Caregiver

by Rick R. Reed

  Dan knew. It wasnt hard to figure out. He had his parents to thank for the part of his personality that would allow him to be used as a doormat. But he didnt want to dredge up those memories right now.

  They had been having such a nice day! Why spoil it? He lay back on the blanket once more. “Ah. Im sure Ill do something soon. I just need to work on taking care of getting a job first.” He turned his head away from Adam and said, “And I really dont know about Mark. I could just be paranoid—he might not be using at all. And maybe he is looking for a job.”

  Adam laughed. “Okay, sweetheart. Well just call you the Queen of Denial.” He reached over and touched Dans hand. “Im here for you.”

  “Thanks.” Dan closed his eyes and tried to let the sun seep into his pores, hoping the warm rays would be a palliative.

  But all he felt was lost.

  Chapter Seven

  DAN arrived home from the beach feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As he made his way up the walk to their apartment, he knew that the simple act of unburdening himself with Adam had done him good. Maybe this buddy thing would turn out to be a boon for both of them. He and Adam had made plans for that coming Friday, to go to dinner at Jimmy Macs, one of Adams favorite restaurants. He hoped that, on Friday, Mark would join them.

  As he fitted his key into the lock of their front door, Dan was actually eager to see Mark.

  His mood shifted the moment he opened the door.

  The apartment was dark, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun. Mark had the kind of music he hated blaring from the stereo. Was it Metallica this time?

  The place reeked of cigarette smoke and the coffee table was littered with ash and empty beer bottles.

  Dans heart sank.

  He stood for a moment in the dark, smelly apartment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Mark was on the couch, head back, feet up on the coffee table. Dan wasnt sure he had even heard him come in.

  Part of Dan simply wanted to take a few silent steps back, quietly open the door, and head back outside. Maybe if he went away and came back, he would return to a different Mark, a different world. The lights would be on. Vivaldi would be playing on their stereo. Mark would be in the kitchen, grilling grouper for dinner.

  But before he could seriously consider putting this fantasy into action, he noticed Mark glaring at him.

  “Are you going to come in? Or are you just going to stand there with your thumb up your ass?”

  “Have you been smoking?” Dan blurted out. It was a dumb question; the answer was obvious in the air. Besides, it hadnt even been what he wanted to say; he didnt know why he said it.

  “Yeah. Fell off the wagon.” He leaned forward and pulled a pack of Camel Lights out of the drawer in the coffee table and lit one. “Now that you know, I guess I dont have to pretend I dont smoke.” He chuckled, blowing a plume of gray into the already polluted air. He belched.

  Dan wanted to ask if he was deliberately trying to rile him. Instead, he busied himself putting away the beach stuff.

  He called from the hall, “Would you mind turning that down, just a bit? I cant hear myself think.”

  Mark snapped off the stereo. The silence that rose up seemed somehow louder than the heavy metal music that had preceded it. That was Marks way: passive-aggressive. The turning off of the music was just as bad as if he had turned it up even louder. Dan sighed, stuffing the beach blanket into the linen closet.

  Something was definitely wrong. There was a tension hanging in the air as thick as the cigarette smoke, an unspoken trauma or hurt that made the hairs on the back of Dans neck rise as much as fear would; his stomach hurt.

  Again, he was seized with an urge to simply run from the apartment.

  He went into the bedroom and began pulling open drawers to put away his swimming trunks, the No-Ad lotion, and his sunglasses. As he was doing these simple tasks, his heart pounded harder. He knew a confrontation was on its way, whether he liked it or not.

  He would have to talk to Mark about what was going on.

  And then he saw the piece of yellow paper sticking up out of one of Marks drawers, like a beacon, drawing his eye.

  No. Dont snoop. Youre not that kind of person. No matter what that piece of paper is—speeding ticket, receipt, whatever—its Marks business. You can ask him about it. You can talk to him about keeping secrets. But you shouldnt look. Even as he was thinking these thoughts, he was moving toward the bedroom door and closing it.

