Plus, I never would have met Kevin if I were six feet under now.
But what did my life matter if I didn’t do anything with it? If I never made love with Kevin again?
Here in the car I couldn’t smell the oil scent of the garage, and I couldn’t tell whether it was windy outside. I was safe here, isolated, a king surrounded by the detritus of my life that, for some reason I didn’t understand, I’d never gotten around to getting rid of.
I just didn’t have the knack of letting go of the past. But… I wanted to. I wanted to hit the door opener, rev up the engine, and zoom out of there, away from the stale smell of beer in the house and the broken pieces of my tree on the patio and the figures who haunted the edges of my mirror. The only questions were: where would I go? And who would I take with me?
I WENT to school on Monday because that’s where I always went. Even if it wasn’t the safe haven that I’d always thought it was—how much of the real Tom did people know?—it was still my job, where people who weren’t Kevin Bannerman needed me.
Before I left, I almost picked up the phone and called Kevin. He’d sounded so forlorn on Sunday night when he’d left another message. But what did I have to tell him, after all? That I was thinking about him. A lot. That would have been self-indulgent, and I didn’t do that. Self-indulgent would have had Kevin dangerously staying with me the whole weekend. A man deserved to wrestle his demons in private.
“Screw you, Sean,” I said, but the words meant nothing, because I left the phone where it was and went out to the Miata.
At school, a pass by Robbie’s locker revealed no books, no cards, no obscenities, and no boy. But when I got to my classroom, he was there along with Steven, Johnny, and Channing. They all jumped to their feet as I walked in.
“Mr. Smith!” Channing exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting forever.”
“No, we haven’t, Chan, calm down,” Johnny said.
“Well, we don’t have much time before first bell,” she said. “Mr. Smith, guess what we’re doing?”
I placed my briefcase on top of my desk and shook my head. “I can’t imagine. What?”
“We’re going to do the play!”
I looked from one glowing, enthusiastic face to another—from Robbie’s black eye to Steven’s swollen lip to Channing’s lost innocence to Johnny’s steadiness—and sighed. “Look, didn’t you understand what Mr. Keating explained on Friday? We can’t do the play because—”
“Oh, it’s not going to be here at school,” Robbie said. “We’re doing it at church.”
“At church?” I pulled out my chair, sat down, and folded my hands in front of me. “Okay, you’d better explain.”
“It’s at my church,” Johnny said. “First Christian Church of Gunning. They’re really cool. My mom and dad are real involved there, and they asked Pastor Webster, and he said yes.”
“Yes? To what?”
“To Wednesday night!” Channing exclaimed. “It’s not the same thing as doing it six times at school, and we won’t have all the scenery and costumes and stuff, but—”
“We’re cutting the action way down, but it’s still the play. We’ll sing and all,” Steven said.
I could hardly believe it. “Whose idea was this?”
The four of them exchanged glances. Robbie shrugged. “Well, I guess it was me on Friday night over at Steven’s house.”
“Yeah, we had a sort of party,” Steven put in. “A sort of cry party. Not that we cried,” he added quickly, “but we needed to, you know, uh….”
“We needed to complain,” Channing said bluntly. “And we all talked about how we wanted to put on the play at least one time, even if it meant we did it in somebody’s backyard.”
Johnny took up the story. “So I said I knew a place we could use at my church, our social hall, but nobody believed me that Pastor Webster would go for it.”
“Man, not after the way that guy from First Baptist came here right in the middle of our rehearsal! And that other fellow Thursday night, where was he from?” Steven asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Johnny said. “There are all different kinds of churches, and there’s plenty of folks who think live and let live is a good thing, and who would be way cool with a play like Rent. They just weren’t the ones who showed up at the board meeting.”
“They should have,” Channing said darkly.
“Yeah, well, next time you can go door to door and get them away from the TV. Anyway, so I called my parents from the party and they said it was a good idea and they’d talk to Pastor Webster for us.”
“And now it’s all set,” Robbie said, looking so happy. “We rehearsed some on Saturday, the eight of us, but then the whole cast worked all yesterday afternoon. We cut out everything except what we really needed, you know, some of the dancing and the props and all, and we set up a bunch of new cues, but it works. It’ll be Wednesday night. Isn’t that great?”
“It’s our way of showing everybody we can’t be stopped,” Channing said with a definite nod.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Steven said. “They thought because we’re in school and young that we could be pushed around. Well, we can’t. My dad says a man has to know what he wants and go after it.”
“Your dad’s the bomb,” Robbie told him.
“Yeah, he is. Anyway, just because some people are afraid of stuff like what’s in the play doesn’t mean we can’t go on. We can do it ourselves without the school and the money.”
“So, Mr. Smith,” Robbie said. “We’re spreading the word, but we don’t think too many people will come. But will you? We know it can’t be anything official because of the school board and everything, but will you come see us?”
I felt like I’d been knocked over by a wave from the ocean. These students, they were amazing. While I’d been shut up in my house alone all weekend, they’d banded together and found a way to make their dream for this play come true.
