Rufus + Syd

by Julia Watts

  “Now you’ve done it. But I feel more like the Tin Man, cold and rusty, but also like I finally have a heart, and now it’s breaking.”

  “Okay, I guess it was inevitable that we’d both end up bawling, right? So now we sound like the Cowardly Lion.”

  “Remember when that jock at school saw us holding hands and said something about ‘freaks in love’? Well, I guess that’s us, huh?”

  “It is. It’s probably the smartest thing that guy will ever say.”

  “I can always count on you for a laugh, Syd! And see—this is what I mean! What am I going to do without you here to make me laugh? I’ll probably just be depressed the whole time, until I make it out of here.”

  “Well, you’ll still have movie days with Josephine and Cole, so that’ll help some. It makes me sad, though, to think of all the movies you’ll watch without me. You’ll have to keep a list so I can catch up.”

  “I will.”

  “You know, I’ve gotten to the point where everything we say makes me sad. Maybe we could just be quiet for a while.” I cuddle close to Rufus.

  All the emotion must have worn us out because the next thing I know my eyes are opening from a sleep that could’ve lasted a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. I seem to have been using Rufus’s chest for a pillow, but he must not mind because he’s still asleep. I sit up and look at him the way you can only look at a sleeping person because if you stared that hard at someone awake it would be creepy.

  I reach out and lightly stroke his hair like a mother would, even though the word in my mind is not mother but sister. He wakes up.

  “Hey, sweet pea. I don’t know about you, but I feel about as soft and vulnerable as those missing magnolia blossoms right about now. I could just cry when I think about the fact that you won’t be here when they bloom next year.”

  “Me too. Say… I was thinking, while we’re apart, maybe we could write letters to each other. Not e-mails, but letter letters. What do you think?”

  “What I think is that we’d better! It’s a great idea—especially since we can’t e-mail. I’ll write you first, I promise! Just let me know your address as soon as you have one, and—voilà!”

  “Maybe you could write the first letter in care of the guy whose card Josephine gave me. I’ll write down his address for you.”

  “I will, Syd. But the reality of your leaving is just so in our faces. I can’t stand it. Maybe we should go now, what do you think?”

  “Maybe so. Josephine said something about not being good at lingering good-byes. I don’t think I am either.”

  “That makes three of us. In fact, Syd, let’s just hug when we get up and then not say good-bye when you drop me off—is that okay? I just don’t think I can do it. So when we get to my house I’m just going to get out and go, okay?”

  When Rufus and I hug, it’s not one of those wimpy lean-over-and-pat-each-other’s-back hugs. We’re pressed together, our arms encircling each other tight. I inhale Rufus’s pleasant soap-and-coffee scent, trying to absorb him into my senses because I don’t know when I’ll be near him again. We don’t let go for a long, long time.

  THE CAR ride back is slow and silent. I pull up in front of Rufus’s house. Without looking at me he gives me a little nod, opens the door, and gets out. As soon as the car door slams, I start driving. I can’t stand to stay and watch him walk away from me.

  Dear Syd,

  HOW ARE you? I know you’ve only been gone for five days. I hope I’m not writing too soon, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Time’s probably going a lot slower for me than for you.

  I assume you made it out safely and everything? How’d all that go? Have you heard anything from your mom?

  It feels so weird to be writing a letter to you, but it’s even weirder that you’re not here anymore, and I guess a letter is better than nothing.

  So—tell me everything! How’s Chicago, and the place where you’re living. Everything!

  I spent practically the whole first week you were gone just moping around and dragging myself to school, which is worse than ever, by the way. Daddy got tired of it and told me I’d better straighten up and fly right—whatever that means! And so three days ago I started a new painting. It’s about you, or actually about you not being here. I’m pretty excited because it’s totally different from my other painting. I’m calling it Gone, and the palette—that’s what they call the colors used in a painting—is real pale and washed-out; I mean like pastels so pale they’re almost white. As I think you know, I HATE pastels—because they’re so bloodless, and lifeless, but it seems right for the painting, because it’s how I feel. And it’s what I see when I think of your absence. Of course I’ll show it to you… someday. A little bit of good news is that, in an effort to cheer me up, Mama said she’ll drive me to Dothan for art supplies when I need them.

