Look Away Silence

by Edward C. Patterson

  “Maybe we ought to leave,” Ginger said, signaling to the others.

  “Leave?” I said. “No, it’s a party. It’s our last party. He wanted to see you all together before he couldn’t see you at all. Leave? No. Never leave.”

  I glanced from face to face, and then scolded them with the spoon.

  “No one is leaving,” I said. There was meanness in my voice. I knew it. They didn’t deserve this tone, but no one does who hears the soul barking. “You know, I considered leaving. Yes, I was going to leave. Do you think I’m made of steel? Metal underwear? I’m young and vibrant. And Matt got this thing from Luis. He never even told me about it.”

  Ginger clutched my wrist — a tight clutch that made me wince. Was she trying to see if I was an iron maiden, perhaps?

  “What makes you all think that I’m not human? I feel betrayed. Stunned. But how could I leave him? He’s my cowboy — my blue-eyed flower. And now his eyes . . . well, he needs me more than ever. He’ll say he doesn’t, but he does. He needs me to feed him and wipe up after him, to hold his hand when he sits by the window and cries his heart out. He won’t cry for anyone else. Just for me. And he needs to cry. Who else would remember his med schedule? Hank is invaluable, but in the end, it’s me he needs. He’d never take the crap if it weren’t for me. And who drives him to the park, so he doesn’t grow old and moldy in here?”

  Mary hugged me. I just protected the potato salad. I stared out at some blank place on the opposite wall.

  “In the dark recesses of the sleepless night, I massage his feet to ease the pain so he can get some sleep. They are gorgeous feet; and I lock my fingers between his toes and rub them like a child’s. You know, if I didn’t do that, he’d never sleep. He needs me, he does. And I can only hold on, because I need him too.” I pushed Mary away and shook off Ginger’s hold. I waved the spoon about, tears flowing freely.

  “I also need you. All of you. Leave? Thinking of leaving? If you leave me, you leave us.”

  I dropped the spoon and set the salad aside. The party was over, but the guests gathered around me.

  4

  Matt returned on Hank’s arm. Hank gazed at me with a blend of respect and dismay. I needed to get a grip. I didn’t want any of this to turn to pity and especially pity from my cowboy.

  “How did you do?” I asked. “You okay?”

  I stood, relinquishing the place of honor. I resettled the hat on his head and the blanket about his lap.

  “Yep,” Matt said. “But . . . I’m real tired now.”

  Weren’t we all?

  “Martin, maybe we should . . .” Ginger suggested avoiding the L word.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best,” I said. “Matt, you should lie down.”

  “Yes, Pumpkin. You’re right. But I’d like to look at y’all once more, while I can.”

  Matt turned to Ginger; and before she could object, he placed his hands on her face.

  “Ginger snap!” he said. “Such a broad face. You know I can’t go to the B&B next summer. Even if I were still here, all your cats would give me the shits and kill me. Think of that. Killed by pussies. There, there. Lesbians don’t cry.”

  “Shit they don’t,” Ginger stammered.

  “And you, Les, the Lez,” he said. Leslie stooped letting Matt feel her face. “You know, if they ever write a book about those who love, you’d be the center spread picture. The world could learn a lot about the meaning of the word from you. Let me feel your face. Ah! Ah! I feel it. I feel the warmth of the New Birch sun. I feel in your eyes the gentle breeze from the river at dawn. And I love you, which is something I’ve never said to a woman before.”

  “When it comes to love, Matt,” she whimpered, “You’re no slouch yourself.”

  He turned to Mary, who was already a weepy mess.

  “Well, when I say I’ve never said I love you to another woman, I guess I lied, sis. Sweet baby sister. Don’t you cry. I’ll be here for a long time yet. It’s my eyes that are dying. I’ll be in the darkness. That’s why I want to fill my mind with the sunlight of your smile. When I touch your face, I touch my own.”

  He hugged her and she was overwhelmed.

  “Hank. Where be you?”

