SIX MONTHS
Part 9: Cancel
Forever
Brian
Dinner’s over, we ate sitting at the counter, I got Justin to talk about his
current design project – a magazine advertising layout, it distracted him for a
while. Distracted me too, I got caught up in the conversation and actually
enjoyed myself. It’s amazing how smart Justin is, how creative in his thinking,
he reminds me of me when I was his age. But only intellectually; by twenty I was
already well on my way into cynicism and pharmaceuticals as a way of life.
Justin takes our dishes to the sink and rinses them while I finish my glass of
wine. He puts them into the dishwasher, then turns around and looks me in the
eye, saying decisively, “Now we’re going to talk.”
“We’ve been talking.”
“I mean – “
Interrupting him, I demand, “What do you want to talk about? The economy?
Inflation?”
Justin comes back and resumes his seat on the barstool. “Brian – “
“Never mind, I‘ll start. I’ve decided that we need to renegotiate this six
months thing.”
“Huh?”
“Make some changes. Revise the terms.”
“I know what renegotiate means, okay? I just don’t know what you have in mind.”
”Well, shut up and I’ll tell you.”
First I have to get out of touching range, so I stand up and move to the
refrigerator, pull it open and look inside for something. What? Water will do.
So I pull out a bottle and unscrew the lid, take a big gulp, then turn back
toward Justin. But I’m staying on this side of the kitchen counter. He’s looking
wary and his hands are folded on the countertop.
“Okay,” I say, “The six months timeframe stands. But there’s a new rule.” He
just tilts his head to one side and stares at me, saying nothing. Finally the
silence goes on too long and I have to speak. Trying to keep my voice offhand I
say, “You can’t date anybody over twenty-one.”
“What?”
I knew he’d be pissed so I’m prepared for his outburst. Before he can say
anything else, I continue quickly. “The whole idea was that you’d be dating guys
your own age, going out, having fun. Doing kid stuff, teenager stuff, not
hanging out with – “
“Brian, I’m almost twenty years old, why would I want to do teenager stuff? And
you’re only saying this because you have some prejudice against Lawrence, just
because he used to be my teacher.”
‘It has nothing to do with him.” Which is almost true. “If it weren’t him, you’d
be fucking around with some other guy his age.”
“Yeah,” Justin interrupts, “You.”
Ignoring the desire to correct him – I am not that fucking teacher’s age – I
continue the speech I’d sort of practiced in the car earlier. “You’ve never had
a chance to be around gay guys your own age, you have no idea what you’re
missing out on – just having fun and fooling around, no heavy drama or
responsibility or any of that shit. Just parties and fucking and – “
“Brian, I don’t want to fuck around. That’s not me, okay? Why do you get to
decide that I need to have fun with guys my age? It’s not what I want, it’s not
what I’ve ever wanted.”
I just stare at him, he’s not following the script I prepared for him in the car
driving home tonight. He’s supposed to be more reasonable. He’s supposed to
agree with me.
Not that he ever has agreed with me during all the times we’ve been together.
Except for a few months last year, when I convinced myself that Justin wanted
what I wanted. Plenty of freedom, plenty of tricking, and just staying out of
each other’s way. Even then I knew that something was wrong, but I didn’t want
to think about it. It’s easy not to think about important things if you try hard
enough. Later I realized that at some point he just stopped arguing with me.
All he had to do was tell me he didn’t want to fuck around. Why didn’t he tell
me?
“Why didn’t you ever say that you didn’t like tricking with me?” Christ, I never
meant to re-open that can of worms. But I need to know. He needs to tell me.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply, Justin’s quiet for a moment, then he
says, “It’s like I told you a couple weeks ago. I thought it was the only way I
could be with you.”
He told me that before, but I –
Then he adds, “Brian, you said you wanted me to be the best homosexual I could.
I was trying to be.”
