"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 68 "So Far Away"
Back to Pittsburgh --
Justin feels far away.
This is Chapter 68 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Michael Novotny, Hunter, Dylan Burke, Ethan Gold, Debbie Novotny, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin feels far away. Pittsburgh, November 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 65 "Imaginary"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/415007.html
Ch. 66 "Into Temptation"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/415914.html
Ch. 67 "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/416860.html
By Gaedhal
"So far away --
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door,
Doesn't help to know you're just time away.
Long ago I reached for you and there you stood,
Holding you again could only do me good,
Oh, how I wish I could --
But you're so far away..."
***
"Hey! Calling Justin Taylor!"
"Huh?"
I look up and Michael is staring at me. "If you're tired, we could do this another time."
"No. Sorry." I shake my head. "I just vegged out for a minute. I've been pulling some all-nighters to get my projects done and it's making me spacey."
"If we're going to keep doing this, let me make some coffee," says Michael. He gets up and goes into the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker.
"So," I say, trying to pick up where we left off. "Do you like these backgrounds for Gayopolis? I didn't want them to look too futuristic, but I also didn't want them to be too bleak, either."
Michael laughs. "No, they pretty much look like Pittsburgh, for better or for worse."
"That's what they are." I sort through the panels. "I tweaked the look of Rage's lair. I made the bed a lot bigger, more like an altar. What do you think?"
"I like it." Michael gets out two mugs. "You want milk and sugar, too?"
"A little. Where's Ben tonight?"
"The library," he replies. "He's working on a paper to give at the MLA in December. And he's got a ton of grading to do. I usually see him in a blur when he's rushing out of the apartment in the morning and then another blur as he's rushing back in at night."
"Sounds intense."
Michael brings the coffee to the table, taking care not to spill any on the new panels. "Hunter was complaining about it today, but there's not much we can do. It's Ben's job and that's what I told him."
"I know what it's like," I say. "Classes are crazy at this time of the semester. I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving Break, and then Christmas." I stop, thinking about last year. All that insanity in London and then in L.A. with Ron's death.
Michael sits down, cradling the mug in his hands as the steam rises from it. "Have you heard back from Brian yet?"
"No."
That's it. No. I haven't. Nothing. Nada.
"Neither have I." Michael's eyes are hound-dog sad. I wonder what my eyes look like? "I can't believe that goddamn Brian. What's the matter with him?"
"He's Brian," I say. My voice sounds flat inside my head. "He doesn't need to explain himself. You know that better than anyone. You warned me about it a long, long time ago. But I didn't want to listen. Stupid me."
Michael looks up at me, startled. "But that was a long time ago! Brian's changed -- a lot!"
"Has he?" I ask. "Really?"
"So much shit has happened," says Michael. "We've all changed. And Brian's no different." He takes a sip of his coffee.
"No different," I repeat. "That's the problem."
"Don't give up," Michael urges. "He's an asshole... but he loves you. You know he does."
"I know." I stir my coffee with a spoon, just for something to touch, to move. "But I don't know if it's enough anymore. I'm tired, Michael. Really, really tired."
"Don't make the mistake I almost made," says Michael. "I gave up on Ben when I knew I still loved him and he loved me. And I jumped into a relationship with David and almost ruined everything." He pauses. "That Dylan guy..."
I sigh. "He's a fuck buddy. That's all. And so's Ethan. It's just sex. There's no emotion involved."
Michael frowns. "That doesn't sound like you, Justin. Maybe Brian can be satisfied with fuck buddies and tricks -- or he could once upon a time. But that's not you! I can't see you fucking any guy regularly without feeling something for him. I know I could never do it. I was never happy with tricking -- ever."
"I know, Michael," I say. "But you do what you have to do."
"I don't believe that -- and neither do you."
I have to change the subject. I can't talk about this. I can't think about this.
"Did you decide what to do about the money from the Batman comic book?"
Michael perks right up. "Ben and I talked to that financial planner Mr. Karr suggested. Once the book is auctioned, I'll have to pay taxes on it, but after that, the money is mine. I want to pay off some bills, but there's not a lot. Ma and Uncle Vic had their mortgage and credit cards paid off by Brian..." He glances at me hesitantly.
"You can say his name, Michael. I know he helped Deb and Vic. He's helped a lot of people." Including me, I don't add. But Michael knows.
"And I want to put some of the money away for the future. Ben and I want to buy a house eventually. And with Hunter things are more expensive. You can't believe how much that kid eats!"
