Beyond the Yellow Brick Road-Chapter 48-Legacy (the finale) - Part 1/5
Hi, everyone. Thanks so much for your patience as I've finished this tale that started in 2005. For those who need to find the beginning before reading any further, please see Embark, then Framed, and then the saga we begin to end tonight, BYBR. I anticipate taking 3 to 5 posts to finsih this final chapter, so this is the first one. Each installment will be posted 2 days apart (at the max) and will be linked at the end of each part. I cannot imagine getting thru this process of almost a decade with this story without your eternal patience and inspiring comments. Writing can be lonely, even when there are a lot of people living in your head. For those who need to go back to the last chapter to refresh, it's here. Enjoy. ~Plum
BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD-CHAPTER 48-LEGACY (the finale) - Part 1/5
BRIAN’S POV
and all the roads we have to walk are winding
On a bitter cold Friday afternoon in November of 2011, you stood in empty commercial retail space, waiting and toying with random coils of wire as they spilled out of the ceiling. You were dressed for work having taken a half day at Kinnetik, and your overcoat, scarf, and gloves weren’t helping that much in the drafty room. But the cold was really the least of your worries; most of them were focused on Justin and what he’d decided to do. He’d been home for less than a year, a year where more changed than ever stayed the same....
************
GABE ZIRROLLI'S POV
everybody wants a box of chocolates, and a long stem rose,
everybody knows
May 2011
Falling in love--it's something you've indulged in a time or two, usually as some misplaced infatuation or physical encounter that was only meant to happen once. In the back of your mind, you held tightly to your list of preferred traits in a boyfriend; you just never expected to find all of them in one person on a day reserved for the dead.
After the funeral, you couldn't stop thinking about Daniel, about the blow job he gave you at the restaurant, at the refinement he oozed regardless of the crude act he was performing. The blow job was great, but you found yourself more interested in the expensive taste he had in clothes, at his polite, kind demeanor, at his expansive vocabulary (after all, you lived with your brother). After leaving the city that sad day, you kept in touch regularly, mostly texts and some phone calls that, at first, were predicated on Daniel's well being after the tragedy. You needed to see him again in person, though, to see if there was actually something real between you or if you were projecting. You made the gesture to come see him, the guise of needing to check in on your parents and their restaurant a perfectly legitimate reason for the trip. During the first visit, Daniel took you out to a very expensive dinner. With any other guy, you would've thought he was trying too hard to impress you (or fuck you), but not Daniel. He was--you could tell--very interested in you and very used to very expensive dinners, and the two of you had difficulty figuring out anything you didn't have in common besides, well, salary. The visits increased and became opportunities to meet your parents, go to the movies, the theater, always just the two of you getting along famously. He was courting you, and out of respect to the tradition and his gentlemanly efforts, neither of you made mention of the initial sexual act that brought you together. Over time, though, it began to seem like that was the only sexual act the two of you would be engaging in. You could tell he was attracted to you and you made it clear that the reverse was also true, yet it took an actual inquiry on your part to ever get to see the upstairs of his brownstone. Daniel blushed when you made your move, when you made sure the kiss you were sharing felt like it needed a second act, but he eventually capitulated and invited you up his stairs and into his room. What came next felt almost like another tawdry sexual act, a quick fuck and a weird moment during which he agreed that you could stay the night. After that, an awkward vibe pulsed into the room, and thinking that perhaps he was just nervous because it had been awhile since he'd been intimate with someone, you curled your body around his, not realizing that every demon he'd been fighting since Alan's murder would see that vulnerability in him and strike. It was a very long and agonizing night, one of tears and constant apologizing on Daniel's part and one of constant reassurance on yours that no apology was necessary.
This man you were falling in love with was thoroughly haunted.
************
BRIAN'S POV
'cuz if love won't fly on its own free will,
it's gonna catch that outbound plane
September 2011
A lunch meeting with Gabe was a common occurrence and often the best time the two of you could free your schedules and really talk about profit in the restaurant industry, but there’s was something about the halting way he walked into your office on a bright and brisk September day that made your brow furrow. “You okay?” you asked him, “You look either worried or constipated, but I can’t tell which.”
He laughed, “A little of both probably.”
The two of you were spreading your food out on the conference table when he took a deep breath and said, “Brian, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m giving you my resignation today.” He slid an envelope across the table to you.
You opened it and read the letter trying not to choke on the orange chicken in your mouth. “This says you’re going back to the city to run your parents’ restaurant--“
“I am. They’re old, Brian. They need to retire.”
You knew this day would come, yet you still felt unprepared and sort of bothered. Replacing Gabe, an employee who catered to your every whim…the thought exhausted you. You were certain Gabe could hear it in your voice so you immediately tried to disguise it, “Understandable. So Zeek? He goes, too?”
“I thought that might be the good news in this scenario,” Gabe joked.
You laughed, “Well, um…no comment.”
Gabe sat down and got serious, “Yes. It’s our parents’ restaurant. We both belong there. I’m sure you understand.”
You sighed, “What about Rube? How’s he going to survive without Zeek?”
Gabe laughed, “Rube already knows, and he’s totally fine with it. If you want to remove him from Babylon, you’re going to need the jaws of life to do it.”
“This letter…it doesn’t say when you’re leaving.”
Gabe handed you a fortune cookie and replied, “As soon as you can replace me, I guess,” and then he paused, “This is hard for me, too. I love Zeal. This is just something I have to do.”
“I understand,” you said because you did, “I think you’re making the right decision…but replacing you won’t be easy.”
“Give Emmett a shot,” Gabe said, “He’s fabulous and not just because he’s so very, very gay. He’ll serve you well.”
“He’s not as fiscally disciplined as you are.”
Gabe countered, “Brian, I’ve taught him a lot. He understands margins and portion sizes and that he has to cost something out before he adds it to the menu. And I’m only a phone call away if he needs help. But honestly,” he paused, “Dan and I have to find a place to live first and his place still hasn’t sold, and he’s still….“
……
“Pretty fucked up about everything that happened?” you asked to break the awkward silence.
Gabe looked more uncomfortable in that moment than you’d ever seen him as he spoke, “Some days he’s ready to sell and others he thinks selling that townhome is some kind of an insult to Alan’s memory because, you know, he…died…there.”
“Dan’s here all the time. He’s stopped seeing patients, hasn’t he?” you asked.
“He took a leave of absence.”
“What about Jon? Can’t Jon help him?”
Gabe shook his head, a tired demeanor spreading across his face, “He’s too close to the situation. Dan equates him with that madness. They talk, but not about anything important. He talks to me…about it…sometimes, and I love him, but I’ve run out of ideas about how to help him. He has night terrors about finding Alan's body. I wake up...and he's in the fetal position next to me just sobbing...."
"So he needs help? Maybe professional help?" you tried.
"Have you ever tried telling a shrink that he needs a shrink?" Gabe asked as if you'd asked him to climb a mountain in that question.
“Okay, well can I ask you something gay-man-to-gay-man? I don’t want you to take offense--.”
“Of course you can.”
You chose your words carefully, releasing them slowly, “Your feelings for Dan, and his feelings for you…are they going to be there when the fallout from this mess is finally over?”
Gabe nodded, “Yeah…our feelings are real; they’re just…buried under all this--; god, that was a terrible choice of words.”
“So, you love him?”
Gabe smiled, “I know; it happened fast and under weird circumstances, but yeah…I love him.”
You unrolled your fortune and sighed: If you want the rainbow, you must put up with the rain.
************
now we’ve come so far, so fast
Ordinarily, you would’ve picked up the phone and called Justin to hash out the news, but he was on day two of a week long road trip to Georgia with Harper and Sam. He’d come to you two weeks prior to tell you, “Look, Harper wants to go visit her old neighborhood and her Mom’s hospital and grave site and stuff. She feels like she needs to be there and tell her what happened to Alan. It’s her process, I guess. So Sam and I decided that we’ll just take a road trip-“
“Because you’re the only one who has a car,” you added.
“No, because we want closure, too. I need to process this myself; I need to get it out of my head and onto the canvas. It’s hard for me to do it here; I feel so removed. Harper has a friend in the city who has a little girl about Amelia’s age, so she’s going to stay with her.”
You nodded, “Okay, if that’s what you need to do. You going to plan this trip out or just-“
“Fly by the seat of our pants,” Justin said, “We want the journey to have an element of happenstance.”
His choice of words never ceases to amuse you. “Okay, well, just promise me that you won’t drive when you’re tired and won’t exist on gas station food.”
“The driving, sure, but we’re going to prove that you can live on Diet Mountain Dew, Cheetos, and beef jerky.”
“Um, excuse me, but I am the only beef you jerky.”
“Yeah, and I 'jerkied' it this morning, so you'll live.”
……
But later that same night around half past three in the morning, you were lying in bed smoking a cigarette and starting to worry. Every so often, you nudged Justin to see if he was semi-awake, and eventually he rolled over and lay his head on your chest. “What’s the matter?” he asked in an almost-whisper.
You sighed before you spoke, “The more I think about it, the more I don’t like this idea.”
“What idea?”
“This road trip, and hear me out before you start in on me-“
He propped himself up on his pillow and looked at you, “Okay,” his voice tainted with the slightest bit of aggravation.
You smashed your cigarette, “I’m not sure the three of you should go down there alone. You’re all still grieving, and Harper, Jesus, she’s still walking an emotional tightrope.”
“I’m just trying to take the next logical step, okay? Sam will take his camera and Harper and I will take our sketch pads, and maybe we’ll work through some of this. Have some faith in me, Brian. I’m not trying to be a hero.”
“Justin, I do-in you, and in Sam. Just promise me that if you get down there and this ‘processing’ turns into a nightmare, that you’ll let me know. I mean, they can fly back, and I’ll fly down and ride back with you or whatever. Okay? Just promise me.”
“I promise.”
You rolled onto your side and pulled him against you, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s okay,” he said, and then he reached back and touched you in that way that reminds you of taking care of him after he got hurt; it comforted and saddened you at the same time.
……
On the day of their departure, you had Roger fill a cooler with fresh fruit and vegetables and stow it in Justin’s car. And when you kissed him good-bye, you stuffed a bag of weed in the pocket of his jeans, advising him, “Use it in good health.” He immediately gave it back, “We don’t need pot. You’ll always know where we are, okay? You don’t need to worry.”
“Do you have your car charger?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll miss you, Sunshine. Be sure to get your own room so we can have phone sex.”
