by Anyta Sunday
Flow chart! Manufacturing processes! Anything but undressing a guy in his mind he wanted nothing to do with.
Blending: Ingredients are first selected based on the desired . . .
He tossed the chart across his desk.
----------------------------------- 2 minutes
me:
my mind is totally stir-crazy at the moment.
say hey to Heath from me.
Will:
Back. Crap, I am going to have to talk to him. He just bailed on our date tonight.
me:
he’s crazy.
Will:
He claims it’s because he knows I have so much work to get done, but I don’t know . . .
me:
Yeah, talk.
Will:
But I’m nervous. I want to keep the illusion that we’re still all good together.
me:
when did life get so complicated?
Will:
Fifteen. LOL.
me:
you want to talk through it with me first?
I mean later and over the phone?
Will:
how about I call you later in the week? I gotta finish this chapter. Then I’ll be in a better zone. Maybe things won’t seem so bad then. Could be just stress. Looking into things more than I should.
me:
maybe. Maybe not. Be sure to call. At the very least I can make you laugh by describing the extent of my pathetic job. Life.
Take care.
Will:
look forward to a laugh. Later.
The rest of the day dragged on. The only good point of the day was when the guy behind the front desk stopped him on his way out. He introduced himself as Marc.
“So, if you’d like, a bunch of my friends and I are meeting at the end of the week. Would you like to come along, maybe?”
Eric flashed him a smile. “Yeah, sure.” He needed to make some friends.
He’d thought he had so many up in Auckland. The numbers on his cell seemed testimony to that. But not one of them had been there for him in the end.
At the funeral it was just him, his grandpa’s best friend, and the caretakers from the hospital. He’d thought more would come. Will had tried, Eric knew, but his plane had been grounded in Christchurch.
He blinked away the image of a long table of untouched food.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
He backed out the doors, feeling more kindly to them now he was leaving than when he’d entered that morning.
Eric drove home, deciding to walk to pick up his little grey whiner, since he’d not managed to do some lengths yet at the pools.
He was half-way to the SPCA when, at the shriek of a wild child, Eric glanced toward a small playground next to the local library.
He blinked as his gaze landed on a large figure hunched on a bench in the middle. Was that . . . Rory?
“Such a small freaking world,” he murmured to himself. And a bizzare one at that. The local playground was not the place he’d thought he’d ever see the guy.
Eric looked over the fenced-off area to Rory as he sat, watching kids climbing up the slide.
Probably, Eric should move, get the ‘walk’ light before it turned red and he had to wait another minute.
But it seemed it was his turn to hesitate.
A girl with blonde pigtails tripped on the rubber-tiled ground and started crying. Rory was off his seat in an instant and brushing her little knees.
“You’re all right,” Eric heard Rory say. “Just a little booboo.”
She hiccupped and looked down. “It’ll be okay?”
Rory nodded.
And just like that, the girl was fine again, skipping her way back to scaling the climbing wall. Rory shook his head, smirking.
Eric found himself slipping in through the gate and sliding onto the bench next to him. The guy jumped when he turned in his direction.
“What—”
“So,” Eric said under his breath, leaning close to Rory’s ear, “you’re not a complete dickhead, then.”
“Watch your language. Kids are around.”
“Wow, that coming from you. The surprises keep coming.”
“What are you doing here?”
Eric couldn’t quite answer that; he’d followed a whim coming in to talk to Rory. “We both live in the same neighborhood, don’t we? Chances are we’re going to bang into each other on occasion. Maybe we should be on speaking terms, eh?”
The light of the evening sun picked at the gold threads in Rory’s dark hair and tired eyes as he glanced at Eric. “Hi’s and bye’s are fine with me.”
“Shame,” Eric heard himself saying. He couldn’t stop the next part, and he silently cursed his foolishness. “I don’t really know anybody in Wellington yet.”
“Get off it. You wanted to forget we’d ever even met, remember? Last week, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
“Yes, well, that was last week.” He pointed toward the little girl swinging on the monkey bars. “But this week, I’m seeing a whole new side of you. It’s not looking too bad. Quite frankly, you’ve got me curious now.”
A soft pink crept up Rory’s neck and spread evenly across his cheeks. He looked away and called out to the girl. “Willow! Come ’ere.”
Willow shouted back she was going to do one more slide first.
Rory squirmed on the bench, still not lifting his face to Eric. “I gotta get her home now.”
Eric stood. As he backed up toward the gate, he said, “Well, think about it then. Maybe you’ll have something to say the next time we bump into one another?”
He turned and made his way up the street. Unfortunately, he missed the walk light, and as he waited for it to change, he heard Rory and Willow come up and wait behind him. When it was their turn to cross, Eric charged forward, still dazzled at asking if Rory wanted to be friends. What had he been thinking? Where on earth had it come from?
Sure, yes, knowing someone in the city would be great. And okay, it was true, he had been more than curious seeing Rory so kind and gentle to Willow. But still . . . it was the same guy he’d once kissed, who’d then verbally attacked him for being a fucking fag, among other things. He hadn’t been violent with his fists, but with his tongue he’d punched a hole in him that wasn’t so easy to stitch up. And maybe seeing Rory at the playground just now was a stitch or two in the right direction. Maybe. But there was so much more to be fixed before he could be friends with the guy!
