by J P Barnaby
God, he hadn’t thought about that in years.
AARON: You look bored.
It took him a minute to look over at the computer and away from the interpreter, but when he did he shrugged at Aaron. Well, he had his friend’s attention, so that seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask the question, only he couldn’t force his fingers to type it out. He drummed for a minute more before deciding this nervous shit was for chicks, and hit send before he could change his mind.
SPENCER: Not bored, just thinking. Want to come over to my house today and work on the project?
There, he’d done it; he’d gotten the words out. Aaron took his hands off the keyboard and stared in the opposite direction from Spencer, apparently trying to work out his feelings on the invitation. As Spencer watched, he put his hands on the keyboard and then took them off again and sat back, still never looking to his left, at Spencer. Crossing his arms, Aaron balled his hands tightly into fists. Spencer considered rescinding the invitation, but just sat still and waited to see what Aaron would do. Finally, he put his hands up to the keyboard again and started to type.
Spencer looked back at the interpreter so he could delay the rejection.
AARON: I can’t. I can’t do that.
Shit. He knew the answer was coming, but it still stung. Aaron didn’t trust him. After the hours of talking, after telling each other their horror stories, after all the code they’d written during late night chats, Aaron still didn’t feel comfortable being with him. It hurt more than he could readily define to himself, and he couldn’t really figure out why. Aaron was the first person in a long time to look past his hearing impairment and actually see him. That meant more to him than he could ever articulate. He wanted Aaron to know he saw him too, not just the scars or the anxiety.
SPENCER: Okay, how about if I come to your house?
He had to build up Aaron’s trust; he knew that. By going to Aaron’s house, at least a few times in the beginning, maybe he could get his friend to come over and visit. The logistics of getting his father and Aaron together were just boggling. It shouldn’t have to be that hard.
AARON: I think I could do that. Right after class, or?
SPENCER: I have another class after this one today. I can be there by 4:00.
Aaron pulled out his cell phone, completely ignoring Dr. Mayer’s ban on them in the classroom, and sent a message to someone, probably his mother. A minute later, he saw Aaron look at the phone again and smile.
AARON: I’ll send you my address. My mom invited you to stay for dinner too.
SPENCER: I’d love to.
Spencer smiled, and the expression felt tight, almost foreign on his face. After months of worrying about his father, it was weird to be happy. He liked Aaron, though, so being with him did make him feel better. Minimizing the chat window, he turned his attention back to the interpreter, who looked irritated that he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to focus on the lecture, but his mind drifted to a half daydream of what would happen later at Aaron’s house.
“MOM, WHAT if I freak out while he’s here?” Aaron asked his mother as they stood at the kitchen counter making a salad. His mother chopped up the vegetables and put them in the salad bowl while Aaron tore up lettuce and spinach leaves and tossed them in with the radishes and cucumbers she’d already done. He couldn’t admit it aloud, but Aaron didn’t like knives. He didn’t like them at all.
“You said you told him a bit about what happened, right?” she asked as she dumped a cutting board full of diced tomatoes into the bowl and mixed up the salad with two huge salad tongs.
“I told him the generic version, yeah.” Aaron threw more lettuce leaves into the bowl, almost halfheartedly.
“Then if he’s really your friend, honey, he’ll understand.”
“And if he isn’t?” Aaron asked as he reached for the core of the lettuce and banked it off the wall into the kitchen garbage can in the corner. He grinned sheepishly when his mother looked at him, but then she went back to the salad.
“If he isn’t, then you’ll finish the project and move on to the next class.”
“I want him to be,” Aaron said almost too quietly for his mother to hear.
“So do I, honey.”
AT TEN minutes to four, the doorbell rang. Aaron’s head jerked around in the direction of the living room, though he couldn’t see the front door from his seat at the breakfast bar.
“Don’t you move. You keep stirring that cake,” his mother ordered and then added in a louder voice, “Allen, can you answer the door and let Aaron’s friend in?” She wiped her hands on her apron and pulled a glass baking dish from under the cabinet. Aaron watched her as he listened for his brother to open the door. Spencer was his first real friend in so long; his hands shook a little as he waited.