  I really don’t have a whole lot to say; I’m sure your life has been a lot more exciting than mine. I’m seeing Josephine and Cole on Saturday—a movie afternoon at her house. I don’t know what we’re going to watch yet, but I do know that it won’t be the same without you.

  I miss you like crazy. I’ve never wanted a computer as bad as I do now, so that we could Skype and I could actually see you while we’re talking.

  Write soon.

  Love,

  Rufus

  Dear Rufus,

  IT WAS so good to get your letter. I miss you so much, and it helped to read your words and even to just hold the paper that you had held in your hands. I figure that either sounds borderline psychotic or that you’re holding my letter in your hands right now and thinking “I know what you mean.”

  There’s so much to tell I hardly know where to start, so I guess I’ll start at the beginning. Jimmie-Sue Rumbley picked me up with an open can of beer in one hand and a joint in the other. I was scared we were going to get pulled over by the cops before we even got out of Vermillion. We made it to Dothan, though, and let me tell you, the bus station is sketchy. There’s a bar next door that looks like a good place to get your throat cut, and there were all these leathery, toothless women outside who I think were hookers, though I can’t imagine anybody paying to have sex with them.

  I did get a good seat on the bus, though, next to a nice old black lady who introduced herself as Miss Evelyn (I guess “Miss” is her first name). She was going to Chicago too, to see her brother in the hospital. I told her I was a student at the University of Chicago because that was the only name I could think of for a college that might be in Chicago. I felt bad about lying to her, but I didn’t feel like I had a choice. She shared her ham sandwich with me at lunchtime, and I gave her one of Josephine’s iced lemon cookies, which she loved. The bus ride was long and there’s not much to say about it except that I don’t recommend using the bathroom on a moving bus.

  Nothing could’ve prepared me for how huge Chicago is. We were in Indiana forever, with nothing to look at but long, flat cornfields, and all of a sudden we were in a city, and I got so excited I forgot myself and said, “This is it, huh?” to Miss Evelyn. She said, “No, honey, this is just Gary, Indiana,” and I could tell my story about being a student at the University of Chicago wasn’t holding much water anymore.

  Compared to Chicago, Gary looks as tiny as Vermillion. The buildings here are so high you feel like you’re breaking your neck to look at them, and there’s this elevated train called the El that zooms people through the city like something in an old science fiction movie. I was so excited to get my first view of the city, but I was also scared because I felt so small.

  I was the only white person in the Greyhound station in Chicago. I don’t mean to sound racist or anything; it’s just that it’s the first place I’ve ever been where I’m the only white person, and it’s kind of hard not to notice, you know? It was after two o’clock in the morning, and I felt weird about calling Josephine’s friend, but I also remembered she told me to call as soon as I hit town, no matter what. Since you and I are the last two teenagers in the
world without cell phones, I had to use the filthiest, most neglected pay phone you can imagine—not anything I wanted my hands or mouth to be near. Ben didn’t even sound sleepy when he answered. He just told me to ask somebody who worked at the station to help me get a cab, and he gave me his address.

  Ben and Adam’s house is a two-story Victorian that is kind of a work in progress. They got it when it was in terrible condition and are fixing it up over time. This is kind of what they do with kids too. They take care of kids who have been in terrible conditions—abuse, neglect, addiction—and work on fixing them even though Ben says damaged humans are harder to fix than damaged houses. Ben and Adam are both in their forties and know Josephine from her revival movie theater days. Ben used to be a social worker, but now he stays home with the kids. Adam’s a nurse in a hospital. I wish you could meet them. You’d like them, and I’d like you to see how happy they are. I’d also like for all these nutjobs who say gay people are antifamily to spend a day at Ben and Adam’s house. They have three kids who they started out fostering but adopted, Destiny (9), Desiree (10), and Darius (11), who has some pretty serious disabilities and is in a wheelchair. The three kids are biological siblings who got taken away from their mother because of drugs.

