NEW YEAR, NEW HOPE, Guest post Parker
When Hero was alive, we never went out on New Year's Eve. He said it was a night for amateur drinkers to get stupid. Often he'd get called out for that very reason. Firemen don't just put out fires. They cut people out of wrecked cars and rescue them from situations caused by their own stupidity or carelessness. So when we got lucky and his pager didn't buzz, we'd stay home and celebrate quietly, like old people.
But it was perfect.
After he died, no one let me have the luxury of spending New Year's Eve alone. They rightfully suspected I'd be depressed, sad, lonely, but so are millions of other people. Well meaning friends would drag me out and make me sit here or stand there and pretend to give a shit that the ball was dropping at midnight, shutting down yet another year alone. Because I never felt more alone than I did at a party. Last year, I grew a set and refused to go out, and all that did was result in a series of phone calls from well wishers until I finally turned off my phone. They meant well and I appreciated that.
Tonight, I had a different excuse for staying home. I had an answer for them when they asked. I said, "I have a date."
After a stunned moment, the usual response was, "So bring him along!"
I said, "We want to spend the evening alone, but thanks."
And so ended that social obligation. Someday, if this works out, Brog and I might enjoy going to a party with friends, or to an intimate dinner at a favorite restaurant or dancing in some fancy ballroom while wearing white tie and tails, but tonight, we just want to be alone. Unless you count Clara.
I've resigned myself to the fact that Clara loves Brog more than she loves me. I suppose I should be jealous, but then, it wasn't Brog who took her on that fateful trip to the vet. Maybe eventually she'll forget, but for now she seems to find his company more compelling than mine. I couldn't be happier about it. He seems equally fond of her and if she's even a little bit of a sticky trap to keep him here, then my insecure heart will use it. Because I want him here. I really want him here.
More than I care to admit.
He looks up as I bring over a newly popped bottle of bubbly. Clara is asleep with her head on his thigh, and I squeeze over by his other side, refilling his crysal flute and mine. What's left of Dick Clark, the poor old thing, is counting down at Times Square. It's funny to be in the same city with the ball and have no more intention of seeing it in person than the octagenarians watching this spectacle from Peoria. "He doesn't look so bad," Brog allows and I give him a telling glance.
"Compared to?"
"He sounds worse than he looks. Come on, Park, he almost died."
"I give him that, good for him, I mean it. But...he's the reflection of our own mortality, I guess. Dick Clark was never supposed to get old."
"Fate is cruel," he smiles and slips an arm over my shoulders as the time draws near. "It was a weird year, Parker. Started weird, got weirder, got horrible, got better, got bad again and now...this."
"And where in that litany of weird, horrible, good, better, bad does 'this' fit?"
"Somewhere between weird and good," he said with a grin. I shake my head. I'll settle for that. It has to seem weird to him. It does to me and I'm not inexperienced.
"Regrets?" I ask as the crowd counts "...ten...nine...eight..."
"Not about this," he assures me. "...five...four...three..."
We look at each other and smile. "Happy New Year, Brog."
"Happy New Year, Park."
We toast, we sip, we kiss. A nice long, intimate kiss, full of emotion. In my mind, I wish Hero a happy new year too. I know Brog would understand. So would Hero. His cell phone rings. "Probably Kinney," he says with a groan, the mood broken. That's okay, we'll find it again. We have all night. We have the future to chase that mood around. A whole new year. But it's not Brian on the phone. From the look on his face, it's not Brian at all. He leans back. He says,
"Happy New Year to you, too."
It's her. I can tell immediately. Clara looks up as if sensing the tension. I motion to her to come along and give her some treats in her bowl in the kitchen to celebrate the holiday. This is not great. At least if Hero is his competition, he's not going to be calling me at midnight. Or ever. I hear him say, "No, I'm with a friend. No, not Brian."
Ouch. A "friend", but then, to be fair, what else would he say? He manages to hang up pretty quickly and he mutes the sound of the celebration at Times Square, and follows me into the kitchen. His arms go around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder. He can feel my tension.
"That was Chris."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Intuition."
"She was just worried about me. She's still in Venice."
I nod. He kisses my neck. I turn in his arms and meet his eyes. "I don't know how to respond to this, Brog. I never went out with men who also went out with women."
"You went out with men who had other lovers in their past, didn't you? How is this different?"
"I don't know, but it is."
"She's not a threat."
"Do you still love her?"
"In a way. Don't you still love Hero?"
"He's dead, Brog. Trust me, it's different. He won't be coming back into my life."
He raises my chin on his fingertips and whispers, "She's not coming back into mine, either, and if she did, you're already there."
"Which means what?"
"Which means let's not buy complications that don't exist. This is beautiful. Let's go with that for now."
I nod and slip my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I know he's right. I can't rush it, I can't erase his emotional bindings to other people, nor would I. It makes him who he is. But I'm insecure about her, and I'm really worried about myself. I seem to be tumbling after him like a pebble in a landslide, and that makes me worry. I never wanted to give it another try with anyone, but if that's what this is, why can't it just be easy?
He kisses me again. I kiss him back. I know where this is leading. Our bodies are in synch. There's no uncertainty about that. Maybe this is just an exceptionally great way to spend New Year's Eve. Maybe it has no more future than the crushed streamers that rainbow the pavement in Times Square on January 1st. Maybe this new year will turn out to be as bleak as every new year since 9/11, but then...maybe not.
And that mystery is what makes life interesting.