One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

  I hand him his jacket. “You must be cold. It’s freezing out.”

  He thanks me and shrugs into his jacket. He doesn’t attempt to get up. I sit down next to him on the ground, and Corrie stands awkwardly. Oscar shows no sign of wanting to leave. He’s frozen, possibly in shock.

  “Listen guys,” she says. “I think I’ll call a cab, and you guys can talk this out.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” I tell her. “We can all go back together.”

  “No worries,” she says, already tapping away. “I have the number in my contacts. There were a bunch by the bar. They’ll be here in a jiffy, I’m sure.”

  “What happened?” I ask Oscar. We all know what happened — we were all there. But I also know there was something else to it. Something big.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says quietly, and I decide to let it go.

  I sit silently next to him, and Corrie paces impatiently. Next thing you know, she’s tapping away on her phone. I hear bell sounds.

  “Are you playing Yahtzee again?”

  “What? I’m bored.”

  I smile. It is awkward, and I kind of wish I could pull out my phone and play a game of Yahtzee too, but that would probably be very insensitive.

  Before long, a taxi swoops in and takes Corrie away. She waves us bye. “That was a hell of a punch, Oscar,” she calls out as she climbs in the cab. “Good for you.”

  He waves, and shoots her a forced smile.

  We silently watch her drive away. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. When the silence becomes unbearable, I finally ask, “What happened?”

  “I just can’t stand the guy, that’s all.”

  “It’s more than that, Oscar. I know you. I know you don’t carry that much hate in you.”

  “I told you… I just despise the asshole.”

  “Is this just jealousy?” I ask. “Please tell me this isn’t all about me.”

  He turns to me, and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. “Yeah, it’s about you, Kayla. It’s about all the stories you told me… all the horrible things he did to you. Every day, he tore you down, but you were strong, and you got back up. Not everyone is as strong as you are.”

  “I don’t know if I would have been able to get up if it weren’t for my mom.”

  A hint of a smile traces his lips. “I know… your mom is great. If I’d been there, I would have had your back too. I would have beaten the shit out of him.”

  I huddle and hug myself tightly — the night air is chilly. “I’m sure you would have.”

  “Kids like that should be put behind bars,” he goes on. “They have no idea how much damage they can do.”

  His words make me curious. “Were you ever bullied, Oscar?”

  He shakes his head. “No… not me.”

  “Then who?” I ask quietly.

  His voice cracks when he says, “My brother.”

  His brother? Oscar doesn’t have a brother. He has one older sister. “What? I thought it was just you and Jessica.”

  “It is now,” he tells me, “but we used to have a brother.”

  I’m shocked. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Oscar. “What happened?”

  “He killed himself. He was only fifteen.”

  My heart sinks at his words. I wonder why he never mentioned this before. Suicide is unfortunately more common than people think. It’s something that should be talked about. “Was it because he was being bullied?”

  “Yeah… it was,” he tells me. “But it was more than that.”

  “Did he suffer from depression?” I ask. I want to know more. I want to know why he did it, how he did it. I want to understand. I want to help Oscar.

  “Sort of,” he tells me. “The thing about Jeremy is that he didn’t like who he was. He wanted to be someone else. He wasn’t like me… he was small. He took after our mom. I take after my dad… well, physically, anyway.”

  “I know that feeling,” I tell him. “I wanted to be someone else too when I was in high school. I wanted to be one of those skinny perky little cheerleaders. I wanted to be skinny like my sister.”

  He shakes his head. “It was more than that with Jeremy. He was born in the wrong body. He wanted to be a girl.”

  “Oh…” I’m speechless. “He was transgender?”

  “I guess… ever since he was a kid, he wanted to wear Jessica’s dresses, wear her hair ribbons. Mom thought it was just a phase, but he never did grow out of it. At first, he’d dress up in secret, and he’d get in trouble big time, especially with our dad.”

  “Oh…” Here, I’d always thought the Cohens were a perfect Leave it to Beaver family.

