Never a Hero

by Marie Sexton

  “And now you’re learning to play piano!” my dad said with a smile. “It’s wonderful.”

  “It’s ridiculous is what it is,” my mother mumbled.

  My father ignored her. “Tell me about this girl you’re playing in the recital with.”

  It was no use, though. My answers became more and more muddled, my tongue heavier with each tick of the clock. When they finally stood up to leave, I nearly wept with relief.

  “How about if we all go downtown tomorrow?” my dad said at the door. “We can have lunch first, and then you can spend some time showing us around before the recital.”

  It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, but arguing would have meant speaking.

  Only one more day, I told myself. One day with them, then play the recital, and then they’ll go home and everything will go back to normal.

  The problem was, I didn’t know what normal was.

  THE NEXT morning dawned bright and bone-jarringly frigid. Clear winter days were often the coldest in Colorado, and this one seemed determined to prove a point. The air felt sharp and angry against my bare cheeks as I led my parents through the Light District.

  I took them to the Vibe for lunch because it was the only restaurant in the area I was familiar with. I knew my mother would hate it, but I couldn’t come up with anyplace she wouldn’t hate.

  She glanced around with obvious disapproval. “Is that macramé?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the wide jute hanging that separated the counter from the seating area. “Looks like it’s been there since the seventies. I bet it’s never been cleaned either. Just think of all the dust mites that must live in it.”

  “I’d prefer to think of no such thing,” my dad mumbled.

  I stuttered through my order, feeling my mother’s judgmental gaze on the back of my neck. My father and I barely spoke through the meal, but my mother talked plenty. The bread was too dry, the fries too soggy. The fish tanks smelled bad and the bathrooms were too dirty. My whole life it had been this way. My mother could never see the sun. She only saw shadows, no matter where she turned. After that, it was back out into the deceptively bright, sunny day.

  “Y-y-you should s-see it at n-night,” I told them as we walked through the Light District. “They t-turn on all the l-l-lights, and when the w-w-weather’s good, they have f-free c-concerts over th-there in the amphitheater.”

  “Sounds like a waste of electricity.”

  Her negativity was never-ending. Nothing met her approval. When El waved at me through his shop window, she sneered. “What a horrible little store.” And when Seth stepped out of his door to call after me, “That offer still stands, Owen!” she turned to me with obvious horror.

  “For God’s sake, Owen. Please tell me you’re not getting tattoos now.”

  “N-n-no, M-Mom. It was j-j-j—”

  “People get AIDS at places like that, you know. Heaven knows how many people they’ve infected.”

  “Th-th-they don’t m-m-m-make p-p-p-p—” They don’t make people sick. That’s what I wanted to say. They’re smart. They’re careful. They’re regulated! The words built up behind my tongue like water against a dam, but they couldn’t break free. There was no way to have them heard without them tumbling over each other, making me sound like a fool.

  “Don’t try to defend them,” my mom interrupted. “I see all the rainbow flags in the windows. I’m not stupid. I know what that means. This is where the gays live. I suppose if they get AIDS, it’s only what they deserve.”

  “Sh-sh-shut up, Mom! You d-d-don’t know anything!”

  “I know you’re living here in this neighborhood with that boy downstairs. You play piano at his house. I’m not blind.”

  “Valerie, that’s enough,” my dad said.

  “It’s indecent. That’s all. Do you ever think about us at all? About what people will say?”

  Anger welled up in me, hot and vile and cruel. “W-why should I, M-Mom? D-do you ever think about me? Do you h-h-have any idea how m-m-miserable you’ve m-made me my entire life? Do you even c-care?”

  She pulled herself together, shoulders thrust back and her spine rigid. “Stop it, Owen. Listen to yourself. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  But she was wrong. I knew exactly what I was saying. “I am gay, M-M-Mom. Just like them. And I w-won’t apologize for it. Especially not to y-you.”

  I left them standing there, my mother shocked and angry, my father calling for me to come back. I ignored him.

