by Laurie Loft
“You’re not going to slap me, are you?” The last time he’d seen Sebby this worked up had been the Fourth of July.
The question triggered an avalanche of Spanish, and Todd thought he was doing well not to cower. Sebby paced across the room and back, breathing stentoriously before stopping to face Todd once more. “Processed food is full of chemicals, and lots of chemicals are carcinogens. So you won’t eat their food, and you will eat my food.”
Todd blinked up at Sebby, digesting the words. Jesus God, I am obtuse. The hospitalization, the tests, the bad news, and the surgeries must have dredged up Sebby’s memories of his mother’s illness and death, when he had been able to do nothing but pray, when he had believed that prayer was all that was needed. That belief had been crushed to the point where he was not able even to do that for Todd. Sebby couldn’t control events, but he could control what Todd put into his body. “Sebby, it was nonmalignant. I do not have cancer.”
Sebby’s expression was stony. “A nonmalignancy can be just as dangerous. And things like growth hormones in livestock make tumors grow more.”
“That’s just a theory. But,” he added hastily as Sebby’s eyes narrowed, “I’ll comply with your wishes and consume nothing that is not stamped Sebby-approved. This I swear.” Todd could at least give Sebby this assurance, if he could guarantee nothing else.
The words needed time to soak in, and the little Latino stood still for long moments before his face relaxed into a smile. “Good. Todd, it won’t be bad food, te lo prometo. Everything will taste good.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And when you come home, I already went through the cupboards and threw out everything you shouldn’t eat.”
Todd groaned inwardly, but thanked Sebby, who brushed his thanks aside and declared that he was late for work. He reminded Todd to wait for lunch, and vanished.
“Stitches coming out today.”
The words brought Todd up short, and he stammered before he could reply. “What st-st— What?”
“In the eye.” Dr. Roodnitsky tapped Todd’s forehead above his ruined eye, ignoring his flinch. “Bandage comes off, stitches come out, area is cleansed, and they teach you to care for it as it heals.”
“But—but . . . no one said . . . st-st-stitches.”
Dr. Roodnitsky had assessed his mental status before springing this news on him and pronounced his brain well on the mend, while admonishing him to expect setbacks. Now she was peering at him over the rims of her glasses.
“You are not afraid of this, a big boy like you?” Seeing his shudder, she pursed her lips. “It’s all right. I will order sedative.”
“No, no,” Todd protested. “I’ll be . . . fine. It’s fine. No sedative. Thank you.”
She raised her eyebrows at him and waited, but Todd held on to his resolve. After a moment, she pushed away from the computer. “It’s your choice. It will be this morning, but exact time—who will know? Depends when he can get to you.”
As soon as she was out of the room, Todd seized the phone and called Sebastián at Gimondi Brothers. “It is I, your wounded one.”
“My . . .? Doesn’t sound nice.”
“Listen, ah . . . they will be, ah, removing my, ah . . .” Todd paused and gathered his courage before spitting out the word. “Stitches.” He let out a breath. “This morning. And cleansing my, ah, wound.”
“Good. I’m tired of looking at that bandage.”
“Yes, ah. I, also. So . . . I thought you’d like to know.” His voice trailed off. There was no good way to ask that Sebastián be present at said event and hold Todd’s hand throughout.
There was a pause. “What time?”
“Dr. Roodnitsky said, ‘Who will know?’” He imitated the good doctor’s accent and was rewarded with a laugh.
“Kay. You want me to be there?”
Dr. Borne was an immense black man with a deep, resonant voice. It was difficult to imagine that such a man had not left an impression deep enough to withstand a little brain surgery, yet the ophthalmologist seemed unfamiliar. The nurse raised his bed. The doctor’s fingers, encased in surgical gloves, were deft and gentle as he removed the bandage and palpated the tender flesh.
“Looks good, overall.” The doctor nodded and turned to his nurse, who put an instrument tray on the wheeled stand.