"Oh, I can believe it." I remember how much I used to eat when I was a teenager. Yeah, two years ago.
"But there will still be plenty of money left over for 'Rage,'" says Michael. "I told Ben it's an investment for the future. I know we can make the money back down the road. And once people see this first book..." Michael taps the top panel. "I mean, it's not like any other comic book. And Rage isn't like any other hero. I know we'll sell out the first run and then it will be a collectors' item. Once we finish these panels, we should start thinking about the second of the series. I already have a lot of ideas!"
Michael certainly is enthusiastic. Good for him. Everyone should be passionate about something. I remember Brian talking about the way Michael's face would light up when he was talking about his favorite comic books and heroes, like Captain Astro. I thought it was kind of juvenile at the time, but now I understand much better. It's true -- it's what he cares about.
"We should finish this book before we start on the next one," I tell him. "But it wouldn't hurt to kick around a few ideas. I think we need a really good villain. Got any in mind?"
"You bet!" Michael immediately begins babbling his thoughts a mile a minute -- so quickly I can hardly follow him. But I jot down his ideas and promise I'll work up some sketches.
It's getting late and I have class in the morning. I'm putting my sketchpad and panels in my bookbag when Hunter slouches out of his bedroom on his way to the refrigerator. He's wearing a pair of tighty-whities that doesn't leave much to the imagination.
"Hey, dude," he greets Michael.
Michael grimaces. "How many times do I have to tell you -- put some clothes on!"
"Whatever." Hunter takes a bottle of milk out of the fridge and chugs it.
"And please use a glass!" Michael looks at me and rolls his eyes.
"Whatever," Hunter repeats. He finishes the bottle and sets in on the counter. Then he heads back to his room, pointedly ignoring me. The bedroom door slams behind him.
"What's his problem?" I ask as Michael ushers me to the front door.
He shrugs. "The kid's got a major crush on Brian. He says he can't figure out what he sees in a boring little punk like you." Michael blinks. "No offense."
That makes me laugh. But it's a bitter laugh. "None taken. And Hunter's not the only one, apparently."
"Listen, Justin," says Michael. "Forget Hunter. He's just a dumb kid. But ignore all those other people, too. It's gossip. It's bullshit. Brian will be here for Christmas -- maybe even for Thanksgiving -- and everything will be back to normal. You'll see."
Yeah. Thanksgiving. Christmas. We'll see.
"Did you invite him to your birthday party next week?"
Michael looks away, obviously uncomfortable. "Yeah."
"Did you hear back from him?"
"You know I didn't."
I go out the door. "Goodbye, Michael."
I think about stopping at the diner to get some food, but I don't want to run into anyone I know, especially Deb. So I head back to the loft.
There are no messages on the answering machine. No messages on my cell. And nothing from Brian in my e-mail inbox.
Not that I'm expecting anything. Because I'm not.
Brian is too far away. And so am I.
***
I've been having those weird dreams again.
It's winter. A broken city. Someone is chasing me. Sometimes it's Brian. Sometimes it's Ron. Sometimes it's my dad. Once it was even Chris Hobbs.
But lately it's been someone else. Someone whose face I never quite see. He's dark. And young.
He has a name, but I won't say it. I won't acknowledge it. Won't acknowledge him.
He's nothing to me. He can't scare me. Can't chase me down.
I wake up with a start, before my alarm goes off. I have class in an hour.
I drag myself around the loft, opening drawers, getting dressed.
This place is full of Brian. His clothes hanging in the closet. His sweaters and underwear in the dresser. His hair and skin products in the bathroom. His toys under the bed. His porn next to the television. His favorite coffees and teas on the kitchen counter. Bottles of his water in the fridge.
I have to get out of here. I have to get my own apartment. Otherwise I'll always be under Brian's spell. I'll always be waiting for him to appear.
Fred Karr says I can afford it. Nothing as nice as the loft, obviously, but something better than Ethan's dive. If I get my own place I can toss my junk in the corner. I can throw paint around without worrying it'll mess up the white Italian furniture or stain the hardwood floors. I can have guys over to fuck and not have to go to Ethan's or wait for Dylan's straight roommate to go home for the weekend.
I can be free. Finally.
I can grow up. Finally.
I brush my teeth. Brian's old toothbrush is in the holder. I dump it in the trash.
You shouldn't keep old toothbrushes around for so long. It's not sanitary.