I’m startled and I literally take a step backwards and bump into the
refrigerator. I distinctly remember saying that to Justin, only half-joking at
the time. I’d thought he was going to be like me. And who decided that I’m ‘the
best homosexual?’ Me, of course.
“You don’t have to be like me. I never said you had to be like me.”
“But you wanted me to, didn’t you?” When I say nothing, just stare at him, he
adds, “I thought it was the only way you’d keep me around.”
I want to deny that but I don’t really know the true answer. I’ve had plenty of
time to think about those last months Justin and I were together, as much as
I’ve tried to ignore it and move on. I loathe introspection and hindsight and
anything remotely self-analytical. You go through that existential shit when
you’re in college, when you’re trying to understand yourself. I’d done some of
that years ago but it only gave me grief. It’s much easier to be an asshole with
no regrets.
And there’s very few regrets I have, but getting involved with Justin is one of
them. Because of me he got bashed – maybe not directly, Jesse helped me see that
it was not all my fault – but partly because of me. And Justin’s had a hard time
ever since. All because he fell in love with me. When somebody loves you, they
make you responsible for their happiness. That’s a role I can’t ever fill. Not
ever.
“Brian, talk to me. What’s going on inside your head?”
Nobody gets inside my head. “I need a cigarette,” I announce, skirting around
the kitchen counter and walking into the living room, lighting up and – after
hesitating a moment, knowing I’m going to be trapped – I sit down on the sofa
and inhale a lungful of acrid smoke. I’m stalling for time. In the past I’d just
walk out the door. Or throw Justin out the door. I don’t want to do either, and
the penalty for that is, I’m going to have to talk. Christ.
Naturally Justin joins me in the living room, sitting on the opposite end of the
sofa, just staring at me and waiting. Fuck.
“Brian,” he says finally, “You wanted me to be like you, didn’t you?”
Taking a deep drag of cigarette smoke and watching it explode out of my mouth
like a thundercloud, I answer. “Maybe. Maybe I did. It would have been –
easier.”
“Easier how?”
I turn sideways on the sofa and look at him then. He thinks he wants honesty?
He’s going to get it. “If you were like me,” I tell him brusquely, “You’d have
no expectations. No need for any of that love and romance crap the rest of the
world’s so crazy about. Just two guys living together because they like to fuck.
No strings attached.”
I’m expecting Justin to be shocked. Or something. But he’s not. Instead he’s
just nodding his head.
“Yes, Brian – I know you say you don’t believe in love. But you do love me. Or
you did, before things went wrong last year.”
“No,” I deny it harshly. “I care about you. It’s not the same as love.”
Justin just stares at me for a moment, then he asks quietly, “What’s the
difference between caring and love, Brian?”
It’s important that I get this right. Because he needs to understand. I need to
be clear with him. Honest. “Justin, love means, you can’t live without
somebody.”
“And you can live without me?”
There’s a long silence while we stare at each other. Finally I say, “Yes.”
I’m expecting – I don’t know what I’m expecting. Tears, arguments, I don’t know.
But I’m prepared for anything. At least I think I am. What I’m not expecting is
that Justin will just nod his head at me and say, “Okay. I understand now.” He
swings his head around and stares at the window for a moment, then he stands up.
His face looks strange. Hard. And without another word, Justin walks around
behind the sofa, picks up his jacket from the back of the barstool and heads for
the door.
Justin pulls open the door, and he’s almost outside when I realize that I’ve
stood up, that I’ve crossed the distance to the doorway and moved my body into
the opening ahead of him so he can’t get out. I don’t remember standing up, I
don’t remember moving from the living room, and I have to glance quickly over at
the sofa to be sure I’m not still sitting there, to be sure I’m not imagining
myself standing face to face with Justin.
We just look at each other and then I hear my voice saying, “No. Yes, but no.”
“What?” Justin asks, shaking his head; he’s confused.
He thinks HE’S confused. What about me? Then I hear my voice, at least it sounds
like my voice. “Yes, I can live without you. But no, I don’t want to.”
