The Before Now and After Then

by Pen Name Publishing

  “What did happen?” I asked, realizing as much as I hated him, he held the clue to a very important moment in my life.

  Pat ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “You fainted. One second we were fighting and I was screaming at you and then the next thing I knew, you fainted.”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  He raised his eyebrows, “How do you remember it?”

  “I remember that you were calling me names. Then I tried to get away and you pulled me back. I felt lightheaded and I started to faint but when I reached out for you to help me, you just let me fall. That’s what I remember.”

  He closed his eyes. “This isn’t why I came here. I didn’t come here to piss you off.”

  “Then why did you come here? For me to thank you for saving my life” I said accusingly.

  “No. I don’t know. It just felt right.”

  I laughed, “Maybe you should just leave.”

  Pat nodded and started to turn for the door but stopped. “Danny,” he said, and I realized he had never called me by my real name before. “I never knew how much I was hurting you, OK. Not really. But when you fainted and hit your head and fell into the pool, it was all just so real.” He was looking at me, but he was somewhere else. “It was just the two of us out there, together, in that pool and I knew it was all on me.”

  He didn’t cry. He didn’t raise his voice. He was completely still. It felt like the calm before the storm. “It’s alright.” I said.

  “No, it’s not alright. I don’t ever want to be part of someone’s pain like that. I would kill someone if they did that to my kid brother.” And then he looked up at me. “And the weird thing is I don’t even know why I do it. Really I don’t. You’re just the easiest target to pick on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you act funny,” he said. “You act gay.”

  “But why is that funny?”

  He looked confused. “I guess it’s not. You asked me why and I’m telling you why I did it. But it’s going to stop.”

  “But what’s so funny about being gay?” I asked, really wanting to know.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”

  “But why not?”

  “I don’t know!” he said, raising his voice. “But I don’t.” He looked out of the door like he was afraid of someone coming in. “Look, I just came by because I wanted you to know I’ve learned my lesson, OK? I won’t be mean to you anymore.”

  I nodded, “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “I didn’t save your life,” he said.

  “Yes, you did. And we both know it.”

  He sighed. “I’ll agree that maybe I saved your life, if you agree that you won’t tell anyone?”

  I thought about this for a second and then nodded.

  Pat reached out and shook my hand. “You look pretty bad. I really am sorry.” Then he turned and walked toward the door, stopping right before he walked out. “For what it’s worth, you were right about what you said. You were right about me.”

  And then he walked out.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  They released me from the hospital four days later. Mom and Dad said Rusty could take me home and when he showed up, he surprised me by having hair as short as mine. “I thought we needed to have matching cool hair,” he said, smiling.

  He wheeled me out of the hospital and into the hot sun of early September. Summer was over, but the heat lingered on. Rusty gently helped me into the passenger seat of my car as he climbed in as my chaffeur.

  “Destination, home sweet home,” he said.

  “Can we stop by one place first?” I asked.

  “Sure. Where to?” And I gave him the directions.

  When we got to my old house, the yard was cut fresh and a For Sale sign was standing next to the mailbox. The large beech tree loomed over the driveway as Rusty pulled in. I got out and walked up to the front porch, looking around before I sat down. Rusty sat down next to me.

  “It feels so weird that we won’t be living here anymore,” I said.

  “I’ve moved so many times, staying in one place feels weird to me.”

  I laughed. “We’re like two sides of a penny, aren’t we? So similar, yet so different.”

  I looked at the driveway where my car was parked, where our jeep should have been parked. “I miss him so much,” I said.

  “I know,” Rusty said, putting his hand on my knee.

  I looked at him. “You’ve never said any of the crap that people always say, like, he’s in a better place, or he’s at peace.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true,” Rusty said.

  “Me either. But I hope it is.” I replied softly.

  “Me too.”

  I closed my eyes and smelled the air. Kids drove by on their bikes, ringing their bells. “He would have liked you.”

  “Yeah?” Rusty asked.

  “Yeah, he would have said you were cute,” I blushed. “But he wouldn’t have meant it that way. Sam just wasn’t afraid of what people thought. Sam wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  Rusty took a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s good to be afraid, Danny. Sometimes fear keeps you safe.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “What are you afraid of?”

  He didn’t hesitate, “You.”

  I laughed, “Why me?”

  “Because you make me feel too much,” he said. “I don’t like feeling that much. It scares me.”

  I looked over at him and smiled. “Sometimes it’s good to be afraid.”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  And I nodded back. “Yep.”

  And then we didn’t say anything for the longest time. We just sat there on the front porch of my old house, him thinking Rusty things and me thinking Danny things, holding hands, together. And just for that moment, everything was perfect.

  December 31st

  I pinned the picture of me and Sam on the wall, right under the Celia Cruz album. Next to it, I had glued the remains of Sam’s tattered watch, and even though it still kept time, I didn’t look at it very often anymore. Every wall in my room was covered with memories, some of them happy and some of them a little sad: dead flowers from Holcomb Gardens, wrappers of Black Jack gum, Griffin’s collar, notes from Cher and Rusty, the inserts from mixed tapes, the pirate eye patch, album covers of my favorite bands and Pat Jones’ t-shirt, which had stopped my head from bleeding and probably saved my life.

