I knew I wanted to cry once I settled into the back seat of the cab. My body unwound itself, melting against the window, the cold glass leaving a clear red impression on my cheek. My conscience had always been the center of my being. It gave the orders that my body and brain would follow like windup toys, marching aimlessly forward. Something had gone terribly wrong in my conscience for it was telling me to go in a million directions. Instead of making a rational decision, I shut down in that back seat, my muscles slumping in surrender.
A brutal despondency born of a mixture of panic, fear, and guilt set up residence in my chest, carving little pathways through my lungs, narrowing the precious little space I had to breathe. The oxygen deficit was beginning to have a very real effect. My eyelids started to fade ever so slightly. My heart slowed its pace, lapsing into a walk, then a limp, until is decided to finish the race with a sluggish crawl.
I mustered what strength I had left to look out the window, watch the neon lights of bars and the hellish, orange glow of the streetlights whir past. I never liked that sort of hue as a kid. It was artificial, sickly in the way that daylight was healthy. Oftentimes, I would get nauseous from the light, shutting my eyes tightly against it, hoping the endless jumping of my stomach would go away.
That was one of the few downsides of the city at night; the unnatural glow that settled over everything in a funereal pall. Everything was distorted, like we actually lived in the world so horrifically synthetic, where people were pale golems, trudging down the street with all the emotion of an automaton.
A fake world.
Again, my conscience refused to ease up, sending its contrary instructions tearing through my body with wanton destruction. Nick had shown me what I had in my life. It was like he pointed to my hand and said "Look! Can't you see what you're holding?" Had it not been for him, I might have dropped what I was holding carelessly on the ground. I might have walked away, never knowing that it was there in the first place.
But, I knew that one day something would remind me, the same way I'm reminded of things that I think I've long since forgotten. A casual gesture, a line of conversation. These would make me remember that there had been anything in my hands at all. And then my mind would reach far back and go over the circumstances of its loss. It would demand an answer for my clumsiness and astute ability to pass through life unawares.
Once Nick had shown me what I had, I wanted to share it with him. Looking back, I think it was odd in a way. I was like a little kid on the playground. I had something that no one else had. I wanted to share that with Nick, show him that anyone could get what I had, that it wasn't hard. We could just run over to the store and get him what I had. Because, if I could have something, why couldn't anyone?
I wanted to go back to Nick. As the cab raced further from the city, I felt the keen sense that I was being stretched out. A cord had attached itself from my heart into the city, and the farther I went from it, the more tugging I felt.
Why did I hesitate? Why wasn't I firm? I could have forced him out of there if I had chosen to. I could have grabbed his arm, pulled him out the door, and pushed him onto that train. I don't know what I would have done after that, but I didn't care. If only I had done something.
I wasn't being fair to Mike though. Mike was like vacation to me. When I was there with him, it was surreal. I didn't have to worry about work or school or family. I could roam around just being happy. That was all that was required of me. I felt like I was in a far away place where reality couldn't touch me.
The city, on the other hand, was naked reality, unfettered by human delicacy. It could crush you or coddle you in an instant. It knew only itself. And if a few people were crushed in its single-minded goal of survival, it would shrug the guilt off. That was progress. Sometimes, there has to be a sacrifice.
The cab drew away from the cluttered, claustrophobic confines of Chicago, gliding across the interstate to the suburbs beyond. I was exhausted. My mind was either full or empty. I hadn't decided which. Either way, it was turning itself off, leaving me to stare off without cognitive thought. The inevitable side effect was sleep, which I slipped into gratefully.
I was in a hospital. I think it was a hospital. The gray, indiscernible room I was in seemed to shift formlessly around me. But, I had the distinct impression I was in a hospital. I was waiting for something, my heart beating rapidly, sweat covering my face in a shiny film. I wiped my palms against my jeans and drew my sleeve across my forehead. Was someone dying?
A door I hadn't seen before opened. An unremarkable man without features walked in.