***
I meet Dylan and Ethan for a late lunch at the diner. I've been avoiding the place, but Dylan likes the cheap specials and Ethan thinks the new busboy is hot, so they overrule me.
"Coach thinks he can get me a tryout with the Pirates," says Dylan. He peruses the menu like it's a textbook. "If they like me, they'll send me to their Double A team in the spring."
Ethan frowns. "What about finishing your degree?"
"If I get signed to play pro ball, who the fuck cares about a degree? I can always finish that later." Dylan leans across the table and tweaks Ethan's nose. "If someone offered you the chance to go on tour with the symphony, would you give a shit about staying behind and finishing your crummy degree?"
Ethan grins. "Hell, no!"
Deb comes to the table. The look on her face is blank, but her eyes are boring into me. "Would you gentlemen like to order now?"
"Sure, Deb," says Dylan. "The Pink Plate Special -- chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans. And can I get an extra side of fries with that? With more gravy on top of those fries?"
"Extra fries with gravy for the Irish Bottomless Pit," Debbie drawls. Then she turns to Ethan. "What about you, Your Highness?"
"I want the big salad with the dressing on the side," says Ethan, handing back his menu. "And no cheese or croutons in that. I'm trying to avoid dairy and gluten."
"Are you still doing that vegan shit?" scoffs Dylan. "Eat some real food, for fuck sake!"
"I'm cleansing my system," Ethan explains. "No dairy, no animal protein, no gluten. Hey, Deb? Is that lettuce organic?"
"Of course," she replies with a straight face. "We grow it ourselves, fertilized by shit from the diner toilets. And picked by certified gay hippies. You want any more information, Paganini?"
"No," says Ethan, blushing. "I'm sure it's okay."
Dylan laughs his jackass laugh. "Shit from the toilet. Good one."
Debbie turns to me. "And you, Sunshine?"
I close the menu. "I'm not very hungry, I guess."
"That's a first," Dylan cracks.
"So, nothing?" Debbie's pencil is poised over her pad.
"Just a burger. And fries. Please." I smile at her. The Sunshine Smile. But it doesn't seem to be working lately.
"Burger and fries. Got it. Oh, by the way -- have you talked to your mom recently?"
I squirm. I've been avoiding her calls. Mom asks too many questions. "I've been really busy, Deb."
"Give her a call," says Deb coolly. "She worries when she doesn't hear from you."
"Sure," I nod. "I will. I'll call her tonight."
Debbie goes to put in the order and Dylan nudges me with his elbow. "She loves to bust your chops, doesn't she?"
"Yeah," I agree. "She does." I stretch nervously. "I've been thinking about getting my own place."
"Really?" says Ethan. "Why? That loft sounds like a sweet deal."
"It is. That's the problem. It is a sweet deal, but it's not mine."
"Yeah, we can't fuck there, so what good is it?" Dylan huffs. "Although Brian would never know if we did."
I give Dylan a look. "You want to take the chance? Remember the last time he found you in the loft."
Dylan winces. "Yeah, that wasn't cool."
"Brian has a sixth sense about his property. He always knows when it's been invaded." The words are out of my mouth before I realize the double entendre.
Both Dylan and Ethan burst out laughing. "Invaded is one way of putting it!" Dylan cackles.
"Hey, there he is," whispers Ethan. The hot busboy goes by. He's all right, but nothing special.
Dylan sizes up his ass. "He's a bottom, for sure. You want to invite him over for tomorrow night? We can have a Friday Night Special."
"Yes!" Ethan squeals with excitement.
"I don't know..." I hesitate.
"Come on, J.," Ethan coaxes. "It'll be fun. And I've got some primo weed. You've been working too hard. You need to relax."
"Well..."
The door of the diner opens and in comes Hunter, Michael and Ben's foster kid. He squints at the menu board and places his order. Then he notices us in the back booth. And he comes over.
What the hell?
"Is this the way you waste your time?" he sneers. "With these losers?"
I bristle. This brat really gets on my nerves. "I'm with my friends, not that it's any of your fucking business."
"Whatever, dude," Hunter shrugs. "No wonder Brian has better ways to spend his time."
"Why don't you take off, chicken?" Dylan commands. "Shouldn't you be in school or are you a dropout as well as a cheap hustler?"
"It's after 3:00," Hunter answers smugly. "School's out. And as for hustling, it takes one to know one -- dude." And he flounces back to the counter to pick up his take-out.
"Little bitch," Dylan breathes.