  He paused before the dresser he and Mark shared, waiting, breathless, to open it. The little slip of paper, for some inexplicable reason, filled him with dread, like the head of a snake sticking out of the drawer.

  Oh for Gods sake! If it was something truly terrible, dont you think he would have hidden it better? Its probably just a speeding ticket. Go ahead—take a look. Dan glanced toward the door once more, quickly opened the dresser drawer, and took out the piece of paper.

  His hands began to shake as he read. He had to check several times to ensure that it was truly Marks name at the top of the court summons. But his name was there, along with a description of him, right down to the little gold stud he wore in his left ear and the sun tattoo on his right shoulder.

  It was a summons to appear in court. From what Dan could glean from the harsh, cold, and simple words written on the form, Dan had been caught “exposing his genitals for purposes of sexual solicitation.”

  Dan hastily stuffed the paper back in the drawer and put a fist to his mouth. He felt his heart pounding in his ears. For several minutes, he stood there, taking quick, shallow breaths, fearing that he was about to throw up.

  What are you going to do now? You have to talk to him about this. Talk to him? I dont even know him!

  Dan sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

  I cant. Id have to tell him Id been snooping. What would I say anyway?

  Dan lay back, staring up at the ceiling, jerking when he heard Mark start the music up again, even louder than before.

  It doesnt matter. It doesnt matter that you snooped. You dont need to know what to say. You just need to tell him that you need to know what happened. You need to know why. You need to know just what the hell is going on.

  Dan rolled on his side, drawing his legs up to his chest. Please dont make me. I can just pretend I never saw it. Even Dan knew he couldnt pretend. Without thinking any

  further, he got up, took a deep breath, went to the drawer, and removed the summons. Without thinking, and feeling kind of numb, he marched into the living room and placed the piece of paper on Marks chest.

  He turned away and stared out the window. The sun was beginning to set. A cormorant dove for a fish in the lake out front. Two boys were doing cannonballs in the pool across the way.

  Dan waited, face burning. This was how he had to deal with the issue now in front of them.

  What would Mark say?

  Finally, after a long time, long enough for Dan to wonder if Mark was going to say anything, his lover spoke. “This is bullshit.”

  Dan turned to Mark, who had sat up on the couch. How would Dan describe the look on his face? There was really only one answer to that question—he appeared terrified. That expression of terror confirmed every fear causing Dans heart to pound harder. “Please no,” he wanted to say, “Just lie to me.”

  “Bullshit? In what way?” Dan asked, mouth dry.

  Mark laughed, but Dan could see no reason to join him. “I took a walk on the beach over at the Courtney Campbell Causeway. Just a walk on the beach. That was it. Because it was such a nice day.”

  Dan wanted to say something along the lines of—if it was such a nice day and you wanted to walk on the beach, why on earth didnt you come with me this morning as I left for the beach?

  But he didnt.

  Dan didnt speak. Tentatively, he moved toward Mark and perched on one arm of the couch, waiting for him to continue. “So you took a walk?”

  “Yeah. I took a walk and I
had to take a piss, so I ducked into some trees and took care of business. How did I know thered be an undercover cop watching me?” Mark laughed again, looking at Dan, expecting him, Dan supposed, to join in, to sympathize with the whole absurdity of the situation.

  But Dan still wasnt finding any humor in the situation.

  And he was having trouble finding much credibility too.

  Would a cop really arrest a guy for taking a piss in some bushes? Dan supposed it was possible—if the cop had a stick up his ass, if he was having a bad day, if he had some kind of self-righteous complex.

  It was possible.

  But not likely.

  “Really?” Dan asked, still a little breathless. “He arrested you for just taking a piss?”

  Mark laughed again, and the high-pitched giggle was becoming annoying. The fear had not vanished from Dans lovers face, even if the so-called truth had now come out. Then Mark yanked the laughter and the sheepish grin off the table, since it was pretty apparent to both of them that they werent working. “Fuck you.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck you if you dont believe me.”

