Let Me Live

by Shirley Anne Edwards

  “Maybe if I had told you, things would have been different, but I was afraid of how you would react. I kept my feelings to myself.” I tightened the towel around me, suddenly chilled because of what I was about to admit next. “So the years went by, and I kept my secret from you while I tried to figure out a way to live with it. I lost myself in school and swimming, while trying not to obsess about you too much. The funny thing is, everyone around me knew. They thought my crush on you was cute.” I opened my eyes, allowing the brightness to make me go blind with floating spots for a few seconds. “You were the only one clueless about it.”

  “If someone had told me. If you had—”

  “What good would it have done? You were blind to it because you wanted to be.” Even as I sweated under the towel, I kept it around me like some sort of shield. “You never saw me as more than your kid brother, so I let it go. At the very least, I would have that with you. It’s why I went to you for advice, not my dad or any of my other friends. That was why I rang you every day the week before I came home for winter break, and visited you at the radio station the first day home. I needed the man who called me his brother to help me.”

  “But I didn’t. I meant to call you and even see you after Christmas, but I….” He cursed. “I was busy with other things.”

  “Why would you turn down the invitation to go skiing in Vermont with the owner of the radio station to spend time with me? The issue I had was small compared to the opportunity you were given.” But then the aftermath of my actions led to something so appalling that I would live with the guilt until I died.

  He combed back his hair with his fingers and exhaled. “It’s time you told me now. What did you want to talk to me about then?”

  It made sense he would be curious. This back and forth had been leading up to me revealing one of the mortifying secrets I held.

  “In high school, I hooked up with other guys but never took that final step, aka sex. It wasn’t until I got to NCU that I lost my virginity. The way I did it and with whom is why I needed your advice.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because in all my dreams, you were supposed to be my first. After the few times I called you and you didn’t call me back the first semester at college, I decided it was time to let you go.” A shaky sigh left me as memories of that night with John flashed before me. “The day before I came home for break, I lost my virginity to John Cannon.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s why you needed to talk to me and stopped by the radio station.”

  I stared at him, surprised how well he hid his discomfort. Other than his face losing some color, he betrayed nothing. Maybe he was in reporter mode. Maybe it helped him stay calm. I wished I could do the same. I was breaking apart inside.

  “It was the first time I was… intimate with someone who was straight, or they thought they were. When you ended up ignoring me—”

  “I didn’t go out of my way to ignore you.” Finally a flash of anger. “I lost track of time, and then—”

  “You don’t have to give me your excuses. I worked it out for myself, or I thought I had.” I lifted the towel upward and covered my head. “I did something really stupid when I got back to school that made John flip out.”

  “You are not blaming yourself for what that madman did.” Again, more anger.

  “It is my fault. Instead of being a friend and helping him work through his issues, to accept what he was going through, I did the worst possible thing and….” God, this was going to be hard. Until now I’d never spoken of the event leading up to him shooting people. “A few days before the shooting, I slept with Jordan. His main target was Jordan. Everyone else in the library was collateral damage.”

  “Including you?” Theo leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, his hands stretching toward me.

  “He shot me, so maybe I was.” I covered my wound and lowered my head as shame spread over me like the towel wrapped around me.

  Then there was silence between us. Theo looked like he wanted to say something but stared at his hands on the table. If we were in a better place, I would have taken one of his hands. It was better if I didn’t touch him. I needed that space he always gave me. Maybe he felt the same way.

  “Who wrote who first?” he asked.

  I wasn’t expecting the change in the direction of the conversation, but I knew eventually he would ask. It’s why we were here. Why he was hearing my confessions. He needed the information to benefit himself.

  “Does it matter?” I curled my fingers around my shoulder as if to protect my wound. For some reason it throbbed, or maybe I had tricked my body into thinking it did.

  “Marshall.” He slapped the table. “Answer the question.”

  By now he should know he couldn’t force me to do anything. Maybe before college when I had so much to look forward to, even if he wouldn’t be there to share it with me.

  “I did. It was after Jordan’s funeral. I couldn’t go because I was still recovering from my wounds, so I sent flowers. His mother called me to thank me for being there with Jordan, staying by his side while he died. She was at peace knowing he didn’t die alone.” I pulled the towel more around my head, almost covering my face. “After the call, I got angry. It was the first time I felt that way. I was angry at John for what he stole from me. So I wrote him a letter, not caring if he read it or not. And a week later he wrote me back. A long rambling letter asking for forgiveness. I wrote him again saying he wouldn’t get my forgiveness. He wrote me back again asking. I wrote him back denying him.” I closed my eyes, unable to stop my tears from spilling out and running down my cheeks. “We wrote one another as a punishment, a circle I assume wouldn’t end. The thing is….” I blew out a gust of air. “I fo-forgave hi-him.”

  “Marshall.” I could have sworn there was wonder in his voice. “Why are you beating yourself up—”

  A sound I’d never made before erupted from my mouth. “Because forgiving someone you should hate for his crimes still doesn’t make things better. It should have been me! I should have died, not Jordan and the others. I should be dead.”

