“Bring him back,” I whispered, half-hoping my request wouldn’t be heard.
And so, I followed the orderly out to a larger room with several tables and chairs. Three minutes later, Claude was in the room with me. He walked with a kind of hunch in his back, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“I’m not going to ask how you’re doing,” he said when we were situated. “I assume that’s what you don’t want to hear.”
“You’re right about that.”
“You look...” He stopped himself.
“Pretty bad.”
“Yep. It’s pretty bad.”
“Feels like shit. Everything is dull. Mellow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” I shot back.
He shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.”
“You have a story you wanted me to hear?” I crossed my arms. “Maybe you should just... I mean... how’s Mark doing?” It felt like I should’ve been crying.
“Mark is having it rough. He’s been here both days.”
“Tell him to go home. I’ll be out soon enough. I don’t want to talk about... this. I don’t want him to remember me like this.”
“Where do you think you’re going? There’ll be plenty of other memories for the two of you to have.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes, then leaned on the table. “I know.” Intellectually, I knew Mark wouldn’t leave me, but in my spiraling state, it felt like everyone would be better off if they abandoned me so it was actually a small mercy to kick them out of my life. “I didn’t ask you to come back here to converse. I thought you might have something interesting to say.”
“Not really.”
“Then you can go.” I nodded to the door.
He fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. I kept my gaze fixated on a spot on the wall just over his shoulder. It was probably an unnerving conversation—talking to a crazy person.
“I served with some good men. Did I ever tell you about them? Made some good friends.”
I didn’t respond.
“One guy... I was real close to him. We were both from similar backgrounds. He was straight as an arrow, so don’t get it in your head wrong. I don’t talk about my time serving the country because my friends try to... well, make everything into a gay thing.”
“I get what you mean. Continue... about your friend.”
“Yeah. We were close. He was already married, but he was the kind of guy that would’ve made me his best man. I like to think we still would be friends to this day if he didn’t die.”
“I’m sorry.” It was a reflexive reaction. Nothing in me felt sympathy in that moment, though I’m really feeling it now as I type this.
“I was one of the two men who told his wife. He had a small boy. Toddler. It was... a devastating time.”
“Sorry.”
Claude took in a heaving breath that seemed to shake his entire body. “I have never forgotten what my commanding officer said to me when I reported for duty after. I was pretty shook up. I didn’t get deployed after that, but still... it haunts me. Seeing his wife and being there for her. Something in me broke that day.”
I could relate to that. If you live long enough, everyone can probably relate to that truth. I’ve felt pieces of my soul break before... and every time I’ve found a way to patch them back together.
“This is the advice I received that day and now I’m going to pass it on to you.” He reached for my hands, which were perched on the table between us.
I flinched and pulled away, but when I looked at him, his eyes were so intense that it was impossible to look away.
“This thing has broken you. You’re allowed to be broken. You’re allowed to be having a hard time. But this will not break you.” He delivered that last line with such a shaking, fierce determination that it gave me chills. I can still visualize his face as he imparted his wisdom—he’s been etched into my memories.
Claude paused for a moment, then repeated his last line, as if the redundancy would enhance it’s wisdom. “This will not break you. There’s always more left to do.”
Maybe there was more to the story, but I don’t remember it. Those days all blurred together into a bundle of shame. I shouldn’t feel shame for my weakness. As Claude said, I was allowed to have a difficult time coping with this trauma. I was allowed to be weak.
Shame is just a natural part of being human. If there’s one thing this self-portrait could possibly do for another person, I hope it lessens their shame. If you’ve been through a traumatic thing, you’re allowed to not have your life together. You’re allowed to be broken. But whatever you’re going through, it will not break you.
It’s a pretty cheesy idea that you often hear at funerals or about a cancer diagnosis. At least, that’s where I’ve heard it.
I never had the guts to say it back to Claude. After his paralysis, he was such a bitter, angry man. It felt like I should step up and hold him to me and whisper how this wasn’t going to break him, but we both would’ve known that to be a lie. My friend was broken and there was nothing anyone could do to help him through the darkness.
