by Lily Velden
I ended in a whisper. I picked up my drink, intending to wet my now-dry throat, only to find my glass was empty. I couldn’t remember taking a single sip during my outpouring.
“Maybe you need a change of scenery, then.”
“What? Go for vacation?”
“That, or maybe a new city. A new job. New challenges. New sights and sounds. New everything.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I joked weakly.
“No. If it was up to me, I’d prefer to keep you around, but I can see you’re struggling to move on. Maybe relocating would help with that. Give you some new things to focus on.”
I fell silent, mulling over his words, testing them in my mind like one might tentatively taste an unfamiliar food.
Jon reached over and patted the back of my hand lightly, his touch bringing me back to the present. “Just think about it, Noah. No need to make a decision tonight.” He cleared his throat and smiled a little awkwardly. “So… how about another beer?”
I nodded. I wanted to thank him, but I didn’t know how to without embarrassing us both, so I tried to put my gratitude into my smile. “Yeah, sounds good. My turn to buy, though.”
BY SUNDAY, Jon’s words had saturated my thoughts, and rather than ebb as day passed into night and back into day again, they’d swelled, spreading through the pathways of my mind like flooding waters seeking new channels.
My spiraling thoughts made me restless, and when my pacing outgrew the confines of my home, I took to the great outdoors.
I paused in my walk along the Lakefront Trail, stepping off the path and out of the way of the other walkers, joggers, and cyclists that populated the busy walkway. I stood for a long moment facing the large expanse of blue that was Lake Michigan. The sun had little warmth in its rays, but it still cast glittering diamond patterns on the water that shifted with each ruffling of its surface by the brisk breeze blowing. Ever so slowly, I turned to look up the coastline, dotted with people enjoying what was left of autumn, and then, with my back to the lake, I took in the impressive Chicago skyline before one last pivot brought me back to facing the lake.
What was holding me to Chicago?
My family?
My family had rejected me.
My job? My home?
Both hardly felt as if they were my own anymore. Everywhere I looked I was met with images of Robert. The more I tried to walk away from him in my thoughts, the more he intruded. Hell, I could hardly bring myself to go to the Redhead anymore, knowing that Robert had frequented the bar and used it for hookups. I was sick of looking at the other male patrons, and with alcohol lowering my ability to discipline my thoughts, wondering if they too had sucked Robert’s cock.
Wordlessly, I reminded myself yet again Robert had done me a favor by opening my eyes to the truth. The longer I’d stayed, the more hurt I would have been. He wasn’t built for relationships. He wasn’t built for love, at least, not my idea of love. He was a “variety is the spice of life” kind of man, and I was an “I could eat my favorite dish everyday” kind of guy. In other words, oil and water. Never the twain shall meet.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I continued to stare out over the lake, not actually taking in its beauty. My head was too crowded with my thoughts to allow something as simple as appreciation of the view laid out before me to penetrate. I realized as I stood there that my decision was made and had been from the moment the suggestion had left Jon’s lips. Really, it was a surprise the idea hadn’t occurred to me weeks ago.
To stay was to torture myself.
To leave was a chance to carve out a new life for myself. A life of my own choosing. One with no connection to Robert.
Mentally, I thanked my parents. Because of their responsible ways, I could act on my decision immediately. I wouldn’t need to wait until I’d sold my house or found a new job. Their life-insurance policies and the proceeds of their estate had already paid for my college education and my home. Now, along with my savings, the bit that was left would help pay for a change in my life’s direction.
I stepped onto the path, heading back the way I’d come.
It was time to go home and draft my letter of resignation.
“WHAT? YOU’VE resigned? Already?”
I shrugged at Jon’s stunned expression and took a sip from the coffee he’d brought with him to my office.
“I tried to, but the dean talked me into taking a year’s sabbatical instead. At the end of that time frame I can either return or resign.”
“Well, that’s good. At least it gives you a few options. So when does it take effect?”
“December 20, at the end of the fall semester.”
“God, that’s only a month away.”
“I know.” I couldn’t keep the relief out of my voice. Only a month more of dragging my ass through the day. One more month of waiting in vain for Mitch to walk through my door. One more month of seeing Robert everywhere I looked. I could hang in there for one more month.
“Where will you go? What will you do? You will keep in contact… right?”
“Of course I will,” I reassured him. “I’m thinking New York. And I don’t know what I’ll do. I figured I’d just wing it and see what happens.”
“God, I envy you. Just think: no deadlines for twelve months. I’m just about creaming my pants at the mere thought of it.”
“Yes, I certainly won’t miss those,” I agreed. “Nor our weekly staff meetings. God, I just realized I won’t have to be like a damn ninja anymore in order to dodge Henry Watkins, so he can’t try to con me into drafting his notes for the meetings. That in itself is worth celebrating! Here’s to a vacation from academia.” We tapped our mugs together in an awkward toast.
