Red and Blue Chronicles Box Set

Chapter 10

Nathan left for Toronto this weekend. Some sales conference. If it weren’t for salespeople, the hotel and food industry would go bankrupt.

“Be good,” he said, as he walked out the front door. “I’ll call you tonight. Have a good time with your folks.”

A good time with my folks. That was like asking me to enjoy guilt free anal s*x.

Tonight, at my parents, Mom looked well. Dad, not so much.

“Aunt Fran passed by this afternoon.” Mom scooped some instant mash potatoes on my plate. “Poor thing.”

There was nothing poor about Aunt Fran.

“Says she’s been thinking about reuniting with God.”

I smashed some fried onions into my potatoes. When Aunt Fran reached the pearly gates, I had a feeling God would ask her to hurry up before he changed his mind.

“Have you been to church lately?”

I glanced up. Me?

“Father Neil was asking about you this morning.”

Well. I was sure he’d love to bless my homosexual marriage.

“Maybe you should pass by the presbytery. You know, say hello. He’d like that.”

Yes, we could discuss Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Dolores,” Dad snapped, causing the mush to stick in my throat, “why don’t you leave the boy alone.”

Mom’s eyes hardened. “Just trying to get our boy to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, that’s all.”

Holy s**t.

I giggled.

“Derek! I worry about your soul!”

Yes yes, I knew that. So did I. I’d have liked to know where it went.

“I want you to go to Father Neil and repent. Confess your sins.”

“Dolores. Enough!” Some potatoes flew out of Dad’s mouth.

“But, John, don’t you want—”

“Enough, woman. Let us eat in peace.”

Whenever Dad called Mom “woman,” I was always inclined to look under the table to check for shackles on her ankles.

“Well,” Mom said, gathering our full plates. “At least, I’ve made my peace with Our Heavenly Father.” She set the plates in the sink. “You two are on your own.”

Dad shot me an uneasy glance and shrugged. At least we had damnation in common.

I leaned back into my chair. Why not throw a little liquid nitrogen on these open wounds? “Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you.”

Needless to say, the announcement of my engagement didn’t go very well. Mom went through two boxes of Kleenex and Dad emptied the bar. I helped him a little. But it was done. Out of the way. They may even come.

By the door, Mom traced her finger along my chin. “I don’t understand you, Derek. You’re so handsome. Smart, too. You could have any woman you want. You could give us grandchildren.”

Oh no, Mother, I thought, this disastrous gene pool stopped right here.

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

“Yes?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

As I walked past our church yesterday, the whiskey still affecting my thoughts, I stopped and stared at the bells. Soon they’d be ringing for Nathan and me.

A memory of Nick’s eyes haunted me the whole way home.

Where was he now? What life did he lead?

* * * *

Nathan hired a wedding planner.

This man was gayer than a bag of Skittles. He didn’t breathe, he hyperventilated. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with him for more than three minutes.

“Tu vas voir, mon ptit roux, ton marriage va faire revirer Cléopâtre dans son tombeau.”

He was French, too. In other words: expensive.

“Are you sure we can afford all of these expenses?”

“Don’t talk about money,” Nathan said. “It doesn’t sound good.”

I managed financial portfolios for a living. Money was the only thing I was comfortable talking about.

“Besides, baby, I got it covered. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Sometimes I felt like the hired help.

“Gimme a kiss.”

Okay, the hired help who threw in a happy ending once in a while.

* * * *

While Nathan was on the phone in the other room, whispering to God knows who, I decided to return to the binder. He didn’t know that I read these little snippets of my past. And I didn’t want to share them with him. There were mine. Mine only.

Dear Bump,

Dad isn’t coming home until March.

You know how long that is? That’s a whole lot more than he’d promised. But I don’t care. If he wants to stay up there until summer, that’s fine with me. I can take care of Aunt Frannie and Mom all by myself. I don’t need Dad to help me with anything. I already know how to change a fuse. I already know how to unclog the toilet. I already know how to shovel the snow, and I don’t even get any piled up on the sidewalk. I can do everything he does. I can make better sloppy joes, I bet.

Except I won’t. I already told Aunt Frannie about my plans to become a vegetarian.

“It’s very fashionable,” she said while she painted her toe nails red. “Lots of sophisticated people are these days.”

