by Land, Alexa
Okay, maybe that was an excuse. If I’d wanted college badly enough, I probably could have taken out loans and made it happen. But I began working two jobs right out of high school, struggling to keep a roof over my head after my uncle kicked me out the day I turned eighteen and the checks from social services ended. My dreams of college just faded into the background.
I didn’t think about it much. I just survived day by day, worked hard, got by. Right now though, in this environment, I found myself missing something I’d never even had.
*****
Apparently I fell asleep on that bench in the little courtyard. I awoke sometime later with a start, sitting upright quickly. I wasn’t alone, and I blinked at my companion in confusion.
“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Christian said with a grin. “I was beginning to wonder if you were down for the count.”
He was on the bench beside me, and it seemed I’d been using his thigh as a pillow. “What time is it?” I murmured, pushing my hair out of my eyes.
“Close to one a.m.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Well, I decided to get drunk in my favorite spot on campus,” he said, rattling the empty flask in his left hand, “and found you’d beat me to it. Since you were out cold, I then decided to hang out here and act as your own personal bodyguard until you woke up.”
“Oh. Why?” It was taking me a little while to get my bearings, and apparently all I could manage right then was a series of stupid questions.
Christian shrugged and said, “I didn’t want anyone to mess with you while you were sleeping. Besides, it was something to do.”
I absorbed that for a moment, then asked, “Who were you trying to avoid at the art show?”
“My parents.”
“Why?”
“Because the only reason they ever come to things like that is so they can judge me and look down on everyone and everything. I was in no mood.”
“Ah.” I stood up a bit unsteadily and stretched. Christian got up too, pocketing the empty flask. “What happened to you?” I asked when I got a good look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You look so normal.” He was dressed simply in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt, faded Levis, and sneakers, no eyeliner, silver jewelry or leather in sight.
He grinned at that. “Meaning I usually look abnormal?”
“Meaning you usually look like a rock star.”
The grin turned into a smile. “Even rock stars dress down on occasion. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” He started to leave the courtyard and I fell into step beside him.
“Thanks, both for offering me a ride and for standing guard while I slept. You should have woken me up, though.”
“Nah, you were exhausted.”
“But it must have been boring for you.”
“I’m good at entertaining myself,” Christian said. “Up until twenty minutes ago when my phone’s battery died, I was sexting with this hot guy that lives over on Potrero Hill. I had my flask to keep me company, too.”
The campus was really still, a fine mist making halos around the streetlamps. We walked in silence for a little while, until Christian ventured, “So, are you and Skye dating?”
“Oh. Um, no. He asked me out this afternoon, but I turned him down.”
“How come?”
“I’m trying to get over this other guy, but I’m just not there yet.”
“I see. So, how did Skye take it when you turned him down?”
“Fine, I guess. It kind of seemed like he expected it.”
“I hope you let him down easy.” There was a little sting behind that, which surprised me.
“I really like Skye. I wouldn’t hurt him, Christian.”
“Not intentionally.” We’d reached a black ragtop Jeep, and he unlocked the passenger door and held it open for me.
I paused in front of him and asked, “Are you okay to drive, since you’ve been drinking?”
“I’m fine. I forgot to fill up my flask earlier, so my plans of getting drunk didn’t pan out.”
Once we were settled in and Christian had pulled out of the lot, I said, “Both you and River seemed concerned about something happening between Skye and me. What’s up with that? I mean, it’s sweet that you care about him, but he’s not a kid. Why are you guys so protective of him?”
“There are things you don’t know about Skye’s past, but it’s really not my place to talk about them. Let’s just say River and I have our reasons, and leave it at that.”
“Fair enough.”
He changed the subject by asking for my address. When I told him, he said, “Wow, that’s a really shitty part of town. In fact, it’s so bad that I have a couple public improvement projects right in your neighborhood. I can give you a mini-tour on the way home if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
I’d assumed Christian was kidding when he called his graffiti a public improvement project, but when he pulled onto a side street a few blocks from my apartment and came to a stop beside a huge mural, I realized he was absolutely right. The bold, beautiful painting was on the back of a dingy, lifeless building that looked abandoned. Words and bright colors made up the sky over a fantastic utopian cityscape. “I call it Perfect World,” Christian said. “It’s not done. I want to cover the entire back of the building, but the cops have figured out that I keep returning to it. I get very little done with each visit before they roll up on me and try to chase me down.”
“It’s amazing,” I murmured. “I never knew it was here. I don’t walk around my neighborhood much, I just hurry back and forth between the bus stop and my apartment.”
“That’s probably wise,” he said as he started driving again. “I’ll show you one more that’s nearby, but we have to be quick. Stopping by to admire my handiwork could call attention to us, especially at this time of night.”
On another side street behind a run-down building, he had painted an eight-foot-tall young man trying to break through the wall, his head and hands emerging, bricks crumbling around him, his expression determined. “This building generates more 911 calls than anyplace else in the city. There’s so much shit that goes on in there – drugs, prostitution, domestic violence, you name it. The sad thing is, a lot of families live here, too. It’s kind of overly literal, but I painted this to show the kids growing up here that there’s a future beyond these walls, that they can break away and escape this environment. Maybe I should work on my subtlety.”