As Dr. Borne moved out of their respective lines of sight, both Sebby and Todd’s mother made noises of distress—Sebby’s a gasp followed by murmured Spanish, and his mother’s a loud “Jesus God, oh, where’s my camera.” At least she wasn’t ducking into the bathroom for a quick nip, Todd thought to himself as he posed for the camera, and so his eye (or the place where it had until recently resided) must not appear too appalling. The doctor held some instrument that might have come from one of Sebby’s Saw movies, and Todd’s heart palpitated.
“Be a man” could go fuck itself. “Er, wait, wait. Ah, wait.”
The doctor paused.
“Sebby.” Todd tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. “I’m afraid that at this juncture I require your presence. A bit, ah, closer than the opposite corner of the room.”
Sebby was leaning against the far wall. He came forward a step, hesitated, and fell back against the wall with a thump. “Aw, what the hell ya want me to do, buddy—hold your hand?” he asked in a tone of affectionate derision.
Todd’s mouth fell open and stayed open even as his hand closed into a painful fist.
“I’ll hold your hand. I’m your mother,” announced that personage. She eased up to the side of the bed opposite the doctor and folded the cold fingers of both hands around Todd’s fist. The doctor leaned over him once again, bringing the sinister-looking instrument close enough that Todd could smell the antiseptic.
“Wait!” Todd cried, flinching away and blinking. He threw a look of mute appeal at Sebby, who gave him a tiny headshake. All three—Dr. Borne, the nurse, and Todd’s mother—turned to look at Sebby, who waved an arm as if to say Get on with it. At this distance and once again without his eyeglasses, Todd tried in vain to read Sebby’s expression, but his posture was one of affected casualness.
Squeamishness could not explain Sebby’s reluctance to approach. In fact, Todd had half expected him to lean close and watch the proceedings with a glint of morbid fascination in his eyes.
“Sebby,” Todd started, and then, to the doctor, “Sorry. Sorry. I wanted . . . I wanted . . .” His voice cut off as he was smacked by a flash of insight so brilliant it forced his eye shut.
“Did you want a sedative?” Dr. Borne inquired in his hypnotic baritone. “I was told you declined.” He placed a hand on Todd’s shoulder. “I promise it won’t hurt much. You’ll feel some tugging as the stitches come out, and soreness where the area is bruised and swollen. The psychological aspect of confronting your injury can be difficult, of course. There’s still time for a sedative, if you want one.”
Todd hardly noticed the kind words, lost in the revelation unfolding behind his closed eyelids: a vision of Sebastián lingering at the bedside of a male whose identity was rendered anonymous by bandages and contusions. The injured male’s whisper quavered as he informed Sebastián that he could not see him anymore because he no longer wanted to be gay. Todd could mark by Sebastián’s face the progress of the breaking of his heart as he let go of the male’s hand, as he whispered back that he understood, that he would stay away . . .
Todd’s eye snapped open. With trap-door swiftness, he drew his mother’s hands to his heart, covered them with his other hand. “Mom.”
“It’s okay, Toddy. Be a brave soldier.” With those words his mother had sprayed stinging antiseptic on his scraped knees and levered splinters from his fingers.
“Yes. No. I have to tell you something, ah, something you may not like . . .” Todd sensed rather than saw Sebastián twitch.
His mother’s eyes flew wide in injured offense. “Why wouldn’t I like it? You don’t know what I like. I like lots of things.”
&nbs
p; “You’re right.” Todd swallowed and played with her fingers. “I don’t necessarily know. Right, then.” He forced himself to look his mother in the eyes, his one to her two.
“Todd . . .” Sebby warned.
It was difficult to resist the temptation to glance at Sebastián, but Todd was determined to hold his mother’s gaze. The concern on her face was decaying into suspicion, and Todd spoke fast before she could have a chance to hazard guesses or accusations. “Mom, I’m gay.”
Her expression wavered between suspicion and confusion.
“I’m gay. I am a homosexual man,” he added in case she thought he was expressing giddiness.
Her lips parted and she leaned closer, turning her head as if to present her ear to a dying man’s lips. Todd squeezed her hands in his, pressing them closer to his heart.
“You’re not gay,” she said. “He’s not gay,” she repeated, straightening and turning to the doctor as if for confirmation.
