Best Gay Romance 2014

by R. D. Cochrane

  “You coward,” he growled, sitting on my bed one Saturday afternoon. “Do you have any idea how many tens of thousands of blind people are living and working and thriving in the world right now? Grow some, Noah. God.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “I know what it’s like when someone you love is dead.” He spoke so fiercely, I leaned away. “What it feels like when you would kill to have him back, trade your life to bring him back. And you can’t. There’s nothing you can do.

  “You’ll excuse me for thinking you can buck up and work hard and go on living a productive life. At least no one shot you six times in the face and left you on a street corner in the middle of the night.”

  We sat in silence until Shiloh shouted upstairs, asking if we wanted to call for pizza.

  When we stood, I finally muttered, “I won’t kill myself.”

  “Thanks,” Archer said, walking out. Leaving me to make my own way downstairs.

  Other days, Archer lay on the floor with me, letting me run my fingertips over his lips, cheeks, jaw, eyebrows, eyelids, through his hair, across his ear, down his neck and shoulder. I turned my head, shifting my eyes to see fragments of him, memorize the blue eyes so adept at frigid disdain. His sharp profile. His expression, not of pity or grief or the anger flooding my own family, but of determination and concentration.

  I wasn’t completely blind until I was eighteen. Two years to brood, run from it, before it settled. Right about the time the divorce was finalized, Shiloh started high school, and we moved into a smaller house. I hated that new house. Shiloh went over it with me again and again. I yelled at her when she wasn’t fast enough to keep me from kicking a coffee table or knocking against a doorway because I pulled too far to the right of her guiding arm.

  “Can’t you watch where you’re going and warn me?”

  “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”

  She stopped offering to show me around after that.

  I learned Braille, took up listening to audio books with the frequency of an addict and finished high school a year late.

  Archer started college in Seattle, interning at the same time, helping program the next generation of smartphones or tablets or antivirus software. I told him to move on, find a normal boyfriend, at which he only sighed.

  Shiloh had me pursuing a guide dog by then. With the waiting list so long and me so young and new at this, I had low expectations. I rarely left home except for eye exams or other blindnessrelated appointments.

  It took a year before my mom put her foot down and said I was acting like a child. She drove me to an agency we’d visited early on that specialized in assisting people in my situation They were able to place me in a job. Unfortunately, it was telemarketing for a group of tree-huggers. It thrilled my mom and secured me a place in her house.

  The people at the agency were adamant that nothing was impossible and I should continue my education. Blind people were teachers, musicians, writers, accountants, psychologists and lawyers. No reason to stay on a phone forever. No limits, they said. Full, productive life.

  When not making phone calls about greenhouse gas or airborne particulate matter, or using my audio email interface, I did sit-ups as I listened to books, wishing Archer wasn’t so painfully far away, though I told myself he needed to stay as far from me as possible.

  My mom’s house was a two-story shack at the edge of a block of condominiums from the 1970s. A tiny park bordered the backyard beyond a dilapidated fence. On weekends when he visited, Archer and I walked the park, or sat on a bench in the sun, saying practically nothing. No touching in public or private. I wondered if he had anyone else. I never asked.

  With school out for the summer, though he was still working, Archer came around more. He told me what he saw as we walked. He never used generalities as Shiloh did: “There’s a tree. Don’t hit it.” He used specifics: “There’s a Madroño just to your right. Red bark strips are peeling back in little rows like parchment curled into scrolls. The trunk underneath is soft green, smooth and clean looking. There’s a trail of ants scurrying up and down it.”

  Later, I started prompting for certain things: What color were the little league uniforms at the park’s diamond? Was the groundskeeper using a push mower or a riding one? What kind of bird? What kind of trees?

  The summer we both turned twenty, Archer rented a studio off campus and invited me over. New place. I refused, asked him over instead.

  I asked how his mother was (“Depressed.”) and his grandparents (“Glad I’m doing something productive.”) while we shared pizza on the couch. It was like being sixteen again, no one else home, talking over our plans for the games we created.

  My face felt stiff and uncomfortable. I wiped my fingers on a paper towel, reached up, discovered I was smiling.

  “What’s wrong?” Archer asked, close beside me.

  I shook my head.

  He cleared our plates. I listened as he washed his hands in the kitchen and asked if I wanted something to drink. I heard footsteps, soft on carpet in the family room, then his flopping back beside me.

  “Don’t you ever think of moving out?” He ran his fingers across the back of my neck, up through my hair.

  I leaned away. “Of course. Just not much of a self-starter these days.”

  “Want to stay with me for a while? You could find a lot of new opportunities in the city.”

  “Olympia’s a city.” I turned my head, frowning at his voice.

  He kissed me.

  I pushed him away. “Stop it. Don’t you meet people in school? I told you to find someone else.”

  “When have I ever listened to you?”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, bit my lip. “That’s not—”

  “You could try it. I’m not about to add you to my lease. Just try something new.”

  “You don’t have time to be a babysitter,” I muttered.

  “I don’t intend to be.”

