By My Side

by Grant C. Holland

  “I only have three chapters left to write.”

  Stella said, “I don’t think I tell you often enough, Derek, how wonderful it is to have an author in the family. I do worry about how you actually make a living, but a published author, that’s something I brag about all the time.”

  As Derek’s mother was introducing him to the group, he shifted in his seat. The discomfort was coming back. He held a hand up to his forehead for a moment. His forehead was burning up. Derek pushed concern about the discomfort out of his mind just as Stella said, “My son, Derek Bradshaw.”

  Somehow, Derek made it through his talk with plenty of moments of applause from the group, a few gasps and exclamations of wonder, and then a standing ovation at the end. He shook hands with each and every woman in attendance. Stella counted twenty three. Then he sat down to sign the copies of his book for those who desired a signature while Stella served punch.

  As the women began filing out of the bookstore, Yale arrived. Stella made a fluttery show of welcome and offered her hand as she said, “Yale Preston. It’s so good to see you again. I hope your parents are doing well.”

  Derek said, “Mother, I recently hired Yale to be the bookstore manager.”

  Stella started to frown, but she caught herself and offered a weak smile instead. She said, “That is an interesting business decision, Derek. Are you having problems running it yourself?”

  Derek said, “I just talked for half an hour about the reasons why I need help running the bookstore. Doing a good job with the store while finding time to write novels is just too much. Yale is doing a fantastic job.”

  Stella smiled and said, “Of course he is.” Then she shuffled off to speak with the women who were slowly filing out of the building.

  Derek turned to Yale and whispered, “Honestly, don’t listen to her. You know how she is.”

  Yale grinned and said, “She’s not that different from my mother in her own sort of way.” He noticed how pale Derek was looking and said, “It does look like you let her get to you a little bit. You’re pale. Try and push that out of your mind. You survived the talk, and these ladies look happy.”

  Derek reached out to grab the back of a chair. He said, “Yeah, the talk went well.”

  Yale said, “Just sit there, Derek. I’ll help your mother clean up the rest of this. Almost all of them have left anyway.”

  Stella returned to Derek and Yale and said, “There’s still some of the punch left and a few of the cookies. Feel free to treat yourself, Yale.” Then she spoke directly to Derek. “A few of the women invited me to lunch here downtown. Could the two of you take care of things? You can bring the punch bowl back to me sometime soon.”

  Derek did his best to smile as he shifted in the chair. He said, “Yes, Mother, we can do that. Go right ahead and enjoy your lunch.”

  She gave them both a quick wave. “Thank you again, Derek. My boy, an author.” She wrapped her arms over her chest and flashed a bright smile before turning to the door and following the last of her friends out to the street.

  Derek started to stand up, and then he felt faint and began swaying back and forth. Yale reached out to catch him. “Whoa, Derek! You’re not doing so well. Sit back down.” Yale helped Derek settle back on to the chair and then reached the back of his hand to Derek’s forehead. He said, “Wow, you’ve got a fever. We need to get you to bed.”

  Derek tried to wave him away and said, “No, I’ll be fine,” but the words came out in a hoarse croak, and he closed his eyes before he could finish.

  “I’ll take you upstairs to my place. Then you can climb in bed, and I’ll get you some chicken noodle soup. I don’t want you to end up in the hospital.”

  Derek bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He said, “Really, I’ll be fine. I just need a little…rest.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Yale. “Now, I’m not going to take no for an answer.” He slid his arm over Derek’s shoulders and began to help lift Derek to his feet.

  Derek was feeling too weak to resist. He rose to his feet on wobbly legs. The back staircase to the apartment rose from the “employees only” area in the back of the bookstore.

  “Can you climb the steps?” asked Yale.

  With a nod, Derek said, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, let me come up right behind you. If you fall without me to catch you, we will have a much bigger problem on our hands.”

  Derek groaned while he put one foot in front of the other slowly making his way up the steep staircase. He said, “Yale, you’re too good to be true.”