My eyes were immediately drawn to the child at his side.
I knew this little boy. At least I seemed to. I was familiar with him in a way that I was only familiar with myself. The way he arched his eyebrow at me jokingly, the way his cheeks gathered slightly under his eyes. All of them seemed to be an echo, a memory of a life I once knew.
The doctor entrusted the little boy to me and smiled before he left. "He's as good as new," he whispered before finally vanishing behind the door.
The child took my hand in his, looked up at me with big, brown eyes and smiled. "Can we go home now?" he whined.
"Sure, Ben," I heard myself say. I knew that name. It was a name I had never spoken to another living soul. Yet now, I was saying it like it was a common thing, something to be said everyday. Sacrilege.
We left the hospital. Or, I should say, the hospital left us. One minute it was there, and the next, it wasn't. It was gone, replaced with a park, with children playing. Ben and I were sitting at a picnic table. "If you don't eat your sandwich, you're going to be hungry later," I scolded him.
"I know, Daddy. But, I don't like ham. Can I have my cookie now?" He was pouting, bunching his face up, and sticking his lower lip out like he always did. Or, maybe, like he never did.
I produced a cookie from my shirt pocket, a small one with the M&Ms baked into them. I slid it across the table and smiled as Ben attacked it with vigor, smearing chocolate across his mouth. "What do you want to do today?" I asked him.
"I have to go soon," he said sadly, his eyes downcast.
I reached over and mussed his hair, brushing it away from his eyes, hair that had faded from brown to red in the sun. "I didn't mean for this to happen, you know," I said, my throat constricting.
"Of course you didn't, Daddy," he said with a tone of voice uncharacteristic of children.
"I'm going to miss you." I could feel the edges of my composure begin to fray.
"I know, Daddy. You should sleep more so we can have lunch more often." He swatted at an errant fly, then smiled sheepishly when he saw I was watching him closely.
I stood, walked around the table, and kneeled next to him. "I'll see you real soon, ok?" I knew I had tears in my eyes, but I didn't care. I hugged him tightly, daring not to let go. He smelled of soap, and shampoo, and grass, and chocolate, and endless other indescribable things.
And then, he was gone.
The park melted away. I was back in the hospital. I heard a baby cry in the distance.
I jerked awake suddenly, involuntarily shivering, but not from the cold. I looked out the window and noticed I was quite close to Mike's house.
I drew my knees up beneath my chin and hugged them tightly, looking for a replacement for the phantom child. For the hundredth time since Katie did the unspeakable, I had dreamt of Ben. I had named him. Maybe to make it easier to deal with things. But, maybe it was my ultimate mistake in coping. I made him personal. I made him mine.
My dreams gave back a memory of life to my unborn child.
"You look like shit. Though, I gotta say, I kind of expected you'd show up a mess after you left."
I nodded as I walked past Mike into his house, but not before resting my lips on his cheek for a brief moment. "You don't want to know. You really don't." I hung my coat on the corner of the staircase and slipped off my shoes.
"Tired?" he asked, absently rubbing my shoulder.
"What time is it?" I looked at my wrist before realizing I wasn't even wearing a watch. It felt like sand was pouring into my head, weighing it down. My eyelids began a slow descent of their own accord.
"It's two in the morning," he said quietly. He was dressed only in his boxers, and I scarcely had a thought to notice. I was so tired.
"Is it? I'm sorry. I dunno how you put up with me," I mumbled. I tried to undo my jeans, but my fingers slid over the buttons, too weak to even pry them apart.
"Let's not start that again. You need some sleep." He kneeled down and unzipped my pants, manipulating them in a way I could not. He pulled them off for me. I felt like a little kid. "You need sleep."
"No, I'm fine. Just need to sit down for a few." The intense yawn that followed was not helping me with my case. I stood up and made an attempt at the stairs. After the first step, I had to take a step back. Dizziness flushed over me, my extremities tingling. A great blackness started at the edges of my vision, spreading out until I was consumed. I didn't even feel myself hit the floor.
