by David Connor
Liam nodded, his fluffy blond hair fluttering like a butterfly's wings.
"You definitely understand. You know what people are saying to you, don't you?"
Liam nodded.
"Except sometimes it's easier to pretend you don't."
Liam nodded again.
"Poop."
Liam laughed, and Frank was reminded of grade school days on the playground with Renny and other boys, long before the fire and "Freaky Frank". His smile remained until Marion returned.
"Take off the buckle, please," he said. "Metal's our enemy. Then put the belt through the double loop in the back, the one right in the center of Liam's…" Frank looked at Liam's rear end, quite round, quite nice, even in loose khaki pants. "There in the middle," he pointed.
Like reins for a horse, Frank brought two long sides of the belt together. He'd seen nurses in the hospital use a similar technique with his father, once Frank Sr. had become too weak from the cancer to walk on his own. It was the perfect way to help hold Liam up without touching him, and together they walked and chatted—albeit one way, albeit mostly concerning nothing—far longer than Vaughn's ordered two hours.
Frank visited Liam every day after that. He read to him from books, everything from See Dick Run and The Cat in the Hat to I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. He showed Liam math, though the pupil always waited for the teacher to answer, rather than offering a solution himself, and he had Liam trace over ABCs in the dirt where Marion planted those bulbs, as the two of them lazed on their bellies, with plenty of green in between.
One afternoon, Liam and Marion were sitting at the kitchen table when Frank arrived. What looked like snack time was actually another tutorial. Liam was having a bit of trouble with the fine motor skills necessary to hold a milk glass, it seemed.
"You must learn to eat like a grown man again," she said, rising from her seat. "Do sit, Franklin. Have mine." She headed to the kitchen to wring out her dishtowel, saturated with Liam's spilled beverage.
Frank studied the table, looking for hazards that might relate to his affliction. No silverware was about, only finger food and drinks. Frank lifted his glasses and rolled his eyes. "I guess she never heard that expression, 'No use being crabby over spilt milk'. And why, I ask, can't we eat like something other than grown men? A bunny, perhaps?" Frank nibbled his cookie with only his front teeth, causing little bits to fall all over the table. Liam smiled. "Anteater!" Frank vacuumed the crumbs off the tablecloth with his mouth, and Liam snickered. "Or how about a fish?" Frank sucked in his cheeks and pushed out his lips. He tried to bite off a chunk of tea biscuit. "Okay. So quickly we've discovered that one doesn't work so well."
Liam tried to recreate the look without much success.
"Fish face takes practice," Frank said. "My dad…" He had to fight past a lump in his throat to continue. "My dad taught it to me. Oh! I know." Frank shook off the sadness. "I shall feed you like a trained circus seal. Do this." Frank threw his head back and opened his mouth. Liam just stared, his pretty blue eyes still wet from an apparent earlier scolding. "Come on. Hurry. Before your mother comes back. Just like this." Frank opened wide again. "Do it." It came out muddled with his mouth so wide open.
Liam put his head back just like Frank. He opened his mouth. How fortuitous it was that much of what he had known before the accident was still there. Rehabilitation would—and was—coming quickly. Liam would soon set out to pick up his life wherever it had left off. The thought made Frank's heart skip, but also truly glad.
He shook off the ambivalence. "Wider."
Liam obeyed and Frank tossed a cookie bit right into his mouth.
"Yay!"
Liam barked out a laugh akin to the animal he imitated. It was a wonderful sound that continued, even as he chewed.
"Try me. Try me," Frank said. He opened wide, but the flung cookie chunk flew several feet to the right of him. "Tomorrow I'll bring over a baseball," he declared. "We'll work on throwing. Your turn again."
Liam tried to stop laughing long enough hold his mouth open for another try. He couldn't quite do it.
"Okay, okay. Enough of that. How about a drink?" Frank poured some milk from his glass into the saucer his cookie had sat upon. "Fresh, cold, delicious… kitty-cat style." He bent over and lapped at the drink with his tongue, and that made Liam giggle more.
