Pictures of You - part 6 (open for comments)
Pictures of You
By Chanadé Scriva
VI.
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you
A large beech-tree shadowed the part of the cemetery where the grave was set. Jon remembered it from the funeral, but he was glad that his mum had drawn him a plan of the cemetery. He might not have found the grave without it, the memories of the funeral being hazed by pain, confusion and rainy weather. But, he remembered the beech-tree reaching with dark and wet skeleton fingers in a grey Winter sky. Now the silvery trunk and the fresh green leaves were just additional charms of this spot planted with ivy, lilies of the valley, and a few daffodils. Jon had no doubt that his mum had planted the lasts.
The stone was rough, as if it had just arrived from the quarry. It was dark brown, and its form and crispy surface reminded of a nutshell, the protective cover of something waiting to be born. Just a part of the surface was smooth and carried a black plaque on which white letters formed the words:
Jasper Garfield
* November 7, 1973
= January 5, 1999
" ... It is what it is
says love."
At the sight of this stone, different than the usual marble, strange in its form, Jon swallowed, his eyes started burning. Why hadn’t he bought some bloody flowers, so he would have something to do with his hands? Though now, they hung so heavily at the ends of his arms. He put his hands in his pockets, taking long deep breathes. But even so, it wasn’t much more easy to stay here, even more as the gravestone appeared so fitting for Jaz, despite the hated "Jasper", only used by the old man when he was angry, happening quite often, because Jaz hadn’t possessed this gift to disappear from his perception like Jon, nor would he ever have used it.
Jon wasn’t sure anymore what he expected from this visit, but the wish to see the grave was haunting him since the moment they had reached London. And he had wanted to come here alone, but now a weight pressed on his chest, choking him. The worst of all was this impulse to speak with Jaz, or rather to speak with a bloody gravestone. He missed him so much, missed the knowledge that he could always talk with him on the phone, he missed that strange view on the world, that living in poetry, the laughing and the enthusiasm, he even missed his own embarrassment about Jaz trying to help him with the billiard by distracting Brian with dirty talk. Like the waves of the oceans, pictures of the past invaded his mind: childhood games, a cave formed with sheets and Jaz holding the stick-light under his chin, transforming his face into demoniac masks, school theatre, music, Jaz and his guitar, borrowed from someone else because the old man didn’t want that "cat music" in his house, let alone waste money for it. He remembered the day when Jaz had left for London, the last day Jon ever cried. The pictures were so vivid, he didn’t see the stone anymore, his eyes hazed. He tasted salt on his lips.
Footsteps approached, certainly not belonging to some old woman. Fucking hell! Jon wiped his eyes quickly. What bad timing! This bloke was the last who should see him cry. Oh yes, he knew who it was, even before the steps stopped behind him, but Brian stayed silent for a very long time. He even gave Jon enough time to regain his composure.
"I hope it is alright for you," He broke the silence finally with an unusual small voice. "Everyone who saw it afterwards told me more or less that I must be crazy, and completely indelicate, if they didn’t ask me if I have really hated him so much, but -"
Jon swallowed then replied, "You don’t have to explain anything, Brian, it is -" and turning back, he lost his voice. In just a few days, Brian had changed his hairdo completely. He wore his hair very short now, but the colour was blue. The other thing astonishing him was the black cape Brian wore - the trademark of the Princes of Darkness. "What the fuck -?" Jon let out.
The smile covered Brian’s unease. "I always keep a few rituals when I come to visit him. At first, it just helped me to get a bit distance, but finally, it appeared just right."
"Don’t tell me, you also talk with him."
"No, I’m not this crazy, at least, I don’t do it loudly." He stepped on Jon’s side, and for some more minute, they looked together at the grave. "I had the honour to talk with your father when I found the courage to ask about the stone and the grave. Five months, and no trace of a sign, not even a hint of care for the grave. I thought it was because of you and the process, but your father taught me better. It was awful, and afterwards I was almost glad that it wasn’t him on the phone the other day, when I had called from the hospital."
"I was no better choice." Jon admitted. "It should have been my mum, she would have found the right words." Jon continued staring at the stone, sensing Brian’s gaze nevertheless.
"I’m sorry." Brian replied. "I fear I can barely remember what I told you. I wasn’t able to think reasonable that morning."
Jon took a deep breath, struck by a mixture of anger and disbelieve that almost made him laugh, and cry at the same moment. He hadn’t forgotten one single word of this conversation, he had built and fortified his hatred with the memory.
..."Jonathan Garfield."
"Hi, ... Jon, this is Brian."
"Oh. You. What do you want?"
"I - I - ... Could I speak with your parents?"
"That’s really bad luck, Brian, but my mum is shopping, and - I don’t think that you want to speak with my father, he doesn’t like fairies."
"Good, you - He will be lucky now, because his fairy of a son has just fucking killed himself. Have a nice day, you fuck!"
