The Gus Diaries

Part 115

The Argument


 

I’ve been listening to them argue for two weeks now, and I wish I knew how to stop it, because it’s all my fault.

It all started when one morning, as we all sat around the breakfast table, I asked the question every gay boy asks at sixteen -- well, maybe not every gay boy, but a gay boy who has a boyfriend away at school, two fathers with big bucks, and a bank account that’s considerably smaller than theirs since he works for his uncle stocking comic books... “Dad, Pop, can you get me a car for my birthday?” Eleven words that became more toxic than mixing vodka, gin, and JB in one glass (not that I’d really know, I’ve just heard).

Pop was quick to point out, “Gus, your birthday isn’t for several months. Do you want to start looking for a good quality used car?”

“Used?” That was me, pulling the pin out of the grenade.

“Sunshine, why the fuck would you even suggest a used car? No Kinney would ever put his hands on something someone else had their grubby hands on first.”

Pop’s glare was fierce. “No, Brian, cars are where you limit your used policy.”

“Low blow, Justin. It’s been years.”

“Sorry. I just don’t understand what you have against a good quality used car. The student parking lot at St. James Academy is filled with cars older than some of the kids driving them.”

“Is that what you want for our son? You want him in some accident-waiting-to-happen?”

“No, of course not. I want him in a slightly used car so he can help pay for it and learn the value of a dollar.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “You mean the way you did when I was chauffeuring you around Pittsburgh?”

“You were chauffeuring me because I never got a car from my parents. I would have loved any four wheels that worked, but instead I was usually walking or taking the bus. I didn’t see you running out and financing my transportation. You never even loaned me bus fare.”

“Hmmm, was that you I remember telling me you wanted to be independent and to... what was that phrase... Stop offering me shit! You’re not my fucking sugar daddy!... or was that some other twat I was living with.”

At this point I stood up from the table and took my cereal bowl to the sink. “Hey, guys, don’t get all uptight about this. I’d be happy with any car. Please don’t make a big deal out of it.” I should have known better. This wasn’t about my selfish request anymore.

“Tell me, Justin. Is this your plan? Wear him down so he doesn’t want a brand new, expensive car from his rich fathers. Hell, what the fuck is the money for if I can’t spoil my own kid.”

“Your own kid.” Pop stood up from the table and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Five minutes ago he was our son.”

“Five minutes ago I thought we could discuss this rationally. Now I’m not even sure who you are, but at the moment you’re certainly not a parent who’s thinking of Gus’ safety and best interests.”

I quickly raised my hands. “Whoa, Dad. Isn’t that kind of harsh?”

Dad swung his head in my direction, his eyes burning.

“I mean, I was just throwing out the idea of getting, well, uhhh, a Jeep -- like you had when you were younger. I know you have a loaded one, now, but I don’t need all those extras.”

“But you do want it to be UNused, don’t you Sonny Boy?”

“Please, Dad, let’s just forget it for now. I’m sure I could make do with a car that’s a little used.”

I have to admit, the desire for a shining new car that had only ever belonged to me was too attractive to completely let go of. I thought at the time I sounded humble. Writing it all here -- I realize I was only thinking of myself. I was truly egging on my dads.

“Fine, Brian, why don’t you do whatever the fuck you want. He’s your son. I’m just the evil stepfather.”

“If the fucking ugly shoe fits...”

I looked at Pop’s paint spattered Converse sneakers.

“I need to go into my studio. But since this is your house, I’d better go to the studio that’s mine, in your gallery.”

“What the hell are you talking about? This is your house, and it’s your gallery. I bought them for you.”

Pop gritted his teeth. “Thank you, maybe I should have asked for a car to start, but I wasn’t thinking clearly back when I was a twat.”

“Justin, what’s mine is yours and you fucking know it. Stop acting like some out-of-control drama queen. Leave that shit to Emmett... or Michael.”

“Fuck you, Brian.” I thought Pop was going to cry. His face reddened and his eyes looked moist. “I thought raising Gus together was the plan. Guess I know my place now. Raising Gus as a team only works when no one disagrees with the captain. Well, Captain, I’ll never bother you again with my lowly, foolish opinions.”

“Hey, you know that’s not what I meant?” Dad stood up and started to approach Pop.

“Didn’t you?” Pop took a deep breath. “I suddenly feel very empathetic toward Melanie where Gus is concerned -- not something I’m used to.” He turned and marched out of the room, but stopped just outside the kitchen archway and looked at me. “Ask your father for the car, hell, I’m sure he’d be happy to give you your own place while you’re at it. But, remember, don’t ask me. I’m off limits.” Then he stomped away. I heard Pop grab his car keys off the front foyer table just before the door slammed.

I spun around, staring at Dad. “Why are you standing there? Go after him. I hate you two fighting -- especially about me.”

“I never chase after anyone, Sonny Boy.” Dad stared at the empty hallway.

“Bullshit, Dad. I know you’ve gone after Pop before -- and he’s gone after you millions of times. Isn’t he still worth it?”

“He’s just upset because he doesn’t want to see his neurologist, and I’ve been angry with him about it. We’ll talk later.”

“In the meantime, Dad, forget about the car. It can wait.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder. “This isn’t about a car. Something’s bothering Justin and he’s not willing to be honest with me, or himself.”

 

*~*~*~*~*
 

I hoped Dad and Pop would have gotten together over lunch and straightened things out, but when Uncle Michael brought me to Britin after work, I found Pop making dinner, freshly showered.

“Where’s Dad, is he working late?”

“I have no idea. He didn’t call me today.”

“Are you making enough food for all of us?”

Pop’s eyes widened. “Of course I am. I assume your father will come back after he’s cooled off. I did.”

“Pop, you and Dad are both my fathers.”

After blinking away what I thought might be tears threatening, he looked directly into my eyes. Then he stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Gus. I was in a shitty mood this morning. I hope Brian understands that.”

“Why wouldn’t he? He loves you.”

Pop nodded and went back to cooking. With a sideways glance, I noticed him swipe the back of his hand across his eyes and then press his fingers firmly to his temples.

“Are you okay? Dad said you haven’t been to see your doctor lately.”

“He shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe not, but he’s worried.”

Pop bit the side of his thumbnail, as he stirred the vegetables and chicken in the large sauté pan.

When it was done, he served the two of us. We ate in an uncomfortable silence. I don’t remember that ever happening. Pop didn’t try to ask about school, or even something as simple as the weather.

“Did you try to call Dad?”

He nodded.

“So?”

“He left Kinnetik two hours ago and isn’t answering his cell.”

“Maybe he went to visit with Uncle Ben... or Grandma Deb at the diner.”

Pop shook his head. “I tried.” He lowered his head into his hands. “I fucked up and now he’s paying me back.”

At first I thought Pop meant Dad was giving him the silent treatment, but then I realized what he was referring to. “No way! Dad would never do that to you!”

“You’re young, Gus. It’s been a while, but he’s done this kind of thing before.”

Pop stood up, turned off the burner and left the kitchen. I could swear I heard sniffling as he started to walk upstairs.

[TBC]
 

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