  “Mom was pretty good about it, but dad was awful. He’d call him a little queer. He’d slap him, and tell him to act like a man. He told him once that he was ashamed of him, and he wished he’d only had the one boy… me.”

  “Harsh…”

  “I think that’s why Dad spent so much time with me,” Oscar goes on. “The boxing, watching sports, all very manly things, you know. It was almost like he was thinking ‘this one’s not broken. I think I’ll play with him, and pretend the other one doesn’t exist’”.

  “You feel guilty?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “It wasn’t your fault—”

  “And then there were the kids at school. One in particular… Kevin Ryan. What a dick. They were on his case every day, and that’s even before he started dressing like a girl at school.”

  “Fucking bullies,” I say.

  “Jeremy started wearing his hair long and makeup when he was thirteen. That’s when the teasing really started. My dad said he was asking for it. My mom, on the other hand, decided to help him.”

  “Jeremy made the decision to officially become a woman when he was older. They were starting with hormone blockers, and later on would be surgeries, including one to make his voice higher. He knew all about that stuff. He’d tell us all about it when dad wasn’t around.”

  I’m at a loss for words, riveted by this story, riveted by this part of Oscar I never knew.

  “He asked us to start calling him Jenny. We all agreed, save for dad, of course. Some nice kids at school also did, and of course the bullies did too, but not in a good way.”

  “What did they do to him?” I don’t want to ask, but curiosity always gets the best of me.

  “The usual… it started with ribbing, stealing his lunch, bullying him into corners, calling him a fag. But then, Kevin Ryan stuck a banana down his throat, so hard, Jeremy had to go to the hospital. I wasn’t there when it happened, but everyone knew the story. Apparently, Kevin said, ‘You like dick, you fucking fag. You like it in your mouth too, I bet.’”

  “God.” His story makes me sick.

  “But Jeremy was pig-headed. He wanted to prove that he didn’t care. He started to wear dresses, and things only escalated. He asked the school if he could use the girls’ washroom instead of the boys’, for safety reasons, but they wouldn’t let him. The boys would always jump him in there. He was always in the emergency room with a cut, a broken nose once, and a concussion. Mom started looking at other schools for him.”

  “Did she find another school?”

  “She did, but by this time, it was too late. Jeremy got beat up within an inch of his life. He was in the hospital for a week, and two days later, he killed himself.”

  I keep listening, and a painful lump grows in my throat. It’s all I can do not to cry.

  “We’d all gone out for dinner, and we’d insisted that he come along. When he told us he’d rather stay home, my dad said, ‘Suit yourself. It’s probably better off this way. We don’t want to confuse the waitresses again.’”

  “I thought your dad was a nice guy.”

  “Not always… When we got back home, we found him in Mom’s car, car running, with the garage doors closed. He’d rigged a hose from the exhaust pipe, right into the car.”

  I bring a hand to
my mouth, and my throat burns as I struggle to rein in my tears. “Fuck.”

  I turn to him, and take his hand in mine. His eyes are brimming, and there’s so much hurt in him, it absolutely breaks me. I cry, despite struggling not to. And when he sees me cry, he breaks apart too. I hold him in my arms as he sobs on my shoulder. I’ve never seen Oscar cry before, and it hurts so much. If I didn’t already know I loved him, I’d know for sure now. Someone else’s pain can only affect you this much if you truly care for them, if you truly love them. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. It wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  He tears himself from me. He’s a complete mess. “It was my fault,” he scoffs. “It was my fault as much as anyone else’s. I teased him too. I thought he was funny… I was just a kid. I was only twelve when he died.”

  I take his hand again, and squeeze it hard. “Exactly… you were only twelve, Oscar. You didn’t understand.”

  “I didn’t do anything to stop him. We used to share a room, and in those last weeks, he kept talking about how he wanted to end it all, how he wanted to shoot himself in the head. I never told my parents.”

  “Oh, Oscar…” I’m without words. Has he been carrying this guilt all these years… for about twenty years? “You were just a kid,” I remind him again.

  “I know, but I should have said something… I should have spoken up.”

