The Coil

by Gilbert, L. A.

  How could something so good and natural disappear? Carol-Ann was gone. She was dead, and he would never ever see his friendly, loving sister again. His mother, who had played the role of both parents, who had taught him all the usual stuff like tying his shoelaces and riding a bike… the woman who had bought him his first suit and taken him to the San Diego Museum of Art when all of his friends had gone on a father-son camping trip, that wonderful woman had turned on him.

  He’d tried to announce it so casually. The three of them were in the living room. Carol-Ann was fifteen and curled up next to their mother, her head resting against her shoulder while watching a rerun of M*A*S*H. He’d been eighteen and about to leave for college, sitting on the love seat and terrified of leaving his small family without them really knowing him. Stupidly, he’d thought he owed them, and that they’d be pissed he hadn’t mentioned it to them earlier.

  And so, during a commercial for 7Up, he’d just blurted it out. Carol-Ann’d lifted her head up from their mom’s shoulder, a knowing smile slowly creeping over her face, and he’d begun to smile back, but their mother’s low voice had put a halt to that.

  She had not smiled. In fact, she’d yelled as if it was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. She made threats and screamed things about being shameful and backward. Carol-Ann, as surprised by the venom in their mother’s voice as he was, had cried quietly and slinked away to her bedroom. He’d left for college early.

  That was the last time he’d thought of her as his mother.

  There was a knock at the door.

  MATTIE took the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, checking the address and then looking up at the apartment building. Okay, first? He did not want to be there. He hadn’t been with a john since getting serious with Simon, and the thought of slipping back into old routines now wasn’t sitting well. He wasn’t sure how he was going to look him in the eye after this, but he needed the money and couldn’t bring himself to ask Simon or Ty, so he’d have to figure it out.

  Second? He’d never met the guy. Usually, he’d pick ’em up in a bar or at a gig, establish a few regulars, and just stick to those few when money got tight. That way he could get a feel for the guy before going ahead. After all, it wasn’t exactly the safest way to make money. This particular guy was a friend of one of those regulars, who had recommended him.

  Recommended. Fuck. How had he ever let any of this happen?

  He shook his head quick and then hit the buzzer. Time to dig deep. Usually, he could scrape by on the rent, and he always made sure to have an emergency stock supply of rabbit food, but damn, his kitchen cupboards were embarrassingly empty. A guy can survive on graham crackers for only so long. He shuffled his feet, waiting for a response, his shoulders hunched and his hands deep in his pockets to stave off the cold wind.

  No answer. He looked up at the apartment block. Something didn’t feel quite right, and he couldn’t decide if it was the complications with Simon, the fact that he was going into this completely blind, or a genuine gut feeling that was telling him to walk away.

  “Yeah?” A grainy voice came back at him through the intercom.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s Justin.”

  There was no answer but the sound of the buzzer, letting him in. He opened the door and stood there, stalling and holding the door open. In or out? He didn’t want to be doing this. He did not want to be there, and there was something throwing him off.

  With an angry shake of his head, he let go of the door and made his way up to the third floor. Of course it wasn’t sitting right with him. It never had, but now that he had Simon it felt like he was flat-out cheating.

  “Mattie. You have. No. Fucking. Food,” he muttered as he jogged up the stairs, the elevator apparently out of order.

  He counted along the doorways, 3A, 3B, 3C. Wait. Had he checked with the regular—who he couldn’t help thinking of as a fucking pimp now—that only oral was on the table? He couldn’t remember what he’d said over the phone. Something about twenty minutes, in and out. He glanced up at the doors and stopped still. Shit. He’d passed it. He backtracked until he was standing in front of 3G.

  “Quit being a pussy.”

  He knocked on the door.

  HE’D never seen his mother look so nervous, and so small. She was standing there, looking up at him—seriously, she’d shrunk—offering a small smile that seemed all at once nervous, hopeful, and worried. He should probably say something, or at least let her in. He stood back, opening the door wider.

  “Mother.” Quite the greeting, Simon.

  “Simon, thank you for seeing me.” She walked past him, searching the room.

  His heart sank a little. “He isn’t here. He’s with his sitter.” Of course, that’s why she was smiling.

  She looked back at him and gently shook her head no. “I didn’t expect Jamie to be here, not after today. I was just—I was looking. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

  Feeling remotely pacified, Simon closed the door and strode past her. The two of them stood awkwardly in the hallway. “Still take your tea the same way?”

  “Coffee, if that’s all right?”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. Sure it was all right, just unexpected. Of course it was only a hot drink, but his mother usually stuck to what she knew. “Okay.”

  “Actually, um… I went into one of those coffeehouses a while ago.” She gave him a friendly smile that just fucking grated on him. “Had one of those lattes? It was very nice. I like trying new things every now and then.”

  “Is this a new thing? Talking to me with some degree of familiarity and warmth?” Damn. He honestly hadn’t meant to snap so quickly. There was just so much built up resentment and feelings of betrayal. This was the first time he’d faced the source of that pain in years.