  “I’s here, if you think you needs to be touchin’ this here face.”

  Matt reached up and rubbed his fingers on Hank’s ebony luster.

  “You’re my buddy,” Matt said. “You bring joy to my waking hours and support to my Pumpkin, which is like touching me twice. Your heart is a good one. A strong one.”

  “Not so strong,” Hank said.

  “And my fingers are wet now with your tears. But they are like balm to me. Balm and healing strength. Come. Give us a kiss.”

  They embraced. Then, Matt signaled for Jasper, who silently lent Matt his face.

  “What strong features.”

  “Goofy, you mean,” Jasper said. “Big nose, odd chin, bug eyes and popped ears.”

  “No, sir. These are the features of classic beauty, because your heart comes through and there’s just not enough room for the concern you’ve shown, so it’s got to pop out somewhere.”

  Jasper chuckled, and then sighed. Rudi hung back. He was, after all, a stranger among us — a date in process. Still, I waved to him. No one was to be excluded from this line up that fed my cowboy’s sense of party pooping.

  “Come, sir Rudi,” Matt said. “Let my fingers take in your portrait.”

  Matt felt the facescape and then trembled.

  “This is not what I expected,” he said.

  Rudi sniffed and pulled away, but Matt reached.

  “I feel a comrade. You have joined our legions.”

  Rudi pulled away retreating to the kitchen. Jasper followed him.

  “Pumpkin.”

  “You’ll never forget my face,” I said. “No need to . . .”

  Too late, he latched on.

  “Well, what do you see?” I asked.

  “Please, Pumpkin. We have company; and what I feel now about you is not for their ears. But I will tell you that when the light is gone from these eyes, it will be replaced with a different light — the rarest light of all. The light from your soul.”

  The party was over. No joy in the world existed now for me. The ignorant bug was progressing. In its own natural intolerable way, the virus progressed as programmed. It attacked the helper cells on life’s battleground; and soon, all were vulnerable to the invading, virulent bug. A different light was coming to replace the light that was spent. All was falling to this bug, most virulent and ignorant bug.

  Chapter Ten

  Holding On

  1

  I couldn’t sleep that night. Matt was restless and in the hospital bed. An odd autumn full moon shone through the window and my bed was empty and cold. I could see the outline of the hospital bed in the recesses of the room with my cowboy shivering, a twitch in his hand as he banged it against the aluminum railing. I was exhausted, and yet I couldn’t sleep. I sat up at the bed’s edge — that vast empty queen-size bed that swamped me. The linen hadn’t been changed in a week. The laundry remained in piles in the corner and the musty aroma was not to my liking. What was I to do? Hank was off on vacation — on a visit to his only living relatives, cousins in Baltimore. He was gone for a week now. I thought to call Hyacinth for a substitute buddy, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate.

  The aluminum rail on the hospital bed rattled. I saw Matt’s eyes in the moonlight. They were dim now, no longer the Caribbean reefs that I had known. They were empty and lifeless, the pupils muddled to the whites. I went to the railing, and then touched his hand. He was awake, but silent.

  “Do you need to go?”

  I asked.

  “No.”

  It was a weak sound. A surrender of sorts. I pushed the comforter aside and checked the state of the sheets. They were dry. I was relieved. I was too tired to change his linen just now. I had learned how to change it while he remained in the bed, because at times he just didn’t want
to be bothered. However, it was dry now. So I massaged his legs and feet. I was gentle, but the exercise was short lived. I needed a massage myself, and Matt dozed off. I sighed and returned to the queen-sized edge, but the moonlight was too disturbing to get me further than just sitting there.

  I wended my way through the growing obstacle course and into the dark living room. I sat in the chair, closing my eyes. My mind went through lists of things to do. Dishes piled in the sink. Carpeting shouting for vacuuming. Clothing scattered on every chair arm and surface. Opened mail cluttered. Unopened mail cluttered. The refrigerator near empty. Lists and lists and . . .

