by Claire Davis
* * *
After a year
A cautious regard
as if you do not know me
a smile meets the eye
Flo
* * *
Chapter Three
Tork
The sun was out early, making all the spring flowers begin to open, like eager smiles hoping for better. The last few weeks, he didn’t seem to mind the meetings as much, so long as he could sit at the back, closest to the door. He was teaching Kevin origami and even chatted with some of the other young people.
But that day, with the world coming to life, Tork was heading for the computer room, in the main building. He’d made a decision.
“See you soon, Dickens,” he told the cat, who rubbed against his legs and headed back inside. Tork left his window open now, so Dickens could come and go as he pleased.
Just because he was going to fill in the application form, it did not mean he had to go to college. He was just taking one step, like he agreed with his therapist, and with Mike. The closing date was today, and all week, the soggy weight of disappointment had dripped down his back in relentless taps.
One more thing you fucked up.
No dignity in being ungrateful.
Coward.
Not good enough for Adam.
It was the last nudge—the one about Adam—that finally made him get up at four a.m., and here he was. Every day, the seed that was Adam seemed to lodge itself more firmly into his chest, making him do things that seemed impossible even a few weeks before.
Soon, he became engrossed in the form, only pausing when he realised he would have to account for leaving his last college. He pondered using the words his therapist used all the time—mental health, anxiety, homelessness, self-harm—but they seemed so alien to this smart computer, like the difference between skiing and being caught in an avalanche.
He wondered how Adam might explain it, and before he had time to change his mind, there he was, tapping out Adam’s number. It rang and rang, before a very cross-sounding Adam finally answered.
“Yeah? Who the fuck is it, ringing me at six in the morning?”
“Tork.”
A silence. Tork could imagine Adam all bleary eyed and tousled, warm in his bed, and tried again.
“Good morning, handsome. I need your help.”
“Tork? No fucking way! You have a phone? When did you get a phone?”
“Yesterday. Kevin showed me how to use it. I need some help with my college form.”
“Shut the fuck up! Your college form? First you tell me you have a phone, and now college? Tork, just wait right there. I am coming over. Clearly there’s some kind of apocalypse going on, and you need me there to protect you.”
“Adam?”
“I’m coming. Half hour, hour max, OK?”
“You sound sexy.”
Finally, Adam laughed. He always did, in the end.
“Of course I do. That’s because I am nearly six foot of blonde sex god, my man. I am sexy! See you soon. Kiss.”
“Thank you,” Tork said, “but you don’t need to go to any trouble. It’s just a few questions about the form. What can I say instead of I suffered a mental health breakdown?”
“What? You say you ‘had a creative year out’, stupid! I’m coming. And who the fuck is Kevin?”
* * *
By the time Adam arrived, Tork had made them both breakfast and tea. His heart yammered as he laid the table, waiting for the hurricane that was Adam to come crashing in. The anticipation was almost too much—almost. He worried and obsessed over them getting too physical, and what if he freaked and froze? In the dead of night, Tork still woke up screaming about that night on the streets when he could not get away in time, and even his rules had not protected him.
But with the storm that was Adam, Tork had noticed a strange thing. Instead of freezing at any touch, more often he could not stop, and it was Adam who pulled away.
Any moment now, his peace would be invaded by chattering exclamations and the inevitable sulky rudeness, only to then be liberated by what was beneath it all. Adam was never boring.
Sure enough, the buzzer sounded, and Adam’s footsteps crashed across the landing to Tork’s door. Warm shivers and oozy fuzz ran down Tork’s back.
They always had the same silly routine. A bang on the door.
“Tork? It’s me.”
“Who is it?”
“Adam and the ants. Get out your jewels, baby, the highwayman’s here.”
“Who?”
Tork watched him through the tiny peephole, wondering what he would do today. Adam leaned right up close to the glass, then licked it. Tork pulled open the door suddenly, and yanked Adam inside. He pushed him against the wall, unable to wait.
“I see you brought your gun,” Tork whispered, kissing him. It made him breathless, his chest tight with urges. He wanted Adam so badly, a deep-down wanting that got him through the bleak days. When they kissed, it filled him up. But now, he wanted so much more.
“Hey,” Adam breathed into Tork’s mouth, “I nearly fell out of bed when you called. Haven’t even cleaned my teeth yet!”
Tork tasted toothpaste.
“Because you are dirty, Adam,” he said. “I see you have not brushed your hair yet either.” Of course, Adam’s hair was perfect.
Adam pulled back indignantly. “I did! The day I don’t manscape means the zombies broke down my door.” He screwed up his face, and Tork glanced down. Dickens rubbed against Adam’s legs. “That cat hates me. It only does that to leave hair on my jeans. It’s probably got foot and mouth.”
Tork smirked. “Oh, at least. If not Ebola. Come and see my form, then you can criticise my phone.”
“Cats carry Ebola? What model did you get?”
“Model? There is more than one kind?”
Adam sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Sometimes I really don’t know if you’re shitting me.”