Debbie brings our food. Dylan and Ethan dig in, but I just pick at my burger. Ethan finishes my fries. After lunch they take off -- Dylan to the gym and Ethan to string trio rehearsal. I should be working on all my projects, not to mention the 'Rage' panels, but I just sit in the booth, thinking.
"Everything okay, Sunshine?"
I look up. "Sure, Deb. What could be wrong?"
She leans over the table. "Seeing you boys sitting there, eating, laughing -- it reminded me of when Michael and Brian and Ted and Emmett all used to come in here together. That seems like a long time ago."
"Time doesn't stand still," I say. "Nothing stands still."
"Listen, honey..."
"Don't say anything, Deb. Especially about Brian."
She sits down opposite me. "I wasn't going to say anything about You-Know-Who. I was only going to invite you to Michael's birthday party. It's Tuesday night. And if your friends want to come... they're very welcome."
I think about it. Dylan and Ethan at Deb's house. It's a weird concept. "I don't know. Do they have to bring a gift?"
Debbie laughs. "You know my parties, baby. They only need to bring an appetite."
"Michael's birthday is only two days before Thanksgiving this year. Isn't that cutting it close?"
Debbie snaps her fingers. "Nothing to it! I'm having all Michael's favorites for his birthday -- rigatoni, Chicken Parmesan, and that Golden Fudge cake he used to like as a kid. And for Thanksgiving -- turkey and all the trimmings. My mother used to cook like that every single day. Everybody did. I asked your mom and sister for Thanksgiving, too."
"The more the merrier."
"I better get back to work." Debbie gets up and pats me on the shoulder. "Buck up, Sunshine. Everything will work out fine."
Sure, Deb. Everything will work out. Fine.
***
Of course, Dylan and Ethan jump at the chance to go to Michael's party. Any chance to get free food.
But it's just... strange. Michael sits on the sofa between Ben and Debbie, a stupid party hat on his head, opening presents. Oo-ing and ahh-ing over his presents. Hunter grabs every item the minute Michael rips off the paper and examines it, like a pet monkey, saying, "Cool!" and "Radical!" Dylan swigs the vino Vic and Tim brought and Ethan stuffs himself with non-vegan rigatoni and plenty of Golden Fudge cake. Emmett and Ted observe the proceedings like anthropologists, whispering to each other.
And me? I feel far away. Like I'm watching it all on a giant screen. Like these people have no relation to me. Like this hasn't been my life since I was 17. In two weeks I'll be 21.
But where will I really be? What will I be?
"This came for you this afternoon," says Ben. He hands Michael a padded envelope.
Michael stares at the package like it's going to bite him. "It's from Brian."
Everyone holds their breath. "Well?" Debbie says finally. "Open the fucking thing!"
It's a comic book. The first Captain Astro. "I think this is the same one Brian gave me before. The corner had a slight wrinkle and so does this one. He must have bought it back from the buyer on eBay."
Emmett sniffs. "Knowing Brian, he probably offered the guy triple what it's worth!"
"Probably. Well, thanks, Brian," says Michael. "Wherever you are."
The party goes on, but I suddenly feel exhausted. Dylan is regaling Emmett with his baseball exploits, while Ethan and Ted talk opera. Like I say -- it's weird.
"I hate to break up the party, guys, but I need to go."
"Okay." Dylan drains his wine and takes one last piece of cake before I get him and Ethan out the door.
"I'll see you boys on Thursday!" Debbie calls out the front door. "We're eating at 3:00 sharp, so be here early!"
I drop Ethan and Dylan off at the rat hole. Ethan touches my hand. "Aren't you coming in?"
"No. I'm too tired. I'll pick you up on Thursday -- that is, if you really want to eat at Deb's."
"Sure," says Dylan. "The last place I want to go is to my parents' house. So why not?"
Why not, indeed?
The loft is dark and cold. The first flakes of the coming winter are falling tonight, freezing against the tall windows like squashed white bugs.
Fuck it all. Fuck it all.
The light on the answering machine is blinking. I hit the button.
"Justin. I need to talk to you. It's important. There's something I have to tell..."
I hit stop.
Brian.
Fuck it all. I don't need this right now. I can't deal with it.
He's too far away.
And so am I.
Too far...
I delete the message and go to bed.
***
"One more song about moving along the highway,
Can't say much of anything that's new.
If I could only work this life out my way,
I'd rather spend it being close to you.
But you're so far away --
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door,
Doesn't help to know you're so far away..."
