The Gus Diaries

Part 116

The Argument II


 

I can’t believe how all this played out. I was such a self-centered ass to think it was all about me and my desire for a fucking car.

After Pop disappeared into their bedroom, eyes puffy, yet still dry, I quickly called Uncle Michael and begged him to pick me up.

He must have flown through a few red lights because he arrived in twenty minutes. I waited outside, leaving a note on the front hall table in case Pop came looking for me. Visiting with Uncle Michael. See you later. G

“Gus, what the hell is going on? You sounded panicked. I couldn’t get here fast enough.”

“It’s Pop and Dad -- well right now it’s mostly Dad -- I think.” I filled Uncle Michael in on the argument and how Dad took off and Pop thought he might be, well... letting off steam.

“Brian? He hasn’t done shit like that since before Justin left for New York City.”

“I hope you’re right.” I took a deep breath. “So, where do you think he went?”

Biting on his lower lip, Uncle Michael started the car and took off. “I have a pretty good idea.”

We drove into Pittsburgh and Uncle Michael parked in the alley alongside the Liberty Diner. He jumped out of the car, and was moving so quickly that I had to run to keep up with him. He headed across the street and into Woody’s.

Fortunately, I must look more like my dad than I had ever realized. The bouncer, guessing who my father is, slapped a stamp on my hand signifying that I’m over eighteen, but not yet twenty-one, so I was able to follow Uncle Michael inside.

I stayed close enough to hear him, but far enough back to keep out of his way. He halted once, scanning the crowded bar. It seems gay men go out drinking and cruising just as much during the work week as the weekend. The place was packed.

Several guys seemed to be licking their lips as I passed and I suddenly started feeling like the dessert course in a restaurant. Whatever Uncle Michael did, I hoped he’d do it fast so we could get on our way. Jeff definitely would not want to hear all the details of my visit to Woody’s.

Without notice, he started to head directly for the bar. Looking past him, I spotted Dad drinking a shot.

I ducked onto a chair near the bar and Uncle Michael didn’t put his voice in check. It wasn’t as hard to overhear them as I thought it might be, Uncle Michael certainly made no attempt to keep his voice down.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He sounded a lot like Grandma Deb. It was kind of eerie. “Your son is freaking out, and from what I understand your goddamn husband is despondent.”

“Why, Mikey, you’ve been hanging around Justin way too long. You’ve picked up his flair for using SAT words.” Shit, Dad was drunk.

“Fuck you and the SATs. I’ve been hanging around a college professor for over fifteen years.”

Dad snorted. “Good one, Michael.” He held up his empty shot glass, waving it at the bartender. “Care for a drink? I’d be happy to treat you. We can toast the Kinney luck.”

“What Kinney luck would that be? The luck that has you shoving your husband off a fucking cliff, sending him in a spiral thinking you might actually be tricking.”

Dad looked up, and for the first time I realized his eyes were red. Redder than Pop’s were earlier that evening. “No. The luck that has the man I actually let myself fall in love with thinking, with good reason, he might be sick again.”

“Sick, how?”

Sick! What was wrong with Pop?

“He keeps telling me his head is spinning. He’s seeing black and white circles or fucking stripes, and then when they clear, he’s in pain.” Dad banged the glass on the bar and the bartender showed up with another shot. He downed it instantly, slamming the glass on the counter again. “Justin thinks the surgery failed and they may even want to cut open his fucking head... again!”

Uncle Michael stood frozen. It didn’t seem like there was any way he could help Dad or Pop. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Although I tried to blink them back, I felt tears trickling down my cheeks.

“Brian, that’s fucking bullshit. You and Justin have had your due. What did his doctor say?”

“Here’s the clincher. He won’t go, because he won’t let them operate again, even if they find something.”

“Fuck that shit! He has to go; you have to force him.”

“Michael, what the fuck do you know? There’s nothing I can do for Justin. He won’t let me try to help him. You have no idea what it’s like!”

“You know what, Brian, you can be a total asshole. I’ve been dealing with shit like this from the first year I knew Ben. Have you forgotten? My husband spends his life constantly fighting to live one more day AIDS-free. So don’t give me any crap about not knowing -- I know more than you ever want to know.”

Dad lowered his head. “Fuck!”

“Yeah, it is totally fucked, but I love him as much as you love Justin. You know what you have to do? Get him to the goddamn doctor, even if you have to throw him over your shoulder and carry him there, by force if necessary. Self-diagnosis is for shit.”

“I’ve never noticed you dragging your hunky husband around caveman style.” Dad snorted.

“Fortunately, he prefers me to avoid hernias and groin injuries and gives in before it gets to that... even when he thinks he’s too sick to recover.”

“It probably helps that you nag better than Deb, and whine better than anyone.”

Uncle Michael smirked. “Those skills have come in handy.”

Somehow, I had a whole new respect for Uncle Michael in that moment. Only he could, or would, talk to Dad that way, AND get him to really listen.

“Now get your ass off that fucking stool and go tell your husband you haven’t fucked away the pain. Then haul his ass to his doctor’s office and get him checked out before he makes both of you sick from stress.”

I should have left by then but I couldn’t tear myself away.

Uncle Michael swung his head around. “Gus, if you’re going to sit there when we both know you should have waited outside, get over here and help me drag your father’s drunken ass to the car -- and make sure he remembers everything we talked about.”

There was nothing I could do but nod.

Dad looked at Uncle Michael and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Mikey. I won’t forget anything.”

“You’d better fucking not.”

We both stood on either side of Dad. He was a bit wobbly, but fairly stable. I helped him find his wallet and he left a hundred dollar bill with the bartender, telling him to keep the change. I have a feeling the bartender made a bundle that night.

As we left the bar I felt a guy pinch my ass. Don’t ask me where it came from -- probably my concern for Pop -- but I turned and told him, “Keep your fucking hand to yourself or you won’t have it to jerk off with later.”

 

*~*~*~*~*
 

Steering Dad to Uncle Michael’s car wasn’t easy. He tried to break away. “My car’s the other way.”

“Gus is driving your car. You’re coming with me.” Uncle Michael was really taking charge. I definitely called the right person for help.

“Grab your father’s keys and get in his car. I’ll follow you home.”

Dad grimaced, “Don’t do anything risky, Sonny Boy.”

“Brian, you’re not in a great position to be setting an example. He’ll be fine.”

“Michael, why do I get the feeling you’re going to lecture me all the way home?”

“Because you know me too well.”

“Shit! I may puke.”

“You do, and I’ll let you deal with Ben. I took his car tonight.”

“Fuck! When did you get to be such a smart ass?”

“I’ve been a smart ass for a long time -- you just were too fixated on Justin to notice anyone else.” Uncle Michael smiled. “Now get your drunken ass in the car and buckle the seatbelt. I don’t want you falling over onto the gear shift.”

“Gus, we’ll see you at Britin. Remember, I’ll be behind you the whole way.”

“Thank you, Uncle Michael. I can see you already are.”

Now, it was time to face Pop and help him get some answers -- hopefully good ones, although from the sound of Dad’s story, I couldn’t help thinking that might not be possible.

[TBC]

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