The words almost laid on his lips, but then he swallowed them. What use would it have to blame Brian for them even now? Instead of that he said: "I wanted to kill you. When I killed the man in the pub, I wished it was you, I thought it was you. I thought that hurting you, beating you senseless would help me to feel something. It wouldn’t even have changed anything when you had tried to talk with me earlier that day, when you brought back the things. I wanted to let you pay for Jaz, but instead I killed a poor fool who was too drunk to think about his words. Still, in jail, I knew why I had done it, even if this knowledge didn’t justify anything, I knew I killed him on your place, and I thought that you had deserved death. And now -"
"You don’t feel like playing the judge anymore?"
"No, and therefore it is even harsher to live with it. It was like a blind rash, a red haze before my eyes. I have never been violent in my whole life, and when the memories return, of beating and beating and beating and cries in the pub and this strange high pitched sound in my ears, I simply want to throw up."
Jon wished for something to drink, his throat feeling dry and rough, but he didn’t regret his confession. He was just a bit embarrassed, because Brian looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I’m not sure if I can help you. After all, it’s your burden, but you have no choice but to continue your life, despite, and make the best of it. Well, you also have the other option, but," Brian fished in his pockets for his cigarettes, offered one to Jon, and lit both of their sticks. "but I don’t think that it is an option for you."
"No." Jon inhaled the smoke. "Never." He blew it out through his nose. "You wanted to know if I’m scared. Fear is nothing in comparison."
Brian made no comment, smoking silently and looking at the grave. Finally, his eyes slowly wandered towards Jon, and there it was: the intense look inspiring him unease.
"I know." Brian’s voice sounded very calm, as if he had just made a decision. "Before, I thought depression and panic attacks happened to others, not to me. I was perfectly conscious of my limits, and my strengths. Now, I’m a nervous wreck, I never know when the bloody depression hits me again. I smoke too much," He waved the hand with the cigarette. "and I submit my life to ridiculous little rituals. I’m not really miserable, but it makes the life and myself damned unpredictable."
"Just because of Jaz?"
"No, because I’m HIV positive."
Jon froze, utterly shocked. The cigarette fell from his mouth.
"Aids?" He let out after what appeared to him an eternity, an irrational fear raising gooseflesh on his back, and at the same moment, he shook his head about himself. There was no danger at all, because you didn’t get this through sleeping together in a bed, let alone speaking, or playing billiard.
Brian shrugged, flicking ash on the way. "I have started the treatment just four months ago."
Jon tried to connect the news with the events of the last week.
"Had this errand -"
"Yes, I was in the hospital, for the results of my tests, to see if the medication is working."
"And?"
"It does work." Brian laughed, a strange sound, and, for a second, spread his arms in a gesture of sincere happiness, shocking Jon even more with this. "I’m so relieved, because I was freaking scared that it wouldn’t work. I feared I had all the cramps and nausea for nothing."
"My mum does know that." Jon remembered her question and the strange expression of her face.
"Yes, because of the autopsy report." Brian dropped the end of his cigarette, and shoved little stones on it with his black laced boots. His happiness was gone.
One second, Jon had no idea what he meant, but then the comprehension almost hit him physically: the report of Jaz’ autopsy.
"No," He protested, looking at the grave, then turning his eyes back to Brian who answered his gaze calmly. "you’re lying." But it was just logical that they had made an autopsy, since the circumstances of Jaz’ death weren’t clear at first, because Brian had found him in the bath tube. And, of course, an analyse of the blood could reveal more than the high dose of soporifics, but this was just the worst he could imagine. A shadow of the fury he had felt the day of disaster flashed through his mind, almost choking him, making his hand itch. But instead of letting it free, he spat at Brian. "You gave him this shit."
Brian shrugged. "He thought otherwise, because he knew that he had never used protection." Then he laughed bitterly. "Can you imagine? He always lectured me about the danger of smoking and that I would cause him a cancer, but he has never used a condom in his whole life, because it felt unnaturally to him. I wanted to kill him when he told me that, but well, I should have known it." He shook his head, and shrugged again. "I have no idea whose fault it was, because I haven’t always been careful either. Despite all reason, you don’t always think of it when you want to have sex, or maybe, just in an afterthought, you calm yourself with Hey, one time, it won’t happen just now. Then one time becomes two, or three, a few little actions with big consequences. I only know that I got infected after my travel to Asia, because I had already made a test half a year after the trip to Bangkok."
"Because you had lot of sex there."
Jon said it very sharply, surprised about his anger, Jaz had been convinced of this, but this time, Brian laughed for real.
"Oh yes, my reputation, but the truth is, I hadn’t any. It seriously hurt my pride that most of the blokes wanted money for it. Imagine, I thought I was pretty good at it. Why the fuck should I have paid? No, I made the test, because my mum almost got a shock when she knew about the tattoo, and that I’d got a little fever afterwards. She didn’t leave me alone, winning the rest of the family for her side, until I made the bloody test. Anyway, I have stopped to ask for a reason because it’s useless and not helpful at all. I have to live with it."
