Fic: NOT NOW, NOT EVER (Post-Breaking Away Standalone)
I wrote this for mmmorpheusq for Christmas and she suggested I post it. Although it's BJ from Breaking Away, there's only a few BA references - so it's pretty safe to read even if you never tackled the series.
Happy holidays one and all!
Not Now, Not Ever (Brian POV)
Part One
Every now and then I just sit back in my chair and look around the former bath house that is now my office and think - fucking exquisite. Who’d have thought I could’ve turned my life around like this when Vance sacked me like some deviant lackey. I knew I couldn’t stay a loser for long. Way too against type for that. But there were a few days when commuting to Altoona looked like it might be on my horizon.
Then I think about the loft and the man who shares it with me and I’m even more amazed at myself. Proud really.
Then of course I think about my dick and wonder if Justin has any time between classes to attend to more pressing business, but before I can think through the logistics, Cynthia’s buzzing: “Jennifer Taylor on line one.”
My dick retreats and I change gears.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
Not sure why I turn on the charm for Justin's mother. Guess I’m naturally charming is all.
“Brian.”
She hesitates.
I lean back in my chair, legs resting on my desktop and await her query or dinner invitation, mildly flattered she’s calling me and not her first born.
“Brian, everything’s fine, but-” I swing my legs off the desk and sit up abruptly. Conversations that start everything’s fine, but are anything but fine. “Justin's in the hospital.”
I fucking knew it. My heart accelerates and I hope she’ll spit out whatever it is she needs to tell me fast.
“He was mugged near school, but he’s fine.”
I’m momentarily rendered speechless. I want to be glad that everything is fine, but if everything is so fucking fine, why isn’t Justin calling me himself? Jennifer intuitively picks up on my confusion.
“He didn’t want you to make it into anything more than it is. So he called me. Explained what happened and asked me to call you. Justin said you were going to meet him at Woody’s after work, but given the circumstances he thinks he’ll pass and just go straight home. Brian, he’s fine. Really. I spoke to the attending physician.”
Whoa. SHE spoke to the attending. Everything is so not fine.
“Um. Okay. I’m glad everything’s fine. Which hospital did you say he’s at?”
She hesitates. Fucking fine my ass!
“Brian, I didn’t say which hospital. But it’s West Penn.”
Neither of us says anything for a few beats. Neither of us has to state the obvious. Justin and I have been there before. The night we met, when Gus was born and . . . I don’t really want to think about the other time. Not now, not ever.
“Thanks for relaying the message. I gotta-”
Before I can disengage, she quickly interjects, “Brian, he’ll be home later tonight. You can talk then.”
I want to scream at her not to fucking manage me; not to pretend everything is fucking fine when obviously something is amiss; not to act like I’m some idiot child who can’t figure out Justin didn’t want to call me himself - that he regressed to calling his mommy. Mostly I just want to scream. But implementing my best, albeit phony, country-club set impersonation, I thank her for her time and concern and gently replace the receiver in its sleek cradle.
I sit silently thinking for a moment. Then, I scream.
“CYNTHIA! CYNTHIA!”
Before I add, get the fuck in here, she’s before me. Palpable concern in her eyes.
“Get me the number for the ER at West Penn!” As soon as I utter the words, I realize I don’t want to wait around. “Call me on my cell with the number. I’m outta here.”
I grab my coat and head out the door. I walked to work this morning, so I’ll have to walk back to the loft to retrieve the Vette unless I’m able to hail a taxi on my way, which in Pittsburgh is fucking unlikely. I momentarily wish I lived in New York City where yellow cabs are the order of the day.
Before I’m a block away from Kinnetik, Cynthia calls me with the requested number, which I repeat aloud twice before hanging up on her without saying goodbye, something she’s more than used to even when I’m not in a frenzy. I plug in the number, hit send and wait to be connected to the Emergency Room. I manage to wipe my mind clear of all thoughts during the many minutes I’m on hold, listening to the pathetic music the hospital pipes in to agitate families awaiting word of the fate of their loved ones.
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Two
I try to remain calm. I know going off on some desk clerk will get me squat. But if this isn’t the most fucking exasperating conversation...
“Look. I appreciate all your rules, truly I do.” Yeah, right. But it sounds good. “I just want to know his condition.”
This mother-fucking piece of shit, thank you Justin for ruining that phrase for me for life, nurse claims she needs to see legal proof of my status before she’ll release information about Justin over the phone. Wants me to fucking fax Justin's health care proxy or our domestic partnership agreement.
“You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t actually carry that sort of documentation around in my back pocket. It’s at home in my desk with my other important papers and if you don’t give me the information soon, I’ll already be at the hospital.”
“Well, if you’re so close, a few extra minutes shouldn’t change anything, now should it?”
I catch myself starting to hurl the phone and instead just snap it shut so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t come unhinged.
I take a moment to regroup, then try a different tactic - dialing three times before I’m sure I have a different nurse.
“Hello, I’d like to check on my brother, Justin Taylor. My mother says he’s there and I’m on my way to bring him home.”
Bingo. I listen to some more shitty music before the nurse returns with the simple response, “They’re just keeping him for observation. He can probably go home in a few hours.”