The next day, I woke up in Mike's bed, tucked in so tightly that I originally thought I was in a straight jacket. The appropriateness of that thought flicked through my mind. I looked out the window and saw salmon colored light creeping up the homes beyond.
It was late in the day. The sun was setting. How long had I slept?
I crawled out of the bed and looked around. The digital clock on Mike's desk read seven-thirty. Terrific. I had slept the entire day away. I'd be up all night
New clothes were draped over his chair, the tags still on them. I vaguely recognized them as part of the wardrobe Mike had brought home the day before. Or was it the day before that? I couldn't remember. I quickly changed into the blue jeans and red t shirt, happy that they fit ok. I swore I would pay him back someday, thought I wasn't exactly sure how at the moment.
"Oh, you're awake." Kim had been walking past the room and poked her head in. "Michael and his father aren't home right now. Mrs. Adams is in the kitchen. If you want, I can make you something to eat."
The minute she mentioned food, my stomach made itself known in a very loud way. I blushed deeply and looked at the floor.
Kim smiled. "I'll go make you something."
"Thanks," I replied embarrassed.
I tentatively made my way down the stairs, pausing at the last step. I didn't really feel like facing Mike's mom. I knew she disapproved of me and Mike still, even though she tried not to show it. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the kitchen.
"Hey, Mrs. Adams," I greeted her as I walked into the room and sat down at the table.
She had been reading a novel when I walked in. She looked over her reading glasses at me, a blank expression on her face. She cracked a smile. I didn't know if it was forced or not. I suspected it was. "Michael and his father are at a movie. They should be home in about an hour and a half."
"Oh," I whispered quietly. I had nothing to say to this woman. I felt awkward just being the same room with her alone. I squirmed in the chair and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to think of something to say. "Um, thanks for letting me stay here. I know you don't have to and all. But, I, uh, really appreciate it."
She put down the book she was reading. "We would do anything for Michael." Her face took on a facade of dead seriousness which only furthered my discomfort.
Thankfully, Kim broke the tension by laying down a plate of pasta with cream sauce in front of me and a glass of milk. "Eat," she ordered firmly before leaving the room.
"Yes, ma'am," I answered timidly. I called the maid "ma'am." I felt so out of place. I dug into the pasta heartily at first, slowing down once I realized Mrs. Adams eyes were on me. Whatever peace treaty she had negotiated with Mike seemed null and void once he was out of the house. I became conscious of my eating habits. I used the fork purposefully and made extra certain I was chewing with my mouth closed.
My appetite was severely curbed under the scrutiny. I only ate about half of what was on my plate and drank very little of the milk before pushing it away. When Kim returned, she looked at me a little questioningly. "Thanks, Kim. That was good."
Kim smiled, nodded, and cleared the table when I was finished. Immediately, she left to attend to other things.
"So, tell me, Erik. What is it you plan to do with yourself?" What a bitch.
"Well, I'm majoring in prelaw right now. But, I might change it. I think I want to be a writer. Not too sure though. I want to have a little more experience with things before I decide what to do with my life." I smiled at her weakly.
"A little more experience," she whispered to herself. Her strong, stern presence seemed to withdraw rapidly, as if she just remembered something. I could see her face and demeanor softening before my very eyes. I was puzzled. "That's good. I'm sure you'll do well in whatever you choose."
I sat in shock, my mouth hanging open. What had come over this woman? It was a complete metamorphosis. What had she remembered? I wanted to know. I was about to ask her, when the doorbell rang.
"Kim!" Mrs. Adams called out.
"No, that's ok. I can get it. I don't mind." I was willing to clean toilets at the point, as long as it got me out of that room. Mrs. Adams was totally freaking me out. Maybe she was one of those flaky rich people I had always read about but never met.
