While Maksim practically pushed me out the door, I could hear Millie screaming, “Death lullaby?” a carnal sense of horror in the question.
“What the fuck, Vik?” Maks groaned when we reached the hallway. “Why would you do that, man?”
“I didn’t even …” I rubbed my forehead, confused at how control had gotten away from me. I mumbled nonsensical words as my cousin searched my face.
“Did you have a stroke?” he asked, holding my cheeks and staring into my eyes. “That may be the only acceptable explanation.”
“Oh, kick rocks! It came into my head,” I replied, shoving him away from me. “After years of hearing it, it came into my head and that’s it.”
“That was one from my dear uncle’s hit list, huh?” Maks sighed, shaking his head. “Fucking Taros, man.”
“Yeah, well, he’s who he is.”
“And you? What about you? Are you who he is, too?” Maks asked as we walked to the elevator.
“I didn’t have enough vodka to deal with your annoying ass,” I grunted, pulling my scarf over the bottom half of my face as we got slapped by freezing February air.
“We could have had more and some fucking potato puffs if you hadn’t gotten us kicked out,” Maks admonished. “I wanted those potato puffs too.”
“You’re a goddamn potato,” I huffed, laughing when he leaned down and balled an orb of snow in his hand. “You better not.”
“Or what, Vik?” he challenged, tossing it between his gloved mitts. “You’ll sing me a sad song, too?”
Before I could tell him to fuck off, I felt a splat of snow hit my nose. “You didn’t,” I chuckled, clicking my tongue at the misfortune that would befall him within the moment.
“But I did,” he smirked, scampering away as fast as he could as I picked up my pace behind him.
It was every man for himself as we attempted to wreck the other with powdery projectiles. And though our faces stung from the cold and our lungs begged for air, it was nice to smile for a little while.
30
June 1937
It was common for people to look at the past with nostalgia, painting a prettier picture of it than had actually existed. Every year that moved a man away from a memory softened the emotions of that time in his life. Though I supposed people believed the struggles of their era were the worst, mainly because they had lived them, I wondered if anybody from my generation would ever look back at the 1930s and say the years weren't so bad. After all the awful things that had happened in the decade, I could not fathom how anyone would have the ability to mitigate the impact in their mind, to round out the edges.
While America continued to try to pull herself out of the Depression, the remainder of the world seemed to be bracing for war. It was impossible to ignore the palpable discord between nations, yet Roosevelt was intent on doing so, focusing on domestic issues rather than the international unrest reverberating around our shores.
Chicago was caught in a battle once more. In late May, a group of steel workers went on strike due to contract disputes. During an unarmed protest, police supposedly felt threatened and fired into the crowd. Ten people were killed and over three dozen were injured as they tried to run away from the bullets. As though the bullets weren’t enough, nearly thirty people had head injuries because of police clubbing. The discord that had pervaded the city for years was getting more dissonant by the month. Gone were the days of glistening light and jazz-filled nights. It was alarming how quickly the culture could shift, changing entirely after Prohibition policies were lifted.
While Chicago was bloody and beaten, San Francisco was building bridges. If I had believed in signs, I would have thought the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge was pointing me in that direction. It was a beautifully structured orange marvel of engineering meant to carry people from one place to another; I wanted to walk over it with Cal, follow him to the other side.
Cal had called me twice since March, once to wish me a happy birthday and the next time to tell me he missed me. I should have been angry he triggered so many memories when I heard his voice, but I couldn’t stand to feel anything but ecstatic about the interaction. I had missed every bit of him and to know he’d been thinking of me, too, had been reassuring in the most awful way. The conversations ended similarly each time, with Cal telling me he shouldn’t have called and me agreeing, though I didn’t want to. He told me he loved me, and I realized I still got high on the words, inhaling them until they fuzzied my head and lightened my heart.
I had purposely avoided asking for his phone number, too aware that if I had it, I would use it. On my darkest days, I considered not renewing my lease on the apartment, only so I wouldn’t have a connection to the phone line. After hearing from him, I secretly willed the ringer to trill day in and day out. It had made everything worse, yet I felt better knowing I was still on his mind. Six months had passed since I came home to a note, and not one was easier than the last. No matter how I tried to hold it together, I knew I was falling apart, hating myself for the decision I failed to make.
I spent the majority of Maks’ wedding cursing my heart for ever opening and smiting my body for craving him. It was so simple for Maks and Igor. All they had to do was feel something for a broad, get into a relationship that everyone would applaud, and marry the dame in front of ecstatic friends and family. It was simple, straightforward, and the complete opposite of what falling in love was like for me. I wondered if the obstacles made me love Cal more than those on easy street would ever have to. To be lukewarm when there weren’t any consequences for you was probable, but a lack of investment when there were ramifications was incredibly unlikely.
“You seemed to have a good time at the wedding,” Maks noted as we sat on the couch in my apartment a week after his nuptials.
“With all the bratwurst and pretzels, I felt like I was in the middle of Munich,” I yawned, taking a sip of my very American Schlitz. “All that was missing was imported German beer.”