I thank the nurse and realize I’m still as clueless as I was before about exactly what happened to Justin. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Justin was right and I’ve made this into something it’s not. Yet - something’s off.
I reach the Vette and make the drive to West Penn in less than fifteen minutes, then spend another fifteen minutes trying to park, circling deeper and deeper into the cavernous underground parking garage beneath the hospital. Finally, I’m heading over to the ER, ironically with the same sense of uncertainty I felt the night Gus was born. It’s the normal thing to go to the hospital for this sort of thing, but I have no idea what to expect.
But of all the scenarios that played out in my wandering mind, I didn’t expect this:
“Jesus, Brian. Get the fuck out of here. I told my Mom to call you and tell you I’d see you at home.”
I stand there utterly confused and he turns his head away from me, like he’s shielding some grotesque deformity from my view. I make my way to the other side of his bed and notice there is some gauze covering a small area above his left eyebrow, but other than that he looks fine. Still a keeper.
“For Christ’s sake, Justin-”
And he loses it. Stares me straight on and seethes, “For MY sake Brian, get the fuck out of here. I mean it. For once in your God damned life, listen to me the first time.”
I really don’t know what to make of his animosity. But he’s nothing if not clear, so I turn to go. Then I stop and over my shoulder remind him, “If you need me, you know how to reach me.” And I walk away.
I almost reach the door to exit the ER when I realize how ridiculous this is, how totally out of whack Justin is behaving and I make my way back toward the nursing station. I turn my gaydar on high and spy a not so unattractive male nurse or orderly or whatever-the-fuck he is filling out forms not far from the curtained area where Justin is lying in wait. This semi-handsome medical professional, safe title, notices me eyeing him and gives me a return look, a quick head to toe with lengthy crotch lay-over, before asking that which I crave.
“Anything I can do to help you out?”
“As a matter of fact…”
I can see his disappointment in my response, but he grabs Justin's chart and informs me Justin was mugged outside PIFA, that his assailant robbed him and then pushed him out of the way and Justin fell, slightly injuring his forehead above his left eye. That he became exceedingly agitated upon admission to the ER and they gave him a sedative, did x-rays to check for a concussion and will discharge him shortly. Besides the agitation, nothing unusual.
I thank my new friend and exit the ER for real this time.
I don’t get it. Why push me away over a little scrape? Does he think I’ll be turned off by a little gauze? Whatthefuck? I mean, I was a son of a bitch when I was diagnosed with cancer, but that’s serious. This is nothing at all. Not that I was right to do what I did to Justin, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared. Irrational.
Fuck it. I have work to do. If my little princess doesn't want me around to change his band-aid and transport his dainty ass home to our castle in my chariot - fuck him. Yeah, fuck him! Let Jennifer bring him home.
And while I try to mentally degrade Justin, to remind myself what a prima donna he can be and how utterly amazing to him I have been of late, another part of me is playing back every possible sin I could have possibly committed since he returned from LA - because something tells me I fucked up.
But I shock myself when nothing major comes to mind. Yeah, I forgot to pick up some items at the store that he asked me to and yeah I forgot to take his stuff with mine to the dry cleaners a few weeks ago and yeah I threw out some food he was planning to eat another day, but it’s all domestic doldrums kinds of sins. Truth be told, I’m a venerable saint in the domestic partner department lately. Shit. “What’d I do?”
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Three
I’m sitting in the living room of the loft flipping through a magazine I’m not reading waiting for him to walk through the door. I feel like some bad-ass father waiting to pounce on his teenage son for breaking curfew. And just when I think he’s gone AWOL or more likely to Jennifer’s place, I hear the sliding metal door do its thing and Justin enters. I immediately read him. He’s playing: I’m fine, everything’s fine, don’t worry about me. Fuck this shit.
And yet I play along.
“Hey. You’re back.”
He flops himself down next to me, which I find somewhat encouraging.
“Hey, yourself.”
I stare at him and he reaches for the magazine I was pretending to read - and turns it right side up. Busted. But he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there. We’re both sitting next to each other not looking at the magazine I’m still holding and I really don’t know what to say. But he’s not giving me any clues either.
I risk it. “So, we gonna take three episodes to clear the air or you willing to let me know what the fuck happened?”
“You go to Babylon?” Non-sequitur. Maybe he did hurt his head.
“Did you get a concussion?”
“Tonight?”
“Well I know you didn’t have one yesterday.”
He refuses to show his impatience with me and just sticks to his line of questioning. “Did you go to Babylon tonight?”
“No.” I’m a little annoyed he won’t answer my questions, but given his reaction to me this afternoon, he’s in the driver’s seat.
“Where did you go when you left?”
“Left where?” Two can play this game.
“Left me.”
“I’ve never left you.” It’s true.
I put the magazine down on the coffee table and lift my right arm up and over his shoulder, pulling him against me. He resists ever so slightly, but mainly melts into me. I touch his right cheek and finger his hair. He lets his head fall into the crook of my neck and we just sit in remarkably comfortable silence for an immeasurable amount of time.