  We’d come downtown in my parents’ car, but I wasn’t about to wait for them to catch up. I decided to walk home, despite the cold. I felt broken and defeated, shattered into a million little pieces by my mother’s cruel indifference. She’d done just as I’d feared, taken all of my newfound confidence and crushed it beneath her heel. But this time I knew how to get it back. There was one person who could always help me put myself back together, and right now I wanted him more than ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  IT WAS all I could do to hold myself together until Nick answered the door, but the minute he did, I felt better. The dogs swarmed around my feet, begging for attention, but I ignored them. I grabbed Nick with my one good hand and pulled him toward me.

  “Don’t tell me no. Not today.”

  I didn’t give him time to protest. I kissed him instead, hard and insistent, putting every ounce of my frustration into it. I was broken, and I wanted him to help fix me. I wanted him to feel my urgency. To know how much I needed him and to accept the fact that he needed me too. Because he did. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, I knew in my heart that I filled an empty space in his life, just as he did for me. I’d had enough of his foolish nobility and his excuses. He made me happy in a way nobody else ever had. I wanted to do the same for him. I begged him with my kiss to give me that chance.

  He hesitated for a moment, but then he put his arms around my waist and he kissed me back.

  Everything changed in the moment when his tongue touched mine. Every bit of restraint he’d held on to disappeared. It was frantic and primal, weeks’ worth of attraction and denial overflowing, driving us at each other, tearing down the walls.

  This was what I wanted—to be with him. To have my desire returned. To have the horrible empty place inside me filled by his tenderness. To know that I was safe and cared for and understood. I didn’t care about the virus or my mother’s horrible words. I loved Nick. I belonged with Nick. And right now, at this moment, I wanted to shed our clothes. To lock the doors and let the world die a frozen death while we reveled in our heat. I wanted to feel his body hard and naked and heavy on mine.

  He let me guide him into the bedroom and pull him down on the bed. He let me wrap my legs around him, holding him tighter than my arms ever could. But when I reached for the buttons of his pants, he jerked away from me, panting.

  “Owen, I can’t. We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can.”

  “You know I’m HIV-positive—”

  “Yes, I know. That’s the point. And I don’t care. There are no more secrets between us.” I pulled his pants open and slid my hand inside to cup his erection through his underwear. The proof of his desire was in my hand, hard against my palm. It was in his eyes and his labored breath. It was in the way he held me and the way he moaned as I began to rub his bulge.

  “I need this,” I told him. “And I think you do too.”

  My poor Nick. He tried so hard to be noble, but he wasn’t that strong. Not when it came to this. He moaned, not just with pleasure, but with the grief of knowing he couldn’t win. The frustration of admitting his desire was stronger than his will. Maybe it was wrong of me to push him when I knew the depths of his struggles, but I didn’t want to coddle him. Not this time.

  I pulled the waistband of his underwear out of the way. I felt him give in, surrendering himself to the inevitable, as his erection popped free. It was the sweetest victory I’d ever won, and I wrapped my fist around his cock and str
oked. His breath caught. A flash of euphoria flitted across his face, but then he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away. He lay shuddering on top of me, his breath hot against my neck.

  “It’s been a long time, Owen.” His voice trembled, but he seemed more embarrassed than anything. “A really long time.”

  “Don’t tell me I can’t touch you. Not tonight.”

  He laughed shakily. “I’m not saying you can’t, but you better stop now if you want this to last more than three minutes.”

  I laughed too, but it excited me knowing I had this kind of power over him. “Do you have some kind of lubricant?”

  “We can’t have sex. We can’t—”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  He hesitated for a moment, debating, but then he let go of me. I kept my legs wrapped around his hips as he reached into the bottom drawer of his bedside table and came up with a tube. I held my hand out, and he squirted some onto my palm. The whole thing had taken only a couple of seconds, and when I wrapped my hand around his cock again, he groaned. He closed his eyes and thrust into my fist. He shuddered and pulled me close, burying his face against my neck.