  “I have to get to appointments, and I’d be looking for another job—”

  “Call a cab, get a bus, walk. You’re not helpless. I’ll show you around the neighborhood.” He kissed me again.

  I didn’t push him away.

  The studio turned out to be easy to navigate. His neighborhood had audio crosswalks and I’d gotten good enough with my collapsible white cane that I could get around within a few blocks of the place.

  I found a customer service job with a local company growing enough that they needed business hours phone support. Imagining I would hate it, I found few people were really nasty on the phone and most seemed grateful when I could get them the information they needed. A tiny thing, yet it felt good to be the one doing something for someone else.

  We moved into a ground-floor condo near campus. It had two bedrooms and stairs that had to be counted and mastered. Archer was back in school. I worked, hoping to return to school and get off the phone.

  Archer became a hero with my family. Shiloh still had a borderline crush on him. Mom treated him like the second coming. Or maybe she treated him like he’d saved her son’s life.

  My dad called now and then, took me to dinner one Saturday, then asked me to his place in Olympia every other month or so after he saw eating out was not my favorite. We never had much to say to each other, mostly talking about work and jobs. I hoped that, like my mom and sister, he was glad Archer motivated me out of the house and into a more independent future. I had to hope because we never mentioned Archer.

  The year that both of us turned twenty-two, with Archer just out of school and focused on a programming career, the news came about the dog. Archer took time off, begged his grandparents for a loan, and the two of us flew to Sacramento for the training period.

  I wanted a German shepherd dog. I’d imagined myself walking the streets, proud and upright with a big, strong, male German shepherd in harness since Shiloh first brought up the idea.

  But recipients didn’t
choose their dogs, and I learned that German shepherds were not popular as service dogs. The wagging, licking animal introduced to me was a silky angel. Soft, smooth, smelling of lavender and dog breath, pressing her nose against my neck as I slid from my chair to the floor.

  They taught us to work together over the next weeks living at the facility. Of course, Luath already knew everything. I was the one who needed training. Archer came and went a couple of times. Then they all arrived unannounced for graduation. Even my dad.

  I hugged him, trying hard not to cry as he whispered, “I’m proud of you, Noah.”

  Luath changed everything. Not just with my mobility. She changed who I was, how people saw me and interacted with me. She opened doors in so much more than a literal sense. People stopped to speak to me, offered help in the street, asked her name, her age, said how beautiful she was.

  “Such a gorgeous dog. She’s almost white.”

  “My cousin breeds white golden retrievers. Do you mind if I take a picture?”

  “I’ll bet that dog’s smarter than most people. And never complains about a day’s work.”

  Luath lived for work. And for me. I found I had much more to live for than I’d imagined after that day I ran a stop sign when I was sixteen. Since then, I’d finished fifteen hundred classic and modern books, nearly all in audio, three or four in Braille. I’d consumed a library and wanted to teach literature. I didn’t know exactly how to get from where I was to where I wanted to be, but I knew a bachelor’s in education was a beginning. I applied to start college in the fall.

  One morning in April, I heard Luath barking with irritation as Archer teased her by bouncing her ball against the wall.

  “You two are just alike,” he said.

  I heard her run out with the ball and knew she’d hide it in her bed.

  “You’re the common demeanor,” I said.

  “Denominator.” Archer shifted, sighed. I knew he had his hands on his hips.

  “Don’t stare at me in that tone. You’re the one causing trouble.”

  “What, pray tell, is the tone of my stare?”

  “Patronizing, disbelieving, annoyed.”

  Luath’s claws clicked on hardwood as she trotted into the room to rest her head on my knee. I sat at the kitchen table in front of my morning coffee.

  “Want to go jogging with us this morning?” Archer asked.

  “Are you talking to me or her? Breakfast?”

  “Sure. What are you fixing?”

  “I thought you might fix something.”

  Archer chuckled and walked away. Luath ran after him to hover over her bed, making sure he didn’t get any ideas.

  I had scrambled eggs and toast ready when he returned. I listened to his running shoes on wood. He stepped up beside me, arms around me, chin on my shoulder.

  “Orange juice? Want to go away for a long weekend?”

  “How?”

  “I’ll get a day off. They won’t fire me. I was thinking the San Juans. After spring break, before summer break, sun and minimal traffic.” After a pause, he added, “On me.”

  “Sounds great.” I turned my head to kiss him.

  Luath loved the big Victorian—painted pink and white outside and in, according to Archer. She nosed into every corner of our room, groveling before the resident cat while off duty.

  On Saturday night, Archer took me for dinner at a quiet place with murmuring couples and a warm spot from the middle of the table where a candle burned. Much as I hated eating out, Luath, more than Archer, had taught me I wasn’t the only person in the relationship.

  Then on Sunday he stood against me at sunset, telling me about molten sand and dancing water, and asked me to marry him.

  Back home, I wouldn’t talk about it. When Archer left for work, I packed a duffel for me, another for Luath’s food, toys and brushes, and then called a cab. I rode all the way to Olympia with Luath across my lap.