I have to live with it. The words echoed in Jon’s mind. To think that he had wished Brian to die inspired him dread in the light of these revelations. Playing the judge Brian had called this conviction that he, Jon, had a right to carry out a death sentence. Like Jaz had decided that he deserved death.
"But Jaz believed that he was guilty."
"Obviously, but it wasn’t all. I don’t know what happened in his head. We have decided to make the test when a friend of us, or rather one of my better friends, told us that he was infected, by this way, confessing me that he had slept with Jaz without protection. What else should we have done? Though, Jaz never wanted to discuss future for the case that the test results were positive. He just said that nothing would happening to me, because he never wanted to hurt me seriously. He was really convinced of this idea. Or he asked me if I would still love him when he was sick, and these questions made me so miserable that I stopped the discussion." Brian crouched down at the grave, starting to pull out bad weeds. "I still wish I had insisted, I still wish I could have looked in his bloody brain. But I couldn’t do anything else than preparing myself, because I wasn’t as optimistic as him. Then when we knew the truth, I was shocked despite the preparations, and he was incredibly serene. We passed two wonderful days during which, in my eyes, he made up for every wrong, being charming, passionate and affective. It was a prefect camouflage, and I would have laughed at everyone telling me that he was thinking about suicide. I thought that, together, we could cope with it, I was very hopeful."
Brian stopped speaking, even his hands let go the bad weeds. He just crouched there and looked at the gravestone, though he didn’t seem at the verge of tears, either.
"When the first shock was gone, I hated him for doing this to me. Maybe, he was right, maybe, one day, we would have stopped to love each other, but that could also have happened when we had continued our life like before. People always change, nobody stays the same all his life, but this frightened him, that things might change his life, forcing other rules on him than the ones he liked to set. He wrote it in the letter, included in his special mystical crap, but I seriously hated him for kind of dumping me at the first occasion when I needed him. I’ve never felt so betrayed in my whole life. That’s why I put away all his things. Only then I had to take care of the grave, because seeing it rot was an awful sight, maybe I also was obsessed by the idea to prove him even afterwards that he wasn’t like some garbage you throw away and forget. By this, I got a sort of balance, superficially but a balance nevertheless."
"Well, you’ve found yourself a substitute." Jon said, regretting his words immediately. He just didn’t know what to say, confronted with Brian’s feelings, as intense as his own.
Brian looked up to him at the comment, disbelieving and resentful. "Wow," He let out. "and I thought I had a bad character, but this was really disgusting. Jaz is dead, and he will never come back, no matter what I feel. Why the fuck should I stay alone all my life?"
"Sorry."
"I hope so." Answering shortly, Brian rose from his crouching position, gathering the heap of bad weeds with his hands. Without any further word, he went to the nearest garbage container, leaving Jon embarrassed, still trying to get over all these confusing news. Though, he would need a bit more time to really grasp it, to really comprehend that Jaz had wanted to die, obviously trusting none of them - not Brian, not Jon and even less his parents - to give him support in a really hard time.
"If you want," Brian said, returning, not angry anymore, at least not manifesting any open sign. "I can give you the letter."
"Didn’t you burn it?"
"No," A hint of his usual smile showed up in Brian’s face. "Oh, I tore it to pieces and threw them in the garbage, but in the same night, I rummaged through the dustbin for these pieces, took them back and reconstructed the letter with glue. I have already proposed the same to your mum, but she didn’t want it."
Jon shrugged, unsure if he seriously wanted to confront himself with the truth that Brian was the only person Jaz had at least considered worth of a last letter.
"Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?" He asked instead.
"When should I have told you?"
"I can remember a few occasions."
"Yes," Brian made a short pause. "Yes, but you just started to loosen up, and it was good to have the company of someone who doesn’t know it. I barely forget it for a minute, and it is even worse that some people tend to treat me like a dying man, but -"
"Don’t worry, Brian, you appear quite alive in my eyes, but why now?"
"Well, I though it was the best place and time, and - I had to give you a few explanations because of this." He took a blue paper from his pocket. "I meant, because you don’t know anyone in London, this might be a good occasion to make acquaintances. It’s a party, open to everyone, not just a gay event, though, it -."
"I see." Dance macabre - Every second Saturday in the month, announced the paper, and added in smaller letters: All taking in favour of the fight against Aids. Contact: James Barclay and Brian Lee, followed by their phone numbers. "Who is James Barclay?"
"The substitute." The answer came in this short and sharp snapping Jon had always associated with Brian, a sure sign that Brian wasn’t gone so easily over the comment. Now, he shoved his hands in his pockets, gave Jon a glare and finally said: "Well, give it a thought. There will be lots of nice and open minded people, so you might feel at ease, and by the way, you have my phone number. Whenever you want a talk, you can call me. I don’t hold grudges, whatever I might feel now." He smiled faintly. Then slapped Jon’s shoulder with a friendly gesture. "See you!"
