by Andrew Grey
Jonathon didn’t give it a second thought. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He heard her thank him and then disconnect. Jonathon jumped up, throwing the book on the table as he rushed upstairs. Stripping off his sweats, he pulled on some clothes, grabbed his things, remembering the subway map he’d purchased a few days earlier, and hurried out the door to the nearest subway station.
It took him a while and at least one missed train—which left him cursing under his breath and hoping he wasn’t too late—before he found himself walking into the hospital emergency exit, retracing his steps through the hospital until he made it to the floor he remembered and saw Greta, who hurried to him. “You are just in time,” she said softly and led him back to the room he remembered.
A doctor stood near the bed, and Jonathon waited while Greta stepped to him and they talked in low tones before the doctor motioned him over. “I understand you were the one who tried to help him.”
“Yes. Do you know his name?” The doctor consulted the chart, shaking his head, and Jonathon looked to Greta. “No one should die without a name either,” he said, and she nodded. “So we’ll call you Johan,” Jonathon added as he looked at the boyish face, now even paler than before, and saw the small chest barely rise and fall. Moving closer, he lifted the hand that didn’t have IVs attached and entwined their fingers.
Jonathon heard movement in the room but didn’t look up from the boy’s face as he heard the monitor that called out his heartbeat slow and quiet. Unlike the movies, in this case there was no long tone, only quiet as the chest stopped moving and a young man’s life ended. Jonathon held the hand awhile longer, tears running down his cheeks for Johan and Greg both.
Slowly, he set the hand down onto the bed, releasing the fingers before sliding his hand away. Stepping away from the bed, he looked up at the doctor and Greta before walking toward the door and out into the hall. Searching his pockets, he found a tissue and wiped his eyes, thinking. He’d held onto so much pain and grief for so long. It was definitely time to let go.
Greta stepped from the room, and Jonathon thanked her before heading toward the elevator and out of the hospital, back into the sunshine. Instead of walking to the subway, he found himself strolling along the Ringstrasse, walking aimlessly. Finding himself outside a café, he stepped inside to find computers instead of coffee. Sitting down, he paid for a few minutes and, without thinking, punched in the name of his school. Getting the phone number, he jotted it down and left the building, fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing before he lost his nerve.
“Good morning, St. Lawrence School for Boys.”
“Yes, good morning.” He tried to think how to proceed. “I was wondering if Father Joda is still there?” Not very likely, he chastised himself softly. It had been almost thirty years.
“He’s no longer the principal, but he’s here most days. I can check to see if he’s in the building. If I find him, can I tell him what this is regarding?” she inquired very professionally.
“I’m a former student, and I wanted to speak with him. I’m calling from Vienna, Austria.”
“I’ll see if I can find him. Just a minute.” He heard her set the phone down, and he pictured the office in his mind. It probably looked almost the same, with its dark wood and the statue of St. Lawrence holding the cross standing next to the statue of Mary with her white veil. Heck, the phone was probably the same dial phone in avocado green.
After a few minutes, he heard shuffling, and then someone picked up the phone. “Hello,” a male voice said, very loudly, and he heard a voice in the background. “Father Joda, put in your hearing aid.” More fumbling followed, and then he heard another “Hello,” this time at a more normal volume.
“Father Joda?” Jonathon asked, almost chickening out and hanging up. “This is Jonathon Pfister, I was one of your students many years ago.”
Silence greeted him, and for a second he wondered if the line was dead. “Jonathon, is that you?”
“Yes, Father Joda—you do remember.”
“Of course I remember you. How could I forget?” Jonathon heard shifting on the other end of the line. “I have to sit,” he explained. The line went quiet, and then he heard Father Joda’s voice again. “I could never forget you, Jonathon. You were my one disappointment.”