I’m going to drop it. I’m going to give him what he asked for. It really isn’t a big deal. He’s put up with so much of my shit, I can take a little of his. He’s physically fine and he’s home: our home. That’s all that matters.
“Want me to order Thai?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
And since I don’t want to leave his side to get the land phone, I spy My Justin Phone in the pocket of my jacket draped over the back of the couch.
“May I?” I look to him for permission to violate the exclusivity provision of my special phone.
He silently nods his approval and I call in the order, the number long ago memorized. I wonder if I’ll be able to leave him to open the door when the food arrives. The way I feel right now, I never want to leave him. Not now, not ever.
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Four
By the time the delivery guy arrives, Justin's sound asleep leaning against me on the sofa. Somehow I manage to get up without waking him and he automatically spreads out to fill the space I was previously occupying. I set the food down on the counter, figure I’ll just keep it room temperature until he wakes up and then I can nuke it. It smells good and I consider nabbing a chicken satay to hold me over, but decide to wait.
The land line rings and I rush to answer it so quickly to avoid waking Justin that I drop the receiver, making me feel like some nervous school girl.
“Yeah!” I whisper-shout into the receiver as if the caller should have fucking known better than to call on the evening after Justin was mugged and is sleeping on the sofa.
“Brian? Are you alright?”
Jennifer. Figures.
“Justin's sleeping. I didn’t want him to hear the ring.”
“Oh, I see.”
Silence. Jesus. She called me.
“It’s your dime.” What an arcane expression, makes me sound like my father.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I dropped Justin off and he seemed fine, but I wasn’t confident he really was - fine.”
I gloss over the fact that she drove him home. “He came in and fell asleep almost right away. Did he mention if they gave him anything?”
“No, he didn’t say. But I know they gave him something to calm him down this afternoon, not sure if he took anything else before he was discharged.”
“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Brian. Oh, Brian. I didn’t mean to make you feel excluded today.”
“I know. That was your son’s job.” Christ. Did I say that?
“He just had a bad reaction. Said it wouldn’t have happened if they’d taken him to Mercy, but West Penn was so much closer to PIFA.”
“I see.” I don’t, but I want Justin to tell me this, not his mommy.
She wishes me goodnight and I return to check on Sleeping Beauty.
I sit next to him and watch him breathe, think about how often I’ve watched him sleeping over the years. He’s a pretty sound sleeper. Except when… Fuck. Why couldn’t they have just taken him to Mercy? He was probably too damn polite to demand which ER he went to. Or maybe he was in pain. I can’t see the size of the gash. Doesn’t look too big.
I squeeze beside him on the sofa and will myself to sleep as well. But instead I just listen to his breathing, wishing I hadn’t pushed him to go back to school - scumbag neighborhood PIFA’s in and all.
Just when I think I might be able to fall asleep after all, he stirs. He sees I’m lying next to him awake and sits up. “What time is it?”
I sit up too. “Late. Hungry?”
“Not sure. Probably.”
“I can heat up the Thai. It’s been hours.”
“Oh. Sure. Thanks.” I get up and scoop some Thai onto a microwavable plate and stick it in the microwave. Justin doesn’t move - just sits there. I can tell he’s kind of out of it, half mental exhaustion, half drugs. I’m intimately familiar with the look.
After his food is hot, I carry it over to him and then retrieve a plate for myself. I’m not really hungry anymore but I know he’ll be more relaxed if he isn’t eating alone.
He nibbles, I nibble. We mostly sit in silence. Thank God, he breaks it first.
“Brian, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I kind of lost it.”
I shrug. I don’t know what to say, but my days of “Sorry’s bullshit” are so far gone I don’t have any patent answer to fall back on.
“I had a . . . you know . . . a flash back and I felt so angry at you. I know it’s not fair. You’re not the same person you were - then - and even if you were, it’s been so long, I shouldn’t feel this way any more.”
I put my plate down. Whatever pretend appetite I was toying with has totally left the building.
I expect him to go on, but when he doesn’t, I give him a nudge. “Just tell me. I can take it. Not knowing is worse.”
He doesn’t continue.
I try some more. “Justin, I didn’t go to Babylon tonight. I didn’t go anywhere. I left the hospital and came home and just puttered around a bit and hoped you’d come home. I couldn’t concentrate, so I didn’t go back to the office.”
Just to let him know I sort of get it, I add, “I’m sorry they didn’t take you to Mercy.”
He looks up at that one. “Maybe I would have had the same reaction. Who’s to tell?”
I whisper, almost seductively to him, “Tell me.”
He puts down his plate and moves his legs beneath him so he’s sitting Indian style on the couch. He’s fully dressed, but I’m immediately reminded of that time I was horny as hell and he wanted me to help market his gay straight student alliance. The memory instills some unwanted emotion when I think how far he’s come. Truth be told - - I’ve come further.
His voice begins and startles me out of my reverie. “I was leaving my last class, walking through that alley near the student parking lot.” Fuck Rage for giving him enough money to buy his own fucking car. He was safer on public fucking transportation. Damn it all to hell. And what’s with me always sounding like a father these days?