Jon suddenly laughed, reaching over to slap my knee. “Wow, Noah, just think: you get to be an irresponsible teen in your thirties. That’s so much better than doing it when you are actually a teen. You get to do it with money, experience, and some life learning already behind you! No wasting all your time trying to figure out how you’re going to lose your virginity. You are going to have so much fun!”
I joined in his laughter, sincerely hoping he was right.
LEANING BACK in my chair, I rolled my neck from side to side to ease the tension cording it. All was quiet at SAIC. I glanced at the clock on my PC, and, as I suspected, it was late. I couldn’t help noting the date at the same time: November 25. A week had passed since organizing my sabbatical.
December 20 couldn’t come fast enough for me, and yet, at the same time, there seemed to be too much left to do at the end of each day in order to be ready to hand over the reins to my replacement. Still, the deadline, my last one for a while, kept me busy and focused, and that in itself was a blessing. I fell into bed each night exhausted, and there was nothing like exhaustion to snuff out the candle of any possible dream before it ever had a chance of burning.
My eyes felt dry and gritty from having spent too long staring at a computer screen. I blinked a few times, trying to moisten them, and yawned. One by one, I closed down the spreadsheets and Word docs I had open. Another yawn escaped me. It was definitely time to head home.
I opened the top drawer of my desk, reached in, and grabbed my wallet and keys. My fingers encountered a photo frame I’d crammed in there what seemed a lifetime ago. I didn’t need to see it to be able to picture it clearly. The photo was of me with Mitch, Miranda, and the boys on a camping trip. Mitch and I each had one of the twins on our backs, their little smiling button faces peeking over our shoulders, showcasing their gap-toothed grins, while Miranda stood in the middle, her arms around us both. It was one of my favorite photos. Once it had held pride of place on my desk. Now it hurt to look at it. Now it just reminded me of what I’d lost. What I was missing.
My fingers making contact with the photo brought to the forefront of my mind the one thing about my decision that worried me.
Mitch, Miranda, and the boys.
What if Mitch had a change of heart and came aroun
d, and I wasn’t here? What if they phoned, and I wasn’t home? Or tried to contact me at work, only to be told I’d gone? My anxiety over Ricky and Jared and what they might be thinking and feeling over my sudden disappearance from their lives reared its head yet again. I didn’t want them thinking I didn’t love them or that I’d abandoned them.
The only solution I’d been able to come up with was to write letters: one to Mitch and Miranda, and one to the boys. Posting the letters wasn’t an option. At this point if Mitch saw them first, he’d probably tear them up. That meant somehow placing them in Miranda’s hands and trusting she’d deliver them if and when appropriate. Waylaying her at home was out of the question. That left work. Since the boys had started school, she’d been slowly building a business doing window displays, and I knew she had a regular gig at a store belonging to a friend of hers on Thursdays.
That gave me two days. Two days to find the right words and put them in the right order in the hope of regaining my family.
DRAWING IN a deep breath, I pressed my lips together to stop their trembling. Writing the letters was difficult. Reading over them proved equally so.
Hey, my little Hurricanes,
I’m missing you and hoping you’re being good for your mom and dad.
I’m sorry I haven’t been over to visit for a while. I’m hoping the reason that’s happened will change, and I promise that as soon as I can visit, I will.
I just want to let you both know I love you very much, and I’m here if you need me.
Your loving Uncle Noah.
PS: I hope you two are sharing the train set with NO fights!
The letter frustrated me, but what could I say? Your father is being a homophobic hypocrite and threw me out of your lives? Your father only loved me as his brother when I conformed to his image of what I should be?
Whether I liked it or not, whether I agreed with his decision or not, the fact remained he was their father, not me, and it wouldn’t be right for me to undermine his position and authority.
With a final sigh, I folded the note, slotted it into an envelope, and quickly sealed it before I could change my mind and rewrite it yet again. This was my fourth attempt as it was.
I picked up the letter I’d written to Mitch and Miranda, my throat working a little anxiously. This letter too had seen several drafts. I closed my eyes and inhaled, and then with one final swallow I reopened my eyes and began to read my final draft.
Dear Mitch and Miranda,
As you can probably guess, this letter is difficult to write. It’s hard to know what to say to try and bridge the gap that has formed between us with my discovery of my sexuality.
I’m not going to apologize for my realization—that would be apologizing for who I am, and I just can’t see that I’ve done anything wrong by being gay. Being gay isn’t something I chose. It wasn’t a lifestyle decision. My attraction to other men is something I was born with, and to try to deny it is to be untrue to myself, and that I can’t do.
I can’t deny I was stunned at your reaction, as well as disappointed and hurt. But I do regret losing my temper. I’m sorry it got the better of me.
For me, there are so many other things that make up a person—their character, their personality, the things they find funny, how they treat family, friends, and colleagues, and so on, that seem far more important than their sexuality. Surely things like integrity, honesty, generosity, and kindness are more important than whether or not their sexual partner is of the same or opposite sex?
