"Spring Break" 15 - Finale
Later.
By Gaedhal
Part 15 -- Finale
Pittsburgh, April 2005
"Do you have any questions, Brian?" the doctor asked.
"No," said Brian, trying to keep his voice steady. "No questions."
Whenever he was in his oncologist's office, Brian felt like he
was a child again. The stern authority figure whose word was
law. The utter loss of control. The gut-clenching fear that he
didn't dare show. The knowledge that there was no escape.
No escape. Cancer would be something that would never really
leave him. It was a part of his life, like his sexuality. Like
his fucked-up family. Like his son. Like....
"Then I'll let you go now," said the doctor. "Please schedule
your next appointment at the front desk."
Brian stood up. "Thanks, Doc."
"No problem, Brian," said the doctor, patting his shoulder
reassuringly. "Keep your chin up."
"Ah," Brian replied. "The famous chin. Yes, Doc, I'll keep it
up. Along with whatever else I can get up."
The doctor laughed. "You're quite a kidder, Brian. Good luck."
Then he walked out of the examining room to see another
patient, leaving Brian to get dressed.
In four days it would be his 34th birthday. Not bad for a
guy who almost didn't make it to 30. Or 31. Or 32. Or 33.
No, against all the odds, Brian was still here. For now.
Brian thought about how much he wanted to be here. Maybe
he hadn't felt that way in the past, but now he did. He used
to consider that the future was something to hate. It meant
you were older. Slower. Not as hot. That you were moving
inexorably toward your expiration date. And in the clubs
and the bars, even in a second-rate burg like the Pitts,
once you were past 30 that expiration date was closer
with every minute that ticked by.
Tick, tick, tick.
Brian assessed himself in the mirror as he knotted his tie.
No matter how much of that French anti-aging cream he
used he still didn't look 19.
He'd never look 19 again.
He'd never be 19 again.
But in a few days he'd be 34.
For 34 he thought he looked okay. Better than okay. He
was still hot. For 34.
Not that Brian couldn't find guys to fuck. That had never
been a problem. His reputation alone was such that he'd
always find guys willing to see if the Brian Kinney Legend
was true. Or guys who had already tested that legend and
wanted more. There always seemed to be a never-ending
supply of hot guys.
Younger guys.
Always younger. Now.
Brian remembered the time when he had been the hottest
young stud in town. Back then he liked older men. Guys
who knew something about life. Guys who had experience.
Who knew what to do with a dick and who appreciated the
enthusiasm of a talented newcomer. And Brian had learned
all that he could from each one of them before he moved on.
Then in his twenties Brian liked guys his own age. Guys
like himself. Hot and hard and balls to the wall. Willing
to try anything. Do anything. Fuck hard and fast and then
on to the next. Like subway trains, there was always
another guy coming in a few minutes. And then going.
And that was the way Brian liked it.
Until things happened.
Life happened. His son happened. Cancer happened.
Things were changing.
Brian could feel it, inside and outside.
Brian put on his jacket. He was wearing a vintage Yves
Saint Laurent suit circa 1976 that he had bought from
Ilona, his new crack dealer, when he had driven out to
her shop the previous weekend. He also got a pair of Prada
shoes that had never been worn and a handmade British
linen shirt, as well as some Italian silk ties.
Ilona had taken his measurements then and told him that
she would be on the look out for things that would suit him
when she traveled to Britain and Europe later that spring.
Brian was looking forward to seeing what she brought back.
It might even be worth taking a trip abroad himself to see
what he might be able to find.
Well, it was a thought. But not too likely right now.
Maybe some other time. Maybe later.
"I need to make an appointment," Brian told the doctor's
receptionist. He handed her his paperwork.
"Certainly, Mr. Kinney," she said, checking her computer
while Brian took out his Filofax.
She scheduled him and a few moments later he was out the
door. It was sunny and in the 50's. Spring was in full cry.
