"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 77 "No More Good Guys"
Justin can't...
This is Chapter 77 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Jennifer Taylor, Debbie Novotny, Michael Novotny, Brian Kinney, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Capsized and sinking. Pittsburgh, December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 74 "Take Your Mama Out"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/420825.html
Ch. 75 "Rebel Prince"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/421466.html
Ch. 76 "Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/422152.html
By Gaedhal
"I died today,
But I'm still breathing,
Bleeding,
For now,
I'm broken.
You left me here,
Capsized and sinking,
Thinking, right now,
There's no more good guys.
You left me standing here,
Alone and colder,
I hope that some day soon,
The pain inside will stop..."
***
I can't do this.
I can't can't can't can't...
"Justin? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mom," I say. "Fine."
"You don't look fine."
Fucking back off, will you? Don't crowd me.
I can't breathe. Can't think.
I can't do this. Can't. Do. This.
I've been to funeral homes before. Funerals. Memorial services. I remember the service for my grandmother -- my dad's mom -- when I was younger than Molly. I remember Dad crying -- I'd never seen that before. And I remember the drive to the cemetery -- it was a bright, sunny summer day, but everyone was so sad. But I don't remember the casket. Or the body in the casket. Maybe my mom wouldn't let me see it. Or maybe I blocked it out.
Maybe it was something I lost when I was fucking bashed. A little blip on my brain that isn't there anymore.
And when Brian's father died I didn't go to the service. I wasn't exactly invited and I knew Brian wouldn't want me there anyway, although the rest of the gang were all there.
I think that was the afternoon I fucked Daphne.
Jesus. You sure do some stupid things when you're a jerky kid.
I don't know if they had an open casket at Brian's father's funeral. Probably. People are morbid like that. They want to see the body. They want to see what you look like when you're dead. If you look good or bad. If you look like yourself.
But the last thing I want to do right now is look at Vic, dead, in a fucking box.
I can't can't can't can't...
"Justin?"
"I'm okay, Mom! So just leave it alone!"
"We should be going inside now, darling," she says softly. "It's cold out here. And Debbie will be expecting to see you. Don't you want to speak with her? And Tim?"
"I will..."
But I can't go in there. It's like my feet are frozen to the ground.
"Justin..."
"Give me a fucking minute, okay?"
Mom shrugs and goes inside, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Two guys from Vic and Tim's Dignity group come up the walkway. They're older, a couple, both Positive. I used to see them in the diner when I was working there. They nod to me as they go through the door, their faces somber.
I have to go inside. I have to do this.
What if Brian is in there? I don't think I could deal with him. I can't...
Can't can't can't.
I reach for the door handle. My right hand is shaking.
Dylan and Ethan said they'd come here with me, but I told them no. They didn't really know Vic that well, even if Dylan did give him CPR at the Thanksgiving dinner table. That was weird. So fucking weird. But I didn't want them to see me, that was the real reason. It's not about Vic at all, it's about me.
It's about what's wrong with me. And about what I can't figure out how to fix.
I take a deep breath. I go inside.
There aren't many people here. The Poz couple. A man standing with Carl who looks like another cop. Some people from the diner. Michael with Ben and Ben's foster kid. My mom. Tim and Deb, of course. And a few others I don't know. But it's still early. Maybe people haven't left work yet. But I'm surprised Emmett and Ted aren't here. And where the fuck are Lindsay and Melanie?
And no Brian.
That's a relief. A fucking relief.
But I suddenly feel shaky. I need to sit down. And I haven't even looked at Vic.
I can't can't can't.
"Honey." Mom touches my shoulder. "Are you feeling all right?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm not. I... can't..." My hand is really shaking now. Fuck. I clench my fist tightly. I thought this shit was over! But it's never over.
Nothing is ever fucking over!
"Sunshine."
There's Debbie standing over me. I stand up and give her a hug. "I'm sorry. So sorry about Vic..."
"I know, baby," she says. "He loved you very much, you know that, don't you? You were so young and bright and hopeful. He looked at you and saw the future. He knew you'd live the life he could never have."
That makes me cringe. Young and bright and hopeful -- what a fucking joke! But I have to say the right thing. This isn't about me, it's about Vic. "He lived a good life, Deb. And he was happy with you and Michael, and then Tim."
