Men of All Seasons Box Set

by R. W. Clinger

  * * * *

  I recalled our last shared words:

  “I’ll see you in three days. It’s just a short trip, Micah.”

  “We have the symphony to attend. I’m looking forward to doing that with you.”

  “As well as you should. I make a hell of a date. Plus, I look good at your side.”

  “Text me. Keep me posted about your short trip.”

  “I’m only going to agree to that because I love you.”

  “You love me?”

  “I love you. But you already know that.”

  * * * *

  I packed a yellow and black Nike bag with underwear, socks, T-shirts, and jeans. I placed a pair of leather flats into the bag, some health and beauty aids, and dug my black suit out of a closet to use at Tuck’s funeral. Then I plopped my belongings into the backseat of Frankie’s Ford Fusion. She was letting me borrow her car for the next few days because I had to make the drive to Cincinnati and my dead lover’s viewing, funeral, and wake. Frankie was good like that, a true friend. I couldn’t ask for anyone so supportive and special in my life.

  Frankie and I stood in Miss Kitty’s driveway, hugged, and kissed on the cheeks. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  “I’m good, Frankie. I have to do this on my own.”

  “I get that,” she said, nodded, and tried to smile, but really couldn’t, feeling my fresh pain and loss.

  Chapter 42: The Gray and Tumultuous Lake

  November 19, 2015

  The lake was gray and tumultuous. Its waves were high and overactive. Swirls of the liquid overlapped, rolled, and meshed with the white and melancholic sky. It was going to snow. A storm was blowing down from Canada and was supposed to drop three to six inches of snow by morning. Erie would be frozen and in a blanket of whiteness within the next twenty-four hours, which is exactly how I liked the city.

  “You’re thinking about Tuck, aren’t you?” Carl asked, finding me in a daze, staring out at the lake from one of his garage/studio windows, holding a cup of coffee in both hands, next to my chin.

  “A little. It’s hard not to think about him.”

  Carl moved up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, provided my torso with a squeeze, and kissed the right side of my neck. Following the kiss, he said, “I get that. Maybe it’s not possible to forget about those we lost.”

  He was right. It wasn’t. Tuck was always in my mind, and those recollections of our twenty days together were unlimited. Not that I minded, since I loved him, of course. Maybe the grieving would never end. Would it last my lifetime? I didn’t know. And Carl didn’t know, either. The process of recovery was like a circus. Thoughts were being juggled at all times, and heartfelt emotions were putting on an entertaining show, building drama. The circus was never going to pack up and leave my mind and heart. Forever was a long time, and I was doomed to grieve into my next life, and the one after that.

  But Carl was there for me, an endearing saint, my support and rock. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. All I can say to you is that I’m here for you. I understand your loss, or try to. I’m not leaving your side. I’m in this with you now.”

  “You’re too kind, Carl. Everything about you is kind,” I said, and my mind drifted again, backwards, into a different time and place and life and season and…

  * * * *

  I told him about my twenty days with Tuck. Every detail. Every moment. That was one of the hardest conversations of my life. The pain was still there. The loss. The reality of death.

  * * * *

  “I’m here, Micah. I’m in this with you. Really, I am.”

  I believed Carl.

  I did.

  Chapter 43: Cincinnati, Ohio

  August 23 , 2014

  The Lime Camp Martini: 6 Parts Vodka, 1 Part Campari, 1 Lime Twist.

  Again, Frankie let me borrow her Fusion to drive from Erie, Pennsylvania to Cincinnati, Ohio for Tuck’s funeral. I plotted the trip online and determined that it would take five hours to drive by taking Interstate 71 to Interstate 77, which would lead me directly to the western side of Ohio. I also calculated that it was approximately three hundred and forty miles, one way. If I left at nine in the morning, which was my plan, I could get there by two in the afternoon.

  It was a tough drive, I admit today. No, it was grueling and comprised of tears and loneliness and bedlam within the folds of my fucked up and grieving mind. All I could think about was that first evening when Miss Kitty was yelling about a baby grand, almost falling to my death, and how Tuck caught me in his hulking arms. Then I thought of our nights under the stars, drinking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. Steak dinners, bookstore visits, and going to the movies all popped into my head like short films. It was a maddening drive that offered nothing but depression for me and lots of tears.