“Hi, Spencer,” Allen shouted, and Aaron cringed. He looked at his mother, pleading silently to take over with the cake. She rolled her eyes, more at his brother’s handling of Spencer’s deafness than Aaron’s nerves, and took the spoon from him. She picked the bowl up and started pouring the batter into the pan just as he rounded the corner out of the kitchen.
“He’s deaf, genius. Talking louder isn’t going to make any difference,” Aaron told Allen as he shuffled into the living room. His courage failed just as the kitchen tile phased into living room carpet, and he stopped behind the couch as Spencer lingered near the front door. Spencer looked almost nervous as he took in the dainty couch and matching wingback chair that stood around spindly little end tables his family had never used. They spent all their time in the family room near the back of the house, where the television hung on the wall. The living room was mainly just for guests.
“Just leave your shoes by the door and come with me,” Aaron said slowly, but more quietly than his brother had. With a glance at Allen, Spencer nodded and toed out of his shoes. He didn’t speak; he just waited silently for Aaron, who wondered if maybe he didn’t want to talk aloud in front of his brother. Aaron made a “come on” gesture, and Spencer followed him into the kitchen.
“Mom, this is my friend Spencer,” he said, making sure he was turned toward Spencer so his friend could see his lips. “Spencer, this is my mom.”
“It. Is. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You.,” Spencer told her in his slow, purposeful cadence, even as he leaned against the doorframe almost out of the room.
“It is very nice to meet you too. Aaron has told me so much about you.” His mom took off her apron and gave Spencer a little wave. He waved back with a quiet smile and looked relieved he didn’t have to talk anymore. “Aaron, why don’t you take Spencer up to your room, and I’ll come get you when dinner is ready?”
They didn’t need to be told twice. Aaron could feel Spencer’s awkward tension and led him up the stairs. He understood exactly how Spencer felt around his family, because strangers were a source of anxiety for Aaron too. In fact, his heart stuttered in his chest as they reached the top. He didn’t like Spencer behind him. He didn’t like everything so close. He thought the air might solidify in his lungs. With the plush carpet of his room under his feet and the open space around him, the feeling dissipated almost as fast as it started. Aaron dropped down into his desk chair and powered on his laptop while Spencer dropped his stuff on the bed but didn’t bring out his computer right away. Instead, he looked around Aaron’s room, lingering at the soccer trophies collecting dust on a high shelf.
Aaron had never bothered to take them down. It was almost like they belonged to someone else. They could have, for all he cared about them. He waited as Spencer took a long, slow inventory of his room. What the hell was he looking for? Aaron’s skin crawled at the scrutiny, and he scratched absently at one of the scars on his arm underneath the long-sleeved polo shirt he wore. No one except his family had been in this room in years, but even then, he didn’t feel judged by it as he did with Spencer.
Finally, Spencer turned around and Aaron could see his face. More importantly, Spencer could see his.
“What?” he de
manded. The blood rising in his face made it feel like it glowed with embarrassment. Did you find what you were looking for in the freak cave? Aaron could not meet Spencer’s eyes, choosing instead to focus on his own hands. The trailing end of a deep knife scar peeked out of the sleeve, mocking him, and his fists tightened around each other in helpless anger.
“You. Are. Not. Like. Anyone. I. Have. Ever. Known.. You. Are. Kind., Sensitive., And. Thoughtful.. I. Want. To. Know. More. About. You.. I. Thought. I. Might. Find. That. Out. By. Looking. Around. Your. Room.. But. None. Of. This. Stuff. Seems. Like. It. Would. Belong. To. You.. It. Surprised. Me..” Spencer jerked his head up to indicate the trophies. It was the longest conversation they’d ever had aloud, and Aaron reeled from the compliments. He had misjudged Spencer’s intentions so badly. Shame crept up the back of his neck, replacing the embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. I’m not used to having… friends in my room. But you’re right. This stuff doesn’t have anything to do with my life now. It belongs to the old Aaron, the one that died.”