We just had to wait, which was agony. I hate feeling useless.
This is why his death was so painful... Claude was finally getting over the pain. He was finally on the other side of his trauma and it was like the future had opened up again. I had free reign to plan trips and parties with him. We could do things again, as friends.
He wasn’t broken anymore.
Then, a few hours later, after I had a night of dreaming of future parties with Claude and Marty, Claude slipped into an eternal sleep. It was like his body held on until he was at peace, and when he relaxed... he was gone.
Every time I think of Claude’s passing, it gives me the chills. I remember how much he helped me after my time in the psych ward. We had long, deep conversations after I got out. He helped me find my happiness again.
And he was always like a grandfather to Alex.
His death fills me with a different kind of anxiety than what I normally deal with. My heart races. My palms sweat and my shirt feels constrictive. It’s at times like these when I recall the mantra I developed in my early twenties when dealing with the undiagnosed autoimmune disorder.
Be still my beating heart,
The present is ripe with,
The future.
No matter how incongruent,
It may appear.
You and who,
You need to be,
Starts here.
It’s silly, I know. My heart would race at night and it felt like I wouldn’t make it through the night. I told myself that tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow I would be a better person and work towards a new life.
So I started writing. I still went to work and exhausted myself doing all that physical activity, but at night I would come home and type. Some days I wouldn’t have enough energy to even look at the screen. I would prop myself up in bed, close my eyes and type for half an hour or until sleep took me, whichever came first.
Those exhausted ‘nights’ were usually around seven o’clock. It was such an exhausting, miserable existence.
Eventually, I developed a second mantra, short and pithy.
Pain is the means to make heroes from nothing.
Author's Note
THANK YOU FOR READING It's Just Us Here: The Husband.
Book Nine: The Co-Parent is on pre-order at Amazon.
I will be writing MM novels for the next two years and hopefully expand an audience for It's Just Us Here along the way.
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Author's Intense Gratitude
THANK YOU TO TH
E FOLLOWING AMAZING READERS who helped clean up this manuscript. All existing errors are my fault.
Gabi, Xia Xia Lake, Ann-C, Annie L, Steffi, Claudia.
Thank you to everyone for reading with so much care and doing this at my breakneck pace. Next year I'll be done and there won't be this crazy pressure on my back.
This time, special thanks go out to Steffi, for getting her edits in in record time and just under the wire. I shouldn't have put you in that position! Thank you for your help.
Thank you to my family for their assistance, especially my Editor in Chief.
Also, if any readers find errors in the manuscript, send me an email and I'll fix it pronto.
Author's Biography
CHRIS IS A WRITER FROM MIDWEST AMERICA and shaped by the rural township of his youth and his extended family, almost all of whom still live within ten minutes of each other.
He's so so so sooo tired. He's been working on this single project for two years straight and it's driving him bonkers. Almost done.
This is his last foray into the 'literary' side of the spectrum. He's about to dive back into the pulpy pulpy goodness of romance novels and mysteries and romantic mysteries.
Here's to the future.
The List of Amazing Patrons!
:) :) :) :) :)
Here's the complete list of amazing Patrons supporting me on this journey:
Snow Hurricane, jasiska, Fikre Weldai, steffi stardust, Maria Brodén, Charlotte Oelke, Niru, Rachel Barabash, Rubén Leopold, Libby Withnall, Maria, Casual Art, Pam Hudgens, Eef, Brit Murray, Bran, Brianna, Sara Krefors, Philtatos, Nola Superba, Alba L May, Ann xn, Anne Lost in a Book, Annie L, annob, Barrett Parsons-Justice, Brian Bennett, Gabi, Kay Jay, Lau, and Zsanett Ujvári.
Also, an extra special shout out to these three Patrons who went above and beyond with their pledges: annob and Gabi and Maria. :)
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