie, he’s come to court you, now hi-tail it over there!”
“He hasn’t come to court me, Mother!” Angie quietly explained.
“Maybe not yet, but give it a little time. Just go in there and turn on the charm, sway your hips a little. Men like a little shake! She licked her finger and wiped a smudge of ink from Angie’s cheek and then her by the hand and forcibly pulled her up to Gabe, who stood upon seeing her.
“Sometimes my Daughter is a little shy. It’s not often a boy comes over.”
Angie slouched embarrassed.
Gabe smiled at her, as if she would welcome a visit from this him. “I was hoping I could talk to you... if you’re not busy,” he said.
“I’m busy.”
Dottie immediately spoke up on Angie’s behalf, “Oh, she’s never to busy for company. She likes to talk, too. Used to be we could never shut her up! Just yap, yap, yap all day long.”
“Mother!” Angie scorned.
Gabe was obviously amused, “You have a little thing right on your face, just above your upper lip,” Gabe noted, pointing out another ink blotch.
Dottie jumped, grabbing her daughter’s face, “It comes off easy, you could bleach it or wax it. Rip the sucker right out, no one will ever notice it’s there.”
Angie pulled back in terror.
“No, I think it’s a pen mark.”
Angie wiped her face, glaring at her mother sternly.
“Oh, that,” Dottie sighed relieved.
“Mom, please....” Angie begged.
Dottie slouched distressed. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to help her baby land this man. After all, she was eighteen now. Time to throw herself into the dating pool. Find a nice guy to take good care of her. Lord knows the poor girl needed all the help she could get. She did have a tendency to be rather introverted. She would toss away a perfect opportunity for a real boyfriend. Dottie had to stop her. It was her parental duty. “Oh, Angie, don’t be so stuck up. Lots of girls have mustaches. Some just grow in darker than others.” She looked at Gabe informatively, “You know my grandma had a big black mole on her chin... you should’ve seen the hairs sprouting out of that thing. Thick as wire, so long that when you looked at them, you’d swear they were smiling right back at ya!”
Angie grabbed her mother and led her anxiously away from Gabe into the kitchen. She turned to her impatiently, “Mom, why are you doing this to me?”
Dottie shook her finger at Angie, “You know darn good and well that this is a chance to have a boyfriend. I won’t let you just throw it away.”
“Mother, he’s not even my friend. He’s just some jerk I happen to know by coincidence. I don’t even like him, and you’re telling him about grandma’s facial hair!”
Dottie was insistent, “That’s how you do it, Angie! You get all the bad stuff out of the way first, that way it only gets better from there.”
Angie huffed, trying to keep her cool, “Mom, Gabe Cavanaugh is a boil on the butt of society. He’s heartless and cruel and a liar, you really don’t want someone like that for me, do you?”
“Like I said, it can only get better, right?”
Angie’s eyes were like saucers. She knew her Mother was overbearing, but intellectually defective as well? “Listen, you stay in here. I’m going to see what he wants, and please, whatever you do, don’t make a scene. Just stay in here until he leaves.”
Dottie pressed her lips outward, pouting.
“Promise me!” Angie barked.
Her mother held up her nose snobbishly. She looked around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. She resembled something of a three hundred pound bleach blonde child.
“Promise me!”
Dottie sucked in her cheeks defiantly ignoring Angie.
Angie grunted in frustration and stormed back into the living room. She approached Gabe expressionless, “We can talk on the porch.” She said, walking past him toward the door.
He followed her outside. Angie closed the door behind him, spinning on her heel to him with an intrusive stare, “What are you doing here?” She spat bluntly.
Gabe cracked his knuckles nervously, “Don’t kick me. Please, I know that you really hate me... but you’re the only person I can talk to.”
“Oh, well fancy that. Flattered, I’m not,” She flared.
“I just want you to know I’m not a bad person. Sure I’ve gotten myself into a really messed up situation, and I’ve done some really horrible things, but I didn’t plan on this happening. The things I do, they’re not to be malicious,” He explained.
Angie crossed her arms and tapped her foot thoroughly disgusted, “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Gabe. I’m not involved in this; I don’t want anything to do with your problem. Those are my friends you’re screwing with and I won’t be any part of you hurting them. Do you know how close I came to telling Corey?”
Gabe looked over Angie’s shoulder and saw her mother peeking at them through a slit in the drapes. Angie noticed him watching her and led him to the other side if the porch.
“But you didn’t tell him... you easily could have and
you didn’t,” Gabe stated.
“It wasn’t for you, Gabe. This isn’t about you. This is about Rachel and Corey. This about what they have at stake. I’m torn between telling them because they’re my friends, and keeping it to myself because I know it would hurt them. I don’t like this, Gabe. I don’t like lying to them. It makes me as sick as you are. Well, not as sick.”
Angie’s Mother flung open the curtains behind the dining room window they stood in front of. A smile was plastered across her face as she hollered, “Just letting a bit of light in dear!”
Angie began toward the other end of the porch. Gabe was close behind. “Okay, fine. This is wrong, I know that! What do I do, Angie? You seem to have all the answers; you’re quick to make judgments. Tell me, what should I do then?”
Angie abruptly turned to face him; she examined the starkness of his face, his eyes narrowed in a pleading, desperate way. “You let them both go. You end it now before it goes any further; it’s the only way you’ll be able to save whatever dignity you have left.”
Though his stare never left her face, he did not answer immediately. Only after a few moments did his breathe catch in his throat, choking around his words which came swift and almost apologetically. “I can’t do that.”
For a fleeting second, Angie actually pitied him. He was barely able to make sense of this himself.
“That’s it then,” Angie concluded expressionless. “You’ve made your choice.”
Gabe pushed his hands over his face, through his hair, joining them at the back of his aching neck, “How can I choose between the girl I’ve spent almost half of my life with and the guy who brought me to life. No matter what I do, I lose one of them. When Rachel finds out I’ve been seeing someone else, she’ll hate me. When Corey finds out I’ve been lying to him and I have a girlfriend, he’ll hate me. Then what do I have? Nothing, Angie. I have nothing left. All that I cared about, all that means anything to me is gone,” somberly, he turned away from her and against the breezes.
An indignant guffaw made its way from Angie’s mouth. She shook her head as she crossed her arms. “I don’t care what you have to lose; you deserve everything that happens to you. You will pay for this, somehow, someday, you will pay. Everything between now and then is just avoiding the inevitable. You cannot win here, this isn’t a football field. You have lied and you have cheated and behaved like some calculating mon-”
Gabe shifted his stance toward her, “Don’t- you don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. This golden boy, hometown hero illusion you have going on, I know that’s not you.”
“You’re right, it’s not. I never asked for that.” He upbraided, feeling that her words were like weapons.
“You never asked for a lot of things apparently, but you’ve got everything you want though, no matter what it took, no matter who you hurt in the process.”
“I MADE A MISTAKE!” It wasn’t like Gabe to raise his voice. If asked, he most likely couldn’t recall a time when he was angry enough to do so. Immediately he regretted it and reached for Angie’s arm, “I’m sorry,” but she pulled from his reach. He understood and withdrew his hand as he tried to redeem himself. “I made a mistake.” He reiterated quietly. “I’m- This is not me, Angie. I am not the person you think I am. I don’t enjoy causing people pain.” He leaned into the banister and looked down at the chipping white paint on the wood below his feet. “I remember pulling down your skirt in the third grade.”