  Yale held his hands just behind Derek’s waist on the staircase and said, “I’m just doing what makes sense to get you some rest.”

  As they reached the top of the staircase and entered Yale’s apartment, Derek said, “Whoa, I do feel a little dizzy.” He bent over and rested his hands on his knees.

  Yale wrapped an arm around his waist and pointed him in the direction of the bedroom. He said, “Just a few more steps to bed. It’s this way, and I’ll help.”

  Yale was worried about his friend, but he was also enjoying the opportunity to be helpful. He liked the trust Derek was showing first with the bookstore and now in letting Yale help him when he wasn’t feeling well.

  As they entered the bedroom, Yale said, “Here, just sit on the bed, and then you can lay down. You’re staying right here and sleeping as long as you need. I’ll make sure we have plenty of food.” He watched Derek sit first on the bed and then pull his feet up off the floor before collapsing flat on his back. Yale sat beside Derek and removed his sneakers. Yale tugged the bedspread and sheets out from under Derek’s body and then pulled them up to provide warmth.

  Derek stared up into Yale’s eyes and said, “Thank you.” He was asleep within minutes.

  Yale returned to his small living room and pulled out a beat-up laptop computer. He planned to replace it with something new after a few more months working in the bookstore. With the income from his odd jobs, he was finally starting to save up some money.

  He pulled up the catalog of a company that specialized in providing equipment for libraries and bookstores. Yale was becoming so fixated on improvements that he thought could be made in the bookstore that looking at catalogs was almost like addictive porn or crack. He stared at beautiful new shelving units for books and comfortable furniture for lounging by customers. The company even sold software programs specifically for keeping track of a bookstore’s finances.

  Yale leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He imagined a day with the bookstore filled with new customers. Most of them were not lounging in the space. They were buying books, too. He could hear the cash register ring over and over as it totaled up sales.

  Best of all, in the daydream, Yale was looking over at Derek who stood staring at the busy space with a huge smile pasted on his face. Derek was pleased.

  11

  Yale

  Eight hours later, Derek woke up bathed in sweat. He stood up and padded his way to the living room on bare feet.

  Yale was playing a game on the laptop. He looked up and said, “It’s good to see you sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” said Derek.

  Yale shook his head. “You are definitely not fine. You are sick. Did you see what time it is?”

  “I only slept for an hour or two, didn’t I?” asked Derek.

  Yale shook his head. “It’s after 7:00 p.m. I put a sign on the door of the bookstore downstairs saying we were closed for the rest of the day and came up here to keep an eye on you. I wanted to be ready in case I needed to take you anywhere.”

  Derek frowned and said, “You didn’t need to do that. I’ve just got a little cold or something. Some rest will clear it up in no time.”

  “You’ve got more than just a little cold and you’re exhausted. You practically fainted in front of all those church women. Now, if you need the bathroom, go do that, and then get back to bed. You’re right about the rest. Are you hungry?�
��

  Derek responded quietly to Yale’s forcefulness. He said, “I guess I’m a little bit hungry. I’ll go to the bathroom and get back to bed like you suggested. I feel like I could sleep at least another eight hours. I didn’t mean to take over your bed. Where will you sleep?”

  “There’s a couch out here,” said Yale. He stood up and headed for the kitchen to look for the cans of chicken noodle soup. It was the best thing to help bring Derek’s strength back. Yale listened for the flush of the toilet and then the sounds of Derek’s big feet slapping on the floor. Finally, he heard the squeak of the bed when Derek climbed in.

  It didn’t take long to heat up the soup. Yale tasted it to confirm that it was much better than the soup he found downstairs in the bookstore. He poured a glass of iced tea and stirred in some sugar to sweeten it. There was an old tray up in the kitchen cabinets, and Yale arranged the food and drink before carrying it to the bedroom. He added a single cookie on a saucer just in case Derek wanted a small treat.

