A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat

by Roe Horvat

  “Yes, I’m coming back with you,” Matěj reassured. He tried to see over the doctor’s shoulder whether the man had finally begun suturing the wound. Matěj wanted to bend down and hug Simon just as much as he wanted to flee and get shit-faced in the closest nonstop bar. He didn’t know if he could stand it for five more minutes. Intoxicated Simon was…adorable. The contrast between the sober Simon from this afternoon and the flirty, joyous, sloppy version was painful.

  “Good,” Simon exclaimed loudly and looked at Matěj with an exaggerated frown. “You can’t go away again.”

  This can’t get any worse, can it?

  “Understand? You can’t go away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” And he wasn’t.

  “Good. Good.” Simon leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes. “My beautiful boy,” he mumbled and wiggled a little, getting comfortable. “This shit is good. Fuck Cipralex. This shit is great.”

  Matěj couldn’t hold it back. He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Kinda understand the junkies,” Simon continued sleepily with his eyes closed.

  “Yeah.”

  “My stomach feels a bit iffy. But I don’t care,” he said. Then his eyes popped open again. “Come closer, I want to see you. Sit down. Can he sit down?”

  “Yeah, he can sit down. But you have to hold still now, Mr. Mráz,” the doctor told him, finally, finally reaching for the suture kit.

  “See, you can sit down. This guy is good at his job. He’s really good. He’s, like, digging into my bare joints, and I can’t feel a thing.”

  Matěj stepped closer. He went through possible distractions in his mind, but it was hopeless. Simon said he was beautiful and wasn’t allowed to leave. Matěj wished he could fall to his knees next to the bed and kiss Simon’s hand, scars and blood and all. But Simon was also high as the summer sun at midday.

  “Sit down!” Simon repeated, and Matěj saw no other option. He sunk onto the plastic stool next to Simon’s bed. He felt like a character in a reality show; his surroundings, the hospital personnel, the grinning man in the bed in front of him, even the lighting and the typical smells in the air—it all seemed staged, wrong, improbable.

  “Lovely, there you go. Now I can see you. Beautiful. You’re coming home with me, right?”

  The doctor pulled on the string and tied it. Matěj had to admit, the guy was skilled. With this kind of suture, the scarring would be minimal.

  “We’re going back to Lukas’s,” Matěj repeated for what felt like the fifteenth time.

  Simon nodded, his head lolling on his shoulders. “Lukas, yes. I know. He’s a pain in the ass. But I love him. Lukas is my best friend.”

  “Yeah, I like him too,” Matěj said quietly. The contrast between his low voice and Simon’s loud exclamations only became enhanced.

  “But he doesn’t like you. Because you left me.”

  Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker. No. Not now. Please not now.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Why did you leave me?” Simon asked loudly and lifted his head again, staring at Matěj as if he were questioning a student at an exam, mildly curious, serious and calm.

  “I didn’t want to,” Matěj said truthfully, because what the heck. Simon was watching him, leaning back until he sunk into the bedding again.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” he mumbled, his eyes drooping. “My beautiful boy. You can’t go away again.”

  “I’m staying,” Matěj whispered hesitantly. It didn’t matter what he said. Chances were that Simon wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.

  “Once I dreamt you were dead,” Simon said, this time barely audible. “You were in my bed, and I was so happy to see you again, and you were dead.”

  That hurt. Like knife-in-your-stomach hurt. Matěj breathed in and out heavily through his nose, concentrating on the movement of his ribs, the loosening in his belly. He reminded himself Simon was under influence of a significant dose of opioids and alcohol. He focused on the nonsense, the absurdity of Simon’s babbling. But it was of no use. There was a realness in this bizarre conversation that went straight to Matěj’s tear ducts.

  “You’re crying? I don’t want you to cry. Don’t cry. See? I’m not crying. He’s not crying. Nobody’s crying.”

  Matěj couldn’t help it. He laughed. And sniffled. He wiped his face on his sleeve and realized he was still wearing his parka.

  “Don’t cry, beautiful boy, don’t cry.” Simon was finally quiet. He almost whispered. Almost.