  “I didnt say—”

  “You didnt have to. Your face said it for you,” he hissed, then angrily snatched up his cigarettes and lit one. He blew the smoke toward Dan. “You know, youd think the man I loved, the one I moved halfway across the country to be with, would trust me.” Mark consulted the air. “I dont know. I just dont know about you sometimes.”

  Dan wasnt buying this self-defensive ploy either. His emotions, which only moments ago had been a riot of feelings, making his pulse race and making him sick to his stomach, had rapidly cooled, replaced by a strange numbness. Dan shook his head and allowed the words in his head to come out of his mouth, even if he was very afraid to say them, even if he knew that releasing them would be akin to opening a Pandoras box. “I dont know if I buy that, Mark.”

  Mark glared at him.

  Dan tried to summon up some spit and swallow. It was no easy job. “Why dont you tell me what really happened?” Dan slid onto the couch, still at the opposite end from Mark. “Start with why you didnt want to come to the beach with me… take it from there. And dont bullshit me. You at least owe me that much.” He glanced over at Mark, who stared at him, slack-jawed. Now it was Dans turn to laugh, bitterly, and only for a second. He had surprised Mark, who, he was sure, had never expected Dan to call him on his lies.

  “Are you using again, Mark? Is that why youre smoking again? Is that why you wanted to stay home on a perfectly gorgeous day? Is that why you couldnt get it up the other night? Is that horniness that cant be filled what drove you to the beach? Drove you to do something stupid?”

  Dan didnt dare look at Mark right away. He himself could not believe the questions that had just issued forth from his own mouth. He didnt think hed have the backbone to ask them, but here he was. The questions had been building in his subconscious for days, maybe weeks, perhaps even longer.

  Maybe Adam was helping him release his fears a little… somehow.

  For a long time, the two men sat in silence. Then Mark did something that did cause Dan to look in his direction.

  Mark was crying.

  Dan couldnt believe it when he heard the sniffling. He looked over to see Mark staring at him, tears pouring down his face, snot on his upper lip that he rubbed away with his palm.

  Mark sucked in a great quivering breath and said, “I need help.”

  Dan wanted to reach out to him, but something made him stay in his place, something told him to just keep quiet.

  “Youre right,” Mark said softly. “I found a connection down here and yeah, I have gotten high a few times.”

  Dan felt something akin to an electric surge pass through him. Still, he said nothing.

  “I know Im terrible. I was just chatting online—completely innocent—when I ran across this guy in Ybor City who deals coke.” That laugh again! Dan wanted to slap Marks face. “You know me and Oscar Wilde, „I can resist anything but temptation.” He snickered once more. If he expected Dan to join in the hilarity, he was mistaken.

  “This isnt funny, Mark.”

  Mark sniffled again. “I know. I know.” Mark sighed. “I just feel so stupid.”

  “What happened at the beach?”

  Mark didnt say anything for a long time and Dan felt prickles of heat run up and down his spine. Part of him prayed Mark would never speak again.

  “Dont hate me. It was a big mistake. I got some coke this morning and it was the drug acting. Not me.” He reached out and touched Dans arm. Dan jerked away.

  To the wall, Dan said, “Just tell me.”

  Mark said, “I was just beating off, you know. I thought I was by myself and then this hunk came along….”

  Dan put up a hand. “Stop. I dont want to hear anymore.”

  “But you dont understand. It was entrapment, pure and simple.”

  Dan didnt know what to say to that.

  “He was gorgeous. You would have done the same thing.”

  Dan raised his eyebrows. “Dont even try. Since weve been together, I have never even come close to cheating on you.”

  “It wasnt cheating! Nothing happened!”

  “Nothing happened because the dude arrested you. What did he do, whip out his badge when you whipped out your dick?” Dan laughed bitterly. They were silent for a long time. “Do you have any of the coke left?” Dan asked, surprising himself. “I could use a little oblivion right now.”

  Whether or not he would act on it if Mark did offer him some of the drug was a moot point, which Dan instinctively knew. Mark said, “Its all gone.”

