What Happens After

by Dennis Abrams

  “It all makes sense now.”

  “Yes, it does,” I told her. “And I hope he knows I meant it when I said I forgive him. Because I do.”

  “That makes me happy,” she said. “To get through this life, you need to be able to forgive. I hope your grandfather can forgive himself. I hope Ralph has forgiven your grandfather. I hope you can truly forgive your grandfather.

  “Also—” And here she paused and gave me a look that went right through me. “—I hope you can learn to forgive yourself.”

  “I….” I started to say something, to tell her everything, but I couldn’t.

  And with that she came over to me, gave me a kiss, and left the room to go back downstairs.

  Leaving me to wonder how she knew.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THANKSGIVING WAS always spent at home, but Christmas week was always spent out of town.

  And every year Mom and Dad fought over where we were going to go.

  Mom always wanted to go somewhere warm with a beach and a pool. Dad always wanted to go somewhere cold with a ski slope and a lodge with a fireplace.

  I didn’t much care; either one was good with me.

  This year, though, for the first time, I got to decide where we were going.

  Getting shot does have its perks.

  Given that my leg was still messed up and white and pale and thin and scarred and everything else, I didn’t want people staring at it on the beach or by the pool, so, like many a Texan family, we went to Colorado, even if I wasn’t going to be hitting the slopes.

  And by making our base near Boulder, I could go visit a couple of the colleges I was interested in attending. A total win for everyone, except maybe Mom. But since she’d have a chance to wear the fur jacket she almost never gets to wear in Texas, I strongly suspected she’d get over it.

  The first couple of days I spent hanging out at the lodge while Dad skied and Mom did spa treatments and went into town for some holiday shopping. Although I had pretty much gotten used to spending most of my time by myself, on that the first day in the lodge, I still felt kind of lonely. Probably more so because it seemed like I should be having fun, and I wasn’t exactly.

  But the next day as I was settling in with my book, a look at the mass murder at Columbine, (yeah, I know, I couldn’t help myself), a blond cheerleader type around my age came bounding up.

  “Cheery book you’ve got there,” she said. “My name’s Tiffany. I’m from Dallas. You look like you’re all by yourself…. Want to hang out?”

  Since I couldn’t quickly come up with a good reason not to, I said sure.

  It turns out that I was right. She actually was a cheerleader, with all that means. She started talking, only stopping long enough to occasionally come up for air, telling me all about her school (she was a senior like me), her rich boyfriend, her dog, the “totally awesome” car she was going to get for her graduation present…. She barely stopped.

  Eventually, though, this guy came in. This tall, good-looking guy. Okay, tall, very good-looking guy. Deep green eyes. Big crooked smile. And I knew he was seriously built, although it was kind of hard to tell because of the bulky ugly holiday sweater he was sporting.

  “My sister will talk all day if you let her…. Why don’t you give—” He looked at me with those eyes, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  “Collin,” I said.

  “Why don’t you give Collin a break? Poor guy looks exhausted. Hi,” he said, extending his hand, “I’m Josh.”

  When he grabbed my hand, all I could see were those eyes. And I instantly knew. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. We played, as they say, on the same team.

  Was it the sound of his voice? The way he held my hand that a second or two longer than any straight guy would? The way Tiffany giggled? The way his eyes seemed to bore directly into mine? The stirring I felt that I hadn’t felt in what seemed like a very long time?

  I instantly got nervous. And started sweating, which only added to Tiffany’s giggles. Josh gave her a look that clearly told her to knock it off or else, and sat down.

  Tiffany excused herself, saying something about makeup or something, leaving us alone.

  And we started talking. And just kept on going.

  We started with the usual introductory stuff, family, school, all that kind of thing. He was studying journalism at the University of North Texas. He had played some sports in high school but now just lifted. He loved nothing more than a burger and fries. And tacos. Always tacos, now and forever.

  I talked about my stuff: parents, school, graduation, selecting a college stress… anything and everything but about that.

  Talking with him felt totally relaxed and natural and normal. It felt like we had an instant connection, that this was how it was supposed to be. And hadn’t been since the night everything happened.

  Not a word was said about being gay. Neither of us asked the other, “Are you?” There was no need. We both knew.

  And for the first time since it happened, I was talking and liking and getting into a conversation with someone who didn’t seem to know who I was. Who didn’t know what happened. Who didn’t know about any of it.

  And I didn’t want him to, at least not yet.

  And since I knew when I got back up to my room the first thing I’d do was google his ass, I figured there was a good chance he’d be googling mine as well.

  And that was fine. I just didn’t want to be the first one to talk about it. He’d asked about my leg of course, and I made a bad nervous joke about an old war wound and he let it go at that. I didn’t want to tell him what really happened, because how do you do it? “Oh, that… well, you know, I was shot three times in that Pacific Coast shooting you probably saw on the news.”

  Where could the conversation go after that?

  So I let it be. Besides, I was enjoying his company way too much to bring all that up.