Angie opened her mouth a bit as if she was going to speak but his statement had startled her to such a degree that it pushed back her words.
“It was flannel with a zipper up the back. You had on white socks and little shoes with a buckle on them. You always cut your hair in a straight line at the shoulder with the shortest bangs so it looked like you were wearing a helmet. I remember it was cold and Nathan Zolei and I were heading to the field with a group of other kids. You were standing alone with your back to us. I heard the others making comments, they were laughing at you, snorting. Jared Stock said he was going to hit you… with the baseball bat he had over his shoulder and the other kids made squashing sounds and prodded him on. I laughed too. Not because I thought it was funny, but because it didn’t seem real to me. I was laughing with friends. When we got up to you I saw Jared knock you aside with his shoulder and everyone laughed. Impulsively, I came to my knees and I grabbed the sides of your skirt. They laughed more, patted me on the back, we took off running but I turned back and I saw you standing there crying, holding the waist of your skirt. I didn’t mean to tear it. I wanted to go back to you, for a split second I wanted to go back and do something to fix it. Before I knew it someone called my name and in a matter of minutes I was playing ball as if nothing ever happened. Oddly enough, every time we have crossed paths, even all these years later, every time I see you I remember what I did to you, and I’m not laughing.”
It startled her that he remembered the event from so long ago with the same clarity as she had. She had always imagined that he believed the incident irrelevant, or possibly something humorous he might share with his locker room cohorts. She felt her chin tighten as she struggled to remain impassive, but the glaze that had formed over her eyes betrayed her.
Gabe forced wind into his lungs and held it for a moment before expelling it through his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets and stood erect. “I know what you must think of me. I can’t seem to find a happy medium with anyone anymore. I’m either, what did you call me, the hometown hero, perfect in every way, or terrible villain who deceives everyone around him. Neither role is for me.”
Angie cleared her throat before speaking, “Nothing I can say can make your situation better.”
He nodded respectfully, “I know. Ethically, morally, I know the difference between right and wrong. Good and Bad. My head knows this but my heart is trembling before God because all of the things I’ve been taught, everything I’ve believed about my life up to this point is in a state of perpetual conflict. I don’t know how to make things right, because I don’t know what that is anymore… I don’t know who I am anymore.” He said nothing more as took a step toward the edge of the porch where, staring across Angie’s small lawn, he could see through the big cathedral windows of the Truzik house across the street. He wished he lived there. He wished he was anywhere but here, anyone but himself.
“Corey... hates me already, doesn’t he?”
Angie stood solid, not moving, “You hurt him real bad.”
“I am not ashamed of him... I’m ashamed of myself.” His head fell.
Angie closed her eyes wishing she wasn’t hearing this. She didn’t want to know Gabe’s side of the story. She didn’t want be sympathetic to him. He was supposed to be merciless, apathetic monster. It was easier for her just to hate him instead of opening the door to more conflict.
“Look around us, Angie. This is everything we’ve ever known. It always stays the same, nothing ever changes. This is our life, we do the same things everyday, we see the same people, have the same conversations. It’s like I want to scream and wake these people up. I never knew that there was more, I never would have if Corey hadn’t come here. There are so many things out there, so many beautiful things, things beyond Sadie, beyond this very small, single minded orbit of living by default. I don’t want to be stuck under the eyes of this town all my life. I want to do what I want, not what others expect of me. We can do that, Angie. You look at all of these people; their life is exactly what they’ve been taught it should be. I don’t want to be like these people, Angie. I’m not like them, and Corey made me see that. There is more to my life than I believed.”
Angie stepped up beside him, “I understand.” How curious, she thought, that both had resigned themselves to living by default rather by intention. Each day to her seemed an inescapable prison, one that would never change, could never change. It was a fate readily accepted until someone had shown her there was a bigger picture.
“He doesn’t take my calls anymore. He won’t talk to me. I need you to help me... help me get him back.”
Angie didn’t reply right away, she held onto the railing of the porch and caught the drifting scent of her Mother’s lilac bush in the front yard.
“You’re on your own,” she spoke indirectly, the disdain having all but dissolved from her tone, and then began toward the front door. She stopped only once, still facing away. “Just for the record,” she paused, “I don’t hate you.” Then she walked inside.
Corey sat at his desk in his bedroom. His computer was on and his printer hummed as it shot out page after page. It quieted after feeding the last one through, and he took it from the machine looking it over carefully. He began chewing on the tip of a pencil as he went through his new poems. Most of them had come to him recently, whimsical little sonnets that tantalized his brain, gestating inside his mind, churning in his soul. He had become rather inspired over the last month, like every day held new offerings. Maybe it was Thomas that made him this way. They had, after all, been spending much more time together than they ever had prior. There were the smallest things about Thomas that sent him reeling. The way he would kind of smile, but try hard not to, or the way his hair always seemed a little messy, swept over his head, often over his eyes and he didn’t care.
They were great friends, and it was okay with Corey. He knew he always fell too hard for guys- always the one to fall, so eager to jump right in and devote his self in hopes of having the same in return. He wouldn’t do that again. He decided he was tired of being the lonesome suffering soul he had unconsciously portrayed for so long. He wouldn’t let himself get plowed over by those unruly emotions. He would simply respect his friendship with Thomas, and expect nothing more. It was a great defense plan. Soon, someone will come along who truly likes him for once, and he’ll dismiss all of his simmering feelings for Thomas, who will remain forever unaware.
Corey could hear the muffled sound of music coming from his Father’s den. For a moment he ignored it, not realizing the tune, but when he did, he froze completely. That song... yes, that song, he knew it. Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole. That was his Mother’s favorite. She would play it on stormy evenings and sit close to her husband on the sofa. It was the song played at their wedding. She knew all the words and would often sing along, singing to Corey’s Father.
Corey stepped out of his room, quietly making his way down the dark hallway to the stairs. He walked down them as the music grew a little closer, more clear and riveting. He found his way through the moonlit living room and down another hallway, lit only by the light from the cracked door at the end and he pushed it open slowly.
His Father sat in his overstuffed leather chair behind his desk, facing the bookcases behind him.
“Dad?” Corey summoned softly as not to startle him.
Timothy opened his eyes and swiveled his office chair around, “Hi,” he aimed the remote at the stereo across the room, fumbling to silence it.
Corey saw he held a small framed photograph in his hand. It was of Mrs. Evans, wearing a white dress and a straw sun hat.
Corey stood loosely in the doorway, “You okay?”
“Yeah son, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all. I didn’t disrupt you did I?”
Corey approached his desk, standing on the opposite side, “No. I heard the music. You haven’t played that song in a long time,” he observed cautiously. He didn’t want to upset his Dad any more than he already was. Though Corey wouldn’t mention it, he saw a pearl of water nestled in the corner of his Father’s eye, to afraid to fall.
“Haven’t heard it in a while. A little nostalgic, I guess.” He took a deep breath, “Good old Nat, voice of velvet.” He hurriedly placed the photo face down on the surface of the desk, fast to reapply his thick armor, “How’s the new book coming? I heard you in your room typing away. Almost done?”