  “We’re done,” the young doctor announced.

  Simon eyed the gauze on his thumb. “He’s good. Would you look at this. So nice and clean. He’s really good. You have a future, kid. You are really, really good.”

  The young doctor stood, tugged his mask down, and picked up his tray. He was a baby, not more than twenty-five years old. He smiled gently at Matěj.

  “Thank you,” Matěj said earnestly. “And I’m sorry,” he added with a head tilt toward Simon.

  One corner of the doctor’s mouth lifted. “Don’t worry about it. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Matěj repeated, but the doctor was already behind the curtain.

  Matěj sighed. “C’mon, Simon. Time to go.”

  “He did a really good job. Did you thank him?” Simon sat up, swaying back and forth. “I forgot to thank him.”

  “Yes. I thanked him.”

  “Good. Good.” He nodded, cradling his hurt hand to his chest. He looked like a little boy. “We’re going home?”

  “We’re going back to Lukas’s.” Matěj reached for Simon’s arm and tugged him upward. Simon stood and leaned heavily on Matěj’s shoulder.

  “I don’t want to go back to Lukas’s. Everybody’s there. I want to go home.”

  “You said—”

  “I know what I said! I changed my mind. I want to go home.” And the loud Simon was back.

  “Okay.”

  “You’re coming home with me, right?” Oh, God. He couldn’t possibly be more audible. His voice echoed through the corridors.

  “I…”

  “You promised you’re not going away again.” They passed two nurses, and the women watched them with wide eyes.

  “Okay.” Matěj would agree to anything just to get them out of there as soon as possible.

  “Good. We’re going home,” Simon mumbled, stumbling a little and straightening quickly. He walked next to Matěj on slightly steadier feet. “I’m sleepy,” he announced.

  “Of course, you are.” They entered the crowded waiting room.

  “Marta! We’re going home,” Simon called making Matěj wince again.

  Marta stood and stared, and Matěj could read the profanity from her lips even though she remained quiet.

  “That’s…good,” she said and looked at Matěj questioningly. Matěj pointed to Simon’s elbow with his free hand, showing an unmistakable gesture representing an injection. Marta’s mouth fell open.

  “Yes. I’m hammered. It’s awesome. You should try it,” Simon said, louder still.

  Marta’s hand flew to her mouth, and she muffled a laugh. Matěj rolled his eyes, again.

  Simon pointed a shaky finger at Marta. “But you’re not coming with us. You’re going back to Lukas and Mike. My boy is coming home with me.”

  “Oh, wow,” Marta murmured.

  Simon continued toward the exit tugging Matěj with him. “My boy is coming home with me,” he repeated. Matěj could feel Marta behind him. He kept his eyes on the exit sign, ignoring the throngs of people they passed, praying no one recognized Simon.

  In the car, Simon was blissfully quiet. The only thing he said was “beautiful” twice while looking out on passing city lights. He seemed to be smiling.

  They dropped Marta at Lukas’s—she implored emphatically whether Matěj was okay, but he waved her off. He drove to Simon’s, his heart in his throat. He had maybe one more hour until the effect of the Tramadol abated.

  “Simon, w
e’re here.”

  “We’re home?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s nobody there.”

  Matěj looked up at the five-story house, the lights on in most windows. It was eleven on Christmas Eve. Everybody was at home with their families and friends.

  “You’re coming with me?” Simon asked, sounding anxious.

  “Yes. I’m coming with you.”

  He barely managed to push Simon into the elevator. The man was close to passing out.

  “I think I need to go to bed,” he mumbled by the door when Matěj extricated the keys from Simon’s jacket pocket and opened the door.

  “I think so, too.”

  Simon leaned on the wall in the hall and watched as Matěj tugged his boots off without a word.

  “You’re staying?” he asked again.

  “Yes,” Matěj said. There was nothing else.

  ***

  Simon fell asleep before Matěj finished tugging his jeans down. Matěj went to the bathroom, took the fastest shower known to man, and used a clean towel from a cupboard—he still knew where things were in this apartment. He put his boxers back on, and the T-shirt he’d had under his button-down. He tried not to dwell on the last time he was here, more than three years ago.