"Yeah! See you!" Jon replied, and Brian left him alone with the grave, giving him space to finally gather his wits together. Though, suddenly, Jon had no wish anymore to stay alone with Jaz, and now, anger and frustration previously covered by confusion emerged inside him. These feelings were as intense as his grieve and his former hatred of Brian. Why the fuck did Jaz throw away his life as if nobody cared for him, as if he was solitaire in the world, as if he hadn’t had a brother who loved him despite everything, and would have loved him despite this disease? No, he didn’t want to argue about this with the silent grave which wouldn’t give him any answer. "Go fuck yourself, Jaz." He said softly, and left.
From behind, Brian appeared like a melancholic dark shadow, with the cape swaying gently around him. When Jon caught up with him, he saw that Brian had put on his sunglasses, and the visible part of his face showed an expression of stubbornness. He threw Jon a short glance, tried a smile, failing miserably at it. As strange as it was, seeing Brian vulnerable, barely able to keep his mask of good humour and sarcasm, inspired Jon the thought that Jaz might still be alive if he had had more of this attitude, more of Brian’s courage.
"The worst is realising how weak Jaz was." It was hard to say, and Jon almost felt like a traitor. "He always appeared like a giant to me with his dreams. But giving up so easily, it -"
"It’s not a question of weakness. It’s a question of growing up. Living with the consequences of your actions, living with guilt or deceptions. That’s the difference between a child and an adult. Jaz wanted to be Peter Pan, a never-ageing, never-changing creature. He was selfish like a child, not weak in the sense you mean." Brian stopped, taking off his sunglasses. "I knew that, I knew that long before he killed himself, but I wish it wasn’t his only truth." He took a deep unsteady breath. "Let’s stop speaking about this. I have never spoken about him this much like with you. It really makes me sick."
"Alright." It was only fair. Though, just before they reached the exit of the cemetery, Jon made a last try nevertheless. "I’m sorry, but would you tell me the meaning of these words, written on the gravestone?"
"It’s from a poem, my sister Joan had found it once and given it to me because she said it reminded her of me." Suddenly, while he was speaking, Brian’s smile was back. Jon had no idea which one of Brian’s sisters Joan was. He had never met one of them, not even wanted to met them, because of Jaz’ opinion about them. And then, he froze when Brian started speaking again, his slightly husky voice raising gooseflesh on his back:
"It is madness
says reason
It is what it is
says love
It is unhappiness
says caution
It is nothing but pain
says fear
It has no future
says insight
It is what it is
says love
It is ridiculous
says pride
It is foolishness
says caution
It is impossible
says experience
It is what it is
says love."
Brian stopped, clearing his throat, then grinned friendly. "I got you." And rubbing Jon’s back with the same warmth, he added a bit more mischievously: "I’m good at making people shudder. After all, I’m still a Prince of Darkness, even without make-up."
"You asshole. You are flirting again."
"Yes." Brian smirked. "But you can be happy, I don’t want to break your heart, nor lose something precious just for an illusion. Come, let’s go!" With another smack in the back, Brian shoved him forwards, and they left the cemetery. After a few steps, while Jon just followed him, unsure if he should take the bus back to the house of his mum, or just go into a café, Brian broke the silence again. "By the way, did you have any success in that town?"
Jon snorted. "No, in fact, Betty was by far the most interesting and attractive girl, and we played billiard the two other nights. It was really good. Though, she didn’t want to cheat on her boyfriend, just because he actually is in the Navy."
"Shit happens."
"I thought you always get what you want."
Brian chuckled. "I’m flattered." Though, he didn’t deny, nor confirm the statement. After a few more steps, he waved towards someone Jon couldn’t see at first, then stopped. "Okay, I have to go now. But, I would like to see you for the party. Or anytime else."
"I’ll give it a thought," Jon played with the paper in his pocket. Then he reached out for Brian’s shoulder and gave him a gentle punch. "Take care."
"I’ll do. Thank you." Brian smiled. "Take care too."
Then he crossed the street, going towards a man leaning against a wall, Jon hadn’t noted before. With brown slightly curled hair, and a high and slender shape, he was one more proof of Brian’s sense for aesthetics, and the man had obviously been looking at them, because laughing, Brian covered his eyes with his hands. Jon couldn’t understand what they were talking about, but the other laughed, too, and then Brian waved a last time at Jon, before they went away.
Jon took his cigarettes and lit one, following them with his eyes. A barely conscious smile twitched his lips when, after a while, he saw Brian’s hand disappear in the other man’s back-pocket. For an unknown reason he suddenly felt happier, easier than before. When Brian didn’t remain frozen in pain, why should he? Smoking and smiling for himself, Jon went to the bus to go back to the apartment of his mum. They still had a lot of things to discuss.
Time that had stopped for him the day of Jaz’ death, started floating again. After all, wasn’t it better than just being overrun by the changes of other people?
The end
I'm not completely satisfied with the end. There exists another version of the end, I had send to Firuze, but deleted on my own computer - stupid me.