  Derek was already asleep again when Yale arrived with the food and drink in the bedroom. Yale was tempted to just let him sleep some more, but he knew that nutrition was necessary, too. Ignoring meal times while working on the books was probably part of Derek’s problem. Yale set the tray on the nightstand and tugged on Derek’s shoulder saying, “Wake up, Derek, you need to eat something.”

  Derek groaned and said, “I’m really not very hungry, Yale. Let me sleep”

  Yale answered, “I know, but please eat just a few spoonfuls of the soup and drink some of the tea. It would make me feel a lot better. I think it would help you, too. Don’t make me fuck up taking care of you like I do everything else.”

  Reluctantly, Derek opened his eyes and pulled himself to a sitting position in bed. He looked into Yale’s eyes and said, “You know you don’t have to do all of this. I really can take care of myself.”

  Yale grumbled, “You weren’t doing well taking care of yourself. If I wasn’t here then think about what kind of mess you would be in. You might be in the hospital by now.”

  Derek looked down and sighed. “Guilty as charged.”

  Yale held out the bowl of soup sitting on a plate. He said, “Why don’t you just take the spoon and I’ll hold on to the plate and bowl. I don’t trust that you’re strong enough to avoid spilling it.”

  “I’m not a weakling,” protested Derek.

  “In the store you were. Now, don’t argue with me. Just take the spoon and try some of the broth.”

  Derek sucked down a spoonful of the chicken broth. He smiled. “That actually tastes pretty good to me. Remember how bad that stuff was down in the bookstore? I had to spit it out.”

  Yale laughed softly. “Yes, I do, and this is much better. I bought the cans in the grocery store just the other day. Keep eating.”

  Yale was frustrated with himself about how he let Derek fall into such bad shape. They were seeing each other almost every day now, and he thought that he should have noticed the downhill slide. He was determined to keep a closer watch in the future. So many men were bad at taking care of themselves. Derek was one of them.

  Yale thought about a day when he was growing up, and his dad drove home from work while having an attack of appendicitis. His dad was in such pain when he arrived home that he couldn’t stand up straight. No one could ever figure out how Yale’s dad got all the way home without causing an accident.

  He said he left work early because of the pain. His doctor said he should have just called 911 or had a coworker drive him straight to the hospital. The doctor said he easily could have died on the way home if he was overcome by the pain and collided with other cars.

  After five spoonfuls of soup, Derek asked for the iced tea. He said, “That tastes good, too. You put just the right amount of sugar in it, Yale.”

  Yale nodded and said, “I know.”

  Derek smiled and asked, “What would I do without you?”

  Yale said, “You would probably be passed out downstairs in the middle of the bookstore. That’s what you would be doing.”

  “I want some more soup,” said Derek, “and include some of the noodles this time.”

  Yale smiled at Derek’s eagerness to keep eating. He said, “I’m looking forward to us going out together to eat somewhere sometime soon,” said Yale. “It feels like it’s been a long time since we had a meal anywhere but Jess’ diner.”

  Derek smiled. “We should get all dressed up and maybe drive over to Mitchell to make a big deal of it.”

  Yale could hear a lot of Derek’s strength returning in his voice. He also thought that what Derek described sounded a lot like a date, not that a date sounded bad or anything. It would just be a real change in their relationship. Yale said, “I would like that, but we might need to go shopping first to make sure I have something good to wear. I don’t have much beyond jeans, T-Shirts, and lumberjack plaid.”

  Derek said, “Damn, Yale, you would look so good dressed up in a nice, tailored suit.” He turned his head to gaze into Yale’s eyes before he ate another spoonful of soup.

  Yale blushed pink and whispered, “I’m glad you think so.”

  Derek ate most of the rest of the bowl of soup in silence. Yale could feel the tension between them, but he thought it was a good kind of tension. He didn’t really want it to end. When Derek set his spoon down, Yale pulled the bowl of soup back and set it on the tray. Derek said, “I think I would like a little more iced tea.”

  Yale offered him the glass. Derek sipped at it and then handed it back. Yale asked, “Are you going to sleep some more?”