  And then there are the “queers in the attic” as Ben calls Zoe and me. The attic has been converted into a makeshift bedroom for her and me, with the idea that we’re just squatting for a while until we get on our feet. In case you’re thinking that I’m holed up with some sexy teenaged lesbian (and I know that’s what you’re thinking), I’ll mention that before Zoe changed her name she was Zack. She got kicked out of her parents’ house for being transgender. She’s way girlier than I am and has the wall papered with pictures of cute teen boy actors she’s cut out of magazines. We like each other, but I think she’d like me more if I was a giggly straight girl who wanted every night to be a slumber party.

  I also need to tell you that before Ben agreed to let me stay here for a while, he insisted I call Mom to let her know I was okay. I did, and it wasn’t pretty. She said she’d opened a missing persons case and I told her to close it, that I wasn’t missing, I was in Chicago and fine. She said she was going to tell the cops I’d run away and they’d come get me. I said my understanding of the law was that since I’m seventeen, they wouldn’t bother to look for me. She started crying hysterically and begging me to come back and said she’d get some help for me. She said she knew she’d made a lot of mistakes, but she’d stopped drinking and smoking for the baby, and when I came back home we’d start going to church and be a real family like we never were before. And who knows? At church I might even meet a nice boy. I just said, “I love you, Mom, but I can’t live the way you want me to,” and I hung up before she could cry or beg anymore. I know coming here was my only choice, but I can’t help feeling guilty… not because I’m a dyke, of course, but because I think Mom has totally flipped out without me there. I mean, I was all she ever had, and now she has nothing—well, nothing but a baby on the way she’s going to have to take care of by herself. But anyway, she may come around asking you questions. You can lie or tell the truth or ignore her, whatever you want to do.

  Rufus, I wish I could see your new painting. I’m sure it also reflects my feelings about being away from you. Do you think you could take a picture of it and send it with your next letter? Really, “miss” is too mild a word to express how I feel being without you. As excited as I am to be here, I feel like I left a part of me behind when I left you. Hug Josephine and Cole for me, but give yourself the biggest hug of all.

  Love,

  Syd

  P.S. Ben made me an appointment with a social worker who’s going to help me get enrolled in school. The neighborhood high school is so big I’m afraid I won’t even be able to find my way to my classes. But it’s got to be better than Vermillion High, right?

  Dear Syd,

  I’M WRITING this letter from Mr. D’s, who said to say hi. Even Brandy says hi. She says she thinks it’s great what you’ve done, getting out of Vermillion. That stain you see further down the page is a genuine Mr. D’s coffee cup stain, just for you. For a while I couldn’t stand the thought of coming back to Mr. D’s without you, but by writing to you while I’m here, in some ways it’s as if you are here.

  I feel really boring compared to you. Can I tell you that one of my biggest fears, I mean, besides getting the shit kicked out of me, is that we’re going to grow apart? You’re going to have this exciting life in Chicago, and I worry that you’ll get bored with me.

  So tell me more about the house and the neighborhood. I guess you’ve started school now too—how’s that? I’m sure it has to be better than Vermillion.

  Have you been to the top of any of those tall buildings yet, like the Sears Tower? Actually, how does it work living there with Ben and Adam—is it like being part of a family, or are you a free agent to come and go as you please? Do they pay for everything? Sorry if these questions are a downer.

  Have you been in touch with Josephine or Cole? We did get together whenever that was (a couple weeks ago, I guess), and it was fun, but also sad since you weren’t there. We watched this old movie called Harold and Maude about a relationship between a really old lady and this depressed teenage boy. That description doesn’t do it justice—it’s really funny and sweet and sad. I hope we can watch it together sometime.