By Chanadé Scriva
VI.
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you
A large beech-tree shadowed the part of the cemetery where the grave was set. Jon remembered it from the funeral, but he was glad that his mum had drawn him a plan of the cemetery. He might not have found the grave without it, the memories of the funeral being hazed by pain, confusion and rainy weather. But, he remembered the beech-tree reaching with dark and wet skeleton fingers in a grey Winter sky. Now the silvery trunk and the fresh green leaves were just additional charms of this spot planted with ivy, lilies of the valley, and a few daffodils. Jon had no doubt that his mum had planted the lasts.
The stone was rough, as if it had just arrived from the quarry. It was dark brown, and its form and crispy surface reminded of a nutshell, the protective cover of something waiting to be born. Just a part of the surface was smooth and carried a black plaque on which white letters formed the words:
Jasper Garfield
* November 7, 1973
= January 5, 1999
" ... It is what it is
says love."
At the sight of this stone, different than the usual marble, strange in its form, Jon swallowed, his eyes started burning. Why hadn’t he bought some bloody flowers, so he would have something to do with his hands? Though now, they hung so heavily at the ends of his arms. He put his hands in his pockets, taking long deep breathes. But even so, it wasn’t much more easy to stay here, even more as the gravestone appeared so fitting for Jaz, despite the hated "Jasper", only used by the old man when he was angry, happening quite often, because Jaz hadn’t possessed this gift to disappear from his perception like Jon, nor would he ever have used it.
Jon wasn’t sure anymore what he expected from this visit, but the wish to see the grave was haunting him since the moment they had reached London. And he had wanted to come here alone, but now a weight pressed on his chest, choking him. The worst of all was this impulse to speak with Jaz, or rather to speak with a bloody gravestone. He missed him so much, missed the knowledge that he could always talk with him on the phone, he missed that strange view on the world, that living in poetry, the laughing and the enthusiasm, he even missed his own embarrassment about Jaz trying to help him with the billiard by distracting Brian with dirty talk. Like the waves of the oceans, pictures of the past invaded his mind: childhood games, a cave formed with sheets and Jaz holding the stick-light under his chin, transforming his face into demoniac masks, school theatre, music, Jaz and his guitar, borrowed from someone else because the old man didn’t want that "cat music" in his house, let alone waste money for it. He remembered the day when Jaz had left for London, the last day Jon ever cried. The pictures were so vivid, he didn’t see the stone anymore, his eyes hazed. He tasted salt on his lips.
Footsteps approached, certainly not belonging to some old woman. Fucking hell! Jon wiped his eyes quickly. What bad timing! This bloke was the last who should see him cry. Oh yes, he knew who it was, even before the steps stopped behind him, but Brian stayed silent for a very long time. He even gave Jon enough time to regain his composure.
"I hope it is alright for you," He broke the silence finally with an unusual small voice. "Everyone who saw it afterwards told me more or less that I must be crazy, and completely indelicate, if they didn’t ask me if I have really hated him so much, but -"
Jon swallowed then replied, "You don’t have to explain anything, Brian, it is -" and turning back, he lost his voice. In just a few days, Brian had changed his hairdo completely. He wore his hair very short now, but the colour was blue. The other thing astonishing him was the black cape Brian wore - the trademark of the Princes of Darkness. "What the fuck -?" Jon let out.
The smile covered Brian’s unease. "I always keep a few rituals when I come to visit him. At first, it just helped me to get a bit distance, but finally, it appeared just right."
"Don’t tell me, you also talk with him."
"No, I’m not this crazy, at least, I don’t do it loudly." He stepped on Jon’s side, and for some more minute, they looked together at the grave. "I had the honour to talk with your father when I found the courage to ask about the stone and the grave. Five months, and no trace of a sign, not even a hint of care for the grave. I thought it was because of you and the process, but your father taught me better. It was awful, and afterwards I was almost glad that it wasn’t him on the phone the other day, when I had called from the hospital."
"I was no better choice." Jon admitted. "It should have been my mum, she would have found the right words." Jon continued staring at the stone, sensing Brian’s gaze nevertheless.
"I’m sorry." Brian replied. "I fear I can barely remember what I told you. I wasn’t able to think reasonable that morning."
Jon took a deep breath, struck by a mixture of anger and disbelieve that almost made him laugh, and cry at the same moment. He hadn’t forgotten one single word of this conversation, he had built and fortified his hatred with the memory.
..."Jonathan Garfield."
"Hi, ... Jon, this is Brian."
"Oh. You. What do you want?"
"I - I - ... Could I speak with your parents?"
"That’s really bad luck, Brian, but my mum is shopping, and - I don’t think that you want to speak with my father, he doesn’t like fairies."
"Good, you - He will be lucky now, because his fairy of a son has just fucking killed himself. Have a nice day, you fuck!"