  “Owen,” he whispered. “Jesus, I think three minutes might have been wishful thinking.”

  I kissed his coarse cheek, stroked my fist down his length to feel him shudder again. “Go ahead,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  His first thrust was hesitant, as if testing his own restraint. The second was slow and deliberate, and I watched him, thrilled at the ecstasy I saw on his face. His next thrust was harder, and he opened his eyes to look down at me. I could see the desperation in them, a plea for me to still be okay with what he was doing.

  I smiled at him. “I’ve got you,” I said again.

  He made a sound, something between a moan and a growl, a noise so primal and so powerful it made my heart race and my groin ache. It was the sound of desperation and need, of finally letting go, of giving in to his lust. He began humping his hips, fucking my fist with an abandon that bordered on violence. His cock was hot and slick as my fingers slid over his glans again and again. Every muscle in his body went taut. His fingers dug painfully into my sides. He panted and grunted into my neck as he rutted into my hand.

  I’d wanted him to make love to me, but that wasn’t what this was. At this moment, I could have been anyone. This wasn’t about me. It was about him. It was five years of sexual frustration finally set free, and I was happy to be the one to give it to him. All my worries and insecurities fled as I gave him the thing he needed most at that moment. He chased his pleasure, driving into me harder and harder until he came, roaring with the strength of his release, emptying himself onto my stomach. He collapsed on top of me, panting and shaking, and I held him against me as best as I could with both arms.

  “Owen,” he finally said into my ear. “That wasn’t very generous of me.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to go like that.”

  “I liked it,” I said, turning to kiss his cheek. “I liked getting to be the hero for once.”

  He laughed. “I liked it too, but I think I can do better.” He sat up to look down at us—his pants gaping, his drooping cock hanging free—and the sticky mess he’d made on my T-shirt. “How about if we clean up a bit?”

  We undressed each other, and I let him lead me into the shower. There, under a scalding spray, he pulled me into his arms. He took my erection in his hand. “Your turn.”

  I wanted to lose myself in him completely, the way he’d lost himself with me. I wanted to let him be the hero this time, but that wasn’t how it felt. As the water fell over us and the bathroom filled with steam, he kissed me and stroked me, but he was already pulling away. There were no sweet, whispered words. Only reservations and a lingering sense of embarrassment. I felt abandoned. I could almost taste his regret. I knew by the pinched look around his eyes he was already beating himself up for allowing me to touch him. By the time it was over, the water was turning cold. I stood shivering as he found me a towel. He couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “It’ll be time to go soon,” he said to me when I came out of the bathroom. “You probably want to change.”

  “Can I ride with you?”

  He nodded, but he didn’t smile at me. Whatever pleasure we’d had together, he was paying the price for it now. I could see the guilt on his face, the lines of worry around his eyes.

  “Nick, please don’t do this.”

  He pinched the top of his nose and shook his head. “I have no self-control with you.”

  “Good.”

  “No. It’s not good. If you get sick because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  I didn’t know if I was hurt or angry. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to burst into tears or to rail at him for making things so hard. I either wanted to pull him into my arms and let him come apart, or beat him until he gave up being so goddamn stubborn. In the end, I didn’t get to decide because my cell phone rang. One glance at the caller ID was enough to make me cringe.

  “Hello?”

  I’d hoped it might be my dad on the line, but no such luck. “Owen, are you sure about this? There’s still time to back out.”

  “I’m not quitting.”

  She sighed heavily. “I think we’d all be better off staying inside. It’s so cold out, and the roads are icy. I’m afraid your dad will wreck the car.”

  “You’re from Wyoming, Mom. It’s not like Dad doesn’t know how to handle a bit of snow on the roads.”

  “Are the pews padded? It’s not one of those churches that has wooden benches, is it? Or those metal folding chairs? I don’t know if my back can take—”

  And in that moment, I broke. I’d had enough. Enough of Nick’s tug-of-war. Enough of my mother’s complaints. Enough of living my life according to the dictates of other people.