“Oh.” Jonathon felt his defenses rise, and he wondered why he’d even called at all and what he was expecting. “Well, you—”
“Johnny.” Father Joda used the nickname he’d gone by in school. “I was the disappointment, not you.” He heard the old man’s voice crack, regret plain. “I should have believed you and had faith in you. I let your past dictate my beliefs, and I have always regretted it. I know now that not only you but other boys were abused, and I had the chance to stop it, but I didn’t.”
Jonathon began pacing the sidewalk, walking back and forth in front of the café, having no idea what to say. Then he stopped and looked across the way at the neo-Gothic church with its huge stone spires pointing to the sky. “I forgive you.” He almost immediately felt a lightness creep into his spirit. “And I thank you for helping me. I know you didn’t believe me then, but you still helped me, and for that I’m grateful.”
“Thank you. You’ve been in my thoughts many times. Sheila told me you’re in Vienna, do you live there?”
“No, I’m visiting for a while, but I live on Long Island and teach third grade. I became a teacher because I didn’t want what happened to me to happen to anyone else.” Jonathon heard a beeping through his phone and realized his battery was running low. “Father Joda, I have to go, my battery is about to run out.”
“Will you come see me when you get back?” He heard excitement in the man’s voice. “I’d really like to see you.”
“I’ll do that.” Jonathon said good-bye and closed the phone, smiling for the first time in days. Walking back toward the subway station, he stopped near the stairs, surprised at feeling lighter than he could remember since Greg’s passing. Changing his mind, he began walking along the ring road toward the apartment, letting the sunshine warm him both inside and out.
It took a while, but a few hours later, he’d walked past the Austrian Parliament and the museums, as well as the Hofburg Palace, before reaching the opera house. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the fun time he’d had at the opera with Fabian. Jonathon looked at the ornate building for a few minutes before turning away and forcing Fabian out of his mind. There were plenty of men in a city as large as Vienna, and he was going out to try to meet some of them.
Walking the last few blocks to the apartment, he turned the corner and stopped at the passageway. Lifting his head, he said a last good-bye to Johan, silently wishing him peace. Then he turned and made his way home.
OPENING the courtyard gate, Jonathon was surprised to find it empty. He walked across the space, remarking to himself on how nice it would be if it didn’t have to hold the cars. Approaching his door, he took out his key and inserted it into the lock, only to find the door unlocked, which was not how he’d left it. Pushing open the door, he walked inside and saw Fabian sitting at the small table in his kitchen with what looked like the now nearly empty brandy bottle in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” Jonathon asked snappily, not in the mood for whatever lame excuses Fabian had on the tip of his tongue. He’d been played for the fool once; it wasn’t going to happen again.
Fabian lifted his head, eyes clouded by what Jonathon figured was quite a bit of alcohol. “I came to say that I am sorry and to explain, but you were not here, and….” He hiccupped and made a sour face before swallowing.
“You decided that drinking would make you feel better,” Jonathon finished and walked to the table, picking up the bottle before closing it and putting it away. “I’ve heard your apology, and I’m not really interested in your explanation or excuses. So I suggest you stand up, if you can, and go home.” Jonathon pointed toward the door, and Fabian stood up as best he could before weaving his
way toward Jonathon. Stumbling, Fabian reached out, and Jonathon caught him in his arms, steadying him as best he could while guiding Fabian toward the door.
Fabian kissed him. A sloppy, brandy-soaked kiss, before hugging him tight, resting his head on Jonathon’s shoulders. “I am sorry, Johnny,” he slurred. “Oma, she….”
Jonathon felt Fabian’s weight against him and knew he wasn’t going very far before he passed out. “Can you walk up the stairs if I help you?”
“We go to your bedroom?” Fabian asked, and he started toward the stairs, with Jonathon helping him. Somehow, they managed to make it to the living room level, and Jonathon got Fabian to the bathroom, where he collapsed onto the floor. Just what he needed—a sloppy drunk. After Fabian threw up a few times, Jonathon helped him up and onto the sofa, where Fabian flopped onto the cushions and was soon snoring. He knew he should let someone know where Fabian was, but Hans should be in school, and with both cars gone, he figured neither Hanna nor Oma were home, so he decided to let Fabian sleep it off. Covering him with a blanket, Jonathon picked up his book and opened the balcony doors before settling down to read.