The words almost laid on his lips, but then he swallowed them. What use would it have to blame Brian for them even now? Instead of that he said: "I wanted to kill you. When I killed the man in the pub, I wished it was you, I thought it was you. I thought that hurting you, beating you senseless would help me to feel something. It wouldn’t even have changed anything when you had tried to talk with me earlier that day, when you brought back the things. I wanted to let you pay for Jaz, but instead I killed a poor fool who was too drunk to think about his words. Still, in jail, I knew why I had done it, even if this knowledge didn’t justify anything, I knew I killed him on your place, and I thought that you had deserved death. And now -"
"You don’t feel like playing the judge anymore?"
"No, and therefore it is even harsher to live with it. It was like a blind rash, a red haze before my eyes. I have never been violent in my whole life, and when the memories return, of beating and beating and beating and cries in the pub and this strange high pitched sound in my ears, I simply want to throw up."
Jon wished for something to drink, his throat feeling dry and rough, but he didn’t regret his confession. He was just a bit embarrassed, because Brian looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I’m not sure if I can help you. After all, it’s your burden, but you have no choice but to continue your life, despite, and make the best of it. Well, you also have the other option, but," Brian fished in his pockets for his cigarettes, offered one to Jon, and lit both of their sticks. "but I don’t think that it is an option for you."
"No." Jon inhaled the smoke. "Never." He blew it out through his nose. "You wanted to know if I’m scared. Fear is nothing in comparison."
Brian made no comment, smoking silently and looking at the grave. Finally, his eyes slowly wandered towards Jon, and there it was: the intense look inspiring him unease.
"I know." Brian’s voice sounded very calm, as if he had just made a decision. "Before, I thought depression and panic attacks happened to others, not to me. I was perfectly conscious of my limits, and my strengths. Now, I’m a nervous wreck, I never know when the bloody depression hits me again. I smoke too much," He waved the hand with the cigarette. "and I submit my life to ridiculous little rituals. I’m not really miserable, but it makes the life and myself damned unpredictable."
"Just because of Jaz?"
"No, because I’m HIV positive."
Jon froze, utterly shocked. The cigarette fell from his mouth.
"Aids?" He let out after what appeared to him an eternity, an irrational fear raising gooseflesh on his back, and at the same moment, he shook his head about himself. There was no danger at all, because you didn’t get this through sleeping together in a bed, let alone speaking, or playing billiard.
Brian shrugged, flicking ash on the way. "I have started the treatment just four months ago."
Jon tried to connect the news with the events of the last week.
"Had this errand -"
"Yes, I was in the hospital, for the results of my tests, to see if the medication is working."
"And?"
"It does work." Brian laughed, a strange sound, and, for a second, spread his arms in a gesture of sincere happiness, shocking Jon even more with this. "I’m so relieved, because I was freaking scared that it wouldn’t work. I feared I had all the cramps and nausea for nothing."
"My mum does know that." Jon remembered her question and the strange expression of her face.
"Yes, because of the autopsy report." Brian dropped the end of his cigarette, and shoved little stones on it with his black laced boots. His happiness was gone.
One second, Jon had no idea what he meant, but then the comprehension almost hit him physically: the report of Jaz’ autopsy.
"No," He protested, looking at the grave, then turning his eyes back to Brian who answered his gaze calmly. "you’re lying." But it was just logical that they had made an autopsy, since the circumstances of Jaz’ death weren’t clear at first, because Brian had found him in the bath tube. And, of course, an analyse of the blood could reveal more than the high dose of soporifics, but this was just the worst he could imagine. A shadow of the fury he had felt the day of disaster flashed through his mind, almost choking him, making his hand itch. But instead of letting it free, he spat at Brian. "You gave him this shit."
Brian shrugged. "He thought otherwise, because he knew that he had never used protection." Then he laughed bitterly. "Can you imagine? He always lectured me about the danger of smoking and that I would cause him a cancer, but he has never used a condom in his whole life, because it felt unnaturally to him. I wanted to kill him when he told me that, but well, I should have known it." He shook his head, and shrugged again. "I have no idea whose fault it was, because I haven’t always been careful either. Despite all reason, you don’t always think of it when you want to have sex, or maybe, just in an afterthought, you calm yourself with Hey, one time, it won’t happen just now. Then one time becomes two, or three, a few little actions with big consequences. I only know that I got infected after my travel to Asia, because I had already made a test half a year after the trip to Bangkok."
"Because you had lot of sex there."
Jon said it very sharply, surprised about his anger, Jaz had been convinced of this, but this time, Brian laughed for real.
"Oh yes, my reputation, but the truth is, I hadn’t any. It seriously hurt my pride that most of the blokes wanted money for it. Imagine, I thought I was pretty good at it. Why the fuck should I have paid? No, I made the test, because my mum almost got a shock when she knew about the tattoo, and that I’d got a little fever afterwards. She didn’t leave me alone, winning the rest of the family for her side, until I made the bloody test. Anyway, I have stopped to ask for a reason because it’s useless and not helpful at all. I have to live with it."
