by T. J. Klune
The plan, at least at this point, is to come back after the Kid graduates. We don’t yet know how quickly that will be, though I have a feeling things might change when the Kid turns eighteen (that’s going to be a fun day, let me tell you). The Kid is looking at any number of the sciences as a major, and the school has pretty much given him carte blanche to do whatever he wants (“Do you think they’d let me open my own environmental detective agency?”). Bear already has a teaching job lined up for ninth-grade English and a few AP classes (“I still don’t understand how you can teach English,” the Kid had told him after Bear graduated. “You still don’t have a grasp on the language yourself. I don’t know if the school district will appreciate you shaping young minds to essentially be Bear clones. Could you imagine? A whole army of people who suddenly and without provocation randomly say whatever it is in their heads? My God, the consequences will be staggering!”)
I already have several projects lined up for a few travel magazines back East. Apparently everyone wants pictures of old dirt roads surrounded by trees in the fall. I’m not sure how much longer photography will sustain my interest. I’ve lost the passion I used to have for it, though I can’t say why, for sure. My old Nikon doesn’t feel the same in my hands as it used to. There’s been talk between Bear and I, late at night, when it seems safer to discuss such things, of me going back to school, as well, to do something different. I could even brush the dust off my MBA, but the thought of me going to work in corporate America makes me sick, so I don’t know. We don’t have to worry financially, at least for a while. We have time.
But not today. Today has been a blur, which is why Bear forced me and the Kid out the door to go buy the Kid a new tie, seeing as how the Kid had managed to lose half his other ones, and the ones he did have all had some message on them that Bear didn’t think would be appropriate to wear to a graduation. “A solid color,” he warned us as he put the keys in my hand and kissed me good-bye. “I’ll even take stripes. I swear to God if you both come back with a PETA tie, I’m divorcing you.” He pointed at me. “And I’m putting you up for adoption.” He pointed at the Kid. “And trust me when I say you’ll both be alone forever because no one puts up with your bullshit like me. Now, leave. I have one hundred essays to read about a fourteen-year-old’s take on Wuthering Heights, so you can obviously see I’m not in the mood for shenanigans.”
So we’re at the mall, and we find a tie and decide to give Bear a little time to himself with what I’m sure are glowing interpretations of Heathcliff and Cathy. We walk around aimlessly, randomly people-watching and looking at ideas for a few smaller presents for Bear’s birthday in a couple of days. He doesn’t know the Kid and I have already gotten him a new SUV. The Kid had agreed, only because it’s electric. It’s the little victories that I love the most.
“You nervous?” I ask the Kid as we stare at goldfish in the pet store.
“About what?” he deflects masterfully.
“Your speech.”
He rolls his eyes. “What’s there to be nervous about?”
“Oh, right,” I tease. “You’re only the youngest valedictorian in the school’s history, and you only have to give a ten-minute speech in front of hundreds of people that, knowing you, you haven’t even written yet.”
The Kid grins and looks so much like his brother did at his age that I feel a pang in my chest. “Eh,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “So I wing it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Uh, you’d use it as a platform to promote several of your ideological views and end up causing riots in the streets of Seafare?”
He looks interested. “You think that could happen?”
I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “I wouldn’t bet against you any day of the week.”
He seems distracted as we wander around the mall, and there’s something in his posture, something about his demeanor that lets me know that something is weighing heavily on his mind. I think about asking him what’s wrong, but I know by now it’s better to wait for him to come to me. He brings up his thumb and chews on the fingernail, and so I know it’ll be soon.
We’ve passed the food court when Ty asks his Very Important Question.
“Oliver?”
“Yes, Ty?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
He sighs. “You can’t tell any of this to Bear, okay? Not until I’ve figured it out.”
I hesitate but only for a moment. Bear’ll forgive me. “Promise.”
“How do you know when you’re in love?”
I hide the smile that threatens to rise. I’m reminded of a time that the Kid had asked that question before, right after I’d come back home. He’d been only nine then, and had asked that question of his brother. Bear had told me later that it’s questions like that that cause his brain to short out because he doesn’t always know how to answer without coming across as a douche bag. His words, not mine.
But love. How does one know? I think of Bear. His voice. His mind. His body. His soul. And I just know, like I’ve always known. I gently twist the ring on my finger, remembering how we’d gotten legally married three years after that first attempt that day on the beach. Oregon had finally passed gay marriage laws, much to the displeasure of the Republicans, and much to the great pleasure of the Kid, who immediately began planning an overtly egregious ceremony, saying that the only way to get the point across is if we rub their noses in it. But, in the end, it was a quiet thing with a justice of the peace and our family, Bear looking like the happiest man on earth, my heart swelling so much I thought it’d burst. That was a good day.
“I guess,” I say slowly, “that it’s when you figure out that you can’t live without another person. That somehow they complete you and without them, you’re not whole. You always feel like something’s missing, no matter what you try and do.”