  * * * *

  As predicted, I arrived at Tuck’s aunt’s house at two in the afternoon. The abode was a triangular-shaped Tudor with three floors, no front porch, and tiny windows. It resembled a structure out of a fairy tale. There was an asphalt drive to the left, an ivy garden to the right of the drive, and a mailbox shaped like the house, near the front street.

  Kimberly Martini was in her late forties, on the plumper side, and had waves of golden-brown hair. Her eye makeup was too thick and her shoulders were stout, and she looked grandmotherly. She was the sweetest woman on the planet, I deemed, making me feel at home at her abode. I was given the spare room on the second floor to sleep in, food in my belly, and access to the bathroom for showers.

  * * * *

  It was all a blur to me: the two viewings later that afternoon at Brunetter’s Funeral Parlor, the relentless slew of relatives that shook my hand or gave me hugs, whispers that I was Tucker’s boyfriend, and wiping away tears from my eyes. Everything was a swirl of mixed emotions for me: random hugs from Tuck’s relatives, strangers whispering into my ear, “I’m sure you’re a strong young man and will get through this,” and other comments like, “If you love something set it free.”

  Perhaps it was Aunt Kimberly who had saved me that day, popping a pink pill in my right hand, brushing one of my cheeks with two fingertips, and saying, “Take this. It’s a little sedative that will calm you down.”

  The pill was all natural and worked like a gem. It was calming and exactly what I needed to get through the remaining day. I was hugged by Tuck’s female high school friends, patted on my back by his other numerous friends, and was given more condolences than I honestly realized. Frankly, it felt as if Tuck and I were married. That’s how his friends and family treated me. They all had opened their lives up to me, honoring my brief and sweet relationship with the man, respecting our time spent together in Erie.

  * * * *

  I cried myself to sleep that night in Aunt Kimberly’s spare bedroom. My mind twisted and turned with the twenty short days I had spent with Tuck. I thought of our walks and adventures together in Erie, holding hands, and kissing. My mind raced with short and flashing recollections of our visit to Betner’s Cliff, Jayne Hall, and Swirl Cafe. My heart was broken, I knew, pounding lazily and weakly within my chest. And my breath was combined of inaudible huffs, which made me believe that I was suffocating. Pain etched every organ within my torso and caused each to throb.

  It was the longest night of my life, even when I was finally asleep.

  How foolish of me to think that the hurt was going to go away anytime soon. How crazy.

  Chapter 44: Get Closer to Me

  November 20, 2015

  Frankie and I were in the check-out line at Under the Tree Market on Superior Street. She was buying cooking pumpkins to make pies, which she planned on freezing and taking home to her family to enjoy on Thanksgiving.

  I told her, “Carl wanted to see where Tuck was buried and drove to Cincinnati yesterday.”

  “How do you know that?” she was intrigued, disbelieving my information, wide-eyed and somewhat open-mouthed. She held a Lucky Brand pu
rse in both hands. Three pumpkins in a shopping cart separated us.

  “He told me straight up. He got in his truck, made the drive west, saw what he needed to see, and drove back.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered, blown away by my news. “That’s like an entire day of driving.”

  “Pretty much.”

  We were next in line and she placed the pumpkins on the conveyor belt, one after the next, lining them up. In doing so, she asked, “Why do you think he did that?”

  “He said he wanted to get closer to me.”

  She huffed, “I don’t know if that’s creepy or awesome. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s flattering. The guy’s a prince. He’s almost as perfect as Tuck was.”

  “Tuck never tried my pumpkin pie,” she said, which was the truth. The comment was strangely sensitive, but real. “You think Carl’s going to try my pie?”

  “Only if you give him one. You do that and he’ll be glad to give you his opinion.”

  “I can arrange that,” she said and used her debit card to pay for the pumpkins.

