Where the Stars End

by Ross Anthony

  I didn’t want to fall asleep, fearing for the moment’s end and that we may never have it again. However, Morpheus, the god of dreams, won the battle, and I fell fast into the nothingness of the dreamworld.

  Part way through the night, I woke up to see Nicolas kneeling beside the bed. In the dim light of the moon that leaked in through the window, he had his head lowered slightly, and his hands were folded around the cross that hung from his neck. He whispered, but I couldn’t make out any of the words.

  While I lie there watching, I found myself debating the idea of Christianity, which seemed to parallel the debunked Greek mythologies I’d grown up learning. I’d come to realize that people need to have a sense of purpose and reason for being, rules and structure. Before there was science, humanity needed a starting point for life, for being. Thus, the tales of Gods.

  He prayed similarly to the way my mother did. Out of respect, I remained silent and still, as I pretended I was still sleeping.

  I knew based on the conversation we had, he felt remorse for enjoying me. I imagine he was asking his God for forgiveness.

  That fact ached painfully in my chest.

  In the coming days, he would resume his distance, and I would have to pretend that he was nothing more than a stranger.

  I hated myself for this, for allowing myself to let him in, but he had me. Even if we weren’t together per se, I’d wholeheartedly lost myself to him.

  Seven

  Music echoed through the hall of the second floor of my complex. As I approached the door to my apartment, the music grew increasingly louder.

  My mom had her favorite vinyl on the record player, Fleetwood Mac. I opened the door to find that the coffee table in the living room was pushed to the side. In the center of the room stood my mother, dancing around in circles with her arms out free. The rose colored shawl she wore came to life as she twirled, seemingly without a care, to “Rhiannon.” It had been a very long time since I’d seen her so lively.

  She noticed I’d come in, so she grabbed my arms and made me dance along with her. We both laughed and sang along with the recording until the sound of the needle scratching on the record was all that played.

  We were excited, as the next day my mother would be going in for her resection, and everything would be the way it used to be.

  In addition to the three bus routes we normally had to take, there were two more to get to the surgical center where they’d be performing my mother’s sleeve resection.

  While we were both optimistic that the removal of half of one of my mom’s lungs would go well, the bus routes were solemn.

  The crowds of people were quiet as everyone kept to themselves.

  The cause was likely due in part by the unease and mystery of what would be happening next within our country.

  However, my mother and I had to focus on her health. Political worries and frustrations could wait until she was better.

  “I’m so happy that this is almost over,” I said as I grabbed her hand.

  Her skin was dry and cracked.

  “Me too, baby boy.” She grabbed onto my hand as a small tear fell from her face.

  She was exhausted, as she’d had to stop her medications and wasn’t allowed any food or drink prior to the operation. Everything about her in that moment was in complete contrast of the free spirit she was the night prior. She was so close to relief; it would just be a little bit longer.

  As we proceeded with our route on the bus, she continued to hold my hand. The way in which she was clutching me reminded me of the way Nicolas held his cross the other evening. It got me to thinking again about my mother’s praying.

  “Mom?”

  She looked at me.

  “Why, after everything, do you still pray?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After all of the cruel hardships you’ve been through in life, how can you still believe there’s a God?”

  “Well,” she loosened her grip on my hand, “because I don’t believe it’s His fault for the bad things that have happened in my life, but it’s because of Him that I’ve made it through them, that I’ve gotten this far... and that I have you,” she grinned as she tightened her grip.

  “But it is because of Him that Great Grandma kicked you out and basically put you on the street,” I added.

  Her grin washed away into dismay. “Your great grandmother, along with so many others, have been misguided by an organization that uses God as collateral. If you pay this and do that, you’ll go to Heaven; if you don’t, then you’re punished with an eternity in Hell.” She rattled my hand, emphasizing, “I don’t believe any of that. We were put onto this Earth to love, learn, and teach one another. We are not here to judge each other. That, in the end, is for God to do. Also, I find there’s comfort in knowing that there’s more life to come after this one.”

  All of the things she said deepened my admiration for her. She seemed to have everything figured out.

  Being her son, I was disappointed in myself for not having the same unwavering beliefs. “I don’t know what I believe,” I admitted.

  “I know you don’t, and that’s okay. You’ll find your way. It’s all a part of your journey.” She let go of my hand, but I was compelled to grab her hand back, again.

  I wasn’t ready to let go of her.

  The bus came to a halt and we stepped off and progressed into the hospital. We checked in and soon the nurses came and took her back to prep for her surgery.

  The doctors figured it would take a couple of hours, so I decided to wait around for completion.

  I sat, thinking about how good it was going to be having my mom back to normal again. The diner would be so excited to have her back, smiling and spreading her joy.

  With all the time to kill, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and decided it was time to delete the HomoSphere app. I never got much use out of it and despised the shallow landscape that made up its world. It was a poor representation of the community, and I wanted substance. I wanted Nicolas, who I hadn’t heard from since our night together. A part of me also feared that if I were to log in again, I would see him on there seeking quick fulfillment from others.