“We’ll just come back in a few minutes.” Dr. Borne’s instrument made a musical clink as he replaced it on the tray, and there was a rattle as he stood and pushed the table aside. Nodding and smiling, he departed and his nurse with him, closing the door as they left. Todd, from the corner of his remaining eye, saw that Sebby had moved away from the wall and was hovering in the middle of the room, his hands clasped and pressed to his mouth.
“You’re not gay,” his mother said again. “I’d know if you were.”
“Then you know,” Todd said, “for it’s true.” Her lips pursed and moved from side to side as she ruminated, and Todd grew nervous. He pressed their joined hands still more tightly against his pounding heart. “I’m sorry, Mom. I mean, sorry to spring it on you like this. I’m not sorry for who I am.” She was shaking her head, her eyes not meeting his, and Todd went on, hoping by words, by explanation and elaboration, to win her acceptance. “I am a gay man. Or queer, if you prefer.” I wish to submit exhibit A, may it please the court. Todd let go with one hand long enough to gesture toward Sebastián. “Sebby . . . is my boyfriend. We share more than a house; we share a bed. Because we are in love.” An unidentifiable sound came from Sebastián, and Todd eyed him anxiously.
“You’re in love,” his mother repeated. Her penciled brows knitted over her eyes, eyes that roamed back and forth over Todd’s form.
“Yes,” Todd affirmed.
“You and Sebby.”
“Yes.”
“With each other?” And she raised her eyes, her two to his one.
“Yes!”
She regarded him, consternated, and Todd returned her gaze, and then his mother’s face broke into a smile. She burst into laughter, rocking back and forth in her chair and clutching Todd’s hands till her fingernails drove hard into the flesh of his palm.
Todd stared. And he’d been so sure she was sober! “She’s hysterical. Jesus.” He had fucked this up royally, no surprise. He gave Sebby a rueful glance and was surprised to find him smiling.
“I’m not hysterical! Though I sure as hell need a drink. My land!” She rocked forward and planted a loud kiss on Todd’s cheek before pulling her hands free and fishing her flask from her purse.
“Mom, don’t. This is . . . I need you in possession of your faculties.”
His mother tipped her head back and swallowed. Todd worried that she was draining the flask. He chided himself that he should have known she would respond by turning to drink; to what else would she turn? Her lips peeled back in the familiar postswallow rictus as she replaced the flask. With a long sigh, she surveyed the two of them.
“I’m sorry, Lois.” Sebby shook his head at Todd. “I’ve tried so hard to civilize him.”
“You’ll never manage it. Nor me, neither.”
“I beg your pardon!” Todd declared. “I contend that I’ve behaved in a completely civilized manner throughout!”
His mother pursed her lips, bunching them to one side, and her eyes met Todd’s. “I thought you were breaking his heart. Not on purpose, but, my land! It was so obvious he loved you. I never thought you loved him!” She laughed again, slapping her thigh, but then her expression sobered. “Did you think I’d be mad?”
“Pop thought you would.”
His mother drew herself up in indignation. “You told him but not me?”
“I meant to . . . to tell you both together. But he prevented me, and I realize now I shouldn’t have allowed him to sway me from my purpose.”
“Of all the . . .” Her mouth curled into a snarl. “I’m not mad. I’m not one of those mothers who disowns her child or tries to change you. I know you can’t help it, and gay people are born that way. And I’m a good mother. And . . .” Her face softened, and her eyes brimmed. “I just want you to be happy.”
Sebby made a noise of sympathy and stepped forward, but he halted and looked to Todd. Todd felt his own eyes stinging—the both of them. “I am happy,” he said through his constricting throat. When his mother leaned toward him to pat his shoulder, he sat up to meet her and, catching hold of her arm, pulled her to himself, trying not to calculate how long it had been since his mother had hugged him. She stiffened and became all sharp bones, but he held on for several seconds before releasing her. Blinking, she sat back and cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, and got to her feet, not looking at him.
“I’ll tell the doctor it’s safe now.” She backed toward the door. Sebby waylaid her with a tight hug, and Todd tried not to mind how she returned his embrace, but in the next moment Sebby was in his arms, and any resentment melted like ice chips in a dry mouth.
“Reckless, I said, didn’t I? Todd, time and place!”