  No one was home. I found the hidden key under the broken brick on the window ledge and let myself in. Luath knew the place. I removed her harness, gave her water in the kitchen, sat on the couch until my sister got home.

  About to graduate high school, Shiloh was tall, outgoing, and had half the males in school chasing her. She still loved art and breakup songs.

  “Hello stranger.” She dropped her bag on the old chair with a great banging and creaking. “What are you two doing here?” She patted Luath while Luath danced about her, claws hushed on old carpet.

  “Just needed a break.”

  “A break? You’re not here for the dazzling company? What happened?”

  I shrugged. “Do you have anything to eat here? I kind of missed breakfast. And lunch.”

  She plunked down on the couch beside me, Luath leaping up between us. “What happened, Noah? I thought you were on a trip with Archer.”

  “Got back yesterday.”

  “And?”

  I shrugged again.

  “Stop it.”

  “I just thought I’d stay awhile. If Mom doesn’t mind. And if there’s any food.”

  “You want a sandwich? I was thinking about turkey on rye.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  She stood. “Mom’s going to want to know what happened.”

  Of course, I wasn’t able to ignore their questions. During dinner of vegetable stir fry on rice, I halted the conversation with, “Archer asked me to marry him. So I left.”

  The room went silent. No-breath silent. Then they continued eating without a word.

  I returned to my old room and ignored Archer’s calls. My mother and sister went about their business. I worked from home, listened to books, and went out with Luath because she needed the exercise, not because I wanted to go anywhere.

  After three nights, Archer showed up on a workday morning. I opened the door, thinking it would be a delivery. Luath threw herself past me, and I knew who stood there.

  I returned to the table where my headset and laptop were set up for work.

  She whined and licked while he stroked her, then he stood at the table by me.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “No plans to.”

  “You can’t go to school from here.”

  “I’ll go somewhere else.”

  “Why? You already live right by the school you’re set to attend.”

  Luath ran to me, wagging, nudging my arm, telling me with many exclamation marks Archer was here to see us.

  “Why did you only start caring about me once I was blind?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “You were lukewarm for years. Once I was blind it was all, ‘Won’t you come live with me, Noah? Isn’t this great? How about a vacation? How about getting married?’ What the hell?”

  “Maybe I just needed you to back off.” The shock left his voice and he sounded angry. “Did you ever think of that? No. Never. Because it’s all about you. I was shit-scared coming out to my family, okay? It’s not like you—just floating by. When I moved here, I had no one. No one but you and them. I wasn’t about to throw one away for the other. But we grew up and you stopped being so damn pushy. Then when I went to school—being away from you was terrible. I finally had to admit to myself I loved you.” His tone bristled with hostility as he went on. “It had nothing to do with your damn eyes. Just come home.”

  “So you can take care of me? Tell me if my socks are mismatched and drive me to appointments and let me know if I’ve missed shaving cream on my face? Be saddled with me for the rest of your life? You’ve made it perfectly clear how selfish you find me. This is it. You’re twenty-three. You can find a normal boyfriend.”

  “I have a normal boyfriend, except for his pigheadedness and unconventional word choices. I’ve already met the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. Do you honestly think mismatched socks are a deal-breaker?”

  “This isn’t funny, Archer.”

  “Isn’t it? In a stupid, pointless way?”

  “Go. Move on.”

 
“Why is that your decision?”

  “You asked. I said no.”

  “Then don’t marry me, but come home anyway. This isn’t one-sided. You dragged me into this relationship, and here I am. I need you no less now than when I was fifteen and sick with grief and you were the only person in the world who asked if I wanted to hang out. I want to hang out with you, Noah. Forever. Come home.”

  My chest hurt. My head hurt. My closed fists trembled in my lap. Never had I wanted sight more than at that moment.

  “No,” I whispered.

  Summer blazed a blistering trail into August. School loomed closer. I couldn’t go, but I sat and sulked and never made the call to withdraw.

  I hadn’t heard from Archer since April. Maybe things were getting better for him. Maybe he’d met someone or was at least thinking about dating, going out with friends.

  Something heavy dropped onto the couch beside me. I jumped.

  “Sorry,” Shiloh said. “I figured you heard me coming down the stairs.”

  I heard everything. Why hadn’t I heard her?

  She sighed and flipped on the TV.

  “How was work?” I asked.

  “Like you care.”

  I leaned away.

  She flipped through channels for several minutes, then turned it off with another sigh. “God, you’re stupid, Noah. I wish he’d asked me. What do you want? A fucking white horse?” She got up and walked away.

  Luath and I listened to her go in silence.

  I lay awake that night, clutching my old, private sketchbook, eyes closed, pretending I would open them to see Archer in the rain. I imagined I could see him beside me in bed, lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heart, kissing my way up his neck to his lips, though he didn’t like it. He’d always been touchy about his neck. He put up with me. He let me rest my fingertips against his lips while he spoke so I could see him talking. He took pictures of Luath for me to email to her puppy raisers in California with detailed letters of her life and progress. He let me pick the carryout, or ate whatever I managed to cook, even the more suspect dishes. He gave me sight with his words, turned blank canvases into vivid paintings.