  “Your brother had a lot of issues. Maybe, this was inevitable.” I hate this. I hate not knowing what to say. I’m usually pretty good with people. I’m always there for my friends. I’m a great listener, but this… I just don’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask.

  He smiles. “You know… I haven’t been happy since Jeremy’s death… not one day, not a single day have I forgotten what happened. But when I met you, things changed. All of a sudden, I was actually happy, and although I didn’t completely forget, I remembered less. You knew nothing about Jeremy, and it was just the two of us. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  I bite my lip, not quite knowing what to say. “I understand.”

  We get lost in the hushed sounds of the night again; voices in the distance, the soft blare of distant horns.

  Oscar takes my hand and kisses it. I smile up at him. “We should probably head back,” he says. “You look cold.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  He smiles. “You’re freezing. I know you, Kayla.”

  “Why don’t we go back home, and turn on the electric fireplace,” I suggest. “I’ll make cocoa.”

  33

  WHEN WE GET BACK, the apartment is cold and dark. Corrie is nowhere to be seen but she’s apparently had a late night snack and left a mess in the kitchen. I pad over to her room and check on her — she’s sound asleep.

  I don’t turn on the lights. I enjoy the darkness, and the flickering light from the streetlamp outside. I plug the kettle in and reach for the cocoa in the cupboard. It’s brand new, never opened. I noticed it in the cupboard when we first got in, when I inspected every inch of this place; the DVDs and books on the bookshelf (a mix of different languages which I found fascinating), the food in the cupboard, and the toiletries in the washroom (European brands mostly). I was tempted to try the fancy French shampoo the first night, but was too afraid that some ill-intended psycho had put some Nair in it, and I’d find myself bald in Paris — the things that go through my mind. I really am a paranoid cynic.

  Oscar is leaning against the counter, watching me. It’s dark but the light from the street brings his beautiful profile into view. He’s still upset, still remembering his brother.

  I pour the boiling water into two whimsical cups, two tablespoons full of cocoa in each. Oscar erases the distance between us and snuggles up close against me. I stand still, enjoying the feel of him against me, the warmth of him. He wraps his large arms slowly around my waist, unsettling me a little. Heat fills my core. I close my eyes and enjoy his embrace.

  He pulls from me, just a bit, and brings a hand to my hair. He’s gentle when he swipes my locks over my left shoulder, and presses his hot mouth against the back of neck. God, he knows right where to touch me.

  “I need you,” he whispers, his breath hot on my skin.

  I need him too.

  I turn around and reach for his face. I press my hands against his jaw and draw him to me. Our lips meet and his kiss feels amazing. I want to get lost in him forever. His mouth tastes sweet and there’s an urgency about him, a desperate need that I haven’t felt with him before. It’s not sexual, it’s emotional, like he wants to get deep into my soul.

  Or maybe it’s me. Perhaps I’m the one who wants to get deep inside him, peel all his layers. I don’t want any more secrets between us.

  As we deepen the kiss, his hands travels to my neck, and he wraps them around my throat tightly. He’s never done this before, but it doesn’t scare me. I bury my hands in his hair and pull at it. He bites at my bottom lip as his hands travel down to my breasts, and down the length of my body. When he reaches my ass, he grabs me hard and lifts me up against him. I wrap my legs tightly around him, and he spins me around.

  We find ourselves on the kitchen table where he presses his length against me. I so badly want him, but not here. Not with Corrie a few meters away. “Let’s… go to our room,” I whisper, breathless.

  He carries me to our bed. Our room is dark too, but light filters through the sheer curtains covering the tall window. The bed is unmade and smells funny. The linens are cold on my back as Oscar presses me down on the mattress. He pulls from me, but I cling desperately to him. I don’t want him to leave me, even for a second. We get lost in another kiss, not in a hurry to get undressed. I bury my hand under his sweater and revel in the feel of his hot, soft skin. His mouth pulls from mine, and he stares at me for a long beat. I get lost in his dark eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” he says. “Tell me you’ll always be there.”

  I smile up at him. “I’ll always be there.”