(Carole King)
Justin feels far away.
This is Chapter 68 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Michael Novotny, Hunter, Dylan Burke, Ethan Gold, Debbie Novotny, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin feels far away. Pittsburgh, November 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 65 "Imaginary"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/415007.html
Ch. 66 "Into Temptation"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/415914.html
Ch. 67 "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/416860.html
By Gaedhal
"So far away --
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door,
Doesn't help to know you're just time away.
Long ago I reached for you and there you stood,
Holding you again could only do me good,
Oh, how I wish I could --
But you're so far away..."
***
"Hey! Calling Justin Taylor!"
"Huh?"
I look up and Michael is staring at me. "If you're tired, we could do this another time."
"No. Sorry." I shake my head. "I just vegged out for a minute. I've been pulling some all-nighters to get my projects done and it's making me spacey."
"If we're going to keep doing this, let me make some coffee," says Michael. He gets up and goes into the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker.
"So," I say, trying to pick up where we left off. "Do you like these backgrounds for Gayopolis? I didn't want them to look too futuristic, but I also didn't want them to be too bleak, either."
Michael laughs. "No, they pretty much look like Pittsburgh, for better or for worse."
"That's what they are." I sort through the panels. "I tweaked the look of Rage's lair. I made the bed a lot bigger, more like an altar. What do you think?"
"I like it." Michael gets out two mugs. "You want milk and sugar, too?"
"A little. Where's Ben tonight?"
"The library," he replies. "He's working on a paper to give at the MLA in December. And he's got a ton of grading to do. I usually see him in a blur when he's rushing out of the apartment in the morning and then another blur as he's rushing back in at night."
"Sounds intense."
Michael brings the coffee to the table, taking care not to spill any on the new panels. "Hunter was complaining about it today, but there's not much we can do. It's Ben's job and that's what I told him."
"I know what it's like," I say. "Classes are crazy at this time of the semester. I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving Break, and then Christmas." I stop, thinking about last year. All that insanity in London and then in L.A. with Ron's death.
Michael sits down, cradling the mug in his hands as the steam rises from it. "Have you heard back from Brian yet?"
"No."
That's it. No. I haven't. Nothing. Nada.
"Neither have I." Michael's eyes are hound-dog sad. I wonder what my eyes look like? "I can't believe that goddamn Brian. What's the matter with him?"
"He's Brian," I say. My voice sounds flat inside my head. "He doesn't need to explain himself. You know that better than anyone. You warned me about it a long, long time ago. But I didn't want to listen. Stupid me."
Michael looks up at me, startled. "But that was a long time ago! Brian's changed -- a lot!"
"Has he?" I ask. "Really?"
"So much shit has happened," says Michael. "We've all changed. And Brian's no different." He takes a sip of his coffee.
"No different," I repeat. "That's the problem."
"Don't give up," Michael urges. "He's an asshole... but he loves you. You know he does."
"I know." I stir my coffee with a spoon, just for something to touch, to move. "But I don't know if it's enough anymore. I'm tired, Michael. Really, really tired."
"Don't make the mistake I almost made," says Michael. "I gave up on Ben when I knew I still loved him and he loved me. And I jumped into a relationship with David and almost ruined everything." He pauses. "That Dylan guy..."
I sigh. "He's a fuck buddy. That's all. And so's Ethan. It's just sex. There's no emotion involved."
Michael frowns. "That doesn't sound like you, Justin. Maybe Brian can be satisfied with fuck buddies and tricks -- or he could once upon a time. But that's not you! I can't see you fucking any guy regularly without feeling something for him. I know I could never do it. I was never happy with tricking -- ever."
"I know, Michael," I say. "But you do what you have to do."
"I don't believe that -- and neither do you."
I have to change the subject. I can't talk about this. I can't think about this.
"Did you decide what to do about the money from the Batman comic book?"
Michael perks right up. "Ben and I talked to that financial planner Mr. Karr suggested. Once the book is auctioned, I'll have to pay taxes on it, but after that, the money is mine. I want to pay off some bills, but there's not a lot. Ma and Uncle Vic had their mortgage and credit cards paid off by Brian..." He glances at me hesitantly.
"You can say his name, Michael. I know he helped Deb and Vic. He's helped a lot of people." Including me, I don't add. But Michael knows.
"And I want to put some of the money away for the future. Ben and I want to buy a house eventually. And with Hunter things are more expensive. You can't believe how much that kid eats!"
