Spring Rain

by Gayle Roper

  And death cast a large shadow as well as raising a number of questions. After he was gone, Mom would still be here, living in Seaside with Leigh and Billy. Clay would be somewhere, wherever the navy sent him. But question number one: What would happen to Ted after he was gone?

  Heaven. He sighed. On days like today it sounded so good.

  “Uncle Ted.” Billy looked up with his arms wrapped around Terror’s neck. The little dog was busily washing the right side of the boy’s face.

  “Um?” Ted pulled himself from his philosophizing, something he found himself doing more and more often these days.

  “Don’t you like Clay?” Billy’s face was guileless.

  Ted blinked. “Of course I like him. He’s my brother.” Even as he spoke, he knew he wasn’t being quite truthful.

  “Then did you guys have a fight or something?”

  The kid saw way too much. “Why do you ask that?”

  Billy shifted slightly, and Terror began on the other side of his face.

  “And how can you stand that dog slobber all over you?” Ted shuddered.

  Billy looked surprised. “He’s just kissing me. He likes me.”

  “He probably does, but still. He’s going to lick your skin right off.”

  Billy grinned. “Then I’ll be a skeleton, and I won’t need a Halloween costume. And did you have a fight?”

  Ted grimaced. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to sidetrack a sharpie like Billy. “I wouldn’t say we had an argument exactly. We just don’t agree on some basic stuff.”

  Billy nodded. “Like you being gay, I bet.”

  That was getting to the kernel of the problem, not that he was going to discuss it with a ten-year-old. “It’s sort of personal, you know?”

  Billy pushed Terror away from his face, and the dog began gnawing on his fist. “You mean you don’t want to talk about it.”

  Ted looked at the boy’s earnest eyes watching him through the lens of the wire frames. How many times had Leigh had to replace or repair those glasses? “You’d better put some cream on your face tonight after you wash it, or you’ll have chapped cheeks from all that slobber.”

  “Who says I wash my face?” And Billy turned his concentration to Terror.

  Ted fell back into his theological musings with relief. It was safer to think about heaven and God than to talk with the kid when he was being insightful.

  What was heaven like? No harps and puffy clouds and halos. That was the stuff of cartoons. No Saint Peter at the gates. No gigantic scales weighing his good deeds against his bad to see if he was good enough to get in, thank the Lord. He knew he’d fail if that were the way salvation worked.

  God. That’s what made heaven. Almighty God resided there, if God the Omnipresent could be said to reside anywhere, at least as he understood reside.

  And no more suffering or pain. Not that he was enduring pain like a cancer patient did. AIDS didn’t always attack a particular body part and destroy it like so many diseases did, inflicting agony upon the victims. It was a systemic immunity problem that affected the whole body, annihilating its ability to deal with germs. You ended up with problems like the herpes sores that currently plagued his mouth or virulent diarrhea or infections like the one that took the vision in his right eye. You could end up with something incredibly painful as the end neared, but basically you wasted away as your body ate itself while it tried to find a way to deal with a problem it could no longer handle. Then you got something like pneumonia, which under normal circumstances was easily dealt with, and boom! No more overwhelming fatigue or unrelenting deterioration.

  While he felt God was disappointed in him, and he was mad at God much of the time for the way his life had turned out, when the boom came, he didn’t doubt heaven. After all, he trusted in Jesus. He had confidence in the Bible when it said: “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved.” He’d had a saving faith since he was younger than Billy. Even as he railed against God he believed. He felt like Peter when he said to Jesus, “To whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” He might be one of those saved “so as by fire,” but he was confident of heaven.

  What he wasn’t confident of was the next few weeks. The process of dying was hard. He knew. He’d been through it with Matt and several of their friends. His dad had been lucky. Teed up his golf ball and keeled over. No dying. Just dead. Quick and simple. Absent from the body and present with the Lord.

  He often speculated on which was easier on the survivors: the quick punch in the gut with no time to prepare or the slow, anguishing process with more than enough time to spare.