“This guy comes out of nowhere - he had a knife and he told me to give him my wallet. I was pissed but I just handed it over. Not worth losing my beauty over fifty bucks.” Neither of us laughs. “Then to thank me for being such a good victim, he shoved me and I lost my balance and landed on some jagged pavement. I felt some blood on my forehead and it kind of paralyzed me. Not physically. You know, I just sat there on the sidewalk until some other PIFA students found me and I guess they called security - and one of the guards drove me over to West Penn.”
I don’t interrupt. He’s talking now and I don’t want to mess with his rhythm.
“It happened when we arrived at the ER. I kept seeing all this blood, but there really wasn’t all that much blood. I think I was remembering the night of my - you know. Or maybe I was just imagining how I think it would have been, since I was unconscious then. I don’t know. But I got really upset and told them I didn’t want to be there. They gave me something for nerves and taped up my forehead. I think it needed a stitch or two. Not sure.”
I squeeze his shoulder - another stupid father move - but it feels right given the circumstances.
“But then I totally remembered lying in bed waiting for you to come and visit me. And Brian, I gotta tell you I felt so angry and sad all at once that I didn’t want to give you the chance to show up today and take me home - like it would make up for what you didn’t do then. You blew it then and nothing you can do or say now will ever change that.”
The old familiar feeling of knowing I’m a worthless piece of shit immediately resurfaces and I’m ready to take it. He’s right; I was a shit. I find myself looking down like some child being scolded. He’s hit me where it hurts most and there’s nothing I can do to defend myself.
He takes my chin in his hand and draws my face up and over to face him.
“Brian, I’m over it. But that’s what happened today. I felt helpless and it was probably easier for me to lash out at you than at the responsible scumbag stranger.”
I nod - emotion swelling and I really can’t speak.
“Brian, I know you’re not the same now as you were then. That’s another reason I wanted you to stay away. If you’d have just respected my wishes and not shown up at the hospital, I would have been able to come home and just deal with getting mugged. We wouldn’t be talking about this other shit.”
He’s wrong there.
“Then you wouldn’t have been being honest with me. I need to know that kind of thing, just like you’d want to know if I was brooding about something you did - even if it was years ago.”
He nods in agreement and I forge on.
“Let’s finish this - bring everything out in the open - then it can’t hurt us like this again, okay?” I still surprise myself at my newfound maturity.
He hesitates, but I can tell he wants to ask me something.
“Brian, I remember what you told me, that you didn’t come to the hospital because you knew you couldn’t do anything and that you’d find out from others if anything terrible happened to me, if I - you know?”
I remember ever fucking horrible thing I ever said to him.
“And I know how responsible you felt for what happened. But…” He hesitates. “But, did you ever almost come to see me, just to make me happy? For me?”
Of all the suffering I experienced in my childhood, Justin getting bashed seconds after the most amazing moment in my adult life will forever be the lowest point of my existence. And even though I thought at the time what I was doing was best for him, I clearly fucked up every which way and sideways.
I clear my throat, hoping I can produce sound. He and I have been through so much and yet we’ve never really dealt with this. There was always some other more recent drama to address.
“I’m not proud of what I did, Justin. I thought I was doing what was best for you, not letting you see me.” I look down again. “It’s not honorable, but I was ashamed - partly. But mainly, I thought my presence would poison you - and I cared enough about you even then to want the best for you.”
He just stares at me.
I don’t know if the topic or the silence is killing me more. Then it hits me and I look him straight in the eye. “Your Mom did tell you, right?”
He shakes his head, confused.
Shit.
“Justin, I did go to the hospital. Every night, after hours - made friends with one of the nurses and watched you through the glass and checked on your progress. Your mother knew - I guess the nurse blabbed. I never said anything to you later, not because it was a secret any more, but because I didn’t want to rehash the whole thing.”
He’s processing and I’m holding my breath waiting to see if I’ve unlocked Pandora’s box. I watch his features soften and can almost see the boy he once was not that very long ago.
“You were really there?” He voice inflects up and I can’t help but smile at his sweetness. Then he inhales through his nose deeply.
Oh, shit. I don’t want him to cry. Fuck. I brace myself, since I don’t want me to cry even more. I refuse for us to turn into a pair of blithering queens.
I let him know with my eyes that it’s true. He lets me know with his that he believes me. I brush my hand through his golden locks and pull him into my arms, holding him tight against my chest, my head gently resting on the top of his. I wait for him to struggle or continue the conversation, but there’s really nothing more to say - with words at least.
Careful not to throw out my back, I move us off the couch to a standing position and sweep him up off the floor in my best Ragian fashion. He’s still thin, but compared to Gus he weighs a fucking ton. As I carry him up the steps to my lair, he stifles a giggle as I trip over the top step and almost drop him. But he should know better. I’d never drop him. Not now, not ever.
Then I plunk him down on our beautiful bed, whip off my shirt and gently pounce on his prone form. Time for body language communication only. Or so I thought.
“Brian?”
“Huh?”
“Does this mean I get my way for Christmas break?”
Little shit.
“Yeah, you get your way. Like you ever don’t.”
I wait for a response, but he just raises his arms over his head, inviting me to devour him whole. I look him up and down in anticipation, as if I haven’t had his ass on a regular basis for years now. But the lad’s had a hard day, so I don’t want to disappoint. And I won’t. Not now, not ever.