Please, at least think about that.
I’m still the same Noah I always was, Mitch. No, that’s a lie. I’m more at ease and comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been, because now I know why I never found my “Miranda.” I was looking in the wrong place. Is it really so awful that my “Miranda” won’t come with a womb?
Irrespective of what you decide to do about me and this whole situation, I want you both to know I love and miss you. I miss the boys. I’m still here for you both—I’m just a phone call or e-mail away.
I’ve decided to take a year’s sabbatical and will be leaving Chicago to spend some time in New York. I leave on December 29. My cell remains unchanged, but I have a new e-mail address, which I’ve noted below.
Take care, and know my best wishes go with you,
Noah.
[email protected]
Had I said too much? Not enough? Was the tone too lecturing? Emotional? I wasn’t sure anymore, so, same as with my note to the boys, I folded it and sealed it within the envelope before I could second-guess myself.
I PRESSED the button on my key ring, immediately hearing the clicking sound of the locks on the car doors. As I dropped my keys into my overcoat pocket, I shivered—if the current weather was any indication, it was going to be a cold winter. I took a few moments to adjust my scarf and do up the last of the buttons of my coat before shoving my hands in my pockets and heading down the street toward the boutique where I hoped Miranda was working.
The store was in a prime position, straddling a corner, with a display window on both streets. Luck was with me—even from a distance, I could see Miranda unpacking boxes within the window.
Miranda, I was certain, had developed a sixth sense since becoming a mother. She always seemed to know when to enter a room, when to put the kettle on, check the boys. And now she knew when to look up to see me approach.
I saw her eyes go wide and her lips part. In my mind I could hear her faint gasp. She stood so still she could easily have been mistaken for a mannequin. For a moment or two our gazes held, but then she broke the spell, becoming a flurry of activity as she moved things so she could exit the window display.
I drew courage from the fact she hadn’t looked angry, and continued toward the store entrance. I only made it another three paces before she rushed across the sidewalk toward me and threw her arms around my neck. Relief flooded me. She was happy to see me. I wrapped my arms around her, inhaling her familiar scent, letting myself forget for a moment all that had passed since we’d last seen each other.
“Oh, Noah.”
She was crying and shivering, and it was only then that I realized she hadn’t even stopped long enough to don a jacket. I immediately stepped back, shed mine, and draped it over her shoulders. Smiling at me gratefully through her tears, she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“Oh, Noah,” she repeated, reaching up to cup my cheek. “You’ve lost weight.”
I shrugged.
She took me by the hand and led me to one of the many large flower beds that lined the street. Each had a ledge wide enough to sit on. In the summer the gardens would be ablaze with red and yellow tulips and purple hyacinths, but now it was mainly a variety of foliage.
“How are the boys?” I asked as we seated ourselves.
“They’re good. They miss you and ask about you all the time. They don’t understand why you can’t come to visit.”
“What have you and Mitch told them?” I held my breath as I waited for her response.
“Only that you and Mitch have argued about adult stuff and that, for the time being, we felt it was better for you not to come around.”
I searched her face, needing to reassure myself she wasn’t holding anything back. All I saw was sincerity. Despite that knowledge, my feelings were torn. I didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved at her words. I made a conscious choice to opt for relief—at least Mitch hadn’t spouted any homophobic bullshit to them.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Noah. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen Mitch like this. As soon as I try to raise the subject, he shuts down. He refuses to listen. All he keeps saying is you deceived him. That you’ve spent your life lying to him, and if you lied about this, then what else have you lied about.”
Emotion welled in my throat, making it hurt. I closed my eyes and clamped my lips shut, trying to keep my emotions under control. When I finally had myself in check, I reached for her hand.
“Miranda, as strange as it sounds, I truly didn’t realize I was gay until I was in London. Something happened, and it was as if somebody flipped a switch. It was like a light came on in my brain, and suddenly so much that had been confusing or unsatisfactory in my life made sense. The reason for my unhappiness, for my never feeling the spark with any of the women I dated. It all made sense. It was like I’d spent the first thirty-odd years of my life walking around in a fog, and all of a sudden I stepped out into bright sunlight.”
We paused in our conversation as an elderly couple and then a gaggle of young women passed by us, their hands filled with bags. They were obviously on a shopping spree.
“I figured something must have happened over there. And I knew you’d been feeling down for quite a while before you left.” She reached out to cup my cheek, a watery smile on her lips. “I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad for you.” When I opened my mouth to reply, she shushed me. “By sad, I don’t mean being gay is bad news, just that it has caused so much trouble between you and Mitch.”
I nodded. “I can’t go back to the fog, Miranda. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to go back to being miserable either, Noah.” The smile that punctuated her words was apologetic. “But I just don’t know how to reach Mitch and make him listen. I’ve tried, and he just won’t talk about it.”