Kiss Me Back

by Halston, Sidney

  I take a quick shower and tidy up my small apartment hoping that either he’ll text or the exhaustion will put me to sleep because right now I’m too wired to even lay down.

  A vibration startles me, even though I’ve been eagerly awaiting his reply. Sorry. Had to leave without calling and forgot my charger. Had to buy one and charge up. Just seeing all the texts now. Flew to Detroit. Dad in Sinai-Grace. Critical care.

  Is he okay? Are you okay?

  Not really.

  I remember him saying that he didn’t speak with his dad. This must be hard for him.

  Fox, what can I do? I know we left things bad but you’re my friend and I’m really worried about you.

  It is what it is. I have to let you go. The nurse is here.

  Please let me know if you need anything. Damn, I wish we could talk.

  The invention of text was one of the best things that could have happened for the hearing impaired. It allows for easy communication and the truth is, I never before felt as if I was missing anything. Now, I feel like there is a huge gaping hole between Fox and me. Right now, I desperately wish I could hear his voice so that I could gauge his mood.

  It’s fine. Really. Thank you for being concerned. It’s nice to have a friend who cares.

  Now that we’ve “spoken” I feel a bit better. At least I know he’s okay—physically at any rate. I send Iggy a quick text letting him know that Fox is okay and in Detroit, then I go to bed.

  I’m lying there for God knows how long—tossing and turning—when I abruptly kick off the bedspread. What the hell am I doing? He’s not okay. How can he be? He’s alone in a place he said he hadn’t returned to in so many years for some dark reason I have yet to find out. I never want to see the inside of my foster home again. I’m sure he feels the same way about his childhood home.

  I look at the clock and it’s almost five in the morning. I throw a few changes of clothes into a small carry-on, go into my secret hiding place, pull out a wad of my tip money, and head out. My money is so carefully accounted for, and I know this will be a huge step backward in paying for school, but screw it. Fox needs me. It’s late and the buses will take forever so I call a Lyft from my phone to take me to the airport. On the way there, I buy a ticket to Detroit, then text Keylan to let him know I need the rest of the weekend off. I’m also risking my job for him. Iggy could easily fire me for leaving him in the lurch abruptly but I hope he understands because I’m already at the airport and I don’t plan on turning back.

  Fox

  I’ve looked at the piece of paper in front of me a hundred times. The nurse wrote the address for the hospice in the smallest fucking writing I’ve ever seen. I want to crumple the paper, toss it into the garbage can, then pick up the garbage can, and toss that into the street. All the letters look like a blob of characters smashed together. I squint and hold the paper closer to my face as if that will make any difference. “Fuck,” I roar out loud and a nurse who happens to be walking by glares at me. “Sorry,” I mumble and look at the gibberish in front of me again. I shouldn’t have to go through all of this for that sonofabitch. Last night I sat with him in his hospital room waiting for him to wake up. I had a bunch of things I wanted to say to him. Except he never woke up, and the doctors think he’s not going to. I’ve been here for almost two days and there’s absolutely no progress.

  This morning, I went to the motel across the street and paid for a room so that I could shower and sleep a few hours. Then I came back to the hospital only to find out that he’s been moved to a hospice center, as per his living will. Yes, the man who couldn’t be bothered with helping me with my spelling homework was organized enough to have a living will.

  I’m looking down at the paper again, trying to decipher the jumbled words, thinking I’ll just find a cab and let the driver figure it out, when someone touches my shoulder. I turn around and stop in my tracks.

  Standing there, looking tired and frazzled but still fucking stunning, is Lola with a rolling suitcase that has seen better days by the looks of the silver tape around one of the corners.

  “What…What are you doing here?”

  “I…” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I thought you could use the company?”

  I take her hand and pull her out of the way of the entrance to the hospital. I’m in shock. This woman, who won’t spend money on a cab or a nice dinner for herself, hopped on a plane to travel across the country. For me?

  I think right there and then I fall completely in love with her. Or maybe I’m finally understanding that my frustration with her is due to the fact that I’ve been in love with her for a while now.

  “I…did I overstep? I can go.”

  “No!” I get in front of her to stop her from moving. “No, please stay. I…I’m just surprised to see you is all. I’m…wow.” I put a hand on my chest where my heart feels like it’s going to come out of my body. “God, Lola, truly, thank you. No one has ever done something like this for me.” I can’t resist and I pull her to me and hold her. Her arms come around my waist and she places her cheek on my chest. Having her close to me makes everything better. She looks up at me with those big baby blues and I’m lost. I’m gone. This woman could ask me to walk through lava for her, and I would. I cup her face with my palms and kiss her. It’s unlike all the other kisses we’ve shared. I can’t tell her how I feel because she’d undoubtedly freak out. She wants to keep pretending we’re not in a relationship but the fact that she’s here—that’s more of a gesture than words could ever say. Slowly our mouths meet, lightly at first. A kiss so fragile yet so intense I want to melt into her, touch every single inch of her, smell her, feel her. I want to be consumed by Lola in every way possible. Her delicate small hand fists my shirt, and I feel the slight tremble in her body. Tenderly, reverently, I kiss her lips one last time, then her cheeks. “Why are you shaking?”