She nods. "I know. But all the possibilities that are there for you, they didn't exist for Vic and all the other fellas back in the day."
"But he was a pioneer," I say. "He was at Stonewall. And at the first Gay Pride Parade in New York. And in the Castro in the 1970's. He campaigned for Harvey Milk."
Debbie's eyes fill with tears. "And he did it so boys like you could live in a different world. So you'd be able to do things he never could have dreamed of doing, like get married and have kids."
"He saw all that, Deb," I say. "Look at Michael and Ben. They'll get married one day. I know they will. And they have Hunter, too." I pause, thinking about it. "Michael is a father -- kind of."
"And so is Brian," Debbie adds. "And one day you might be one, too."
"I doubt that." And I do doubt it. I can't picture it. I can't picture anything right now.
"Would you like to come over and see Vic?" Deb asks, like he's sitting there, waiting to talk to me. "Say goodbye to him?"
"I... I can't." Now I feel like a coward. A little fucking pussy coward. "I just can't."
But Debbie only pats me like a dog or a child. "Whatever you feel comfortable with, Sunshine. Vic would understand."
Sunshine. Stop calling me that! I want to scream, but I can't. Can't.
"We can't stay long," Mom says to Deb. "Molly has a Christmas concert at her school tonight. She's expecting us. I'm sorry, but..."
"Don't apologize, Jen," Debbie replies. "Vic loved Christmas. And Christmas concerts. You can't disappoint your little girl. I'm only happy you were able to come."
Debbie walks away, greeting some people who just came in, none of whom are Brian. My mom gives me a look.
"You didn't have to lie," I tell her. "Especially to cover for me."
"I know this is upsetting you, Justin. We've paid our respects. And there's still the service tomorrow." She pauses. "And the burial."
Burial. That makes me feel claustrophobic. I need some air. Like... now.
Outside, my hand is shaking even more. My whole body is shaking.
I want to cry. I need to cry. To let it all out. To let everything out.
But I can't.
Fucking can't.
It's like I'm drowning. I can't find the sky. Can't find the air.
Can't breathe.
Can't can't can't.
***
Brian's here.
I guess I knew he would be. He and Vic go back as far as he goes with Michael and Deb -- plus there's the whole thing about them fucking. I still don't know if Michael knows about that, but I suspect Debbie does. Not a lot about either Vic or Brian ever got by Deb.
The graveside service is... unsettling. The hole in the ground and all the mourners holding roses and the lesbian minister talking about Vic like she knew him -- which she didn't. After all the things the Catholic Church has done to us fags over the years, I know Vic was still a believer. And so is Tim. But there's no priest in sight, just a bunch of the guys from Dignity, some with rosaries in their hands, praying.
Tim looks shattered and Debbie almost as torn up. But I'm feeling more calm today. The casket is closed and I don't have to see Vic's face. Don't have to think about him dead. In the ground. Covered with dirt.
It's freezing cold, but the sweat is trickling down the back of my neck.
Brian is suddenly standing right next to me. But I can't look at him. This isn't the place. This isn't the time. My mom glances at Brian and then at me. I know she wants to ask me what happened, but what can I tell her? I don't even know myself -- except that things just fell apart. One day we were happy, the next day I was in the Pitts and Brian was in New York or Toronto or L.A. or wherever the fuck and it had all gone to hell.
Deb starts crying. And I mean really crying. Like, wailing uncontrollably. Carl tries to lead her away, but she won't budge. Michael looks like he's going to start up next. The female minister ends the service quickly and we all toss our roses onto the casket. The thorns prick me right through my gloves, but I'm so numb I don't feel the pain.
I grab Mom's arm and pull her along. I have to get the fuck out of here.
But Mom stops in her tracks. "Honey, I need to see if Debbie needs anything. We're all going back to the house. I made a cake and Lindsay and Melanie are bringing food, too. So is Emmett." And she leaves me alone and unprotected.
From...
"Hey."
And Brian's there. No way to avoid him now.
"Hey."
I don't want to look at him, but I can't help myself. I love him and I always will. There's no use trying to deny it. But I can't live like this anymore. I just can't.