Justin stares at me a minute, his face loses that hard look, his eyes soften.
“Brian, I don’t want to live without you either.”
“Well,” I say.
Now what?
Justin
He hasn’t moved from the door, I couldn’t believe it when he whipped past me and
blockaded the doorway. He’s still standing with arms outstretched as if to
physically restrain me from leaving. I have no desire to leave.
“Brian, I don’t think your definition works. Hardly anybody dies without the
person they love.”
When he doesn’t respond I continue speaking. “Brian, you said you ‘care about’
me. Do you care enough to want to get back together?”
Now he folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.” He’s looking me in the
eye, but I can’t see inside. He barely nods his head. “Maybe.”
I think that ‘maybe’ is as close as Brian can come to saying ‘yes.’ “Then can we
just forget this six months thing?”
“No.” He’s adamant. “It’s important.”
“Why?”
Brian swings his head sideways and stares into space. “Damned if I know.” His
shoulders slump and he moves away from the door, back into the living room where
he drops down onto the sofa again.
Following him, I perch on the edge of the coffee table and lean forward, put my
hands on his knees. “Brian,” I say earnestly, “I don’t want to date other guys.
I only want to be with you.”
He sits up straight then, he seems to pull himself together. He takes my hands
in his and holds them tight. “Justin,” he says quietly, emphasizing each word as
he looks me in the eye, “That’s not ever going to happen. I’d be lying if I said
I could be monogamous. I can’t and I won’t.”
“Well, who asked you?”
“You.”
“No,” I deny it, “I never did. I don’t care about monogamy. I don’t care how
many guys you fuck – “
“Bullshit!” Brian pulls his hands away and leans back on the sofa. “You said
that before.”
“Let me finish, okay?” I wait for him to nod, then I go on. “I admit it bothered
me, seeing you with other guys. I hated it.” He nods again and opens his mouth,
so I repeat, “Let me finish.”
I stand up then and pace around the living room for a moment, then stop by the
coffee table again. “I’ve thought about this a lot and I finally realized that
what I hated was the seeing part. Especially in your bed. Our bed. Your home
which I thought was my home too. That’s what I hated, Brian.”
When he says nothing, I go on. “If we ever get back together, that’s what I’d
ask. Don’t let me see you. Don’t do it in front of me. And if I ever live here
again, don’t do it here.”
“Justin,” Brian leans forward and looks up at me, “We made rules once before. I
didn’t break them.”
I swallow hard. “I know. It was all my fault.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he insists, getting up and coming around the table to
stand in front of me. “What I meant was, if I make promises, I keep them. If I
ever made a promise like that – I’d keep it.”
Brian’s close to me. I reach out and touch the hem of his white tee shirt. It
feels soft in my fingers. “Would you?” I ask, staring hard at the fabric in my
hand. “Would you make a promise like that?”
Brian’s arms go around me then, pull me tight against his chest. His breath is
tickling my hair. “If I say yes, can we stop talking for a while? At least till
after dessert?”
That makes me raise my head and look up at him. “Nothing’s settled.”
“You said we had to talk, we talked. You didn’t say we had to settle anything.”
“Brian – “
“You promised dessert. You have to keep your promises this time.”
Brian said ‘this time.’ So maybe something’s settled after all. He takes my hand
and leads me to the bedroom.
Brian
We fell asleep last night after having sex, it was early but we slept through
the night. Probably both of us were exhausted from the emotional scene after
dinner. I loathe emotional scenes and I’ve managed to avoid them most of my
life, until Justin came along. If you want to be with somebody there’s a price
tag, lots of price tags. One of them is having emotional scenes.
Apparently I want to be with Justin, because I couldn’t let him leave last
night. I couldn’t let him walk out the door. I don’t know how this happened to
me. Letting someone become important in my life. Almost necessary. It’s like I
told Justin last night: I can live without him; I’ve been living without him.
But I don't want to any more.