Corey was familiar with this show. If his Father thought that Corey caught him thinking of her, he would immediately pretend he wasn’t. It irritated him beyond measure. Why couldn’t he just let himself mourn her? He knew why. He was doing it for Corey. He figured it wouldn’t help his son cope with the loss any easier if his Father were a mess.
Corey stood across from him now, and picked up the picture, gazing at his Mother lovingly as his Dad sorted scattered papers in front of him, purposely distracting himself. Corey peered up at him, “You don’t have to do this anymore.”
Timothy continued arranging his desk, not even offering an upward glance, “Do what?” He asked obliviously.
Corey probed him hard, “Pretend you’re not sad.” Mr. Evans slowed considerably, his expression deliberately transparent, he didn’t want Corey to see how startled he was, “I’m not pretending to be anything, son. I’m just doing my best to get on with our lives. Wouldn’t do either of us any good if I fell apart.”
“You don’t have to fall apart, Dad. You don’t have to fall into a deep depression, laying in bed and starving yourself. You can remember her and honor the fact that she was your wife without losing everything you have. You think I expect you to be some kind of superhero or something. Someone who let’s real feelings bounce right off on impact. I don’t, Dad.” Corey explained fervently.
Timothy stared at him through turbulent eyes. He hated talking about it. It was easier for him to examine things internally... alone in his own space. There he could attempt to understand. There he could be weak.
“I am your Father, Corey. If you don’t have me to be strong for you, who else will. There’s no one else left. This is my obligation to you. You should be glad that I’m holding it all together, letting you grieve her. What if you lost me? There would be no one else to help you through this.”
Corey moved backwards, still staring him down, “I’m just saying that you don’t cry for her, you don’t talk about her. I need that. I need to remember her. That would help me through this. Not forgetting that she was ever here.” Corey stopped as he backed into the open doorway, “How can you love someone for so long, take part in something so magical, and then let it go?”
Timothy jumped from his seat, leaning over his desk, “I still love her. I will always love her, but she’s not here, and I can’t tell her that. I have to deal with losing the only woman I ever loved and you sit here and accuse me of not missing her enough?” His breathing grew harder, “You have your entire life ahead of you. There’s not much left for me, I’ve lived my life and now I have to spend the rest of it without her. So, don’t you dare try to tell me that I’m not hurting enough... I’ll be hurting until the day I die because the one thing I had counted on with every part of my soul is dead. I can never see her again. I can never talk to her, or touch her. It’s over. It’s the end, and if I stop to think about it, I’ll disappear right along with her. Where will you be then? Huh? You’ll be just like me when I was twelve years old and my Dad left me. You’ll be all alone, and you’ll spend your life trying to start all over because everything you cherish, everything you love... will be gone.”
Corey daringly moved back toward him, “So what are you saying? You stopped feeling? Are you dead already? What? You can let her go and still celebrate the fact that you had her... you had her for awhile and a part of her is still with you, Dad. I’m still here. You’re still here and she gave you years of life and it would be sad if you just threw all of that away. I know you loved her. I know she’s gone. But I’m okay. I’ll be okay because I know that she’s still here, inside of us. It’s not just Death. There was a life. She lived... she lived. Don’t forget that. Stop using me as your excuse to hide your pain when it’s okay to cry. Cry for her. She was here, she was my Mom, your wife. Don’t grieve her death. Acknowledge her life by remembering it.”
Corey grabbed the remote control from atop the cluttered papers on the desk top, pointed it toward the stereo on the shelf and pressed play. The song began, Unforgettable, Nat’s voice like a soft and gentle rain.
> “She’s here now. I know you feel her because you were listening to it when I came in.” Corey rushed toward him and pushed the photograph so hard it slid across the papers on the desktop and came to a stop in front of Timothy, “You can’t just erase her. I won’t let you.”
Timothy was immobile. Every muscle in his body became blocks of cement. He was thrown off guard by Corey’s aggressive behavior. Maybe even somewhat relieved. They were held in each other’s intense glare. Corey simply refused to let this go on any further. He wouldn’t let his Dad force a self induced acceptance if he wasn’t ready. Had Corey found a love so beautiful, he would never forget it, no matter the circumstance, he would feel blessed for ever having found it to begin with. He needed his Father to know what he had. Corey needed him to feel what his Mother had left behind, because Corey himself assumed he may never find anything comparable to that of his parent’s love for each other. That in itself was reason enough for living on. Real love never dies.
“We left our house. We left San Francisco. You can’t keep running. Don’t run anymore... please. It will be okay, we can help each other. We can keep her alive; together we can celebrate her life.”
Mr. Evans was unresponsive, locked in his son’s sight, he didn’t utter a sound.
Defeated, Corey backed away again. He was disappointed in his Father, sad for him. He took off down the hallway and toward the front door, throwing it open. He moved against the wind and placed himself on the porch swing. He looked outward at the dark sky. That one star shined, perhaps brighter than it ever had, vibrantly casting its light upon him. “Mother... Mother,” he thought. He pushed his fingers over his mouth, leaning back, exhaling. “I wish you were here. You would make it okay, I know you would.”
Suddenly he heard the front door open. He watched as his Dad appeared, walking expressionless toward him, sitting down next to him on the swing. He didn’t say anything; he just looked out over the lawn, up at the starlit sky, folding his hands between his legs thoughtfully.
“I guess I went about everything the wrong way. I tried to protect you from the life that I knew. When I was your age, I had no one to save me from the mess my life had become. I fought so hard to make my life the way it is today. So easily, I could have ruined it all. I didn’t know any better, I had no one to show me the right way to do things. I went on instinct, and I was fortunate enough to have found your Mom. She was my savior. I never thought... It never crossed my mind that I could lose her too.” He fell quiet, thinking, and then spoke with a frankness that he never had with regard to himself. “I am afraid, Corey. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. All I know is that it’s up to me to make sure you’re happy. That’s what matters most to me.”
“I am happy, Dad. I’m happy with you. I’m proud to say that you’re my Father. You accept me for who I am. I’ve never felt ashamed or different in any way because you taught me that no matter what obstacles I face in this life you’ll always be right by my side, and you are proud of me. That means so much... I am who I am because of you and Mom.” Corey leaned up, pointing skyward, “You see that star up there, the really bright one. I look at that and I see her. How she shined so bright while she was here. Now, she’s just shining somewhere else, but she’s so bright, we can still see her. No matter where we go, we just have to look up.”
Timothy trembled as he gazed upward. He put his hand firmly over his mouth to squelch any sound. He held his breath, forced it back.
Corey saw it, for the first time, not weakness, but true human anguish. The consequence of loss. The proof of love. He wrapped his arms around him and held him close as he cried. He cried tears long overdue. What was happening now should’ve happened the night she died. The night one glorious spirit left this world, and those she cared for, bound for another.
The Cavanaugh house on Sunday Morning seemed eternally predictable. From his room, Gabe could hear his mother rushing about downstairs, barreling from room to room as Jimbo repaired the corners of the border in the living room that had begun to come unglued. He wouldn’t say a word as she marched around him in a tizzy. “That’s not straight. Don’t Fall off the Ladder now. Careful with that paste dear. Have you put on weight?”