He shook his head and lengthened his pace. He really didn’t think his grandpa would have meant Rory when he told him to make some real friends.
Behind him, he could hear Rory telling Willow that she couldn’t have an ice cream because she hadn’t eaten her sandwich at lunch.
A car careened around the corner at the end of the block, and Eric had to wait to cross the street.
“So what do you have to do if you want an ice cream tomorrow?” Rory asked, his voice steady and patient, despite Willow’s whines.
“Humnpf. But I don’t like sand-witches.”
“You think more about your answer and tell me when you’re ready.”
Eric darted through a break in the traffic across the road and felt stupid the second he’d reached the other side. For one thing, that wasn’t a good example to a kid for how to cross a road, and for another thing, this was really stupid. He crossed his arms and waited for Rory and Willow to cross over.
“This is weird,” he said them. “We’re obviously going in the same direction. Let’s just walk together, okay? I’m just going to the SPCA.”
The little girl dug her face into Rory’s side. “Who’s that man?”
Rory stilled, then patted her head. “It’s okay. Just someone I know.”
“What is he doing at the SPCA? They kill cats and dogs there.”
Oh crap. Eric wished he hadn’t stopped, wished he weren’t such a fidiot. Rory glanced from him to Willow, looking uncertain how to handle t
he situation.
“No, I’m going to save a cat!” Eric cried, though not entirely true. He bent to Willow’s level. “Hey, I’m Eric, and I just love cats and dogs”—Rory snorted at that—“I have a little grey cat, er, kitten at the vet, and she’s making sure my cat—kitten is healthy. That’s all.”
Willow finally gave in and graced him with the smallest of smiles. “We have a cat at home too. But she’s old. And has a stinky yawn.” She tugged Rory’s arm. “Can we see Eric’s kitten? Please?”
Eric stood. Rory was biting his lip, looking as if he were trying hard to come up with a good reason they couldn’t. “Uh, well . . .”
Eric cut over him and said to Willow, “Maybe another day, yeah? The kitty may need time to calm down after being away all day.”
“Uh, yeah,” Rory murmured in agreement and a whole heap of relief. “Another day. . . . ”
On Friday, Rory finished looking after Willow at three. Shagged after a day—week!—of playing outside and chasing a four-year-old across the city and back again, all he wanted to do was grab his swimming gear and art supplies, and steal the evening to himself. He’d swim leisurely, letting his muscles relax and recover from all the hoisting he’d done of Willow. Yeah, the cool water sluicing over him would be perfect. And to top it off, when he was done, he’d take the spot he’d discovered a few days ago with a great view of the pools where he could get lost in drawing the crowds.
He slipped off his shoes outside the front door and placed them next to a pumpkin—
Pumpkin? What the hell was a pumpkin doing on the porch?
Shaking his head, he picked it up and trundled inside the house.
In the lounge, Lily was sprawled out on the couch throwing and catching a smiley-face ball. Sammy knelt next to her, reading a Girlfriend magazine. When she saw him enter, she clapped it shut and slid it under the coffee table.
“. . . Man it was so epic, eh?” Lily was chatting away. “The boys aren’t going to let us get off easy after that last stunt, though. Still, worth it.”
“Well you don’t have too much to worry about. You’re going away in a week. I’ll be the one who wakes up to egg caked in my hair or something.”
Lily grinned. “Jared likes your hair too much to do that.”
Sammy’s mouth fell open. “What—”
But Lily had spotted Rory, and she lurched off the couch. “Hey, wow, you look like something the rat dragged in.”
Rory grinned and moved through to the kitchen. “It’s cat. Something the cat dragged in.”
“Nope, I think a cat would turn its nose up at”—she waved her hand at him—“that. I stick with rat. Willow take you for a turn, did she?”
He laughed louder, refreshed at the sound bubbling out of him. It’d been a while. “Doesn’t she always?”
He placed the pumpkin on the bench at the same time Uncle Davy walked into the room.
“Don’t cut that pumpkin. You can cook another night. I’ve already fired up the Barbie. Fact: it’s just going to be us. The girls are off to the theatre with Alice tonight. So I thought we could have a couple of steaks, sit back with a beer . . .”
Uncle Davy clamped his firm hand on Rory’s shoulder. “See you outside in ten, yeah?”
“Well, actually . . .” Rory thought of the pool and his art, but when he looked at his uncle who was now rubbing his hands together and peering into the fridge, Rory nodded. He’d eat a quick something and take off to the pool straight after. “Sounds good.”
Rory packed so he was ready to hit the road as soon as it was polite. He rested his duffel bag and backpack against the sliding glass doors on the deck out back.
Sizzling meat and the smell of a hot, greasy grill made Rory glad he’d said yes to a bite. His uncle beckoned him to a deck chair and offered him a cool beer.
Rory shook his head. He didn’t drink. Hadn’t in years. “Driving later. Better not.”
“Take a coke then, there’s some next to you.”