  2

  I stood on the mountain — that pinnacle in the Rockies. There was a man at the edge, his back turned toward me. He was dangerously close . . . but no, he was beyond the edge, standing in mid-air, the wind blowing his hair. I shuddered, but there was no sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach — my usual response to height. I moved closer. I, the unbrave, moved closer. A sudden thought overcame me. The man was beckoning me to step out and join him. I knew that if I did it, I wouldn’t fall. So I moved to the brink. I could see the range of mountains in the distance, and feel the fresh breeze across my cheeks. I inhaled the cool crisp air not fearing that it was so thin it would not sustain me. The man turned.

  “Martin,” he said. “It’s not so bad here. Not so bad.”

  I smiled.

  “Russ,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t there. Did you miss my funeral?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But I’m here and wasn’t there. That was a terrible place to be, so I came here, where I could let go of it all. Not so bad . . . here.”

  I poised one foot over the ledge. I knew that if I stepped out, the air would buoy me.

  “Not yet, Martin,” Russ said. “Hold on still. Hold on until you need to let go. There will be a letting go. Tell him that it must be. Not so bad here, after all. Not bad.”

  Still, I stepped out . . .

  3

  “Martin.”

  I awoke. It was daytime. When did that happen?

  “Martin,”

  She was at the door, knocking and calling. I wasn’t dressed, just my BVDs. Groggy, I grabbed for one of several blankets that draped on the sofa, made an impromptu toga and bungled toward the door.

  “Martin.”

  I opened it.

  “Louise. You startled me.”

  “Sorry to wake you, but it’s ten o’clock already.”

  “I’m off my schedule with Hank on vacation and . . .”

  She crossed the threshold and surveyed the place. I could see she was shocked by the condition. I was shocked, so why shouldn’t she be?

  “I can’t believe this place,” she said. She shucked her coat. I grabbed it as she marched into the kitchen and then back to the living room. “This is unlike you.”

  “I haven’t been me lately,” I stammered.

  She gazed at me with eyes first of accusation, and then of pity.

  “Of course, you haven’t. And with Hank in Baltimore, I should have known. I should have come sooner.”

  “No. It wouldn’t have made a difference. I’ve been trying to get stuff done and also to work. Managed to get to The Cavern two days ago, but I think I’ll be among the missing there until Hank gets back. So much stuff to do here.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’ll help you. Does Viv know?”

  “Yes.”

  Viv was up the night I worked, but clutter was a natural state for her, so I was just thankful that someone could watch Matt.

  Louise took me in her arms. The blanket slipped away.

  “Oh, lamb, don’t be a hero. If you need help, speak up.”

  “I think you and Sammy have helped quite enough.”

  “Money is one thing, but it is not everything.”

  “Well, it sure helps.”

  “Maybe so, but there are other things.” She gazed about the apartment again. I covered up. “I know you are proud, but he is my son. Is he up?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I fell asleep here and haven’t been in there since late last night. We had a rough night.”

  “I don’t mean to be bossy,” she said. She hugged me again. “You know, I have never known a man so brave in my life as you.”

  “Me? Martin, the unbrave?”

  “Unbrave? Nonsense. I know that this isn’t the only time people are faced with caring for loved ones. God knows, I watched and cared for my own mother as she died of lung cancer. But to watch men in their twenties and thirties waste away. And to lose a son.”

  “You haven’t lost a son, Louise.”

  “I know. But dear, Martin, unless someone comes up with a cure . . .”

  “I’ll not give up hope. That cure could be around the corner. We just need to get him around that corner.”

  Louise sighed, and then collapsed on the sofa, the tears welling and brimming. I joined her both on the couch and in the weeping. It was as if we were mourning already. However, my cowboy was still alive — not kicking maybe, but certainly breathing the shitty air in the bedroom. It was my turn to console and believe it. I had little consolation for myself. To share it was a mighty task.

  “We’ll have courage for two, Mom. You should come to a Hyacinth support group. You might find some answers there.”