  And he was apparently enjoying mine as well. He looked at me with those eyes so intently; he laughed at my jokes with his loud annoying bray of a laugh, nearly offset by his endearingly crooked smile.

  My knee occasionally casually by mistake brushed against his under the table. His did the same.

  Finally, we went there.

  He went first.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.

  “Nope. Um… are you?”

  “Honestly, I broke up a couple of months ago with this guy I’d been seeing casually for a year or so, so… nope.”

  With that, a deep silence. But still the intense never-ending looks and shy smiles.

  I really wanted to lean in and kiss him. I needed it.

  And I’m pretty sure he felt the same.

  And I almost did, but then Tiffany came in all made up and dressed up and ready to go. She gave a slightly crooked half smile that looked more than a little like Josh’s. “You guys still at it? I hate to break this up,” she said, grinning, “really I do, but you’ve got to get ready to go, Josh. We’ve got that thing tonight with the parents.”

  “Oh shit, right. Sorry, but I’ve got to go.” He gave me a look, part-imploring, part-teasing, part-knowing. “Are you going to be around tomorrow? Want to hang out?”

  “I’m supposed to go check out the University of Colorado tomorrow morning….”

  His grin continued. “I’ll take you. And after that we can do whatever….”

  “Sounds good,” I said, not wanting to sound too eager even though I most definitely was.

  “Good,” he said. “It’s a date. Meet you in the lobby at nine.”

  A date???

  I didn’t sleep well that night. But for the first time in months, it was for all the right reasons.

  Chapter Twenty

  I WAS in the lobby twenty minutes early.

  Josh came out of the elevator fifteen minutes later, came up to me smiling that smile, and gave me a huge hug.

  “Good to see you,” he said. “Really good.” And I could tell he meant it. “Let’s go.”


  Except for the time I spent touring the campus, which was nice although not what I thought it would be and I wasn’t really focused on it anyway… we spent the whole day together.

  Talking, just talking. Or not talking and enjoying being together.

  Walking around town. Eating lunch.

  Getting to know each other.

  In the car on the way into town, Josh casually put his hand on my leg to make a point and just as casually left it there.

  I quietly freaked out at first. Then I relaxed.

  We talked about our favorite movies. Or politics. Or something else altogether…. Because honestly, after he put his hand on my leg and I put mine on top of his, I forget whatever it was we were talking about. All I remember is the way his hand felt on mine. And its weight on my leg with an occasional squeeze to emphasize a point.

  He did tell me about his parents and his coming out. How easy they made it for him and how easy it felt. About his summer in Europe. And the places he wanted to show me. But the details escape me.

  I told him that my coming out had been difficult and told him about my best friend who died, but left it at that. Things were going so well, and everything felt so like it was before it happened, that I didn’t want to ruin the moment. It felt like I was cheating him, that I was lying to him by not telling him everything, but when I started shaking, he looked at me gently and said, “When you’re ready you can tell me.”

  It was clear he’d googled me. So I knew he knew.

  A few moments later as we walked through town, talking about other things, he smiled at me, took away one of my crutches and took my hand. “Lean on me,” he said. And I froze. But he wouldn’t let it go, and as we walked down the street surrounded by students and ski bums and tourists like my parents, I noticed that nobody else seemed to notice. Or even care. So I relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of Josh holding my hand. And of mine holding his.

  It felt good. It was what I needed.

  I hoped my hand wasn’t sweating too much.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  As the sun went down, we started walking closer and closer to each other. I could feel his body pressing against mine, and again, it felt good. It felt natural. It felt right.

  Driving back to the lodge, his hand on my leg and mine on his, his muscled thigh pressing hard against the denim of his jeans, he pulled over on the side of the road and asked me a question. “What do you want?”

  I hesitated and then answered all in a rush without thinking. Nobody had asked me that question and meant it, asking me what I wanted instead of about what happened, in a long time. Since that night.

  Since Nate.

  “Right now,” I said, “I want a burger. And fries. I want to do something with my life that makes a difference. I want to stop being so afraid and spending so much time in my head. I want someone to love me completely and totally, and I want to love someone the same way. I want to be brave. I want…. Did I mention I want fries?

  “I want someone to look at me exactly like you’re doing right now as much as possible. And what I really want right now, really want, more than anything in the world, is for you to kiss me.”

  Inside I freaked out when I realized what I’d said. I hadn’t meant to say so much, but it came spilling out. But now that it was out there, what if he didn’t want to? What if I’d gone too far? Why was I talking so much?

  Why had I said that?

  He smiled at me in that way that made me forget everything else, at least in that moment. “Good answer,” he said.

  And he leaned over and kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me.

  He cupped my face with his hands, a gesture I never until that moment knew I would love so much, and kissed me.

  When he finally stopped and we were looking at each other, we knew. He knew. I knew. And we both knew that the other one knew.

  It was one of those moments.

  We drove back in silence, each of us deep in our own thoughts, holding hands.