End
Happy holidays one and all!
Not Now, Not Ever (Brian POV)
Part One
Every now and then I just sit back in my chair and look around the former bath house that is now my office and think - fucking exquisite. Who’d have thought I could’ve turned my life around like this when Vance sacked me like some deviant lackey. I knew I couldn’t stay a loser for long. Way too against type for that. But there were a few days when commuting to Altoona looked like it might be on my horizon.
Then I think about the loft and the man who shares it with me and I’m even more amazed at myself. Proud really.
Then of course I think about my dick and wonder if Justin has any time between classes to attend to more pressing business, but before I can think through the logistics, Cynthia’s buzzing: “Jennifer Taylor on line one.”
My dick retreats and I change gears.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
Not sure why I turn on the charm for Justin's mother. Guess I’m naturally charming is all.
“Brian.”
She hesitates.
I lean back in my chair, legs resting on my desktop and await her query or dinner invitation, mildly flattered she’s calling me and not her first born.
“Brian, everything’s fine, but-” I swing my legs off the desk and sit up abruptly. Conversations that start everything’s fine, but are anything but fine. “Justin's in the hospital.”
I fucking knew it. My heart accelerates and I hope she’ll spit out whatever it is she needs to tell me fast.
“He was mugged near school, but he’s fine.”
I’m momentarily rendered speechless. I want to be glad that everything is fine, but if everything is so fucking fine, why isn’t Justin calling me himself? Jennifer intuitively picks up on my confusion.
“He didn’t want you to make it into anything more than it is. So he called me. Explained what happened and asked me to call you. Justin said you were going to meet him at Woody’s after work, but given the circumstances he thinks he’ll pass and just go straight home. Brian, he’s fine. Really. I spoke to the attending physician.”
Whoa. SHE spoke to the attending. Everything is so not fine.
“Um. Okay. I’m glad everything’s fine. Which hospital did you say he’s at?”
She hesitates. Fucking fine my ass!
“Brian, I didn’t say which hospital. But it’s West Penn.”
Neither of us says anything for a few beats. Neither of us has to state the obvious. Justin and I have been there before. The night we met, when Gus was born and . . . I don’t really want to think about the other time. Not now, not ever.
“Thanks for relaying the message. I gotta-”
Before I can disengage, she quickly interjects, “Brian, he’ll be home later tonight. You can talk then.”
I want to scream at her not to fucking manage me; not to pretend everything is fucking fine when obviously something is amiss; not to act like I’m some idiot child who can’t figure out Justin didn’t want to call me himself - that he regressed to calling his mommy. Mostly I just want to scream. But implementing my best, albeit phony, country-club set impersonation, I thank her for her time and concern and gently replace the receiver in its sleek cradle.
I sit silently thinking for a moment. Then, I scream.
“CYNTHIA! CYNTHIA!”
Before I add, get the fuck in here, she’s before me. Palpable concern in her eyes.
“Get me the number for the ER at West Penn!” As soon as I utter the words, I realize I don’t want to wait around. “Call me on my cell with the number. I’m outta here.”
I grab my coat and head out the door. I walked to work this morning, so I’ll have to walk back to the loft to retrieve the Vette unless I’m able to hail a taxi on my way, which in Pittsburgh is fucking unlikely. I momentarily wish I lived in New York City where yellow cabs are the order of the day.
Before I’m a block away from Kinnetik, Cynthia calls me with the requested number, which I repeat aloud twice before hanging up on her without saying goodbye, something she’s more than used to even when I’m not in a frenzy. I plug in the number, hit send and wait to be connected to the Emergency Room. I manage to wipe my mind clear of all thoughts during the many minutes I’m on hold, listening to the pathetic music the hospital pipes in to agitate families awaiting word of the fate of their loved ones.
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Two
I try to remain calm. I know going off on some desk clerk will get me squat. But if this isn’t the most fucking exasperating conversation...
“Look. I appreciate all your rules, truly I do.” Yeah, right. But it sounds good. “I just want to know his condition.”
This mother-fucking piece of shit, thank you Justin for ruining that phrase for me for life, nurse claims she needs to see legal proof of my status before she’ll release information about Justin over the phone. Wants me to fucking fax Justin's health care proxy or our domestic partnership agreement.
“You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t actually carry that sort of documentation around in my back pocket. It’s at home in my desk with my other important papers and if you don’t give me the information soon, I’ll already be at the hospital.”
“Well, if you’re so close, a few extra minutes shouldn’t change anything, now should it?”
I catch myself starting to hurl the phone and instead just snap it shut so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t come unhinged.
I take a moment to regroup, then try a different tactic - dialing three times before I’m sure I have a different nurse.
“Hello, I’d like to check on my brother, Justin Taylor. My mother says he’s there and I’m on my way to bring him home.”
Bingo. I listen to some more shitty music before the nurse returns with the simple response, “They’re just keeping him for observation. He can probably go home in a few hours.”
I thank the nurse and realize I’m still as clueless as I was before about exactly what happened to Justin. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Justin was right and I’ve made this into something it’s not. Yet - something’s off.
