He sighed, full of disappointment, regret, longing. His departure didn’t make sleep any easier for me, but day came soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The promotion ceremony demanded the “full horror” version of our blues, of course. In the general’s office, before the ceremony, I helped him with the finishing touches, fixing his tie and giving him a quick brushing-down. He looked as sharp and sexy as ever in blue, with his silver stars, badges, and colorful ribbon rack. A few minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, he closed his office door and faced me.
“Come here,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I came over. “What is it?”
His answer surprised me. “How much you mean to me,” he said. His mouth met mine but then he pushed me away. “Harris,” he said. “There’s one thing I’ve never said to you, and I’m kind of ashamed of myself.”
He’d aroused my curiosity.
“Harris, we’ve been down some rough road these last couple of months. Gotten into trouble because we ignored some things I’ve been trying damn hard not to think about.” He took a deep breath as I looked at him expectantly. “I think you know how I feel about you. I’ve tried to show you because I’m not so good about putting it into words, but here goes. I love you, Harris Mitchell.”
It was the closest I had ever felt to the sensation of an erupting volcano.
He pressed ahead. “I know it sounds like some damn romance-novel cliché, but I reckon it’s true. I love you, Harris. You hear?”
Like music, I heard. How long had I been waiting for him say it? A grin spread across his face as wide as the horizon line. He wrapped his arms around me, and we stood there together, the silence punctuated only by the resonant tick of his pocket watch like a heartbeat. Reluctantly we pulled apart, and he held me out at arms’ length.
“In case you have any doubt, I love you, too, Traveler.”
“I don’t have any doubt,” he said. He arched an eyebrow. “I just said I loved you, didn’t I?”
“You did. Thank you for verifying my suspicions.”
“I’ve never said that to a man before,” he said. “I love you, Harris. I’m a goddamned fool, and you’re entirely to blame.”
“I accept full responsibility, and I won’t apologize.”
“I’m the one who should apologize for not telling you sooner. I’ve known it since you were late for your first day of work last January.”
“So you were flirting with me during our interview.”
“Like mad.”
“I knew it.”
He embraced me again. I was elated, floating. In the back of my mind, I wondered what we would do about it.
“Let’s get this damn thing over with, all right?” he said.
*
The guests gathered in the conference room where we were holding the ceremony. Lieutenant Colonel Cartwright had assumed control of the pared-down event, and she corralled a couple of unfortunate airmen to help her ensure everything was just so. They bustled about as she snapped orders in a petulant whisper. I introduced my parents to Linda as the general’s secretary and my co-conspirator in managing him. And I was finally able to introduce Julia.
“I feel as if we already know you,” my mom said, embracing her as if she were some long-lost daughter. “We’ve heard so much about you. Harris even sent us your picture.” Julia and my mother hit it off instantly without any encouragement from me. I was ordered to leave them alone so they could compare notes.
“About what?”
“Go!” my mother said. “You too, Bruce.”
We went. Mark and Lou joined us in exile, offering me congratulatory hugs.
“Thanks for coming, guys. Great to see you again, Lou,” I said.
“Couldn’t miss your big day,” Lou said. “This handsome gent must be your dad.”
“Handsome Dad, meet my friend Lou Alonso. He runs the local chamber of commerce, and he’s also the most insincere guy you’ll ever meet.”
My dad laughed.
“Thanks for blowing my cover, Harris,” Lou said.
“I’ll take the compliment anyway,” my dad said. “I’m Bruce Mitchell.” He offered his hand.
“And this is my friend Mark Sinclair, our budget officer,” I said. “Mark and Lou have been partners for twenty-five years.”
“Congratulations,” my dad said. “That’s a real milestone.”
Lou grinned, big, and elbowed me in the ribs. “He didn’t bat an eyelash,” he said. “I knew I’d like your dad. Did I mention how handsome he is?”
“You did. You’ll like my mom, too,” I said. “That’s her over there, talking to Julia and Linda. I’m sure my ears should be burning.”
“You think?” my dad said.
General O’Neill interrupted us. “May I borrow your son for a minute, Bruce?”
“You’re the boss,” my dad said.
The general pulled me away and steered me toward his own dad, who seemed to eye me with a combination of suspicion and disdain. Perhaps he was just nearsighted.
“Lieutenant, meet my dad, Charlie O’Neill. Pop, this is Harris Mitchell, my aide. He’s indispensible. I wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing without him.”
This encomium impressed the old man not in the least. He offered a limp handshake and murmured my last name, sizing me up and finding nothing to interest him. I returned the favor. He was several inches shorter than the general, gaunt and clean-shaven with a prominent nose and watery blue eyes, unsmiling and not at all handsome, although I could certainly see some family resemblance. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he met my attempts with mostly monosyllabic replies and no encouragement for me to continue.
So much for the general’s father, I thought, though I immediately chided myself for making such a quick, harsh judgment. I wanted to like him for the general’s sake. He stood by us, hopeful, but Mr. O’Neill clearly had nothing to say to me.