His eyes lit up, “Oh my god, you’re going to put me on face time and then just lay the phone on your dick, aren’t you?”
“Well,” you admitted, “I do love technology.”
“This is it…the last stage of your devolution.”
You hugged him and pushed him toward his car, “Don’t spoil it for me. It’ll be a very special moment in my life.”
************
you can linger too long in your dreams
Two days after your conversation with Gabe, you were sitting in your office glancing around your desk at the piles of work that needed to be done. Not one stack interested you; you felt unsettled inside, and truthfully, a little lonely because Justin had been gone for days. You looked out the window at the perfect fall day and decided that you were taking a very early lunch. At ten thirty-seven a.m., you walked into Zeal on a mission. Emmett jumped the minute you walked in perhaps thinking that this was his chance to further impress you, but you waived him off, “I’m not here for you.”
He looked mildly offended, “Well…okay…Gabe’s in his office-“
You looked in that direction and saw Gabe and Zeek arguing, both pointing up at a fluorescent light fixture that was malfunctioning.
“Swear to God,” Emmett said apparently following on your heels, “Zeek just now realized that the part he needs is called a ‘ballast’ and not a ‘ballads.’
You smirked a little, “I’m not looking for them either. I’m looking for….” and you finished your sentence with a shift of your eyes, and that’s all Emmett needed to respond, “He’s in there, as usual,” and he pointed to the closed French doors to the large party room. “Thanks,” you said, and then feeling guilty for brushing him off, you added, “You and me…we’ll talk soon about all this, okay?”
“Sure,” Emmett said though you could tell he didn’t quite believe you.
……
The large party room at Zeal had been Gabe’s idea a year ago, to install paned-glass French doors so the area could be closed off. It allowed Zeal to cater to the business crowd at lunch, gave companies a place to dine and make important decisions or have idiotic employee-of-the-month celebrations in private, but these days, it was mostly occupied by one man who brought his laptop and headphones and sat in the back left corner. He’d pretend to work, but you had an inkling that he was spending his days mastering Spider Solitaire. The door to that room always sticks a little, and opening it took the room’s inhabitant by surprise. He jumped in his seat and immediately pulled his headphones out, his voice almost stuttering, “Brian-hey--hello-it’s good to see you.”
“Doc,” you acknowledged.
Daniel’s face filled with an awkward smile and then he began to pack up, apologizing, “I’m so sorry. If you need this room, it’s no problem. I can work somewhere else.” He yanked his power supply from the wall as you sat down across from him and said, “No, no, I don’t need this room today. I was just kind of…hoping…you were here. I need your help with something…if you don’t mind.”
Daniel seemed immediately relieved before he wasn’t, “Well, certainly,” he swallowed, “What can I help you--? Wait, is Justin okay? Are they okay? Have you heard from them?”
“Oh, yeah…they’re fine. Talked to Justin this morning. Their goal today is to visit Ruth’s hospital. I was actually hoping you could help me with something.”
You were certain that Daniel’s guilt around occupying your party room on and off for months was contributing to his charitable spirit, “Well, certainly. Of course. What can I do?”
“Up for a little drive?” you asked.
************
I'm starting with the man in the mirror;
I'm asking him to make a change
"Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Today is Thursday, September 20, 2011. The time is eleven twelve a.m. The current temperature is sixty-seven degrees under sunny skies. You may enter your destination now.”
“NAVIGATION OFF.”
“Discontinuing navigation. Thank you.”
Daniel examined your console and remarked, “I’ve heard about this car-from Gabe, I mean. He loves it.”
You laughed, “He’s the only one that does. Trust me.” You left the windows rolled down on purpose, thinking that the moments (current and future) could use a nice breeze; the air made you less nervous.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Daniel said.
“So, have you and Gabe ever had face time sex?” you asked.
“Excuse me?”
“’Cause Justin and I did last night; I mean, we tried, but I discovered something new about myself during the process-“
“This sounds personal, Bri-“
“I discovered that I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy when it comes to phone sex. I like to close my eyes and listen to his voice.”
“Okay,” Daniel said, the tone of his voice making it clear he wanted you to change the subject.
“So have you and Gabe tried it…oh, wait…probably not because you’re always here, huh?”
“Brian, where are we going?”
“Do you mean literally or figuratively?” you ask him.
Daniel sighed and turned his body toward yours, “Both, I guess.”
……
You made another sharp right turn-albeit conversationally, “You know what, Doc? You and I are a lot alike, and I don’t mean because of our fondness for young artists-“
“I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“We’re a lot alike because when we’re at the top of our game, we both dig deep inside of people to pull out the kernel of truth and get paid handsomely for it,” you explained.
Daniel turned away and looked out his window, “Brian, I know I’m not at the top of my game right now. That’s not necessary.”
“No, no, stay with me here, Doc. I need you. We’re also alike because we approach our personal lives with unwavering conviction.”
“Unwavering conviction?”
“Sometimes to our own detriment.”
“Gabe isn’t quitting because of me; he’s quitting to run his parents’ restaurant; you can’t fault either of us for that.”
You put your hand on his shoulder, firmly, “I don’t want to lose Gabe, nobody would, but I could give a fuck about Zeal right now. That will work itself out. We’re going to talk about the things that don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t work themselves out.”
His regret seemed sadly genuine, “I have no idea what you’re getting at, Brian. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just a little slow today.”
You pointed to the upcoming intersection. The road was ending, offering a turn to either side, but you drove straight across and into a hotel parking lot. Daniel became agitated, “Brian, I know I could stay here instead of with Gabe and spend my days in my room waiting for him to get off work, but I can’t for some reason, okay? I don’t know why; I just can’t.”
The plan was officially in motion, “Dan, this hotel has nothing to do with you. We’re here for me. And for the record, I don’t care how or where you spend your days, and you are always more than welcome at any of my fine establishments.” The parking deck was virtually empty on the second level save a few abandoned vehicles and random piles of decaying leaves. You parked in the same place you always do and felt infused with hope and sadness at the same time. Daniel questioned you, “Why didn’t we just park in front of the hotel? There were plenty of spaces.”
“We’re not going into the hotel.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, “Then what are we doing?”
“Get out. I want to show you something.”
************
we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
You led a bewildered but finally compliant Daniel to the exact spot and then put your hands on his shoulders, advising him, “Stay right here.”
“Okay.”
And then you walked back to the car. When you got to your car door, you turned around and told him, “This is how far away I was.”
“From what?”
“From the reason I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Daniel looked down at the pavement, took a deep breath; his body shifted like he was putting on new and almost too snug invisible clothing, and then he looked up at you the way he used to when you first met him, when things got tough in New York, “Go on.”
“I was this close and I couldn’t stop him,” you swallowed hard. “I yelled and I ran, and you know the funny thing is that I have long legs, you know? And Justin complains about it, about how one of my steps equals two of his, and ironically, that night they weren’t long enough.”
“Can you show me where his attacker was in relation to you?” Daniel asked.
You wiped your mouth with your hand, pushing down a sour taste in the back of your throat, as you walked over to where Hobbs was standing that night. “So he was close to Justin,” Daniel surmised.
“Even closer with a bat,” you added.
“And how do you feel being this close to it now?”
“Kind of queasy,” you confessed. “But, this is the last time I’m coming back here. Justin’s off processing his shit and I’m going to deal with mine. I just thought that, maybe, you’d be a good guy to have around while I attempted this.”
He bought your rational, “Fair enough. So you think your long legs were a match for a guy that was about three times closer to Justin and wielding a baseball bat?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” you said, “And, you know, when we were in New York, when everything happened, I made a promise to him, to Justin.”
“You did?”
“That I would forgive myself for this and stop holding myself responsible.”
“And we’re here today because that’s easier said than done? Right?”
“Right,” you agreed.
Daniel began to walk back to the car with a look on his face that you suspected was the main reason Justin bonded with this guy to begin with, “I’d be…honored…to help you Brian. Granted, I’m probably not going to hit one out of the park --- okay, that was a horrific analogy, I apologize. I just mean that I’m not at my best right now, but whatever I can do-“
“Come on," you said, "Let’s find somewhere to talk.”
************
DANIEL CARTWRIGHT’S POV
It's lonely out in space
Since the day Alan died, you felt yourself spinning inward, deeper and deeper into a cocoon. And because you had the means and the authority to be your own boss, you’d enveloped yourself-just let it happen--with full on determination. The isolation became comfortable and then almost cozy. Nowhere inside that cocoon were memories of Alan-of helping him breakthrough his crippling psychological issues, of finding him beaten and bloody outside your front door, of sitting in a hospital waiting for a verdict--permitted. You’d annexed everyone who challenged your way of being to a cursory role in your life and exiled yourself from your townhome…the scene of the crime. Your shell was going to crack eventually; you knew it had to, but the day and time were always so elusive.
‘Somewhere to talk’ somehow became a journey with Brian that day. First, he drove to Gabe’s place and told you to go inside and change into something like jeans and a t-shirt. You didn’t tell him that you had to borrow from Gabe, that your pattern of denial had extended to your wardrobe, that you wore a dress shirt and dress pants every day because to dress down would mean admitting things were changing. Next, he drove to his loft where you found the empty spaciousness inviting. You were sitting on a sofa admiring the stark maleness of the place when Brian, now in jeans himself, sat down on the opposite sofa and began to prep a bong.
“We’re getting baked,” he told you before you could even object.
“I don’t smoke marijuana, Brian.”
“You do now,” he said with a smile, offering it to you after taking the first hit.
You told your first secret, “These aren’t my clothes; they’re Gabe’s. He’ll kill-be angry with me if they stink of pot tonight.”
“Not if it’s my pot,” Brian offered with a smile.
You hadn’t smoked since med school, but Brian didn’t seem like the kind of person people ever said ‘no’ to, so you acquiesced. When the THC finally began to take effect, you felt a courage bubbling up inside you, and maybe that and a softer veneer on Brian gave you the guts to ask him, “Do you remember when we were having dinner in New York and I tried to ask you a question about the painting in the tunnel, and you and Justin suddenly--?”
“Disappeared?”
“Yeah. I want an answer to my question. I want to know about that painting.”
Brian smiled a little, “It’s funny you ask about that because you remember a couple months ago when Gus came to visit for a long weekend?”