  I dropped my face in my arms and sobbed, finally drained and spent. Theo came to my side and tried to lift me up. I curled my arms around his hips, hanging on him while he held me. He ran his fingers through my hair while I cried. “Why?”

  He continued to hold me, not saying much of anything. He didn’t tell me it would be okay. It would never be okay.

  Through swollen, stinging eyes I found my parents a few feet away from Theo and me, watching in stunned silence with Arielle and Charlie behind them with the same expressions.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I LET Mom hold my hand. She needed it more than me because of her pale face and the deep lines around her mouth. She sat beside me on the couch in the living room, not even allowing Dad near. Or maybe he didn’t want to. He stayed by the sliding glass doors, just staring outside, his gaze on the pool.

  Charlie, Arielle, and Theo left after my parents asked them to. For once my parents were in agreement on something, which should have given me warning signals. Whenever this discussion began, it wasn’t going to be good for me, even if Mom acted like she cared more about me than herself.

  I’d always handled confrontations in the past with clarity, like the one with John at the library. That had been the hardest, and would probably be the biggest regardless of other future confrontations that came my way. But this one with my parents would probably end up in the top five.

  “Why did you ask my friends to leave? Is it because you’re angry with me and don’t want them to see you yell?” I asked Dad.

  He kept staring at the backyard, a bad sign. “I’m not angry at you.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?” I glanced at Mom, who studied the floor.

  “Because I’m trying to remain calm,” he said.

  “The same goes for you, Mother?” I tried pulling my hand away but she wouldn’t let me.

  “Your father and
I have decided it’s time for you to talk to someone. We’re done with your excuses and refusals,” she said.

  “Talk to who? A therapist, publicist, or lawyer? How about all three?” I tugged my arm away from her and rose from the couch, stepping away as she tried to reach for me.

  “Marshall, sit down.” She patted the seat I left.

  I crossed my arms. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “Yes you do. This is my house and if your mother tells you to do something, you do it.” Dad finally turned around and crossed his arms on his chest liked I had done.

  I sat in the corner of the couch, more because I was stunned by how he had said it and not because of what he said. I’d never seen him this furious. For him to feel that way meant I must have really messed up.

  “When I said you needed to talk to someone, I meant a therapist. Why did you say a publicist and lawyer?” His lips barely moved, proving he was pissed.

  “Don’t I need a publicist for all the requests from the press I’m about to get? I assume a television interview is still on the table, now more than ever because of what happened yesterday.” I bent over my knees and folded my hands behind my head, wishing I could roll into a ball. “A lawyer because I’ll probably get sued.”

  “Why would you get sued?” Mom asked.

  “Because I kept in touch with him by writing him letters.” The nervous feeling attacking my stomach moved up to my throat, making me nauseous. I hoped I didn’t end up puking in front of my parents. It would just be one more humiliating thing to witness from their son.

  Dad moved to the couch and sat next to Mom. They were making a united front against me?

  “Help me understand why you wrote to him. You could have stopped at the first one. Why did you write more?” Mom asked.

  Of course she would want to know my motives so she could end up attacking them like she had always done to me in the past. “Why do you want to know? Is it because you’re worried you’ll lose your cushy job at that right-win—”

  “Marshall, answer your mother. I want to know also,” Dad ordered.

  I stopped from laying my forehead on my knees. I was better than this, hiding within myself and from my parents. The entire world would soon form their own opinions about me and John when the content of those letters was released. I wouldn’t be able to stop the questions, but maybe I could control the narrative and do some damage control before it blew up in my face. It would start with Mom and Dad.

  “During and after the shooting, I wasn’t acting like everyone else. I was mad but more numb. I couldn’t get a handle on my emotions. I was confused and… scared. I didn’t know how to react.” I sat up, taking in a deep inhale of air and then exhaling it. “The only time I got angry was after Jordan’s funeral and I saw the picture of Shiri crying in her mom’s arms. I was angry because I couldn’t go to his funeral because I was still in the hospital, and I couldn’t be there to comfort Shiri or apologize to her parents for not saving Jordan. So I did something stupid and wrote to John. I never expected him to write back. But he did.”

  “We need to do damage control.” Mom got up from the couch and grabbed her phone from her purse on the kitchen table. “Ford, what’s the name of the producer who called you about the 60 Minutes interview?”

  “That’s all you’re worried about is 60 Minutes?” My voice rose, anger turning to rage.

  She tapped her cell’s touch screen. “We have to get ahead of this firestorm that will hit us. I can make some calls and see if you can get on F—”

  “Stop it!” I stood. “You’re fucking sick.”

  “Marshall!” Dad came to my side and sat his hands on my shoulders. “Calm down.”

  I pushed him away and rushed at Mom, grabbing her cell and slamming it on the floor. She flinched and backed away, her jaw dropping.

  I clenched my fists and huffed, staring at the cell I’d thrown to the floor. It left a white scuff mark on the wood. For some reason seeing that mark on the floor made it hard for me to breathe and caused black dots to fill my eyes. I tried to go back to the couch, but my knees locked together. I think I called for Dad, but my mouth wouldn’t work. I landed on the floor and rocked. “I-I’m sorry.”