“You will have to talk to Adolf Hitler about that.”
“I would prefer not to have that chat,” I smirked. “He’s out of control, you know?”
“Are you talking in third person or are we still on Hitler?” Maks attempted to clarify.
“Me, out of control? Come on now.”
“You were pretty zozzled at the wedding. Ingrid told me Gladys was glad to reunite with you. She thinks there’s a chance at a future since you spent most of the night on the dance floor swinging with her.”
“Well, good old Gladys is out of luck. I’m not looking for a broad.”
“Same as always then?”
“Same as always,” I confirmed.
“And is that because you’re intent on upholding your father’s defunct motto, or do you have other reasons?” he pressed.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to determine what he was getting at. “I haven’t met a dame I like enough to date.”
We were silent for a moment, which was odd considering Maks was usually more than willing to fill a pause.
“How about a fellow?” he asked tentatively, his words stripping me of my breath.
“What?” I scoffed, endeavoring to play it off as if his question was ludicrous. He was unfazed by my display.
“Have you found a man you want to be with since Cal left?” Maks inquired, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Or do you miss him too much to try to build something with someone new?”
“I don’t …” I began, taken aback by how causally my cousin was asking me crazy questions, “know what you’re getting at?”
“I have loved you for as long as we’ve lived, Viktor. I may have loved you before that, too. Who knows? I’m not an expert in reincarnation, but I don’t think anyone can be if they don’t remember if they were reincarnated or not. Like, I could have been a dog in a past life, but unless I remember licking my own balls and pissing on fire hydrants, who knows?”
“What does that have to do with the bushwa you’re spouting right now?” I g
roaned. Maks never met a tangent he didn’t want to get lost in. While I should have let him go off in order to escape the line of questioning, it was too aggravating to ignore.
“It has to do with the fact that you should trust me enough to talk to me and know I would never think of you any differently since I haven’t, and I’ve known for a while.”
“Known what?” I whispered, terrified of the words that were going to come out of his mouth.
“That you were a pansy, fairy, homosexual, or whatever you want to be called. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known I liked girls.”
“Fuck you,” I spat. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Okay,” he shrugged. “If you’re not ready—I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. I just want you to know I know, I guess, and that I don’t care. It’s kind of funny you think I didn’t know.”
“I’m glad you find lies amusing. Did Cal tell you something when you met with him for moonshine? Is that where this is all coming from?”
Though I knew Cal would never sell me out, I felt it necessary to deny that Maks was right. How could he have seen something in me that I had strived my whole life not to show? Had I been so transparent when I believed myself opaque? While Cal had made feel it was okay to be who I was when I was alone with him, it was disorienting to hear Maks tell me the things I never wanted anyone to know about myself.
“He never told me anything,” Maks tsked. “It was you who told me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, exhausting the vehemence my denial had been supported by moments before.
“Of course you do,” he purported, gaining confidence from my loss. “Tell me you don’t love him. Lie to me or lie to yourself and tell me.”
“Fuck off.”
“There it is.”
“There it is?” I cried, “I didn’t say anything different than I always say to you and you say, ‘there it is’ like you proved something?”
“Because I did,” he confirmed, “because you couldn’t say it.”
I could feel my hackles rising, my defenses firing up once again.
“Was I not supposed to see the way you looked at him at the Cubs game?” Maks continued. “Did you think you were hiding it from me?”
“Hiding what from you?” I asked, exasperated by his insistence.
“The wonder, the love, I don’t know, whatever it was you felt compelled to hide that you weren’t able to,” he sighed. “How long do you want to keep up this aghast bushwa, pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about? It’s tired already. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. I was ready to finish the phrase with another statement of denial, but I decided against it. Instead, I chugged the remainder of my beer and let out a deep, cleansing belch.
“Are you better now? Did you rid yourself of the poison that was making you a pussy? Can we have a real conversation now?”
“Can you shut the hell up?”
“I’ve been quiet for too long.”
“You’re never quiet,” I corrected, cracking a smile in spite of myself. “Fuck,” I rubbed the grin off my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know what to say.”
We sat there in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t uncomfortable though it could have been.
“I love you,” Maks said, his eyes soft as they stared into mine.
I looked away, unable to handle the intimacy, the exposure. Focusing on the stains stretching along the baseboards of my living room, I muttered, “I loved him, okay?”
“Past tense?”
“Loved, having loved, will love, loving, still love … you son of a bitch,” I sighed, catching my cousin’s smile in my peripheral vision. A chuckle escaped my mouth as I turned to him. “You’re loving this.”
“I am,” he promised. “I really, really am. You look different now.”
“Like a faggot?” I asked, preparing to punch him in the mouth if I needed to.
“Don’t talk about my cousin that way. I’ll have to pop you.” Maks chided, tussling my hair. “I don’t know how you look different, you just do. I would say happier but you still kind of look sad.”
“More than usual?”
“The same as since Cal left. Why did you let him go?”