Through the floor he could hear Joy and Christopher in the Kitchen below. They were laughing over the fact that Joy could not pronounce the word Ambulance properly. “Abliance.” she would say instead. Christopher would laugh and she would smack him, but he would make her say it again. She would refuse at first and then submit to the pressure. “Abliance.” And he would cackle like the Wicked Witch. “Say it again.”
Kayla had on the afternoon football game, she would stand up and give a victorious Woop-Woop each time Connecticut State made a touchdown and then announce the score around the house with her trumpet-like mouth. There were the usual sounds from outside, the wild birds chirping, a couple of neighbors talking across their respective lawns, something about the weather. Had it not been for the weather no one in Sadie would have any means by which to begin a conversation. He could hear the occasional car hum by, children laughing and yelling at one another as they played kick ball in the street.
Yet, despite all this, people forging ahead with their mundane lives with nary a care in the world, Gabe lay completely still. His head was covered by part of his comforter, his leg sticking out half bent over the edge of the opposite side. He felt unusually exhausted, unable to find even the most modest spark of energy with which to rise. The day itself would go on without him anyhow, it always did, and he had no interest in being apart of it. If he could just drift away again, where he harbored no control over his thoughts, he would be safe. Sleep, only sleep, saved him from his own mind. There was no regret, no repetitive inflictions; the same moments relived again and again, no fear of losing that which he most treasured, no more wondering if he had lost it already. The only clear notion that graced him was the sincere desire to stay asleep, stay in that room sheltered by those brick walls and simply fade away from the outside world. No one would expect anything from a man who was no longer there, there would be no one to disappoint. He wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone ever again, nor would he ever be hurt. If he could only erase himself from the minds of those who knew him, if only he could erase himself from the world and just sleep, he would be all right. No Corey to keep in the shadows of his heart, no Rachel who he dare not let down, no mother to concern himself with pleasing or father to be religious enough for. No Sadie. Sunday Morning would be quiet then, in an empty house.
He heard his door open heard and then a startling blast against the ground.
Christopher neared the foot of the bed with a basketball in his hands. He let it drop once again, and on impact the sharp bang echoed through the hallow ball transforming into a high pitched chime.
Gabe threw his pillow at him without looking and buried his head in the crook of his arm.
Chris dodged it, “You’re getting away with murder, you know that?”
Gabe arched his neck over his shoulder to look at him. “What?”
“Mom never let me sleep until two in the afternoon... and God forbid I miss church. I can’t even get away with that now and I don’t even live here.”
Gabe’s response came audible but muffled. “Then go home.”
Christopher walked to the window and pulled up the blind. It rolled over the retractor, the seam snapping as it whipped around at the top. “Come on, wake up. We’ll save Jimbo from mom’s nagging and go play some basketball in the drive.”
Gabe’s eyes fluttered against his arm. “No.”
“Yes.” Chris smacked him on the leg hard, “You’re becoming a hermit. You haven’t been outside this house all summer.”
Gabe didn’t move.
Chris dribbled the ball steadily now, back and forth between hands, “You’re just scared aren’t you... There just might be one sport left where I can whip your skinny little-“
Mary, in the h
allway, crossed the door speaking as she passed. “Don’t say ass in this house Christopher.”
He hushed immediately. “Sorry.” But she was gone. He looked down upon Gabe, “You sick?”
“Yes, I’m sick. I’m contagious. Get out before you catch it.” He turned the opposite direction.
Chris set the ball on the ground quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, what’s wrong.” He waited but Gabe offered nothing. “Girl problems?”
Gabe sighed hard.
Chris grabbed his blanket and began pulling it off of him, “Let’s go... I’m not begging you.”
Frustrated, Gabe grabbed the corner of it in an effort to salvage what cover he had left, “Don’t.”
Chris wrapped it around his wrist and pulled harder. “I’m going to get you out of this bed.”
Gabe held on with all of his strength, “STOP!” His body spun around as Chris heaved mightily.
“GET UP!” Chris yelled.
“Let go you idiot.” He was pulled off the mattress landing hard on his back.
Mary swung in at that very instant. “Christopher!” She barked.
“What!?” They both answered as they turned to her.
Mary shot Gabe a curious look.
“I was just getting him up.” Christopher said as he dropped the blanket.
“Your Father wants you downstairs.” She said.
He did as all good children do when given an order and obliged immediately.
Mary stepped in toward Gabe, “Get dressed, get downstairs. Sloth is a deadly sin. You know that.” She turned and stormed out.
Game pushed his hands through his tangled hair as he sat on the floor. So much for vanishing.
Martin Cavanaugh was sitting on the ottoman of the overstuffed red recliner, his children all posed around the room like props in a painting. No one was speaking. Gabe came around the corner and immediately felt the tension in the room, their faces, each of them, were drawn and pale, as if someone had died.
“What? What’s wrong?” He questioned as he moved next to Joy who stood next to the bay window, staring outward.
Martin looked at the floor, but Mary, recognizing his weakness, his inability to convey the necessary information, spoke for him. “Your Father finished the financial report for the Church this morning. It seems...” She pressed her lips inward, biting the backs of them with her teeth to keep from becoming overly emotional. “... It seems we have to let it go.” She nodded once and put on a fake smile.
Martin spoke now. “Aunt Mary’s inheritance in almost gone. If I keep putting everything into the church we’ll lose the house.”
Joy moved forward, her heels clicking on the ground, the only noise in the room. “Jim and I have some- some money in the bank. We’ve been saving.”
Martin shook his head. “Your nest egg. You are not giving that away. You two need it. You’ll have a family of your own one day and you’ll need it.” He clapped his hands together once, took a deep breath, as if to cast it away, but his voice was weak, “We tried. We did our best. We got Thirteen dollars in the collection plate today. The Good Lord knows we just can’t pay the bills with thirteen dollars.”
Mary took his wrist to comfort him; she ran her thumb over the cuff of his sleeve.
Gabe inspected their faces. The church was his Father’s dream, the source of his absolute joy. He was a Minister; with no church what would he become? It was his very purpose. He was supposed to be exactly what he was... how could he reason being a Minister with no one to teach. He loved that church and every one of the twelve members that attended, even those that didn’t. It was his lifeline. His passion.
“Heaven.” Gabe said completely unexpectedly.
Martin looked up and met him.
Gabe moved toward him. “There is no place closer to Heaven than the gardens. It’s God’s church.” He recalled those very words spoken by Corey. “You could hold services there for the rest of the summer...”
Joy took Gabe’s arm encouragingly, “Yes,” she said at first quietly. “Yes, we could advertise, it would be something totally different, something unique. Church in Heaven. It would draw people in, you could use the collection money to pay the bills and maintain it through the winter months. It would reduce the cost.”
Gabe smiled, “And since the church already owns it you wouldn’t have to pay for the usage. You wouldn’t acquire any more debt. Close the church for the rest of the season while we raise the money to reinvest.”
Martin stood sharply, his face open with excitement. He held out his arms and moved toward Gabe slowly, then leapt the last few inches that separated them, landing in his arms, embracing him.
The room came to life as plans began to be set in motion.
Martin grabbed the sides of Gabe’s face and kissed him on the forehead, then jerked him back, smiling at him with admiration and approval.
And Gabe felt contented, for awhile his troubles seemed miles away...