  “Yes, I think so. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it, buddy. You’ll be here when I wake up?”

  “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here where I always am.”

  12

  Derek

  Derek rolled over in the bed and listened to Yale’s footsteps as he returned to the front of the apartment. He sniffed at the pillow and realized that it smelled like Yale, clean, and a little bit soapy. He sniffed again and smiled as he closed his eyes.

  Twenty minutes later, Derek was wide awake. He started to dream about the death of his Uncle Don. He didn’t actually see Uncle Don in the dream. Instead, he saw the tear-streaked face of his aunt. She wasn’t saying anything, and she wasn’t making any sound. She just had tears rolling down her cheeks in an endless stream.

  Derek forced himself to wake up. With his eyes wide open, he thought about his uncle. They had great times together. As Derek grew up and became an adult, Uncle Don acted more like a father than Derek’s own. When his uncle found out that Derek wanted to pursue a career as a writer, he stood against the storm of comments from other relatives. Derek had to weather insistence from multiple directions that he couldn’t make a living that way. They insisted that he needed a serious backup plan first. Then, in his spare time, he could write. Instead of jumping on the bandwagon of naysayers, Uncle Don took Derek to an industry book conference.

  On the way to the conference, Uncle Don quizzed Derek about his dreams. They talked about the joys of writing, and Derek talked about wanting to write about gay people like himself in love as well as more standard thrillers. Uncle Don went out of his way to express clear support for Derek’s dreams. He said that he once thought about being a writer himself, but he couldn’t discover any joy in it. Uncle Don explained that he loved helping people find good things to read, but he wasn’t cut out to be the person to write them for them.

  At the conference, Uncle Don introduced Derek to a prominent author of novels about gay men. Derek remembered his hands sweating and the nervousness that made it difficult to even remember his own name. Uncle Don stepped in and spoke for him until Derek could regain his own voice.

  Later that night, in their hotel room, Uncle Don said, “I want to tell you something Derek.”

  Derek was busy answering e-mail from friends and posting details of the conference on Facebook. He looked up and asked, “What’s t
hat Uncle Don.”

  “Put the computer aside, Derek.”

  Derek dutifully set the computer aside and looked into his uncle’s weathered face. “Thank you so much for all of this. I don’t know if I’ve said that yet.”

  He received a kindly smile from his uncle and then words of wisdom. Uncle Don said, “Derek, don’t ever let go of two things — your convictions and your dreams. The first will always support the second. Your dreams will get you started as a writer, and your convictions will keep you going. Also, don’t ever let anyone in this world, anyone, make you feel bad for loving men. That’s just who you are. You can’t change it, and it’s a beautiful thing. The world would be a very sad place if we were all the same.”

  Derek stared into his uncle’s eyes listening to the kinds of things he always hoped to hear from his own parents, but he knew it was unlikely to ever happen. Derek’s parents were tolerant, but they were still far from true acceptance. He smiled back at Uncle Don, and then a single tear rolled down his cheek. He said, “That means so much to me. Thank you.”

  As Derek lay on his side in Yale’s bed, he knew that he missed Uncle Don terribly. He hadn’t really fully processed his grief. He remembered a woman at the funeral saying it would probably take more than a full year.

  It was barely six months since Uncle Don passed away. He was only sixty-two. Everyone expected him to be around for many more years. Derek also knew that Uncle Don’s support for the writing was one reason Derek was pushing so hard with his own books.

  As he let that thought carry itself to a logical conclusion, Derek realized that Uncle Don wouldn’t support the crazy work schedule. Uncle Don always did say, “Life is meant to be lived as life not as misery.”

  Derek rolled back to the opposite side of the bed. He realized that Yale was just as strong of a supporter in his own way when Derek allowed him to be. Yale never asked Derek to change anything about who he was from when they first met in junior high. Their friendship was always about complete acceptance. It was always about what they could share with each other and building a unique friendship that could carry them both through the difficult times. They stumbled on a few rough patches, but there was never a thought of turning away.