  After the transaction, placing the pumpkins back into the cage-like cart, we headed to her Fusion, which was parked near the back of the lot, and she drove me to Mill Street, where I spent the rest of the afternoon writing chapter sixteen in my new and untitled mystery.

  Chapter 45: The Darkest Day

  August 24 , 2014

  The Brown Martini: 4 Parts Gin, 2 Parts Light Rum, 1 Part Dry Vermouth, I Slice of Kumquat.

  On the day Tuck was buried, the weather wasn’t dismal or melancholic. On the contrary, a beaming sun smiled in the heavens and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The temperature was warm and the day offered a light wind. I didn’t want to think that it was the most beautiful day to have the darkest day, but it was. Honestly.

  I couldn’t eat, and wouldn’t. Nothing appealed to me. Not a banana or the waffles that Aunt Kimberly insisted on making. Not the freshly squeezed orange juice or donuts from the local bakery. Not an apple or oatmeal bar from a cardboard box. Nothing. Instead, I wanted to run, but I really wasn’t sure why. And I told Aunt Kimberly that, adding, “I just need a few minutes alone this morning. There’s a lot going on my head and heart.”

  She understood. “You take all the time you need, Micah. It’s all about reparation of your heart from here out.”

  I wasn’t a runner, but told myself that I was. It wasn’t a sprint or jog I had taken. It wasn’t a fast walk. My action was a full-fledged run, huffing and sweating, and pushing myself to go faster. I ran to a place called Edgewood Park, across the Senway River, through a small town called Luxenberg, parallel to Route 21, or what locals had called Mush Road. Somehow, someway, I had circled back, running for well over an hour and returned to Aunt Kimberly’s side.

  I was out of breath, dehydrated, and needed a shower because I was sticky with perspiration. The shower was over forty minutes long and I cried under its hot spray, missing Tuck.

  It was time to pull myself together for the rest of the day, having the responsibility of being Tuck’s lover and attending his funeral and wake. Barely able to concentrate on what I was doing, I dressed in a black suit and a white shirt. My shoes were also black, which matched the suit perfectly. Unfortunately, my sox were white because I had forgotten to pack a black pair. But that didn’t matter, though, since everyone attending the funeral and wake would be mourning, locked away in their slumber, crying for their losses, and shaken by the reality that Tucker Martini was never going to return to the mortal world, never.

  * * * *

  The drive to Brunetter’s Funeral Parlor with Aunt Kimberly was sullen and disturbing. We said nothing to each other, thick in a twosome of silence. Both of her hands were locked on the steering wheel of her Nissan Altima and she sat straight in her seat, proving to me that she had very good posture. She was crying, I witnessed as rolling streams of tears fell from her eyes and decorated her cheeks. And sniffles of hardship exited her nostrils, which told me that maybe she was just as broken as I was, if not more. The ride was long and tedious and…

  It was the darkest day of my life. The funeral with its handshakes from strangers, hugs from great aunts and cousins, wet kisses to my cheeks by sobbing uncles, and pats on my back. I was unable to sit through most of the service. I was unable to breathe through most of the service. I was unable to…

  The burial and final prayer was the worst. Reverend Dexter Wangler mentioned how God reached down from heaven for Tuck and was now cradling him with the utmost comforting care. And Wangler talked about angels and saints, and read from the Bible, and shared a short poem by Winifred Sentry called “Under the Heart-Fallen Sky” to the gatherers.

  Before I knew it…before I could begin to comprehend what was finally happening…before I was told by Aunt Kimberly to walk up to the casket, lean over, and reach for a handful of earth…before I was courageous enough to flip my hand over and dump the earth on Tuck’s grave…before I…

  He was buried. Tucker Martini was under the earth, sublevel, hidden in the cherry casket that his mother had picked out for him, snug in his suit, lifeless and motionless. Tuck was no longer part of my world. Tuck would always be a part of my world. Tuck would…

  I kept saying, “God bless him. God bless him. God bless him.”

  Tuck was gone.

  Gone.