They stood facing each other for a few long, tense moments. When Aaron didn’t say anything else, Spencer sat on the side of the bed and grabbed his laptop.
“Want. To. Get. Started.?” he asked, and even with the slow cadence, Aaron heard the trepidation. A part of him wanted to tell Spencer it wasn’t a good night, but a deeper part of him, the selfish part that was so desperately lonely, that part wanted Spencer to stay. That part of him wanted to tell Spencer everything, all his secrets, just to get the poison out. Instead, he just nodded.
Aaron brought up the chat window on his computer first, and left the development environment closed. He wanted to talk to Spencer more than he wanted to work on the project. His fingers hovered over the keys on the laptop even as his wrists rested on the bottom edge. Glancing over at Spencer, who typed furiously on his keyboard, he envied Spencer’s focus. A “ding” on his computer caught his attention.
SPENCER: I wish you would stop saying that. You did not die. You are right here in front of me, and I am very grateful for that. Not many people see past my deafness and want to be my friend anyway. You did.
AARON: I’m so out of practice at talking to someone. The shrinks try to get me to talk. My mother tries to get me to talk. Whenever I try, something inside me locks up, and I can’t get the words out. With my mom, I think it’s because she already has to deal with so much because of me. I don’t want to add any more to that. With the shrinks, I guess it’s because they don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t want to help me. They just want to get paid and move on to the next schmuck with a problem. See how many they can fit in a day before they drive home in their Lexus to play golf.
SPENCER: Not all shrinks are like that.
AARON: The ones I’ve met are. Did you have to see a shrink?
SPENCER: I’ve had to talk to psychologists. I had some behavioral problems in school. Mostly, I acted like a dick because I was sick of getting bullied. See, the school administrators never saw that part. They just saw me fucking up. I was so glad to get out of high school.
AARON: I was homeschooled my last two years of high school. After what happened, I couldn’t stand being around other people, so my mom kept me home. She figured out everything she needed to know to get me through the requirements. She bought me books and videos. She sat with me every day and went through every subject with me.
SPENCER: Your mom sounds amazing.
AARON: She really is. I couldn’t imagine growing up without her.
SPENCER: I had dad and my aunt Nelle. My dad was everything to me growing up, mom, dad, interpreter, everything. He and my aunt Nelle learned sign language with me. They studied everything they could about ASL so that they could help me. It took me a long time to realize how hard that must have been for my dad, taking care of a premature deaf baby on his own after his wife had been murdered.
AARON: What happened to her? You said she was mugged.
AARON: I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.
SPENCER: No, it is okay. She was a nurse. One night as she was leaving the hospital where she worked, a guy attacked her in the parking garage. He raped her, and then shot her and left her for dead.
Aaron’s insides froze, and he was thankful Spencer couldn’t hear the pained sound that came out of his chest. In his mind, he saw Juliette’s face, contorted in pain as the man with the mole on his cheek violated her on the floor next to him. He could almost feel the body on top of him as it pinned him to the floor. Adrenaline screamed through him, filling his body with fear. His hands shook on the keyboard, and every rational thought disappeared like a flash of lightning. A deep throbbing he recognized as his heartbeat echoed through his head until there was nothing left.
The computer beeped with another message, but he couldn’t force himself to look. Shocked into horrified silence and nearly incapacitated by the mention of the word “rape,” Aaron stared unseeing at his desk and tried to will the panic attack creeping up his spine to wait… just wait until Spencer left. Another long, deep breath and his frantic heart slowed enough for him to stay upright.
“Aaron..” Spencer’s voice, clear and strong, filtered through the fog of panic and pain. Aaron raised his head to meet Spencer’s message on the screen.
SPENCER: What did I say? Please tell me so I do not say it again. I do not want to upset you.
Aaron stared at the screen as his throat closed around the breath trapped in it. No force in heaven or on earth could make him utter those words to Spencer, even electronically. He could not talk about it—ever—not to Spencer, not to anyone. His parents knew; he could see the shame in his mother’s eyes. They’d found… well, evidence when they’d taken him to the hospital. She asked him about it exactly once and decided his reaction wasn’t worth getting him to talk about it. It was the closest he’d ever come to ending his own life, and his mother would never take that chance again.
