by Trisky
It's awfully loud in this house, with so many bodies crammed together conversing freely over the music. It's amazing the number of people you amass in your life over the years. There's your family *family*, your makeshift family of friends, your friends who aren't exactly family but aren't your acquaintances, the people you work with and go to school with. Then there are the friends of the friends and family who just show up because it's a party and no one wants to come alone.
I scan the crowd briefly looking at the little clusters of people in various corners. Everyone seems like they're having a pretty good time. There's lots of laughter, even some dancing, and no one looks particularly out of place, except maybe me, all by myself trying to find a trap door to escape through. It's like looking at a snapshot of my high school cafeteria all over again. It seems like such a long time ago. Jocks with jocks, brains with brains, stoners with stoners, the loners and a few strays here and there floating in and out of groups. There's my family, mom and grandma, my aunt and a couple of cousins that mom insisted I invite. There's my makeshift family made up of all the guys, Mel, Lindz, Debbie and Vic. There are a few people I work with at the diner, some guys I run into pretty regularly at Babylon and Woody's and some guys and girls I've gotten to know through school. Daphne, the social queen that she is, seems to be in six different spots at once. She doesn't have a care in the world about who she talks to. Russell leans awkwardly on the wall. He's too old for the art school crowd and too in the closet for almost everyone else. Maybe I'll stick Cynthia on him, she's good at making perfect strangers talk to one another.
There's only one person missing. Who knows where he would fit in this crowd.
I squeeze my way past some friends of the friends and family who probably don't even know or care who I am, which suits me just fine. Less people I have to smile for. Finally, I make my way to the kitchen which has been declared off limits to anyone not involved in serving food or drinks. I figure that doesn't apply to me since being the birthday boy has its own privileges like access to uncrowded space. I'm not really hungry, but I pop a pig in the blanket in my mouth anyway. What I really want is some fresh air. I know that sounds so childish and ungrateful, but it's not like I asked for this party. Suddenly turning 21 doesn't seem like a milestone anymore, it seems like climbing a mountain with a two ton pack of everyone else's expectations on my back. If we could find a way to make the results live up to those expectations maybe we all wouldn't walk around so disappointed all the time when they don't. I'm sure Brian would say the only way to do that is to lower your expectations. Luckily, I don't subscribe to that theory. I am, however, starting to see the beauty in Brian's theory about birthdays. Just cover your head with a blanket and forget the day exists, that way you don't let anyone else down, especially yourself.
You'd still wake up a year older the next day anyway. Minus the gifts. Scratch that, there's no upside to that theory.
"I thought I'd never get you alone."
Melanie's voice startles me and a chunk of dough gets caught in my throat. She slaps my back harder than necessary, and I settle down with a few coughs. What is it with people slapping me on the back today? "I didn't realize you wanted to." I talk through my chewing, which is rude, but manners aren't exactly high on the list of priorities among this crowd. "You don't have any weird boxes to show me do you?" I tease.
"What?" She looks as confused as I was disgusted by Brian's suggestion this morning.
"Nothing... so, what's up?" I look around for something to drink and she tosses me a beer.
"Your first legal drink. Not that that's stopped you all this time," she says with that odd mix of sugar and piss when she's judging but joking and joking about the judging, which is almost always the case. "I have something that I'm supposed to deliver to you privately from Gus since he couldn't be here. Lindsay had to help him out a little."
She opens one of the drawers and pulls out a white piece of construction paper, folded to look like a card. The front of it has the normal scribble scrabble drawings of a toddler, some green lines that might be grass and some yellow splotch that might be a sun, a few stick figures that may or may not be all of us or aliens. I can't really tell. There's no latent artistic genius from either of his biological parents to be found here, that's for sure. At least he made the effort with a card, which is more than I can say for his father. On the other hand, his father did cough up his beloved jeep, so there's that.
I open the card and read Lindsay's handwriting in big orange crayon "Knock knock! Who's there? Orange. Orange who? Orange-ya glad to see me? Happy Birthday Uncle Judd. Love, Gus" I snort and the beer feels like it's burning a trail straight to my sinuses. "Did he make that up himself?"
