Freestyle Love

by Marcus Lopes

  A great wave of sadness seized hold of Malachi as he witnessed the long embrace between Joshua and Sarah. Malachi dropped his gaze, checking his tears. There was a new closeness between the three of them, a new sense of family, but Malachi still felt disconnected from this place that was supposed to be home. Perhaps nothing had changed since the time of Zach Brennan, or since Cole had entered Malachi’s life. Malachi felt absolutely alone in the world. Was that because he wasn’t capable of letting go of a love that haunted him? Would he ever find a way to set himself free? He stood and headed for the house.

  Sarah caught a glimpse of Malachi as he was about to open the door and pushed out of the embrace. She asked, “Where are you going?”

  Malachi opened the door. “To pack.”

  “I’d like to speak to you first. Privately.” Sarah kissed Joshua on the cheek, smiled, and made her way back into the house and walked into the living room. After Malachi entered the dim room, she turned on a lamp and said, “Thank you for talking to Joshua.”

  Malachi shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

  “What are you doing?” There was an unusual testiness in Sarah’s voice.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” Sarah said and sat down on the sofa. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t be so stubborn you can’t forgive, and don’t roll your eyes at me.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You said that before.” Sarah crossed her legs and fell back into the sofa. “So?”

  Malachi sat down on the sofa, his hands clasped together and resting on his lap. He stared abstractly at the floor. “Before I came here, I went to London.”

  “England?”

  Malachi laughed. “No. London, Ontario.” He bit down on his lower lip and could feel a heavy grey weight pressing down on his chest. “I had met someone before Cole and I got serious. We had a one-night stand and tried to be friends afterwards.”

  Sarah said, “But you felt something more for each other.”

  Malachi shook his head. “Yes, but it was a crazy time for both of us. He was in a relationship, which I didn’t know about until it was too late. I… I had just lost a student that I had become involved with. And Cole was there somewhere in the background.”

  “Somehow Cole won out,” Sarah said, and shifted her body slightly to have a better view of Malachi, who avoided looking at her.

  Malachi leaned back and rested his head on the sofa. “Cole made me feel the way Taylor Blanchard did, like anything was possible.” He looked at Sarah. “Cole… I don’t know how to explain it. I woke up one morning and knew that something was wrong. It felt like everything in my life had flat lined. Cole and me, my writing, my work at the college.” His eyes were moist. “I could hardly explain it to myself, so how could I talk to Cole about it?”

  “Did you even try?” Sarah asked, matter-of-fact.

  “No.”

  Sarah said, “He loves you,” and with emphasis, “you know that.”

  “I know.” Malachi stood and made for the stairs.

  “What about London?” Sarah bounced off the sofa and followed Malachi into the foyer. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  Malachi was about to mount the staircase when he stopped and turned to face Sarah. He went to speak but said nothing, tears streaming down his face.

  “Oh, Malachi…” Sarah pulled Malachi into her arms and held him as he cried. She wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, but she was speechless. While she felt closer to her brother, that they had somehow found each other again, she realized that she did not know him. He was, in fact, still a complete stranger. When Malachi pulled away, she asked, “Is this someone you love?”

  Malachi rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think I know what love is.”

  Sarah took Malachi’s hands in hers. “Yes, you do. And all you can do is let your heart lead you.”

  Malachi slipped his hands out of Sarah’s grasp. “I really should go pack.”

  “Malachi…” Sarah took a step towards him. “Talk to Cole. Tell him the truth.”

  Would talking to Cole make a difference? Malachi shrugged, and drew in a deep breath, pushed it out quietly through his nose, and rushed up the stairs.

  Seventeen

  “What happened to my own moral core?” Malachi wondered and, leaning forward, hid is face in his hands. He was battle worn, and desperate for some kind of ending. Malachi tried to imagine himself making that conciliatory phone call: “I’m coming home,” and Cole, in his pathetic way, saying how relieved he was and that they would somehow be all right. Malachi uncovered his face and stared blankly at his suitcase, which was next to him on the bed. There was a certain sadness that he held for this house, which he had loved as a child. He thought, with nostalgia, of how he used to run up and down the steps, the laughter and love that filled it on holidays, the smell of his mother’s homemade bread. It had been a sanctuary. And then everything had changed. He didn’t know how Sarah could still live in the house. Had she been able to strip away the past? Could Malachi do the same with his present? He wasn’t sure because he knew exactly what had happened to his moral core. It had shifted, sideswiped him and sent him spinning. He was already out of control by the time he had landed in Halifax, and in leaving now not much had changed.