"Oh, I can believe it." I remember how much I used to eat when I was a teenager. Yeah, two years ago.
"But there will still be plenty of money left over for 'Rage,'" says Michael. "I told Ben it's an investment for the future. I know we can make the money back down the road. And once people see this first book..." Michael taps the top panel. "I mean, it's not like any other comic book. And Rage isn't like any other hero. I know we'll sell out the first run and then it will be a collectors' item. Once we finish these panels, we should start thinking about the second of the series. I already have a lot of ideas!"
Michael certainly is enthusiastic. Good for him. Everyone should be passionate about something. I remember Brian talking about the way Michael's face would light up when he was talking about his favorite comic books and heroes, like Captain Astro. I thought it was kind of juvenile at the time, but now I understand much better. It's true -- it's what he cares about.
"We should finish this book before we start on the next one," I tell him. "But it wouldn't hurt to kick around a few ideas. I think we need a really good villain. Got any in mind?"
"You bet!" Michael immediately begins babbling his thoughts a mile a minute -- so quickly I can hardly follow him. But I jot down his ideas and promise I'll work up some sketches.
It's getting late and I have class in the morning. I'm putting my sketchpad and panels in my bookbag when Hunter slouches out of his bedroom on his way to the refrigerator. He's wearing a pair of tighty-whities that doesn't leave much to the imagination.
"Hey, dude," he greets Michael.
Michael grimaces. "How many times do I have to tell you -- put some clothes on!"
"Whatever." Hunter takes a bottle of milk out of the fridge and chugs it.
"And please use a glass!" Michael looks at me and rolls his eyes.
"Whatever," Hunter repeats. He finishes the bottle and sets in on the counter. Then he heads back to his room, pointedly ignoring me. The bedroom door slams behind him.
"What's his problem?" I ask as Michael ushers me to the front door.
He shrugs. "The kid's got a major crush on Brian. He says he can't figure out what he sees in a boring little punk like you." Michael blinks. "No offense."
That makes me laugh. But it's a bitter laugh. "None taken. And Hunter's not the only one, apparently."
"Listen, Justin," says Michael. "Forget Hunter. He's just a dumb kid. But ignore all those other people, too. It's gossip. It's bullshit. Brian will be here for Christmas -- maybe even for Thanksgiving -- and everything will be back to normal. You'll see."
Yeah. Thanksgiving. Christmas. We'll see.
"Did you invite him to your birthday party next week?"
Michael looks away, obviously uncomfortable. "Yeah."
"Did you hear back from him?"
"You know I didn't."
I go out the door. "Goodbye, Michael."
I think about stopping at the diner to get some food, but I don't want to run into anyone I know, especially Deb. So I head back to the loft.
There are no messages on the answering machine. No messages on my cell. And nothing from Brian in my e-mail inbox.
Not that I'm expecting anything. Because I'm not.
Brian is too far away. And so am I.
***
I've been having those weird dreams again.
It's winter. A broken city. Someone is chasing me. Sometimes it's Brian. Sometimes it's Ron. Sometimes it's my dad. Once it was even Chris Hobbs.
But lately it's been someone else. Someone whose face I never quite see. He's dark. And young.
He has a name, but I won't say it. I won't acknowledge it. Won't acknowledge him.
He's nothing to me. He can't scare me. Can't chase me down.
I wake up with a start, before my alarm goes off. I have class in an hour.
I drag myself around the loft, opening drawers, getting dressed.
This place is full of Brian. His clothes hanging in the closet. His sweaters and underwear in the dresser. His hair and skin products in the bathroom. His toys under the bed. His porn next to the television. His favorite coffees and teas on the kitchen counter. Bottles of his water in the fridge.
I have to get out of here. I have to get my own apartment. Otherwise I'll always be under Brian's spell. I'll always be waiting for him to appear.
Fred Karr says I can afford it. Nothing as nice as the loft, obviously, but something better than Ethan's dive. If I get my own place I can toss my junk in the corner. I can throw paint around without worrying it'll mess up the white Italian furniture or stain the hardwood floors. I can have guys over to fuck and not have to go to Ethan's or wait for Dylan's straight roommate to go home for the weekend.
I can be free. Finally.
I can grow up. Finally.
I brush my teeth. Brian's old toothbrush is in the holder. I dump it in the trash.
You shouldn't keep old toothbrushes around for so long. It's not sanitary.