I walked to the front door and opened it. Beyond a young woman stood cockily, her hands on her hips. She had fierce violet eyes and long, raven hair. She was dressed in tank top cut off at the midriff and a tight pair of jeans. "Is Michael home?" she demanded, pushing past me into the house.
I was a bit taken aback. "Um, no he isn't. Do you want to leave a message for him?"
She made a cursory glance around, not taking me for my word. She shot me a venomous stare. "Who the hell are you?"
I dug my hands into my pockets. "I'm Erik. I'm Mike's friend from school."
"Lissa, is that you?" Mrs. Adams called from the kitchen. "Come in, dear."
Lissa practically shoved me aside as she entered the kitchen. "Hello, Mary. How have you been today?" Her sickening sweetness made my stomach turn. How false could this chick get? Well, very actually. After two minutes of watching her talk with Mrs. Adams, and I knew she was a bitch through and through. The over exaggeration of her tone, the emphasized, almost clownish, gestures.
"Have you met Erik? He's Michael's... friend from school." I felt the blood drain from my face. The pause. I know Lissa caught it, and Mrs. Adam's looked at me almost apologetically. I saw the dawn of realization on Lissa's face. Oh shit.
"Could you excuse us, Mrs. Adams?" Lissa asked, grabbing me by the arm and leading me out the backdoor.
Mrs. Adams raised her hand in a small protest, but it was useless. I merely glared at her helplessly, wondering what kind of mistake had been made. I felt betrayed somehow. Somewhere along the line, information had been passed. Now, I felt like I was in deep shit.
Lissa let go of my arm and dumped me unceremoniously on the patio. I tripped over my own feet and fell on my ass.
"You!" She spit the word at me, her thin eyebrows drawn downward in a scowl.
I stood, my mind still trying to process everything. "Do I know you?" I was already looking around for the quickest exit. Their yard was totally fenced in. I refused to go back in that house while the woman I couldn't trust was in there. Well, there was an in ground pool. Maybe I could push her...
"You're the one fucking Michael. You're fucking everything up, you asshole!" She pushed against my chest, but I stood firm. I was prepared for her now.
"What me and Mike do is really none of your business. I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I don't go for the spoiled brat shit." I was starting to get pissed. She was upset about me and Mike, and I found myself intensely defensive about it. The importance I always doubted was unquestioned now. Nothing would affect me and Mike. Especially not some rich wench.
"I can't believe he'd go for someone like you!" she sneered. Ok, that stung. I flinched.
"You don't even know me," I returned. "And I still don't have a fucking clue who you are. Should I know you?"
She calmed a bit, which immediately signaled my defenses. Careful, Erik. She's up to something. "Mrs. Adams and my mother are best friends. Me and Michael are supposed to be together. I'm not going to let some pansy stand in the way of that. I want to make sure I'm being perfectly clear."
"Oh," I murmured. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't see that particular fantasy happening any time in the near future. You're lacking certain.....qualifications. Sucks to be you." I smirked. I had already won this fight. She could yell and scream and bitch and moan all she wanted, but she didn't have a chance with Mike. I knew she knew.
She slid towards me, like a cat I thought. She was so close that I could feel her breath on my face. I took a step back, her new strategy catching me off guard. "I'd let you fuck me, you know." I felt her hand on my crotch. Uh oh. "You have to wonder what it's like to be with a girl. Don't you want to know?"
I grabbed her wrist more firmly than I intended. She winced in pain. I threw her arm away from me. "I've been down that road before. I know what it's like. I'm not missing anything." I must have sounded unsure, because she persisted. She put her hand on my shoulder, only to have me shrug it off.
"But, I'm better. Nice and tight. I know what to do with a man." She smiled seductively and ran a hand over my chest, halting to pinch my nipple slightly. I was starting to get strangely aroused by her boldness. But still, I held firm.
"I don't care about how good you think you are. I have Mike. That's all I want, and that's all I need." Her eyes drew mine. They were pretty. A pale purplish color, like the sky just before the sun has completely vanished behind the earth.