  One thing was for sure. When he did get to heaven, he had a few choice words for Adam and Eve about that apple.

  Leigh’s voice floated up the stairs. “Come on, Billy. Say good night to Ted and Terror.”

  Billy made a face. “I gotta go.”

  Ted nodded. “You can be my emissary and protect your mother from my brother.”

  “Why?” Billy’s sharp eyes looked at him. “Clay’s nice. Why would he hurt Mom?”

  “Don’t ask me, guy. Just a gut feeling.”

  “Billy!” Leigh’s patience had obviously run out.

  Billy nodded at Ted, ignoring his mother. “I was right. You and Clay do have trouble.”

  “It’s our problem, Billy, not yours. Don’t worry yourself about it.”

  “I have to worry. It concerns you.”

  Suddenly Ted couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat. If he’d ever had a kid, he’d want him to be just like Billy.

  “See, I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Billy sat on the edge of the bed, Terror forgotten. “I’m alone. I don’t like being alone. If I had a brother as neat as Clay, if I had any brother at all, I’d want to be close to him. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Ted felt all his defensive tendencies rise to the fore. There were a lot of things in his life that weren’t the way they were “supposed” to be. The last thing he needed was a lecture from Billy to remind him. “I know that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but sometimes things happen.”

  Billy sighed, suddenly looking very young. “I’m making you mad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  “No, I’m not mad. It’s just like I said: It’s personal.”

  “Yeah. I know. It’s none of my business.”

  Billy looked down at the floor, and Ted knew he was upset. Usually they could talk about anything, so Billy didn’t understand Ted’s reticence to discuss something he had trouble even thinking about. He looked at the bright, perceptive face none the worse for all Terror’s loving bath and reached out to squeeze Billy’s hand. He forced himself to say easily, “Good night, guy. Never forget. I love you.”

  “Night, Uncle Ted.” Billy leaned over and hugged him. “I love you too.”

  “And I’m not mad,” he called as the boy rushed from the room. His answer was a flick of a hand.

  Ted sighed deeply. He hadn’t meant to hurt the kid. He didn’t mean to hurt any of them, though he knew he did over and over, ad infinitum, forever and ever, amen. Apparently it was his calling in life to inflict pain. Unfortunately he did it with all the Wharton compulsion and aptitude for excellence.

  He smiled without humor. If he had a few questions for Adam and Eve, they were nothing compared to the many queries he had for God.

  He slumped against the pillows, wearied with thinking and conflict. Much as he loved his family, including Clay, he was relieved that they were all finally gone and he could give in to the overwhelming fatigue. He could slump without anyone rushing to plump his pillows. He could whine without anyone looking hurt or upset. He could throw things.

  Didn’t he wish. If he could throw just one thing, he’d feel better. He knew it. His blood would start pumping, and his mind would start clicking. But not only wasn’t there anything handy to throw, he also didn’t have the strength. He, former pitching ace on Seaside’s state championship baseball team, could ba
rely throw anything across the room.

  Another loss. Life had been reduced to one long string of losses. First had been Dad. He still got a hitch in his heart when he thought of the phone call from his mother telling him his father had dropped over on the golf course with three other doctors for company. Not even their concerted skills had been able to revive him.

  It constantly amazed him that his father, Mr. Doctrinal Correctness, Mr. Heart for the Lord, had loved him with all his godly heart in spite of who Ted had become.

  “You will always be my son,” he told Ted the weekend they’d confronted him about being gay. “I will never agree with what you are doing and the choices you are making, but I will always love you. This will always be your home, and you will always be welcome here.”

  And he had been welcome. When he finally got up the nerve to bring Matt to the house, he had been welcome too. He’d met Matt at a clinic when they both went in for HIV testing. They’d exchanged phone numbers, and Matt had called to find out Ted’s test results.

  “Positive,” Ted said, the disbelief still strong in his voice.