Of course Brian immediately launches into a stupid lecture about leaving the loft empty and the Jeep and a bunch of other useless shit. I what to shout, "Who cares! That's not the point!" But I can't form the words. I only mumble about getting a new apartment. But he won't stop about the Jeep. "It's filled with gas!" I tell him. Now shut up, Brian! Just go away now.
But he won't go away. That's the story of my life. He won't go away and I can never let myself go away. He tries to press the keys into my hand. "Take it!" he orders.
And then he says if I don't take the Jeep he'll just sell it. And sell the loft.
That knocks the wind out of my sails.
He wants to leave Pittsburgh for good. "I'm never going to live in Pittsburgh again. It's pointless to keep the place."
And he means it. Every word.
He turns and storms away.
And I run. Just fucking run in the opposite direction.
Something is chasing me, but I don't know what the fuck it is.
***
I wait in my mother's car. She finally shows up, looking worried. "Justin, I've been looking all over for you. I thought you left with Brian."
"Yeah, sure," I say. "Can you drop me off at the apartment?"
"We're going to Deb's. And that's final." She's annoyed. "You owe her at least that much."
Go ahead, Mom -- make me the bad guy!
At Deb's there's a false air of cheerfulness, like it's a real party. Someone -- Michael? Emmett? -- has gone up to the attic and brought down some Christmas decorations in an attempt to make it look like anyone gives a damn about the holidays. A small fake Christmas tree with some bedraggled strands of tinsel hanging from the plastic branches sits on the table. It's pathetic considering that Debbie always had the biggest tree she could fit into the living room.
I glance around the room, but there's no sign of Brian. I feel relieved, but also disappointed. What the fuck is the matter with me? I slink down in the corner, hoping no one will notice me. But that doesn't last very long.
"What the heck is going on between you and Brian?"
It figures Michael would poke his nose into this mess.
"Nothing," I say. "And I mean that literally."
"Do you really think my Uncle Vic's burial is the best place for you two to have a fucking argument?" he bitches at me.
"I didn't start it," I say.
"I don't give a shit!" Michael's eyes are already red with tears, but his anger just makes it worse. "You two only think of yourselves! You two selfish fucks deserve each other!"
"If you don't want me here, then I'll leave." I get up and make a grand exit out the door -- but once I'm on the porch, watching the snow fall, I realize I have no way to get back to my apartment except to walk or wait for my mother to leave. Shit, Taylor -- you're a fucking piece of work!
Then Michael comes out onto the porch. "Listen..."
"I don't need another argument today," I tell him. "I guess I'll call a fucking cab."
But to my surprise he says, "I'm sorry. I'm just so upset about Vic and my mom and everything. And Brian, too. It's not you."
We stand there for a moment, watching the snow pile up.
Finally I say what I don't even want to think about. "Brian told me he's selling the loft. That he's leaving the Pitts for good and never coming back. That's why he wants me to take the Jeep, so he won't have to bother getting rid of it."
Michael recoils like he's been slapped. But then he recovers and makes an excuse for Brian, as always. "You know that he's always saying that. That he's going to sell the loft and leave town."
"But he already has," I reply softly. "He left a long time ago, Michael. We just don't want to admit it. If he really sells the loft, that'll only be the final step."
Michael looks like he's going to start crying again. "What are we going to do?"
"Did he talk to you at all?"
He shakes his head. "Not really. He showed up at the funeral home for a little while, but he didn't really say much. And he left the service before I had a chance to talk to him. He's also not answering his cell."
"So what else is new?" I sigh.
"Are you going to take the Jeep?" Michael asks.
"I've taken enough from him!" I want to shout, but my voice feels weak.
"If you don't take, he'll see that as a personal rejection. That's the way he saw you paying him back. And moving out of the loft. Not as payback, but as a slap in the face to his pride."
Fuck. I already know that. But it's stupid. "But what about my pride? He's always telling me to be a man. To stand on my own two feet. And never to owe anyone anything! So why should he be surprised when I try to do the right thing?"
"Because it's not about what you owe him. He's Brian. That tuition and the loft and the Jeep and everything else -- that was never a loan. It was gift, just like everything he's ever given me, or Ma, or Vic. It's the way he tells you that he loves you, especially when he can't say it any other way. Paying it back -- giving everything back -- says, 'I don't love you anymore. And, by the way, fuck you.'"