  “I’ll never hurt you.” He twirls a lock of my long hair between his fingers. “You’ve already been hurt too much. The thought of him hurting you like that drove me crazy. That he did it all those years ago, and he was still trying to hurt you years later… I just lost it.”

  “I know…” I say, not quite knowing what else to say. I smile, brought back to that punch. “You really got him good. It was priceless. You did what I wanted to do all those years.”

  He grins. “Well, someone had to put him in his place.”

  I press a finger against his soft lips, not wanting him to ruin the moment. He lowers his head and presses his mouth against my collarbone. He traces a line of soft kisses along my skin, over my shoulder and down my arm. He’s usually so wild in bed, but I love it when he’s soft like this sometimes. He makes me feel loved, like no one else ever has. When I’m with Oscar, I feel beautiful and precious.

  I want a turn too. I want to taste him, revel in him. I swing myself around and over him. I pull up his shirt and trail my tongue down the ridges of his abs. A low growl escapes him as he grabs my hair and pulls at it a little hard. When I reach his pants, I unbutton his fly slowly, teasing him. I dig into his boxers and wrap my mouth around him. I want to make him forget everything. I want to bring him pleasure. He throws his head back and groans loudly.

  He wraps a hand tightly around my arm and pulls me up to him. “I want you,” he pleads. “I want to make love to you.”

  I smile. “Yes, me too.”

  Our lips meet again, and we slowly undress each other. I take in everything about him as I peel off his clothing; his smooth olive skin against my fair complexion. The hardness of him, and those soft spots too; his lower belly, his hands, his neck. I rake my hands through his thick locks, reveling in the softness of them, and when he stops for a beat and gazes into my eyes, I mark his beautiful almond shaped chocolate eyes to memory, afraid I might forget them one day. No matter what happens, I know I won’t.

  He trails hot but
terfly kisses along my collarbone and over the swells of my breasts, and his touch is soft and sweet as he gently peels off my polka-dot bra. My breasts are aching for his mouth. I arch my back, offering myself to him. When his tongue lands on my swollen nipple, I get lost in the pleasure of it. “I love the way you taste,” he breathes.

  I throw my head back and reach for his hardness. I slip my finger under the waistband of his boxers, and slide them around his smooth hard ass. His moan gets lost in the warm underside of my breast. “I want to take all night,” I tell him. “I want this to last forever. No pain, no hurt, just pleasure.”

  “Yes,” he whispers. “Pleasure… and love.”

  “Yes,” I echo. “Pleasure and love.”

  I long for us to be closer than we have ever been, to get completely lost inside each other, to forget about the world together. I pull off his boxers slowly, and he peels off my panties. When he sinks gently into me, I wrap my arm and legs around him and hold him tight. I don’t say the words, but I want him to know that he’s loved, that I’ll always be there for him.

  Grief

  Grief changes shape, but it never ends. — Keanu Reeves

  Who knew that Keanu Reeves was such a great philosopher? Sexy as sin, and wise too. He’s spot on with this quote. Grief is part of you until your last breath. Grief is a clingy little fucker. It never lets go.

  It’s the price we pay for opening our hearts and letting people in. We take the risk of experiencing grief when they leave us. Grief is most often associated with death, but it’s also present when we are abandoned, when we lose someone or something we cherish; the loss of a job, our health, our best friend.

  I’ve never really experienced grief in the traditional sense. Yes, my grandfather passed away but I was never close to him. Although I did experience grief when my father abandoned me. And I also went through all the five stages of grief. Denial was first, when I convinced myself that he would come back. When the doorbell rang, I’d hop and run to the door, convinced it was him, only to be heartbroken when it wasn’t. Then came anger. I went through a phase when I would scream out loud about how much I hated him. I even ripped the photo of the two of us I had on my dresser. I later glued it back together with Scotch Tape. Then came bargaining. I begged God to bring him back to us. I promised that I’d be a good girl if he did. Depression was next, a dark cloud which followed me all through my high school years. And finally acceptance. I only finally accepted the loss as an adult, when I decided to take my life into my own hands and stop feeling bad for myself.