  * * * *

  I can’t remember to this day the wake that followed the funeral. Was there laughter and tears? Were pictures passed around of Tuck, divulging his smile and red curls in high school? Did some of those pictures tell stories of girlfriends that he had kissed, but never had long dating relationships with because he was gay? Were there stories of Tucker Martini that friends and family cried over when discussed? Did someone mention how he enjoyed playing the piano? Did someone else talk about how he liked to go for long walks on Lake Erie’s beach? Who whispered that he was a happy man, in love for maybe the first time in his life with a writer from Pennsylvania?

  Where was the wake? I didn’t know. Who had attended the wake? I didn’t know. Who supplied all the food, beverages, flatware, and plates? I didn’t know. Where did all the alcohol come from? I didn’t know. Who had purchased so much alcohol? I didn’t know. Did that person honestly think that a room filled with bottles of hard liquor, wine, and beer would be consumed in one evening? I didn’t know. And who was playing such somber piano music? I didn’t know. And how did…

  I didn’t know. I would never know what happened at the wake. I had become traumatized by then, out of my mind, and hidden among the darkness that I knew was called grieving and hardship and hurt and pain and crying and…

  Tuck was gone.

  Gone.

  * * * *

  Later that day, two hours after summer’s darkness became irrelevant, Aunt Kimberly knocked two times on the guest room’s bedroom door, opened the door, popped her head inside, and asked, “Are you settled in, Micah?”

  I didn’t mind her trespassing, needing her company, and nodded from the bed. A summer sheet was pulled up to my shoulders, concealing most of my body. The nightstand was occupied by my wallet, a tiny box of tissues, a pair of sunglasses, and a side table light with a Victorian-style shade. I was just getting ready to turn off the light and try to fall asleep when she visited. “As best as I can.”

  She moved into the room, cracking the door open and squeezing through its entrance. Her weight was heavy as she sat down on the bed next to me, collapsed against my right side. She rubbed one of my shoulders and said, “There’s something I want to tell you. You can take it for what’s it worth, but you should hear it.”

  I nodded again, and whispered, “What?”

  She lowered her head, maybe thinking of a lost time and place of her past. “I want you to know that I also lost my first love. I was nineteen and he was twenty. And it happened suddenly, just as we have lost Tucker. My world turned upside down for a year and I was the most confused young woman on the planet. His name was Edward Me
ed and he drowned in the lake when he tried to save a little girl from going under. Long story short, neither of them survived, which still breaks my heart today. We were supposed to get married and move to Chicago. He was going to be an architect and I wanted to teach, but those dreams fell apart in a matter of seconds.” She continued to rub my shoulder, soothing me, attempting to rid me of my own pain. “My point is this, you’ll survive. You’ll overcome this horrible event in your life. You’re young and sweet and charming and…”

  She stopped and stared into my eyes. Her hand was removed from my shoulder and she brushed it through my hair in slow motion. She attempted to smile, but couldn’t bring herself to process such an action, also hurting, perhaps emotionally murdered inside because of the death of her nephew, a loved one in her simple life. “It will get better. Someday. Somehow. It will all get better. Don’t forget that, Micah. Never forget that.”

  She hugged me goodnight, clinging me to her frame, kissed the side of my neck, and said, “You’re not going to sleep at all tonight, but you can at least try. I know this from experience. Tragedies make us stay awake, Micah. It’s the dark side of life that none of us enjoy. In due time, it will pass.”

  She left me alone, closing the bedroom door behind her. I stared into the strange bedroom’s darkness, overcome with ominous feelings. My heart felt like a stone inside my chest, dead and unmoving, without any emotions whatsoever. Then I started to sob, clutching an extra pillow against my chest, crying myself to sleep, alone.

  Tuck was gone.

  Gone.

  Chapter 46: Thanksgiving

  November 26, 2015

  Miss Kitty was having a Thanksgiving dinner and invited Carl and I. There was a giant turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and the works. Her bestie, Harlow, from Ohio, drove in and was spending the day with us. She brought a basket filled with jarred jellies and nuts, which she passed around as gifts. I received a jar of cashews and Carl was given straw-cranberry jelly, which Harlow told us that she had made herself.