"I didn't mean it that way!" But I wince because I know Michael's right. I've always known it. I was angry and I wanted to hurt Brian. So I picked the way that would hurt him the most.
"If you want to get out of here, I'll drive you home," says Michael. "I need to clear my head, too."
"Thanks."
And he drives me home. If you can call this place home.
It's cold and dark in the apartment, just like my mood. I don't have any furniture except a card table, my computer desk, my drawing table, and a bunch of cardboard boxes. I don't even have a bed, just a futon. I get in the thing with my clothes on to keep warm. Merry fucking Christmas!
I keep thinking about Brian leaving. Leaving thinking I don't love him. Leaving thinking I've fucked him over.
Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was frustrated. We were apart -- again. And I was sick of it! And I knew it would always be that way -- Brian in one place and me in another. Seeing each other for a couple of weeks at a time, a couple of days, a couple of hours... Shit!
I can't live like that. I just can't.
No one is the bad guy here. Not Brian. Not me. But no one is the good guy either. We both made mistakes. We both fucked up.
It's late, but I call a cab. The snow has finally stopped falling, but it's still freezing. The cab driver doesn't seem happy to be working on a holiday -- it's after midnight and officially Christmas Eve,
"You want me to wait?" he asks as he pulls up in front of Brian's building.
"No," I tell him, giving him all the cash I have in my pocket, the last of my allowance until January. "You don't need to wait."
As I ride up in the elevator I realize that Brian might have somebody with him. Or he might have already left town. Well, that's the chance I'll have to take.
I slide open the heavy door. That clanging sound. I remember the first time I heard it. My heart was beating just as loudly. Nothing was ever the same after that night -- for either of us.
Brian's in bed -- alone. His face is in shadow.
"I still had my key to the loft," I explain. "I forgot to leave it. If you're going to sell, then..."
"Thanks. Leave it on the counter." His voice is flat, toneless.
"The Jeep... Thanks." Then I add, stupidly, "I'll pay you back. I promise."
"It's a fucking gift!" he snaps. "Take it and don't apologize. What am I going to do with the Jeep? Ship it back to L.A.? Use it and forget it. I'll have my lawyer send your lawyer whatever paperwork is necessary. Now shut the fuck up about it!"
"Okay," I whisper.
I'm about to turn and leave, but something stops me. This is my last chance. Our last chance.
I take off my clothes.
Brian watches me silently. As I step up to the bed, he takes me in. He's always taken me in, whenever I needed it. And I need it now. Need for him not to reject me. Not to lecture me or teach me a lesson. But just to love me. He doesn't have to say anything. Just do it.
It's almost as if he's in pain. That's not what I expected. Brian's always been so strong. Always. But now...
It feels different. It feels like... goodbye.
That's what it is. He's saying goodbye. I knew it before I came here, but it's still hard. Hard to think of. So I don't think. I just feel. Just try to memorize every moment, because I know it's the last, the end of everything.
Maybe we'll run into each other again one day and fuck like old friends. Or like strangers. But never again like lovers. I understand that now.
I understand.
Brian falls into an exhausted sleep, his arms tightly around me like he's afraid to let go.
If I stay, what would that mean? Things would just go on in fits and starts, like always. He'll leave and I'll stay here, the same as always, with promises that it'll all work out -- someday.
I lay in Brian's big bed, thinking about when I believed everything I wanted was right here. I wanted Brian and that was enough. But so much has happened since then. Too much.
I gently slip out of his arms and get dressed. I take the keys to the Jeep and leave the key to the loft behind. I slide the loft door shut as quietly as I can. The Jeep is in the garage under the building. It takes a few minutes to start up in the cold.
Then I drive through the empty streets, back to my empty apartment.
Alone.
***
"You died today,
But you're still breathing,
In my mind,
That is,
There's no more good guys.
You left me standing here,
Alone and colder,
I hope that some day soon,
The pain inside will stop.
I hoped you'd see me,
I hoped you'd understand,
Or crucify me for my failings,
My cruel ambition,
Hardly justified,
And the pain inside will ... stop."