“Oh…yeah. He looks so much like you. I mean, he’s so tall! He’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, well, before he got here and unbeknownst to me, he found Justin’s CNN appearance online and suddenly had all these questions.”
“About what happened to Justin?” you asked.
“Yeah, and I didn’t really realize until then that I’d never told him, and his mothers never told him because they thought it was my place to bring it up, and of course, I never did. I mean, I couldn’t predict that Justin would want to come back, that it would ever be relevant to Gus. He’s only eleven years old.”
“Right.”
“So, I tried to tell Gus, to explain it to him, and I guess my version of it didn’t suit Justin, so he just took over and started telling Gus everything that happened like I wasn’t even in the room anymore.”
“Interesting. How did you feel about that?”
“I don’t know…I guess kind of helpless…because you know how Justin is when he’s determined to do something. You can’t stop him. He’s such a self-possessed person sometimes.”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. ‘Helpless’ can’t have felt good?”
Brian sort of snorted and laughed at little, “Justin is the only person who ever makes me feel that way. I mean, and this is a terrible thing to say, but I was the one who saw what happened to him; Justin doesn’t even remember the actual event really; he has flashes at best. So why can’t I tell my own son what happened? I didn’t stop him or say anything to him about it, but honestly, it pissed me off.”
“What do you think would’ve happened if you’d stopped him, if you insisted on telling the story?”
Brian smiled and rolled his eyes, “Honestly? I’d be in the biggest invisible dog house you’ve ever seen. And it’s haunted, too, so fuck that.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, Brian; that’s a very normal feeling to have given what you’ve both been through.”
“Well, that’s just the first stop on our PTSD-sponsored tour today. You want to know about that painting? Let’s go.”
************
as I listened through the cemetery trees
Fifteen minutes later you were standing on Chris Hobbs’ gravesite while Brian reclined on the top of headstone. The majestic oaks in the cemetery seemed to be standing guard around the two of you, their foliage determined to distract anyone who might’ve glanced in your direction. “This is it,” Brian said, “This is the genesis for that painting, for what Justin painted and for what Alan recreated in the tunnels. It started here.” He looked way too comfortable sitting on the edge of a headstone…especially this headstone; you didn’t like it; it felt wrong, but you pressed him anyway, “Why is this the genesis?”
“Well, remember when I came to New York that night and picked him up in front of your place? I know you remember because you were looking out the window at us.”
You hate thinking about that night, but again, you pushed past the discomfort, “Yes, I remember.”
“I brought him back here and we went to the funeral together. It was an intense few days.”
“I’ll bet. And when Justin came back to New York, he was somehow different.”
Brian seemed to perk up a little at that point, “Different how? What do you mean?”
You sighed, “Well, Justin and even Harper, they were always very open about their creativity, their process, their work, and when he came back from-“ you stopped and made a sweeping circular motion with your hands, “Well, when he came back from this, everything changed. He started working at night a lot and when he left in the mornings, he locked the studio.”
“He locked you out of a room in your own home?” Brian asked.
“Yes, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t get in there if I needed to; I just felt that…well, I felt that anger that would’ve sent you to the dog house, so I didn’t do it. For all the talent and insight Justin has, sometimes he’s very…protective, I guess.”
Brian laughed and relaxed his arms, “He’s still like that. I stay out of his studio most of the time unless he invites me in. I don’t fuck with his process. Learned my lesson about that.”
“It’s kind of funny. Two older men give him a place to work and both get shut out,” you observed.
“Never say ‘older’ when you’re referring to me,” Brian said with a very serious look on his face.
“Duly noted. Pretend it never happened,” you apologized and changed the subject as you sat down on the grass, “You know, Justin was really guarded about that first painting he got into a show. The one I met him in front of and tried to buy-“
“My money moves fast, I guess,” Brian shrugged but finally came down from the headstone and sat on the grass with you, crossing his long legs and leaning against it.
You picked up a skinny stick and starting poking the ground with it, “I don’t think it was just your money moving fast that night.”
“That’s fair, I guess. You know, he didn’t even tell me about that show; I found out by accident when his computer was stolen from Harper’s old place.”
That was new and significant information to you, “Really? Is that why you bought it? Because he didn’t invite you?”
Brian looked conflicted, guilty and a little surprised when he answered you, “I never thought about that, but I kind of think so now. I sort of wanted to get him back, I guess. Take something he was denying me. God, that’s fucked up.” You were about to say something when Brian looked up and continued, “Plus, something in me knew that if he was keeping it from me, it had something to do with me or with us.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know, I guess because Justin can be guarded about his work but he can also be really laissez faire, too. He either cares about it because it comes from a real place inside him or he doesn’t give a shit and just thinks about it as a commodity or a past time. It’s a defense mechanism. When he got hurt and couldn’t draw for awhile and had to learn new ways to create, something sort of split in two inside him. I think it did, anyway.”
“That’s interesting.” You looked up at a middle age couple heading toward another gravesite with flowers hanging from their hands and then went back to focusing on Brian, “It’s not uncommon for people with PTSD to experience a type of dichotomy.”
“When he came back here, he destroyed that painting when he found it hanging in my office, my home office across from our bedroom.” Brian looked away from you and lit a cigarette after he said that to you, but his body looked relieved after the admission.
“How? How did he destroy it?”
“He practically dumped this primer crap all over it, and it’s fucking huge-“
“I remember.”
“He keeps it propped up against a wall in his studio. You know, like, he doesn’t want me to have it but he wants the wrecked thing to still be in our house like some reminder to me of this crime I committed when I bought it.”
“He lied to me about it the night I met him, Brian. I saw something in that painting, something very dark, and he looked at me like I had three heads or something. I saw some type of violence in it.”
“Did he tell you to fuck off?” Brian asked.
“Now that I think about it, he told me he has violent feelings about it, but he doesn’t see it in the work.”
Brian laughed, “Okay, I’m not a shrink, and that sounds like a load of crap to me.”
“It was, and I knew it was.” You remembered Justin telling you that you were wrong about everything but then accepting your invitation that night. You said nothing to Brian along those lines, but started to realize that that’s the reason Justin went with you. You were on to something that night, and Justin wasn’t going to leave you alone with it. You asked Brian, “Justin can be almost unbearably persistent sometimes, don’t you think?”
Brian shook his head and laughed, “He practically stalked me, but you have to understand, I’d fucked the virginal-living-daylights out of him. Who wouldn’t want to go back to paradise?”
“You can only lose your virginity once, Brian.”
“It always felt like more than once with him. Sometimes it still does.” And then he got quiet, took a long drag off his cigarette and stared off in the distance for a minute or so. You spoke once Brian seemed to come back to the moment, “That’s what’s happening to me with what happened to Alan. It happens over and over and over.”
“I know,” Brian said, “That’s why I had this crazy idea that maybe…we can help each other.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“I’m serious, Doc. What happened to Alan is not your fault. You couldn’t have prevented it. I mean, the cops-those assholes-they were coming for him.”
“I know that now. He was beating the system, Alan was,” you said, “He and Stitch figured out how to take care of all those people down there for free.”
“It wasn’t free,” Brian said. “The cost just wasn’t apparent at the time of purchase.”
You broke the stick in half and stuck both pieces in the ground hard, “Why do you say that?”
Brian reached in his leather jacket and pulled out a flask and handed it to you, “Here. Don’t worry, it’s clean and full of very expensive whiskey.” You opened it slowly and took a swig as he continued, “I know that because the same thing happened with Justin. He had bad blood with this piece of shit buried underneath us. I tried to warn him once but he wouldn’t listen. It’s like Justin said in his interview on TV, he and Alan existed outside the bounds of acceptability. Justin within his peer group and Alan within society.” Again, he wore out his cigarette, sending the smoke on some far away mission.
“I was making real progress with Alan, Brian. Real progress. He had overcome so much,” you started to cry and didn’t even care, “He was going to take Justin’s place in the studio. I hadn’t even told Harper yet because I wanted to give him the chance to tell her. She would’ve been so proud of him.” The grass got blurry around your feet; you picked up a leaf and it crumbled in your hand.
“Yeah, well Justin got accepted to Dartmouth before he was bashed. Fucking Dartmouth; that’s how smart he is. He turned it down to go to art school, to follow his dream. And for what it’s worth, I was making real progress with him, too. That night, after I danced with him, I had less than ten minutes of knowing that I…kind of…loved him… before he was attacked in front of me. It was like…and this is going to sound really self-centered, but I don’t know how else to explain it; it was like I finally accepted my feelings for him and then had to watch them get massacred right in front of my face.”
"Wow."
"And that's not even the end of it. Not only do I see someone I love be almost killed in front of me; years later some homophobic cunt decides to plant a bomb in Babylon, and I end up running through my own destroyed night club trying to find him, to find all my friends after it goes off. And then I decide after all that trauma, that I should finally tell Justin I love him while we're both in shock and surrounded by fire trucks and ambulances. I mean, that is seriously messed up in so many ways."
"The metaphoric potential alone is a bit astounding," you agreed.
"Right, that I can only express love after horrific tragedy," Brian added.
"Can you feel love when there's nothing tragic going on?"
Brian paused and looked off in the distance; the question seemed to vex him. "I'm not sure," he finally said, "I think I feel it when it's already over. I don't think I feel it in real time. Okay, that's weird."
You reassured him, "No, not really. It's not uncommon. It's the way you process it, I guess. Kind of like how these young guys can go fight a war and not realize how truly scarred they are until months after they come home."
Brian shook his head, "But that equates love with horrible trauma."
"Some people react that way to positive attention or affection. For a myriad of reasons, perhaps low self esteem, perhaps dysfunctional core relationships early in life--"
"Bingo, I think we have a winner there."
"I believe that if you aren't given love and shown love as a child that you struggle with feeling and expressing it as an adult. Like with Alan, he had very strange ways and went to a lot of trouble to love the people in his life. All those people he took care of every single day and being the kid that Harper remembered to keep her grounded. He was abandoned by his father and then by society at large, and yet he kept working and working to make everything all right for everyone else."
Brian's posture opened up a bit, "Jon says that people repeat the same patterns over and over trying to recreate a moment until they get it right. That it's futile--"
"That you become like a hamster stuck in a wheel," you added.
"Why can't we just stop repeating?"
"We can. It's not about the ability; it's about being able to handle the anxiety that comes with stopping a routine or a pattern. We don't fear the outcome; we fear our own feelings: insecurity, abandonment, loss, pain, and even confusion."