I have to live with it. The words echoed in Jon’s mind. To think that he had wished Brian to die inspired him dread in the light of these revelations. Playing the judge Brian had called this conviction that he, Jon, had a right to carry out a death sentence. Like Jaz had decided that he deserved death.
"But Jaz believed that he was guilty."
"Obviously, but it wasn’t all. I don’t know what happened in his head. We have decided to make the test when a friend of us, or rather one of my better friends, told us that he was infected, by this way, confessing me that he had slept with Jaz without protection. What else should we have done? Though, Jaz never wanted to discuss future for the case that the test results were positive. He just said that nothing would happening to me, because he never wanted to hurt me seriously. He was really convinced of this idea. Or he asked me if I would still love him when he was sick, and these questions made me so miserable that I stopped the discussion." Brian crouched down at the grave, starting to pull out bad weeds. "I still wish I had insisted, I still wish I could have looked in his bloody brain. But I couldn’t do anything else than preparing myself, because I wasn’t as optimistic as him. Then when we knew the truth, I was shocked despite the preparations, and he was incredibly serene. We passed two wonderful days during which, in my eyes, he made up for every wrong, being charming, passionate and affective. It was a prefect camouflage, and I would have laughed at everyone telling me that he was thinking about suicide. I thought that, together, we could cope with it, I was very hopeful."
Brian stopped speaking, even his hands let go the bad weeds. He just crouched there and looked at the gravestone, though he didn’t seem at the verge of tears, either.
"When the first shock was gone, I hated him for doing this to me. Maybe, he was right, maybe, one day, we would have stopped to love each other, but that could also have happened when we had continued our life like before. People always change, nobody stays the same all his life, but this frightened him, that things might change his life, forcing other rules on him than the ones he liked to set. He wrote it in the letter, included in his special mystical crap, but I seriously hated him for kind of dumping me at the first occasion when I needed him. I’ve never felt so betrayed in my whole life. That’s why I put away all his things. Only then I had to take care of the grave, because seeing it rot was an awful sight, maybe I also was obsessed by the idea to prove him even afterwards that he wasn’t like some garbage you throw away and forget. By this, I got a sort of balance, superficially but a balance nevertheless."
"Well, you’ve found yourself a substitute." Jon said, regretting his words immediately. He just didn’t know what to say, confronted with Brian’s feelings, as intense as his own.
Brian looked up to him at the comment, disbelieving and resentful. "Wow," He let out. "and I thought I had a bad character, but this was really disgusting. Jaz is dead, and he will never come back, no matter what I feel. Why the fuck should I stay alone all my life?"
"Sorry."
"I hope so." Answering shortly, Brian rose from his crouching position, gathering the heap of bad weeds with his hands. Without any further word, he went to the nearest garbage container, leaving Jon embarrassed, still trying to get over all these confusing news. Though, he would need a bit more time to really grasp it, to really comprehend that Jaz had wanted to die, obviously trusting none of them - not Brian, not Jon and even less his parents - to give him support in a really hard time.
"If you want," Brian said, returning, not angry anymore, at least not manifesting any open sign. "I can give you the letter."
"Didn’t you burn it?"
"No," A hint of his usual smile showed up in Brian’s face. "Oh, I tore it to pieces and threw them in the garbage, but in the same night, I rummaged through the dustbin for these pieces, took them back and reconstructed the letter with glue. I have already proposed the same to your mum, but she didn’t want it."
Jon shrugged, unsure if he seriously wanted to confront himself with the truth that Brian was the only person Jaz had at least considered worth of a last letter.
"Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?" He asked instead.
"When should I have told you?"
"I can remember a few occasions."
"Yes," Brian made a short pause. "Yes, but you just started to loosen up, and it was good to have the company of someone who doesn’t know it. I barely forget it for a minute, and it is even worse that some people tend to treat me like a dying man, but -"
"Don’t worry, Brian, you appear quite alive in my eyes, but why now?"
"Well, I though it was the best place and time, and - I had to give you a few explanations because of this." He took a blue paper from his pocket. "I meant, because you don’t know anyone in London, this might be a good occasion to make acquaintances. It’s a party, open to everyone, not just a gay event, though, it -."
"I see." Dance macabre - Every second Saturday in the month, announced the paper, and added in smaller letters: All taking in favour of the fight against Aids. Contact: James Barclay and Brian Lee, followed by their phone numbers. "Who is James Barclay?"
"The substitute." The answer came in this short and sharp snapping Jon had always associated with Brian, a sure sign that Brian wasn’t gone so easily over the comment. Now, he shoved his hands in his pockets, gave Jon a glare and finally said: "Well, give it a thought. There will be lots of nice and open minded people, so you might feel at ease, and by the way, you have my phone number. Whenever you want a talk, you can call me. I don’t hold grudges, whatever I might feel now." He smiled faintly. Then slapped Jon’s shoulder with a friendly gesture. "See you!"