“Y’all can visit later on,” the general said, optimistic. His dad checked his wristwatch. “Be patient, Pop. We’ll start the ceremony in a couple minutes.”
Next, I faced the sister, Kathleen, and brother-in-law, David, who had given the general four nephews and one niece he hardly knew and rarely saw. They ranged in age from mid-teens to early twenties and were not in attendance. None of them, he said, had expressed any interest in military service.
I assumed from Kathleen’s appearance that she favored her mother rather than her father. She was attractive and well-dressed, but I wondered why she seemed so dissatisfied and why she wasn’t smiling. She carried herself with studied elegance, but it seemed put on. Soft-spoken, her Southern accent much more prominent than the general’s and slightly sugar-coated, she took her brother’s rank very seriously, as if it somehow rubbed off on her and rendered her equally important.
My first impression was that I didn’t like her very much either. David, at least, was much friendlier; like me, he’d put four years into the Reserve after high school, he told me, and he’d also grown bored with it and didn’t reenlist after his first term. Having no other conversational topic at hand, I inquired about his military experience, but Kathleen stood close, as if to keep an eye on him, and she kept interrupting him with questions and comments that had nothing to do with our attempted discussion.
Mr. O’Neill joined us, and he and Kathleen edged me out, monopolizing the general’s attention and ignoring me entirely, so I stepped out of the circle and returned to my own parents. I didn’t see any hurry to introduce them to Mr. O’Neill or to Kathleen, though I did want them to meet at some point. I wondered what they would think of each other. Instead, I merely pointed them out across the room. I’d let the general handle the rest in his own good time.
Abruptly, the general left his family and headed my way again, pulling me away from my parents with an apologetic shrug. “So you’ve met my dad and sister,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “Do you think they’ll be
more friendly after they know me a little better?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. I wish you could have known my mother, though. She was beautiful inside and out. So warm and outgoing. You would have liked her. She would have liked you, too.” He aroused my curiosity. He’d told me so little about her that I wondered what kind of relationship they had. I hoped they’d been close, that he’d found some understanding in her his father probably lacked. Next, the general parked me in front of his boss, the four-star from the command headquarters, whom I’d never met. He shook hands with me.
“So you’re the one,” he said after learning my name. “General O’Neill credits you with keeping his whole life in order. That’s quite an accomplishment for a lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good work. And congratulations on your promotion.” That was all he had for me, and it was enough. He turned his attention to the general. “Seamus, when will you trim that damned renegade mustache and bring it within regulation? You look like a bandit.”
I backed away with a polite “excuse me” and went back to my own side of the room. My dad was sharing a story with Colonel Blankenship, the vice commander. Linda and my mom were still comparing notes. I arrived just in time to hear Linda confide that I was the best aide the general ever had, and the longest-lasting, too. I extracted Julia, and we retreated to the corner with Mark and Lou, commiserating in low tones about the pomposity of these occasions and trading observations about the assembled crowd. Four o’clock finally caught up with us.
The ceremony itself wasn’t very complicated. Everyone came to attention, and Colonel Blankenship narrated, reading the official promotion order. For the eighth time in his career, the general repeated the oath at the prompting of his boss.
“I, Seamus Edwards O’Neill, having been appointed a major general in the United States Air Force, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter, so help me God.”
His dad and sister pinned the new stars on the epaulets of his service coat. Camera flashes accompanied the action, as Julia and I and a base photographer documented the whole thing. The general was given an opportunity to speak afterward, and he did, briefly.
“I’d like to thank my family and friends and colleagues for attending,” he said. “I’d like to thank all the folks in the Numbered Air Force for their support, especially the staff I work with every day. I learned a long time ago that the secret of good leadership is to surround yourself with experts. This promotion is a tribute to y’all’s hard work.” That earned an appreciative laugh. “Honestly, I couldn’t have done it alone. I can’t believe it myself. Who would’ve thought a skinny kid from east Tennessee could get this far?”
A skinny gay kid, no less…
And that was it. Some applause, a couple more photos, and we were invited for cake and champagne punch that packed a pretty lethal kick for an afternoon function. I wondered if Lieutenant Colonel Cartwright was overcompensating, or if her helpers had made the punch extra strong as a joke. The general gulped down a cupful as I watched and immediately ladled himself a second.
“Save some for the rest of us, sir,” I said. He merely wagged his eyebrows my way before emptying the second cup as well.
After a suitable twenty minutes of socializing, the four-star excused himself. He had to catch a plane. He shook hands all around and departed. Then the general turned to me. “You ready for this, Roadmap?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded and patted his pockets. Before he could ask, “Where the hell are my glasses?” I passed them to him. He grinned and stepped to the front of the room to make his announcement. “If I could have y’all’s attention. We have an equally momentous occasion to celebrate this afternoon. In fact, it’s nearly a month past due. Lieutenant Mitchell, front and center.” I stepped into my place and came to attention. At the general’s cue, the vice commander read the official order: By direction of the President, Second Lieutenant Harris Mitchell was hereby promoted to the rank of first lieutenant, effective as of 15 December.