Rachel sat in the pine gazebo in the center of her backyard. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by yellow Honeysuckle, and reaching vines that had taken the wooden pillars siege. This was her special spot. The place she had designated as her own. When she was a little girl, she would come here to escape her mother’s constant nagging, or simply collect her thoughts. On this sunny, Sunday afternoon, she retreated to the gazebo to be alone. Her mind was working overtime. She was looking back on her past, which had become habitual, wondering about what brought her to where she was. What decisions could she have made differently, and who she may have been as a result of them. There were so many things that she wished she could change, or maybe not change, but just see what might have been had the tides pushed her in another direction.
Rachel knew that the woman she was, up to this point, was a consequence of her past, of the choices she had made. You never think about the impact a tiny decision will have on your future until you’re able to look back and witness it all from another angle. Such small things make up some of the biggest parts of your life. So many pieces to a puzzle all designed to link together somehow, someway. She understood that there were many new issues that would soon befall her. She would have to make the right choices, because everything she would say and do would prove to be the determining factor in who she was to become.
She found old Mrs. Winders floating to the front of her thoughts. Mrs. Winders was a stern old woman with thick gray hair pulled up into a tight braided bun that lifted her face practically onto her forehead. She wore old fashioned cat eye-glasses and possessed a rather threatening presence. She was Rachel’s Piano teacher. Mrs. Winders had taught her from the third grade until her freshman year in high school when Rachel dropped her studies.
Every Thursday afternoon, at exactly four thirty, she would burst through the door carrying a leather briefcase and a handful of sheet music. Holding her ruler between her swollen fingers, she would firmly smack Rachel’s knuckles if she missed a beat. She claimed that Rachel had a God given gift. She told her parents that her talent was to be groomed and nurtured, so she could become a successful pianist. She promised that she could get Rachel into the most esteemed piano academy in London, and before The Porter’s knew it, their precious daughter would be giving concerts at New York City’s famous Lincoln Center. Old Mrs. Winders probably said that to all of her clients. She undoubtedly filled their heads with false hopes, just so she could continue her practice. That was what Rachel had assumed back then, that they were the victims of trickery. Rachel didn’t even want to play the piano, she wanted to do something wonderful, like go to Africa and teach underprivileged children, or join the Peace Core. She would dream about making people happy, touching their lives, and never being forgotten. She wanted to make a worthwhile contribution to society, and reap the benefits they would deliver, such as inner gratification, and the fulfillment of knowing that she had made a difference, even if just in one person’s life.
Sure, that isn’t
the average thought process of a ninth grader, but Rachel was never average. Now she wondered if she hadn’t prematurely dismissed Mrs. Winders attempts to mold her. If she hadn’t passed her off as a lying old bag that was just really pissed off that she was degraded to teaching high School students the art of music instead of playing The Lincoln Center herself, would things have been different today?
Mrs. Winders was trying to make Rachel everything she herself had wanted to be, but never could... If that wasn’t true, then where would Rachel be at this very second, had she continued on with Mrs. Winders? Would she be preparing to jet off to London in the fall, instead of New York? Would she have embarked on a completely different route than she was already on? Who knew? It was instances such as that that made her wonder... what if? What if?
At the time it seemed so frivolous and insignificant. It wasn’t hard to decide to quit, but perhaps, that was, uncharacteristically mind you, the average ninth grader thinking.
On occasion, Rachel would still catch a glimpse of Mrs. Winders in town. Now the old woman walked with a cane. Her spine was permanently bowed from osteoporosis and her hair, once so full, was now thin and stringy. When Rachel would say hello, the woman would just ignore her, as if she had lost the ability to speak as well. Rachel knew she held a grudge, maybe even hated her. That was all beside the point. That was who Rachel was. It was where she had been. Now she needed to determine where she was going... where she would be in five, ten years. What if she ended up like her Mother?
Oh, the very notion made Rachel’s skin crawl. She could just picture herself, a sad, middle aged woman attempting to fill her endless void with silly little trinkets from around the globe. That was what her Mother had been doing for as long as Rachel could remember. Though she was to proud to admit it, Carol Porter was an unhappy woman in an unhappy marriage. Rachel figured her Mother had never planned for a life such as the one she had. When she was Rachel’s age, maybe even she sat down to look over her past and determine her future. Isn’t it funny, how in the great journey of life, we set out for one destination, and end up someplace completely unexpected, somewhere we never imagined ourselves.
She pitied her Mom. Rachel never wanted anyone to pity her; she would never end up like that. It was unthinkable. She wanted a good husband. Not one that would spend days at a time at his office, claiming to sleep there, and eat there. No man works that obsessively. There used to be a time when her Mother would wait up all night for him to come home, and end up falling asleep on the sofa. They used to be affectionate, and proclaim their love openly for each other. Now they barely even talk. He stays away as much as possible, and she spends her days spending his money.
Rachel could never be like her Mom; even the thought of the lifestyle was exhausting. She would have to buy all kinds of extravagant oddities, such as her Tiki charm from Hawaii that’s supposed to bring good luck. The Malaysian dream doll that brings your deepest desires to life. The herbal oils to ward off negative energies. She’d have to get scented candles for aroma therapy, countless meditation books to align her chakras, and cassette tapes containing the tranquil sounds of nature. Then, there’s the post-it’s hung in inconspicuous places around the house to remind her that, “You’re a great person. You love yourself. Other people love you. You bring happiness to those around you.” The vitamins for health. Having her bowels irrigated regularly and she’d have to see an acupuncturist. There was also Madame Fannie, the psychic who comes every Monday evening to foretell the upcoming week. That’s not to be confused with Dame Helga who would come bringing urgent messages from the other side.
Rachel loved her Mother dearly, but the life just wasn’t for her... besides, she knew it was all to distract her Mom from the reality that was staring her in the face. She was getting older, had an absentee husband, and was wasting away from neglect. Soon, her only daughter would be leaving her, and then she would truly be alone.
“Raaachelll,” A voice sang loudly from the house.
Rachel glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother scampering toward her. She appeared not unlike Cruella De Ville. Holding together her pink silk robe, she raced toward the gazebo. Her hair was sticking out, like large stiff spears, from beneath a towel on her head, and her face was covered with hardened green clay. She scurried up the steps and grabbed Rachel’s arms in a panic.
“Oh baby, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m having a wretched day. I’ve fell asleep with my chemical mask on,” She cried exasperated.
Rachel winced; she looked awful, “Well, just wash it off mom.”
Carol’s face fell, “I already did! It dyed my face green! What if it doesn’t come off? What if I’m green for the rest of my life? Oh honey, I don’t know what to do! Look at my hair! Make sure you don’t use my elephant dung shampoo, It made my hair feel like a bale of hay!” She pulled off the towel and her hair shot upward in thick spikes, it looked like she had just licked an electrical socket.
“It won’t clog my pores will it... you know I’m prone to breakouts,” Carol badgered as her daughter applied a dab of foundation to a sponge and began stroking it under her eyes- a vain attempt to cover the green stains.
“It shouldn’t clog you’re pores, Mom. I’ve been wearing it for over a month and I haven’t gotten one pimple,” Rachel promised.
Carol looked worried, as if Rachel were about to apply acid to her skin, “Are you sure that’s my color? Is my skin that light? My skin is darker than yours sweetie, don’t you have anything darker?” She continued.