Poor Liam had probably been working so hard—trying with every ounce of concentration and strength he could muster—before Frank had sat down. Marion's frustration was understandable. Still, a little immature fun would be motivating.
Liam lapped between giggles at the milk Frank had poured. The one not laughing, upon her return, was Marion. She picked up a rolled newspaper and swatted Frank upside the head.
"Out! Go! Now!" She chased him through the door like she might a real cat caught drinking off her china at the table.
Liam gasped.
"Don't worry, Liam. I shall return," Frank called back before the door slammed behind him, and then he laughed the whole way home.
He was allowed back. To his surprise, he was invited, as long as he "curtailed the shenanigans."
"My Marion has a warm heart and a hot temper," Vaughn stated. "This is a good combination for a wife." His smile was lascivious. It made Frank ponder, however, what he'd been told about Marion's roots. Her English was fine. Vaughn had once called it "broken." And her accent was not at all like his. When Frank posed his thoughts, however, and questions about Liam's childhood, Vaughn waved them all away. "Sometimes past events should be left there. Concern yourself with the present only."
Frank was enjoying the present. He truly was. While Marion took charge of difficult tasks, Frank got to re-teach Liam how to snap his fingers and belch on command, possibly for the first time. Two weeks later, Frank sat down to dinner with the family. He was, after all, according to Vaughn, a member.
"You will finally get to enjoy my Marion's cooking." Vaughn took his place at the head of the long table. Marion put herself on one side of him, Liam on the other. Frank put himself at the place setting way down on the other end, with three empty straight-back chairs on either side.
Liam had made great progress in eight weeks, but immediately had a terrible time cutting his meat. Frank was experiencing the same. Marion Hellier's pot roast was like shoe leather, especially with a plastic knife. Had he been at home, Frank would have picked it up to pull off bites with his teeth. In the company of others, however, he had to pretend he had manners himself, something he rarely did. At least Frank had the proficiency of a wooden handled steak knife down pat when necessary. He stood and reached far down the white linen tablecloth for Liam's plate—china with no metallic rim.
"Let me help." Frank had barely had time to jerk his hand away before Marion's knife would have wrapped him in the knuckles.
"Marion!" Vaughn grabbed his chest and sucked air in loudly as Frank stumbled backwards, causing his chair to fall into the wall. The three of them stared at the rip it left in the fancy brocade paper. "It is all right." Vaughn composed himself. "No harm done, Franklin," he said.
Liam sat stunned. His confusion was apparent. He had no idea what had almost happened, how close harm had come to his mother. "She could have been electrocuted, Vaughn," Frank said. "This… This is why I don't have dinner with people. This is why I should never have… This is why I should just stay away."
Liam stood then and shook his head.
"I think I should go."
Liam shook his head some more.
"Finish your meal, Franklin," Vaughn soothed. "Do sit."
"I cannot." Frank turned to Liam. "I'm sorry, Liam. I have to. It's for the best."
Liam banged hard on the table. "No!"
Everyone froze. Was that the first word Liam had spoken since he'd been brought back nearly two months prior? As far as Frank knew, it was. Vaughn and Marion's expressions seemed to indicate as much.
"Sit, Franklin. Relax." Vaughn patted his face with his napkin. "You're upsetting him. Can't you see?"
Marion looked distraught as well.
"I'm sorry," Frank said. "I'm sorry I yelled." He picked up his chair. "You can't touch me," he reminded them. "Not with your hands, certainly not with metal. Everyone has to adhere to that rule. Vaughn… Marion…" Frank looked to their son. "Liam." Frank looked back to Marion. "Maybe with wood. Hit me with a wooden spoon next time." He forced a smile. "Or the newspaper again. I know you can put some might behind one of those."
Liam sat after Frank had, and Marion finally set down her knife. She pushed it off to one side, perhaps worried the urge might come to strike out again. If it did, she held off. Dinner continued without further incident. Frank and Vaughn watched Walter Cronkite, and a baseball game afterwards, Vaughn from his chair, Frank from the sofa across the room. Frank was still nervous with the TV on plus—one, two, four, six—he counted six lights in the salon, dining room, and foyer. God only knew how many more were on upstairs, where Liam and Marion were—at least where they had been.