  Malachi stood, picked up his suitcase and attaché, and tiptoed down the wooden staircase. He stopped on the last step and listened. The house was quiet, and still had a hold on him, as if holding him hostage. He stepped down and set his bags on the floor, and walked into the living room. There was an inkling of his other self, a young boy, wounded and terrified, searching for himself in another world that he had yet to inhabit. He saw that the way his mother looked at him had changed. In her eyes, he could see more than her disappointment at him being gay and her desperation to save him. His mother looked through him, as if he were already dead. He drew in a deep breath. That was the past, and there was nothing he could do about that now. Sarah had been so good to him, to welcome him back, but he wasn’t absolutely sure that they could hang on to each other. How long would it take for them to fall back into their routine of phone calls and cards on birthdays and at Christmas?

  He returned to the foyer, and picked up the phone and dialled. A woman answered on the other end and asked him to hold. When she finally switched back to him, he gave his sister’s Clifton Street address. “How long? Thanks.” He hung up the phone and moved to put on his shoes.

  Sarah came into the foyer and studied Malachi as he shoved his feet into his shoes. “What are you doing?”

  Malachi looked thoughtfully at Sarah. “What does it look like?”

  “Malachi…” Sarah folded her arms. “Where are you going to go?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Then why leave? Stay here, at least until you’ve sorted things out in your mind.”

  Malachi shook his head. “I can’t stay here any longer. This place still haunts me, Sarah. You’ve painted, renovated the kitchen, pulled up the carpet and put in hardwood floors but that doesn’t change what happened here. This won’t ever feel like home again for me.”

  Sarah went over to Malachi and held his hands. “You’re always welcome here.” Her eyes were moist. “It feels like we just found each other and I don’t want to lose my baby brother again.” She squeezed his hands. “Joshua needs his uncle, too.”

  Malachi smiled. “My cab should be here shortly.”

  Sarah pulled Malachi into an embrace and when they pushed apart, said, curt, “I would’ve driven you.”

  Malachi said, “You’ve done enough already,” and picked up his baggage. He headed towards the front door, opened it, and standing half in the porch and half in the house, stared at the floor. “I haven’t forgotten what you said about forgiveness. I hope you know that. It’s just —”

  “It’s complicated,” Sarah said, and smiled faintly.

  Malachi lifted his gaze. “Complicated.�
� He shook his head, grinning. “You and Mitch, that’s complicated too.” They looked intently at each other for a moment and then laughed. At the sound of a horn beeping Malachi stepped completely into the porch.

  “Malachi…” Sarah charged towards him and stopped at the door. “If you need anything…”

  Malachi’s throat constricted as he checked his tears. “I know, sis,” he said and, as the bright August sun beamed into his eyes, pulled the door closed behind him.

  ****

  Malachi rang the doorbell and waited, his hands shoved in his pockets. He turned around and looked in the direction of the taxi, parked in the driveway behind the beige Sunbird. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he thought, and rang the doorbell again. The windows in the door were frosted, making it impossible to peer through to see if anyone was home. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and checked the time. It was almost four-thirty. The taxi driver honked the horn, and Malachi spun around and shot him a menacing glare, and almost immediately the taxi driver’s expression softened. Malachi looked back one more time at the door, waited a moment, and then ambled towards the yellow cab.

  “Hey…” echoed through the air as Malachi was about to open the rear passenger side door of the taxi.

  A broad smile spread across Malachi’s face when he saw Chad, barefoot and soaking wet, standing a few feet away from him. “I had almost given up.”