  Someone took me in their arms—Mom—and cradled me. It had been so long since she held me. I cried on her chest while she rubbed my head. She said my name but her voice sounded husky and in pain. I looked up at her to see her crying.

  “Mom, don’t cry. I’m a jerk. I didn’t mean to break your phone.”

  “I’m not crying because of my phone.” She shuddered and kissed me. “I’m worried about you. I don’t know how to make it better.”

  “I’m a disappointment, remember? This proves it.” I threw her words back at her because she had known what was always true about me.

  “Oh God, I was wrong. I was so wrong.” She broke down then, crying ugly tears that made me do the same.

  Dad bent down next to me and pressed his hand on my back. “Marshall, I’m not angry at you and neither is your mother. Your kindness and forgiveness toward… the shooter is commendable even though many may not see it that way.”

  “But he’s a monster. You even said it yourself.” I wiped my eyes and sat up. “How can I be kind to John when he destroyed so many lives?”

  Mom’s cell let off a beep. She looked at it but didn’t pick it up. She stiffened and hugged me tight.

  Dad leaned over to read her text. His eyes widened and he shook his head. “The concern about your letters isn’t going to be front page news anymore. He’s dead. He died thirty minutes ago.”

  “Dead?” I moved away from Mom, who sat in stunned silence. Dad continued to stare at her phone, the color draining from his face.

  I shuffled back to the couch and sat in the corner, glad I’d left my cell outside. It must be blowing up by now. I braced myself for the calls my parents would soon get, and the sound of the front doorbell ringing from the press like it did when I first came home from the hospital.

  “I should go away.” I rubbed my face, unable to remove the exhaustion that had taken over. “This isn’t fair for either of you.” I groaned. “I should have never been born because I was so stupid with what I did with John.”

  “Stop it. That’s a horrible thing to say.” Mom, wiping her eyes with a tissue, sat next to me.

  “Come on, Mom. You probably thought it before, ever since I came out. If I wasn’t born, you wouldn’t have to deal with this shitshow I caused.”

  She grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. “I’ve said some horrible things to you that I should have never said. I’m far from perfect. I destroyed my marriage and my relationship with my only child.” She sniffed as tears filled her eyes again. “We, meaning your father and I, never told you, but before you were born, I had three miscarriages. When I gave birth to you, and you came out perfect, I thought you were my angel. God blessed me with you. I-I….” She wiped her eyes and lowered her head. “I tried to make you into something I wanted, an ideal of what a person should be, what a man should become. When you said you were gay, my heart broke in two. I felt I failed myself because I was selfish and thought you should be a certain way. I was so wrong because you grew up to be a good person, someone who’s kind and gentle and can see the good in others, even someone who did an unspeakable crime against humanity.” Fat tears fell from her eyes. “Can you forgive me? Please?”

  Dad came to her side and curled his arm around her. She fell into him and sobbed while she kept my hands in hers. He stared at me, his eyes wet. He suffered because Mom and I did.

  “We need help.” I reached out my hand to him.

  “Yes, we do, son.” He took my hand and kissed the top of Mom’s head.

  We stayed like that, locked in our own personal circle, and started to plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  LIFE WAS all about making difficult decisions. At nineteen I was well aware of the fact, but so many things were coming at me too fast and I couldn’t keep tra
ck. I thought one of the easiest would be a tattoo. I couldn’t believe it had been less than a month since I first wanted one. Now here I was again in front of a tattoo shop, going back and forth in my head whether I should enter. This time I wasn’t here for a tattoo, but to see Benny who might not want to talk to me.

  It had been a week since we talked. I had texted him I was going through some personal and family issues and would get back to him. He then went silent. He probably thought I ghosted him. If he knew about John’s death and my soon-to-be-public plans to deal with it, maybe he would understand why. Or maybe he was done dealing with someone with too much baggage since his own life was drama free.

  But I had to see him before I left town, if only for a few minutes. A few minutes was all I had since Mom waited in her car to take me away. My parents wouldn’t let me out of their sight, and I had to explain why I wanted to see Benny before I left.

  I checked Mom sitting in the driver seat of her Benz. I wasn’t really looking forward to the four-and-half-hour drive to Rehoboth, but I owed it to her since she was sacrificing a lot to help me get better. Her career and reputation were on the line, especially the death threats she received because of me.

  Guilt was now a daily occurrence, but at least it made me more aware of my surroundings and those I interacted with, especially the people in my life. One being Mom, who looked up from her cell and noticed me staring at her.

  I turned away before I lost my courage, opened the door to the shop, and entered. Other than some music playing, the front was empty. An electronic ding went off as the door closed, and Benny came out. When he saw me, he froze behind the front desk.

  Something brushed my leg. It was Canvas, Astral’s mascot. She purred and butted my calf. I bent to pet her, to give me an excuse not to rush to Benny and embrace him.

  “No Addison today?” I petted the cat.

  “She’s in the back with her friend Reiko, who you might have met at the party. She’s updating our website and some graphic stuff.” He stayed behind the desk.