“Was I supposed to grab onto his ankles and make him stay?”
I’d wanted to. If Cal hadn’t shown me the grace of not saying goodbye, I would have swallowed every ounce of pride I’d gained over twenty-nine years of life and begged him not to leave me. I would have forgotten that I wanted what was best for him and worried only about myself, about how much I would miss him, how I didn’t want to live without him.
“I’ll rephrase my question: why did you let him leave without you? Why didn’t you go with him?” Maks asked.
I stared at Maksim as if he’d asked me to solve the mysteries of the universe and broker world peace. “Go with him? How could I do that?”
“Where did he move to, the moon? What do you mean how could you do that? You get on a train or a bus and you go.”
“San Francisco.”
“Aces,” Maks nodded, impressed. “It’s supposed to be nice there.”
“I guess he likes it.”
“Have you been in touch?” he asked, his surprise evident.
“Not much.” Not enough.
“Because things were over before he left, or because you can’t bear that they’re over now?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I replied.
He nodded and took a swig of his Schlitz.
“I didn’t want them to be over, things between him and me. A lot of shit happened, and this is what I’m left with.”
“This is what you’ve accepted, Vik,” Maks corrected. “Why are you here?”
“Philosophically? Or—” I began, interrupted by Maks’ fingers squeezing my cheeks together and his face moving inches away from mine.
“Why are you here when you should be there?” He looked more serious than I had ever seen him. “What’s here for you? A numbers game? A father who ruined your outlook on life and then changed his tune to suit his mood? A brother who, in all honesty, wants nothing to do with you right now? A cousin who annoys the piss out of you?”
“My cousin is annoying,” I replied, my voice muffled by my fish lips as he squeezed me tighter. I knocked his wrists away and let out a heavy sigh. “What would I tell them?”
“Goodbye,” he offered. “You can just say goodbye.”
“And they won’t ask questions?” I scoffed.
“You could lie. You’ve been doing that for most of your life, haven’t you? Or you could light a match, set fire to everything, and tell them the truth. I would be a spectator for those fireworks.”
“That will never happen,” I assured, not wanting to borrow problems when I had enough of my own. “And then I’ll get to San Francisco and what then?”
“Then you chased the little light of happiness you have in your life, and you won’t die with regrets.”
“I could regret going,” I reasoned. “Good things never last. What we had was special because it existed when we both needed it, in a place where we had to find something to distract our minds. What if it’s not the same under less duress? What if we were just made to survive with each other until we moved on to the next challenge?”
“Are you surviving your challenge now?”
“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”
“Your body is,” he noted, “but that’s all.”
“And have I been more than a body before?” I retorted, feeling like I had lived my life similarly before Cal.
“The difference is that you can be vacuous and unfeeling if you’ve always been empty and cold. You’ve been full and happy. You can’t go back to hollow again without experiencing the pain of want.”
“Where do you come up with this shit?” I asked, in awe of how spot-on he was regarding my emotions about the s
ituation.
“I used to read copies of my mom’s I Confess magazines,” he answered, simply.
“And it said stuff like that?”
“Give or take a slight sprinkle of genius,” Maks confirmed. “I like to give it some of my own seasoning, too.”
“What am I going to do with you?” I sighed, standing up to grab us each another beer. Though Maks was accepting, a fact that I wasn’t sure how I had ever doubted, my nerves were shot.
“You’re going to say goodbye to me, I hope. Next week, next month, next year, I don’t care when it is, but I hope you’ll say goodbye.”
Somehow, I thought if I did decide to leave, I would be better served to write a letter.
31
September 1937
The night Maksim told me he knew me was the first day of my new life. The acceptance I received from him was more powerful than I could have imagined it would be. It was validation I hadn’t realized I’d needed, and he’d given it so eagerly. While I had once believed it was Cal’s kisses that set me free, I became aware after coming forward to my cousin that I had never been truly liberated until that moment. A secret I had locked away in the deepest cavities of my soul had been unchained and laid out in the center of the living room and, miraculously, I remained in one piece. It was as if I had thought as soon as someone found out about my interest in fellows, I would be less of a man than I’d been before; my body would be pulled apart, pillaged of its testosterone, and slapped back together a broad. I thought it would change me, as if uttering the admission would somehow alter who I had always been, shifting me into someone new, someone I’d never known and wasn’t sure I would ever want to. I had feared I would be treated differently, looked at oddly, and regarded softly, but Maks hadn't done anything of the sort. Everything was the way it had been, yet I was not.
For as long as I could remember, I had never felt settled. Whether it was cranking my neck to look over my shoulder or straining the muscles in my fist trying to hold onto a man I’d known would leave, I had constantly dealt with the pain of anticipating the next awful event. Telling Maksim about Cal, about me, marked the only time I hadn’t looked forward or back. I’d stayed in the minute and hadn’t feared the hour to come. I was just there with Maks as me, and he didn’t expect anything more or less. What had made it all so impactful was that there had been no impact. I was wholly me, and I didn’t like or hate myself more than I had in the days before.
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