"I think one of his little pre-school friends told him. He thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever heard," she smiles, proud of him. "Cracks him up every time he tells it and you can't help but laugh. So you should feel honored that he made Lindsay write it down." She fusses with some platter of cheese and grapes to occupy herself.
It's always awkward when we discuss Gus, because I'm not one of his parents and that's okay by me. I'm just fine being Uncle Judd. I can never tell if it bothers her more that Brian won't treat me like an equal parent because she thinks he doesn't treat me like an equal anything, or if it's because I don't push him on that particular issue because I don't really want to be another father to Gus. I have a feeling if I did, she'd get defensive about that as well.
It's ironic, then, that she's probably one of the main reasons I'm even standing in this kitchen. I'm sure she regrets it every day of her life and even under threats of torture she wouldn't admit to having any part in it, but she did. That's Melanie, one contradiction after another.
"So you have a little entertainer in the making on your hands." I swig back a sip of my beer and feel it slide its way down my throat. It's amazing how long it takes one swallow to make its way through your system. Are these the things you start thinking about at 21? How you start judging time by measuring how long it takes to do everything and how much of it you're wasting?
"Well he definitely takes after his drama queen father when he throws a tantrum." Some things never change, no matter how much time passes. It always takes about 6 seconds before Melanie insults Brian. I shrug my shoulders. "I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry. It's just second nature sometimes."
We lock eyes briefly and I think that maybe she's not lying because she seems like she's biting her tongue about something. "He loves him, you know?"
Her head nods in amazement at the mere possibility. "I know, and Gus loves him back. That used to bother me, but not anymore. I should probably thank you for that." She punches my shoulder playfully, well as playfully as Melanie can get. "As much as it pains me to admit it," she lets out a long sigh "you're a good influence on him."
"He's a good influence on me." She rolls her eyes derisively.
"In what, teaching you the finer points of sucking cock?" I watch her turn her back and open the refrigerator, searching for some newly urgent distraction. She can't face me when she says things like that, because she knows that I know it's a crock of shit, but she can't stop herself from saying it to start with.
I could defend him in a million different ways, but I won't, because I know he wouldn't want anyone else to know that kind of stuff. That's between the two of us. "Yeah, something like that." There's a heavy moment of silence between us and I can see her struggling with some kind of dilemma about whether to pursue the point or let it go for my sake. I save her the trouble of deciding. "Is that my cake?" I can see something pink with white trim on the top shelf.
"Shit, look the other way, you're not supposed to see this!" She tries to block my view, but at 21, I'm a little more swift than she's ready for.
I peek my head around her body and do a double take. "Oh my God... that's scary!"
We both lean our heads to the side in unison trying to make it out.
"Your mother said it was very life-like, she wasn't kidding."
"Where did they get that from?"
"I have no idea." She snaps the refrigerator shut. "Don't tell anyone I showed you. It's supposed to be a surprise." I'm glad I was prepared in advance, because I think I might have cried if I hadn't been. "Now instead of moping around this kitchen, will you please go celebrate? You only turn 21 once."
Thank God, because I feel like I might have aged ten years in one day. I just nod my head. "I'll be back out in a minute."
She stops and adjusts the collar of my black sweater. It must be a mother thing. "Let me guess, Armani?" I won the battle of the beige pants, the least I could do was give him the black sweater. "If you're looking for your Prince Charming, I suggest you look elsewhere, but if you're looking for Brian, he's in the backyard." She kisses my cheek quickly and gives me one last long look as if considering whether that was the right advice to give me before she trounces out of the kitchen. One foot after the other. One contradiction after another.
I pop the top on a bottle of beer and make my way to the back door. He stands with one foot casually swinging the seat on Gus's old rusty swing set, blowing rings of smoke in the freezing night air.
"Knock knock..."
"I see you got Gus's card."
I walk up behind him and nudge him with the bottle of beer I'm offering. "Just answer the question."
"Who's there," he asks dryly, grinding his cigarette out on the pole behind him, replacing it with the beer instead. He always has to keep his hands occupied somehow.
"Banana."