He watches me for a moment, absorbing my words, thinking them over in his unique mind, which is undoubtedly categorizing, dissecting, cataloguing, and inspecting each and every syllable that I’ve just uttered to him. I wait to see what his reaction will be, if I need to explain further, if I should joke around with him, tease him about whatever girl he’s focused on now. There’s a few in his class and in classes above him that follow him like he’s the greatest thing in the world, and there’s this little blonde, especially, that he seems to laugh a lot more with than most.
And then his face grows weary, his eyes resigned, his forehead scrunches, and I know he’s reached his conclusion. “Shit,” he mutters. “So that’s what that is.”
I can’t help it: I laugh, reaching over to ruffle his hair. I don’t know how serious it can be, obviously, with him being so young, but I cautiously remind myself that the Kid is different in so many ways, so why shouldn’t his emotional maturity be right up there with someone much older than him? I feel a slight chill at this. He doesn’t look worried, per se. Perhaps “fatalistic” is a better description. Like it’s inevitable, how he feels, and while he can’t change it, he’d rather not have it be as it is.
“Do you think people would wait for each other?” he asks me almost wistfully. “Like, if the other person felt the same way, that they’d wait for each other until they could be together again?”
“I suppose,” I say, shrugging. “But if we’re talking about you, and we’re talking about after you’re done with college, you have to understand that that’s a long time, Kid. For anyone. And unless there’s already a history there, it may be harder. Like if it was me and your brother, of course I’d wait. I’d wait for the rest of my life if it meant I got to be with him again one day.”
“Shit,” he says again as his shoulders slump. “I can’t ask him to do that. It’s not fair. And it’s not like I know anything would come of it.”
“It’s hard to ask anyone to do that. It’s hard to know if someone feels the same way unless you ask them. Sometimes, bluntness is the only way to go. You gotta ask those… those….”
Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back it up. Back it right the hell up. “Kid?” I say as I stop.
“Yeah?” he sighs.
“Did you just say you couldn’t ask him to do that?”
He glances over at me before looking away. “The irony is just sickening, isn’t it? But yeah. That’s what I said. At least we know my life will never be boring, especially if I’m taking Bear’s trajectory. He really is my brother, isn’t he.”
Too many things are rushing through my head, the majority of which have to do with this sucker punch of a revelation, but not how it will affect the Kid. The Kid is strong. The Kid is the smartest person I know. He’ll be fine, I think. I hope. But Bear? Holy fucking shit, Bear? Bear’s going to have a nuclear meltdown like the world has never seen.
But then something else takes its place. Something that I need to know the answer to, and I wrack my brain to come up with a single name, a single friend of his that might seem to be more than just that. Someone I might have missed. But for the life of me, I can’t seem to pick out any one person. “Is it okay if I ask who it is?” I say, unsure if I want the answer. How many times has the Kid had a friend over and the door to the bedroom has been shut? What if he was… doing things in there that he shouldn’t be doing? There’s going to be some changes, that’s for damn sure. Those little punks, coming into my house, trying to get up on someone who is essentially my son. Like hell. The only person that I would trust from now on to be alone with him would be Dom—
Oh. Oh.
What’s that other thing that Bear says all the time? Oh yeah: Holy fuck me sideways.
“Dominic?” I ask before the Kid can say a damn thing, trying to not sound like I’m about to have a heart attack, but not really succeeding. “It’s Dominic?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He scowls at me as he grabs me by the arm and pulls me through the doors out to the parking lot. “It’s not as if I planned it or anything. The social conservatives will point out that if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours and Bear’s for raising me in a gay household. Thanks for turning me into a homosexual, Otter. As if life wasn’t hard enough.”
“Dominic?” I say again.
“Jesus, you’ve been married to my brother for too long. It’s like your brain is leaking out your ears. It’s really not that hard of a concept.”
Then suddenly I’m furious. I grab the Kid by the arm and stop him from walking away. “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” I growl. “He hasn’t touched you or anything?”
The Kid bursts out laughing. “You’re being serious?” he says incredulously. “Otter, this is Dominic talking about. He doesn’t even know I exist like that.” The Kid grins at me, and it’s slightly evil. “I wouldn’t say no or anything, if he did—”
“There’s no way on God’s green earth that’s ever going to happen,” I warn him. “If I find out you’re messing around with anyone, you’re going to be grounded for at least forty years, you get me? I’ll tell your brother so fast that you won’t even get to leave the house without him being all up in your business.”
The Kid is still laughing hysterically at me as we reach the car. We’re leaving the mall when he finally quiets down and looks out the window, tears streaming down his face. I don’t think they’re all from laughter. There’s a storm coming off the ocean, the clouds big and black. I shiver slightly, sending a silent thank-you that the graduation ceremony is being held indoors, realizing how inconsequential that seems now.
“So,” I say casually, even though there’s nothing casual about it, “is Dominic still bringing Stacey to your graduation?” I watch for the reaction to the name of the woman Dominic has been dating off and on for the past few months. It’s a test, and one that I shouldn’t have to give. Not now. Not yet.