  She visibly blanched. “No. No, Simon. I was just….” She trailed off and looked down to fiddle with the clasp on her purse. “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten how to talk to you.”

  He was not going to tear up. He could be civil. He shoved his hands into his pockets. He would not feel sorry for her. “Kitchen’s this way.” He indicated with a nod of his head. “I can make you a latte, if you like.”

  He didn’t look to see if she’d followed, and instead busied himself over his coffee machine. He heard a chair being pulled back at the kitchen table and looked over his shoulder to see her sitting there, hands still grasping her purse like a lifeline as she looked around the kitchen. She looked out of place sitting there. Out of place and intimidated. Good.

  “You have a lovely home.”

  Yes, I do. And you’d know that if you visited more often. “Thank you.” He opened a small tin to spoon in the latte powder. He liked his fancy coffee/latte/cappuccino machine that had cost him $350. He hoped she noticed how expensive it looked.

  “Oh!”

  Simon looked over his shoulder at the breathless exclamation and watched as she rose and walked over to the fridge. Feeling confused, he turned, about to ask if she was hungry at all, before realizing that it was the drawing of a sailboat that was causing her to react so emotionally. Clenching his jaw, he turned away to pour the two steaming lattes.

  “He drew that for me last night.”

  “It’s so good for a four-year-old! Look, all colors are inside the lines. It’s so neat.”

  “He’s a smart boy. He can read and write at the level of an eight-year-old, you know.” Yeah, he was smug. What of it?

  “Well, that’s incredible! You must be so proud.”

  That made him glance up and look her in the eye as he was sitting at the kitchen table. It was the first time that she had—in a roundabout way—spoken to him as if she recognized he was a parent. “More then you could ever know.”

  Her cheeks flushed with what he assumed to be shame as she took her seat again, and then a godawful silence fell over them. Simon cleared his throat and tapped the side of his mug. Just what was he supposed to say? They were here to talk about her disastrous v
isit to the school earlier that day, but there didn’t seem an awkward-free way to segue to it. He watched as she began to shoulder off her coat and managed to stop himself from sputtering out an apology for his poor manners.

  “Let me take your coat.” He rose from his chair.

  “Oh no, no. I’m fine, see?” She draped her coat over the back of the chair and then faced him with a smile he supposed was meant to appear approachable and easy, but only made him feel sad. How had they got to this?

  He sighed and pushed his mug away. “You feel like a stranger,” he admitted quietly. Goddamn, he wanted to be angry. It would be so much easier if he could recall the hate he’d felt for her this afternoon.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want it to be that way.”

  “It’s your doing.” Is that entirely true?

  The sadness that washed over her features was almost enough to make him apologize. Almost. “I know, Simon. I—I have a lot to apologize for.”

  “You think a simple apology is going to make what you did three years ago okay? Not to mention this afternoon.” There it was: the anger he needed.

  “Simon….” Her hand reached across the table but stopped short of touching his. “I am so, so sorry for trying to take Jamie from you, I—I was….” She let out a sharp exhale of frustration as he pulled away from her attempt to hold his hand. “It’s a pitiful excuse, but… I was grieving, Simon. It was so terrible.”

  “You don’t think I was gr—”

  “No.” She cut him off firmly. “Not in the same way, Simon.” She glanced back at the picture held up on the refrigerator door by magnets. “Can you begin to imagine the pain of losing Jamie, of your child dying? Your child, Simon. That’s a special kind of hell. There is nothing else in the world so painful.”

  He had to glance away. He remembered the funeral. She had been beside herself, frantic with the pain of losing Carol-Ann. He’d wanted to comfort her, but he’d been afraid to.

  “So….” He began in a voice that was not completely steady. “Grief is why you tried to take Jamie from me? From the faggot who might hurt him?” he spat out.

  “Oh, Simon.” She shook her head, looking away and anywhere but at him as she tugged uselessly at the strap of her handbag. “I never used that word.”

  “You may as well have.”

  “It wasn’t because you’re gay.”

  A noise of disbelief left his throat as he stood and turned to lean against the counter. “Please. You accused me of being unfit to take care of him, which is hysterically ironic, if you ask me.”

  “You’d had no experience with children! And… and I admit that I—I wanted him. I just wanted my children back, but they were gone. Carol-Ann was gone; you despised me. My….” Her chin trembled and her voice cracked. “My arms ached, Simon. They ached. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  He was unaffected. “Tell me something. If you thought you stood a chance in the courts, would you try and take him now?”

  “No,” she answered immediately. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then what was today?” he exploded, making her jump and surprising even himself. “You were at his school!”

  “Oh!” she choked out, tears flowing freely as she turned away from his hard stare. She dug in her handbag and pulled out a tissue. “I—I didn’t want us to yell,” she cried. “I wanted this to go well. I wanted to talk!”

  He realized he was leaning across the table, practically bearing down on her. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go either. He pulled back, rubbing his hands over his face before pulling out his chair and sitting back down, level with her. He clenched his jaw tight and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for shouting. Just… tell me why you were there. You have to be honest with me now: were you trying to take him away?”