AARON: I can’t.
AARON: I can’t talk about it.
AARON: Please.
Before Spencer could respond, his mother stuck her head in through his bedroom door. Something in Aaron’s face made her pause, and she looked at him for a long moment and then glanced at Spencer.
“Boys, dinner is ready,” she said quietly, making sure to look at Spencer when she said it so he would understand. Aaron closed his laptop, and Spencer did the same. They both sat quietly as Aaron’s mother left, unsure what to say to each other in the awkward silence. When Aaron looked into Spencer’s face, he saw the pity he hated so much.
SPENCER’S CHEST ached. When he’d looked back through the conversation to see what he could have said to set Aaron off, one word stood out among all the others—raped. His father had been right. Aaron’s sympathy aside, only that word would have caused his extreme reaction to the story of his mother’s death. God, he felt sick.
Aaron unfolded himself from the desk chair and walked over to the bedroom door like he was going for his last meal. Spencer wanted so badly to hug his friend and take away every bit of his pain. The depth of it remained in his eyes, those fathomless blue eyes that hid nothing from the world. Not as eloquent as his father nor as empathic as his aunt, Spencer said nothing as Aaron wrapped his frail arms around himself.
He followed Aaron downstairs to an open dining room situated between the kitchen and family room. Two boys sat on the couch just beyond the dining room table and played a video racing game with tiny little characters in primary colors. Steering wheels in their hands, they held them out like weapons, crashing into each other on particularly wild turns. Their smiles and silent laughter made Spencer envious.
He turned to watch Aaron help his mother set up platters of hamburger patties, packages of buns, a bowl of fries, and a load of other serving dishes on an island in the center of the kitchen. It looked like a tiny buffet, with plates and silverware on the counter across from it. Spencer saw Aaron’s mother call the other two boys for dinner just as their father, who looked re
markably like an older Aaron, came into the room.
“You must be Spencer. Aaron has told us so much about you,” he said as he held out his hand. Spencer took it tentatively and had to swallow hard before he answered. Meeting this many new people in one day made his fucking skin crawl.
“It. Is. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You.,” Spencer repeated, just as he had with Aaron’s mother, giving the minimum his aunt would allow him to get away with. He hovered in awkward silence near the table as the family milled about in the open space. Aaron’s father wandered over to grab the boys, who, heedless of their mother’s instructions, continued to play their game. His whole life, it had been just him and his father. Spencer never played sports, wasn’t in band, and had few real friends, so his house had been calm and quiet growing up. He never had the rowdiness and chaos of three boys and two active parents. He wondered what it was like.
A hand touched his arm, and he jerked from his thoughts.
“Here, honey, just fill this right up and take a seat next to Aaron,” Mrs. Downing said as she handed him a plate. He looked over to see Aaron drop into a chair on the far side of the table with a plate half full of food. A harsh growl rumbled through his stomach, and he wondered briefly if Aaron’s mother heard it. In his family, cookouts were reserved for family get-togethers and Dad’s professional friends. They didn’t even own a grill. Spencer took the plate over to the island, which nearly overflowed with food, and began to fill it.
“It’s good to see a boy with a healthy appetite,” Aaron’s mother said after tapping him on the arm to get his attention. He could tell by the way she looked at her son that the comment was more directed at Aaron than at him. Aaron glanced up at the comment but didn’t say anything. The pain still lingering in his eyes from their earlier conversation tore at Spencer. Carrying his plate carefully with both hands, he set it down at the place next to Aaron on the far side of the table.
“There are drinks in the refrigerator. Take whatever you want,” Aaron told him as he looked up briefly from his plate to make sure Spencer could see his mouth. Aaron’s brothers and father came in from the other room, and Spencer squeezed in around them to grab the first soda he could from the refrigerator. The shorter boy elbowed the taller one in the ribs and said something Spencer didn’t catch, but the older boy moved out of his way with an apologetic grin. The camaraderie between them made his heart ache for Aaron, who sat alone at the table.