(Skin Dive)
This is Chapter 77 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Jennifer Taylor, Debbie Novotny, Michael Novotny, Brian Kinney, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Capsized and sinking. Pittsburgh, December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 74 "Take Your Mama Out"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/420825.html
Ch. 75 "Rebel Prince"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/421466.html
Ch. 76 "Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/422152.html
By Gaedhal
"I died today,
But I'm still breathing,
Bleeding,
For now,
I'm broken.
You left me here,
Capsized and sinking,
Thinking, right now,
There's no more good guys.
You left me standing here,
Alone and colder,
I hope that some day soon,
The pain inside will stop..."
***
I can't do this.
I can't can't can't can't...
"Justin? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mom," I say. "Fine."
"You don't look fine."
Fucking back off, will you? Don't crowd me.
I can't breathe. Can't think.
I can't do this. Can't. Do. This.
I've been to funeral homes before. Funerals. Memorial services. I remember the service for my grandmother -- my dad's mom -- when I was younger than Molly. I remember Dad crying -- I'd never seen that before. And I remember the drive to the cemetery -- it was a bright, sunny summer day, but everyone was so sad. But I don't remember the casket. Or the body in the casket. Maybe my mom wouldn't let me see it. Or maybe I blocked it out.
Maybe it was something I lost when I was fucking bashed. A little blip on my brain that isn't there anymore.
And when Brian's father died I didn't go to the service. I wasn't exactly invited and I knew Brian wouldn't want me there anyway, although the rest of the gang were all there.
I think that was the afternoon I fucked Daphne.
Jesus. You sure do some stupid things when you're a jerky kid.
I don't know if they had an open casket at Brian's father's funeral. Probably. People are morbid like that. They want to see the body. They want to see what you look like when you're dead. If you look good or bad. If you look like yourself.
But the last thing I want to do right now is look at Vic, dead, in a fucking box.
I can't can't can't can't...
"Justin?"
"I'm okay, Mom! So just leave it alone!"
"We should be going inside now, darling," she says softly. "It's cold out here. And Debbie will be expecting to see you. Don't you want to speak with her? And Tim?"
"I will..."
But I can't go in there. It's like my feet are frozen to the ground.
"Justin..."
"Give me a fucking minute, okay?"
Mom shrugs and goes inside, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Two guys from Vic and Tim's Dignity group come up the walkway. They're older, a couple, both Positive. I used to see them in the diner when I was working there. They nod to me as they go through the door, their faces somber.
I have to go inside. I have to do this.
What if Brian is in there? I don't think I could deal with him. I can't...
Can't can't can't.
I reach for the door handle. My right hand is shaking.
Dylan and Ethan said they'd come here with me, but I told them no. They didn't really know Vic that well, even if Dylan did give him CPR at the Thanksgiving dinner table. That was weird. So fucking weird. But I didn't want them to see me, that was the real reason. It's not about Vic at all, it's about me.
It's about what's wrong with me. And about what I can't figure out how to fix.
I take a deep breath. I go inside.
There aren't many people here. The Poz couple. A man standing with Carl who looks like another cop. Some people from the diner. Michael with Ben and Ben's foster kid. My mom. Tim and Deb, of course. And a few others I don't know. But it's still early. Maybe people haven't left work yet. But I'm surprised Emmett and Ted aren't here. And where the fuck are Lindsay and Melanie?
And no Brian.
That's a relief. A fucking relief.
But I suddenly feel shaky. I need to sit down. And I haven't even looked at Vic.
I can't can't can't.
"Honey." Mom touches my shoulder. "Are you feeling all right?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm not. I... can't..." My hand is really shaking now. Fuck. I clench my fist tightly. I thought this shit was over! But it's never over.
Nothing is ever fucking over!
"Sunshine."
There's Debbie standing over me. I stand up and give her a hug. "I'm sorry. So sorry about Vic..."
"I know, baby," she says. "He loved you very much, you know that, don't you? You were so young and bright and hopeful. He looked at you and saw the future. He knew you'd live the life he could never have."
That makes me cringe. Young and bright and hopeful -- what a fucking joke! But I have to say the right thing. This isn't about me, it's about Vic. "He lived a good life, Deb. And he was happy with you and Michael, and then Tim."
