by T. J. Klune
So I thought about what I was going to say, okay? I really did. I even wrote down a few things to try and get my mind going, to get something out on paper that would be even remotely doable. But everything I wrote turned into a laundry list of why I thought Otter was hot and made me sound like I was the most superficial asshole in the world. So I thought and thought and thought some more.
And I was still thinking when I was walking down the hill on the sand, everyone watching me as I made my way down to the beach, my tux flapping in the warm breeze, my feet bare and digging into the sand. I passed through the chairs on either side of me, vaguely aware of the people there: Erica, Eddie, and Georgia (the Custody Trio, as I referred to them), Stephanie and Ian Grant (looking way too happy considering how their daughter’s former boyfriend was getting hitched to a man right in front of them), Jordan and the bar gang (and weirdly, Isaiah and David Trent were practically in each other’s lap, which was pretty hot, if you like that sort of thing—I don’t), Alice and Jerry (Alice already sobbing and Jerry leaking a tear or two), Creed and Anna (Anna looking as big as a house, getting ready to pop any second), Dominic and the Kid (Dominic’s arm on the Kid’s shoulder, the Kid grinning from ear to ear).
There was one empty seat, one that would not be filled, at least physically. I passed by that last chair and paused, just for a moment, telling Mrs. Paquinn quietly that I loved her and that I hoped God let her drive stock cars like she always wanted.
But it was him I saw the most. The gold and green were as bright as they’d ever been as I stood in front of him, my hands trembling as he took them in his own. He watched me for a moment, and then he proceeded to make everyone cry like a little bitch with his wonderfully thought out, totally manipulative speech. I could see the glint in his eyes as my lower lip trembled when he said, “You are my soul mate.” I saw the way his lip curled into a half smile as his mother started sobbing when he said, “I’ve always known that I would love you.” He was trying to hold back his laughter as his father broke down as well when he said, “And I promise to take care of you, because you are my family, and I will protect you with everything I have.” By the time he finished, even stoic Dominic was wiping his eyes.
And then it was my turn.
I didn’t know what I was going to say.
That’s never stopped you before! it laughed. Just go with it!
So that’s what I decided to do.
I opened my mouth to pledge myself to this man… and a seagull shit on my shoulder.
I kid you not. I was staring into his eyes and was ready to pour out my heart and soul in front of our friends and family when something wet and hot landed on my suit coat. Otter’s eyes went wide, and everyone in the audience suddenly found themselves no longer crying, but gasping, their jaws dropped. I looked over on my shoulder and saw the grossest pile of crap that I’d ever seen in my life. My shoulder began to get warm and my eyes narrowed, and I looked up to see a lone seagull floating on a breeze overhead.
But not for long.
As if it could feel me watching it, it lowered itself toward the earth and landed on a table next to where we stood. Right on top of the food. Right next to the candles flickering in the breeze. Right next to the stereo softly playing music of no importance. This… I’d been here before. Déjà vu, and I knew what was going happen.
“You,” I snarled. “You son of a bitch!”
I ran over to the table, desperate to finally kill the bird because I knew it was the same one as before, that my nemesis was back to exact its revenge on me for not allowing it to eat the food from that night so many months ago. I didn’t understand how a bird could have memory, much less be vindictive, but it didn’t matter, because we were now at war, it and I. I heard everyone start cracking up behind me, and I heard Otter say astutely, “That bird really hates your guts, Papa Bear,” before he dissolved into his own mirth, and I told myself that once I was done ripping the seagull’s head off, I would turn around and give a speech so saccharine that even Eddie wouldn’t be able to console them when I was finished. I would destroy them, and they would drown in an ocean of their tears.
But first the seagull.
Of course, I failed spectacularly.
The seagull saw me running toward it with my hands waving above my head, trying to make myself look bigger than I was. I’d seen at least eighteen different nature shows with Mrs. Paquinn to know that you always want to make yourself bigger to scare things away. It squawked angrily at me, and until the day I die, I will insist that at that moment, right when I knew I had the upper hand, the bird looked me straight in the eye, lifted a single wing, and pushed over a candle onto the tabletop.
And of course the tablecloth caught on fire. Which led to the balloon strings and given how fast they burned, you would have thought they were soaked in gasoline. Which burned up to the helium-filled balloons surrounding us. Which led to all of them exploding in such rapid succession that it felt like we were in some war-torn third-world country being attacked by enemy insurgents. Once I picked myself up off the ground (only because I tripped, obviously not because the balloons exploding around me made me think the helium inside would burst and light everything on fire, including me—I tripped, okay?) the seagull had already taken off and was again floating lazily above us, calling down to me, mocking me. I screamed up at it that one day, and one day soon, it would be on my barbeque, its little feet sticking straight up into the air, and I would eat the fuck out of it. The Kid looked sufficiently scandalized and invoked Mrs. Paquinn for a moment when his hand went to his throat and he muttered, “Well, I never.”
And then, “Oh, shit.”