Both Vaughn and Frank looked at the ceiling when they heard a commotion above. Turning toward the stairs when footsteps started down them, it was apparent Liam had gotten quite proficient at walking—running, even—which he did partway down the flight, buck naked and soaking wet.
Vaughn and Frank leapt up. "What is going on, Liam?" Vaughn asked.
God! His body was beautiful, even with the scarring. Shiny from moisture, far too thin, but with muscles etched deeply into flesh, he was stunning. The smattering of hair up and down his torso and the thick thatch between his legs was all darkened to a bronzy brown with wetness, and that upon his head was pure white. It was a while before Frank actually looked up that far, to a thick helmet of suds from shampoo.
"He insists on doing everything alone," Marion said, finally coming into view.
"Then let him," Vaughn told her. "This is what we've been waiting for. No adult man wants to be naked in front of his mother, Marion."
Franklin didn't believe that to be an issue. Liam stood there exposed and unabashed in full view of all three of them.
"Fine," Marion said exasperated. "I have done my best. Now he goes to live with Franklin. I wash my hands of him." She literally did so, on the towel in the tie of her apron.
"Um… what?" Frank asked.
"Marion and I have been discussing it. We must travel back to Europe. Liam is doing well, but he still cannot be left alone. We believe the time has come for him to take residence with you."
"You're moving away? And no one thought it beneficial, or even necessary, that such discussions, those concerning a decision as major as this, should include me? Did you adjudge my input unwarranted?"
"Franklin…" Vaughn shook his head. "You were doing so much better with your words."
"Sorry." Frank posed the question a different way. "Um, why didn't nobody tell me about this plan? Is that better, Vaughn?"
"You are younger, stronger, more patient than Marion." Vaughn ignored the acerbic tone. "Rehabilitation will continue uninterrupted, more swiftly, even, with you."
"She has done a fine job," Frank countered. "It is miraculous how far Liam has come in these few weeks." Frank looked at him, and licked his lips, then he pulled himself away from the magnificence of Liam's genitalia, even as his own continued to tingle. "His recovery will go no faster with me."
"We must go, Franklin. It cannot be helped."
"Then take him with you." Frank had to look away when Liam's expression crumbled.
"We cannot."
"Why?"
"Liam wishes to remain here. He enjoys his time with you."
"That's not fair, Vaughn."
"It is better for him to stay. It is necessary."
"Why?" Frank asked again.
"Franklin, please. I have never asked anything of you."
Frank found that statement quite rich. "I brought your son back to life. And I'll be damned if I will ever again accept a dinner invitation without asking first if it comes with an ulterior motive. Twice bitten…"
"We will be gone just over a week. We leave day after tomorrow."
Frank wondered again if Marion was ill. According to a news report just the night before, Europe had made great advancements in medicine during the first half of the 1960s. They were supposedly far ahead of the U. S., especially in pharmaceuticals and treatment for certain diseases. Cancer suddenly came to the forefront of Frank's brain. It was the same disease that had taken his father. "Is one of you ill?" he asked outright.
"Yes." The answer was just as simple. "I want you to remember something, son." Vaughn lit a cigarette. He always did so before making a grand pronouncement, even when a naked man with shampoo dripping in his eyes waited for it on the stairs. "Liam is older than he seems. An adult. Though you will be his teacher at first, that is temporary. Soon you will be equals in every way. Already you are both grown men."
"If I agree to this, Vaughn, it can end only one way—with two greatly frustrated grown men." Frank tried not to meet Liam's gaze. It was like a magnet, though, and his handsome face looked truly hopeful.
"There is no other solution, Franklin."
"Why don't I move in here for the week?"
"The house is being fumigated."
"Really?" Frank thought it was another manipulation. "I've never seen so much as a moth at your porchlight."
"They will be here as soon as we depart." Vaughn moved to Marion on the stairs. He brushed back a couple of stray strands of hair from her forehead. "This trip is important. Please, trust me."
