Henry's End

by Julie Richman

  Holding the poses was more challenging than Henry anticipated, even though his long, lean limbs were able to adapt to the positions fairly easily. He smiled inwardly thinking, stilling my mind is going to be what I’m going to have to work my ass off to achieve, but knew the benefits of that were probably worth more than his twice a week therapy sessions.

  “So, what is the ultimate goal?” Henry felt invigorated, as if he’d opened up a new energy channel that was coursing through him, pulsing life back into cells that had been in hiding for over six months.

  “That’s a great question. I don’t think there are any two answers that will be exactly the same. This is the personal snowflake for people. Unique goals based on your unique needs.” She paused, obviously still considering Henry’s question, “I think on a larger scale, as a discipline, the goal is to achieve Moksha.”

  Unknowingly, the petite instructor had said the magic word. Moksha. Liberation. And Henry Clark knew in that moment that working toward mastering Yoga would become a life’s passion as important to his well-being as breathing.

  I need to be liberated. I don’t want to be a slave anymore.

  Strolling into Schooner’s office, his friend looked every inch ‘The Boss’. With a smug smile, Schooner looked up from his laptop as Henry took a seat across the desk.

  “I knew you were setting me up, Moore. I just didn’t know what for.”

  “So what do you think?” Schooner flipped the laptop shut.

  “I think it’s interesting and I like that it integrates mind, body and spirit in a restorative way.”

  Schooner remained silent and Henry continued.

  “If it can help with the fear and anxiety and the nightmares,” he took a deep breath, “I want it to. I really do. I want to fight back, Schooner. What you said to me before about him stealing my power was really true. I want it back.”

  Schooner’s handsome smile reached his clear blue eyes, “Good. Because that scumbag doesn’t deserve anything from you. Not your life. Not your thoughts. And certainly not another minute of your present or your future.” Sitting back in his chair, he looked very pleased with himself. “So, how many days a week can you commit to this?”

  “Well, I have therapy twice a week.”

  Schooner wasn’t waiting for an answer, “Great, so we’ll make you a standing three day per week client with Ivy. And since you’ll be here, you and I can do some working out, too. And maybe get on that SkyTrack and run through this.”

  Henry just nodded. Words would have caused his eyes to well up.

  “We’ll run through this, we will. You’re going to be ok.” Henry had promised his despondent friend as they ran the empty track behind the dorms.

  “I don’t know that I’ll ever really be OK, H.” Schooner looked up at the stars shining down on them and pulled his black knit cap further down on his brow. “Not until I know why she left me.”

  “You will be OK. We’ll run through this,” and Henry took off in a sprint knowing the competitive athlete in Schooner would have him following suit.

  As if sharing the same moment in his mind’s eye, Schooner locked eyes with Henry and softly repeated, “We’ll run through this.”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  He sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed the PalmPilot and started to scroll.

  X. 206.

  Placing the device back on the nightstand, Henry reached over his head, and with his right hand grabbed the neckline of his tank top and hauled it off in a quick, sweeping motion.

  On his knees facing the end of the bed, he slowly slid forward with his arms outstretched until his forehead touched the cool sheets. Mindful that his bottom still held contact with the heels of his feet, Henry was satisfied that his form was good as he stretched into the Balasana, or the Child’s Pose.

  Focusing on his breathing and stilling his mind, the stress relieving position was accomplishing exactly what it was designed to do, as Henry’s mind and body calmed.

  On the nightstand stood two bottles, one filled with highly-addictive painkillers, the other with equally addictive anti-anxiety medicine.

  Henry hadn’t touched either since he began working with Ivy.

  Getting back to work was the next major stride Henry made, realizing that having a schedule in his life was exactly what he needed to keep progressing in his recovery and keep his mind from wandering off. The first day was difficult as he looked at his navy suit laid out on the bed, thinking I can’t do this. I can’t have them all see me.