  Life had gone on. Rusty hadn’t moved…yet, and not including our brief breakup, we had been together over 187,200 minutes. But who was counting?

  Life had gone on and my hair had grown back, but I decided to cut it short again, liking the change from what I had always known. Instead of keeping his short, Rusty had let his grow out and it was curlier than ever.

  Even though I had felt lightheaded several times, I hadn’t fainted once since the accident. Mom and Dad had forced me to see a doctor, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with me, saying it was probably related to anxiety over being teased. Maybe he was right, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t that same terrified person anymore.

  Mya had gotten better and the doctors in Indianapolis had come up with a new treatment plan that would allow her to have home nursing care to eliminate the middle of the night emergency visits.

  Cher was ready to give birth any second to a baby girl who she had decided to name Dusty. She had taken night school in addition to regular school and had finished high school mid-semester to stay at home once she had the baby. She never met the doctor of her dreams and Henry didn’t want any part of the baby’s life, but Cher said she was OK with that, declaring that she had done pretty well for herself having just one parent.

  Alex and Neil moved into a loft apartment in downtown Indianapolis and Alex taught a Master’s class in pop-culture literature at Butler University, where Rusty and I would both be freshman in the fall. He had decided to put off writing for a while and just live, saying that writin
g was for people who were too afraid of life.

  Mom and Dad finally got divorced. I thought they might get back together, but one day they sat me down and explained that they had decided it would be better if they were just friends. They said their marriage had been over for a long time and they just weren’t willing to admit it. Dad had broken up with Jenny and said he had decided to stay single for a while to “find himself”. I laughed and suggested he schedule an appointment with Neil.

  Pat Jones never made fun of me again. We weren’t necessarily friends, but he would smile at me when we passed each other in the halls, even though he would sometimes have that strange look of fear in his eyes. I used to wonder what it was that he was so afraid of when he saw me, but I decided that was his to deal with on his own. He had given me my life and that was enough.

  Rusty and I never spoke again about that day at the pool. We had made a pact that we were going to live in the present and not focus on the past or the future. Time wasn’t going to have power over us anymore. We were only going to focus on the importance of the moments we shared together. When he had suggested this idea to me, I had laughed and told him I wanted something more permanent, since the last time he had given me a reminder of my memories, it had turned into Boo’s personal chew toy. In a million years, I never would have thought he would suggest we get tattoos. I thought Mom and Dad would never agree to them, but they conceded, saying I was almost eighteen and I would do it then anyway, so Rusty went ahead and bought them for us as Christmas presents.

  I looked down at my arm and touched the inked words that were less than a week old. The Before Now, they read. Even though they still stung a little bit, I thought they were beautiful. Rusty walked over and lifted the sleeve of his jacket, putting his arm right next to mine. After Then.

  “I love them,” he said. “It’s like our own personal story that no one else knows. There’s no beginning or end, just our own space suspended in time.”

  I loved how sometimes he could be funny and goofy, but other times he could be so damn serious and romantic. “I love them too.”

  On our way there, the snow fell all around us, shining in the streetlights, giving everything a magical feeling. It would be a new year within hours and everything seemed more exciting than usual. A year before, Sam had still been alive, but so much had changed since that time, and even though I missed him horribly, I knew I couldn’t go back in time.

  We reached Soda, the same band venue I had first gone to with Cher, only minutes before the band was supposed to start. We ran through the icy parking lot, just in time to check our coats and find a good place to stand and watch the show. Cher and her mom were closer to the stage and they waved when they saw us walk in.

  When the band stepped onto the stage, my heart started to buzz. They started slowly and at first I didn’t recognize the song, but as soon as Mom grabbed the microphone and began crooning in a whisper, I knew the song was a cover of The Cure’s Boys Don’t Cry. She rocked back and forth, and I sang the lyrics with her, like we had so many times before. It felt like somewhere, in the audience, Sam was singing too.

  Uncle Alex sat at the keyboard, while Dad strummed his guitar. I watched them, dancing and singing, not just playing the music, but becoming the music. Even though it was a rough cover, to me they sounded glorious. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine and that was more than enough.

  As Mom sang those words I knew so well, I was reminded of that ride on the first day of school, when everything had seemed so hopeless, before I had met Rusty and had discovered my own something to live for. I looked over at him standing next to me, rocking gently to the beat of the music and I grabbed his hand. “Cool hair,” I said, smiling.

  He laughed, running his free hand over my buzz cut, “You too.”