Brian laughed a little, "And yet it's never the feeling that kills you--"
You smiled, "Right. It's the coping mechanism. The over-eating, the drinking, the drugs, smoking, whatever, you name it."
"You don't have any obvious coping mechanisms," Brian observed. "I find that a little strange."
You chuckled a little and pointed to your temple, "Mine are in here, locked away, however, I think I can get a gold medal in avoidance anytime I want."
Brian pressed you, "You don't drink to excess; you don't smoke--"
You interrupted him, "I have OCD. Ever since I was a kid. My dad, he was doing everything a regular guy could think of to help me, but then...he died suddenly."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know that."
"I was thirteen. The things that happen to you when you're a child; they last forever don't they?" you pondered.
Brian sighed, "Yeah, I guess they do."
“It’s a blessing that Justin doesn’t quite remember what happened to him,” you admitted to Brian, “I wish I didn’t remember finding Alan like that."
“I have that, too," Brian said, "I can never forget what happened to Justin. That’s what I’m trying to put to rest, but you’ll make faster work of it than I did. You’re a shrink; I had the coping skills of a Neanderthal man.”
“Being a shrink usually makes it worse,” you joked, though you weren’t really kidding, “Sometimes I think I’ll never get those images out of my head or those feelings out of my heart-“
“I completely get that. If what happened to Justin had happened in front of my loft, I’d probably be dead from alcohol poisoning right now.” Brian gathered his legs up and leaned forward, waving his cigarette as he spoke with great determination, “But I want you to listen to me. Gabe Zirrolli has been a fucking godsend to me, and he loves you, and you love him, and I’m not going to let you fuck this up, Doc. I’m just not. I can’t fix the past; I can’t change anything that’s happened, but I understand this guilt you have. I’ve worn it like a tacky, hand knitted sweater for a decade. I’m going to help you. You and I are going to New York and we’re going back to your townhome-“
“Brian, you got very sick there. I don’t think that’s a good id-“
“Shut up. And we’re going back to your townhome and we’re going to pack that place up and put it on the market, and you and Gabe are going to find a really, really gay place to live, and you’re going to get on with your fabulous lives. In fact, once you put that place on the market, I’ll run interference with the realtor for you. I’ll field the offers if needed. You tell me what you want for it, and I’ll make it happen.”
You were sort of stunned at Brian’s insistent offer but also sort of relieved that you didn’t have to face this alone, drag Gabe through it with you or god help you, tackle it with Jon. “Why would you do this? You had a terrible time up there; you had a dissociative break for god’s sake.”
“Because you took care of Justin; you looked after him, gave him a safe place to work. You and Jon, you took care of both of us when Alan-“
“Well, avoidance is a powerful thing, Brian. We didn’t want to face Alan’s death either.”
“I don’t care what the reason was. You cared enough about Justin to help us, and I don’t forget that kind of thing. And helping you, maybe it’ll help me get outside myself in a good way. See this shit from a different prospective. And I think we should do it while Justin and Harper are gone. Let’s start tomorrow.”
His suggestion gave you chills over your entire body, “Tomorrow? Oh god, no, I haven’t even talked to Harper about this. It’s where she works; it’s her studio; I can’t just take it away from her like that.”
“We’re not going to take a demolition ball to it, Dan. We’re going to clean it out and put it on the market. She doesn’t paint there anymore anyway. You know that. She’s squeezed back in with Sam at that shithole.”
“How can you just clear your schedule like this?”
“Because I own the fucking business, Doc. It’s a family emergency. End of story.”
“Are you going to tell Justin what we’re doing?” you asked.
“Yeah, I’m not going to lie to him. I’ll tell him tonight when he calls.”
“Before the phone sex?”
“Well, maybe after,” he conceded with a wide smile.
************
BRIAN’S POV
everybody knows that the diced are loaded,
everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Truthfully, getting Daniel’s consent was much easier than getting Justin’s. When he called around nine p.m. that night, the conversation didn’t exactly go as you expected…
“Hey,” you said on the second ring.
”Hey. How are you?”
“Good, I miss you, though,” you said.
”I miss you, too. Are you okay?”
“Of course; how was your day?”
”Pretty crazy. I mean, we spent most of it at the hospital where Harper and Alan used to visit Ruth. It’s completely changed, of course; it’s been modernized, but Harper was able to find the same power pole that her father used to lean against and wait for them to come out. She got pretty emotional; Sam took tons of pictures for her, and she was so overwhelmed sometimes that I was just her scribe, just jotting down anything she remembered. We tried to go inside and find Ruth's room, but that wing is maternity now; everything’s different. But, I’m glad we did it. She needed to be there, to feel those things, I think.”
“Sounds like it.”
”She says that Ruth is gone. That she can’t feel her spirit anywhere we’ve been. I don’t think Harper expected that. I think she wanted-“
“Her mom?” you asked.
Justin sighed, “Yeah, I think she needs to feel her mom, and she’s gone, but she feels Alan everywhere we go; she’s convinced he’s with us on this trip. I actually think she’s a little bit psychic.”
“Or crazy…maybe,” you joked.
”No, I mean, come on, I don’t believe in ghosts and shit, but she definitely feels something. She says Alan’s okay; he’s tagging along behind us. She used to have intuition about him when he was alive, too. It’s not like we go out to eat and she asks for a table for four or anything; she’s just very conscious of his spirit, I guess.”
“Well, maybe she’s right. I kind of hope she is because I need to talk to you about where I’m going to be for the next few days.”
“You’re going somewhere? If it’s Ibiza, I’ll fucking kill you.”
You laughed, “God, no. I’m going to New York to help Daniel pack up his place and get it ready to put on the market.”
“Wait. What are you talking about?”
“I spent the day with him; he’s here, of course; he always is. Wait, let me back up. You know, I told you that Gabe’s resigning and moving back to the city, and well, Daniel’s kind of the cog in the wheel; he’s kind of stuck in a fog or something-“
Justin’s discomfort began to weave into his voice, “Then let Gabe help him. That’s what boyfriends are for.”
“He needs a different kind of help…getting over this. I offered to go with him tomorrow and help him out.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, but I don’t see why it needs to be you.”
“Why not me? He and I, we kind of have some shit in common, you know?”
“Just because I fucked him a few times does not give you two something in common, Brian.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, we both experienced a similar thing, okay?”
“Well, don’t you think that we should be there? Me, Harper and Sam? We’re his friends. Can’t this wait?”
……
“Honestly, no, I don’t think it can.”
…..
…..
The air around you began to feel frozen. You cracked the ice with your voice, “Hello?”
…..
And again, “Justin?”
……
He hung up on you.
You threw your phone on the bed and felt an anger rising up in you that you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It was so strong, so present, that it actually frightened you. You had an overwhelming urge to smash everything within your reach. And then smash it again. And then your phone was lighting up and there was a text on the screen from Justin:
’I’m not okay with this.’
……
You wanted to run. Run all the way from your big, big house all the way to Babylon or maybe even further than that. Maybe to the Atlantic Ocean and just hurl yourself completely naked at the biggest, coldest, cruelest wave you could find. You stared at the words until they became abstract letters floating in space, until they meant nothing to you, and then you responded with a lie via text:
‘I don’t care.’
……
’Obviously. You’re just pissed at me for leaving you for a few days.’
The anger kept coming, crashing and crashing and crashing against your soul, screaming in your face, trying, like it always does, to intimidate your emotions. And that made you even madder:
‘If that’s what u really think about me, f u.’
Again, you threw the phone down, and then went into your closet, grabbed your suitcase, threw it on the bed and started packing. The next response came about ten minutes later:
’That’s not what I think, okay?’
You took a picture of your almost-packed suitcase and sent it to him along with:
‘I need to do this. guess I’ll c u when I get back.’
……
……
……
You went online and checked flight times for the next day, bought your ticket, texted Daniel the info so he could buy his.
…..
The phone rang again at ten p.m. It was Justin. You answered it on the first ring like the phone was the one attacking you, “What?”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Okay…thanks.”
”But I’m still not okay with this. I don’t think it’s a safe thing for you to do.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m trying to get okay with it because you’re obviously going.”
“I am.”
”It’s just; Daniel’s my friend. I feel like I should be doing this.”
“You’re helping the people you can help. Daniel’s been practically living at Gabe’s for months, Justin. You never gave a shit or tried to reach out to him. What’s the big fucking deal?”
”I do give a shit; I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Okay, well I think I do. Like you said, not trying to be a hero, it’s just I think I can help him, and it might even help me in the process-“
”Brian, Alan was beaten to death like only six months ago. This isn’t some buried thing with Daniel. It just happened at his own fucking house.”
“Everyone grieves in their own time, Justin. Maybe since he’s a shrink, it happens faster; fuck, I don’t know. It doesn’t take everyone ten years to get over shit. Everybody’s different.”
And then the line went quiet, and you could hear Justin breathing…and then not breathing. You clarified, “I didn’t mean you; I mean me…taking ten years.” And still there was silence on the line. “Justin, I don’t mean you, really. Don’t go silent on me.”
……
“You say that, that everyone grieves in their own time, but some people…never…grieve…at all,” he said, "He almost lost his son."
“No, I don’t think so. Everybody grieves.”
……
……
“My Dad never grieved. I mean, everybody thought I was going to die or be a vegetable, and still, he didn’t care.”
……
……
……
You took the phone from your ear, stared at the screen, at the time ticking by, and then put it back again. You felt so heavy after Justin said that, so heavy with hurt, “Look, he’s grieving now. That’s why he calls you all the time even when you won’t call him back. He’s just very, very late to the party, I guess.”
“Well, sometimes when you come too late to a party, the party’s over.” And that was the moment you realized why he was on this quest for Ruth with Harper, how he was trying to fix someone else because he couldn’t figure out how to fix himself; it hurt to think he was going through this all alone, “I wish I was with you right now,” you said, “I really do.”
“Me, too.”
“I never meant to upset you like this with this trip; I would never do that to you.”
“I know.”
……
”Brian, what if everybody gets past this stuff and I never do?”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Being left behind?”
“Kind of.”
“Justin, listen to me. Are you listening?”
”Yes, of course.”
“Regardless of how you feel tonight or six months from now, it’s okay. This is not a race. You don’t need to beat the clock on this.”
“You say that-“
“I say it because it’s true. Everyone takes their own path in their own time.”