***
I meet Dylan and Ethan for a late lunch at the diner. I've been avoiding the place, but Dylan likes the cheap specials and Ethan thinks the new busboy is hot, so they overrule me.
"Coach thinks he can get me a tryout with the Pirates," says Dylan. He peruses the menu like it's a textbook. "If they like me, they'll send me to their Double A team in the spring."
Ethan frowns. "What about finishing your degree?"
"If I get signed to play pro ball, who the fuck cares about a degree? I can always finish that later." Dylan leans across the table and tweaks Ethan's nose. "If someone offered you the chance to go on tour with the symphony, would you give a shit about staying behind and finishing your crummy degree?"
Ethan grins. "Hell, no!"
Deb comes to the table. The look on her face is blank, but her eyes are boring into me. "Would you gentlemen like to order now?"
"Sure, Deb," says Dylan. "The Pink Plate Special -- chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans. And can I get an extra side of fries with that? With more gravy on top of those fries?"
"Extra fries with gravy for the Irish Bottomless Pit," Debbie drawls. Then she turns to Ethan. "What about you, Your Highness?"
"I want the big salad with the dressing on the side," says Ethan, handing back his menu. "And no cheese or croutons in that. I'm trying to avoid dairy and gluten."
"Are you still doing that vegan shit?" scoffs Dylan. "Eat some real food, for fuck sake!"
"I'm cleansing my system," Ethan explains. "No dairy, no animal protein, no gluten. Hey, Deb? Is that lettuce organic?"
"Of course," she replies with a straight face. "We grow it ourselves, fertilized by shit from the diner toilets. And picked by certified gay hippies. You want any more information, Paganini?"
"No," says Ethan, blushing. "I'm sure it's okay."
Dylan laughs his jackass laugh. "Shit from the toilet. Good one."
Debbie turns to me. "And you, Sunshine?"
I close the menu. "I'm not very hungry, I guess."
"That's a first," Dylan cracks.
"So, nothing?" Debbie's pencil is poised over her pad.
"Just a burger. And fries. Please." I smile at her. The Sunshine Smile. But it doesn't seem to be working lately.
"Burger and fries. Got it. Oh, by the way -- have you talked to your mom recently?"
I squirm. I've been avoiding her calls. Mom asks too many questions. "I've been really busy, Deb."
"Give her a call," says Deb coolly. "She worries when she doesn't hear from you."
"Sure," I nod. "I will. I'll call her tonight."
Debbie goes to put in the order and Dylan nudges me with his elbow. "She loves to bust your chops, doesn't she?"
"Yeah," I agree. "She does." I stretch nervously. "I've been thinking about getting my own place."
"Really?" says Ethan. "Why? That loft sounds like a sweet deal."
"It is. That's the problem. It is a sweet deal, but it's not mine."
"Yeah, we can't fuck there, so what good is it?" Dylan huffs. "Although Brian would never know if we did."
I give Dylan a look. "You want to take the chance? Remember the last time he found you in the loft."
Dylan winces. "Yeah, that wasn't cool."
"Brian has a sixth sense about his property. He always knows when it's been invaded." The words are out of my mouth before I realize the double entendre.
Both Dylan and Ethan burst out laughing. "Invaded is one way of putting it!" Dylan cackles.
"Hey, there he is," whispers Ethan. The hot busboy goes by. He's all right, but nothing special.
Dylan sizes up his ass. "He's a bottom, for sure. You want to invite him over for tomorrow night? We can have a Friday Night Special."
"Yes!" Ethan squeals with excitement.
"I don't know..." I hesitate.
"Come on, J.," Ethan coaxes. "It'll be fun. And I've got some primo weed. You've been working too hard. You need to relax."
"Well..."
The door of the diner opens and in comes Hunter, Michael and Ben's foster kid. He squints at the menu board and places his order. Then he notices us in the back booth. And he comes over.
What the hell?
"Is this the way you waste your time?" he sneers. "With these losers?"
I bristle. This brat really gets on my nerves. "I'm with my friends, not that it's any of your fucking business."
"Whatever, dude," Hunter shrugs. "No wonder Brian has better ways to spend his time."
"Why don't you take off, chicken?" Dylan commands. "Shouldn't you be in school or are you a dropout as well as a cheap hustler?"
"It's after 3:00," Hunter answers smugly. "School's out. And as for hustling, it takes one to know one -- dude." And he flounces back to the counter to pick up his take-out.
"Little bitch," Dylan breathes.