As he started driving again, I grinned at his profile. “I think it’s awesome. And subtlety is overrated.”
“Not all my work is this optimistic,” he said as he pulled onto a main street and started doubling back toward my apartment. “But I kind of figured around here the residents need messages of hope, or at the very least, a little beauty. I reserve my bleaker statements for the rich neighborhoods.”
When he pulled up in front of my building, I leaned over and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Christian, for everything.”
“My pleasure. Take it easy, Trevor.”
I gave him a little wave after I got out of the car, then hurried up the stairs of my apartment building as he drove off, coming to an abrupt halt on the top step. There was a homeless man sleeping on the dark landing, which wasn’t unusual, but this one was leaning right against the front door. Usually they bedded down in the little alcove off to the right.
I chewed my bottom lip as I tried to decide what to do. If I opened the door, he’d tumble into the lobby and possibly wake up angry. I’d already had a couple scary encounters with street people in this neighborhood and was in no mood for another one tonight. At the same time though, I was tired and wanted to go to bed, so I had to deal with this.
“Excuse me,” I said, bracing for conflict. “I need to get in.”
The man stirred. I could smell alcohol on him. He raised his head, which had been tucked into his folded arms. “Trevor,” a raspy voice said.
“Oh my God, Vince
nt!”
His face was bruised and bloody, his lip split. I dropped to my knees beside him and took his face in my hands. “Needed to see you,” he whispered.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and said, “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
But he closed his hands around mine and said, “No. I don’t need a hospital.” The sleeves of his shirt slid down, revealing bruises and lacerations around both of his wrists.
“Are you sure?” He nodded, and I asked, “What do you need then?”
“You. Just for a few minutes. Please.”
That broke my heart. “Do you think you can stand?” I asked, and when he nodded I helped him up. He swayed precariously, reaching out to brace himself against the building while I quickly found my keys and got the door unlocked.
Vincent was so unsteady on his feet that I realized we’d never make it up the stairs to my apartment. Instead, I put my arm around his waist and led him to a little cluster of furniture in the lobby. The couch was beyond old and disgusting, but this was no time to worry about weird smells or stains of unknown origin.
I sat down on the sofa with my back against the armrest and Vincent settled in my arms, his head on my chest. The tension drained from his body as he exhaled and let his eyes slide shut. As I stroked his hair, he whispered, “I know I shouldn’t have come here like this. I think…I think I’m really drunk. I seem to remember a lot of bourbon….”
“Who did this to you, Vincent? Who hurt you? Was it those thugs that were chasing us?”
“I can’t talk about it,” he murmured. I sighed quietly and shifted a bit, arranging both of us more comfortably. He was quiet for so long that I thought he’d fallen asleep. But then he whispered, “I totally get it, you know. I get why you don’t want me. I’m such a fucking mess. My entire life is a disaster.”
“But I do want you, Vincent,” I admitted quietly.
“You don’t really, and I should be glad. It was selfish of me to try to bring you into my fucked up world.”
We both fell silent after that. Eventually he drifted off, his breathing becoming deep and regular. I watched him as he slept, wishing I could soothe away the bruises and swelling that marred his beautiful face.
Be his salvation, Trevor. Skye had said that several days ago, before he decided he wanted to go out with me. Maybe there was some way to do that, to help Vincent untangle himself from whatever he was mixed up in and make a fresh start. No one could possibly want a life like this.
That train of thought reminded me of something. Melody had told me once that I was obsessed with saving everyone I met. We’d been fighting at the time, and she’d said it to be hurtful. I’d told her that was a really poor attempt at insulting me, but I’d actually kept it in the back of my mind ever since.
She’d claimed I went out of my way to try to save people (and her in particular), just because that was easier than trying to address my own issues. Did I? Sure, I had scars (inside and out) that I’d never really dealt with…but I didn’t know how to fix me. Helping other people was a lot more straightforward. So maybe I was repeating my pattern right now with Vincent…but I really did think I could help.
I had to try anyway, because I knew I couldn’t keep forcing myself to stay away from him. I didn’t want to. My attraction to Vincent was overwhelming and I wasn’t going to fight it anymore.
Yeah, I’d probably be putting myself in jeopardy with this decision. The proof of his violent life was etched all over his face, after all. But when I really admitted to myself just how much I wanted him, the risks paled in comparison to the reward.
I routinely let so many of my dreams go, made excuses for why I couldn’t have the things I desired and got used to living without. But I didn’t want to do that with Vincent. For once, I wanted to give myself permission to go after what I wanted, whatever the consequences.
As soon as I made up my mind, a sense of wellbeing settled over me and I relaxed. Maybe it was kind of like fighting against a rip current, then finally realizing you should just go with it, that that was the way to survive. The moment I stopped battling my attraction to Vincent and decided to just let it carry me was the moment I finally felt okay.