  Forcing himself to put on the pale blue shirt, then his slacks, he stood before the full-length mirror to knot his favorite tie. And then he just stood there, staring at his reflection. I look whole, he thought. Grabbing his suit jacket, he slipped into it and walked back to the mirror. He could see the difference in his face and wondered would others notice it. It was subtle and the shock of ginger hair setting off his violet-blue eyes would probably distract people from the distinct changes to his bone structure. There was only one telltale giveaway and that was the scar.

  Coworkers and clients alike greeted him warmly, showing genuine concern. Even his straight male colleagues were welcoming. By lunch the first day, being surrounded by people he had known for so many years, felt comforting, not stress inducing. I should have done this sooner, he thought, but knew he had not been ready and that things were falling into place again as they should.

  The one thing he hadn’t quite gotten back to yet was his bicycle deliveries for the Fold and Fluff. At Edwin’s insistence, Henry was back helping out, but his mode of delivery had changed to his car, where he could lock the doors, giving him a feeling of safety on his drop-off route. Looking over his shoulder was something he hadn’t let go of yet and wasn’t sure he ever would.

  So much had changed since he’d first gotten to San Diego, and he knew he’d never be the same person he was when he’d arrived. The innocence of those first months felt as if he were watching a video recording of another person. A very naïve, trusting person. Those early days living in Hillcrest felt wild and innocent, as the world lay before him, begging to be licked, tasted and savored. And he had been all too happy to be the glutton. Gone now, were the carefree free-wheeling days, replaced by structure needed as a scaffold he could tightly grasp onto to keep moving forward. Just keep moving forward, he kept telling himself.

  The discipline of three days a week at L9, and its clear results, provided a level of confidence Henry was shocked he was seeing so soon as he reclaimed the different facets of his molested world.

  Ivy was pushing him, as she always did, forcing him to do just a little more and to do it a little better. Today was no different. As he counted breaths in the Peacock Position, two, three, four, five, his mind was still and focused.

  “Into a Low Push-Up for a count of five breaths next and then take that into a Cobra and hold before we call it a day.”

  As they walked out of the studio together, Ivy asked, “So have you had any more nightmare free nights?”

  After they had been working together for several weeks, the trust had been built enough for Henry to share an abbreviated version of the attack and tell Ivy of his recurring nightmare. Smiling, he nodded, “Yes, quite a few.”

  “That is excellent. This has worked so well for you. I am really pleased.”

  “You and me both,” Henry laughed.

  Entering the main building, he immediately noticed Schooner over at the free weights with three seriously built guys.

  I haven’t seen them before, Henry mused. I wouldn’t have forgotten that trio.

  As he got closer to the group, the men appeared even better looking than he originally thought. These guys could be a calendar, he mused and what struck him hardest was that he had noticed, he had actually noticed. And it had piqued his interest.

  As if sensing his arrival, Schooner turned, “H, great timing. These guys need a fourth. Are you available?”

  Henry knew the look on Sch
ooner’s face. Knew it well. Mr. Moore was proud of himself. Quite proud.

  “Guys, this is my friend, Henry,” he began.

  The three looked over as Henry approached. He was greeted by the warm smile of a Denzel Washington look-a-like and a nod from a handsome Hispanic guy with one of the tightest builds he had ever seen. It was the third guy whose reaction made him tense, yet caused a stir in a place he never thought would stir again. As Henry approached, the dark haired man’s pale blue eyes took a walk all over him.

  “Henry, this is Derek, Willie and Quinn.”

  As he shook hands with each, the eye contact confirmed what he had hoped. This was a trio of gorgeous gay men. Well done, Schooner.

  “Quinn Callahan.” The man had a powerful shake. “Spot for me?” he asked, quickly staking his claim.

  “Yeah, sure.” Henry followed him toward a bench, impressed by his tight ass and muscular calves. With thick hair, a near black, Henry thought his mother would have described Quinn as “Black Irish”.