Creed, in hysterics: “Dude, Anna laughed so hard she literally pissed herself! Oh my God, I am going to make fun of you forever for this! No one will even remember that time I said I kinda wanted to fuck Bear! It’ll be all, like, ‘Hey guys, you remember that one time when Anna wet her—’”
“My water just broke, you moron!”
“Ha, ha! That’s what I’m saying! Your water bro—wait, what?”
And then we were all running.
It was seven hours later that Creed returned to all of us in the waiting room, decked out in scrubs, looking shell-shocked and worn. But then a crooked smile so much like his brother’s bloomed on his face, and he told us that he had a son. Joseph (God love him) Jean Thompson. JJ, for short. Seven pounds four ounces. He said that the little guy looked squishy and why hadn’t anyone told him what placenta was, because sure as shit, that was the grossest thing he’d ever seen. And then he fainted in the middle of the waiting room at Mercy Hospital.
Out of everything I remember about that day, out of all the happiness, the sadness, the sadistic seagull, and the fact that I was now married, there’s one thing that’ll stick with me for the rest of my life. No, it’s not when Otter and I finally kissed and made it official there in the waiting room. No, it wasn’t when the Kid landed in my lap, following that kiss, and hugged me until I thought my face would fall off. Those are important, yes. But there is one thing that I’ll remember above all others. It was the moment when Otter held Joseph in his arms for the first time, the little hand wrapped around one big finger. The look of wonder on his face shredded my heart. He leaned down and kissed the baby’s forehead, and that’s when I knew that regardless of what I wanted, regardless of what I thought on the matter, I’d give anything to Otter that I could. Including this.
Fuck me, I thought. Maybe the Kid will get a little brother after all.
SO THAT’S it.
Okay, that’s not really it. How can it be with so much to look forward to? I’m almost twenty-three years old. I’m married to the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m the guardian of the smartest ten (!!)-year-old ecoterrorist-in-training in the world. Of course there’s going to be more. This isn’t it, not by a long shot.
I don’t know, however, that I believe in the idea of happily ever after. It seems clichéd to end this on such a trite
note. Will we live happily ever after? I don’t know. Maybe. It seems naïve to think that everything will be perfect all the time. You know what, though? I’ll make you a promise: I promise you that we will be happy. I promise you that we will live. I haven’t come this far to let everything fall by the wayside now. And you can hold me to that promise.
I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime, learned things I don’t think a man my age should ever have to learn. I wouldn’t change any of it, but I still wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. And if there’s a few things that I hoped you learned from all of this, it would be the following: first, seagulls have long, long memories. Don’t fuck with them. I’m being serious. I don’t go back to our beach without keeping an eye on the sky, because I’m afraid that that fucking asshole will go all kamikaze on my face. He hasn’t gone for me yet, but he’s waiting for the right moment, I just know it.
The second thing?
The second thing is this: family is not defined by blood. It’s not always who you’re born to that you’re stuck with. It’s what you want it to be, what you make of it. It’s the people around you who see you at your worst and are not afraid to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. It’s the people who can call you on your bullshit. It’s tough to hear, but if you do hear it, it means that someone gives a damn about you and chances are you should probably listen. It’s the people who look at you each time they see you like they haven’t seen you in years. It’s the people who you fight for. It’s the people you’d lay down your life for. It’s the scariest thing in the world, but, if you let it, it’s also the greatest. If I could have you remember anything from our time together, it would be that it’s not about where you come from. It’s about who you are.
For better or worse, this is us.
For all of our wrongs and for all of our rights, this is us.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Ty finally got to give us his poem that he wrote for the wedding. He was kind of miffed that something as contrived as Anna going into labor would delay the reading of his latest masterpiece. But he did get to read it, eventually, and now it’s framed and sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. He’d be pissed if I forgot to mention it (“What do you mean you didn’t show them my poem? I’m the only reason people started listening to you to begin with! You really think they wanted to stay in your head the whole time? You really think they want to read about your coitus? Gross! Wait till it’s my turn to tell the story! They’ll be like ‘Bear who?’”) and you know as well as I do that I’d never stop hearing about it.
So here, at the end, I’ll leave it for you to read.
I….
Shit, this is harder than I’d thought it’d be.
Fuck it. Okay, you and I can make a deal. Let’s not say good-bye. It sounds so final and stupid and blah, blah, blah. Even though I told you this will probably be the last time you and I talk like this, I could be full of shit. Who knows? Weirder things have happened. I’m sure there’s plenty more drama down the road. I’m a gay bug zapper, remember?
So, instead of good-bye, let’s just pretend for now that I’ll see you later. I think it’s easier that way. For me, at least.
So.
See you later?
On This Day
An Epic Poem
By Tyson McKenna (soon to be Tyson Thompson)
And here we gather, on this day.
Friends and family near;
to attend a wedding so very gay!
(Is it politically correct to say queer?)
I look out at you all, family now and past,
and I really have to wonder;
how many of you find it crass
that the meat industry is such a blunder?
[Note the Kid wrote in the margins: “Hold for applause.”]
That’s right! You’ve seen the numerous reports
that show this horrific and senseless atrocity!