Go on to Beyond the Yellow Brick Road-Chapter 48-Legacy (the finale) - Part 2/5
Part 1 lyrics taken from: Oasis’ Wonderwall, Leonard Cohen’sEverybody Knows, Nanci Griffith's Outbound Plane, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence, Billy Joel’s Keeping the Faith, Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence again, Elton John’s Rocket Man, Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows again, Wallflowers’ One Headlight, Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows again.
BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD-CHAPTER 48-LEGACY (the finale) - Part 1/5
BRIAN’S POV
and all the roads we have to walk are winding
On a bitter cold Friday afternoon in November of 2011, you stood in empty commercial retail space, waiting and toying with random coils of wire as they spilled out of the ceiling. You were dressed for work having taken a half day at Kinnetik, and your overcoat, scarf, and gloves weren’t helping that much in the drafty room. But the cold was really the least of your worries; most of them were focused on Justin and what he’d decided to do. He’d been home for less than a year, a year where more changed than ever stayed the same....
************
GABE ZIRROLLI'S POV
everybody wants a box of chocolates, and a long stem rose,
everybody knows
May 2011
Falling in love--it's something you've indulged in a time or two, usually as some misplaced infatuation or physical encounter that was only meant to happen once. In the back of your mind, you held tightly to your list of preferred traits in a boyfriend; you just never expected to find all of them in one person on a day reserved for the dead.
After the funeral, you couldn't stop thinking about Daniel, about the blow job he gave you at the restaurant, at the refinement he oozed regardless of the crude act he was performing. The blow job was great, but you found yourself more interested in the expensive taste he had in clothes, at his polite, kind demeanor, at his expansive vocabulary (after all, you lived with your brother). After leaving the city that sad day, you kept in touch regularly, mostly texts and some phone calls that, at first, were predicated on Daniel's well being after the tragedy. You needed to see him again in person, though, to see if there was actually something real between you or if you were projecting. You made the gesture to come see him, the guise of needing to check in on your parents and their restaurant a perfectly legitimate reason for the trip. During the first visit, Daniel took you out to a very expensive dinner. With any other guy, you would've thought he was trying too hard to impress you (or fuck you), but not Daniel. He was--you could tell--very interested in you and very used to very expensive dinners, and the two of you had difficulty figuring out anything you didn't have in common besides, well, salary. The visits increased and became opportunities to meet your parents, go to the movies, the theater, always just the two of you getting along famously. He was courting you, and out of respect to the tradition and his gentlemanly efforts, neither of you made mention of the initial sexual act that brought you together. Over time, though, it began to seem like that was the only sexual act the two of you would be engaging in. You could tell he was attracted to you and you made it clear that the reverse was also true, yet it took an actual inquiry on your part to ever get to see the upstairs of his brownstone. Daniel blushed when you made your move, when you made sure the kiss you were sharing felt like it needed a second act, but he eventually capitulated and invited you up his stairs and into his room. What came next felt almost like another tawdry sexual act, a quick fuck and a weird moment during which he agreed that you could stay the night. After that, an awkward vibe pulsed into the room, and thinking that perhaps he was just nervous because it had been awhile since he'd been intimate with someone, you curled your body around his, not realizing that every demon he'd been fighting since Alan's murder would see that vulnerability in him and strike. It was a very long and agonizing night, one of tears and constant apologizing on Daniel's part and one of constant reassurance on yours that no apology was necessary.
This man you were falling in love with was thoroughly haunted.
************
BRIAN'S POV
'cuz if love won't fly on its own free will,
it's gonna catch that outbound plane
September 2011
A lunch meeting with Gabe was a common occurrence and often the best time the two of you could free your schedules and really talk about profit in the restaurant industry, but there’s was something about the halting way he walked into your office on a bright and brisk September day that made your brow furrow. “You okay?” you asked him, “You look either worried or constipated, but I can’t tell which.”
He laughed, “A little of both probably.”
The two of you were spreading your food out on the conference table when he took a deep breath and said, “Brian, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m giving you my resignation today.” He slid an envelope across the table to you.
You opened it and read the letter trying not to choke on the orange chicken in your mouth. “This says you’re going back to the city to run your parents’ restaurant--“
“I am. They’re old, Brian. They need to retire.”
You knew this day would come, yet you still felt unprepared and sort of bothered. Replacing Gabe, an employee who catered to your every whim…the thought exhausted you. You were certain Gabe could hear it in your voice so you immediately tried to disguise it, “Understandable. So Zeek? He goes, too?”
“I thought that might be the good news in this scenario,” Gabe joked.
You laughed, “Well, um…no comment.”
Gabe sat down and got serious, “Yes. It’s our parents’ restaurant. We both belong there. I’m sure you understand.”
You sighed, “What about Rube? How’s he going to survive without Zeek?”
Gabe laughed, “Rube already knows, and he’s totally fine with it. If you want to remove him from Babylon, you’re going to need the jaws of life to do it.”
“This letter…it doesn’t say when you’re leaving.”
Gabe handed you a fortune cookie and replied, “As soon as you can replace me, I guess,” and then he paused, “This is hard for me, too. I love Zeal. This is just something I have to do.”
“I understand,” you said because you did, “I think you’re making the right decision…but replacing you won’t be easy.”
“Give Emmett a shot,” Gabe said, “He’s fabulous and not just because he’s so very, very gay. He’ll serve you well.”
“He’s not as fiscally disciplined as you are.”
Gabe countered, “Brian, I’ve taught him a lot. He understands margins and portion sizes and that he has to cost something out before he adds it to the menu. And I’m only a phone call away if he needs help. But honestly,” he paused, “Dan and I have to find a place to live first and his place still hasn’t sold, and he’s still….“
……
“Pretty fucked up about everything that happened?” you asked to break the awkward silence.
Gabe looked more uncomfortable in that moment than you’d ever seen him as he spoke, “Some days he’s ready to sell and others he thinks selling that townhome is some kind of an insult to Alan’s memory because, you know, he…died…there.”
“Dan’s here all the time. He’s stopped seeing patients, hasn’t he?” you asked.
“He took a leave of absence.”
“What about Jon? Can’t Jon help him?”
Gabe shook his head, a tired demeanor spreading across his face, “He’s too close to the situation. Dan equates him with that madness. They talk, but not about anything important. He talks to me…about it…sometimes, and I love him, but I’ve run out of ideas about how to help him. He has night terrors about finding Alan's body. I wake up...and he's in the fetal position next to me just sobbing...."
"So he needs help? Maybe professional help?" you tried.
"Have you ever tried telling a shrink that he needs a shrink?" Gabe asked as if you'd asked him to climb a mountain in that question.
“Okay, well can I ask you something gay-man-to-gay-man? I don’t want you to take offense--.”
“Of course you can.”
You chose your words carefully, releasing them slowly, “Your feelings for Dan, and his feelings for you…are they going to be there when the fallout from this mess is finally over?”
Gabe nodded, “Yeah…our feelings are real; they’re just…buried under all this--; god, that was a terrible choice of words.”
“So, you love him?”
Gabe smiled, “I know; it happened fast and under weird circumstances, but yeah…I love him.”
You unrolled your fortune and sighed: If you want the rainbow, you must put up with the rain.
************
now we’ve come so far, so fast
Ordinarily, you would’ve picked up the phone and called Justin to hash out the news, but he was on day two of a week long road trip to Georgia with Harper and Sam. He’d come to you two weeks prior to tell you, “Look, Harper wants to go visit her old neighborhood and her Mom’s hospital and grave site and stuff. She feels like she needs to be there and tell her what happened to Alan. It’s her process, I guess. So Sam and I decided that we’ll just take a road trip-“
“Because you’re the only one who has a car,” you added.
“No, because we want closure, too. I need to process this myself; I need to get it out of my head and onto the canvas. It’s hard for me to do it here; I feel so removed. Harper has a friend in the city who has a little girl about Amelia’s age, so she’s going to stay with her.”
You nodded, “Okay, if that’s what you need to do. You going to plan this trip out or just-“
“Fly by the seat of our pants,” Justin said, “We want the journey to have an element of happenstance.”
His choice of words never ceases to amuse you. “Okay, well, just promise me that you won’t drive when you’re tired and won’t exist on gas station food.”
“The driving, sure, but we’re going to prove that you can live on Diet Mountain Dew, Cheetos, and beef jerky.”
“Um, excuse me, but I am the only beef you jerky.”
“Yeah, and I 'jerkied' it this morning, so you'll live.”
……
But later that same night around half past three in the morning, you were lying in bed smoking a cigarette and starting to worry. Every so often, you nudged Justin to see if he was semi-awake, and eventually he rolled over and lay his head on your chest. “What’s the matter?” he asked in an almost-whisper.
You sighed before you spoke, “The more I think about it, the more I don’t like this idea.”
“What idea?”
“This road trip, and hear me out before you start in on me-“
He propped himself up on his pillow and looked at you, “Okay,” his voice tainted with the slightest bit of aggravation.
You smashed your cigarette, “I’m not sure the three of you should go down there alone. You’re all still grieving, and Harper, Jesus, she’s still walking an emotional tightrope.”
“I’m just trying to take the next logical step, okay? Sam will take his camera and Harper and I will take our sketch pads, and maybe we’ll work through some of this. Have some faith in me, Brian. I’m not trying to be a hero.”
“Justin, I do-in you, and in Sam. Just promise me that if you get down there and this ‘processing’ turns into a nightmare, that you’ll let me know. I mean, they can fly back, and I’ll fly down and ride back with you or whatever. Okay? Just promise me.”
“I promise.”
You rolled onto your side and pulled him against you, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s okay,” he said, and then he reached back and touched you in that way that reminds you of taking care of him after he got hurt; it comforted and saddened you at the same time.
……
On the day of their departure, you had Roger fill a cooler with fresh fruit and vegetables and stow it in Justin’s car. And when you kissed him good-bye, you stuffed a bag of weed in the pocket of his jeans, advising him, “Use it in good health.” He immediately gave it back, “We don’t need pot. You’ll always know where we are, okay? You don’t need to worry.”
“Do you have your car charger?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll miss you, Sunshine. Be sure to get your own room so we can have phone sex.”
His eyes lit up, “Oh my god, you’re going to put me on face time and then just lay the phone on your dick, aren’t you?”
“Well,” you admitted, “I do love technology.”
“This is it…the last stage of your devolution.”
You hugged him and pushed him toward his car, “Don’t spoil it for me. It’ll be a very special moment in my life.”