“Would you rather walk around looking like the bride of Frankenstein?” Rachel asked.
“Well, make sure you blend it good. I don’t want streaks,” Carol nagged.
“Okay, Mother.”
“Shouldn’t you be using your fingertips? I don’t want to look tacky. Don’t put it on to thick; I don’t want it to cake.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Make sure you don’t miss any spots. I can’t go around with polka dots on my face.”
“Okay.”
“Try to cover all of the green. Just in case your Father comes home tonight, I don’t want him to know what I’ve done. He’ll laugh at me,” Carol pestered.
Rachel paused, pushing the sponge into her mom’s hand, “Here then, If you’re so worried about it, then you do it!” She scolded agitated.
Her mother drew back in shock, staring at Rachel, who had walked over to her window, gazing out. “Well what crawled up your cranny?” Carol inquired defensively.
Rachel didn’t turn to face her. She was already feeling ashamed for snapping at her mother, “Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Carol stood from the bed, approaching Rachel slowly, “What’s going on? You need to talk?” She inquired, her maternal instincts overriding her cosmetic fret.
“Why do you stay married to him?” Rachel questioned bluntly.
Carol didn’t answer right away. It was quite a blow hearing her own daughter ask such a thing. “What?”
Rachel spoke over her shoulder, “You stay married to Daddy, when you know what he does, why he stays away.”
Carol let out an uncomfortable chuckle, “You’re Father is a very busy man, Rachel... His work demands a lot of his attention,” She stumbled, trying to justify his absence.
“What about the weekends... or all of those nights when he never comes home,” It irritated her that her mother would pretend to be so oblivious to the facts.
Carol put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, “You miss him, don’t you?”
Rachel spun to face her, “No, I don’t miss him... I am just so sick of watching you act like there’s nothing wrong. You know what’s happening, Mother. You know just as well as I do,” Rachel hissed.
Carol stepped back, half afraid of the confrontation her child had presented, “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel,” She smiled, holding her hand over her throat, like she was suffocating. He
r eyes darted around the room, searching for anything but Rachel.
Rachel lunged forward, furiously debating her Mother’s false ignorance. Rachel was not stupid, and she wouldn’t turn a blind eye as her Mother had. “I saw him in town, Mother... with a woman... kissing. He was kissing her like he used to kiss you. I know about that young girl who came here looking for him. These walls here, they’re paper thin. I know you gave her money.” Rachel’s eyes welled with tears. They burned from being so intensely focused on her mother that she hadn’t blinked.
Carol Porter shook like a dry leaf in a hurricane. She had no idea what to say. She had no excuse, no justification. Not for herself, and most definitely, not for her husband. She was ashamed that her daughter had found out. Rachel had learned what Carol had so desperately wanted to hide from her. She didn’t want Rachel to be ashamed of her own Father. She wanted her to have a happy family, with fond memories and a stable foundation to grow upon, one Carol herself had lacked.
Carol may have considered herself to be a strong woman, but her daughter seemed intimidating, threatening the veil of secrecy she had so delicately woven over her. It rendered her numb from her head to her multicolored toenails. The humiliation was nearly unbearable. To think, her own child now knew her pain, the same pain she wanted to save Rachel from. She had let her down. After all these years of living in a seemingly picturesque family, Rachel had uncovered the dark realism that Carol had tried so hard to evade.
“Aren’t you going say anything?” Rachel scowled, waiting for her Mother to react.
“What do you want me to say?” Carol asked, still acting as though it were just a casual conversation, though the trepidation in her voice was prominent.
Rachel began to cry as she walked to her bedside and sat down, “I want to know why. Why do you let him do this to you? How can you just pretend there’s nothing wrong when you knew... all this time, you knew, and you never did anything about it.”
Carol folded her arms, as if securing herself, bracing for her world to shatter. She always knew that if anyone ever found out about her husband’s affairs she would have to contend with a certain degree of disgrace. Somehow, she never imagined this moment, and never expected to have her own flesh and blood to look at her like Rachel had.
Rachel did have a perfect right to be angry. Her Mother, the one who was supposed to help her through difficult times, the one who should’ve been a role model, had let her down. Every ounce of dignity she possessed had suddenly vaporized. Like little black demons grabbing at her feet trying to pull her down from her parental throne, laughing at her, voices inside screamed... “You’re not a Mother. Your own daughter thinks you’re a joke, and you are.”
Carol wanted to sit next to Rachel. She wanted to put her arm around her and pull her back inside where she could protect her from the harsh truths. She wished Rachel had never found out, and she hated her husband for being so careless. He may not have had enough respect to hide his affairs from his wife, but from their own daughter? That was unforgivable. Carol had learned to tolerate the matter. She had even almost convinced herself that her husband would come to the conclusion that everything he needed had been right at home the entire time, and he would change his ways. Sure, it was just a fantasy, a pipe dream, but it saved her from going insane. Now, here she was standing before her baby, and feeling like this? How she despised him for doing this to Rachel. “Fine, Steven.” She thought, “You may degrade me, hurt me, and embarrass me, but not to our daughter... you will not hurt Rachel. I will not let you do this to her.”
Carol took a tiny step toward Rachel, “I just wanted us to be happy,” she said sorrowfully.
“Happy? Mom, I know you can’t be happy? How can you be?” Rachel seethed. “Don’t you even say that you stay with him for my sake, because if you think that I can be like you and just pretend everything is okay... I can’t. I won’t.”
“Rachel, your Father loves you,” Carol consoled, trying to come to her rescue.
Rachel’s face flushed. He voice grew grave, “He doesn’t love me. If he loved me he wouldn’t betray us like this. If he cared he wouldn’t hurt us like this,” She met her mom’s eyes directly, “If he loved you, Mother... he wouldn’t expect you to live this way.”
It was so quiet, perhaps to quiet. Carol could say nothing. Rachel was right. If Steven loved her, truly loved her, if he even only respected her, he would never have left either one of them. It struck Carol like a bolt of deadly lightening. She realized Steven had left them. Sure, he did come home on rare occasions, but the reality of it was, while he may come back once in a while, he was gone. He had deserted them. How clever he was... gradually disappearing right before their eyes. Maybe that was his plan all along. He figured that if he was crafty enough, he could slowly erase himself from their lives until one day he would just stop coming home at all. That’s what had been happening all along. It’s been a well thought process, years in the making. Carol could remember when Steven would come home every night. Nine o’clock on the button. He would kiss her, hold her in his arms and cradle her. They would make love regularly, and he would whisper in her ear, “I love you, Carol... I love you so much.”
When he got elected for County Prosecutor he began drowning himself in his work. He would sleep at his office, two, maybe three nights a week, but he would always come home, a box of chocolate covered cherries in hand, and he would make up to Carol by taking her for a night out. As time went by, their lovemaking sessions became benign. He wouldn’t speak... he would just do his thing, and then roll off of her like she was a lump in the bed. He probably thought he had to keep making love to her just to appease her, keep her from recognizing the strain on their marriage.