"Yeah! See you!" Jon replied, and Brian left him alone with the grave, giving him space to finally gather his wits together. Though, suddenly, Jon had no wish anymore to stay alone with Jaz, and now, anger and frustration previously covered by confusion emerged inside him. These feelings were as intense as his grieve and his former hatred of Brian. Why the fuck did Jaz throw away his life as if nobody cared for him, as if he was solitaire in the world, as if he hadn’t had a brother who loved him despite everything, and would have loved him despite this disease? No, he didn’t want to argue about this with the silent grave which wouldn’t give him any answer. "Go fuck yourself, Jaz." He said softly, and left.
From behind, Brian appeared like a melancholic dark shadow, with the cape swaying gently around him. When Jon caught up with him, he saw that Brian had put on his sunglasses, and the visible part of his face showed an expression of stubbornness. He threw Jon a short glance, tried a smile, failing miserably at it. As strange as it was, seeing Brian vulnerable, barely able to keep his mask of good humour and sarcasm, inspired Jon the thought that Jaz might still be alive if he had had more of this attitude, more of Brian’s courage.
"The worst is realising how weak Jaz was." It was hard to say, and Jon almost felt like a traitor. "He always appeared like a giant to me with his dreams. But giving up so easily, it -"
"It’s not a question of weakness. It’s a question of growing up. Living with the consequences of your actions, living with guilt or deceptions. That’s the difference between a child and an adult. Jaz wanted to be Peter Pan, a never-ageing, never-changing creature. He was selfish like a child, not weak in the sense you mean." Brian stopped, taking off his sunglasses. "I knew that, I knew that long before he killed himself, but I wish it wasn’t his only truth." He took a deep unsteady breath. "Let’s stop speaking about this. I have never spoken about him this much like with you. It really makes me sick."
"Alright." It was only fair. Though, just before they reached the exit of the cemetery, Jon made a last try nevertheless. "I’m sorry, but would you tell me the meaning of these words, written on the gravestone?"
"It’s from a poem, my sister Joan had found it once and given it to me because she said it reminded her of me." Suddenly, while he was speaking, Brian’s smile was back. Jon had no idea which one of Brian’s sisters Joan was. He had never met one of them, not even wanted to met them, because of Jaz’ opinion about them. And then, he froze when Brian started speaking again, his slightly husky voice raising gooseflesh on his back:
"It is madness
says reason
It is what it is
says love
It is unhappiness
says caution
It is nothing but pain
says fear
It has no future
says insight
It is what it is
says love
It is ridiculous
says pride
It is foolishness
says caution
It is impossible
says experience
It is what it is
says love."
Brian stopped, clearing his throat, then grinned friendly. "I got you." And rubbing Jon’s back with the same warmth, he added a bit more mischievously: "I’m good at making people shudder. After all, I’m still a Prince of Darkness, even without make-up."
"You asshole. You are flirting again."
"Yes." Brian smirked. "But you can be happy, I don’t want to break your heart, nor lose something precious just for an illusion. Come, let’s go!" With another smack in the back, Brian shoved him forwards, and they left the cemetery. After a few steps, while Jon just followed him, unsure if he should take the bus back to the house of his mum, or just go into a café, Brian broke the silence again. "By the way, did you have any success in that town?"
Jon snorted. "No, in fact, Betty was by far the most interesting and attractive girl, and we played billiard the two other nights. It was really good. Though, she didn’t want to cheat on her boyfriend, just because he actually is in the Navy."
"Shit happens."
"I thought you always get what you want."
Brian chuckled. "I’m flattered." Though, he didn’t deny, nor confirm the statement. After a few more steps, he waved towards someone Jon couldn’t see at first, then stopped. "Okay, I have to go now. But, I would like to see you for the party. Or anytime else."
"I’ll give it a thought," Jon played with the paper in his pocket. Then he reached out for Brian’s shoulder and gave him a gentle punch. "Take care."
"I’ll do. Thank you." Brian smiled. "Take care too."
Then he crossed the street, going towards a man leaning against a wall, Jon hadn’t noted before. With brown slightly curled hair, and a high and slender shape, he was one more proof of Brian’s sense for aesthetics, and the man had obviously been looking at them, because laughing, Brian covered his eyes with his hands. Jon couldn’t understand what they were talking about, but the other laughed, too, and then Brian waved a last time at Jon, before they went away.
Jon took his cigarettes and lit one, following them with his eyes. A barely conscious smile twitched his lips when, after a while, he saw Brian’s hand disappear in the other man’s back-pocket. For an unknown reason he suddenly felt happier, easier than before. When Brian didn’t remain frozen in pain, why should he? Smoking and smiling for himself, Jon went to the bus to go back to the apartment of his mum. They still had a lot of things to discuss.
Time that had stopped for him the day of Jaz’ death, started floating again. After all, wasn’t it better than just being overrun by the changes of other people?
The end
I'm not completely satisfied with the end. There exists another version of the end, I had send to Firuze, but deleted on my own computer - stupid me.