  Chad, wearing his navy blue drawstring swim trunks, took two steps forward and held his gaze to Malachi. Am I dreaming? This has to be a dream. Chad said, “I thought you were in Halifax. I mean, what are you doing here?” Chad cupped his hands to the back of his head and sighed. “It’s good to see you.”

  Malachi checked his tears. “I couldn’t go back there. Not yet.”

  “Come on,” Chad said, gesturing towards the house, “let’s get you and your luggage inside.” Chad watched as Malachi paid the taxi driver and collected his luggage. Chad led Malachi down the cement path along the side of the house, and pushed open a wooden gate and entered the backyard.

  Malachi trained his focus on the wet footprints marking the cement, trying to avoid looking at Chad’s drenched swim trunks that clung to Chad’s round buttocks. Malachi mounted the veranda steps and stopped next to Chad in front of the patio doors. Malachi still wasn’t looking at Chad. “If this is an inconvenience —”

  “Not at all,” Chad said, and pushed open the patio doors. “In case you’ve forgotten, the guest bedroom is upstairs, the second door on the right.” They looked at each other for a moment, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you brought a bathing suit?”

  Malachi nodded. “I did, actually.”

  “I’ll be in the pool if you want to cool off.”

  Malachi went into the house, and Chad slid closed the doors behind him. As Malachi made his way upstairs to the guest bedroom, he was in extremity. Malachi had left Sarah’s with the intent of going home, going back to Cole. Malachi thought his sister was right, that nothing would change until he talked to Cole. But there was something else at work. Malachi hadn’t been fully truthful with himself about what it was that he wanted. How could he when the answer still eluded him? Malachi had called Shane from the airport to tell him that he was all right, that he had to make a detour. Shane, summoning an unfamiliar courage, had encouraged Malachi to go straight to Cole, to not let himself be distracted, but Malachi did not let Shane finish. “I need to know. This is the only way.” Yet even Malachi knew that he did not sound convincing about his course of action.

  There was a familiarity about the room that eased Malachi’s anxiousness. It was as though the room, with its light blue walls, was the one place where he could truly escape, be alone, flee the chaos surrounding him. He set his suitcase down on the floor in front of the closet door and tossed his attaché on the bed. He went over to the other side of the room and ran his index finger across the top of the oak-stained bureau. He was still caught up in its history, its wounds and blemishes, as if he were trying to unearth his own truth. It terrified, truth, that is. Was this the beginning of his unmaking? He closed his eyes and sighed, and prayed silently, “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

  Malachi changed into a pair of knee-length grey shorts and a white T-shirt, and made his way to the backyard. Chad was swimming laps in the rectangular in ground pool. Malachi sat down on the edge of the pool and eased his legs into the cool water and studied Chad. Chad was still so beautiful to Malachi. Chad’s black hair was longer, almost touching his shoulders, and made him look like a rock star. Chad powered forcefully through the water, like a pro. Malachi imagined Chad wrapping his strong arms around him, and Chad would lift Malachi up in the air as they kissed. At the far end of the pool Chad rested, pushing his wet hair back from his face with his left hand. When Chad saw Malachi, he swam towards the opposite end of the pool. As Chad came closer, he slammed his arms hard into the water, soaking the lower part of Malachi’s shorts.

  “Hey!” Malachi protested playfully.

  Chad lifted himself out of the pool and sat next to Malachi and smiled. “I thought you said you brought your swimsuit?”

  “I did.” Malachi dropped his gaze. “I’m not that great of a swimmer.” He stared into the water as he gently kicked his feet. “Is this an inconvenience, me dropping in like this?”

  “Not at all.” Chad bit down on his lower lip and looked at Malachi and, after hesitating, reached out and took Malachi’s hand in his. “Stay as long as you want. Whatever you need, you know I’m here for you.”

  Malachi pulled his hand out of Chad’s grip. “Thanks.” He rubbed his left eye to prevent his tears from rolling down his face. “I, um…”

  Chad placed his moist hand briefly on Malachi’s arm. “No explanations needed.” He stretched and said, stoically, “But we are going to get your mind off things,” and pushed Malachi into the pool. He laughed and jumped in after Malachi, who swam towards the shallow end and stood.