Oh, and Mom doesn’t need Dad either. She only needs you, but you’re in Heaven. So too bad for her I guess.

C’est la vie.

It’s snowing again.

From my bed, I can see the snowflakes float past my window. They’re pretty. I wish I could go play outside, but there’s no one to play with. I’ve been all by myself since school let out for the holidays. The Lunds are in Florida. They always go to Florida for Christmas. They drive there. It takes so long, that when they get there, it isn’t even the same season. It’s summer over there, I think. They swim in an ocean. Boone showed me pictures. The water is so big, it takes up the whole frame, and the sand isn’t like the kind we have in the sandbox. No, the sand over there is almost white. Like Mom’s wedding band. Also, did you know that there’s crabs on the beach? Boone and Lene hunt for them. They have contests, but I bet I could find the biggest one, on account of how patient I am.

The Lunds live in a hotel for two weeks. Boone says you don’t have to make your bed. They have people who come in when you’re out and make your bed for you, but of course, he’s never actually seen them.

Once, I swam in a lake. It was pretty big, too. I guess that counts for something.

Nick almost didn’t go with them. He wanted to stay here, but Mrs. Lund made him go. She threw his bag in the trunk and slapped the back of his head. I watched the whole thing from the living room window.

When their station wagon rolled away, I saw David turn the street corner. He was running, sprinting really, and he wasn’t even wearing his long black coat. Just a dark T-shirt.

He yelled out Nick’s name and then kicked the snowbank and walked away.

Somehow, I knew we felt the same.

* * * *

Dear Bump,

I found the Hudson Bay on the map in my dictionary.

You go straight, then left, and then straight all the way to the water. It’s very far, but I don’t plan on walking. I’ll take the train, same as Dad. I have three hundred dollars and forty-five cents in my school account. Mom needs to sign a paper, but that’s all right because I can almost copy her signature. Just need a little more practice, that’s all. I’ll go to the bank on Tuesday morning. That’s when Aunt Frannie is going to take Mom to fix her hair. Then I’ll buy a ticket. It’s easy, there’s a train station in the city. I know where the city is. I rode my bike there this summer.

I’ll find Dad.

When he sees how far I’ve gone all by myself, he’ll be surprised silly. He’ll forget about the old me. He’ll only see the new in me, and I can help him with his work at the plant. This way, he’ll get double the work done. He’ll be the fastest up there, and no one will ever say Irish men are just good for drinking and sleeping. We’ll come back to Verdun and everyone will congratulate us. We’ll be heroes.

Can you imagine what Boone would say if he knew what my plans are?

His chin would drop to the floor, but I won’t get to see his face when he finds out about it, because I’ll be leaving before the Lunds get back.

I’ll be gone before Aunt Frannie puts our 1987 calendar in the trash.

* * * *

Dear Bump,

I couldn’t go to the Hudson Bay on account of Mom being so sick from nerves.

It happened the day before yesterday.

I was downstairs, playing with my new Transformers, when I heard Aunt Frannie screaming. I widened my eyes and held my breath.

“When are you gonna snap out of it, Dolores! That baby is gone! Gone!”

Then I heard Mom. She was screaming, too, but her words were like Dad’s sloppy joes. They didn’t have any order. It didn’t matter what place they took in a sentence.

Aunt Frannie cried louder. “What is that boy gonna do without his mama, huh? You’re breaking Red’s fiery spirit, Dolores, and I won’t let you! He’s a sensitive and imaginative boy!”

Then there were some thumps. Right above my head. Some clanking, too. It was raining furniture on top of me. My mouth was still open, but my eyes were closed.

Shut tight.

The fighting and screaming went on for a while.

I kept looking out my window. Kept hoping to see Boone’s face in it. But he’s still in Florida.

Building sandcastles in the sun.

Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to go up there and suck on my medicine, it stopped. I rose. Put my Transformers away in the red bin. Sat down and folded my hands.

Aunt Frannie knocked on my door. “Baby?”

I sat up straight, holding my chin up.

“I need to talk to you.”

Mom is going away for a while. She’s going to be staying in a special place where they suck the blues out of you. Aunt Frannie says it’s only for a couple of weeks, but Mom packed her big suitcase, the one with the umbrellas on it. Her drawers are empty. She even took all her books.

C’est la vie.