  He had to meet up with his family for dinner; I had to have dinner with mine. He was leaving early the next morning with his family to go visit relatives in California; we were going home the day after.

  This would be it.

  It sucked. But in some ways, it seemed the perfect time to say goodbye.

  Even though we both knew it wasn’t even close to goodbye.

  I had no idea where this was going to go, but I knew, in that moment, I was as happy as I’d been in a very long time. Maybe ever.

  I wasn’t about to give that up.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  WHEN WE got back to Texas, three days before New Year’s Eve, I was still totally buzzed. Maybe, I hoped, this was what I needed to get my life back to normal.

  We texted. We skyped. We shared stories and jokes and everyday stuff like what we’d had for breakfast and what our favorite cereals were (I love Cocoa Puffs; he’s a Grape-Nuts guy). We talked about everything, and we talked about nothing.

  He was staying in with his family for New Year’s Eve. I went to go celebrate with everyone at the center. We promised to talk right at midnight.

  Since it is a safe place to spend the holiday, the center was as busy as I’ve ever seen it, and so I spent at least an hour simply saying hi, greeting people, hugging, wishing everyone happy New Year. Even Jeremy was in the spirit, since he’d recently started seeing this guy who was his date to the party. They were dancing and touching and obviously happy.

  And I was totally feeling it as well—meeting Josh, getting to know Josh, seeing potential for the future made the possibilities for the next year seem very real.

  It felt like an actual page was being turned, that I was, finally, as they say, making a new fresh start.

  But fresh starts don’t come easy.

  If they’re even really possible. I mean, it’s not like you can forget the past or ignore what happens to you. It’s always going to be there; it’s always a part of you, as much as you might wish it wasn’t. So “fresh start” might just be one of those meaningless phrases like “closure” or “today’s the first day of the rest of your life.”

  They sound good, but reality is harder than that, as quickly became obvious.

  I was texting Josh just before midnight since it was way too loud to talk on the phone, and was sending my happy New Year message when the clock struck twelve.

  A shout rang out; Josh texted that he wished he was there to kiss in the New Year with me.

  And outside the center, someone set off a huge string of firecrackers to celebrate.

  The sharp sound of the explosions, along with the smell of gunpowder, so strong it came through the open windows, was all it took.

  Before I could stop myself, or even had a chance to think about it, I screamed “No!” and hit the floor, curled up in a ball, and just started shaking and shaking and shaking.

  And shaking.

  I was no longer at the center surrounded by friends. I was there. My eyes were tightly shut, hoping that would stop the endless stream of images running in my head like an out of control movie, desperately trying to stop the sounds and screams and shouts I was hearing.

  But after all this time, I knew better.

  It wasn’t going to help.

  Nobody there knew what to do.

  Except for Jeremy. He got it.

  He came racing over and knelt down next to me. He held me and stroked my forehead and hair and told me it was going to be all right, that he was there and wouldn’t leave me alone.

  The firecrackers, which in reality only went on a few minutes, seemed to go on forever. But by the time I stopped shaking and was able to get up, most of the partiers had left—or was it fled?—except for Jeremy and his new BF and a few others.

  When I sat up, my black T-shirt was drenched with sweat. I was still breathing hard. And Jeremy looked at me with deep concern.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. “What happened? Was it…?”

  “The
firecrackers,” I said. “It was the firecrackers.”

  I watched him think that over and then suddenly get what I was talking about.

  “Oh, man,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay… I’ve got you…. You were there for me at that meeting, right? Now it’s my turn.”

  I tried to smile.

  “Look… I’ve been wanting to tell you this since that first time you visited. To us, to everyone at the center, to me especially, you’re like Superman… or maybe Superboy.” He grinned. “You survived the worst thing I can imagine, and you’re still standing.

  “And if you survived, I can survive a little bashing.

  “You’ve got this, Collin. And we’ve got your back. We all do.”

  “And I’ve got yours,” I said. “Sorry to mess up your New Year’s. I’m okay now.”

  I ubered home and raced up to my room. I had to skype with Josh.

  “Wow,” he said, “I hate saying this, but you look really… awful. What happened?”

  It was just that… and I started crying. Which, as always, was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Especially in front of Josh.

  “Sssh,” he said. “It’s okay. I know, okay? I know.”

  So he started talking. Telling me how much he liked me. Telling me how much he wanted to get to know me. How much of a connection he felt with me and that he hoped I felt the same.

  And then he said this.

  “And I wanted to tell you how damn brave I think you are. I know what happened, I know what you’ve gone through, and you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.

  “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

  I started crying harder, knowing I couldn’t or wouldn’t, and afraid that me not being able to would piss Josh off or scare him off or push him away.

  “It’s okay… sssh… whenever you’re ready.

  “I know you know that I know. I did google you that first night. I know what happened. I know what happened with Nate and his mother. I’m… I’m sorry I hadn’t met you yet. I wish I could have helped. I wish I could have been there for you.