  School’s the same except that I really love my art class. I have the biggest crush on the teacher, Jason (that’s what he tells us to call him, instead of “Mr. Sloane”), but naturally, he’s straight, and so I guess that’s that.

  I have to say that I was glad to hear that you’d talked to your mom. That’s pretty cool that Ben made you call her. I feel kind of bad for her, to tell you the truth. Sad, I mean—even though I know you absolutely, no question had to do what you did. Is that what being an adult is like, Syd—feeling two or more seemingly mutually exclusive feelings at the same time? Life is so complicated!

  By my next letter I’ll try to have a photo of the painting for you. Please write sooner than soon.

  Love,

  Rufus

  Dear Rufus,

  OH MY God, I can’t believe you sent me the painting itself! It’s amazing, and it shows such different emotions than the one you did for Michael Foster. And just like I thought it would, the feelings it shows are mine too, when I think about how far away we are from each other. But get this straight (okay, maybe that’s not the best word choice), even though we’re living far apart, that doesn’t mean we’re growing apart. Every time I see something cool or do something new, my first thought is “I wish Rufus was here.” And that wishing—that longing—is something I saw in your painting. Are you sure you want me to keep the real painting? I mean, I love having it, but are you sure you want to part with it? When it came and I opened the package, Ben looked at it too. He knows quite a bit about art, and he said, “Syd, your friend is really good. I could see this hanging in a gallery downtown.” After he asked me if it was okay, he took down the Chagall print that was hanging over the fireplace and hung your painting there instead. He says it’ll stay there as long as I stay.

  You asked about the house and the neighborhood. The house was built in 1898, and it’s so different from the kind of house I’m used to. I’m used to shoebox-style houses, but this one has high ceilings and all these weird turns and angles to the walls. The outside is painted sort of a grayish rose shade, with wine-colored gingerbread trim. I told Ben and Adam it’s the prettiest house I’ve ever been in, but that just made them talk about how much work they still have to do on it. The neighborhood is called Beverly, but it also gets called Beverly Hills because it’s the only hilly part of Chicago. Since I spent most of my life in southeastern Kentucky, though, I’ve got to say that they’re using the term “hills” very loosely. What passes for a hill here would barely be a speed bump in Kentucky. The neighborhood used to be mostly Irish, and there’s still an Irish pub on every street and more Cat
holic churches than you can shake a stick at. There’s also an Irish castle, if you can believe it, that some crazy rich guy built in the 1800s. The castle is a church now, and Ben and Adam had their wedding there. Can you imagine a church having a gay wedding in Vermillion? The best thing about the neighborhood is the Beverly Arts Center. Rufus, you would love it. It has galleries and art classes, and then there’s a theater that has performances and shows art movies for cheap prices on Wednesday nights. I guess you know where I am every Wednesday. I’m really starting to enjoy movies with subtitles.

  I pretty much get to wander around as I please during the day, but the guys—that’s what I find myself calling Ben and Adam—don’t think it’s safe for Zoe and me to go out at night. They’ve only known me a little over two weeks, but they take better care of me in a lot of ways than Mom ever did.

  Speaking of Mom, the guys make me call her once a week, and it’s always the same old crying and begging. When I talked to Josephine on the phone, she said Mom would come around eventually, and maybe she will. But I can’t help feeling hurt. For all her faults as a parent, I always felt like Mom loved me and accepted me the way I was, but it turns out her love wasn’t as unconditional as I thought. I feel like I cut her a lot of slack over the years for not being a standard-issue mom, so why can’t she return the favor for her nonstandard-issue daughter?

  Living here, it’s easy to see that a family doesn’t have to be standard-issue to be happy. One night we were at the huge, long dinner table, Ben and Adam were at one end, and then there was Destiny and Desiree and Darius and Zoe and me. There was a big pan of lasagna on the table and a bowl of salad and two baskets of garlic bread, and everybody was talking and laughing and I just started crying because this feeling of family was something I never had before. Adam asked me if I was okay, and I said yes, that I was just happy, and Darius said, “If you’re so happy, then why you crying?”