Rory snapped one open and sunk into the chair, watching his uncle wielding a long pair of tongs. Uncle Davy didn’t say anything for a while. He concentrated on scratching off a patch of burnt sausage from the tray. It was when he glanced over at Rory, his face deepening with lines and unspoken questions, that Rory realized he’d been set up.
This wasn’t a casual Barbie. His uncle wanted to speak with him.
Before he could, Rory took charge of the conversation. “So, only a week before you and Lily see Aunt June again. How long has it been since she left?”
Uncle Davy winced, and scraped the tongs harder against the surface of the barbeque. “Too long. But we’re bringing her home.”
Rory took a sip of coke. He hadn’t meant to strike a sore note. The fact was, it wasn’t until this very minute he realized his aunt wasn’t just on holiday to visit family. “Does she,” he asked quietly, “does she know you’re going over?”
“Yes. Look, no relationship is perfect and June and I . . . we hit a rough patch, but ultimately we still love each other and we’re working through it.” That was his uncle. Blunt and to the point.
“She’s in the States. That’s a pretty long way away to be working through it.”
“She thought distance would help clarify things.”
Rory dipped his head and stared at the can in his hand. He understood where his aunt was coming from. He’d hoped the same thing. Distance would help him get over William, would help him accept who he was. He shook his head slowly. “But it didn’t help, did it?”
Uncle Davy wiped the sweat off his brow on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “This wasn’t the conversation I planned on having. But no, it didn’t help. Some perspective was good, but in the end, it’s not going to fix things.” He took a paper plate from the bench between them and piled the meat onto it. “But let’s move on to you, Rory.”
Rory tensed, shoulders locking stiffly around his neck. “Me,” he said a pitch too strained, “nah. I’m nowhere near as interesting.”
Uncle Davy put the food on the bench and leveled his stare at him. “We both know that’s not the case, and that’s a fact.”
“Ah, here we go again,” Rory muttered putting his coke down at the foot of the chair. “Your favorite word.”
He was a dick to say it out loud, and he knew it. But he also couldn’t stand being lectured. He was an adult, for Christ’s sake.
Yeah, but you aren’t really acting like one, are you?
Uncle Davy brushed off the comment, which was more than Rory deserved. “You want to talk about why you won’t you call your mum?”
Rory shrugged as he took a paper plate and dumped a piece of steak on it. He couldn’t say he felt hungry anymore. “I sent her an email. She knows I’m here and am safe.”
“It was a two line mail—”
“How’d you know—”
“Your mum was worried, she forwarded it to me. She misses talking to you. Said it’s been a long time.”
A year. Just over, since they’d had any proper conversation. Anything lasting more than a couple of minutes that was.
He just couldn’t talk to her anymore. Every time he picked up the phone, an unrelenting pressure pushed down on him, like someone was trying to squeeze him into a Jack in the Box.
“Fine, I’ll write a longer mail next time.”
“That’s not the point.”
They sat chewing in silence for a while. A small breeze blew the scent of lavender toward them, combining with the charcoal smoke to leave behind an ashy-sweet tang to the air.
Uncle Davy’s sigh cut through it all, a stench of frustration and worry. “I think I know why you don’t talk to your mum.”
“You don’t know anything,” Rory said softly.
“I went to take my laptop from your room today. There was a drawing on the desk. A drawing of a naked man.”
Rory couldn’t breathe. It felt as if all the air had been expelled from his lungs. His paper plate wobbled on his shaking knees and he only just mana
ged to scoop it up before it fell to the ground. “You—you shouldn’t have gone through my stuff.”
“I never go uninvited through people’s things.”
“But their room?”
Uncle Davy reached over and gently pried the plate jittering in Rory’s clutch away from him. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t intended. The drawing was just lying there.”
“So-so what? It’s just a picture.”
Uncle Davy’s voice broke. “Rory, don’t fight this. Not with me too. You don’t have to. If it’s true, you need some allies. That’s what I’m trying to offer you.”
Rory gasped in a heavy, uncontrolled breath. He shook his head. Couldn’t stop shaking it.
“It can’t be easy having these feelings. Especially with your dad—”
He lurched off the chair, his foot knocking over the can of coke. Liquid chugged onto the deck, and Rory stumbled toward his gear. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
He’d only reluctantly begun accepting himself as a fag. No way could he tell others. Especially his family. No fucking way.
“I just need you to know,” Uncle Davy said, his usually cool and direct edge faltering, “you have some family that understand. That would listen.”
Swinging the backpack over his shoulder, Rory glanced at him. “And you think you’re it?” He grabbed his duffel bag. “You think you have all the answers I could possibly want? Let me tell you something, there are no “facts” you could give me that would help.”
“Fuck facts!” Uncle Davy was on his feet and moving toward him. “Sometimes they just aren’t enough. Sometimes feeling is a thousand times more honest than a single fact. Believe me, I know.”
He tried to place his hand on his arm, but Rory jerked away. Just . . . he couldn’t . . . not right now.
“I’ve got to . . .” he said as he pushed his way indoors, “. . . I’ve just got to go.”