  I was disappointed, but it was entirely out of my control. He was doing what was best for him. If his parents found out, he’d risk losing his financial support. At least, that was me trusting him and giving him the benefit of the doubt. It was possible that, in all actuality, he just used me for a night of pleasure, though I knew that was just my insecurity whispering to me.

  If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I hated how significantly I ached for him, even for just one more night. We didn’t even need to have sex. Having him next to me was enough. His clean, outdoorsy scent pulled me from the city life I’ve only ever known and took me to another world of outback adventures.

  I had to shame my youth for being so uptight toward the men who feared being open with another man. Nicolas shed light on a deeper reasoning behind “discreets,” men who kept their affairs with other men strictly private.

  The level of unacceptance so many continued to face was still shocking to me, because American society had made so many progressive strides toward acceptance of all lifestyles.

  Alas, Hate breeds Hate, and all it takes is one individual to tout it.

  Several thoughts and hours had gone by, and I was growing anxious, fearing the worst. I decided to ask the nurse at the front desk if my mom had been taken out of surgery yet. She told me the doctor would come out as soon as it was done. I went back to my seat and waited, paging through a home and garden magazine from back to front. It was an odd way to read it, but I found magazines tend to put the most interesting items at the end.

  Another hour went by, when a doctor finally came out and approached me. I sensed a negative outcome in his candor.

  My anxiousness turned to dread. I got up to face the black man dressed in blue scrubs. His white face mask hung around his neck.

  “Mīlo Barkley?”
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  “Yes.”

  He put out his hand for a shake. “I’m Dr. Bryan. Shall we have a seat?” he said with a low, warm voice.

  I knew what he was there to tell me. I felt my body begin to shake. “No, this is fine,” my voice faltered a bit.

  “Before we put your mom on anesthesia she told me to tell you something. Should something go wrong…”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. I felt my face getting hot and my eyes began to burn as they welled with tears. He put his hand on my shoulder as he looked me perfectly in the eyes.

  “She wanted me to remind you that you’re her sun, her moon, and the stars…”

  “No,” I cried. “Please, you have to fix this. She’s all I have,” I begged. I felt the snot running out of my nose as I sobbed. I knew the other doctors had warned of this, but I didn’t believe it could really happen. “She was just fine yesterday. She was just fine!”

  “I’m so sorry, Mīlo. We did everything we could do. She fought so hard, until she couldn’t.”

  I threw myself into him and wrapped my arms around him. He hesitated before he reciprocated the embrace. For a brief moment, I felt safe. I’d imagined that’s what a hug from a father would be like.

  He let go and patted me on the shoulder once more.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked, pulling back. “Wha-” I was searching for words, “I-I-I don’t know what to do.” I glanced away, and tried taking a few deep breaths, hoping the tears would dry.

  He set his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes with the utmost sincerity. “We’ll help you the best we can,” he assured.

  Rather than take the bus, I walked myself home. Numb. Empty. It was just going to be me from that moment forth. I had to be strong, if not for myself, for my mom. It’s what she would’ve insisted.

  I sat at the dining room table feeling every scratch and gouge in the wood with my fingertips. I thought back to the laughter we shared there, the conversations, and the lectures.

  I traced my finger over the carved letter “M.” It had warranted my first ever lecture from my mom. I remember I used a chair to reach one of the kitchen knives and decided to practice spelling my name on the dining room table with it. She had swooped in quick to stop me. She paused and took a deep breath before starting her words. Looking back, I could tell that she was carefully choosing what to say, not wanting to be the parent or grandparent she had. She only ever used words. Never once did she a lay her hand on me as a form of discipline. It had proven effective, and it became her signature method.

  The quiet that wrapped around me and the apartment felt new. It was heavy and more dense than ever before. There was no one else to clang dishes, to open or shut doors, or simply just make noise with their presence.

  It was just me, and the loneliness started to sink in.

  I turned to face her room and saw her bed was left unmade. I got up from the table and went into what used to be her space.

  Her sweet, rosy scent blossomed in the air. I lifted the bed covers and tucked and folded them into place, the way she taught me. I sat down on the bed for a moment remembering the days of my childhood not that long ago. I’d barge in and jump on the bed with a book and insist that she read me Greek mythos until I’d fall asleep. Then I’d magically wake up in my own room.

  I stood up and tip-toed out of the room, gently closing the door behind me, imagining that perhaps she was still sleeping and I was being careful not to wake her.

  It’s funny what our minds do sometimes.

  I decided I’d walk next door to the diner and deliver the news to Mikey and the rest of the crew. While I didn’t want to socially engage, I knew they were all anticipating an update, which I had promised I’d do immediately following the procedure.

  As I sauntered in through the door of the diner, I was met with greetings and exuberant exclamations of my name. I turned on the smile, though I was only partially committed, and just by my puffy eyes alone, I knew they could tell what I’d come to say.

  Mikey’s eyes welled, but he held it back and wrapped me in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Mīlo.”