I reach the Vette and make the drive to West Penn in less than fifteen minutes, then spend another fifteen minutes trying to park, circling deeper and deeper into the cavernous underground parking garage beneath the hospital. Finally, I’m heading over to the ER, ironically with the same sense of uncertainty I felt the night Gus was born. It’s the normal thing to go to the hospital for this sort of thing, but I have no idea what to expect.
But of all the scenarios that played out in my wandering mind, I didn’t expect this:
“Jesus, Brian. Get the fuck out of here. I told my Mom to call you and tell you I’d see you at home.”
I stand there utterly confused and he turns his head away from me, like he’s shielding some grotesque deformity from my view. I make my way to the other side of his bed and notice there is some gauze covering a small area above his left eyebrow, but other than that he looks fine. Still a keeper.
“For Christ’s sake, Justin-”
And he loses it. Stares me straight on and seethes, “For MY sake Brian, get the fuck out of here. I mean it. For once in your God damned life, listen to me the first time.”
I really don’t know what to make of his animosity. But he’s nothing if not clear, so I turn to go. Then I stop and over my shoulder remind him, “If you need me, you know how to reach me.” And I walk away.
I almost reach the door to exit the ER when I realize how ridiculous this is, how totally out of whack Justin is behaving and I make my way back toward the nursing station. I turn my gaydar on high and spy a not so unattractive male nurse or orderly or whatever-the-fuck he is filling out forms not far from the curtained area where Justin is lying in wait. This semi-handsome medical professional, safe title, notices me eyeing him and gives me a return look, a quick head to toe with lengthy crotch lay-over, before asking that which I crave.
“Anything I can do to help you out?”
“As a matter of fact…”
I can see his disappointment in my response, but he grabs Justin's chart and informs me Justin was mugged outside PIFA, that his assailant robbed him and then pushed him out of the way and Justin fell, slightly injuring his forehead above his left eye. That he became exceedingly agitated upon admission to the ER and they gave him a sedative, did x-rays to check for a concussion and will discharge him shortly. Besides the agitation, nothing unusual.
I thank my new friend and exit the ER for real this time.
I don’t get it. Why push me away over a little scrape? Does he think I’ll be turned off by a little gauze? Whatthefuck? I mean, I was a son of a bitch when I was diagnosed with cancer, but that’s serious. This is nothing at all. Not that I was right to do what I did to Justin, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared. Irrational.
Fuck it. I have work to do. If my little princess doesn't want me around to change his band-aid and transport his dainty ass home to our castle in my chariot - fuck him. Yeah, fuck him! Let Jennifer bring him home.
And while I try to mentally degrade Justin, to remind myself what a prima donna he can be and how utterly amazing to him I have been of late, another part of me is playing back every possible sin I could have possibly committed since he returned from LA - because something tells me I fucked up.
But I shock myself when nothing major comes to mind. Yeah, I forgot to pick up some items at the store that he asked me to and yeah I forgot to take his stuff with mine to the dry cleaners a few weeks ago and yeah I threw out some food he was planning to eat another day, but it’s all domestic doldrums kinds of sins. Truth be told, I’m a venerable saint in the domestic partner department lately. Shit. “What’d I do?”
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Three
I’m sitting in the living room of the loft flipping through a magazine I’m not reading waiting for him to walk through the door. I feel like some bad-ass father waiting to pounce on his teenage son for breaking curfew. And just when I think he’s gone AWOL or more likely to Jennifer’s place, I hear the sliding metal door do its thing and Justin enters. I immediately read him. He’s playing: I’m fine, everything’s fine, don’t worry about me. Fuck this shit.
And yet I play along.
“Hey. You’re back.”
He flops himself down next to me, which I find somewhat encouraging.
“Hey, yourself.”
I stare at him and he reaches for the magazine I was pretending to read - and turns it right side up. Busted. But he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there. We’re both sitting next to each other not looking at the magazine I’m still holding and I really don’t know what to say. But he’s not giving me any clues either.
I risk it. “So, we gonna take three episodes to clear the air or you willing to let me know what the fuck happened?”
“You go to Babylon?” Non-sequitur. Maybe he did hurt his head.
“Did you get a concussion?”
“Tonight?”
“Well I know you didn’t have one yesterday.”
He refuses to show his impatience with me and just sticks to his line of questioning. “Did you go to Babylon tonight?”
“No.” I’m a little annoyed he won’t answer my questions, but given his reaction to me this afternoon, he’s in the driver’s seat.
“Where did you go when you left?”
“Left where?” Two can play this game.
“Left me.”
“I’ve never left you.” It’s true.
I put the magazine down on the coffee table and lift my right arm up and over his shoulder, pulling him against me. He resists ever so slightly, but mainly melts into me. I touch his right cheek and finger his hair. He lets his head fall into the crook of my neck and we just sit in remarkably comfortable silence for an immeasurable amount of time.
I’m going to drop it. I’m going to give him what he asked for. It really isn’t a big deal. He’s put up with so much of my shit, I can take a little of his. He’s physically fine and he’s home: our home. That’s all that matters.