By the door, Mom hugged me. For a long time, too. Her warm tears streamed down into my shirt. “I love you, Red,” she whispered. “You’re my special boy. Be good to Aunt Frannie. Dad will be home soon.”

* * * *

Could he have been cheating on me? No. Impossible. Complete paranoia on my part.

Nathan would never. No.

But, could he have been?

Could he have been that much of a two-timing snake?

No. I was being ridiculous. It was self-sabotage, that was all. I’d always been compelled to find something negative to dwell on. It was in my nature to measure loss before it happened. A defense mechanism brought on by years of neglect and emotional abandonment.

Nathan would never do such a thing. He had too much respect for me.

For our commitment. Right?

Nathan wouldn’t have played with my life this way. We hadn’t used condoms in a year. He wouldn’t play Russian roulette with my health. No way.

It was just the bellboy, like he’d said. All in my imagination.

And the laughter I’d heard in the background while we’d been on the phone?

Nathan had made a joke, yes, like he’d said, and I’d heard the bellboy laugh.

Did I really believe that?

God, did I?

* * * *

Dear Bump,

The Lunds are back!

Boone’s eyes look like blueberry popsicles. His teeth probably glow in the dark. I think he grew five inches, but how can that be possible?

Maybe I shrunk.

They pulled into their driveway this morning, and I watched them unload their luggage from my living room window. Boone and Lene laughed and tossed snow at each other. Mrs. Lund’s lips were the color of raspberry jam and a big smile hung on them. When Johan carried their heavy suitcases into the house, his face wasn’t twisted, or pulled down with fatigue. No. He smiled. A wide smile that stretched far into his scrubby cheeks.

I kept my eyes sharp on his face, and I didn’t let them stray.

Not one time. Nope.

When Nick stepped out of their station wagon, I turned my eyes away from his face. I swear. I just caught a blurry image of his hair, but it was hanging down into his eyes, so I didn’t even see them. If I don’t see his eyes, then it doesn’t count. He wasn’t wearing a coat. Just a T-shirt with a girl named Blondie on it.

But I didn’t look too long.

See? It’s over. I’m not going to think about him anymore. I’m not going to let the knot in my belly ruin my promise. I’m not going to touch myself.

I’m going to be so good.

Father Neil says, “Every day we are reborn.” I didn’t understand what he meant, but Aunt Frannie explained it to me when we were folding the dry clothes.

“He means that every day is a new promise. We get to have a second chance. If you ask for forgiveness, then you start with a clean slate.”

Every day is a new promise.

Last night, I asked God to give me a clean slate, and this morning, I checked my eyes in the mirror. They look different. I think God scrubbed my soul clean during the night.

Dad called this evening. He couldn’t stay on the phone very long, on account of how much it costs. He mostly spoke to Aunt Frannie. She whispered a lot.

I was watching a movie about this man who experiments with machines and monkeys. This man starts transforming into the most disgusting creature you could ever imagine. I was trying to keep my eyes on my Rubik’s cube, but when the man started ripping his nails off, my jelly sandwich crawled up my throat.

My aunt tapped my shoulder. “Baby, you shouldn’t be watching this nonsense.” She handed me the phone. “Your dad wants to wish you a happy new year.”

I took the phone, but my eyes wouldn’t leave the TV.

The man’s girlfriend was crying now. The man/creature kept asking her to leave because he was going to hurt her.

He was going to hurt her. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Hello, Dad.”

No matter how much he loved her, he was going to come apart and hurt her.

“Aunt Frannie says you’ve been real good. That’s good, Red. Real good.”

But the woman didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t care about his nasty face. She didn’t care about his sickness. She wanted to stay. She wanted to help him.

“Dad, when are you co-coming home?”

The nature of the thing inside him was too strong. He wouldn’t be able to fight it, the creature/man warned.

“Dunno, Red. Soon. Real soon.”

The woman cried, but she ran. Ran all the way to her car. She left him. He could only watch her leave.

“D—dad, is it cold there?”

“Sure is.”

She should have stayed. No matter how ugly her boyfriend was. She should have helped him through it. They should have taken care of each other.

“What is it, Red?”

But sometimes, people get real scared and they leave you because they think you’re not normal.

“No—nothing. Thanks for the m—money.”

“Okay, son. I’ll see you real soon.”