  “Are you all friends?”

  “Yeah,” his smile revealed even white teeth, “and we work together, too.” Loading the bumper plates onto the barbell, Quinn sealed them on with the muscle clamp collars and took his place on the bench.

  Watching the man’s muscles as he pumped the heavy iron, Henry couldn’t help but admire his sculptured arms as the planes and shadows began to glisten. He didn’t realize at first that he was licking his lips as he watched Quinn’s muscles work. There was some kind of primal call in the man’s grunts, Henry thought, something so distinctly masculine, yet beautiful. I could watch him do this for days.

  Quinn finished his reps and Henry secured the bar.

  “Are you lifting today?” Quinn was ready to return the favor.

  “No, but I’m happy to help.”

  “Well, thanks.” The man looked puzzled. “Run? I usually hit the SkyTrack next.”

  “Sure.” Henry felt immediate relief at Quinn’s suggestion. He didn’t want to say goodbye just yet, but hadn’t figured out how to make the situation continue. Damn, I’m rusty, he thought.

  Getting into the elevator up to the SkyTrack, Henry could feel the energy, or so he thought, immediately deciding it was all in his head, though he didn’t want it to be. Quinn was the first person he’d been attracted to in months. And how could he not be, thought Henry, the man was just beautiful with that black hair and pale baby-blue eyes.

  The elevator door opened and they were at the top of the structure, the noise from the conversations on the facility’s main floor below them just a mere din. Quinn gestured to Henry to step out of the car in front of him. They walked to the railing of the SkyTrack and began stretching side-by-side.

  “So where do you guys work?” Henry wondered about the hot trio, half expecting Quinn to answer Chippendale’s.

  As he pressed off the railing stretching his hamstring, Quinn glanced at Henry, his pale blue eyes doing a quick assessment of the information’s recipient.

  “We’re PD,” was all he said.

  “You guys are cops?” Henry’s look of astonishment could not be hidden.

  With a slight nod of his head and a smile, Quinn was off, his first lap on the track underway.

  Cops. Hot cops. Hot gay cops. Damn you, Schooner Moore. You’re just going to drag me back into this world by whatever means you see fit.

  Thank you.

  It didn’t elude Henry as he began to run, trailing Quinn by thirty feet that he was chasing a hot cop’s ass. When he realized that, the thought made him smile, and his smile grew even brighter as he quickened his pace to close the gap between them.

  Without breaking stride, Quinn turned around, his pale blue eyes crinkling from his smile as Henry caught up. Checking out Henry’s long legs, “You were made to run,” he observed.

  Henry loved the man’s attention to the details of his body. It was a little scary, but he wanted Quinn to notice him. “Schooner and I actually ran track together in college.”

  “Is that how you met? On the track team?

  Henry smiled at the memory, “No, we were friends long before that and we used to run together every night. Finally, we decided to try out for the team.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken Schooner for a runner.”

  “He wasn’t. He was a tennis player, but had to give it up after an injury. That’s when we started running.”

  “Is that what you usually come here for? The track and treadmills?” his breath was not even taxed as he spoke.

  “No, not usually.” Henry smiled, wondering what the cop would think of his admission. “I do work with the Yoga instructor here.”

  “Yoga.” He took it in stride. “I don’t know much about it, but it’s a great body and mind tool, right?”

  “Very good for that.”

  “I should try it sometime.” Again, that gorgeous white-toothed smile. “But I totally get that. My mind/body thing is cycling.”

  Henry smiled, “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn confirmed as they finished their second lap on the SkyTrack and began the third. “You too?”

  “I haven’t ridden in a few months, but cycling is definitely my thing.”

  “Well, you need to get your ass back in shape,” he paused and looked down at Henry’s ass with a smile, “and ride with me on the Long Beach/San Diego AIDS Ride.”

  “Wow. I’d forgotten about the AIDS Ride.” I’ve been so focused on me, the world has just passed me by. “I could probably get the Fold and Fluff I volunteer at to sponsor me.”