“Want me to order Thai?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
And since I don’t want to leave his side to get the land phone, I spy My Justin Phone in the pocket of my jacket draped over the back of the couch.
“May I?” I look to him for permission to violate the exclusivity provision of my special phone.
He silently nods his approval and I call in the order, the number long ago memorized. I wonder if I’ll be able to leave him to open the door when the food arrives. The way I feel right now, I never want to leave him. Not now, not ever.
Not Now, Not Ever
Part Four
By the time the delivery guy arrives, Justin's sound asleep leaning against me on the sofa. Somehow I manage to get up without waking him and he automatically spreads out to fill the space I was previously occupying. I set the food down on the counter, figure I’ll just keep it room temperature until he wakes up and then I can nuke it. It smells good and I consider nabbing a chicken satay to hold me over, but decide to wait.
The land line rings and I rush to answer it so quickly to avoid waking Justin that I drop the receiver, making me feel like some nervous school girl.
“Yeah!” I whisper-shout into the receiver as if the caller should have fucking known better than to call on the evening after Justin was mugged and is sleeping on the sofa.
“Brian? Are you alright?”
Jennifer. Figures.
“Justin's sleeping. I didn’t want him to hear the ring.”
“Oh, I see.”
Silence. Jesus. She called me.
“It’s your dime.” What an arcane expression, makes me sound like my father.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I dropped Justin off and he seemed fine, but I wasn’t confident he really was - fine.”
I gloss over the fact that she drove him home. “He came in and fell asleep almost right away. Did he mention if they gave him anything?”
“No, he didn’t say. But I know they gave him something to calm him down this afternoon, not sure if he took anything else before he was discharged.”
“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Brian. Oh, Brian. I didn’t mean to make you feel excluded today.”
“I know. That was your son’s job.” Christ. Did I say that?
“He just had a bad reaction. Said it wouldn’t have happened if they’d taken him to Mercy, but West Penn was so much closer to PIFA.”
“I see.” I don’t, but I want Justin to tell me this, not his mommy.
She wishes me goodnight and I return to check on Sleeping Beauty.
I sit next to him and watch him breathe, think about how often I’ve watched him sleeping over the years. He’s a pretty sound sleeper. Except when… Fuck. Why couldn’t they have just taken him to Mercy? He was probably too damn polite to demand which ER he went to. Or maybe he was in pain. I can’t see the size of the gash. Doesn’t look too big.
I squeeze beside him on the sofa and will myself to sleep as well. But instead I just listen to his breathing, wishing I hadn’t pushed him to go back to school - scumbag neighborhood PIFA’s in and all.
Just when I think I might be able to fall asleep after all, he stirs. He sees I’m lying next to him awake and sits up. “What time is it?”
I sit up too. “Late. Hungry?”
“Not sure. Probably.”
“I can heat up the Thai. It’s been hours.”
“Oh. Sure. Thanks.” I get up and scoop some Thai onto a microwavable plate and stick it in the microwave. Justin doesn’t move - just sits there. I can tell he’s kind of out of it, half mental exhaustion, half drugs. I’m intimately familiar with the look.
After his food is hot, I carry it over to him and then retrieve a plate for myself. I’m not really hungry anymore but I know he’ll be more relaxed if he isn’t eating alone.
He nibbles, I nibble. We mostly sit in silence. Thank God, he breaks it first.
“Brian, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I kind of lost it.”
I shrug. I don’t know what to say, but my days of “Sorry’s bullshit” are so far gone I don’t have any patent answer to fall back on.
“I had a . . . you know . . . a flash back and I felt so angry at you. I know it’s not fair. You’re not the same person you were - then - and even if you were, it’s been so long, I shouldn’t feel this way any more.”
I put my plate down. Whatever pretend appetite I was toying with has totally left the building.
I expect him to go on, but when he doesn’t, I give him a nudge. “Just tell me. I can take it. Not knowing is worse.”
He doesn’t continue.
I try some more. “Justin, I didn’t go to Babylon tonight. I didn’t go anywhere. I left the hospital and came home and just puttered around a bit and hoped you’d come home. I couldn’t concentrate, so I didn’t go back to the office.”
Just to let him know I sort of get it, I add, “I’m sorry they didn’t take you to Mercy.”
He looks up at that one. “Maybe I would have had the same reaction. Who’s to tell?”
I whisper, almost seductively to him, “Tell me.”
He puts down his plate and moves his legs beneath him so he’s sitting Indian style on the couch. He’s fully dressed, but I’m immediately reminded of that time I was horny as hell and he wanted me to help market his gay straight student alliance. The memory instills some unwanted emotion when I think how far he’s come. Truth be told - - I’ve come further.
His voice begins and startles me out of my reverie. “I was leaving my last class, walking through that alley near the student parking lot.” Fuck Rage for giving him enough money to buy his own fucking car. He was safer on public fucking transportation. Damn it all to hell. And what’s with me always sounding like a father these days?