  “Have you, dear?”

  “No.”

  “Then I am afraid I would find them depressing. In fact, I might depress them. I just don’t understand it all. It’s not right that those who die are but a mite of a sweet boy . . .”

  “And poor Russell,” I said.

  It was the first time I had mentioned Russ to anyone since his passing. However, I had just met up with him on a mountain ledge, so his message was fresh in my memory.

  “Russell went too fast. I just could not believe it.”

  “Russ was flighty and full of life,” I said. “He was like a butterfly feeding on life — flower to flower. Little did we know that too much life could be . . . death.”

  It was as if I finally delivered his eulogy. But he didn’t care that I wasn’t at his funeral. He just told me so, didn’t he?

  Louise dried her eyes on my blanket toga.

  “You should go see Matt now,” I said. “But brace yourself. He’s so much older looking now. I’m growing old in the passage, in this vigil I keep. I think one day, I’ll wake up, look in the mirror and see an old woman. Mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “No. Mother, a drag-queen at The Cavern.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Once I had been silly. Silly as putty. I had also once been unbrave, but thanks to Russ and a cliff’s edge, I was unbrave no more.

  4

  I followed Louise into the bedroom. Her nose twitched at the aroma. Her son, her sweet baby child and my blue-eye cowboy, slept like an old man, his breath fighting to remain aloft. His face, shallow, cheeks sunken and hair thinning, but his eyes were closed. It would make no difference, as they were almost as dead as stones. She kissed his hands and he awoke.

  “Mom,” he said. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, lamb,” she said. “How are you this morning?”

  “I praise God I have another day,” he said. “It’s almost Thanksgiving. I just can’t wait to leave this place and be with y’all like old times.”

  “Well, hon,” she said, fighting back the tears. “We shall see. We shall see.”

  “Is Pumpkin there? I need to go potty.”

  “I am.”

  I lowered the rail and eased his leg over the edge. We began the choo choo train stroll that we both had mastered.

  “Careful,” I said. “The place is getting a little cluttered. Don’t want you to fall again.”

  “Bruises, bruises. I’m all bruises now. Do you think another one will matter?”

  “They’re not bruises and you know it. The point is, I can’t pick you up off the floor by myself. And Hank’s in Baltimore.
”

  “In Baltimore? What’s in Baltimore?”

  “You know what’s in Baltimore. His cousins. And if you fall now, I’ll just call 9-1-1 and they’ll send out some policemen to get you up.”

  “Maybe I should fall. I love men in uniform.”

  I chuckled, but not really. I was just thankful that we might just be having a good day or at least as close to good as they come.

  “It should be easier. I’m getting lighter.”

  “You’re getting fresher and besides, it’s dead weight.”

  “Literally?”

  “Stop it now, or I’ll lock you in the bathroom and throw away the key.”

  We made it, the full round trip. It was like taking a ten-mile hike in the Andes. We choo choo trained back to the hospital bed.

  “Arrived at the station,” I said. “Sit carefully. Let me get your legs. Do you want to be propped up or lie flat?”

  “Propped up,” Matt said. “Did I hear someone come in?”

  “No one came in. Your Mom’s here.”

  “Mom, you’re here?”

  “Yes, lamb. I’ve been here.”

  “It’s time for your meds.”

  “I don’t want that shit anymore,” he said. “What’s the point? How much longer do you need to suffer with me? We could solve this all right now, you know.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that again. I’m not Dr. Kevorkian. You’re going be around way past Christmas.”

  “Such talk,” Louise said, barely holding on. “I’ll be in the kitchen, Martin. It needs a little tidying up.”

  I knew she would work her sorry into dishpan hands. I was glad for it . . . the help, not her sorrow.

  “It’s so nice to hear her voice,” Matt said. “It’s like summer in the air. But I want to smell the aroma of her cooking. I need it once more. We are going to my Mom’s for Thanksgiving, aren’t we?”