She nods. "I know. But all the possibilities that are there for you, they didn't exist for Vic and all the other fellas back in the day."
"But he was a pioneer," I say. "He was at Stonewall. And at the first Gay Pride Parade in New York. And in the Castro in the 1970's. He campaigned for Harvey Milk."
Debbie's eyes fill with tears. "And he did it so boys like you could live in a different world. So you'd be able to do things he never could have dreamed of doing, like get married and have kids."
"He saw all that, Deb," I say. "Look at Michael and Ben. They'll get married one day. I know they will. And they have Hunter, too." I pause, thinking about it. "Michael is a father -- kind of."
"And so is Brian," Debbie adds. "And one day you might be one, too."
"I doubt that." And I do doubt it. I can't picture it. I can't picture anything right now.
"Would you like to come over and see Vic?" Deb asks, like he's sitting there, waiting to talk to me. "Say goodbye to him?"
"I... I can't." Now I feel like a coward. A little fucking pussy coward. "I just can't."
But Debbie only pats me like a dog or a child. "Whatever you feel comfortable with, Sunshine. Vic would understand."
Sunshine. Stop calling me that! I want to scream, but I can't. Can't.
"We can't stay long," Mom says to Deb. "Molly has a Christmas concert at her school tonight. She's expecting us. I'm sorry, but..."
"Don't apologize, Jen," Debbie replies. "Vic loved Christmas. And Christmas concerts. You can't disappoint your little girl. I'm only happy you were able to come."
Debbie walks away, greeting some people who just came in, none of whom are Brian. My mom gives me a look.
"You didn't have to lie," I tell her. "Especially to cover for me."
"I know this is upsetting you, Justin. We've paid our respects. And there's still the service tomorrow." She pauses. "And the burial."
Burial. That makes me feel claustrophobic. I need some air. Like... now.
Outside, my hand is shaking even more. My whole body is shaking.
I want to cry. I need to cry. To let it all out. To let everything out.
But I can't.
Fucking can't.
It's like I'm drowning. I can't find the sky. Can't find the air.
Can't breathe.
Can't can't can't.
***
Brian's here.
I guess I knew he would be. He and Vic go back as far as he goes with Michael and Deb -- plus there's the whole thing about them fucking. I still don't know if Michael knows about that, but I suspect Debbie does. Not a lot about either Vic or Brian ever got by Deb.
The graveside service is... unsettling. The hole in the ground and all the mourners holding roses and the lesbian minister talking about Vic like she knew him -- which she didn't. After all the things the Catholic Church has done to us fags over the years, I know Vic was still a believer. And so is Tim. But there's no priest in sight, just a bunch of the guys from Dignity, some with rosaries in their hands, praying.
Tim looks shattered and Debbie almost as torn up. But I'm feeling more calm today. The casket is closed and I don't have to see Vic's face. Don't have to think about him dead. In the ground. Covered with dirt.
It's freezing cold, but the sweat is trickling down the back of my neck.
Brian is suddenly standing right next to me. But I can't look at him. This isn't the place. This isn't the time. My mom glances at Brian and then at me. I know she wants to ask me what happened, but what can I tell her? I don't even know myself -- except that things just fell apart. One day we were happy, the next day I was in the Pitts and Brian was in New York or Toronto or L.A. or wherever the fuck and it had all gone to hell.
Deb starts crying. And I mean really crying. Like, wailing uncontrollably. Carl tries to lead her away, but she won't budge. Michael looks like he's going to start up next. The female minister ends the service quickly and we all toss our roses onto the casket. The thorns prick me right through my gloves, but I'm so numb I don't feel the pain.
I grab Mom's arm and pull her along. I have to get the fuck out of here.
But Mom stops in her tracks. "Honey, I need to see if Debbie needs anything. We're all going back to the house. I made a cake and Lindsay and Melanie are bringing food, too. So is Emmett." And she leaves me alone and unprotected.
From...
"Hey."
And Brian's there. No way to avoid him now.
"Hey."
I don't want to look at him, but I can't help myself. I love him and I always will. There's no use trying to deny it. But I can't live like this anymore. I just can't.