  He sat on the couch in the living room. The carpet and glass table were gone; there was just a lamp and empty floor. Wrapped in a fleece blanket, Matěj sat down in the dark, not daring to close his eyes. The events of the night began sinking in, and hope swelled. Amid the chaos, and the let-the-floor-please-swallow-us cringe, there was a future—a shy, anxious one, but young and vital. Simon still cared. Matěj could fight. He would fight.

  8: Love

  —Dejvice, Prague, Christmas Day 2016—

  It was six in the morning, and the living room was dark. Matěj’s eyes were used to the night, though. He lay on his back, his legs too long for the couch, but he wouldn’t bother pulling it out now. He’d fallen asleep a couple of times, he believed. For most of the night he drifted on the edge of consciousness, his thoughts clear for a minute, then blurring again, plans mingling with memories, and fantasies with nightmares. He was exhausted. Yet he would never fall asleep with Simon next door.

  You are beautiful.

  What did it really mean? That he was attractive? Fuck that. Hookups came and went; what did he care. To Matěj, Simon was beautiful in a different way. The beauty of the man Matěj had never stopped loving made the air worth breathing, and any pain worth surviving. Simon’s beauty lay in his brilliant mind, and shone through his eyes. Even when he was hurt and angry or closed off like a damned fortress, Simon was glorious.

  The loud creak of the door made Matěj sit up. His head swam as if he was the one with the hangover. But he had nothing on Simon who stepped into the living room, his white T-shirt glowing in the darkness, as he swayed and braced himself against the door frame.

  He looked around, confused.

  “Hi,” Matěj said, terrified.

  Simon watched him for a long minute, silent.

  “What are you doing here?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse.

  Matěj took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm his throbbing heart. “I gave you a lift from the hospital. You asked me to stay. You were under the influence, so I thought… I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

  Simon looked down at his bandaged hand and grimaced. “Influence?”

  “The Tramadol?” Matěj prodded gently.

  The man lifted his injured hand to his eyes and turned it left and right, trying carefully to spread his fingers. He winced in pain. Then he looked out of the window, breathing heavily. He stepped closer.

  Matěj felt his hands grow damp with sweat. Nobody had this kind of power over him. The knowledge was distressing. Matěj had feared meeting Simon again. He’d expected he’d be at a disadvantage to say the least. What he hadn’t expected was that he’d want Simon even more now, that he’d do anything, offer anything, just to get that chance once more.

  “Tramadol, huh?” Simon said.

  Matěj nodded, looking up at him as he walked closer and sunk on the couch next to him. Nothing of Simon’s cold control from yesterday was left. He looked tired. Defeated.

  Matěj could feel the warmth emanate from Simon’s body. Eyes itching, Matěj swallowed, and subtly massaged his eyebrows. It didn’t help. Simon was suddenly so close.

  “I babbled, didn’t I?”

  There had to be a better way to describe those unguarded, tender words Simon had uttered. Matěj wanted those words to mean something so badly.

  “Yes.”

  “What did I say?” Simon asked calmly.

  “You were confused. You kept asking if we were going back to Lukas’s.”

  “But that’s not all,” he suggested looking into Matěj’s eyes with calm curiosity. His gaze was perfectly clear despite the hangover.

  “No.”

  “I think I remember but I’m not sure. What else?” There was resignation and…gentleness? Simon sounded kind. For the first time since Matěj chad come back to Prague, Simon talked to him with kindness, as if finally acknowledging their past.

  Please, let me talk to you. Please, let me in. Matěj blinked. “Not much.”

  “What did I say?” he repeated the question, this time, a small smile appeared.

  The whole of Matěj’s body veered toward Simon on instinct. He barely stopped himself from leaning in closer. “That I wasn’t allowed to leave again,” he whispered.

  “And?”

  “You called me beautiful.”

  Simon rubbed the back of his buzzed skull with his right palm. His bandaged hand rested on his thigh.