“Raise your right hand,” the general said.
I raised.
He read from a sheet that Linda had typed out for him. “Repeat after me. I, Harris Alfred Langdon Mitchell—” And he paused, pretending unfamiliarity with my full name. “That’s a hell of a moniker for a lieutenant. Maybe we’ll just call you ‘Hal’ to save time.” He was already feeling his punch, I could tell. He looked around, expecting polite laughter, but when none came, he cleared his throat and continued with the oath. Mine was identical to his, and I declaimed it for the second time in my career.
“Congratulations, First Lieutenant Mitchell,” he said. I saluted, sharp, and the general shook my hand. My parents stepped up and removed the gold bars from my blue coat and pinned the single silver ones in their place. More photos, during and after. My parents and me. The general, who removed his glasses, and me. The four of us. Julia and me.
“We’re the same rank at last!” she whispered. “Oh, Harris! Now we can announce our engagement!” Everyone wondered why we were laughing so hard.
Charlie O’Neill and Kathleen watched impassively. I meant nothing to them, but I guess the general had let them know my participation was a nonnegotiable part of the afternoon’s schedule, and they would have to endure it. I’m sure they wondered why a major general would tarnish his own promotion ceremony by sharing it with a first lieutenant.
Once it was over, most of the crowd disappeared. Mark and Lou bowed out as well, leaving the general and his family, Julia, my parents, and me. We quickly ran out of conversation. I was looking forward to concluding the festivities and getting away for the weekend, even though it would be a quiet one with my parents, but the general had other ideas.
“We need to celebrate this occasion properly,” he said, gulping another glass of punch. I knew he could hold his champagne well, but even he had a limit. I’d counted at least four, and no cake, and I knew his nuts and bolts were loosening a bit. “What about supper? My treat.”
My parents liked the idea, so I felt obligated to agree as well. Julia begged off, pleading a previous engagement, but I knew she didn’t like Kathleen or the general’s dad any more than I did. Before we left the conference room, I collected the general’s eyeglasses from the lectern, where he’d placed them after the ceremony. He’d probably want them later. I surveyed the room. Someone had dropped a piece of cake, and it had gotten ground into the carpet. The half-full punch bowl and used cups and plates would still be there on Monday morning unless someone tidied the room beforehand.
I’d come back and clean up the mess after dinner, I told myself.
Chapter Twenty-eight
We went to the officers’ club, of course, as the general was guaranteed a pleasant dining experience as well as attentive service. He hadn’t called ahead for a reservation, however, so we had a few minutes to stand in the lobby while the flustered maître d’ rushed about to prepare a suitable table.
“Oh! Seamus!” my mother said. “I almost forgot. I’ve got some pictures for you.” She took an envelope from her purse and handed it to the general.
“What’s this?” he said.
“From your visit. We had an extra set of prints made for you and one for Harris.”
Kathleen appeared to be scandalized. General O’Neill actually had consecrated our home with his presence? But though curiosity might be smothering her, she refused to ask for any details and pretended no interest in the pictures. The general’s dad ignored us all. As quiet and detached as he was, we could almost have forgotten he was present.
As I looked over the general’s shoulder, he shuffled through the dozen or so prints, and the whole of our three-
day visit came back to me. There were several shots of my father and the general grinning insanely for the camera, holding a string of trout between them. There was the general in my father’s checkered apron, grilling the fish in the backyard. The general sitting next to me on the couch and with his arm around my mom on the front porch swing. With Clement and Sixtus.
At the bottom of the stack was a shot of the general and me, taken by my mom or dad without our knowledge that Sunday, after we’d returned from church, when we’d left the house to wander in the backyard with the dogs. I remembered the likely moment. We’d been walking, holding hands, and when the general pulled me to him, I didn’t resist. And, in fact, we’d stood there for some time, just tasting each other under the blinking sun, oblivious to the big world. We’d grown so accustomed to the dogs barking at us that we paid them no heed.
I never thought my folks might come looking for us, but clearly, they had and clearly, they’d found us. In the photo, the general and I are locked in an embrace, his mouth aligned with mine. And while my face is mostly hidden, his is unmistakable—the mustache, the haircut, the pipe in his hand. Seamus O’Neill kissing another man. Exhibit A, the photo finish, undeniable proof of sedition, and in uniform, no less. Proof of what he is. What I am.
How we are.
In some quarters, the snapshot might be the visual equivalent of a taunt, evidence that could be used against him in particular and me only if I chose to identify myself as the other party involved. Looking at such a photo put the general face-to-face with—what? The future? Destiny? Truth, caught by the harsh camera eye? Or perhaps nothing so dire, simply the reality of two men, mouth on mouth, enjoying.
My first thought as I stared at the print was relief that no one else could see it, and thankfulness it hadn’t surfaced at the reception when others might have asked for a look. And though the general kept his composure, he stiffened, and the color drained from his face. He quickly buried it in the stack, wrapped the pictures in the envelope and slipped it into the inside pocket of his service coat.
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