Perfect weather for driving the Vette. Perfect weather
for so many things.
He thought about a year ago. He had still been suffering
from the aftermath of his radiation treatments. Still feeling
ill and weak, not to mention impotent. That had been the most
difficult thing. That and the fear that he'd pick up a trick and
then fail with him. That word would get around quickly: Brian
Kinney can't get it up. The thought of losing his precious
reputation was almost as bad as the side effects of his
treatment.
Brian got into the Vette and lit a cigarette. He needed to
steady his nerves.
Laat year when he had been diagnosed, shortly after Vic's
death, he hadn't told anyone. He felt there was no one to tell.
No one to share the news with who wouldn't freak out or
pity him or drive him crazy with their smothering care.
When all he wanted was someone to understand. To stand
back and let him deal with it. Someone who would be there,
silently but vigilantly. Someone to count on.
But there had been no one.
Brian had gone through the initial operation and biopsy
alone. And the radiation, too. Some days it had been impossible
for him even to lift up his head. The loft was an empty, forsaken
place during that time. Some nights, when it was the darkest,
Brian thought that he would surely die there. Alone.
But people eventually found out, usually by accident. Cynthia
and Gardner because of his difficulties at work. Michael by
being his usual nosy self. Deb because he finally knew that
he had to tell her or she would kill him. And his mother --
from Debbie.
But now....
Brian took out his cell and hit a number. Other than his
Vangard numbers for work, it was his most-called.
Brian listened as the phone purred away, trying to connect.
It went to voicemail.
"Justin?" Brian said, knowing that he must be in class at
this time of the day. "I wanted to let you know so you don't
worry. I just finished at the doctor's office. It's official --
I've been cancer-free for a whole year. Hurray for me,
right? I have to go back in six months for another check-up,
but the doc said that everything looks good. So that's the story
I'm sticking with!"
Brian paused, wanting to say more, but not wanting to say
it to a machine. "I... I'll talk to you tonight, Justin. Later."
Yes, he thought. Later.
* FIN *
By Gaedhal
Part 15 -- Finale
Pittsburgh, April 2005
"Do you have any questions, Brian?" the doctor asked.
"No," said Brian, trying to keep his voice steady. "No questions."
Whenever he was in his oncologist's office, Brian felt like he
was a child again. The stern authority figure whose word was
law. The utter loss of control. The gut-clenching fear that he
didn't dare show. The knowledge that there was no escape.
No escape. Cancer would be something that would never really
leave him. It was a part of his life, like his sexuality. Like
his fucked-up family. Like his son. Like....
"Then I'll let you go now," said the doctor. "Please schedule
your next appointment at the front desk."
Brian stood up. "Thanks, Doc."
"No problem, Brian," said the doctor, patting his shoulder
reassuringly. "Keep your chin up."
"Ah," Brian replied. "The famous chin. Yes, Doc, I'll keep it
up. Along with whatever else I can get up."
The doctor laughed. "You're quite a kidder, Brian. Good luck."
Then he walked out of the examining room to see another
patient, leaving Brian to get dressed.
In four days it would be his 34th birthday. Not bad for a
guy who almost didn't make it to 30. Or 31. Or 32. Or 33.
No, against all the odds, Brian was still here. For now.
Brian thought about how much he wanted to be here. Maybe
he hadn't felt that way in the past, but now he did. He used
to consider that the future was something to hate. It meant
you were older. Slower. Not as hot. That you were moving
inexorably toward your expiration date. And in the clubs
and the bars, even in a second-rate burg like the Pitts,
once you were past 30 that expiration date was closer
with every minute that ticked by.
Tick, tick, tick.
Brian assessed himself in the mirror as he knotted his tie.
No matter how much of that French anti-aging cream he
used he still didn't look 19.
He'd never look 19 again.
He'd never be 19 again.
But in a few days he'd be 34.
For 34 he thought he looked okay. Better than okay. He
was still hot. For 34.