There was no way I could say no. Going to see them perform would be my last duty to the play, and then I could put it to bed, once and for all. Except… my relationship with Kevin was so entangled with Rent. If I went to see the performance at the church, I’d see him again, for surely he’d be there for Channing.
Hope rose in me, irrational though it might have been. I’d see Kevin again.
The kids’ expressions had turned anxious. “Mr. Smith? Don’t you want to—”
“Of course I’ll be there,” I said in a rush. I stood up in a rush too. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything on Friday, but let me say it now. I’m so proud of all of you. For all the work you’ve done the past months, but now with this…. You’ve really got it all set?”
Steven beamed. “Well, we’ll need to work some more tonight and Tuesday, but it’ll be ready by Wednesday.”
Robbie elbowed him in the side. “Yeah, if you stop going off key.”
“Hey! Just one time!”
“It sounded awful. Don’t do that Wednesday.”
“Who voted and made you director?”
The warning bell rang, and all the kids grabbed their backpacks. “See you Wednesday, Mr. Smith!” Robbie called, and then they were gone, and my students for first period were pouring in through the doorway.
Those kids. They were like Kevin. They hadn’t given up. The play was going to happen, even if not exactly in the form that was perfect, that had been planned for, or that had been practiced. But the essence of it, the truth of it: those kids were going to make it real even with the town and the board and the principal against them.
“Think about it,” Kevin had said in my doorway, the last thing he’d said on that anguished Thursday night. “I want to be with you.”
I remembered every nuance of his voice. Maybe…. Maybe his voice could be stronger than Sean’s?
I had a lot to think about.
MY HANDS were sweating even in the cool of November, and my throat had constricted so I could barely swallow. I almost hoped that no one on the other end of the phon
e would pick up.
“Hello?”
Do or die time.
“Hi, Grant, it’s Tom.”
“Well, hi there, stranger.”
“I know. We haven’t talked in a while.”
“That’s okay. You’re busy with that play you’re working on. So, are you calling to say you’ll be coming for Thanksgiving this Thursday after all?”
“Uh….” I hadn’t even thought about that. Kevin and I had planned to go to Big Bend. When I’d called Grant to bow out of my regular trip for the holidays, he’d been out so I’d told his wife instead. I hadn’t said why, and she hadn’t asked. Cath was a great woman.
I slowly sat down in the blue velvet chair in my front room. Through the window, I could see my neighbor coming home from walking his dog. This Tuesday night was cloudy, windy, and cold. “I don’t know. Things are in flux.”
I could imagine his frown. “Why? What’s going on? Is your arm acting up? Do you still have your pain medication?”
I had to give a small, indulgent, but nonetheless nervous smile. Grant would never stop mothering me. “No, the arm’s okay. About the same. But…. Grant, do you have five minutes to—” I stopped, because I could hear two boys fighting in the background, with one of them hollering “Daddy!” That was seven-year-old Tommy.
“Hold on, Tom. Let me take care of this.”
I waited while he told the boys to skedaddle, and that they’d find out what life was like without Nintendo if they didn’t calm down. Then he said into the phone, “Wait a minute. Let me move over to….”
There was the sound of a door opening and then closing. “Okay,” Grant said, and I heard him settle into his favorite recliner. “I’m in the study now. Talk to me.”
I’d spent the past thirty-six hours thinking, screwing up courage I didn’t know if I had, and trying to face what I’d long thought was inconceivable. I’d hurled abuse at Sean in my mind, and I’d done a lot of silent screaming. But at least I hadn’t obliterated thought with the booze again or spent the night outside attacking the vegetation.
And then, sometime in the middle of last night, Kevin’s guess that I’d gone to visit Grant had begun to make an awful lot of sense. I’d realized I had to talk to my brother. I needed to go back to the beginning and start there before I had even the smallest chance of moving forward.
“Do you remember….” My voice trembled. I couldn’t begin that way. So I cleared my throat and tried again. “Do you remember my graduation night?” I could get through this. I could say it. “And how I was beaten up? Got this arm?”
“Of course I do,” he said gently.
“I… I never really told you anything about that night.”
“You didn’t have to, and you don’t now.”
“I think I do.”
The sound of him shifting in the chair came across the line. I could imagine him, my ginger-haired, lean-as-a-fencepost brother, with his serious eyes.
“I’m listening, Tom.”
It would have been easier if he’d said he didn’t want to hear anything, that it was too hard a memory. Well, it had been too hard for me. For sixteen years, it had been like concrete weighing me down. I’d decided the night before to crack it into pieces and then spent every hour since trying to talk myself out of it.
“I told the cops I didn’t know who’d done it, but I did. They were students from school, all of them.”
“You’re kidding,” he muttered. And then he said, “Then why didn’t you—”
I cut him off. “There’s more.” I gripped the phone hard enough to hurt my fingers. Here it was. “Remember what was scratched into my car?”
I could barely hear his voice. “Sure I do.”
“Grant….” I told myself he knew already. Of course he did, even if we’d never spoken of it, for my car had one day been returned to me with a newly painted hood and no explanations. “It’s true,” I said. “I’m gay.”
He gave a long, quiet sigh. “I wondered if you’d ever tell me.”
