“Not bad,” Mr. Keeler wheezed. “You’ll be a man yet.”
Michael stood up behind the chair and took a deep breath, shaking his head.
“Here,” Michael said, handing over the chair to me. “You can wheel this crabby old thing.”
I took the handles to the wheelchair. As I began to push Mr. Keeler back towards the building, I noticed Michael stoop down, pick up the cigarette butt and place it in the bucket with the others.
Back upstairs, the nurse helped us move Mr. Keeler back into his bed.
“Don’t wait so long next time,” Mr. Keeler said as we readied ourselves to go. “I’ll need another smoke.”
“Okay,” I said, following Michael towards the hallway.
“Get out already,” Mr. Keeler nodded toward the door. He smiled a tiny smile at me, then lay back and closed his eyes. “Wait. Don’t come tomorrow,” he said. “My sister’s coming.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
On the bus ride back, Michael was quiet. We watched shops and businesses roll past our window.
“You know, Jeremiah,” Michael said. “They say he’s not looking good.”
I kept staring out the window.
Michael went on. “His health is a mess.”
“Is he going to die?”
“We don’t know, Jeremiah,” Michael said. “But we can hope he has enough fight in him.”
Chapter
18
Sage and I circled the neighborhood on our bikes, going nowhere in particular. We ended at the Mia, the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, wandering among the paintings.
We stopped in front of The Studio again.
“When we planted the garden,” Sage said. “I felt like that.” She pointed to the picture. “I felt like this.” She stood with her hands over her head, victorious.
I smiled. “I think I’ll feel like that when Mr. Keeler sees the garden,” I said. I hoped that everything was okay with his sister. Then again, for all I knew, he could be best friends with her. It was hard to tell with Mr. Keeler.
I hoped he would see it. I really hoped.
When we walked out the doors and down the steps of the building, the sky was clear and blue.
Sage frowned up at the bright sky. “Sunlight. Sometimes I feel like the clouds are hiding from me.”
I decided to ask her something I had been wondering. “Do you ever wish that you were part of a…” I searched for the right word. “I don’t know…a normal family?”
To my surprise, Sage laughed. “I don’t even know what that means,” she said, looking away from the sky to me. “When I was a little kid, I thought I was in the most normal family in the world. It wasn’t until school that I started to see how weird my family is. How weird every family is.”
“I guess,” I said. I hesitated, then spoke slowly, softly. “Sometimes, I wish I was in a normal family.”
“Really?” Sage said, “No offense, but your parents are divorced. That’s about as normal as you can get.”
There was something about the way she said it, something about the sparkle in her face that made me start laughing. She laughed, too.
“Okay,” I finally said.
We walked back. We stopped in front of the garden.
“I wish he would come home already,” Sage said. “I’m in agony waiting for him to return so we can show him this. Look,” Sage said, her hand pointing at one of the daylilies. The orange bud had burst into bloom, the first one. The flower was a bright, fiery orange. “It’s a sign,” Sage said.
I got an idea. I pulled out my pocket knife. “Michael and I are visiting today. We could bring a little garden to him.”
“Careful,” Sage said. “That’s what got me in trouble with him the first time we met.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said.
The other daylilies had several buds, but weren’t blooming yet. I carefully cut through several woody branches of the Potentilla Fruticosa and the soft stems of the loud petunias. Sage arranged them. Then I cut the stem beneath the daylily. Sage stuck it into the center of her bouquet. The orange, magenta, and gold were intense in the sunlight.
We took our bouquet upstairs and rummaged around in the kitchen for a vase.
Michael found us. “For Mr. Keeler?” he asked.
I nodded.
Michael sighed, but he was smiling. “Well. Let’s go.”
I turned to Sage. “Do you want to come, too?”
Sage nodded slowly. “Yes. I do.”
All together, we travelled to the bus stop, Sage carefully carrying the vase of flowers. The sun was bright and warm, making the city glow. We arrived at the hospital, and went up the elevator to Mr. Keeler’s room.
When we arrived at his room, it was empty. We stood for a moment, staring at the open space.
“He must have changed rooms,” Michael said. We followed him to the nurses’ station.
“We’re here to see Gregory Keeler,” he said. “He was in room 412.”
The nurse nodded. “I have some bad news,” she said. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No,” I said, my stomach getting heavy. “Just tell us.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Keeler experienced more complications last night. It was sudden.” She looked at each of our faces in turn. “We did what we could. I’m so sorry, he passed away.”
We stood for a moment, frozen.
“His sister arrived in time to say goodbye,” the nurse said. “She’s taking care of the details.”
“Is she here?” Michael asked, looking around as if Mr. Keeler’s sister was about to step out of a doorway to talk to us.
“I don’t know where she is,” the nurse said. “She was here late into the night. She probably needs to get some rest.”