Not that Brian couldn't find guys to fuck. That had never
been a problem. His reputation alone was such that he'd
always find guys willing to see if the Brian Kinney Legend
was true. Or guys who had already tested that legend and
wanted more. There always seemed to be a never-ending
supply of hot guys.
Younger guys.
Always younger. Now.
Brian remembered the time when he had been the hottest
young stud in town. Back then he liked older men. Guys
who knew something about life. Guys who had experience.
Who knew what to do with a dick and who appreciated the
enthusiasm of a talented newcomer. And Brian had learned
all that he could from each one of them before he moved on.
Then in his twenties Brian liked guys his own age. Guys
like himself. Hot and hard and balls to the wall. Willing
to try anything. Do anything. Fuck hard and fast and then
on to the next. Like subway trains, there was always
another guy coming in a few minutes. And then going.
And that was the way Brian liked it.
Until things happened.
Life happened. His son happened. Cancer happened.
Things were changing.
Brian could feel it, inside and outside.
Brian put on his jacket. He was wearing a vintage Yves
Saint Laurent suit circa 1976 that he had bought from
Ilona, his new crack dealer, when he had driven out to
her shop the previous weekend. He also got a pair of Prada
shoes that had never been worn and a handmade British
linen shirt, as well as some Italian silk ties.
Ilona had taken his measurements then and told him that
she would be on the look out for things that would suit him
when she traveled to Britain and Europe later that spring.
Brian was looking forward to seeing what she brought back.
It might even be worth taking a trip abroad himself to see
what he might be able to find.
Well, it was a thought. But not too likely right now.
Maybe some other time. Maybe later.
"I need to make an appointment," Brian told the doctor's
receptionist. He handed her his paperwork.
"Certainly, Mr. Kinney," she said, checking her computer
while Brian took out his Filofax.
She scheduled him and a few moments later he was out the
door. It was sunny and in the 50's. Spring was in full cry.
Perfect weather for driving the Vette. Perfect weather
for so many things.
He thought about a year ago. He had still been suffering
from the aftermath of his radiation treatments. Still feeling
ill and weak, not to mention impotent. That had been the most
difficult thing. That and the fear that he'd pick up a trick and
then fail with him. That word would get around quickly: Brian
Kinney can't get it up. The thought of losing his precious
reputation was almost as bad as the side effects of his
treatment.
Brian got into the Vette and lit a cigarette. He needed to
steady his nerves.
Laat year when he had been diagnosed, shortly after Vic's
death, he hadn't told anyone. He felt there was no one to tell.
No one to share the news with who wouldn't freak out or
pity him or drive him crazy with their smothering care.
When all he wanted was someone to understand. To stand
back and let him deal with it. Someone who would be there,
silently but vigilantly. Someone to count on.
But there had been no one.
Brian had gone through the initial operation and biopsy
alone. And the radiation, too. Some days it had been impossible
for him even to lift up his head. The loft was an empty, forsaken
place during that time. Some nights, when it was the darkest,
Brian thought that he would surely die there. Alone.
But people eventually found out, usually by accident. Cynthia
and Gardner because of his difficulties at work. Michael by
being his usual nosy self. Deb because he finally knew that
he had to tell her or she would kill him. And his mother --
from Debbie.
But now....
Brian took out his cell and hit a number. Other than his
Vangard numbers for work, it was his most-called.
Brian listened as the phone purred away, trying to connect.
It went to voicemail.
"Justin?" Brian said, knowing that he must be in class at
this time of the day. "I wanted to let you know so you don't
worry. I just finished at the doctor's office. It's official --
I've been cancer-free for a whole year. Hurray for me,
right? I have to go back in six months for another check-up,
but the doc said that everything looks good. So that's the story
I'm sticking with!"
Brian paused, wanting to say more, but not wanting to say
it to a machine. "I... I'll talk to you tonight, Justin. Later."
Yes, he thought. Later.
* FIN *