Of course Brian immediately launches into a stupid lecture about leaving the loft empty and the Jeep and a bunch of other useless shit. I what to shout, "Who cares! That's not the point!" But I can't form the words. I only mumble about getting a new apartment. But he won't stop about the Jeep. "It's filled with gas!" I tell him. Now shut up, Brian! Just go away now.
But he won't go away. That's the story of my life. He won't go away and I can never let myself go away. He tries to press the keys into my hand. "Take it!" he orders.
And then he says if I don't take the Jeep he'll just sell it. And sell the loft.
That knocks the wind out of my sails.
He wants to leave Pittsburgh for good. "I'm never going to live in Pittsburgh again. It's pointless to keep the place."
And he means it. Every word.
He turns and storms away.
And I run. Just fucking run in the opposite direction.
Something is chasing me, but I don't know what the fuck it is.
***
I wait in my mother's car. She finally shows up, looking worried. "Justin, I've been looking all over for you. I thought you left with Brian."
"Yeah, sure," I say. "Can you drop me off at the apartment?"
"We're going to Deb's. And that's final." She's annoyed. "You owe her at least that much."
Go ahead, Mom -- make me the bad guy!
At Deb's there's a false air of cheerfulness, like it's a real party. Someone -- Michael? Emmett? -- has gone up to the attic and brought down some Christmas decorations in an attempt to make it look like anyone gives a damn about the holidays. A small fake Christmas tree with some bedraggled strands of tinsel hanging from the plastic branches sits on the table. It's pathetic considering that Debbie always had the biggest tree she could fit into the living room.
I glance around the room, but there's no sign of Brian. I feel relieved, but also disappointed. What the fuck is the matter with me? I slink down in the corner, hoping no one will notice me. But that doesn't last very long.
"What the heck is going on between you and Brian?"
It figures Michael would poke his nose into this mess.
"Nothing," I say. "And I mean that literally."
"Do you really think my Uncle Vic's burial is the best place for you two to have a fucking argument?" he bitches at me.
"I didn't start it," I say.
"I don't give a shit!" Michael's eyes are already red with tears, but his anger just makes it worse. "You two only think of yourselves! You two selfish fucks deserve each other!"
"If you don't want me here, then I'll leave." I get up and make a grand exit out the door -- but once I'm on the porch, watching the snow fall, I realize I have no way to get back to my apartment except to walk or wait for my mother to leave. Shit, Taylor -- you're a fucking piece of work!
Then Michael comes out onto the porch. "Listen..."
"I don't need another argument today," I tell him. "I guess I'll call a fucking cab."
But to my surprise he says, "I'm sorry. I'm just so upset about Vic and my mom and everything. And Brian, too. It's not you."
We stand there for a moment, watching the snow pile up.
Finally I say what I don't even want to think about. "Brian told me he's selling the loft. That he's leaving the Pitts for good and never coming back. That's why he wants me to take the Jeep, so he won't have to bother getting rid of it."
Michael recoils like he's been slapped. But then he recovers and makes an excuse for Brian, as always. "You know that he's always saying that. That he's going to sell the loft and leave town."
"But he already has," I reply softly. "He left a long time ago, Michael. We just don't want to admit it. If he really sells the loft, that'll only be the final step."
Michael looks like he's going to start crying again. "What are we going to do?"
"Did he talk to you at all?"
He shakes his head. "Not really. He showed up at the funeral home for a little while, but he didn't really say much. And he left the service before I had a chance to talk to him. He's also not answering his cell."
"So what else is new?" I sigh.
"Are you going to take the Jeep?" Michael asks.
"I've taken enough from him!" I want to shout, but my voice feels weak.
"If you don't take, he'll see that as a personal rejection. That's the way he saw you paying him back. And moving out of the loft. Not as payback, but as a slap in the face to his pride."
Fuck. I already know that. But it's stupid. "But what about my pride? He's always telling me to be a man. To stand on my own two feet. And never to owe anyone anything! So why should he be surprised when I try to do the right thing?"
"Because it's not about what you owe him. He's Brian. That tuition and the loft and the Jeep and everything else -- that was never a loan. It was gift, just like everything he's ever given me, or Ma, or Vic. It's the way he tells you that he loves you, especially when he can't say it any other way. Paying it back -- giving everything back -- says, 'I don't love you anymore. And, by the way, fuck you.'"