“So,” Michael finally said. “Should we do anything? Like is there anything that needs to be done now? I mean, we’re just his neighbors, but…”
The nurse shook her head. “His sister is taking care of the details.”
We stood, not moving.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said again.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Thank you.”
We stood in a silent circle for a few more moments before Michael broke us out of the silence, pulling us towards the elevators.
“Shoot,” he said. “Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.”
As the elevator descended, he put a hand on each of our shoulders. “Sorry, guys. I’m so sorry.”
We followed Michael out of the hospital. The sun was bright, unmercifully shining down, casting the city into a sticky haze.
I looked over at Sage. Her eyes were large, stunned. She held the flowers uselessly in her hand.
Michael led us back towards the bus stop in silence. As we waited for the bus, Sage took a shuddering breath.
She stood up. “What about these?” she said, holding the flowers. Her voice was loud. “Shouldn’t they go to his body or something?”
Michael looked down at her. “It’s too late. It’s out of our hands.”
Sage narrowed her eyes. “Well, they’re still in my hands.” She stormed out of the bus stop. Michael ran after her. I followed behind.
She stopped. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.” Her voice sounded more angry than sad. “People aren’t just supposed to die and disappear. When is his funeral? When’s his wake? His memorial?”
“His sister will probably take his body or ashes down to Albuquerque,” Michael said with a sigh.
I stood next to Sage. “So that’s it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “That’s all?” I fought to keep my voice level.
Michael knelt down beside us. To my surprise, there were actual tears in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s done. That’s all. I wish it wasn’t.”
Mic
hael took a deep breath. Sage and I followed him back to the bus stop. We rode home in silence.
Chapter
19
When we got back to Stevens Square from the hospital, the three of us stood, staring at the garden.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I shrugged. I swallowed, hoping to steady my voice. “I didn’t know him that well,” I said, trying not to sound like I was about to cry.
Sage reached out a hand and took mine.
The three of us stood side by side, staring at the garden. I remembered watching Mr. Keeler walking over the rocks, the watering can held tight.
Now there was a garden. The daylilies were ready to burst into meaningless bloom.
All afternoon Michael kept trying to talk about it, pressing me to talk too. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. I had barely known Mr. Keeler, but it felt like he had become part of my life.
When Dad and I went for a ride that night, he asked if I wanted to talk about Mr. Keeler, too, but I said no. Dad didn’t push the matter.
It’s funny how, when someone leaves, the earth doesn’t seem to notice. The next several days, life went on as normal. Really, what part did Mr. Keeler have in my life except to bring down the watering can and make fun of Michael?
Saturday night, we went to a Twins game, sitting in a section reserved for the Pride group. The people around me cheered. I tried to watch the game. Sunday, we went to church. I watered the garden. We went out for Vietnamese food.
Life seemed like it had already moved on. But I hadn’t.
Then, on Monday afternoon, a woman came to our building while Sage and I were watering the garden. She introduced herself as Mrs. Tofte, Mr. Keeler’s sister. She had the same nose and fierce eyes, but they were softened by her smiles. We took her inside to Maxine’s office.
Maxine led Mrs. Tofte upstairs, carrying several papers.
Soon, Michael, Sage, and I were helping her go through his things, piling them into black garbage bags to take to Salvation Army, his whole life stuffed in like trash.
Mrs. Tofte had a file box where she put “significant items” to take home. A bowl of jewelry from his desk. His glasses from his night stand. His lighter.
She said they had cremated the body.
She said there would be a service in Albuquerque.
She said we were sweet to help her.
Michael said he could take the food items to the local food bank and packed up all the soup and nonperishable food we had brought Mr. Keeler.
When I handed Mrs. Tofte the watering can to put with the significant items, she gestured towards the donation bags.
I hesitated, then asked if I could keep it.
She smiled at me, her eyes sad and tired. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”
A truck came, and two men took away all of the furniture and the bags. The apartment was empty except for a few things here and there that would be dealt with by the cleaning people. Even with everything gone, there was still the faint smell of cigarette smoke, hanging like a memory.
“He loved this place,” Mrs. Tofte told us. “He and Charlie. They were so happy here.”
Michael carried the box down the steps to Mrs. Tofte’s car. Mrs. Tofte thanked us, waved, and then she was gone.
He was gone.
The rest of the week felt empty. I used the old watering can to keep the plants thriving under the bright sun.
We prepped my room and applied the first coat of Cool Shale to the walls.
I got through several more chapters of The Grapes of Wrath.
Thursday morning, Sage and I were lying on the grass in the park again.
“This is weird,” Sage said. “Mr. Keeler’s spirit isn’t going to move on from here until we let him go. I thought I just saw him over there watering.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “Get your bike.”
I met her in the back alley with my bike. She was carrying the same bouquet we had made for Mr. Keeler the day he died. It was wilted and browning. I had forgotten about it.