  “No!” she gasped. “I would never try and snatch him!”

  “Then why—”

  “Because I miss you! I miss you, Simon!”

  That gave him pause. “Me?” He blinked in surprise.

  “I wanted to see my grandson. Of course I did. But I knew you would be there to pick him up….”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. It was during lunch.”

  “Simon,” she sighed, her shoulders slumped. “My days are empty. I don’t work because of my back. I have nothing to do but sit and think of every single mistake I’ve ever made. There’s….” She glanced up, as if afraid to admit what she was about to say. “There’s a park across from the school. Sometimes I go there, waiting for the children to have their recess, hoping to see him….”

  He knew that this should alarm him. Instead, he found himself wondering what was wrong with her back.

  “I mean, really, they’re too far away to see, but I can hear them playing, and I wonder which one is my grandson.”

  He pressed his lips tight together. “And today you thought you’d talk to him?”

  She shook her head. “I promise you I had no intention of stepping through those gates. Like I said, I was hoping to wait around long enough to see you both together. Just see you. I wasn’t going to try and talk to you because I knew you wouldn’t have wanted that. You never return my calls.”

  Something dawned on him. “You’ve done this before.”

  She nodded guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to understand what all it meant. “Why did you try to talk to him?”

  She didn’t answer right away, but folded and unfolded the tissue in her hands. When she spoke, she was quiet. “He looks so much like Carol-Ann. It’s almost shocking up close.” Finally she wiped under her eyes with the tissue before folding it and stuffing it up the sleeve of her cardigan.

  “I saw him sitting there alone, eating his grapes, his little feet swinging happily.” She smiled tremulously. “And I just wanted to be in his life so badly, Simon. I just wanted to tell him who I was. I wanted to ask him if he ever got any of the birthday cards I sent. I started walking toward him without thinking.”

  “You scared him.”

  “I am so very, very sorry, Simon.”

  “I could have had you arrested, you know.” Oddly enough, there was no fire in his words.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Sarah—his teacher, Miss Protrakis,” he clarified. “The person sitting for me now. She convinced me not to. She convinced me that it would be best for Jamie to talk to you, to….” He bit his lip. “To try and work things out with you.”

  A smile bloomed across her face. “Oh, Simon, nothing would make me happier!”

  “Hold it right there.” He held up his hand. “Just because I’m willing to talk does not mean all is forgiven.”

  She leaned back in her chair and nodded, seeming hopeful. “I understand that what I did today was appalling.”

  His brows rose together sadly, and the teenager who had been thrown out by his mother wanted to shake her and make her see him. “I meant for what you did to me.” He spoke quietly.

  “I—I know I should never have sought legal advice against you—”

  “No!” he cried out unhappily. “No, Mom. For—” He looked away, biting off his words in fear that they would make him appear too vulnerable. “Christ. Do you even know how scared I was to be cut off by my mother, to know that you didn’t want me in your house anymore?”

  A look of horror crossed her face, the lines around her mouth and eyes accentuated. Her hands crept across the table as she shook her head softly. “Simon, no, it wasn’t like that.”

  “Don’t you tell me what it was like!”

  “You were already going to college. Y-you were moving out into one of those dorms—”

  “You made me get on that bus a week early. You were supposed to drive me down there, but you put me on a bus and you barely said a word. You didn’t even stay to watch the bus leave!” It was all coming out, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, her head shaking from side to side. “I’m
so sorry. I—I thought you’d change in college, that you’d grow out of it and then come home….”

  “You took my home away from me!”

  “No, never, Simon!”

  “I’d call home and you’d pass the phone over to Carol-Ann without a word.” Damn it, he could feel his eyes stinging.

  She closed her eyes tightly a moment, pulling her hands back when it was obvious Simon would not allow her touch. “I was just trying to show you how unhappy I was with your decision. I admit I was trying to punish you, but—”

  “What fucking decision?”

  “Simon, please! Don’t—”

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now. Being gay is no more a choice than being straight is. Sexuality is not black and white. I did nothing wrong, and it was you that disappointed me.”

  Her voice was almost breathless when she spoke. “Simon, believe me when I say I know that. I promise you I hold no illusions as to who failed who.”

  “Then how could you let this carry on for so long?”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “No, I’ve tried constantly to get in touch with you over the past few years.”

  “To take my son away!”

  She sighed, her shoulders drooping as she shook her head. “This is such a mess. I’ve made such a mess of things.”

  A brief silence passed between them. They’d spoken more in the past five minutes than they had in the past three years, and it was a lot to take in. Simon swallowed. “Let me ask you this. Do—do I still disgust you?”

  She was quiet for a good ten seconds, as if taking time to choose her words, and for a horrifying moment, Simon was sure she would say yes.

  “All right.” She nodded, straightening her posture. “All right, now I want to get this right, I want you to understand what I’m trying to say. I did not like that you were gay, and….” She looked him in the eye apprehensively, “and I still don’t, Simon. I don’t like it.”