Soon, he was lucky to make it home once a week. It was then that Carol took the initiative to do something about it. She was going to hold the family together if it killed her. She went to his office... she could remember so vividly. It was a Thursday. She had packed him a lunch and was going to surprise him. She drove into town, parked in front of the doors to the courthouse and walked in. He wasn’t in his office. It was cluttered and smelled of stale cigar smoke. She laid his sack of potato salad on his desk and noticed his wedding band laying on a stack of papers. She picked it up and turned when she heard a noise in the bathroom. She walked toward it and lifted her hand to knock when the muffled grunts and labored panting grew louder. The door was open just a crack, and as she peered in, she saw her husband, and his secretary, Clarice Schuller propped up against the sink. Her skirt was pulled up over her fat, cellulite ridden thighs. His pants were around his knees, and he was pressed firmly against her.
Carol may as well have been reliving the entire event all over again. Her emotions were. She rushed out of the courthouse and took off. She drove and drove. She didn’t want to stop, she couldn’t because she knew if she did, it would give her too much of a window to think about what she had seen. She cried... she cried like she had never before. Finally, when Steven came home, he said nothing to her about it. She assumed that he didn’t know she had seen him in the bathroom. Then he said something so odd... “Thanks for lunch... I was starving.” He knew.
From then on things changed. He would come home with bite marks on his neck, lipstick still smudged on the corner of his mouth. Yet, Carol never said a word. She was still trying to figure out what she had done wrong so she could fix it. That’s what she had been doing all this time, accepting his indiscretions believing that she was at fault because of her flaws. How stupid. How God damned stupid! Stupid for letting it happen. Stupid for blaming herself, and stupid for trying to win back his love. Okay, so he had cheated. So he flaunted it in front of her... but he could not victimize their daughter. He had exposed her to his lifestyle and left Carol to defend it.
Carol sat next to her troubled daughter who stared aimlessly at the wall opposite her, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“For what?” Rachel asked entranced.
Carol pus
hed Rachel’s long hair back over her shoulder, “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I wanted to keep it from you because I knew it would tear you apart, just as it did me. I tried so hard to protect you.”
Rachel glared at her, “Why do you let him do it?” She interrogated boldly.
“I was waiting for things to change. I love your daddy so much; I was just hoping he would start to feel the same way about me.” She paused, trying to keep her composure, “He loved me once. I thought if I waited long enough, he would again,” she expressed sadly.
“He doesn’t love you, Mother,” Rachel stated grimly.
Carol stood up, “You can’t say that... he loved me once, he can love me again. People don’t just fall out of love after twenty years, Rachel.” She moved toward the door, “People get bored, they get older and scared. It happens to people. It’s called a midlife crisis.” Carol started out of the bedroom as Rachel leapt from the bed and charged after her.
“Listen to yourself. Is that what your psychic saw in her crystal ball? Did she tell you that? It’s a fact of life, Mom. People do fall out of love. He fell out of it with you and you just refuse to face it,” Rachel scowled as she followed her Mom down the stairs.
“He never said he didn’t love me. We’re his family. Families stick together.”
“So what are you going to do? Sit here and wait like some pathetic victim? Are you going to spend the rest of your life feeling guilty because he’s out screwing the entire town? Will you try to forget, maybe go get irrigated again, hopefully it will wash away all the problems right along with the rest of the shit.”
Carol tried to ignore her as she tried to get away, “I don’t want to hear anymore, Rachel. Just stop it, right now!”
Rachel continued after her, “That’s right, Mom, if you just don’t look, you can pretend it isn’t happening. Then you can tell yourself that your husband isn’t a lying cheat!” Rachel yelled impatiently as they stopped in the large hallway downstairs.
Carol turned to her and screamed back, “He’s your Father and I will not let you speak that way about him!”
“He’s no Father. No Father would do this!”
“You’re a kid you don’t know anything about life, or love!”
“I know that if you love someone you don’t fuck someone else behind their back!” Rachel flared.
“He doesn’t do it behind my back!”
“Oh, so he’s fucking them in front of your face, does that make it any better?”
In the heat of the intense argument, Carol struck Rachel across the face. Without hesitation, perhaps just a reaction, Rachel struck her back. They were both stunned. Carol had never hit Rachel before, and Rachel never dreamed she’d strike her Mother. They didn’t say anything to each other for a moment; they were busy recovering from their respective shock.
On the verge of tears, Rachel made herself heard, “He knows that you love him, he knows that you’ll stay. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, throw it in our faces and we’ll just smile and nod like it’s perfectly acceptable. Look at what he’s done to you... to us.”
“I never thought it was okay, Rachel. I never just accepted it. I was trying to understand. I was trying to put my finger on that second when it all changed, the moment when he stopped loving me. I thought that if I could do something to help him see how I felt, if he could see how I was hurting inside, maybe he would stop, and things would go back to normal. We would be a complete family again,” Carol’s cries began to collide with her words as she continued, “I wondered what I had done. I thought it was me. I blamed myself. I held myself responsible. I was the reason I lost him. It was my fault my daughter didn’t have a Father anymore. I wanted you to be proud of me, Rachel. I wanted you to be proud of your family... I didn’t want you to hate me for losing it all... I worked so hard to keep it together, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep us together,” Carol sobbed loudly. It was the first time she had said it out loud. It was such a blow to her system, the burden that had lifted weakened her, breaking her down as she fell to her knees on the last step. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” She wept.
As Rachel looked down upon her collapsed Mother, she understood that she was staring at a mirror image of herself. Working so hard to keep things on the right track, and when the slightest detail goes astray, she blamed herself. She would apologize and beg for forgiveness, even if she wasn’t necessarily at fault. They were one in the same.
Rachel knelt down before her Mother and took her into her arms. “Don’t let him do this to you. We can be strong... together we can make it through this. Me and you, Mom... we’re a family.” She held her Mother in her arms, letting her release years of torment that had built up inside. Rachel knew they were alike in so many ways. Had she not made up her mind at that very moment, this was what she would have become. The sufferer of sadness. The consequence of desire. She had been where her Mother was. Idealizing the way things would be, needing to understand why it wasn’t, and then punishing herself for being incapable of making it so. Somehow, always believing she was inadequate, and desperately trying to make up for it. People have dreams. They see things so dynamically. They see wonderful things that supply them with the motivation, the fuel that’s required to survive. It’s a light deep inside, shining so fully on what is to be. You believe in that. You set your heart on those dreams and pursue them at all costs. Rachel and her Mother had dreams, but had unwillingly lost sight of them. They had been reduced to playing supporting roles in someone else’s life. Carol would have given her very life to turn back the hands of time and hold her husband again... have him hold her. He had become her life force; she fed off of his existence instead of placing herself center stage. She had become co-dependent on her surroundings, letting her life live her. They had become lost on another person’s sea, following another person’s map, and when their leader made a U-turn, they found themselves lost. It was there they found their common ground.
Two women, mother and daughter, brought in by the tides of an ocean of sorrow, destined to regain all they had lost; their strength to stand on their own, their courage to move on.
The later it got, the worse he felt. It was as if the minutes that passed, leaving forever, tortured him. Each flash of the digital numbers meant another minute without Corey, another minute he could never get back. Gabe wanted so desperately to sleep, but found no comfort in any position. He glanced over to his telescope that sat against the glass of the window. Was he still up? No matter if he was or not, he had to see him. He had to see him now. He could not let one more moment pass without being close to him, knowing he belonged to him.