“Follow me,” she said.
We rode through downtown all the way to the Mississippi River. The water sparkled in the morning light. I could see the Stone Arch Bridge just downstream. We locked our bikes and walked to a railing. The river flowed steady before us.
“Mr. Keeler,” Sage said. “We miss you. I thought you were scary until I knew you liked flowers. I wish you could have seen the garden. It’s beautiful. Every day new daylilies open.”
She looked at me expectantly. I knew how this type of thing was supposed to work. I had read this scenario a million times in books. Everyone would say something poetic or meaningful. But standing here now it was hard to say anything.
I took a deep breath. “Honestly,” I said, “I liked how he, or you, I guess—” I looked at the shimmering water. “I liked how stubborn you were. I liked that you didn’t give an inch. And I liked how you always left it to Michael pick up your cigarette butts.”
As I said this, I suddenly realized how one of the things I had liked so much about Mr. Keeler was that he was able to antagonize Michael.
Michael, who had bought him groceries. Michael, who had helped pick away the rocks and plant the daylilies. Michael, who had even helped him smoke that last cigarette. Michael, who I had been so sure I didn’t like. I wasn’t so sure anymore.
I looked back at the withered bouquet. “Goodbye,” I said.
Sage shook her head. “See you later,” she corrected.
She threw the bouquet. The wind caught it. Instead of falling to the moving Mississippi below, it landed on one of the concrete footings.
We stared at it. The crinkled leaves waved slightly in the breeze.
Suddenly Sage laughed.
“So much for that moment,” she said.
I looked down and smiled. Maybe that was more accurate. Things don’t just wash down the river. Sometimes the things you want to throw far away from you keep sitting there in front of you while you have to keep on living. We watched the water move past the bouquet for a long time.
Finally, Sage and I sat down on a bench. The clouds moved over our heads, oblivious to the stuff we faced here below. We watched them float past.
“That one,” I said pointing to a large cloud nearing the sun. “That one is Mr. Keeler if I’ve ever seen him.”
“It is.” I could hear the smile in Sage’s voice.
The cloud finally covered the sun, the edges of it turning golden.
“See?” Sage said. “It tries to hide the light, but it just becomes luminescent.”
We watched as the cloud glowed, then shifted, releasing the rays of the sun, making room for the next one.
Chapter
20
As Michael helped me roll the final coat of paint onto my walls, his phone rang. Michael set down his roller, hitting speaker phone. It was Dad.
“Heather and Dave are in labor,” Dad said.
“Is everything alright?” Michael asked, all of a sudden tense.
“Yes,” Dad said. “But they were supposed to host Cocktail Hour tonight.”
“And let me guess,” Michael interrupted. “You invited everyone over here.” Michael looked over at me as he said this. I smiled and rolled my eyes with him. With him, not at him. Since when did I do that?
“No, actually,” Dad said. “I was about to, but I remembered what you said. I’m calling to run it past you first.”
“Oh,” Michael said. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. That would actually be fine.”
“Thanks, Love,” Dad said.
They hung up.
Michael looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “Your father will never cease to amaze me.”
“For real,” I said.
When Dad got home, Mic
hael stopped him in the doorway.
“Thank you,” he said. “Really, that meant a lot.” He pulled Dad into a big kiss. I blushed and looked away, but realized I was smiling a little.
After supper when everyone arrived, Michael invited me to stay. I looked out the window. Sage sat in the park waiting for me.
“Just a minute,” I said.
I pulled Sage upstairs to the apartment. I introduced her. Nobody made jokes about whether or not we were boyfriend and girlfriend. We sat next to Mary and Jo. Michael handed us two iced teas with lemon.
Sage and I sat and listened as the conversation moved along. It was my first time, so I just sipped my drink while everyone else talked. Emily made plans for meal deliveries to Heather and Dave while they “acclimate to the raging storm of parenthood.”
Then the conversation roamed from the upcoming election to the farmer’s market on Saturday, to marriage equality.
“I know it’s legal,” Big Ben said. “But I can’t see myself ever marrying.”
“Why?” Robi asked. “You and Jon have been together forever.”
“21 years this April,” Jon said, his face glowing.
“Marriage is so heteronormative,” Ben said. “Isn’t the best part of being gay the ability to shun all of that?”
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “I would like to get married. And not just for tax reasons.”
Everyone laughed.
Dad and Michael exchanged a look. I watched as they shared a brief quiet moment. They wanted to get married. I had expected this. Feared this. But as I watched the look pass between Dad and Michael, I realized something had changed inside me.
They wanted to marry. And I didn’t think I hated the idea anymore.
The next day, Friday, Michael picked up his cell phone during supper to open a text. His face lit up. “Heather and Dave,” he said. “After a grueling labor, Gordon William Richards was born last night. Seven pounds, 10 ounces.”
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