"Banana? That's not the joke..." he leans back on the metal pole,
"I know. Orange-ya glad I didn't say orange?" I crack myself up at my own adolescent sense of humor. It really is one of those timeless jokes that you can't help but at least be a little amused by because even he laughs while trying not to. I'll never tell another living soul.
"And they say you're the mature one."
"They say a lot of things." He just nods his head because he knows that better than anyone. "What are you doing out here by yourself?" My teeth start to chatter instinctively and he responds by pulling me closer to his chest and wrapping his free arm around my back. I wrap my arms around his waist under his leather jacket and lean my head on his collarbone.
"Too many people in there." This from the man who still works the crowds at Babylon on a pretty regular basis. It's his code speak for feeling uncomfortable. His hand roams lazily around my back. It doesn't do much to fight the cold, but I feel a little warmer anyway.
"Same here. Maybe we can sneak out early?" I ask suggestively, looking up at him considering the idea.
"Pretend like you're sick and tell them we have to go home?" I smile in response.
"No one can resist having sympathy for a cherub struck down by a dread disease. Not even you." I pretend to faint against his chest and that just makes him hold tighter, even though he knows I'm faking it.
"You don't fool me. You just want your present."
I hadn't even thought about it. I really hadn't. But now that he's mentioned it...
"Foiled again." I squeeze his body closer to mine, sucking him dry of any heat he's retaining. It's so warm right here, right this second. "Briiiaaaannn... Don't make me stay in there by myself with them. Come back in with me." I plead.
"Let me finish my beer first." He takes a long, slow sip, in no rush to return to the festivities. His breathing seems normal, his muscles aren't tense and he's going out of his way to relax me and warm me up. He could just push me off him and tell me to go back inside before I make myself even more ill. There's something definitely off here.
"What's up? Why are you really out here?" He stops swinging his foot on the seat and joins it with his other foot on the ground.
"I'm trying to give you your moment in the sun. But you're ruining it by following me out here." His hand cups the back of my neck, his fingers make circles on my skin.
I hadn't considered that and from the serious look on his face, I believe that he probably does believe that and it probably is true. "I think you need me out here, more than I need to be in there."
"Save your concern for tomorrow. It's *your* day and there's not much time left in it. Enjoy it and stop worrying about me."
Time. How much do we have and how much are we wasting?
"I'm 21 now."
"Thanks for the status update." I kiss him roughly and unexpectedly, my lips just want to crush his mouth and sink inside of his warmth. Instead they lap up the remainder of beer in his mouth. I breathe heavily into his lungs, breathe the life in me into him. His hand responds gratefully, holding onto my neck with intense purpose. I don't care how much time passes or how much older we get, I can't imagine not wanting to kiss this mouth.
I pull back and he leans his cheek against my forehead.
"Gus will be 4 in a few months. You'll be 33 soon enough. Seems like time is marching on whether you want it to or not and I'm still not going anywhere."
"What happens when you regret that?" he practically whispers.
"Don't... don't do that." He wraps his other arm around my neck, careful to keep the freezing cold bottle away from my skin. "You wouldn't let me freak out before, I'm not going to let you do it now. I know my own mind, I know what I want. That's never changed. It's always been you."
"Don't let me break you," his warm mouth trails down the bridge of my nose as he speaks, until his forehead is leaning on my own. "I can't... I can't be like him," he takes a deep breath. "You can't let me do that."
I feel my hands taking over his back, ignoring the cold, ignoring the party going on just a few feet away. "I won't." I tug on his shirt to get his attention. "I won't let you down." His eyes pierce right through mine. "I *will* *not*." I emphasize the point.
"I will not either," he repeats back to me.
He kisses me chastely, softly, like he might knock me over if he put any force into it. The way I feel at the moment, I don't doubt it's possible.
I don't want to let go of this moment, but I know I have to. "The quicker we go back inside, the quicker I can start feeling nauseous." I let go of his shirt and move to pull back, but he doesn't let me go.
"One more thing." He looks down once and considers his stance before he looks back up.
I'm not sure my wobbly legs can stand hearing one more thing. "What?"
"Knock knock..."
I grin what must be the world's most lopsided grin. "Who's there?"
His smile fades into his mouth, but doesn't leave his eyes. "Me."