"Fine." Frank threw up his hands. "Have his things ready. I will gather him tomorrow after work. I'll need time to ready the guest room."
Liam smiled as if in on the sarcasm. The tiny trailer had one bedroom. Either Frank or Liam would be sleeping on the couch. Forget the either, Frank thought. Liam would be. Why should Frank give up his bed for this… this man who…?
Before Frank could finish his thought, Liam bounded the rest of the way down the stairs, jiggling and flopping about as he did. He grabbed the large teddy bear in its own chair beside the front door. It was their hugging bear. One particularly joyous tutoring day when time came for Frank to go, he had Liam hug Marion. "Pretend you're hugging me," he had said. Later, the day before Frank was literally chased from the kitchen, a new system had come into play.
Frank had brought over the huge bear his father had won him at The Harvest Fair back in 1951. Frank used to hug it himself sometimes, as a boy when no humans were around for him to hug, and as an adult when he couldn't if there were. The toy was nearly three feet tall. "We hug him now," Frank had said. He'd squeezed it tight, with lots of sound. Liam had copied when his turn came. "He looks more like me than your mother does." Frank had lifted his shirt as proof. "Don't you think?"
Had Marion not been out at the clothesline at the time, Frank might not have been so brazen. Had there been an overwhelming jolt of desire? Most probably. Even with Liam fully clothed, it had been there. Looking at him presently, it seemed as if Liam felt some of his own. Whatever the case, whenever Frank left, from that day on, they each took a turn hugging the bear as if embracing for real. Liam did it then. He got it rather wet as he pressed his whole body, including his thickening manhood into the faux fur. Upon setting it down, he motioned for Frank to take his turn.
Frank gulped—audibly, he feared. He pondered a moment about the wetness. Electricity and water were often a deadly combination. Frank hugged it, though, without incident, not counting the erotic connotations brought on by feeling the moisture from Liam's naked body transferred right through his clothes.
"You should go rinse your hair out," Frank said. He inhaled deeply, still holding the plaything, trying to recover Liam's scent. "I'll be going while you do. But I promise," Frank said, already wondering if he could easily break the oath, "I will see you tomorrow."
"Yes," Marion said. "Let's finish up your bath." Liam stomped his foot. "You finish, then," she huffed. "I will wait in the bedroom. Be sure to get out all the so
ap. Otherwise it will itch."
Marion continued her instructions the whole way up the steps. Frank tuned out the words and just watched. Liam's rear view was no less enthralling than the front. "Grown man, huh?" he said, the moment Liam was out of earshot and his backside disappeared from view.
"In every way it counts."
"More like a seven-year-old who hasn't discovered the benefits of inhibition."
"Inhibitions are a puritanical invention, an American inconvenience. In science and abroad, we rarely deal with them. This is how Liam was raised. The human body and how it functions is nothing shameful. It's obvious to the eye, and because I am telling you, Liam is a grown man."
"I refuse to get attached to him nonetheless, despite your incessant matchmaking efforts. The moment he can speak again, his life will be his own. He can choose whatever he wants. He can find work and his own place. He can find his own mate. Then he can be happy, and you can be happy for him. His mother as well. She can rest… rest assured knowing he won't be alone. It might even happen before you return. I'm quite certain he will have tired of my company long before then, anyway."
"I would not be so sure."
"He really hadn't spoken… until tonight?"
"No."
Liam hadn't uttered one more syllable all throughout the rest of dinner, either. Frank wondered if there was strife in the relationship between parents and son. Maybe that was why Liam had moved so far away, why he wasn't around in summer, why Frank had never heard he existed until recently. Perhaps the family had lived apart—Vaughn in town, Marion and Liam somewhere else. That made some sense, and Frank wanted to ask.
Then again, maybe such distance between grown children and their parents was normal. What did Frank know? His parents had both left him before he'd had the chance to leave them. "It goes away sometimes? This… thing I have from the lightning?" That was the question he chose to put forth.
"It did with the other I once knew."
"And how do I test it?" Frank asked, wiping his bathwater-smudged glasses on his shirt.