  “I don’t know,” she says in a whisper. “Nerves, maybe? I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

  “But you came anyway.”

  “I wanted to see you. Even if you didn’t want to see me.”

  “Silly girl.” I kiss her one last time. There will never be a time I don’t want to see her.

  She smiles as if she was just rewarded with something when really, she did something for me. Something so special and selfless that I am not sure what to say.

  “Your dad?”

  I bend down and pick up the forgotten luggage from the floor. “Was just moved to a hospice.” I hold out the paper to her.

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry, Fox. Have you already seen him?”

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t conscious. I was trying to…” I hold out the paper and squint, trying to read the words on it but I just can’t. “Fuck, it’s just a mess of letters. I have no idea what it says.” I crumple it in my fist, and I’m about to toss it when she grabs my wrist and pries my fingers open.

  “Hey relax,” she says softly and takes the paper from my hand. She hesitates for a moment then says, “Fox, I haven’t wanted to pry but…but are you dyslexic?”

  My eyes widen. “How did you know?”

  “Your notes, the paper airplanes, sometimes your texts. Nothing big. I swear. Just a few inverted letters.” Fuck, I try to keep the texts and notes short. They must be full of spelling errors. “And I noticed you never look at the VIP list when they give it to you.”

  I look away.

  But she cups my face like she does when she wants to read my lips. “It’s okay. Please. Don’t be embarrassed. You needed a flaw, anyway. Your perfection was kinda getting on my nerves.” She winks cheekily, then uncrumples the paper and smooths it out. “Ugh, whose chicken scratch is this?”

  I don’t know if she’s saying that to make me feel better or if it’s really that terribly written. But it does make me feel better, and her reaction in general is
a relief. I hadn’t even realized I was worried about what she’d think of me until now that I know she’s known and doesn’t seem to think any less of me. “Is it 1221?” I ask.

  “Honestly, I think it’s 2112 but I don’t know. Let’s find a cab and ask.” She looks up and adds sweetly, “It’s all squished together. The penmanship is terrible.”

  I chuckle and then I bring her to me and hug her tightly. Her arms wrap around me and her head rests on my chest. When she looks up I can’t help but tell her exactly what I’m feeling.

  “I really missed you, Tiger.”

  “I missed you too, my clever Fox.”

  And somehow life seems a little easier now that she’s here with me.

  Lola

  Twenty minutes later, we walk into the hospice together. Fox has an expression on his face I haven’t seen before. It’s a mixture of sadness, uncertainty, and anger. Losing a parent is hard but when the parent is an asshole, it must mess with your mind as to how to react. He is walking half a step ahead of me taking in the somber facility—a place you know ends in death for everyone. “I’m Timothy Fox’s son. I understand he was transferred here this morning.”

  The woman at the reception desk types a few things into her computer system, then says, “Yes. He’s in room 47, just down the hall.”

  He turns toward the hallway. I take his hand, which surprises him for just the smallest moment before he entwines his fingers with mine and squeezes. We have sex. We laugh. We talk. We have dinner. But we’ve never held hands.

  It’s nice.

  I think I want to hold his hand again. A lot.

  “You didn’t know he was sick?” I ask as we walk.

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him in about a year. He always calls around the anniversary of my mother’s and brother’s deaths or on their birthdays. Shit like that. I try to ignore his calls but sometimes I answer accidentally.”

  “And what does he say when he calls?”

  “He’s normally drunk, and we fight. He wishes it were me and not Ronnie. Ronnie was going to be his golden boy. The one who got him out of the hood.”

  “Fox…”

  “It’s fine. He’s right….”

  I stop walking and pull on his arm. “No. He is not right. You listen to me, William Fox. You are here for closure. Nothing that’s happened in the past will hurt you now. You are a wonderful man. In fact, you’ve made my last month…” Somehow a lump has formed in my throat. What the hell is going on? I don’t want him to know that I feel more for him than just friendship. That’s not what we agreed on. And even if my feelings have changed, our circumstances haven’t. So, I get myself together and only reveal a little sliver of my feelings. “You have made the last month of my life brighter and better than the last seven years. So, don’t you dare sell yourself short. You hear me?” I say with all the conviction that I feel. I even poke his chest with my index finger.

  “I think the entire place heard you, sweetheart,” he teases me, and I know he’s trying to lighten the moment because that’s what we do. We take our shitty situation and make it light. That’s why we work and that’s what I love most about him.

  Love?

  Well, yeah, love. As a friend. I love him as a friend, right?

  I shake my head and lead us toward the room again. “What did the doctors tell you at the hospital?”

  “End-stage pancreatic cancer. He’s mostly in organ failure and it’s just a matter of time now. He knew, though. He knew enough to make a living will. Not enough to tell me, however.”

  I squeeze his hand as he turns his head and continues to walk. Once we reach room 47, I ask him if I should wait outside but he pulls me in with him. Maybe he said something but I didn’t see, so I follow him.