“This guy comes out of nowhere - he had a knife and he told me to give him my wallet. I was pissed but I just handed it over. Not worth losing my beauty over fifty bucks.” Neither of us laughs. “Then to thank me for being such a good victim, he shoved me and I lost my balance and landed on some jagged pavement. I felt some blood on my forehead and it kind of paralyzed me. Not physically. You know, I just sat there on the sidewalk until some other PIFA students found me and I guess they called security - and one of the guards drove me over to West Penn.”
I don’t interrupt. He’s talking now and I don’t want to mess with his rhythm.
“It happened when we arrived at the ER. I kept seeing all this blood, but there really wasn’t all that much blood. I think I was remembering the night of my - you know. Or maybe I was just imagining how I think it would have been, since I was unconscious then. I don’t know. But I got really upset and told them I didn’t want to be there. They gave me something for nerves and taped up my forehead. I think it needed a stitch or two. Not sure.”
I squeeze his shoulder - another stupid father move - but it feels right given the circumstances.
“But then I totally remembered lying in bed waiting for you to come and visit me. And Brian, I gotta tell you I felt so angry and sad all at once that I didn’t want to give you the chance to show up today and take me home - like it would make up for what you didn’t do then. You blew it then and nothing you can do or say now will ever change that.”
The old familiar feeling of knowing I’m a worthless piece of shit immediately resurfaces and I’m ready to take it. He’s right; I was a shit. I find myself looking down like some child being scolded. He’s hit me where it hurts most and there’s nothing I can do to defend myself.
He takes my chin in his hand and draws my face up and over to face him.
“Brian, I’m over it. But that’s what happened today. I felt helpless and it was probably easier for me to lash out at you than at the responsible scumbag stranger.”
I nod - emotion swelling and I really can’t speak.
“Brian, I know you’re not the same now as you were then. That’s another reason I wanted you to stay away. If you’d have just respected my wishes and not shown up at the hospital, I would have been able to come home and just deal with getting mugged. We wouldn’t be talking about this other shit.”
He’s wrong there.
“Then you wouldn’t have been being honest with me. I need to know that kind of thing, just like you’d want to know if I was brooding about something you did - even if it was years ago.”
He nods in agreement and I forge on.
“Let’s finish this - bring everything out in the open - then it can’t hurt us like this again, okay?” I still surprise myself at my newfound maturity.
He hesitates, but I can tell he wants to ask me something.
“Brian, I remember what you told me, that you didn’t come to the hospital because you knew you couldn’t do anything and that you’d find out from others if anything terrible happened to me, if I - you know?”
I remember ever fucking horrible thing I ever said to him.
“And I know how responsible you felt for what happened. But…” He hesitates. “But, did you ever almost come to see me, just to make me happy? For me?”
Of all the suffering I experienced in my childhood, Justin getting bashed seconds after the most amazing moment in my adult life will forever be the lowest point of my existence. And even though I thought at the time what I was doing was best for him, I clearly fucked up every which way and sideways.
I clear my throat, hoping I can produce sound. He and I have been through so much and yet we’ve never really dealt with this. There was always some other more recent drama to address.
“I’m not proud of what I did, Justin. I thought I was doing what was best for you, not letting you see me.” I look down again. “It’s not honorable, but I was ashamed - partly. But mainly, I thought my presence would poison you - and I cared enough about you even then to want the best for you.”
He just stares at me.
I don’t know if the topic or the silence is killing me more. Then it hits me and I look him straight in the eye. “Your Mom did tell you, right?”
He shakes his head, confused.
Shit.
“Justin, I did go to the hospital. Every night, after hours - made friends with one of the nurses and watched you through the glass and checked on your progress. Your mother knew - I guess the nurse blabbed. I never said anything to you later, not because it was a secret any more, but because I didn’t want to rehash the whole thing.”
He’s processing and I’m holding my breath waiting to see if I’ve unlocked Pandora’s box. I watch his features soften and can almost see the boy he once was not that very long ago.
“You were really there?” He voice inflects up and I can’t help but smile at his sweetness. Then he inhales through his nose deeply.
Oh, shit. I don’t want him to cry. Fuck. I brace myself, since I don’t want me to cry even more. I refuse for us to turn into a pair of blithering queens.
I let him know with my eyes that it’s true. He lets me know with his that he believes me. I brush my hand through his golden locks and pull him into my arms, holding him tight against my chest, my head gently resting on the top of his. I wait for him to struggle or continue the conversation, but there’s really nothing more to say - with words at least.
Careful not to throw out my back, I move us off the couch to a standing position and sweep him up off the floor in my best Ragian fashion. He’s still thin, but compared to Gus he weighs a fucking ton. As I carry him up the steps to my lair, he stifles a giggle as I trip over the top step and almost drop him. But he should know better. I’d never drop him. Not now, not ever.
Then I plunk him down on our beautiful bed, whip off my shirt and gently pounce on his prone form. Time for body language communication only. Or so I thought.
“Brian?”
“Huh?”
“Does this mean I get my way for Christmas break?”
Little shit.
“Yeah, you get your way. Like you ever don’t.”
I wait for a response, but he just raises his arms over his head, inviting me to devour him whole. I look him up and down in anticipation, as if I haven’t had his ass on a regular basis for years now. But the lad’s had a hard day, so I don’t want to disappoint. And I won’t. Not now, not ever.
End