I like waking up with him. Feeling his warmth next to me, knowing that if I turn
over he’ll move into my arms even if he’s asleep. Maybe I just got used to it,
having somebody in my bed. Maybe that’s all it is. I used to enjoy having the
bed to myself. So I’m not sure why it feels so empty now without Justin.
Fuck introspection. A yawn splits my head open and I think about getting up.
Light’s filtering in through the curtains, it’s half-past seven. I feel Justin
stirring now, my back’s turned to him and I wait, almost holding my breath. Sure
enough he turns toward me, his arm snakes around me from behind and he pushes
his body against mine. He does that even when he’s asleep. Last time I pulled
away, slipped out of bed. This morning instead I turn over, turn toward Justin,
and pull him into my arms. It feels good, holding onto him.
“Hey,” he says, still half-asleep, his eyes aren’t open yet. “Time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
“’kay.” And he does. He can do that, just step off the edge and fall right into
sleep. Like a child.
Justin's sure as hell not a child, but there’s an air of innocence about him
despite all the trauma and pain he’s gone through the past couple years; maybe
it’s not innocence, maybe it’s a kind of trust. He’s always trusted me, followed
me blindly, assuming I meant the best for him. You should never have that kind
of faith in people, they’ll always let you down. The way I’ve let Justin down so
many times. And when I started to have faith in him, he let me down too.
I wish I could go back to sleep, get my mind off things. I want to get out of
bed but I can’t pull away from Justin. He’s sound asleep, his body's relaxed
into mine, my arms are around him. I can’t make myself pull away. Instead of
thinking about Justin, I start thinking about the Robertson Insurance campaign,
that would put anybody to sleep. And finally it does, I feel myself letting go
and melting into the bed, but my arms around Justin don’t let go.
Justin
I wake up in Brian's bed and he's kissing me awake. Sunlight streams from the
window behind his shoulder as he leans over me and wakes me up with little
kisses all over my face. I open my eyes - my body responding to him even before
I wake up, I'm pressed tight against his chest - and I see that Brian's hair,
his beautifully messed-up bedhead hair, is backlit by sunlight. The golden light
makes it look like Brian is wearing a halo. That thought makes me laugh and
brings me fully awake. Saint Brian.
"What?" he demands, throwing a leg over my thighs and pinning me down on the
bed. So I tell him about his halo and he smiles slightly but he doesn't pull
away, he's got something else on his mind, he starts kissing me again, the
kisses getting more and more urgent. Of course I'm returning his kisses. I need
to talk to him, nothing was settled last night, but later, later, I can't resist
Brian's kisses.
When we finally get out of bed and share the shower, Brian says I can fix
breakfast, just eggs and toast, he needs to eat light before he hits the gym. I
want to spend a few hours at school matting some watercolors I'm submitting for
the student art show next week and then I have to work from six to midnight. We
move around the kitchen in comfortable silence, Brian making coffee while I fix
scrambled eggs, then we sit at the counter eating and sipping coffee from big
white mugs.
Finally I ask, "Now what, Brian?"
"Now I'm going to the gym," he says, taking another sip of coffee and looking at
me over the rim of the cup.
"You know what I mean."
Brian sets down his cup and shakes his head. "Justin - I don't know 'now what.'
Did you think I'd worked everything out while we were sleeping?"
"You couldn't anyway," I point out, hooking my heels in the top rung of the
stool and hugging my knees. "Anything about us has to be decided by us, not just
by you on your own."
"What a convoluted sentence," he says lightly, picking up his fork and playing
with some drying egg yolk on his plate. "And anyway, what's to decide?"
"What?"
"Oh relax, don't go into hysteria mode, okay?" he says calmly. "I just mean,
what has to be decided today?"
He's such a shit sometimes. All right, I can tell him what needs to be decided.
"What needs to be decided is, am I still dating other guys. Or not?" When he
just looks at me, his face not giving anything away, I add, "Because I have a
date tomorrow, and I need to know if I should cancel it. Or not."