It’s immediate, that scowl on his face, that flash of anger. I’d wondered why the Kid hadn’t liked her, as she seemed perfectly fine to me. She’s a kindergarten teacher, one that Bear had met before he graduated and had introduced to Dominic. The Kid hadn’t liked her, not even at the beginning. We all thought it stemmed from Dominic’s time being otherwise occupied with this new woman. Things make a lot more sense now, even if it makes it a whole hell of a lot harder. “She’s going,” the Kid grumbles. “She and her ginormous boobs. I thought my best friend wasn’t going to be shallow, but it looks like he fell into her cleavage trap like every other straight man in the history of the world.” He looks out the window at the gathering storm. “Is it too much to ask that she get hit by a train?”
“A bit,” I say. “You shouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even Stacey and her boobs.”
Silence, for a bit. Then, “I don’t know how I’m going to say good-bye to him.” It’s said quietly, as if any louder would make it real.
“Dominic?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll get to talk to him all the time,” I remind the Kid gently. “We’ll come home for the summers and holidays, or he can come visit us. It’ll be a lot easier than you think, trust me. And you’ll be so busy with school and everything else that you won’t have time to worry.” I don’t feel like I’m saying the right things, but that look on his face is breaking my heart, and all I want is to make things easier for him, to protect him from the pain ahead. I’ve crushed on a few straight guys in my time. Hell, I ended up marrying one of them (not so much straight as curved, my Bear is). I know how it can be. And it fucking sucks.
“Would you be okay if that were you and Bear?” the Kid asks, already knowing the answer. “If you could only see him every once in a while?”
I wouldn’t be, no. I’d be far from okay if that happened. Bear is my life. I shrug, not wanting to commit more.
But he sees right through me, as he always does. “Me either,” he sighs. “Trust me, I’ve tried to rationalize it any way I could. Tried to tell myself it’s hero worship, that it’s the fact that I’ve known him for so long. That he’s always been there. But that’s not it. At all. I know it’s not because there’s sometimes when he smiles at me, that one smile he only does for me, and my heart starts to race and my skin starts to itch, and I feel sweaty and alive and like I could take on anything that was thrown at me, if only he would smile at me like that again.”
“Shit,” I breathe. “You love him.”
He snaps back to me. “You can’t tell Bear,” he says, almost panicked. “He would just freak on top of everything else going on. You know that. I can’t take that now. It’s going to be hard enough as it is.”
I can’t tell him that I’m freaking out because he needs me right now. “You can’t expect me to hide this forever,” I tell him. “It wouldn’t be fair to your brother. You’ll need to tell him at some point, Kid. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” That sounded sincere.
He looks like he doesn’t believe me as he turns to stare back out the window. It’s starting to rain. He looks morose and upset, and I try to think of anything I could say to cheer him up, but then his phone rings, interrupting any chance I might have had. The Kid sighs as he looks down at the display. But even I can see that spark in his eyes, the small smile that tugs on his lips as he answers.
“Hey, Dom. What are you—what? Ha! Shut up. I do not! I’m not worried at all. Everyone’s gonna love my speech. They will too! You’ll just have to wait and see. I’m not going to tell you yet. Because you have to be surprised! Hey, can I ask you a question? Oh, what? She does? Oh. Well, tell Stacey I say hi back. What? Nothing’s wrong. I am telling you the truth! Don’t tell me what I am—what question? Oh, yeah. It’s not important. Don’t worry about it. Ah, God, you’re so annoying. Fine. I was just going to ask you if you’d come visit me when I was away at school. It’s not that big of a deal. You will? Really? You won’t… never mind. That’s dumb. Jesus! You won’t forget about me or anything? What? You’ll think about me every day? Wow. No. I’m not going to say it. Just Otter. I’m not going to say it! Ugh! Fine. Friends until we’re old and gray, beginning to end, day after day. I was nine when I f
irst said that! Whatever. My poetry skills rock. Is it okay if I ride with you to the graduation? Cool. Is Stacey going to be there? Maybe she could take her own car, and we could—yeah? Cool. Alright. Just come over. I know. I know you’re proud of me. I know. Yeah. I’m going to miss you so—what? Stacey says you gotta go? Okay. Yeah. Love you too.”
The Kid hangs up the phone.
“It’ll be fine,” I say helplessly. I don’t know what else to do.
“Sure,” he says, his voice hard. It doesn’t even sound like him. “Sure it will.” He looks so small. Just a little guy, really.
It’s pouring now. I can barely see through the rain.
Sure it will.
Dammit. The only thing I’m sure of now is that Bear’s really gonna freak.
About the Author
When TJ KLUNE was eight, he picked up a pen and paper and began to write his first story (which turned out to be his own sweeping epic version of the video game Super Metroid—he didn’t think the game ended very well and wanted to offer his own take on it. He never heard back from the video game company, much to his chagrin). Now, two decades later, the cast of characters in his head have only gotten louder, wondering why he has to go to work as a claims examiner for an insurance company during the day when he could just stay home and write.