She leaned her head forward, her voice a whisper. "I know you want it, Erik. Just say the word, and we can go someplace." She stroked my cheek, sending shivers through my body.
I brushed my lips against hers, smelling her sweet breath enter my mouth. My heart was pounding with palpable fury. "Over my dead, rotting, decaying corpse." I smiled in triumph. "Go fuck yourself."
With a cry of rage, she pulled her hand from my face. I felt my cheek burn. Before I knew what was happening, I was stumbling backwards until the ground disappeared beneath me. I was quickly submerged in heated water, the chlorine stinging my eyes and cheek.
I surfaced, sputtering, trying to expel the little bit of water I had inhaled. I pulled myself from the pool. Lissa was gone. The backdoor was open. I rubbed my cheek, my fingers coming away with a little bit of blood. The bitch had scratched me.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into the house, not caring that I was dripping all over the place. Mrs. Adams was standing in the kitchen, staring at me, her hands at her side. What could she say? There were no words that could have passed between us that would soothe the situation. How I despised her at that moment.
As if the evening wasn't going crappy enough, I heard the front door open. Male voices filled the house. "Mom, is Erik awake yet?" Mike walked into the room. He halted in his tracks. He always seemed to catch me at the worse possible moment.
I drew my arms around myself, warding off the chill I was starting to get. I looked from Mike to his mom, back to Mike. "I'm awake. And dude, we have got to talk."
"Shit, that stings," I whined as Mike dabbed the cotton ball covered in antiseptic on my face.
"Well, we gotta be careful, dude. She might be rabid." He grinned broadly.
I started chuckling, then giggling, then roaring with laughter. I almost couldn't sit up I was laughing so hard. I had to hold onto Mike's arms just to support myself. It took us a couple of minutes to recover. I kissed him on the lips, his soft lips, drawing him closer to me. "I've missed you."
He stopped his ministrations and gave me a suffocating hug that I was quite willing to die from. "I missed you too. I was afraid you wouldn't come back."
I felt tears well up in my eyes. Whether they were from the stinging or what I felt for Mike, I didn't care. "I'll always come back. I love you. I might disappear from time to time, but I'll always come back." We hugged again, sitting there on the bathroom floor just holding each other. It felt so good. I was relieved I was there. It was right. It was safe. It felt like home.
"You still didn't tell me what was said between you two." He started dabbing at my face again, drawing sharp breaths through my teeth from me.
"I think your mom told her we're, uh, a couple."
His face went white as he leaned back on his heels. His eyes widened, the pupils growing small. "And?"
I shrugged. "She made her opinion of us abundantly clear. Something of a slut, huh?"
He started drying my face with a towel. "Heh, just a little bit. Two legs and cock? She's yours. What'd she try?"
"To screw my brains out," I chuckled. "It didn't work, obviously. But, she did save me a shower." I looked at the card on the table. "What's this?"
He picked up the card and turned it over in his hand, looking at the front and back. "It's the number of an old friend. He owes me a favor, and he absolutely hates Lissa." His eyes glinted mischievously in the lamplight. "I think I know a good way to fuck with her."
"Oh?"
He laughed and kissed me on the top of my head. "Don't worry about it. I think she deserves a thorough fucking, and not the good kind."
"I never pegged you for the vengeful type."
He tenderly stroked my cheek where I had been scratched. He looked sad all of the sudden. Like he was hurt. "I'm not. But, she hurt you, and I'm not gonna let that go."
I took his hand in mine. "Maybe you should. Is it worth it?"
He half smiled and gave me a quick kiss. "Absolutely. I've been dying to get her away from me once and for all."
I walked into the kitchen, scratching my stomach absently. I could still smell Mike's cologne on me, the taste of his lips on mine. I couldn't sleep for obvious reasons, and decided to get something a to drink before returning to a book I had found in his room.