* * * *

Last night, after reading those lines I wrote as a child, I cried myself to sleep. I wished I could go back that little boy and tell him he was beautiful and that there was nothing wrong with him. He still lived inside me. How could I find him again?

* * * *

Yesterday I was at my desk, working late. I had nothing else to do, as Nathan had been held up for another day of “team building” group activities in downtown Toronto.

I was eating ramen noodles out of a cardboard bowl, scrolling down an impossibly complicated sheet of interest variables.

“You know, they don’t pay you for the extra hours.”

I tore my eyes away from the screen.

Jake stood by me desk, smoking a cigarette. “What are you listening to?”

I still had my earphones plugged into my ears, though the iPod had long ago run out of power.

“Nothing.”

Jake scowled and smiled. “You realize me and you are the only losers still working at this hour?”

I liked it when people who’d never spoken more than two words to me called me a loser.

Reminded me of home.

“Susan says you drive a Ducati. That right?”

A red Monster 1100cc with Desmodromic L-Twin engine.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Jake looked me up and down. “You must have sold a kidney to pay for the insurance on that little Euro death trap.”

I never saw the invoice. Just signed the form. It had been a birthday present from Nathan.

“O’Reilly, let’s go for a drink.” Jake didn’t wait for my reply. He simply grabbed his jacket off the rack and punched the code in. “Coming?”

I turned my computer off and tossed the noodles in the bin.

We walked up Crescent Street.

“Ever been here?” Jake asked.

We stood in front of O’Hurley’s.

“No.”

“And you’re Irish?”

“Yep.”

Jake opened the door and invited me in. “I thought all Irish boys celebrated their eighteenth birthday here. Thought it was some kind of rite of passage.”

I smiled.

Inside, the party was going strong. The place was packed, as if Monday had skipped this place on its way to Friday. Jake pointed to the bar. “Let’s sit down over there,” he shouted into my ear, over the thunderous melodies of the Irish folk music blasting through the stereos. “Closer to the action.”

I looked over at the bar. A woman, all curves, sat on the last stool, sipping on a glass of mineral water. The fact that she kept staring at the door, then down to her watch should have clued Jake in. But straight men survived the singles scene on two things: booze and denial.

We slipped into our seats. Jake leaned in and I caught a gust of his cologne. Strong, but not overpowering.

“What’s your pleasure?” His lively brown eyes were on the impatient brunette at his side.

“Whiskey sour,” I returned.

“Good choice. I’ll join you.” He slapped the bar counter. “Two whiskey sours.”

No pretty please or anything. Just a direct order.

I cringed a little. To Jake, manners were for the meek.

The barman raised a brow and tossed his chin up. Obviously, the man was going to be taking his sweet time with our drinks.

“So,” Jake said, flicking a peanut shell around. “You gay?”

Whenever men asked me that question, I never knew if they were offering or judging. Either way, I ended up being screwed.

“Why?” I figured I would play it safe.

Jake laughed. “Just making conversation. Don’t get defensive.”

“Are you?” I quickly replied.

“Yes, I am.”

“You are?”

His face tensed. “Wait. I mean, yes, I’m making conversation.” He chuckled. “Oh man, you thought—” He winked. “Yeah, right. You wish.”

Maybe a little.

“I’m straight, but I did let a guy blow me once. At a bachelor party, or maybe it was my birthday.”

“I see.”

Jake’s smile broadened. “Too much information?”

The barman, who was a cross between James Dean and Colin Farrell set our drinks down. He slapped the counter. “That’ll be eighteen dollars.”

Jake scowled. “For two ounces of cheap whiskey and lemon water? You gotta be kiddin’ me.” He pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “Here, you bloodsucking vampire. And I want my change back.”

The barman’s caramel eyes shifted to my poker face. “Your friend here has a major attitude problem.”

I’d noticed.

Jake scoffed. “Whatever.” He took a long swill of his drink. “Let’s get loaded.”

I came home at two A.M. Drunk out of my mind. I woke up late, with my tie wrapped around my neck and the Nairobi desert sitting on my tongue. Last night, I’d made a new friend.

“Who knew you were this cool?” Jake kept saying last night, his eyes glossy from the whiskey. “Always thought you were an aristocrat.”

I’d been thinking about that. The expensive shoes Nate insisted on buying for me. The suits. The ties. The bike. Everything.

What did people really think of me? Where did that sweet and modest boy I used to be go?