The quiet afternoon left Jonathon with plenty of time to think, and a number of times he found himself staring at Fabian, watching him sleep. He kept telling himself it was only because he was concerned about him, but after a while, he wasn’t buying it anymore. There was something about Fabian that fascinated him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. From what he’d said, or more accurately, slurred, Oma had done something, and Fabian had stayed away because of it.
Turning away from the sleeping man, he thought about everything that had happened, and he couldn’t figure out how one day could possibly have turned everything in his life on its head, but today had been one of those days. Looking back, similar days in his life came to mind: his parents’ death, a day that resulted in him living on the street. The day he met Father Joda and thought he might have found a place in the world where he could belong, only to have that place yanked away when his trust had been betrayed by the man he’d thought of as his savior. The biggest and best day of his life, when he’d met Greg at a school parents’ night that had kicked off the happiest seventeen years of his life. The day Greg died, when he thought his life was over. And today, when the death of a young man—whose life, so very much like his own could have been—had ushered in forgiveness and, dare he think, healing.
Fabian rolling in his sleep pulled Jonathon’s attention away from his ruminations to the man slumbering on his sofa. He watched as the blanket fell to the floor, Fabian’s arms flopping above his head and pulling his shirt up just enough to expose a few inches of dark, rich skin around his middle. The man was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but Jonathon knew almost nothing about him. They’d had a few dates and danced together. Sure, they’d talked some, but maybe they needed to really talk before….
“Before nothing,” he said to himself as he got up from his chair, reminding himself that the man had dumped him as soon as he’d gotten what he wanted. But damn, it was hard staying mad at a man who looked so adorable when he slept. Jonathon forced himself to turn away before walking down the stairs to make himself dinner.
“WHAT happened to me?” Jonathon heard Fabian’s voice from behind him. Turning around, he saw the younger man holding his head, lowering himself into a chair. “My head feels like it is a balloon.”
Jonathon took pity on him, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of apple juice and pouring a glass. “The sugar and sweetness will help,” Jonathon said as he thunked the glass on the table, hearing Fabian’s soft groan. “Don’t expect any sympathy from me when it comes to a hangover,” Jonathon added a little loudly, and Fabian took a sip of the juice, setting the glass gingerly on the table.
“I guess not,” Fabian answered, looking at him with big puppy-dog eyes.
“Do you want to tell me why you were drinking in my kitchen?” Jonathon turned back to his cooking, adding egg to the potatoes in the pan, along with salt and pepper.
“I was looking for you,” Fabian answered, and Jonathon smiled a little when he saw Fabian wince at the sound of his own voice. “I wanted to try to explain why I am behaving like such a donkey.”
“You mean like an ass,” Jonathon corrected. “Because you were—behaving like an ass, that is.” He turned back to his pan, lowering the heat so the eggs could cook without burning. “Not that I should even listen to you after what you did.” Jonathon thought he should just send Fabian on his way now that he was awake and obviously able to walk on his own. Turning off the heat, Jonathon got a plate down from the cupboard and placed the fritatta on it before setting his meal on the table. He saw Fabian look at the food and turn a slight shade of green. “It’s not for you, so just sip your juice.” Jonathon took his seat. “If you want to explain, then you have until I finish my dinner, because after that I’m going out for the evening.” Jonathon took his first bite.
“Oma came looking for me,” Fabian started, his speech slow and measured. “I heard her in the courtyard after we made love. You were asleep, and I did not want to wake you, so I got up and dressed before she could knock on the door.”
“So? She’s your grandmother. She’s not your wife or something.”
“Oma’s old-fashioned, and she said if she caught me again, she would throw me out of the house. So I dressed and left, figuring I’d come back after she was gone. But that woman sees everything, and she dragged me back to the house.”