The house was completely quiet, as could be expected at one in the morning. A squinted in the dim light of a reading lamp in the kitchen. Mrs. Adams was sitting at the table, still working on the book she had earlier, though significantly further along in its contents.
"Sorry, to disturb you. I just needed a glass of water."
She looked up, startled at first, then relaxing once she saw it was me. "Erik, could you sit down for a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something. I was just about to go upstairs, because I knew you would be up."
I hesitated, not sure if I was really in the mood to speak to this woman. She had betrayed me and Mike like our relationship was tabloid trash, readily given out to any housewife that came along. For that, I held resentment, a deep offense and disgust that she would gossip about her own son.
I hesitantly sat down, not caring that I was wearing the sweat pants and shirt that her son had donned earlier. "I'm not sure I want to talk to you right now, but I'm willing to listen to what you have to say."
She put the book down and took off her reading glasses. I detected a small sigh of relief retreat from her lips. "I'm sorry about what happened today. I knew Lissa's mom would tell her everything, but I said something anyway. I was wrong in that."
I nodded slowly, though her apology didn't strike me where it should have. It just made me dislike her more. A betrayal and ready made repentance all within hours of each other.
"I just don't know how to handle what goes on between you and Michael," she continued. "I've only had a few days to process it all."
"You've known about him for awhile, now," I pointed out.
"Hearing about your son being gay and then seeing him be gay are two different things. I thought I'd be prepared for it when he finally acquired a boyfriend. But, I wasn't." She was being logical. There wasn't as much emotion in her voice as I would expect from a truly sorry woman.
"Acquired? I'm not a possession, Mrs. Adams. I'm a person." I became more blunt. "Look, I know you don't like me, ok? You don't have to pretend you like me. That's insulting. But don't try and sabotage me and Mike."
She shook her head negatively with the first genuine resolve I had seen thus far. "It's not that I don't like you, Erik. It's just....I don't want my son to be hurt."
"I won't hurt him," I replied evenly.
"But you already have," she pleaded. "Don't you see? You walked out of here yesterday. You just left with no regard for his feelings whatsoever. Do you know how painful it was to watch my son look out the window every time he passed it? His eyes bright with hope that you would be walking up the drive? Then watch him be let down?"
Oooh, now I felt like shit.
"Erik, when you fell asleep last night, he stayed by your side the entire time. He's devoted to you. Finally, my husband made him leave the house. It wasn't easy. He resisted like demon. He simply would not be budged. We almost had to force him physically out the front door."
"I'm sorry." What could I say? I knew she was trying to lay a guilt trip on me, even though she believed what she said. I also knew she was telling me the truth. "Do you want me to leave?"
Again, she shook her head no. "No, I don't want that, and neither does Michael. I know where you come from..."
"Where I come from?" I interrupted.
"Well, what your family is like. None of us in this house want you to go back there."
"I'm an adult, Mrs. Adams," I said, more harshly than I would have liked. "I can make my own decisions regarding where I will and will not be. I am only here because this is where Mike would have me be, and because I want to be with him as much as possible. I refuse to have anyone pity me." My face was flushed with anger towards her.
"We want to help you," she said quietly.
"I don't need help," I said through clenched teeth. "You have to understand that. I don't need help."
"I don't want you hurting my son," she repeated.
"And, I won't." I got up and left the room. I didn't want to look at her. Even if she was right, I was too damn stubborn to admit it. I didn't need help. I've always taken care of myself. Was this what everything was? Pity? Is that what I was getting from Mike?
No, Mike didn't pity me. He didn't. I could tell. He loved me. I knew he did. But why did I feel like such a burden? Where was this guilt coming from?
Ben, where are you? Ben, I need you.....
Author Note:
Hey all,
Expect Confusion 15 in roughly two weeks.
Check out the new and improved Confusion website at http://homepages.gayweb.com/confusion It has a totally new design. So, it actually looks like ::gasp:: a website. Feel free to use the message boards there.
Thanks for all your support,
Bob