*****
I woke abruptly, sitting up with a gasp when one of my neighbors came stomping down the stairs, shooting me a questioning look on his way to the front door. For a moment I was disoriented, trying to figure out what I was doing in the lobby, but then the fog lifted. I swung my legs off the couch and stood up, noticing a business card on the coffee table. It was one of Vincent’s. On the back he’d written, his handwriting tight and controlled: I’m sorry for last night. I shouldn’t have come here when I was drunk. It won’t happen again. V.
I was going to Nana’s house this morning to practice a couple recipes for the wedding (hopefully without the presence of a camera crew this time). He’d probably be there, and I planned to ask him out when we were face to face. Hopefully I hadn’t already blown my chances with him. I went upstairs to shower and change, nervous excitement brewing in me.
Chapter Nine
“What do you mean he left?”
Nana shrugged her skinny shoulders and said, “Vinnie called me this morning and said he needed some time to himself, so he was going to get out of the city for a few days.”
I sank disappointedly onto the barstool beside her kitchen island and mumbled, “Oh.”
“He’ll be back, Trevor,” she said, tying an apron around her waist.
“I know. I just...I thought he’d be here.” I didn’t mention my plans to finally ask him out.
“Trevor still has a crush on your grandson,” River told Nana. “He’s been tryin’ to fight it. He even went so far as gluing himself to my brother for most of the past week to distract himself, but I can tell by that booboo face that he’s smitten as ever.” I shot him an oh-my-God-shut-up look, but he just grinned at me. “What? You know Nana is fully supportive of us gay homosexuals, she’s not gonna judge you for havin’ the hots for Vincent.”
“Is it true, Trevor?” she asked. “Do you have the hots for my grandson?”
“I…I mean, I—”
“That’s a yes,” River interjected. “Any idea where ol’ Vinnie went or when he’ll be back?”
“Hard to say.” She scooped a pair of huge glasses off the counter and stuck them on her face, which instantly made her look like an owl. “The longest he was ever gone was two months, but he always comes back sooner or later.”
“He’s kind of the brooding sort, wouldn’t you say, Nana? Maybe that’s what he’s doing, brooding somewhere.” River winked at me as he stepped up to a cutting board and began deftly chopping vegetables into perfect little cubes.
Nana considered that for a moment, then said, “He was quiet and serious right from the beginning, even before his parents and sister were murdered. But then that event changed him. It made him withdraw from just about everything and everyone, and it made the light go out in his eyes. I think their deaths were a big part of why he got so heavily into drugs when he was a teenager. He just never could figure out how to move past it and that helped dull the pain.”
River’s knife had stopped in mid-air, his expression stricken. “I’m so sorry Nana, I had no idea.”
She patted his hand and said, “I know, sweetie. It’s good to talk about this. If Trevor really is considering getting involved with my grandson, he should hear these things, so he knows what he’s dealing with. Heaven knows he’ll never hear it from Vincent!”
“They were murdered?” I repeated, a knot in my stomach.
Nana nodded. “My son Paulie, his wife Ellie, and their baby daughter Sophie were shot in their beds while they were sleeping, God rest their souls. It was done by members of the Natori family, who had a feud with us Dombrusos going back generations. They’d planned to kill the boys too, but my oldest grandson Dante heard them and went to his brothers’ room to protect them. He held the men off with a shotgun while Mikey, Johnnie and Vincent escap
ed out a window. What a terrible night.” She made the sign of the cross, her brown eyes going misty.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
She pulled herself back to the present and took off her glasses, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. “You know, it was strange how each of the four brothers dealt with that loss in their own way. Dante, who was seven when it happened, he grew stronger and got focused on revenge. He was finally able to track down the bastard that killed his parents and sister, just last year as a matter of fact, and since then, he’s managed to get some of that, you know, closure.”
Nana continued, “Mikey, the baby, he was only three, I don’t think he even remembers his parents or sister. He got married right out of high school and started a family of his own. I always felt like maybe that was to replace the one he lost. He’s a widower now, poor thing, with lovely little boys of his own. And his brother Johnnie was four at the time. Ach, that boy.” She shook her head. “He’s a wild child, acts like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s always on the go, like if he stopped moving for even a moment, he might actually feel something. I guess that’s his way of coping.”
She climbed up on a barstool and leaned forward, her thin arms resting on the granite countertop. “That brings us to Vincent, who was five years old. He got his younger brothers out the window while Dante held off the men that had come to kill them, and ran with them to the neighbor’s house. He asked the neighbor to call 911, and as far as I know, that was the very last thing Vincent said that night. He stopped talking entirely for the next two years. I was so worried, I thought some kind of permanent damage had been done. But then, one day when he was seven, he started talking again, just like that, with no warning. It was the damnedest thing.”
“What did he say when he started talking again?” River asked.
“He said, ‘Please pass the corn.’ Nothing for two solid years, and then that, around the table one Sunday during dinner! After that, he started talking again like there had never been a gap. I don’t know what was going on with him those two quiet years, he won’t discuss it. Actually, he won’t discuss anything. That’s how he is. He just takes everything in and lets nothing out.”