************
you can linger too long in your dreams
Two days after your conversation with Gabe, you were sitting in your office glancing around your desk at the piles of work that needed to be done. Not one stack interested you; you felt unsettled inside, and truthfully, a little lonely because Justin had been gone for days. You looked out the window at the perfect fall day and decided that you were taking a very early lunch. At ten thirty-seven a.m., you walked into Zeal on a mission. Emmett jumped the minute you walked in perhaps thinking that this was his chance to further impress you, but you waived him off, “I’m not here for you.”
He looked mildly offended, “Well…okay…Gabe’s in his office-“
You looked in that direction and saw Gabe and Zeek arguing, both pointing up at a fluorescent light fixture that was malfunctioning.
“Swear to God,” Emmett said apparently following on your heels, “Zeek just now realized that the part he needs is called a ‘ballast’ and not a ‘ballads.’
You smirked a little, “I’m not looking for them either. I’m looking for….” and you finished your sentence with a shift of your eyes, and that’s all Emmett needed to respond, “He’s in there, as usual,” and he pointed to the closed French doors to the large party room. “Thanks,” you said, and then feeling guilty for brushing him off, you added, “You and me…we’ll talk soon about all this, okay?”
“Sure,” Emmett said though you could tell he didn’t quite believe you.
……
The large party room at Zeal had been Gabe’s idea a year ago, to install paned-glass French doors so the area could be closed off. It allowed Zeal to cater to the business crowd at lunch, gave companies a place to dine and make important decisions or have idiotic employee-of-the-month celebrations in private, but these days, it was mostly occupied by one man who brought his laptop and headphones and sat in the back left corner. He’d pretend to work, but you had an inkling that he was spending his days mastering Spider Solitaire. The door to that room always sticks a little, and opening it took the room’s inhabitant by surprise. He jumped in his seat and immediately pulled his headphones out, his voice almost stuttering, “Brian-hey--hello-it’s good to see you.”
“Doc,” you acknowledged.
Daniel’s face filled with an awkward smile and then he began to pack up, apologizing, “I’m so sorry. If you need this room, it’s no problem. I can work somewhere else.” He yanked his power supply from the wall as you sat down across from him and said, “No, no, I don’t need this room today. I was just kind of…hoping…you were here. I need your help with something…if you don’t mind.”
Daniel seemed immediately relieved before he wasn’t, “Well, certainly,” he swallowed, “What can I help you--? Wait, is Justin okay? Are they okay? Have you heard from them?”
“Oh, yeah…they’re fine. Talked to Justin this morning. Their goal today is to visit Ruth’s hospital. I was actually hoping you could help me with something.”
You were certain that Daniel’s guilt around occupying your party room on and off for months was contributing to his charitable spirit, “Well, certainly. Of course. What can I do?”
“Up for a little drive?” you asked.
************
I'm starting with the man in the mirror;
I'm asking him to make a change
"Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Today is Thursday, September 20, 2011. The time is eleven twelve a.m. The current temperature is sixty-seven degrees under sunny skies. You may enter your destination now.”
“NAVIGATION OFF.”
“Discontinuing navigation. Thank you.”
Daniel examined your console and remarked, “I’ve heard about this car-from Gabe, I mean. He loves it.”
You laughed, “He’s the only one that does. Trust me.” You left the windows rolled down on purpose, thinking that the moments (current and future) could use a nice breeze; the air made you less nervous.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Daniel said.
“So, have you and Gabe ever had face time sex?” you asked.
“Excuse me?”
“’Cause Justin and I did last night; I mean, we tried, but I discovered something new about myself during the process-“
“This sounds personal, Bri-“
“I discovered that I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy when it comes to phone sex. I like to close my eyes and listen to his voice.”
“Okay,” Daniel said, the tone of his voice making it clear he wanted you to change the subject.
“So have you and Gabe tried it…oh, wait…probably not because you’re always here, huh?”
“Brian, where are we going?”
“Do you mean literally or figuratively?” you ask him.
Daniel sighed and turned his body toward yours, “Both, I guess.”
……
You made another sharp right turn-albeit conversationally, “You know what, Doc? You and I are a lot alike, and I don’t mean because of our fondness for young artists-“
“I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“We’re a lot alike because when we’re at the top of our game, we both dig deep inside of people to pull out the kernel of truth and get paid handsomely for it,” you explained.
Daniel turned away and looked out his window, “Brian, I know I’m not at the top of my game right now. That’s not necessary.”
“No, no, stay with me here, Doc. I need you. We’re also alike because we approach our personal lives with unwavering conviction.”
“Unwavering conviction?”
“Sometimes to our own detriment.”
“Gabe isn’t quitting because of me; he’s quitting to run his parents’ restaurant; you can’t fault either of us for that.”
You put your hand on his shoulder, firmly, “I don’t want to lose Gabe, nobody would, but I could give a fuck about Zeal right now. That will work itself out. We’re going to talk about the things that don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t work themselves out.”
His regret seemed sadly genuine, “I have no idea what you’re getting at, Brian. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just a little slow today.”
You pointed to the upcoming intersection. The road was ending, offering a turn to either side, but you drove straight across and into a hotel parking lot. Daniel became agitated, “Brian, I know I could stay here instead of with Gabe and spend my days in my room waiting for him to get off work, but I can’t for some reason, okay? I don’t know why; I just can’t.”
The plan was officially in motion, “Dan, this hotel has nothing to do with you. We’re here for me. And for the record, I don’t care how or where you spend your days, and you are always more than welcome at any of my fine establishments.” The parking deck was virtually empty on the second level save a few abandoned vehicles and random piles of decaying leaves. You parked in the same place you always do and felt infused with hope and sadness at the same time. Daniel questioned you, “Why didn’t we just park in front of the hotel? There were plenty of spaces.”
“We’re not going into the hotel.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, “Then what are we doing?”
“Get out. I want to show you something.”
************
we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
You led a bewildered but finally compliant Daniel to the exact spot and then put your hands on his shoulders, advising him, “Stay right here.”
“Okay.”
And then you walked back to the car. When you got to your car door, you turned around and told him, “This is how far away I was.”
“From what?”
“From the reason I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Daniel looked down at the pavement, took a deep breath; his body shifted like he was putting on new and almost too snug invisible clothing, and then he looked up at you the way he used to when you first met him, when things got tough in New York, “Go on.”
“I was this close and I couldn’t stop him,” you swallowed hard. “I yelled and I ran, and you know the funny thing is that I have long legs, you know? And Justin complains about it, about how one of my steps equals two of his, and ironically, that night they weren’t long enough.”
“Can you show me where his attacker was in relation to you?” Daniel asked.
You wiped your mouth with your hand, pushing down a sour taste in the back of your throat, as you walked over to where Hobbs was standing that night. “So he was close to Justin,” Daniel surmised.
“Even closer with a bat,” you added.
“And how do you feel being this close to it now?”
“Kind of queasy,” you confessed. “But, this is the last time I’m coming back here. Justin’s off processing his shit and I’m going to deal with mine. I just thought that, maybe, you’d be a good guy to have around while I attempted this.”
He bought your rational, “Fair enough. So you think your long legs were a match for a guy that was about three times closer to Justin and wielding a baseball bat?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” you said, “And, you know, when we were in New York, when everything happened, I made a promise to him, to Justin.”
“You did?”
“That I would forgive myself for this and stop holding myself responsible.”
“And we’re here today because that’s easier said than done? Right?”
“Right,” you agreed.
Daniel began to walk back to the car with a look on his face that you suspected was the main reason Justin bonded with this guy to begin with, “I’d be…honored…to help you Brian. Granted, I’m probably not going to hit one out of the park --- okay, that was a horrific analogy, I apologize. I just mean that I’m not at my best right now, but whatever I can do-“
“Come on," you said, "Let’s find somewhere to talk.”
************
DANIEL CARTWRIGHT’S POV
It's lonely out in space
Since the day Alan died, you felt yourself spinning inward, deeper and deeper into a cocoon. And because you had the means and the authority to be your own boss, you’d enveloped yourself-just let it happen--with full on determination. The isolation became comfortable and then almost cozy. Nowhere inside that cocoon were memories of Alan-of helping him breakthrough his crippling psychological issues, of finding him beaten and bloody outside your front door, of sitting in a hospital waiting for a verdict--permitted. You’d annexed everyone who challenged your way of being to a cursory role in your life and exiled yourself from your townhome…the scene of the crime. Your shell was going to crack eventually; you knew it had to, but the day and time were always so elusive.
‘Somewhere to talk’ somehow became a journey with Brian that day. First, he drove to Gabe’s place and told you to go inside and change into something like jeans and a t-shirt. You didn’t tell him that you had to borrow from Gabe, that your pattern of denial had extended to your wardrobe, that you wore a dress shirt and dress pants every day because to dress down would mean admitting things were changing. Next, he drove to his loft where you found the empty spaciousness inviting. You were sitting on a sofa admiring the stark maleness of the place when Brian, now in jeans himself, sat down on the opposite sofa and began to prep a bong.
“We’re getting baked,” he told you before you could even object.
“I don’t smoke marijuana, Brian.”
“You do now,” he said with a smile, offering it to you after taking the first hit.
You told your first secret, “These aren’t my clothes; they’re Gabe’s. He’ll kill-be angry with me if they stink of pot tonight.”
“Not if it’s my pot,” Brian offered with a smile.
You hadn’t smoked since med school, but Brian didn’t seem like the kind of person people ever said ‘no’ to, so you acquiesced. When the THC finally began to take effect, you felt a courage bubbling up inside you, and maybe that and a softer veneer on Brian gave you the guts to ask him, “Do you remember when we were having dinner in New York and I tried to ask you a question about the painting in the tunnel, and you and Justin suddenly--?”
“Disappeared?”
“Yeah. I want an answer to my question. I want to know about that painting.”
Brian smiled a little, “It’s funny you ask about that because you remember a couple months ago when Gus came to visit for a long weekend?”
“Oh…yeah. He looks so much like you. I mean, he’s so tall! He’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, well, before he got here and unbeknownst to me, he found Justin’s CNN appearance online and suddenly had all these questions.”
“About what happened to Justin?” you asked.
“Yeah, and I didn’t really realize until then that I’d never told him, and his mothers never told him because they thought it was my place to bring it up, and of course, I never did. I mean, I couldn’t predict that Justin would want to come back, that it would ever be relevant to Gus. He’s only eleven years old.”