Debbie brings our food. Dylan and Ethan dig in, but I just pick at my burger. Ethan finishes my fries. After lunch they take off -- Dylan to the gym and Ethan to string trio rehearsal. I should be working on all my projects, not to mention the 'Rage' panels, but I just sit in the booth, thinking.
"Everything okay, Sunshine?"
I look up. "Sure, Deb. What could be wrong?"
She leans over the table. "Seeing you boys sitting there, eating, laughing -- it reminded me of when Michael and Brian and Ted and Emmett all used to come in here together. That seems like a long time ago."
"Time doesn't stand still," I say. "Nothing stands still."
"Listen, honey..."
"Don't say anything, Deb. Especially about Brian."
She sits down opposite me. "I wasn't going to say anything about You-Know-Who. I was only going to invite you to Michael's birthday party. It's Tuesday night. And if your friends want to come... they're very welcome."
I think about it. Dylan and Ethan at Deb's house. It's a weird concept. "I don't know. Do they have to bring a gift?"
Debbie laughs. "You know my parties, baby. They only need to bring an appetite."
"Michael's birthday is only two days before Thanksgiving this year. Isn't that cutting it close?"
Debbie snaps her fingers. "Nothing to it! I'm having all Michael's favorites for his birthday -- rigatoni, Chicken Parmesan, and that Golden Fudge cake he used to like as a kid. And for Thanksgiving -- turkey and all the trimmings. My mother used to cook like that every single day. Everybody did. I asked your mom and sister for Thanksgiving, too."
"The more the merrier."
"I better get back to work." Debbie gets up and pats me on the shoulder. "Buck up, Sunshine. Everything will work out fine."
Sure, Deb. Everything will work out. Fine.
***
Of course, Dylan and Ethan jump at the chance to go to Michael's party. Any chance to get free food.
But it's just... strange. Michael sits on the sofa between Ben and Debbie, a stupid party hat on his head, opening presents. Oo-ing and ahh-ing over his presents. Hunter grabs every item the minute Michael rips off the paper and examines it, like a pet monkey, saying, "Cool!" and "Radical!" Dylan swigs the vino Vic and Tim brought and Ethan stuffs himself with non-vegan rigatoni and plenty of Golden Fudge cake. Emmett and Ted observe the proceedings like anthropologists, whispering to each other.
And me? I feel far away. Like I'm watching it all on a giant screen. Like these people have no relation to me. Like this hasn't been my life since I was 17. In two weeks I'll be 21.
But where will I really be? What will I be?
"This came for you this afternoon," says Ben. He hands Michael a padded envelope.
Michael stares at the package like it's going to bite him. "It's from Brian."
Everyone holds their breath. "Well?" Debbie says finally. "Open the fucking thing!"
It's a comic book. The first Captain Astro. "I think this is the same one Brian gave me before. The corner had a slight wrinkle and so does this one. He must have bought it back from the buyer on eBay."
Emmett sniffs. "Knowing Brian, he probably offered the guy triple what it's worth!"
"Probably. Well, thanks, Brian," says Michael. "Wherever you are."
The party goes on, but I suddenly feel exhausted. Dylan is regaling Emmett with his baseball exploits, while Ethan and Ted talk opera. Like I say -- it's weird.
"I hate to break up the party, guys, but I need to go."
"Okay." Dylan drains his wine and takes one last piece of cake before I get him and Ethan out the door.
"I'll see you boys on Thursday!" Debbie calls out the front door. "We're eating at 3:00 sharp, so be here early!"
I drop Ethan and Dylan off at the rat hole. Ethan touches my hand. "Aren't you coming in?"
"No. I'm too tired. I'll pick you up on Thursday -- that is, if you really want to eat at Deb's."
"Sure," says Dylan. "The last place I want to go is to my parents' house. So why not?"
Why not, indeed?
The loft is dark and cold. The first flakes of the coming winter are falling tonight, freezing against the tall windows like squashed white bugs.
Fuck it all. Fuck it all.
The light on the answering machine is blinking. I hit the button.
"Justin. I need to talk to you. It's important. There's something I have to tell..."
I hit stop.
Brian.
Fuck it all. I don't need this right now. I can't deal with it.
He's too far away.
And so am I.
Too far...
I delete the message and go to bed.
***
"One more song about moving along the highway,
Can't say much of anything that's new.
If I could only work this life out my way,
I'd rather spend it being close to you.
But you're so far away --
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door,
Doesn't help to know you're so far away..."
(Carole King)