“Fabian.” Jonathon raised his hand to stop him. “You’re thirty years old. I’ve met a few mama’s boys in my time, but you’re the first grandma’s boy I’ve ever met. If you aren’t man enough to stand up to her and tell her how you feel and what you want, I don’t need you in my life.”
Fabian took another sip of the apple juice before pushing the glass away. “I did tell her, this morning.” Fabian lowered his head to the table, and Jonathon had to stop himself from reaching out to stroke it. “She left afterwards, saying she was going to church to pray for my soul.”
Jonathon shook his head slowly before taking another bite. “Fabian, your grandmother can’t guilt you into changing who you are. You’re a gay man.”
Fabian lifted his head, holding it in his hands. “She also said that if I didn’t behave properly, I could find another place to live, so I was wondering if I could live here with you.” Fabian’s eyes had the expectant look of a dog that was about to receive big, juicy bone.
“No,” Jonathon answered softly, and he saw Fabian’s hope deflate. “You can’t run from this.”
“I’m not running. She’s kicking me out.”
“Yes, you are. Your mother supports you, and your brother idolizes you. Think about it—if you move in here, you’re just transferring the problem to a different location.” Jonathon reached out, talking Fabian’s hand. “When she first caught you and kicked you out, you ran and stayed away for eighteen months. In that time, did she change her attitude? Did you help her understand how you feel? No. All that happened was that you were away from the brother and mother who love you. And when you came back, the same problem returned, because running doesn’t settle anything.” A car door closing outside made both their heads turn, and Fabian stood up, steadying himself on the table.
“You’re right,” Fabian said as he took his first step toward the door.
“Fabian,” Jonathon called softly. “Why did you come to find me in the first place?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Fabian took a few unsteady steps toward the door. “I came because I missed you, and because”—he sighed loudly—“I think I love you.”
Jonathon felt the air whoosh from his lungs. That had been the last thing he’d expected to hear, and he felt his mouth hang open in complete surprise. Standing up, Jonathon walked to Fabian, putting his arms around him. He didn’t know what it was he felt for Fabian at that moment, but that admission was a big step for anyone.
“And maybe it’s time I s
tood up for who I love. I didn’t before, but this time I will.” Standing taller and definitely more steadily on his feet, Fabian slipped out of his arms and walked toward the door, closing it behind him, and Jonathon watched through the window as Fabian walked around his grandmother’s car toward the house.
Almost as soon as Fabian had left, Jonathon began pacing around the kitchen. He’d done a lot of talking and had given Fabian a lot of cheap advice, and he started to wonder if he’d done the right thing. “Shit,” Jonathon murmured as he ran his fingers through his hair. What if he’d messed up Fabian’s relationship with his family? It wasn’t as though Jonathon actually had a family like Fabian’s. What the hell did he know about things like that in the first place? What if Fabian did what Jonathon said he should and it messed everything up for him? Jonathon slumped into one of the chairs, wondering why he hadn’t just kept his big mouth shut.
Fabian had come into the apartment to tell him, Jonathon Pfister, that he loved him. Jonathon swallowed hard. Fabian loved him. That warm, tingly feeling he thought he’d never feel again started at the base of his spine and spread upward, growing into a wealth of fire and shivers of delight as it reached his neck, before blooming into a glow he’d only felt one other time in his life. Was it too early? Probably, but that hadn’t stopped him with Greg, and look what had happened. He’d had seventeen marvelous years with Greg. That didn’t mean he’d have the same thing with Fabian, but those simple words from Fabian helped Jonathon feel alive, really alive, for the first time in a long time. God, all Jonathon could think was: what if Fabian suddenly realized that Jonathon wasn’t worth it?
Jonathon jumped as he heard a knock on his door and looked up from where he’d been staring during his worried ruminations. Hans peered in the window, looking worried as only a teenager could. Jonathon motioned for Hans to come in, and the door opened. “What’s going on?” He tried to keep his concerns out of his voice.