  “Me too. Want to go out to dinner?”

  They’d rarely been apart for the next seven years.

  He thought of that first visit of Matt’s to his parents’ house. Both of them had come in with chips on their shoulders: Matt because he viewed life as a never-ending battleground where only his personal vigilance kept the enemies, who were many, at bay; Ted because he wasn’t certain how his parents would react to his finally bringing a partner home. To this point his gayness had been only in vague generalities. Matt, a tall handsome blond with a rapier wit, was very specific.

  Mom and Dad hadn’t been happy, and Ted suspected she cried after they left. He was just glad he and Matt lived close enough that spending the night was never an issue. He knew his parents wouldn’t allow him and Matt to share a room under their roof. But they’d opened their door to Matt and fed him and loved him and even got him to lower his guard around them.

  The first time Mom had sent Matt off with a kiss on the cheek just like she gave Ted, Matt had almost swooned.

  “They like me. They really like me.” He shook his head in wonder. “And I sound like Sally Fields giving that Oscar acceptance speech.”

  Ted sighed as he stared at his ceiling. He’d lost Matt too, last year. Mom had invited him to bring Matt home to die where she could help care for him, but he’d wanted that last gift of love for himself. Many, many days he was angry at God, but he was genuinely thankful that God had allowed him to stay well long enough to care for Matt.

  And because of his parents, Matt had been able to trust Jesus.

  “But I’m gay,” he told Dad during one of their discussions. “Christians hate gays.”

  “Why do you say that?” Dad asked.

  “I read the papers. ‘God hates faggots,’ ” he quoted.

  Dad nodded sadly. “Just don’t forget that I’m a Christian, and I don’t hate gays. You have to decide which one of us represents Jesus best.”

  It was a week after Dad’s funeral, a glorious celebration of hope in Christ, when Matt had said, “I want to have the hope everyone has about your father. I feel myself slipping, and I’m getting scared. I need that hope.”

  “Then you need Jesus,” Ted told him.

  “But I’m gay.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What if I can’t change?”

  “Matt, all I know is that Jesus said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’ Salvation comes from believing that. Change comes after belief, not before.”

  Matt had gone for a long walk on the beach to wrestle the issue out. He’d come back with a smile. “I believe.”

  There had been changes, the biggest being the peace with which Matt now faced his deteriorating health and imminent death. He frequently read the Bible Mom gave him and asked questions incessantly. One of Ted’s favorite memories was of Matt lying on the sofa, his Bible in one hand and a yellow highlighter in the other.

  “Did Jonah and the whale really happen?” Or “What did Jesus do those three days he was dead?” Or “When the Bible says we should love our enemies, does that mean the ‘God hates faggots’ guy too?”

  One day Matt looked at Ted and said, “We can’t have sex anymore. It’s wrong. The Bible says so right here at the beginning of Romans.”

  Dumbfounded, Ted stared first at Matt, then at the Bible resting in Matt’s lap. If the Holy Spirit had punched him in the jaw, he couldn’t have been thrown any more off balance.

  “Well,” Ted finally mumbled, “you’re getting too sick anyway.”

  Matt shook his head. “I’m choosing. I chose to believe, and now I’m choosing to obey.”

  Ted made an inarticulate noise, the best he could manage in light of the fierce anger and swirling guilt that swamped him.

  “It’s funny, but I find myself thinking differently about things.” Matt slid the cap of his highlighter on and off as he talked, the click-click rubbing at Ted’s raw nerves. “I want to do what pleases God. Me, the guy who spent a lifetime scoffing at people who talked like they knew Him.”

  He looked at Ted, his eyes concerned. “My biggest dilemma is that if I choose to make God happy, I think I’m hurting you.”

  Ted flapped a hand through the air, hoping he looked unaffected by Matt’s comments when in actuality he was devastated. And the rejection as partner was the least of the pain. “Don’t even worry about hurting me. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t ever be purposely unkind—at least to me.”