He leapt from his bed and rushed to the window. Corey’s light was still on. The street was empty. All of the other houses were dark. Gabe raced to his bedroom door, opened it just a crack, and peered down the shadowed hallway. No one was in sight. He crept across the wooden floor, careful not to make a sound, and with the savvy of a thief, made his way down the staircase and to the front door where he turned the lock and handle with the ease of a feather. Once it was open, he walked out, closing it quietly behind him.
He ran across his front yard onto Corey’s lawn, keen to every sound he heard, every movement made around him. And now, he stood below his bedroom window. There had to be some way he could get his attention without waking his father. He scanned the yard for pebbles, something that would draw Corey’s attention... Something that would let him know he was there.
Corey rested on his side. The radio played at a low volume on the night stand, a song he knew the words to, but couldn’t recall the name. In his head he sang along. One of his bizarre talents was knowing the lyrics to old songs by heart- that and television theme songs. While he hadn’t even been thought of in the 50’s and 60’s, the radio was a constant presence in the Kitchen back home. His mother would sing into her soup ladle while doing her best Elvis impersonation for him.
Although he could feel his eyes growing heavy, it ma
de it difficult to sleep, for the temptation to sing along was simply too great, and of course, he would have to submit if a really good song came on. However, despite his quirks, he was just too exhausted to move... and even had he been able to, he wouldn’t. Every song that played brought thoughts, floating images so precious, of Thomas. He turned on his back laying his arm over his eyes.
After throwing four small stones and successfully hitting Corey’s window sill, Gabe had still not roused him. He was getting flustered. He figured perhaps the stones were too small, and did not have enough weight to make enough of an impact to bring his beloved to the window. He needed something bigger... not a stone... he needed rocks. He scurried toward the flowerbeds that lined the sidewalk and began rummaging though the soft cedar bedding gathering large shimmering, decorative rocks. After finding himself pleased with their weight and size, he rushed back to the window, took the first one in his fist and launched it upward. It hit the side of the house hard, so hard that it echoed across the empty night.
Startled, he threw himself into the bushes, certain that he had woken Corey’s Father.
Corey flew upward, staring at his open window from his bed. His expression became drawn with distinct curiosity.
Gabe waited a moment, and then once he felt assured that no one had heard the ruckus, he emerged from the bushes glaring up at Corey’s window. “Corey!” He called with a strained whisper that almost hurt his throat. “Corey!”
Discouraged, he took another rock into his hand, and made certain to throw it a bit softer than before.
Corey moved to the side of the bed, wondering if he was hearing things. He could have sworn he had heard a slight trace of his name carried on the breeze, but wasn’t absolutely positive. He knew his mind sometimes manifested things... He didn’t believe he exaggerated at all... He just thought bigger than most people, and he wondered if this might just be one of those instances where his thoughts had projected themselves outward.
And then a rock tumbled over the window sill and rolled along the floor stopping directly at his feet... He looked at it for a moment, as if a bit struck by the pure strangeness of the fact. Then, for sure this time, he did hear his name. Someone was outside.
“Corey,” Gabe strained again as quiet as possible. He had one last rock, and he had to make it good. He gathered all his strength, focused on the window, drew back his arm and launched it forward just as Corey came into view peering downward.
It was too late to stop, and immediately Gabe winced as the unaware Corey stood right in the line of fire.
THUD was all Gabe heard as Corey fell from sight after being bashed head on.
“OH GOD!” Gabe squalled in utter horror. “Oh God, I’m sorry! Corey?”
Corey blinked a few times wondering what had just happened. He could feel the knot developing directly between his eyes, and already it ached. Slowly, a bit disillusioned, he rose to his feet, staggering just slightly.
“Are you okay? Answer me! Corey? Corey?” Gabe pled from below. He was so angry with himself... he came to confess his every emotion and instead bludgeoned him to death. What was wrong with him? He felt a wave of relief as once again, Corey appeared at the window.
“Are you going to throw anything else?” Corey asked with serious concern.
“Are you okay?” Gabe asked nervously.
Cory nodded sleepily, “What do you want, Chris?”
“I want you...”
Corey rolled his eyes. Gabe continued “I want you to know I’m not ashamed of you, Corey. I’m not ashamed that I love you... in fact it’s the best thing.. NO! You! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t want to lose you.”
Corey didn’t say a word. He just looked down upon this man, who from where he stood seemed so small. He knew that this world was a difficult place for someone like Chris... someone trying so hard to negotiate his reality with his feelings, and for that he felt so sorry for him.
Gabe stepped forward, “Please Corey. Everything is so screwed up. I am fighting so hard right now to keep the one thing in my life that means something. I know I love you, and I know you said before that you felt like you were meant to be unloved forever, but I’m your proof Corey… I’m your living proof that you are wrong. I love you.”
Corey took a deep breath, “Chris, I can’t. I’m sorry.” The silence grew heavy. “Go home.”
Gabe took a step back; it was perhaps more clear now than it ever had been before, the fact that he could lose him forever. “Corey, I know I have done some terrible things. I just...” He paused, “There are things in my life, things that I love so very dearly, things that I have always believed in with every fiber of my being that conflict with what I feel for you. I know that you can’t understand this, I know you’ve never had anything to hide, you’ve never had to be afraid... but when you walked into my life, that’s when everything changed for me, I didn’t know how to handle it.... I made some stupid decisions, but I know now what’s important to me. I know you are important... I know I need you in my life because,” he swallowed hard, taking a step back once again to see Corey more fully, “Because you make things okay.”
Corey tried hard to be discerning, and knew that Chris was fighting a battle that was incredibly trying, and he knew he had to be sympathetic to that... but he could not, in good conscience, be the one single element that challenged Chris’s entire structure, and perhaps compromise that. “Chris, I can’t be your secret. I won’t.”
“You’re not my secret. Corey if I could scream from the highest mountain I would. That’s how much I love you. Don’t you see? Corey, I love you. We are meant to be together, don’t you get that? Me and you. This is fate. I promise you, no one else will ever love you as much as I do. Maybe no one else will love you at all. You said so yourself.”
For a fleeting moment Corey found it difficult to breathe. What if Chris was right? He knew Chris loved him... no one else ever had. Perhaps no one else ever would. It was the possibility he had pondered many times, even feared and tried to deny. Why, if ever a man offered his love, would he denounce it? Perhaps Thomas and Angie were right. He sought to make himself a victim of a loveless life.
Gabe felt his emotions swelling, and hoped that he wouldn’t break down. His weakness was overwhelming as he watched Corey vanish from the window. “Corey?” He said, his voice cracking from the instability in his breath. “Please,” he began to sob. “Please.” he said again. “Don’t leave me.”
And then he heard the front door open. He looked up as Corey stepped out onto the porch, watching him with a receptive eye. They just stared at one another for a few seconds, then Gabe took a step forward... and fell to his knees wrapping his arms around Corey waist, crying as though he never had before, trembling as though he were feeling fear for the first time.
Corey stared out into the distance... at nothing in particular, just a place to rest his eyes. He could learn to love Chris. He wondered if, perhaps, he hadn’t been sensitive enough to his circumstance. He wondered why he ever believed he could say no to someone who wanted to love him. It was just as Angie had said... he had set the bar too high. It was this night he said good-bye to his fairytale. To the dreams of being swept away.
After all.... any love is better than none at all.
ten
A Midsummer Night’s Sorrow