  “It’s so much better when you have someone to do it with.” Quinn was looking straight ahead as he ran.

  “Are you serious about doing it together?” Henry was intrigued by this guy, and the thought of wanting to see him again was something he thought he’d never feel with anyone and certainly not this soon. He needed to talk to Schooner. See how much he knew about this guy. Psycho cop after psycho Marine would be the end of him.

  “Yeah, I’ve done it alone the past two years. Those two pussies downstairs don’t even own bicycles, so it would be great to have a friend to train with and then do the event together.”

  “I’m really out of shape,” Henry confessed.

  Once again the pale blue eyes took a walk all over him, “I beg to differ.”

  Henry suddenly needed water for his dry mouth.

  “So tell me about these guys.” Henry sat down across the big desk from Schooner and asked without preamble.

  Sitting back in his black leather chair, Schooner crossed his muscular arms across his chest and smiled.

  “Get that shit-eating grin off your face, Moore, and tell me about these guys.”

  “Well, they’re cops.” Schooner’s grin continued to expand.

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “And you like cops.”

  “You’re a dog.” Henry narrowed his violet-blue eyes.

  And both men broke into laughter.

  Finally, “No, seriously. I’m afraid of psychos. You can understand that.”

  “Cops protect people, H.”

  “Marines protect a whole country, Schooner.”

  “You have a point there.”

  “Yeah, and if any of these guys are psycho cops, I want to stay as far away as possible. How long have you known them? How’d you know they were gay?”

  “So you and Quinn seemed to hit it off,” Schooner noted, shaking his head with a self-satisfied look.

  “Answer my questions.”

  “I’ve known the three of them for a while. I knew Derek first, when he was on the force in Laguna Niguel. He started working out at the L9 facility there about four years ago. It was probably a couple of months later, that I met Willie. After they moved down to this area, they still drove up on weekends to use that facility.”

  “What about Quinn?” Henry needed to know more about the Irishman with the black hair and pale baby-blue eyes.

  Schooner smiled. “I first met Quinn,” he thought for a se
cond, “I’d say about a year ago. Maybe a little longer.”

  “And how do you know they are not psychos?” Henry was dead serious.

  “I guess you never really know, but these are guys that are active in the community, have good reputations, are respected by colleagues, they do sports camps and stuff. If there were any red flags at all, H, I never would’ve introduced you.” Schooner paused, “Besides I’ve had some really great conversations with Quinn about what he wants in life and what his goals are, and I think they are similar to what you want.” Pausing for effect, “And you like cops.”

  “What did he tell you?” Come on, Schooner, spill. You’ve woken the beast. Now feed it.

  “He wants a loving relationship with a partner, living openly as gay men. Which for a cop, takes a lot of guts. Something this guy is not short on, unlike Psycho Marine. And he’d even like a family someday. He’s one of the good guys. I know it in my gut, H.”

  Henry sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.

  “So you liked him?” Schooner seemed proud of himself as a matchmaker.

  “I may be damaged, Moore, but I’m not dead. The guy is gorgeous. And seems really nice. I think we have stuff in common. I don’t know that he’s into me though.”

  “He seemed pretty into you to me. But hey, what do I know? I’m just the straight guy here.” He laughed.

  “You really thought he was into me?” Henry needed the reassurance.

  “Well, how did he leave it?”

  “We’re going to meet back here on Wednesday, and we’re going to ride together in the Long Beach/San Diego AIDS Ride.”

  “I didn’t know you were doing that.”

  “Neither did I,” Henry smiled.

  Schooner just shook his head, his All-American boy smile beaming, “So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. No pun intended. He made short-term plans with you. He’s meeting you here on Wednesday and he made long-term plans with you. You guys are riding in a charity event together.”

  Henry nodded, “Yeah and we’re going to do some training together since I haven’t ridden in over six months.”