  “Funny.” Malachi struggled to pull off his wet T-shirt and then pushed down his shorts, leaving only his white briefs. He tossed his wet clothes on to the walkway and then dived into the water, and came up to the surface in the middle of the deep end. His breathing was heavy, and he dog paddled his way to the side of the pool. When Chad had joined him, Malachi said, “I’m out of shape, and I haven’t swam in ages.”

  Chad held on to the edge of the pool with one hand and touched his other hand to the side of Malachi’s face. “You don’t look out of shape.”

  Malachi pushed Chad’s hand away. “Chad…”

  Chad said, ruefully, “I’m going to go dry off,” and bolted across the pool. He climbed up the ladder and walked around the pool, and laid down on one of the padded chaise loungers. He closed his eyes, basking in the warm sun, and tried to calm himself. How could I have been so stupid? Chad chastised himself, but he was desperate to touch Malachi again, to make sure that it was real. Chad had been unable to shake Malachi from his thoughts since they had last met. How often had he thought about them being together again, holding each other in a clutching embrace, surrendering his will to Malachi’s? What did it mean now that Malachi had come back to him? Would Malachi stay forever? Or was Malachi in transition? Chad listened. He could hear Malachi moving about in the pool. A dog barking. The sound of a car speeding down the street. A telephone ringing. The noises added to Chad’s already fragile state of mind. Chad wanted to speak honestly with Malachi about his feelings, but wasn’t sure of the timing, and Chad was terrified that Malachi might not feel the same way towards him. I have to be daring. What do I have to lose?

  Malachi got out of the pool, collected his clothes and headed for the house. Malachi passed by Chad, tapped Chad’s foot lightly and said, “I’m going to go change.”

  Chad opened his eyes as Malachi disappeared into the house, and sighed relief. Had Chad been able to conceal his excitement? Chad had covered his crotch with his hands to hide the bugle. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He looked up at
the second level of the house and trained his gaze on the second window in from the right. That was the guest bedroom, and Chad wondered what Malachi was thinking about. Chad wanted to rush into the house and take Malachi into his arms, savour the sweet scent of Malachi’s cologne, feel Malachi’s hot breath against his skin. Chad drew in several deep breaths, and each one he pushed out slowly through his nose. He felt calm, in control. This was not too much for him to handle. He would survive, or at least that was his hope as he lifted himself up off the chaise lounger and made for the house.

  ****

  The ringing of the phone broke the silence, startling Malachi. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and stared blanking at it.

  “If you’re not going to answer at least turn it off,” Chad said, annoyed.

  “Right,” Malachi drawled, and when the phone stopped ringing, he turned it off and tossed it on the table. Malachi was seated at a forest green picnic table, looking past Chad at the river a short distance away. The sky was overcast but the air was warm. It was early in the evening, and they had just finished a dinner of barbecued steaks and roasted potatoes. Over a week had passed since Malachi had rung Chad’s doorbell. Now they were holed up at Chad’s Muskoka cottage.

  Chad said, “Was that?”

  Malachi took a sip of his wine. “Yes.”

  “Are you ever going to talk to him?”

  Malachi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “At least tell him you’re all right.” There was a silence. “I’m going to go get some wood for the fire.” Chad gulped his last mouthful of wine, stood and headed back towards the cottage.

  When Chad had left, Malachi got up from the picnic table, refilled his glass of wine and made his way towards the river. Malachi pushed his way through the tall bush, delicately placing each step to assure his footing, before emerging onto the bed of rocks running along the river’s edge. Malachi was not a natural cottage goer, but the last few days away from the city helped to calm him. The cottage was set back far from the road, isolating them. Waking up before Chad, Malachi brewed his coffee and sat out on the veranda and wrote under the rising sun. Chad led Malachi through the various trails in the surrounding woods, pointing out the sugar maples from the red oaks. They roamed for hours, Malachi sometimes stopping to rest when his legs felt like Jell-O. Chad would go over to Malachi and say, “We’re almost home,” and take Malachi by the hand. Malachi lost his sense of direction in the woods, but sure enough, it was never long before they emerged into the clearing that lay behind the cottage.