"I didn't mean it that way!" But I wince because I know Michael's right. I've always known it. I was angry and I wanted to hurt Brian. So I picked the way that would hurt him the most.
"If you want to get out of here, I'll drive you home," says Michael. "I need to clear my head, too."
"Thanks."
And he drives me home. If you can call this place home.
It's cold and dark in the apartment, just like my mood. I don't have any furniture except a card table, my computer desk, my drawing table, and a bunch of cardboard boxes. I don't even have a bed, just a futon. I get in the thing with my clothes on to keep warm. Merry fucking Christmas!
I keep thinking about Brian leaving. Leaving thinking I don't love him. Leaving thinking I've fucked him over.
Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was frustrated. We were apart -- again. And I was sick of it! And I knew it would always be that way -- Brian in one place and me in another. Seeing each other for a couple of weeks at a time, a couple of days, a couple of hours... Shit!
I can't live like that. I just can't.
No one is the bad guy here. Not Brian. Not me. But no one is the good guy either. We both made mistakes. We both fucked up.
It's late, but I call a cab. The snow has finally stopped falling, but it's still freezing. The cab driver doesn't seem happy to be working on a holiday -- it's after midnight and officially Christmas Eve,
"You want me to wait?" he asks as he pulls up in front of Brian's building.
"No," I tell him, giving him all the cash I have in my pocket, the last of my allowance until January. "You don't need to wait."
As I ride up in the elevator I realize that Brian might have somebody with him. Or he might have already left town. Well, that's the chance I'll have to take.
I slide open the heavy door. That clanging sound. I remember the first time I heard it. My heart was beating just as loudly. Nothing was ever the same after that night -- for either of us.
Brian's in bed -- alone. His face is in shadow.
"I still had my key to the loft," I explain. "I forgot to leave it. If you're going to sell, then..."
"Thanks. Leave it on the counter." His voice is flat, toneless.
"The Jeep... Thanks." Then I add, stupidly, "I'll pay you back. I promise."
"It's a fucking gift!" he snaps. "Take it and don't apologize. What am I going to do with the Jeep? Ship it back to L.A.? Use it and forget it. I'll have my lawyer send your lawyer whatever paperwork is necessary. Now shut the fuck up about it!"
"Okay," I whisper.
I'm about to turn and leave, but something stops me. This is my last chance. Our last chance.
I take off my clothes.
Brian watches me silently. As I step up to the bed, he takes me in. He's always taken me in, whenever I needed it. And I need it now. Need for him not to reject me. Not to lecture me or teach me a lesson. But just to love me. He doesn't have to say anything. Just do it.
It's almost as if he's in pain. That's not what I expected. Brian's always been so strong. Always. But now...
It feels different. It feels like... goodbye.
That's what it is. He's saying goodbye. I knew it before I came here, but it's still hard. Hard to think of. So I don't think. I just feel. Just try to memorize every moment, because I know it's the last, the end of everything.
Maybe we'll run into each other again one day and fuck like old friends. Or like strangers. But never again like lovers. I understand that now.
I understand.
Brian falls into an exhausted sleep, his arms tightly around me like he's afraid to let go.
If I stay, what would that mean? Things would just go on in fits and starts, like always. He'll leave and I'll stay here, the same as always, with promises that it'll all work out -- someday.
I lay in Brian's big bed, thinking about when I believed everything I wanted was right here. I wanted Brian and that was enough. But so much has happened since then. Too much.
I gently slip out of his arms and get dressed. I take the keys to the Jeep and leave the key to the loft behind. I slide the loft door shut as quietly as I can. The Jeep is in the garage under the building. It takes a few minutes to start up in the cold.
Then I drive through the empty streets, back to my empty apartment.
Alone.
***
"You died today,
But you're still breathing,
In my mind,
That is,
There's no more good guys.
You left me standing here,
Alone and colder,
I hope that some day soon,
The pain inside will stop.
I hoped you'd see me,
I hoped you'd understand,
Or crucify me for my failings,
My cruel ambition,
Hardly justified,
And the pain inside will ... stop."
(Skin Dive)