“Right.”
“So, I tried to tell Gus, to explain it to him, and I guess my version of it didn’t suit Justin, so he just took over and started telling Gus everything that happened like I wasn’t even in the room anymore.”
“Interesting. How did you feel about that?”
“I don’t know…I guess kind of helpless…because you know how Justin is when he’s determined to do something. You can’t stop him. He’s such a self-possessed person sometimes.”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. ‘Helpless’ can’t have felt good?”
Brian sort of snorted and laughed at little, “Justin is the only person who ever makes me feel that way. I mean, and this is a terrible thing to say, but I was the one who saw what happened to him; Justin doesn’t even remember the actual event really; he has flashes at best. So why can’t I tell my own son what happened? I didn’t stop him or say anything to him about it, but honestly, it pissed me off.”
“What do you think would’ve happened if you’d stopped him, if you insisted on telling the story?”
Brian smiled and rolled his eyes, “Honestly? I’d be in the biggest invisible dog house you’ve ever seen. And it’s haunted, too, so fuck that.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, Brian; that’s a very normal feeling to have given what you’ve both been through.”
“Well, that’s just the first stop on our PTSD-sponsored tour today. You want to know about that painting? Let’s go.”
************
as I listened through the cemetery trees
Fifteen minutes later you were standing on Chris Hobbs’ gravesite while Brian reclined on the top of headstone. The majestic oaks in the cemetery seemed to be standing guard around the two of you, their foliage determined to distract anyone who might’ve glanced in your direction. “This is it,” Brian said, “This is the genesis for that painting, for what Justin painted and for what Alan recreated in the tunnels. It started here.” He looked way too comfortable sitting on the edge of a headstone…especially this headstone; you didn’t like it; it felt wrong, but you pressed him anyway, “Why is this the genesis?”
“Well, remember when I came to New York that night and picked him up in front of your place? I know you remember because you were looking out the window at us.”
You hate thinking about that night, but again, you pushed past the discomfort, “Yes, I remember.”
“I brought him back here and we went to the funeral together. It was an intense few days.”
“I’ll bet. And when Justin came back to New York, he was somehow different.”
Brian seemed to perk up a little at that point, “Different how? What do you mean?”
You sighed, “Well, Justin and even Harper, they were always very open about their creativity, their process, their work, and when he came back from-“ you stopped and made a sweeping circular motion with your hands, “Well, when he came back from this, everything changed. He started working at night a lot and when he left in the mornings, he locked the studio.”
“He locked you out of a room in your own home?” Brian asked.
“Yes, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t get in there if I needed to; I just felt that…well, I felt that anger that would’ve sent you to the dog house, so I didn’t do it. For all the talent and insight Justin has, sometimes he’s very…protective, I guess.”
Brian laughed and relaxed his arms, “He’s still like that. I stay out of his studio most of the time unless he invites me in. I don’t fuck with his process. Learned my lesson about that.”
“It’s kind of funny. Two older men give him a place to work and both get shut out,” you observed.
“Never say ‘older’ when you’re referring to me,” Brian said with a very serious look on his face.
“Duly noted. Pretend it never happened,” you apologized and changed the subject as you sat down on the grass, “You know, Justin was really guarded about that first painting he got into a show. The one I met him in front of and tried to buy-“
“My money moves fast, I guess,” Brian shrugged but finally came down from the headstone and sat on the grass with you, crossing his long legs and leaning against it.
You picked up a skinny stick and starting poking the ground with it, “I don’t think it was just your money moving fast that night.”
“That’s fair, I guess. You know, he didn’t even tell me about that show; I found out by accident when his computer was stolen from Harper’s old place.”
That was new and significant information to you, “Really? Is that why you bought it? Because he didn’t invite you?”
Brian looked conflicted, guilty and a little surprised when he answered you, “I never thought about that, but I kind of think so now. I sort of wanted to get him back, I guess. Take something he was denying me. God, that’s fucked up.” You were about to say something when Brian looked up and continued, “Plus, something in me knew that if he was keeping it from me, it had something to do with me or with us.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know, I guess because Justin can be guarded about his work but he can also be really laissez faire, too. He either cares about it because it comes from a real place inside him or he doesn’t give a shit and just thinks about it as a commodity or a past time. It’s a defense mechanism. When he got hurt and couldn’t draw for awhile and had to learn new ways to create, something sort of split in two inside him. I think it did, anyway.”
“That’s interesting.” You looked up at a middle age couple heading toward another gravesite with flowers hanging from their hands and then went back to focusing on Brian, “It’s not uncommon for people with PTSD to experience a type of dichotomy.”
“When he came back here, he destroyed that painting when he found it hanging in my office, my home office across from our bedroom.” Brian looked away from you and lit a cigarette after he said that to you, but his body looked relieved after the admission.
“How? How did he destroy it?”
“He practically dumped this primer crap all over it, and it’s fucking huge-“
“I remember.”
“He keeps it propped up against a wall in his studio. You know, like, he doesn’t want me to have it but he wants the wrecked thing to still be in our house like some reminder to me of this crime I committed when I bought it.”
“He lied to me about it the night I met him, Brian. I saw something in that painting, something very dark, and he looked at me like I had three heads or something. I saw some type of violence in it.”
“Did he tell you to fuck off?” Brian asked.
“Now that I think about it, he told me he has violent feelings about it, but he doesn’t see it in the work.”
Brian laughed, “Okay, I’m not a shrink, and that sounds like a load of crap to me.”
“It was, and I knew it was.” You remembered Justin telling you that you were wrong about everything but then accepting your invitation that night. You said nothing to Brian along those lines, but started to realize that that’s the reason Justin went with you. You were on to something that night, and Justin wasn’t going to leave you alone with it. You asked Brian, “Justin can be almost unbearably persistent sometimes, don’t you think?”
Brian shook his head and laughed, “He practically stalked me, but you have to understand, I’d fucked the virginal-living-daylights out of him. Who wouldn’t want to go back to paradise?”
“You can only lose your virginity once, Brian.”
“It always felt like more than once with him. Sometimes it still does.” And then he got quiet, took a long drag off his cigarette and stared off in the distance for a minute or so. You spoke once Brian seemed to come back to the moment, “That’s what’s happening to me with what happened to Alan. It happens over and over and over.”
“I know,” Brian said, “That’s why I had this crazy idea that maybe…we can help each other.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“I’m serious, Doc. What happened to Alan is not your fault. You couldn’t have prevented it. I mean, the cops-those assholes-they were coming for him.”
“I know that now. He was beating the system, Alan was,” you said, “He and Stitch figured out how to take care of all those people down there for free.”
“It wasn’t free,” Brian said. “The cost just wasn’t apparent at the time of purchase.”
You broke the stick in half and stuck both pieces in the ground hard, “Why do you say that?”
Brian reached in his leather jacket and pulled out a flask and handed it to you, “Here. Don’t worry, it’s clean and full of very expensive whiskey.” You opened it slowly and took a swig as he continued, “I know that because the same thing happened with Justin. He had bad blood with this piece of shit buried underneath us. I tried to warn him once but he wouldn’t listen. It’s like Justin said in his interview on TV, he and Alan existed outside the bounds of acceptability. Justin within his peer group and Alan within society.” Again, he wore out his cigarette, sending the smoke on some far away mission.
“I was making real progress with Alan, Brian. Real progress. He had overcome so much,” you started to cry and didn’t even care, “He was going to take Justin’s place in the studio. I hadn’t even told Harper yet because I wanted to give him the chance to tell her. She would’ve been so proud of him.” The grass got blurry around your feet; you picked up a leaf and it crumbled in your hand.
“Yeah, well Justin got accepted to Dartmouth before he was bashed. Fucking Dartmouth; that’s how smart he is. He turned it down to go to art school, to follow his dream. And for what it’s worth, I was making real progress with him, too. That night, after I danced with him, I had less than ten minutes of knowing that I…kind of…loved him… before he was attacked in front of me. It was like…and this is going to sound really self-centered, but I don’t know how else to explain it; it was like I finally accepted my feelings for him and then had to watch them get massacred right in front of my face.”
"Wow."
"And that's not even the end of it. Not only do I see someone I love be almost killed in front of me; years later some homophobic cunt decides to plant a bomb in Babylon, and I end up running through my own destroyed night club trying to find him, to find all my friends after it goes off. And then I decide after all that trauma, that I should finally tell Justin I love him while we're both in shock and surrounded by fire trucks and ambulances. I mean, that is seriously messed up in so many ways."
"The metaphoric potential alone is a bit astounding," you agreed.
"Right, that I can only express love after horrific tragedy," Brian added.
"Can you feel love when there's nothing tragic going on?"
Brian paused and looked off in the distance; the question seemed to vex him. "I'm not sure," he finally said, "I think I feel it when it's already over. I don't think I feel it in real time. Okay, that's weird."
You reassured him, "No, not really. It's not uncommon. It's the way you process it, I guess. Kind of like how these young guys can go fight a war and not realize how truly scarred they are until months after they come home."
Brian shook his head, "But that equates love with horrible trauma."
"Some people react that way to positive attention or affection. For a myriad of reasons, perhaps low self esteem, perhaps dysfunctional core relationships early in life--"
"Bingo, I think we have a winner there."
"I believe that if you aren't given love and shown love as a child that you struggle with feeling and expressing it as an adult. Like with Alan, he had very strange ways and went to a lot of trouble to love the people in his life. All those people he took care of every single day and being the kid that Harper remembered to keep her grounded. He was abandoned by his father and then by society at large, and yet he kept working and working to make everything all right for everyone else."
Brian's posture opened up a bit, "Jon says that people repeat the same patterns over and over trying to recreate a moment until they get it right. That it's futile--"
"That you become like a hamster stuck in a wheel," you added.
"Why can't we just stop repeating?"
"We can. It's not about the ability; it's about being able to handle the anxiety that comes with stopping a routine or a pattern. We don't fear the outcome; we fear our own feelings: insecurity, abandonment, loss, pain, and even confusion."
Brian laughed a little, "And yet it's never the feeling that kills you--"
You smiled, "Right. It's the coping mechanism. The over-eating, the drinking, the drugs, smoking, whatever, you name it."
"You don't have any obvious coping mechanisms," Brian observed. "I find that a little strange."
You chuckled a little and pointed to your temple, "Mine are in here, locked away, however, I think I can get a gold medal in avoidance anytime I want."