  “I remember bits and pieces,” Simon told him, resting back against the sofa, looking up at the white ceiling.

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  Simon chuckled. Oh, God, his laughter. Matěj was a mess. This was a disaster. He felt defenseless, incompetent…

  “I’m pretty sure it must have been Rocky Horror level of cringe. I apologize.”

  “Don’t!” Matěj blurted, and Simon lifted his eyebrows. “Don’t apologize to me. Ever.” Jesus, it was as if their whole relationship fell down the stairs. Wherever they touched, it hurt like fuck.

  “Matěj,” Simon said gently. “I apologize.”

  And Matěj knew Simon didn’t mean the Tramadol incident. Matěj shook his head vehemently, trying to stop the stinging in his eyes. He rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. He could make it a few more minutes without breaking down. Maybe.

  “I remember you crying,” Simon said.

  Matěj half laughed, desperate now. “I’m… Jesus! Simon, please…” What was he allowed to beg for?

  “Thank you for staying,” Simon added.

  Matěj covered his eyes with his right hand. Most days, his head was a cargo container stuffed with ingenious ideas, and now…nothing. The Czech language had three hundred thousand words. Facing the love of his life, finally having the opportunity to talk to him again, Matěj could barely remember twenty, half of which were expletives. “How…” He cleared his throat. “How have you been?” Oh, fuck, his brain. This was pathetic. Once upon a time, Simon used to be speechless around Matěj. Now… Karma was a bitch.

  There was a beat of silence. And then the oddest thing happened. Simon started laughing—a full-on, loud and deep laughter that had the sofa cushion under Matěj’s ass vibrating—a happy melody, although there was an undertone of lunacy in it.

  Matěj sat, his tears drying amidst the bewilderment. He was waiting for the punch line, but it never came.

  Simon leaned back, still chuckling, and rubbed his eyes with both hands, his bandaged thumb sticking out awkwardly, his shoulders shaking with merriment.

  “That’s possibly the most ridiculous question you could have asked me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You should be. I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know. I deserve it.”

  Simon
shook his head, and Matěj waited.

  “You packed a bag,” Simon said out of nowhere.

  Matěj was confused. Which bag? When? “What?”

  “Before you left, you took all the important documents—the diploma, your favorite clothes, even a fucking charger. When did you manage to pack a bag?”

  Oh, that bag. Matěj’s stomach turned. He’d thrown the bag out in Munich. There had been those miniscule blood stains on it…

  “Jesus, Simon, you thought I…”

  Simon’s left eyebrow rose in a perfect arch. “I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I packed directly after you left,” Matěj hurried to explain. Memories whirled, and he talked fast as if there were a timer ticking somewhere, and if he didn’t get it all out, the timer would beep, and he’d never have the chance again. “Marta went to the shop, and when he came home, I sent you to Dolce Vita to wait for us. Well, you remember. After you left, he kept shouting at me about faggot cock-suckers… So, I stuffed my things into the backpack and went to find Marta. I thought… I hoped you’d let us stay at your place.”

  Simon turned his head, and his green gaze bore into Matěj’s eyes. “You had the bag with you all the time.”

  Matěj nodded. “Yes. I wanted to come to you.” It was true. He’d needed Simon. It had been selfish, immature. But he’d needed so badly. “I knew I promised to let you be, and I did say I wasn’t ready. It was unfair to you. I was a horrible mess, and all those things were happening at the same time…I brought it all to your doorstep. You didn’t ask for any of my drama.”

  Then it had only become worse. So much worse. Those first six months after graduation, Matěj had lived as if tied to a chair watching a horror B-movie on a loop—witnessing someone’s dismal fictional life in an indefinite downward spiral. Except it had been him, and it had been very real. It took him three years to wake up from that nightmare.

  “When I was with you, those were the only moments I could breathe.” The darkness felt forgiving. Matěj could say anything and everything. So, he did. “I loved you. And I know now it was stupid, but I was convinced I’d lose you completely if I didn’t get my shit together first.”

  Simon was quiet, watching the ceiling, breathing. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” he said.