  I looked up just as the song was ending. The crowd went crazy and Mom thanked everyone. “I’d like to play a special little song with a friend of mine.” She walked to the edge of the stage where there was a small stairway, and reached her hand out to Cher. She took Mom’s hand and walked up on stage, complete in black leggings, a black t-shirt, stretched tight around her pregnant belly, and purple hair. She had returned to the old Cher I had very first met. She raised a peace sign in the air and shielded her eyes from the light, scanning the crowd. Finally, she found me and Rusty standing in the back and pointed to us, “Danny and Rusty! This one’s for you.”

  As they started singing, I instantly recognized Sonny and Cher’s I Got You Babe. The crowd roared. They were good. Really good. The whole audience started singing with them.

  I floated off and started thinking about all of the things that had happened in the last year. Sam’s death, my parent’s divorce, Cher, Pat and Rusty. Moments intersecting each other like some wild spider web of life.

  And then I realized that time kept ticking whether we liked it or not. Life kept happening. And sometimes things weren’t measured in time. Sometimes, hours, weeks and even years went by without us even noticing. Sometimes people died and sometimes people left, but not always. Sometimes they stayed.

  I looked over at Rusty. He had stayed. He had become my something to live for. I knew that there was no certainty in that either. Life was full of uncertainty. One day, he might be gone, but then again, that day might never come. The magic to life was in the unknowing. What mattered most was what happened in those secret spaces between the before now and after then, where memories lived forever, suspended in our hearts. Those were the places most sacred because they couldn’t be counted in time.

  Rusty turned to me and smiled. And then we kissed.

  “Happy New Year,” he said.

  “Happy New Year,” I said.

  And I knew, I just knew, that everything was going to be OK.

  I was going to be OK.

  Acknowledgments:

  In the last year, I’ve learned that writing is a collaborative effort, and as a writer, I only play a small part in the grand scheme of a story coming to be told. Danny’s story would not have been possible without the help of many people.

  To my husband Alex, thank you for standing by my side as I trudged through many projects until I finally found the one that spoke to my heart. Thank you for tolerating my endless nights at the computer and my delaying trips, dates, dinners and of course, for my countless naps, which allowed me to stay up late and meet my deadlines. You are my chosen soul mate, best friend and life partner and I love you with all of my heart. You are also the world’s best PR and marketing director!

  To my publisher and team at Pen Name Publishing, thank you for answering my five million questions, working diligently to make my book successful, giving me a chance when no one else would and standing behind my dream.

  To my mother, who although no longer with us, always encouraged me to always be myself, never comprise my principles at the expense of others and for giving me a love of great music.

  To my father, who taught me to chase my dreams and pick my battles; both of those lessons were vital to the completion of my book. And to my stepmother for artistically supporting me in all of my efforts throughout the years.

  To my friend Christy, who allowed me to be arrogant, took all of my calls, emails and texts, listened to me read parts of the book and taught me the true value of friendship among writers. I literally could not have completed this without her.

  To all of my family, most importantly, my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Dave, my cousin Caroline, and my in-laws Hungria and Don, who supported me throughout my journey and became my number one fans and especially to my inlaws for teaching me how to make arepas and learn the importance of family.

  To all of my friends, past and present, and my exes, who have helped me become the person I am today, and contributed in many small ways through shared experiences into the stories told in my book.

  Most importantly, to my best friend Tonya. It is rare in life that we are given a best friend who will stay with us the duration of our lives, and I am blessed to have found my
heart stone. Thank you for the countless drives late at night, discussing my book, life and love. Thank you for always supporting me and telling me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. And most importantly, thank you for that Tuesday night that you helped me back on the path to find myself again, for which none of this would have been possible. And thank you to her husband Eric for tolerating our craziness.

  And one last acknowledgment. I have been blessed to have been given the friendship of many dogs in my life: Benji, Cliffard, Jolie, Billie, Beau Beau, CoCo, Griffin, Tucker, Boo Radley and Dunken. It has been said that a dog is man’s best friend, but I will take that one step further; a dog is the true companion of a writer’s soul. Of everyone who has helped me the most, it has been my dog Dunken(PP), who has slept next to me while I wrote, took breaks outside with me while I watched the moon and who listened to me vent about my journey. To him, I will be forever indebted.

  Much love,

  Peter

  My name is Peter Monn and I am, most importantly, a moonchild. I take a 3 hour nap every day, eat loads of mac and cheese and love to drive around late at night and listen to music. I am not ashamed to admit I am a huge fan of 80′s punk rock and old country. My favorite pastime is chasing full moons, reading 1940′s pulp mystery novels, gambling in Vegas and reciting movie lines.

  In all seriousness, I am a life coach and author of young adult novels, which also appeal to adults. I also run an online entertainment magazine, raannt, with my husband, Alex. (Check it out, it’s pretty amazing and filled with celebrity interviews!) Prior to being a life coach and author, I worked as a counselor at an adolescent, residential treatment center.

  My writing can be found all over the place including The Huffington Post and my three previous (yes three...) blogs, Suicide Birds and Seahorses, Thoughts From the Couch and Peterisms. It took me three blogs to realize I just needed to be settled under the title of my own name.