“No, and this is how I like it,” Tork said, putting the kettle on. He handed over his phone, watching Adam’s hands skim the plastic. The phone was nasty and ugly, bought from a secondhand shop, with Tork’s own money. It worked, and that was good enough, but Tork could not control the smirk at Adam’s reaction.
His handsome face began to screw up—blonde brows forming a V and his lips making a side grimace that Tork secretly called ‘The Titanic’, because once it started, there was usually no going back.
Adam huffed and puffed for at least thirty seconds, and Tork admired his inner battle. Adam used to have no control, but he was learning fast.
A sharp gust of breath left Adam, and one eyebrow raised. This was a good sign.
“It’s beautiful,” Adam said loudly, and beamed at Tork, the glint of a challenge in his eye.
He was a top student!
Chapter Four
Adam
“Don’t suppose you fancy doing the art class, do you, son? Jenny called in to say one of her kids is sick, so she can’t do it. I know you’ve already done way more than your hours again this week, but there’s no one else to ask.”
Adam’s heart sank. He actually felt it slipping through his veins, on the way down to deep despondency. He stared at Mike in dismay. “Art class? You mean that thing where they paint pictures of matchstick people and talk about how shit their lives are?”
“That’s the one—the art enrichment class. It’s just two hours. I’d do it myself, but I have Tork coming by for his catch up. Suppose he’d see you teaching that class as he comes past the activities corridor, though. Very impressive, you’d look.”
Adam glared at Mike. “Oh, go on then. But if they throw paint at me, I’m out of there, Mike.”
“Why would they do that? You already look colourful enough, to me. Maybe you can get them to draw you?”
“You think so?”
“Why not? And how’s Tork doing? His worker at Citywise says he’s very helpful but doesn’t come out much.”
Adam thought. How w
as Tork, really? “He’s applying for college. That’s gotta be a good sign, right? Emailed the form off Friday. So, what’s he coming here for?”
Mike ignored the question. “College? Well that is a big step. See the good influence you have on him? A boy as clever as him should be in education.”
The minute Mike went, Adam rushed over to the files and looked for Tork’s. Spying on your boyfriend was not good, but still… His heart sped up then stopped as he saw there were a few new sheets since the last time he’d snooped around in here. He began to read.
It was mostly about Tork’s past. “Shit,” Adam hissed under his breath, trying to skim read as well as keep an eye on the door. Mostly a load of boring shit about mental health deterioration and lack of support, but the last section actually made him choke.
Tork had a dad!
* * *
Tork
Getting on the tram was OK that day. There were still plenty of seats, and even though they were facing other passengers, Tork knew by now that no one would bother him here. Kevin had accompanied him to town a few times, so he knew it was safe.
His favourite position was looking out the window, watching the houses slipping by like patchwork quilts. He knew all these streets from the years when walking about was the focus of his day, but somehow now it seemed like they were different.
He stood up to let other passengers sit down and hoped Adam would still be at the shelter. That Adam was still interested in him was difficult to accept, but Tork had read enough books to know that attraction was a strong physical force not easy to deny. And he certainly didn’t want to.
He got off the tram at the stop near the shelter and hurried to the bike shed to see if Adam had left his bike…and there it was. Both tyres were almost flat; the brakes didn’t work. As he peered closer, he saw Adam had drawn a picture of a penis on the saddle.
But it didn’t take Tork long to fix it so at least it would be safe. He’d offered many times to show Adam how to take care of it himself, but all Adam would say is that he’d just buy a new bike when this one finally broke.
As he left the bike, Tork hung an origami turtle around the handlebars and grinned. Adam was far too cool to pedal very hard, so his pace was incredibly slow.
From across the street, Tork could see that the shelter appeared to be quiet today. Too often it was full of angry drunken people, and fights broke out, with Mike trying to calm things before the police intervened. On those days, Tork had to just walk away and find somewhere quiet to hide until the shaking stopped.
One day, he hoped to repay Mike and this place for giving him help last year, when his resolve began to crack and the ache of loneliness dragged him to his knees. This was where he first met Adam, doing work experience as part of his college course, and even though the shelter had all the smells of desperation, Tork had lots of memories here that made him smile.
But not as much as the sight that befell him as he walked past the activities room.
He was not one to stare, but now he openly gawked. Adam was lying on a table on a great sheet of paper, while the artists painted around him, creating a colourful silhouette. Tork stepped closer, grinning like a child. He could just hear Adam through the closed doors.
“Just be careful, yeah? These jeans cost me more than you’ll see this month. No offence.”
“What, more than ten pounds? You were robbed, mate,” one of the guys said, making them all laugh.
“What shade is your hair, Adam?” a lady asked, actually running her hand through Adam’s expensive layers.
Tork had to step away from the door—and Adam’s indignant shriek—to prevent the guffaw that was building.
Mike was waiting for him with a cup of tea, as always.
“There you are, son. Come along in and have a seat. Did you see Ken in the art room on your way in?”
Ken was Adam’s nickname here, after one of the guys had called him Barbie, and Adam had replied, ‘Ken, if you don’t mind. He has a much bigger wardrobe than Barbie.’