  Matt nodded acknowledgment at that reference to his often sharp tongue.

  “You do what you need to.” Ted slid down in his chair and reached for the TV remote. He didn’t care what was on. Anything to halt this conversation. “I understand.” He barely flinched as he told the lie. In truth he couldn’t believe the depth of Matt’s commitment to the Lord. All the man was supposed to do was get saved, get a guarantee of heaven. He wasn’t supposed to become godly!

  “Who’d have believed it?” Matt said, grinning, oblivious to Ted’s distress. “Me, choosing to make God happy and choosing to be celibate. Almost like a priest, huh?”

  Ted threw the remote down and stalked to the door. This time it was he who went for a long walk, and when he came back, he was still wrestling valiantly with God, refusing to acknowledge any wrong, any guilt. But he did understand that Matt’s faith was the rock that would carry him through his final weeks, and so he carefully said nothing that would undermine the joy and hope his partner found in it.

  Matt slipped into his final coma with a smile.

  After that wrenching loss, Ted hadn’t cared when his own health began to slip; when his vigor, for years carefully tended with diet and exercise and the latest medical treatments, diminished; when he lost weight and even lost the vision in one eye to infection before they found the right medicine.

  But he did care that today he had lost his dignity. His twin, his impeccable, perfect, you’d-better-salute-me brother had seen him too weak to eat Junket. He’d watched eagle-eyed as Leigh tended his personal needs. He’d looked down that long nose so like Ted’s own and barely avoided sneering.

  “Judge not that you be not judged,” Ted wanted to yell at him. He didn’t, of course. It would have just made him look petty while Clay looked ever more the hero.

  It wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t love Clay so much. They were twins! They’d been conceived at the exact same second, been born within minutes of each other, and shared everything for years.

  Suddenly the little dog was on the bed again, and Ted smiled in spite of himself. He rubbed the dog’s ears and enjoyed the feel of the warm body pressed against him.

  “Terror.” The dog smiled at him. “Stupid name for a cutie like you.”

  The terrier wagged his tail so hard Ted was certain he was going to wag it right off. The whole bed shook under the animal’s delight. He licked Ted’s
hand, and to his disgust, Ted felt tears clog his throat. He jerked his hand away. “I’m not so pitiful that I need to cry when a dog likes me!” His voice was low and mean. He hated the emotional vulnerability that came with severe illness. He’d seen it in Matt when the most unexpected things would move him and make him weepy. He wasn’t going to be like that. Clay’d enjoy it too much. “Go away, you mutt!”

  Terror stood and cocked his head, not understanding the sudden change. He gave a little confused whuffle.

  Ted felt ashamed. It wasn’t the dog’s fault his life was in the toilet. If he were honest, it wasn’t Clay’s either. Ted had made his own choices, no matter how much he’d felt forced to make them.

  “I’m sorry, boy.” He held his hand out to Terror. “How about another kiss?”

  This time when the tears came, he just sniffed them back and kept rubbing the terrier’s head.

  He felt his mother’s presence before he looked up at her. He willed himself to look strong. “Hey, Mom.”

  She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out a hand to brush his hair back. “Hey, yourself.” Her hand fell and began to pet the dog.

  “Cute little guy, isn’t he?”

  “He loves you, Ted,” and he knew she didn’t mean Terror. “He just doesn’t know how to deal with everything.”

  Ted knew his skepticism hurt her.

  “He does,” she reiterated, her eyes pleading for his understanding, his agreement. “And you love him. You’ve got to set things straight between you.”

  His back went up. “Me? He’s the one who’s cold and withdrawn and can’t stand being near me.”

  She patted his hand lightly. “Pride’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” With that parting shot, she rose, kissed his cheek, and left, taking Terror downstairs to let him out.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he muttered to her back. “Now I’ll really have a good night’s sleep.”

  But he knew she was right. He and Clay did have to make peace. He just didn’t know what to do about it, especially when pride was about all he had left.

  Eight