  Franny hurried over and embraced me tight in her arms. “My little Gatsby…”

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to any of them. I’d never experienced death before, at least not directly. The only thing I knew in that moment was that it felt like a piece of my being had been torn from my body.

  “Well, I guess I’ll take my donations back,” said Barbara, wedging herself into the circle. She wasn’t wearing her blonde wig, which normally hid her washed out brunette hair.

  “Shut up, Barbara,” Franny snapped.

  “She’s dead. She don’t need it, and what’s he going to need it for?”

  She was known for her crude sense of humor and quick mood changes, but this took it to another level. She was genuine in her words.

  A lump of anger began to form in my throat.

  “Barbara!” bellowed Mikey.

  “You know your momma was a little slut, don’t you?” she taunted.

  My hands shook with rage as I held myself back from jumping at the woman as she continued her disrespectful tirade.

  “Just ask the boss man over here,” she quipped. “The guilt is written all over his face.”

  Franny slapped the back side of her hand across Barbara’s face, leaving a small cut from her wedding ring on Barbara’s cheek.

  “Get out,” exclaimed Franny.

  Red-faced, Barbara leaned toward me. “You know, I never liked you or your mother. She was as fake as they come,” she chuckled. She started to turn away before adding, “Oh, and you should ask Mikey who your daddy is.”

  She said it loud enough for the all of us to hear.

  I felt the room beginning to spin.

  “What? Why?” I puzzled at Barbara.

  She giggled maliciously. “See youse.”

  Then she made her way out of the diner, while Franny and I both looked to Mikey for answers.

  Suddenly, the sound of silverware scraping on ceramic ceased. Silence blanketed the diner, and I felt the burning of an audience’s gaze on us.

  My eyes were locked on Mikey, still waiting for a response of any kind. He hadn’t blinked or even taken a breath.

  I’d never ridden a roller coaster, but I imagine it would be similar to everything I was feeling. Everything was moving so fast, up and down, twisting and turning. Now, the roller coaster had stalled mid twist, and I was stuck upside down with no way out.

  I felt the blood rushing to my head.

  Finally, the roller coaster cart creaked forward as Mikey opened his mouth to speak.

  “Can we go somewhere a bit more private?”

  Franny and I glanced at each other. She remained still while I readied myself for answers.

  “No. This is fine,” I said.

  “I don’t want to do this here,” Mikey pleaded.

  “Do what? What exactly is it that we’re doing, Mikey?” Franny demanded through gritted teeth.

  Neither Franny nor I flinched.

  Mikey looked like a panicked circus animal, stripped of its wild freedoms and caged, only to be put on display for everyone’s entertainment. The only way out would be to do the ultimate trick: speak.

  “Look...we...Gayle...eh, your ma and I, we were closing up one night, and I just lost myself in her. My father was still in charge back then, so I didn’t know she was so young.”

  I was in disbelief. “Are you saying…?”

  “That I’m your father? Yes.”

  The “s” hissed deep in my mind as I tried to process the revelation. The cart was now rolling forward, rushing toward the end of the twist and into a dark tunnel.

  The walls began closing in around me.

  I was rapidly huffing for air as I rambled. “No,” I shook my head. “No, it’s not possible. She wouldn’t. You’re married. My mom wouldn’t do that. She’s not a... no! There’s just no way you’re my father. No way.”

  “It was b
efore Franny and I married.” Mikey turned to her. “We had split up for a bit during that time.”

  My feet were glued to the floor while I stood shaking, trying to make sense of everything. All the while the world was still watching us.

  In the midst of this, I could see Cindy rushing around from table to table. I watched as she struggled to distract the guests and maintain the workload on her own.

  Franny brought my attention back. “Mikey, how? I don’t get it.” Confused heartbreak glistened in her eyes.

  Mikey looked at me again, then turned back to Franny. “Look, I didn’t know her family was going to put her on the street, and she insisted on having the kid. And thank God for that,” he glanced to me, “for you.”

  “I did the best I could.” He took a deep breath and turned to face me. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I had hoped that you’d never find out, at least not like this.”

  All this time, my donor was right in front of me.

  As I evaluated him, it began to make sense. His thin body was like mine, his graying hair, which used to be dark and wavy, the nose... everything aside from his overreaching height.

  “Your mother must’ve told Barbara. That woman’s a snake,” he stated, trying to shift the focus of blame.

  “Oh Mīlo, honey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that this of all days… I had no idea.” Franny also began to tear up before excusing herself.

  She started out the diner. The guests watched as she passed the booths with a cigarette pressed between two of her fingers, fumbling around for a lighter, before pushing the door open to step outside.

  Mikey looked at me for a moment, his eyes filled with remorse.

  I returned an empty gaze.

  I was lifeless, a vacant shell.

  He hurried past me to follow after Franny, and I too left the eyes of the diner behind me as I exited.

  I wandered around the block aimlessly, trying to process everything that had just unfairly transpired over the last twelve hours.