  The room is big and hospital-like with a window that overlooks a little garden and a fountain. There’s also a television and a small rolling tray but the tray is empty and the television is off.

  It smells of disinfectant and I can imagine, just by the lack of equipment and vibrations, that this place is not noisy. A frail-looking man is lying on the bed, and as we approach, I notice the resemblance to Fox. Same thick mass of hair except instead of salt-and-pepper it’s completely white, and the same nose and strong bone structure. His coloring is grayish and his breathing is labored. He is not hooked up to any machines, as far as I can tell. “What’s that for?” I ask, pointing to an IV.

  “Probably just for the pain since he declined any lifesaving measures.”

  “Is he in a coma?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think that—” He stops speaking and looks over my shoulder. I turn to see a nurse walking in with a computer on wheels.

  “You must be his son.”

  He nods. “Yes, I’m William. And this is Lola.”

  “Nice to meet you both. I’m just going to take his vitals.” She moves around the bed and starts to check his pressure and temperature and other things but she’s moving quickly and looking around as she speaks, so I miss the conversation. Instead I focus on Fox’s dad.

  How sad that life has to end this way—with regrets and anger. I wish I could do something to make this easier on Fox, but there’s nothing I can do except be here with him. It makes me realize how short life is and how important it is to live life to the fullest because it could be over in the blink of an eye and then you’re left with things undone and words unsaid. I don’t want that to happen to me, which is why I want to complete my last semester in Ecuador and then hopefully continue working with the World Deaf Education Project all over the world. It’s my passion, my dream, and every single thing I’ve done over the last seven years has been to make this happen.

  When the nurse walks out, Fox picks up one of the chairs and moves it closer to the bed, then gestures for me to sit. Then he brings the other one and sits next to me.

  “What did she say?”

  “That he’s just sedated in order to make him comfortable, which is why he isn’t awake. But that I should talk to him. He probably hears me, and he may even wake up.”

  Fox doesn’t talk, though. I know this without having to look at him. Again, I take his hand in mine and hold it. After a little while he turns to me and starts to speak.

  “Ronnie was a good kid. Looked up to me. I had a hard go of it in school. The letters always looked twisted around. My mom tried to get me help but my dad wouldn’t have it. He said I wasn’t trying hard enough. Called me dumb and stupid all the time. Every time I failed a test, he kicked my ass. I hated him so much, Lola. So damn much, there were days I just wanted to kill him. Ronnie, though, he tried hard. Always did great in school. Never talked back. Kept to himself. Dad loved him. I loved him.

  “I protected him when kids made fun of him. But the pressure to do good was too much. He was so afraid of not meeting my dad’s expectations because he saw the consequences and he wasn’t tough like me. I could take it. When my dad broke my nose, I didn’t shed one goddamn tear. Wouldn’t give the sonofabitch the satisfaction. But that scared the shit out of Ronnie. It got too much for him—all the violence and the pressure. And when Ma died and it was just the three of us, it got worse.” I see my big strong Fox’s eyes well up. He takes a deep breath and looks away. His mouth moves and I gently pull his face so that I can see his lips. “Sorry,” he says. “One night, Ronnie drank too much. I don’t even think he ever drank. Ever. Crashed right into a wall and died on the spot. Everything gone. Cops said it was an accident. I’m not so sure.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. He’s been living with all that for a long time, and I would bet he’s never shared that story with anyone.

  “Fox, honey. You know that’s not your fault, right?” I push my chair back and worm my way onto his lap, then wrap myself around him. I don’t know if he’s saying anything; I don’t think he is, but all I know i
s that he needs a hug. Someone on his side. Someone who believes in him. I don’t care where we are and who’s around, I’m on his side and he needs to know that. Now I understand why it’s so important for him to be successful at his job. He’s proving himself to his dad. And it makes me sad for him because that’s not a way to live. He doesn’t have anything for himself. It’s all for show. A big fuck-you to his father.

  I hold him for a very long time before eventually moving back to my chair.

  “My dad said I was stupid,” he signs slowly. He’s been signing conversations more and more lately and he’s gotten pretty good at it. “Every single day of my life. But learning this new language makes me feel smart for some reason.” He subconsciously sticks out his tongue as he moves his fingers and concentrates, which I find adorable.

  “But you have a problem, Fox,” I say out loud.

  “I know. I didn’t understand that then. But I know that now.” This time he’s speaking words, not signing. I see him exhale a big breath.

  He turns and looks at the bed, and I see his mouth move. I think he said, “I hate him.” But I don’t know for sure.

  Then he looks at me. “Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t deserve me to be here. He put so much pressure on Ronnie, it made Ronnie’s life hell. Fuck him.”

  “So let’s go. If you want to go, we’ll go. But before you do, Fox, maybe you should get some sort of closure. Sometimes you need to just let it go. I know it’s hard. For years I hated my foster mom. I hate even using that word because she wasn’t a mom, but hating her just caused me pain. She didn’t know I hated her. She didn’t care. It was only hurting me. Hating your dad, Fox, it’s only hurting you.” He looks at me as if searching for something.