Brian lays down his fork and sighs.
"A date. With whom?"
"Well duh. With Lawrence."
Brian stands up and takes his plate into the kitchen and sets it in the sink.
Without turning around he says, "You've been seeing him a lot." Then he turns on
the water full blast before I can answer. I join him at the sink and hand him my
plate to rinse.
I wait till he turns off the water, then I ask, "Should I cancel?"
Brian grabs the dishtowel and dries his hands before looking at me. His face is
still blank, I can't tell what he's thinking. "He must like you. Lawrence."
"Of course he does. We're friends."
"Friends," Brian repeats, twisting the towel in his hands. "I'll bet he thinks
you're more than friends."
"No he doesn't," I assure him, taking the towel away and hanging it back on its
hook. "That's a good reason for dating older guys, they don't get all mooshy."
"Uh-huh." Brian turns away and goes back to the counter, picks up his cup.
"Well?" I ask. "Do I cancel my date or not?"
Brian drains his coffee cup and sets it down on the counter. Then he says,
"Cancel" and moves quickly up the steps to the bedroom, returning a moment later
with his gym bag.
I'm waiting for him at the door, pulling on my jacket and watching as he punches
buttons to set the alarm. Before we start down the stairs I put my hand on
Brian's arm to stop him.
"Brian, about Lawrence."
He cocks his head at me, raises those eyebrows. " What about him?"
"Do I cancel tomorrow or do I cancel forever?"
Suddenly Brian shoots out his hand and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling
me sharply forward and leaning his face close to mine. "Cancel forever," he
growls, before kissing me roughly on the mouth.
"Now go away, I'm late," he adds, pushing me toward the stairs. "And come over
after work tonight. If you want to."
"Brian," I have to ask, "Do you want me to?"
"Yes, damn it," he's still growling. "Now fuck off."
Debbie
I love these big family dinners on Sunday night, we used to have them at least
once a month but they don't happen very often any more. It's hard to get
everybody together at the same time.
We've decided that we're celebrating summer - even though it's a bit early,
there's still a chill in the air. Emmett always needs a theme whenever there's a
party, even when it's just a family dinner at the Novotny-Grassi house. Vic was
feeling so good today that he baked a special cake and decorated it, writing
'Welcome Summer' in icing on the top. Lindsay and Melanie brought cookies,
Michael and Ben brought an appetizer, some kind of Thai vegetable thing. Ted and
Emmett brought bottles of wine and we've already killed almost two bottles while
we were eating Ben's spicy dip. Everybody brought bouquets of flowers, the table
is loaded down with vases of beautiful flowers, their perfume mingling with the
smell of tomatoes and garlic.
I made putanesca, partly because it's a special occasion but partly because last
week Brian agreed to come to the dinner party, something he seldom does any
more. Putanesca's always been his favorite. But he didn't show up and finally we
all gather around the table and Vic helps serve heaping bowls of the pasta while
I pull garlic bread from the oven. Everybody's chattering, I love the noise of a
house full of happy people, then suddenly the talking stops all at once, and
when I straighten up and set down a foil-wrapped bread loaf on top of the stove,
I look at the table. Everyone's staring at the door, so I walk around the corner
of the kitchen to see what they're all looking at.
It's Brian. "Hey Deb," he says casually, walking forward and pulling off his
jacket. "I brought somebody with me. Got room for one more?"
Then he moves sideways and behind him I see little Sunshine.
"Hi Deb," he says kind of shyly, then he glances at the crowd around the table.
"Hi everybody," he adds, before everyone surges forward to hug him and kiss him
and pull him toward the table. Well, almost everyone.
Justin's cheeks are flushed pink and he's smiling like the cat that swallowed
the canary. "Something smells delicious," he exclaims happily, pulling off his
jacket and throwing it toward the sofa. "What's for dinner? I'm majorly
starving!"
11/25/02