Brian pressed you, "You don't drink to excess; you don't smoke--"
You interrupted him, "I have OCD. Ever since I was a kid. My dad, he was doing everything a regular guy could think of to help me, but then...he died suddenly."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know that."
"I was thirteen. The things that happen to you when you're a child; they last forever don't they?" you pondered.
Brian sighed, "Yeah, I guess they do."
“It’s a blessing that Justin doesn’t quite remember what happened to him,” you admitted to Brian, “I wish I didn’t remember finding Alan like that."
“I have that, too," Brian said, "I can never forget what happened to Justin. That’s what I’m trying to put to rest, but you’ll make faster work of it than I did. You’re a shrink; I had the coping skills of a Neanderthal man.”
“Being a shrink usually makes it worse,” you joked, though you weren’t really kidding, “Sometimes I think I’ll never get those images out of my head or those feelings out of my heart-“
“I completely get that. If what happened to Justin had happened in front of my loft, I’d probably be dead from alcohol poisoning right now.” Brian gathered his legs up and leaned forward, waving his cigarette as he spoke with great determination, “But I want you to listen to me. Gabe Zirrolli has been a fucking godsend to me, and he loves you, and you love him, and I’m not going to let you fuck this up, Doc. I’m just not. I can’t fix the past; I can’t change anything that’s happened, but I understand this guilt you have. I’ve worn it like a tacky, hand knitted sweater for a decade. I’m going to help you. You and I are going to New York and we’re going back to your townhome-“
“Brian, you got very sick there. I don’t think that’s a good id-“
“Shut up. And we’re going back to your townhome and we’re going to pack that place up and put it on the market, and you and Gabe are going to find a really, really gay place to live, and you’re going to get on with your fabulous lives. In fact, once you put that place on the market, I’ll run interference with the realtor for you. I’ll field the offers if needed. You tell me what you want for it, and I’ll make it happen.”
You were sort of stunned at Brian’s insistent offer but also sort of relieved that you didn’t have to face this alone, drag Gabe through it with you or god help you, tackle it with Jon. “Why would you do this? You had a terrible time up there; you had a dissociative break for god’s sake.”
“Because you took care of Justin; you looked after him, gave him a safe place to work. You and Jon, you took care of both of us when Alan-“
“Well, avoidance is a powerful thing, Brian. We didn’t want to face Alan’s death either.”
“I don’t care what the reason was. You cared enough about Justin to help us, and I don’t forget that kind of thing. And helping you, maybe it’ll help me get outside myself in a good way. See this shit from a different prospective. And I think we should do it while Justin and Harper are gone. Let’s start tomorrow.”
His suggestion gave you chills over your entire body, “Tomorrow? Oh god, no, I haven’t even talked to Harper about this. It’s where she works; it’s her studio; I can’t just take it away from her like that.”
“We’re not going to take a demolition ball to it, Dan. We’re going to clean it out and put it on the market. She doesn’t paint there anymore anyway. You know that. She’s squeezed back in with Sam at that shithole.”
“How can you just clear your schedule like this?”
“Because I own the fucking business, Doc. It’s a family emergency. End of story.”
“Are you going to tell Justin what we’re doing?” you asked.
“Yeah, I’m not going to lie to him. I’ll tell him tonight when he calls.”
“Before the phone sex?”
“Well, maybe after,” he conceded with a wide smile.
************
BRIAN’S POV
everybody knows that the diced are loaded,
everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Truthfully, getting Daniel’s consent was much easier than getting Justin’s. When he called around nine p.m. that night, the conversation didn’t exactly go as you expected…
“Hey,” you said on the second ring.
”Hey. How are you?”
“Good, I miss you, though,” you said.
”I miss you, too. Are you okay?”
“Of course; how was your day?”
”Pretty crazy. I mean, we spent most of it at the hospital where Harper and Alan used to visit Ruth. It’s completely changed, of course; it’s been modernized, but Harper was able to find the same power pole that her father used to lean against and wait for them to come out. She got pretty emotional; Sam took tons of pictures for her, and she was so overwhelmed sometimes that I was just her scribe, just jotting down anything she remembered. We tried to go inside and find Ruth's room, but that wing is maternity now; everything’s different. But, I’m glad we did it. She needed to be there, to feel those things, I think.”
“Sounds like it.”
”She says that Ruth is gone. That she can’t feel her spirit anywhere we’ve been. I don’t think Harper expected that. I think she wanted-“
“Her mom?” you asked.
Justin sighed, “Yeah, I think she needs to feel her mom, and she’s gone, but she feels Alan everywhere we go; she’s convinced he’s with us on this trip. I actually think she’s a little bit psychic.”
“Or crazy…maybe,” you joked.
”No, I mean, come on, I don’t believe in ghosts and shit, but she definitely feels something. She says Alan’s okay; he’s tagging along behind us. She used to have intuition about him when he was alive, too. It’s not like we go out to eat and she asks for a table for four or anything; she’s just very conscious of his spirit, I guess.”
“Well, maybe she’s right. I kind of hope she is because I need to talk to you about where I’m going to be for the next few days.”
“You’re going somewhere? If it’s Ibiza, I’ll fucking kill you.”
You laughed, “God, no. I’m going to New York to help Daniel pack up his place and get it ready to put on the market.”
“Wait. What are you talking about?”
“I spent the day with him; he’s here, of course; he always is. Wait, let me back up. You know, I told you that Gabe’s resigning and moving back to the city, and well, Daniel’s kind of the cog in the wheel; he’s kind of stuck in a fog or something-“
Justin’s discomfort began to weave into his voice, “Then let Gabe help him. That’s what boyfriends are for.”
“He needs a different kind of help…getting over this. I offered to go with him tomorrow and help him out.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, but I don’t see why it needs to be you.”
“Why not me? He and I, we kind of have some shit in common, you know?”
“Just because I fucked him a few times does not give you two something in common, Brian.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, we both experienced a similar thing, okay?”
“Well, don’t you think that we should be there? Me, Harper and Sam? We’re his friends. Can’t this wait?”
……
“Honestly, no, I don’t think it can.”
…..
…..
The air around you began to feel frozen. You cracked the ice with your voice, “Hello?”
…..
And again, “Justin?”
……
He hung up on you.
You threw your phone on the bed and felt an anger rising up in you that you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It was so strong, so present, that it actually frightened you. You had an overwhelming urge to smash everything within your reach. And then smash it again. And then your phone was lighting up and there was a text on the screen from Justin:
’I’m not okay with this.’
……
You wanted to run. Run all the way from your big, big house all the way to Babylon or maybe even further than that. Maybe to the Atlantic Ocean and just hurl yourself completely naked at the biggest, coldest, cruelest wave you could find. You stared at the words until they became abstract letters floating in space, until they meant nothing to you, and then you responded with a lie via text:
‘I don’t care.’
……
’Obviously. You’re just pissed at me for leaving you for a few days.’
The anger kept coming, crashing and crashing and crashing against your soul, screaming in your face, trying, like it always does, to intimidate your emotions. And that made you even madder:
‘If that’s what u really think about me, f u.’
Again, you threw the phone down, and then went into your closet, grabbed your suitcase, threw it on the bed and started packing. The next response came about ten minutes later:
’That’s not what I think, okay?’
You took a picture of your almost-packed suitcase and sent it to him along with:
‘I need to do this. guess I’ll c u when I get back.’
……
……
……
You went online and checked flight times for the next day, bought your ticket, texted Daniel the info so he could buy his.
…..
The phone rang again at ten p.m. It was Justin. You answered it on the first ring like the phone was the one attacking you, “What?”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Okay…thanks.”
”But I’m still not okay with this. I don’t think it’s a safe thing for you to do.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m trying to get okay with it because you’re obviously going.”
“I am.”
”It’s just; Daniel’s my friend. I feel like I should be doing this.”
“You’re helping the people you can help. Daniel’s been practically living at Gabe’s for months, Justin. You never gave a shit or tried to reach out to him. What’s the big fucking deal?”
”I do give a shit; I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Okay, well I think I do. Like you said, not trying to be a hero, it’s just I think I can help him, and it might even help me in the process-“
”Brian, Alan was beaten to death like only six months ago. This isn’t some buried thing with Daniel. It just happened at his own fucking house.”
“Everyone grieves in their own time, Justin. Maybe since he’s a shrink, it happens faster; fuck, I don’t know. It doesn’t take everyone ten years to get over shit. Everybody’s different.”
And then the line went quiet, and you could hear Justin breathing…and then not breathing. You clarified, “I didn’t mean you; I mean me…taking ten years.” And still there was silence on the line. “Justin, I don’t mean you, really. Don’t go silent on me.”
……
“You say that, that everyone grieves in their own time, but some people…never…grieve…at all,” he said, "He almost lost his son."
“No, I don’t think so. Everybody grieves.”
……
……
“My Dad never grieved. I mean, everybody thought I was going to die or be a vegetable, and still, he didn’t care.”
……
……
……
You took the phone from your ear, stared at the screen, at the time ticking by, and then put it back again. You felt so heavy after Justin said that, so heavy with hurt, “Look, he’s grieving now. That’s why he calls you all the time even when you won’t call him back. He’s just very, very late to the party, I guess.”
“Well, sometimes when you come too late to a party, the party’s over.” And that was the moment you realized why he was on this quest for Ruth with Harper, how he was trying to fix someone else because he couldn’t figure out how to fix himself; it hurt to think he was going through this all alone, “I wish I was with you right now,” you said, “I really do.”
“Me, too.”
“I never meant to upset you like this with this trip; I would never do that to you.”
“I know.”
……
”Brian, what if everybody gets past this stuff and I never do?”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Being left behind?”
“Kind of.”
“Justin, listen to me. Are you listening?”
”Yes, of course.”
“Regardless of how you feel tonight or six months from now, it’s okay. This is not a race. You don’t need to beat the clock on this.”
“You say that-“
“I say it because it’s true. Everyone takes their own path in their own time.”
Go on to Beyond the Yellow Brick Road-Chapter 48-Legacy (the finale) - Part 2/5
Part 1 lyrics taken from: Oasis’ Wonderwall, Leonard Cohen’sEverybody Knows, Nanci Griffith's Outbound Plane, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence, Billy Joel’s Keeping the Faith, Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence again, Elton John’s Rocket Man, Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows again, Wallflowers’ One Headlight, Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows again.