  “Then don’t come.”

  She instantly fell silent. I could sense her disapproval and her indignation at being cut off. At being dismissed. “Well, if that’s the way you feel—”

  “It is. I’m tired of listening to you talk about the son you wished you’d had. I’m the one you’ve got, Mom, and if you don’t want to be there for me, it’s no skin off my nose. I never wanted you here in the first place.”

  I’d finally done it. I’d rid myself of my mother’s venomous attitude, and I hadn’t stuttered even once while I’d done it. I hung up, feeling victorious, and turned to find Nick watching me, his eyes wide.

  “Good for you,” he said.

  But I wasn’t in the mood to be congratulated. I was just as tired of his well-intentioned martyrdom as I was of my mother’s attitude. “Are you going to apologize and tell me we’re fine, or are you going to keep pretending like you have to push me away to be noble?”

  “Owen, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand a lot better than you think. Frankly, I think I understand it better than you.” I felt his eyes on me as I dressed, but I didn’t shrink under the weight of his confusion. “You haven’t broken out of that cage as much as you like to think.”

  “Owen, wait,” he called as I headed for the door. “Don’t you need a ride?”

  “I’d rather walk.”

  I HAD to run upstairs before I left to put on a clean shirt and warmer coat. It was still cold out, and although I was already regretting the way I’d left things with Nick, I didn’t regret turning down the ride. I could have taken my own car, but walking to the recital gave me time to think.

  First and foremost, I thought about my mother. My whole life I’d thought I was the focus of her anger, but now, looking back on the day, I began to realize it wasn’t just me. My friends and the town. The restaurant and the tattoo parlor. Nothing escaped her disdain.

  Had it always been that way?

  I remembered all the vile things she’d said to me over the years, but this time I made myself think beyond them. I thought back to Easter Sundays and Thanksgivings when she’d
complained of the work and the mess. Christmas mornings when she’d moaned that nobody had bothered to get her anything nice. Vacations where everything was wrong from the flight to the hotel to the swimsuit-invading sand at the beach.

  My mother had never once been happy, and with the narcissism of a child, I’d assumed it was because of me. But I realized now with a sudden, blinding clarity, it wasn’t.

  It was because of her.

  Such a simple revelation, but it was liberating. I wasn’t responsible for her or her foul disposition. The realization felt so momentous that I laughed out loud. So many years of trying to please her, and for what? Just to give her more ammunition to throw my way?

  Not anymore. It was over. Never again would I question myself because of her.

  I was free.

  My first thought was how I wished Nick were with me. I wished I could tell him what I’d learned, share my victory with him, but hot on the heels of that thought came a wave of sadness. I’d pushed my way into Nick’s apartment, needing him like never before, and he’d delivered. But as soon as it was over, he’d pulled away again.

  The night suddenly felt colder, and I hugged myself with my good arm.

  Maybe I’d been wrong to push him. Maybe I’d been selfish. And yet I was sure he needed me as much as I needed him. Maybe more. We loved each other. We belonged together. I knew it deep in my heart, but I had no idea how to deal with his thickheadedness. The only thing I could do was continue beating at the ridiculously noble intentions he shielded himself with. They were stupid and pointless, but he held on to them so tightly. I wanted to rip them away and shine a light on them, reveal them for what they really were—a way for him to punish himself for a mistake he’d made in his youth. It was infuriating and exhausting, and I wasn’t sure how many more times I could swallow the pain of rejection.

  I sighed, unable to reclaim the glory of having told off my mother. I felt more lost than ever.

  I rounded the corner and saw the church ahead of me, its lights twinkling in the dark like some kind of beacon, but whether of damnation and salvation, I couldn’t be sure. Thoughts of my mother and Nick began to fade into the background. The reality of what was to come became clear in my mind, my sole point of focus. Fear blossomed in my stomach. Not the mindless panic I would have felt two months earlier, but a nervous kind of excitement that made my stomach buzz and my heart pound.