Sebby mashed his face into Todd’s neck, and Todd tipped his head to bury his nose in the dark hair, inhaling the spicy scent, like exotic coffee. “I am a master of timing.”
“What if your mother’d been upset?” Sebby fretted, his voice muffled.
“I don’t know,” Todd admitted. “But at that moment, your level of upset was of a higher priority to me.”
Sebby snorted, which felt odd against Todd’s neck. “You mean your level of upset.”
“Perceptive as ever. I cannot claim complete altruism. Nevertheless, cielito lindo, I saw what a wreck you must have been.” He kissed the top of Sebby’s head. “I marvel at my own obtuseness.”
“Brain surgery is a pretty good excuse for obtuseness, Toddfox.” He raised his head to look Todd in the eye. “Are you happy, querido? For true?”
“I am.” He paused. “Because it is so obvious that you love me.”
Resting his head again, Sebby laughed shortly. “I guess my het act isn’t as good as yours.”
“Probably because it is so obvious that you love me.”
Sebby tsked. “Don’t gloat.”
“It’s difficult not to gloat when it is so obvious that you love me.”
“¡Dios mío!” Sebby swatted half-heartedly at Todd’s chest. “There’ll be no living with you after this!”
“But you will. Because you so obviously love me.”
The dialogue might have continued indefinitely in this manner but for the entrance of the ophthalmologist and his nurse. With his mother and Sebby at his bedside, the care of his eye socket was accomplished with less discomfort than expected. The worst moment occurred upon the opening of the eyelid when Todd, who had unconsciously been anticipating an uncomfortable brightness hitting the long-closed eye, instead experienced total darkness, and he felt an illogical certainty that something was covering his eye, blocking his sight. He reached instinctively to rub the organ and clear the blockage. No one prevented him. The flesh was puffy and tender, and it was still more disconcerting to be unable to see his fingertips as they explored the area. Closing his good eye and again opening the bad eye, he could not shake the expectancy of sight.
“I’m blind,” he whispered.
“It’ll take time to adjust,” said the doctor, his hand a comforting weight on Todd’s shoulder.
“It’ll be okay.” Sebby
gently pulled Todd’s hand away. Lips brushed Todd’s knuckles and his remaining eye in turn, and the kissed eyelid sprang open. Sebby’s face was very close. Deep-brown eyes looked into Todd’s blue one. It seemed to Todd he had never seen anything so beautiful. He stared, determined to engrave the lines of cheek and jaw, the curve of nose, and yes, glint of eye under smooth brow, thoroughly into memory, against the possibility of losing the other eye.
Sebby smiled, bringing out his dimple. “See? Not blind.”
“Half a loaf is better than none,” his mother put in.
“And an eye in the socket is worth two in the bush,” Todd agreed.
Todd had a great deal of time to himself in rehab, time to contemplate his life and recent events. Occasionally he found himself staring at Vivid on his cell phone. He ought to delete it. He decided he would. Right after one last text.
Vivian? Hello.
There was a short pause before the response came. Todd! Hello, you.
Hello.
You said that. So did I. How are you?
Fine. Well, recovering. I’ve had an injury. In fact, I am now a Cyclops.
Several heartbeats passed. Are you employing hyperbole?
Todd smiled. If only. No, I have lost an eye and also a brain tumor. But rest assured that I am getting better, and all manner of things will be well.
I don’t even know how to respond! Could we talk about this? Can I call you?
Todd pursed his lips. He squeezed his eye shut. He called Vivian.
Todd related what had passed, how he had had an eye and a tumor removed, and after the initial exclamations, Vivian was uncharacteristically quiet during the telling. “Now we are both maimed.”
“You’re not maimed. You’re scarred. There is a difference. And just imagine how rakish I look in an eye patch.”
“Send me a pic.”
Todd grimaced. “No, Vivian.”
“I want to come to Denver; I want to see you. I mean . . . if you want me to.”
“Viv—”
Vivian went on, speaking quickly. “You really, really are important to me. I don’t know who I’d be right now if we hadn’t been together, and I like that I am the me who loved you so much. I still do love you, and I really want us to stay, I don’t know. Friends. That sounds awful.”