I rushed into more speech, as if delaying even a little would undermine my resolve. “There’s something else I didn’t tell the police. I was sexually assaulted that night.”
“Oh, Christ,” Grant said, low and heartfelt. “Oh, Tom. I sometimes wondered, but…. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” I said, and I swallowed noisily. “It’s been… difficult.”
“Damn,” he swore again. “And I was no help to you at all.”
“What?”
“All this time I’ve wondered if you were gay and if there was more to that assault than the official police report. You changed so much after it, more than I thought you…. I’m sorry, Tom. I should have made you talk or talked myself, asked you…. But I didn’t know how.”
“I know, I know. I haven’t known how either.” Unaccountably, I found that my cheeks were wet. I dashed the tears away with the back of my hand. “But I had to say it now. It doesn’t change anything about what happened, but—”
“Yes, it does. This is good that you’re talking about it now, really good. You don’t have to tell me, but…. Why now?”
I didn’t have to answer that truthfully or in any way at all. Grant would understand if I didn’t. But I hadn’t called him to slide away from the truth, had I? This night was all about facing forward, no matter how difficult that was.
“I’ve met somebody.” I didn’t say anything more.
“Oh. Is he…. You haven’t had someone special, have you?”
“No.”
“I’ve always wished that you had somebody, little brother. I wondered if maybe you did and you just weren’t telling us.”
“No,” I said, sighing and sitting back into the dubious comfort of the chair. “It’s just been me here.”
“So, this… this person you’ve met.” I heard how carefully he said “person.” “Is he pulling up bad memories? Is that why you’ve told me at last?”
“No. Yes. It’s complicated. But he’s—”
“You don’t have to say anything more. It’s your own private business.”
“I know that. But I….” I stopped, because suddenly I didn’t know what I wanted to tell Grant about Kevin when the truth was that I still didn’t know for sure what I was going to do. “He’s a good man,” I found myself saying.
“I’m not surprised. Only the best for you.”
I forced out a chuckle. “Grant, I haven’t been alone all this time because I’ve been picky. I’ve been….” I finished with the only word that described the long, lonely process I’d gone through. “I’ve been recovering.”
“Good,” Grant said with sudden intensity. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all year. You keep on recovering, you hear?”
“All right.”
“And anything I can do to be part of this and help, you let me know, okay?”
God, I did love my brother. “I will.”
“You want to talk some more right now? We can talk as long as you want.”
I shook my head. “No, I think… I think I’ve done enough tonight.” I suddenly felt as if I could sleep for a week.
“All right, I don’t want to push… except that’s what I should’ve done back then.”
“It wouldn’t have worked.”
“That’s what you say. But… I am so sorry to hear about what happened to you that night. Hear me? I would have done anything if…. Well, wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?”
“No,” I said forlornly. “It doesn’t.” Still, it was good to hear him say it. I soaked it up.
“And I want to say thanks for telling me you’re, you know, that you’re gay.”
“I should have long ago, I guess.”
“And I should have asked you. But you know… you know it doesn’t make any difference to us, right? You’re still welcome in this house any day of the week.”
Something tight in my chest loosened. “Thanks, Grant. I know, and I… I appreciate it.”
“Y
ou’re my brother,” he said simply. “You want to go now?”
“Yeah. Let’s call it a night.”
“Okay. So, should we set a place for you at the table for this Thanksgiving?”
I just couldn’t think past tomorrow night: the play, Kevin. I’d taken this step, and that seemed to clear the path in front of me, but I had no idea what I’d do next.
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay, if you’re here, great. If you’re not, we’ll miss you. Will you call me and let me know how you are in a few days?”
“All right.”
“And maybe someday we’ll get to meet this good man who’s come into your life.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t know.”
Chapter 9
Rent
ON MY way out to the show on Wednesday night, I paused halfway through my kitchen and looked over at my reflection in the microwave door. The man looking back at me was pale and serious, dressed in my best navy blue suit, but at least his cowlick in the back wasn’t sticking straight up.
“Come on,” I murmured to myself. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Nervousness danced up and down my spine.
I stepped into the garage but stopped right away. One of the stacks of boxes I’d lamented over a few days before had toppled onto the floor. Three of the boxes had spilled open. Old newspapers I’d intended to read years ago, bills ten years old, ads, programs, all sorts of things spread out and disappeared under the Miata. I bent over and saw that they had reached so far under the car that they had reached the other side.
But I wasn’t going to spend time picking any of it up. Rent started at seven-thirty. I had to get moving. So I got into the car, opened the garage door, and drove out, leaving tire marks on what I’d once thought was worth saving.
Although I’d never visited it, I knew that the First Christian Church of Gunning was in a quiet, residential neighborhood to the north of downtown. Old trees watched over the streets and modest, two-bedroom homes clustered close to one another. It wasn’t the type of neighborhood that I’d associate with forward thinking, but then again, how was I to tell? Before this semester, I never would have pegged George as the type to want to direct Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street either. Danielle Robertson had been a surprise to me with her open-minded defense of the play, and so had the biker-man who hadn’t tripped my gaydar, and definitely the kids who were going to put on Rent tonight. I’d never expected it of any of them.
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