  “And how much of our money has gone out the window for that shit?”

  Mark started to cry again. Dan wondered if there was something wrong with him. Like that song he loved in A Chorus Line, Dan felt nothing. He was the nurturer, the one who took care of people—his mother, Mark, now Adam. Why wasnt the sympathy kicking in? Why wasnt he leaning over to wrap his arms around his weeping boyfriend? Why wasnt he stroking Marks back and whispering soothing, comforting words in his ear? Didnt Mark simply need help? Wasnt he an addict? And werent addicts simply victims of a disease? How could Dan not help him?

  Yet—he couldnt deny it—the crying disgusted him. The weakness caused a small flame of rage to ignite and burn slowly within him.

  Mark sobbed and Dan continued to stare straight ahead, wondering at his own curious lack of emotion. Maybe his sympathy had been dulled by this scene having been played out, time and again, when they lived in Chicago, when Mark would fall off the wagon yet another time, whether it was with coke or a drinking binge, and trusting, loving Dan would always forgive him. Trusting, loving Dan always bought into the line about Marks past—the single mother who left him alone many nights, starting when he was as young as eight years old. Trusting, loving Dan believed the platitudes about the drugs being a disease, a balm for Marks wounded soul. He believed it when Mark said, too many times to count, that this eight-ball, drink, line, whatever, would be his very last. He would promise, and even though Dan had seen the promise made and broken before, he would believe it once more.

  Hope can often be a hard flame to extinguish, especially when its connected to one you love.

  But he couldnt believe Marks promises this time. Dan wondered if the well had simply run dry. No matter how far he reached down, maybe there were no more reserves left.

  That scared him.

  “It started because of my mom. She was a user too. Not coke, but alcohol, Southern Comfort and men were her drugs of choice.” The words coming from Marks mouth sounded rehearsed. They should; he had uttered them so many times in the past.

  Dan stared at Mark as he poured out his heart and it was like the words simply bounced off him; he didnt hear them, he certainly didnt absorb them.

  When Mark finished his sob story of childhood abuse and neglect, Dan did move over on the couch and stroked Marks back. Mark looked at him from behind the hands he h
ad placed over his crying face, giving Dan a tentative smile.

  But what Dan was about to say, Mark was not expecting, of that much Dan was sure. This time, for the first time, Marks sad circumstances and inability to resist the allure of drugs had failed to elicit the usual sympathy from Dan. Dan drew in a deep breath, uncertain if he really would have the nerve to utter the words that were forming in his mind.

  He had to say them. Oddly enough, an image of Adam popped into his head. Adam was on the beach, leaning toward him. “Go on. Put your big boy pants on and do whats right.”

  Dan felt a lump form in his throat and his own tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he spoke with a calm resolution.

  “Mark. I love you.”

  “Oh honey, I love you too.” Mark tried to pull Dan into his arms. Dan supposed Mark was thinking he was once again forgiven. Dan pushed him away and moved back down to the opposite end of the couch.

  The room had grown dark and the darkness made it easier for Dan to continue. “I love you, but I cant be with you anymore. I cant let you treat me this way. I cant let you treat yourself that way. But I know, now, that no one can help you but you.”

  Dan stood up, suddenly terrified. Was he doing the right thing? Could he just throw away life as he knew it?

  The question had already been answered. That life had been over for quite some time; it was only todays crisis that was causing him—at long last—to recognize it.

  “What does that mean?” Mark had stopped crying, had reverted now to simply sounding scared.

  “It means you need to—” Dan drew in a big breath, reaching down deep inside himself for courage.

  Again, in his minds eye, he saw Adam, who urged him, “Go on. Say it.”

  “It means you need to pack your things. It means I wont live with you anymore. It means you need to solve your own problems, once and for all. I love you—but I dont even know if that you—the one I loved—is even here anymore.”

  “Thats bullshit.”

  “So, I want you to get out. Get some help.”

  Mark began to weep again. “Where will I go? I dont even have family to turn to. I dont have any friends here yet. I came down here because of you….”