Why, if those people ever came to my house with a weak retort,
I’d be waiting with a shotgun on the lawn of the Green Monstrosity!
By now, I’m sure, Bear’s giving me the eye
and probably trying to signal for me to wrap it up;
so I’ll agree to let this awkward moment die
if he just buys me that golden retriever pup.
[Note the Kid wrote in the margins: “Pause and give Bear that look he always falls for. Oh, and name the puppy Minerva Fox.”]
Bear and Otter were meant to be,
Even if I was the only one that knew it.
You should thank God, Bear, that you had me,
Or else you would have choked and blew it.
So now they’re here in front of all of us
Ready to show how they love each other.
And to have us here is to show they trust
those that would call them friend, son, and brother.
[Note the Kid wrote in the margins: “DO NOT CRY!!! YOU’RE ALMOST DONE!! MAN UP, MCKENNA!!!!!”]
But there is one person here who we can’t see
and it was she who helped bring us to life.
I love you with everything I have, Mrs. P.
May you be in a place that knows no strife.
She would have said that family is all a person needs
and it wouldn’t matter if they’re near or far.
All that matters is the lesson we must heed:
to know that this is us, that this is who we are.
Epilogue
Or, Otter’s Perspective, as It Were
(Bear’s Really Gonna Freak)
Six Years Later
FOG in June is going to be one thing I won’t miss when we move. My leg hurts these days when it’s really wet outside, and this morning was no different. The fog came in off the ocean in these great waves, and I felt that old familiar stiffness when I climbed out of bed, trying to keep Bear from hearing the way I groaned when my feet touched the ground. But of course he heard. He hears everything. Without a word, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom, where I heard him rooting around in the medicine cabinet. The sink turned on, and sure enough, he walked out with a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water, which he handed to me, and watched and waited until I swallowed them right in front of him. Once he was satisfied I’d taken the painkillers, he made me lie back down on the bed and massaged my leg with those gentle hands of his until I was a puddle under his touch.
God, I love that man with all of my heart.
I was told I’d probably have a limp for the rest of my life following that accident so many years ago. I suppose I was lucky that a limp is all I came away with. When you lose seven days like that, it can weigh heavily on a person, especially someone like myself, who feels the need to protect and shelter those that are most important to me. The fact that I was not able to do so caused anger in the days that followed, anger that I tried to keep in. I would still end up lashing out at those around me, those that I wanted to help. This made things worse, at least for me. I was the strong one, after all. The big guy. The oldest. The protector. I was the one that needed to provide for my family, and I felt like I’d let them down. It wasn’t until Bear told me weeks later that I needed to get over myself that I realized how right he was. I’ve learned that no matter how much I wish it so, I can’t control everything. Sometimes things happen beyond my abilities, and I’ve just got to accept that.
Hence the limp. Hence the pain in the fog.
What’s that thing that Bear always says? Oh, yeah: blah, blah, blah.
But today, none of that matters. Today is a day that we’ve been anticipating with no small amount of excitement and trepidation, a day that has come far too soon for Bear and myself: the Kid, who turns sixteen in a couple of weeks, is graduating high school. From here, we move back East for the Kid to go to college on some prestigious scholarship that he was offered after being chased by every Ivy League school in the country. They were like sharks who smelled blood in the water while circling a wounded seal. I made sure the Kid
didn’t hear that analogy for fear of some sarcastic reprisal that I’d ever even consider calling him a wounded seal, and didn’t I know that seals were still brutally slaughtered, even though the practice was technically illegal? He’d most likely then provide me with several different pamphlets on the matter and force me to go to some PETA rally where I’d have to hold a sign showing a guy with a baseball bat standing above a baby white seal with huge eyes with words that say THIS ISN’T HUNTING. THIS IS MURDER. And wouldn’t I feel like the asshole?
There’d been discussion, at least briefly, of the Kid going by himself to school. That was nipped in the bud almost immediately when Bear had told the Kid in no uncertain terms that he could either accept the fact that we were going with, or he could just stay here and pick a local school. I could almost see the terror in Bear’s eyes as he struggled to remain in control at the thought of the Kid thousands of miles away doing God only knows what. I think the Kid saw this as well, and for a moment, I thought he would say that he wanted to stay in Seafare, knowing it would put his brother at ease and that Dominic would still be here.
Dominic’s a cop with the Seafare PD now, and at the age of twenty-one, he’s even bigger than I am. He’s still quiet, his voice still broken and rusty, but he’s intimidating as all hell, and even though he and the Kid had argued bitterly at his choice of profession, he stuck with it, that same stoicism shining through that he’s carried since I’ve known him. I don’t know if the Kid has gotten over it, even though it’s been over a year. “So, what?” the Kid had said furiously. “You want to get shot? You want to get stabbed? You want to fucking do that, be the big hero? Fine! See if I fucking care if your fat ass gets killed just because you think you owe it to the world after what you went through! I don’t give a damn what you do!” Later that night, when I heard the Kid weeping openly as he struggled to talk to Bear, I knew that his choice had been made for him, and that we’d be leaving Seafare to follow the Kid to school.