Tork smiled at Mike and made himself comfortable. “I saw him. He has them drawing his outline, like an emperor having a portrait made. I walked away just as one of the women started pawing his hair.”
“Oh, he’ll not like that,” Mike said, and they laughed together before Mike got down to business. “Right where are we at, Tork? Adam tells me you’re applying to college?”
“I sent in the form just before the deadline, but I don’t know if I will be able to handle it, Mike. I would love to go, of course I would, but there are so many things to get used to again. Colleges are full of smart, confident young people. Adam keeps trying to get me to go with him, to show me where he studies, but I just can’t.”
Mike nodded sympathetically. “You’re seeing the counsellor, though?”
“Yes, every Tuesday.”
“Is it helping, lad?”
“I—I think so. I don’t know. Every Monday, I start thinking about it, and by Tuesday I decide I will not go. But, I always do.”
“Oh, I expect it takes a while. You were on your own a long time out there. Anyone who’s been on the streets knows what happens to a person, what it takes from you. I remember looking at all the houses and thinking of them having dinner and talking. And you think you’ll always be that bloke looking in the window.”
Once, Mike had told him that he was homeless too, a long time ago. The truth of his words made Tork wince.
“Yes. I think I am better around people. As long as there is not a crowd. I might never be ready for that.”
Mike nodded again and sipped his tea, waiting. Tork knew he would not push, but he had already discussed this with his therapist, so he went ahead, despite the gnarls in his stomach.
“But I was not always like this. Did—did you find out anything, Mike?”
“I did. Let me just get your file, and I’ll tell you. I usually have to go to the Salvation Army to track down missing relatives, but this time it wasn’t necessary.”
As Tork waited, the chances of him fleeing before he had to find out got greater by the minute. The truth was, he missed the focus of the rules he had given himself to live by when he was homeless. Instinctively, his nails found the soft palms of his hands and began to dig.
Every day he cut his nails, chopping off any chances of slipping back into self-harming. He could not control the galloping anxiety every time he left Citywise, but he did what he could.
“Here we are. Looks like he moved house, but he was easy to find anyway.” Mike opened the file, his bushy white eyebrows scrunching as he read.
“Wait. I—I don’t know if I can,” Tork whispered, wanting to know everything and nothing.
“OK, son, stay calm. Why don’t we just have another cup of tea, and you can tell me about the course you want to study? You put the kettle on, and I’ll see if Adam wants to join us, eh? And don’t worry—getting in touch with relatives is never easy for anyone. Just because I have some information doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it.”
Mike was right. Tork gratefully stood and filled the kettle, glad to have something to do. He could hear Adam’s animated voice getting louder.
“Did you see it, Mike? I didn’t know they were so good.”
“I saw it, son. There’re some real artists amongst them, yes. Sit down and have a cuppa with me and Tork. You can tell us all about it. Again.”
Adam launched himself into the room. He was flushed and rumpled, with flecks of paint all down one side of his face and clothes.
“Hey,” he said cheerfully to Tork, who held out the cup, not knowing if he was allowed to smile. They hadn’t been together yet in public, and he never knew with Adam what might cramp his style.
Adam’s fingers brushed his as he took the cup, making the hairs at the back of Tork’s neck prickle. “Good morning, Adam. I saw you had the art class in the palm of your hand. Very innovative.”
“You think so?” Adam’s face lit up. “At first I was like, no way am I g
etting on the table! But then, I thought how cool to have my silhouette up on a wall somewhere so people can look at me forever. My gift to the shelter.”
A lot of the time, Tork could not tell if Adam was joking. Surely no one could be that vain.
“Lucky us,” Mike chuckled, winking at Tork.
“So, what’s occurring?” Adam asked, peering at Tork’s file. “Hey! How come that says ‘Adam keep your nosy self out’ on the front?”
Mike swiftly pulled the papers away and glared.
“That’s confidential, Adam. Tork hasn’t said if he wants you to be here. I just asked you in for a cup of tea.”
“It’s OK, Mike. Adam can stay if he wants to,” Tork said quickly, seeing Adam’s hurt face. “Mike is helping me find my father. I haven’t seen him in a few years. I don’t know if I want to, but I wondered if he is still…alive.” They sounded such basic, flat words to him. Nothing changed in the room. The sounds of the shelter and the world went on, but as Tork spoke, an eruption began to happen in his body.
Such basic, flat words, not enough to contain a volcano.
All of a sudden, he felt like Adam and Mike were staring at him, seeing what had happened when all of Tork’s life started to go wrong. He saw all those letters piling up and heard the cruel words resounding around the walls.
“Son?” Mike said softly. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Adam looked at him, terrified, and Tork was once again sucked into that giant tube where there was no air and no help and no way out…no touching…no looking…don’t look at me…
He watched himself flee the room, but there was no sound except the fuzzing in his head.
* * *
little snow crocus
tender yet bold, blossoms and
lures the toiling bee
Layla
* * *
Chapter Five
Adam
He tried to convince himself that what he wanted to do was get drunk with his old mates and eat pizza, then fuck someone—one of the eager guys who kept texting him—and tell them not to hit their arse on the door as he threw them out after.
