Question Mark

by Culpepper, S. E.

  Marty crossed his arms over his chest, finally blocking that horrible orange stain. “I’ve seen this unfold with my own eyes, son. You’re not handling the volume of calls as well as usual, you’re not coordinating response personnel accurately and it’s causing hiccups down the lines of communication. These are special circumstances here. I’ve been able to witness and document the effect of your personal life invading the work environment. For God’s sake, there are photographers across the street waiting for you to come and go. Dispatchers get approached to answer questions about you. It makes your coworkers uncomfortable and it negatively affects what we do here. You want a forum? You got it sitting right there in that chair. This is your forum.”

  Mark was stunned blind by the words spewing forth from Marty’s mouth. Maybe he had been a little distracted lately, but only one time had it ever impacted his response in dispatching officers to a scene and it was a negligible mistake on a routine security call—Marty even agreed with him at the time! Now his boss was acting like he was ignoring calls, blowing off officers relaying information. It was bullshit! He was being ousted.

  “Admit something to me Marty,” he snarled. “I’ll tender my resignation right now, no arguments, if you admit what this is really about. I could walk away from your ugly face with glee, clicking my heels, and leave you to your dictatorship without even a whisper, if you just tell me the truth.”

  “Not sure what you’re getting at, son,” he answered easily, looking like he was back in control of the situation again.

  “I’m not your son,” Mark spat. “Call me that again and I’ll prove it. I want you to admit that this has nothing to do with my job performance and everything to do with my sexual orientation.”

  Marty blinked, then smiled meanly. “Why would I ever admit to something like that? Do I look like an idiot to you?”

  “You don’t want to know what you look like to me.”

  “I think it’s best for everyone that you and the department go your separate ways. I mean, I have all this documentation supporting the claim that you’re faltering in your duties and that you ought to be let go. What purpose does it serve to drag it all around the watch floor?”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to let me go, you do it with a plump severance package. I’ve got bills to pay and this is a mockery.”

  “What kind of people would we be if we didn’t offer you the standard severance package?”

  Mark pretended to think for a second. “Hmm…I don’t know. Probably cheap homophobes instead of the regular version…”

  Marty’s eyes rolled in spite of his obvious pleasure that Mark was losing this battle. “You’ll need to clean out your work space and turn in your security badge before you leave. You can use one of the empty boxes from the break room for your things. I’ve called Charlie in to cover your shift. Feel free to use me as a reference as you look for work.”

  How had Mark ever accomplished anything working with this jackass? Kicking the chair he’d been sitting in out of his way, he yanked the door open. There was a flurry on the dispatch watch floor as people pretended not to be listening to what was going on in Marty’s office.

  “Newland.” Mark froze in his retreat and slowly turned back toward Marty, eyebrows raised impatiently. “Gay is one thing, son, but we don’t need it sauntering through the doors with a feather boa, if you get my meaning.”

  Mark thought his head might’ve twisted in a three-sixty spin as he roared across the office. He was seeing red and would’ve done a lot more than kick Marty’s trash can against the wall if he hadn’t seen that glimmer of triumph in his boss’s murky eyes. The son of a bitch was baiting him, hoping he’d do something to really get his balls raked over the coals. As it was, Mark needed that severance package.

  His head throbbed as he stared Marty down and wished he could flip the bastard’s desk over, put him in a headlock and pound the hell out of him.

  “Don’t you think you should clean up the mess you’ve made?” Marty asked, looking like a snake slithering from under a rock.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Mark sneered. “I don’t work here anymore, you dick. Clean it yourself.”

  ***

  Mark was shaking furiously as he burst through the doors to the parking lot holding a box of old stuff he found in his desk. Twelve packs of Big Red chewing gum—yes, twelve—an award for exemplary performance—so long to that!—pictures of his family, a couple books, two coffee mugs, a bowl and a fork, a cell phone charger, a Rubik’s Cube, and a bag of atomic fireball candies was all he had to show for seven years on the job. There was a tightness in his joints like he needed to run a couple sets of suicides before he’d be able to relax. With the mental freak out session clicking into place piece-by-piece, he didn’t remember the two photographers who were waiting at the lot entrance until he was halfway to his car.

  The first camera flash brought his head around. The ones following that had him stepping it out and hiding his face as much as he could as he dropped the box with a thump and dug through his pocket for his keys. More flashes and the sound of his name being called made him clumsy as he wrestled with the key fob and popped the back hatch of his Ford.

  That’s one thing Zane had failed to mention: that the sound of having his name called practically never failed to get him looking straight into the camera lens.

  “Mark! Have you spoken to Zane? How are you guys doing?” One of the picture snappers called out and he stayed stubbornly silent. The anger that sent him punching through the exit moments before was already downshifting into disbelief and no small amount of worry.

  “What’s the box for? Did you quit to be with Zane in England?”

  Dammit with these questions! Mark wanted to tell them to fuck off but it would only get him in the news faster. He turned his back to them and hefted the box into the car on top of his softball gear. Moving quickly, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, trying to look to all the world as though he had no concerns. No sir, I didn’t just cause a scene, or lose my fucking job.

  The photographers snapped pictures of him every step of the way, getting up close enough to touch the car as he slowed to exit the lot. He could hear them asking him to roll the window down for a couple of questions.

  Screw you, he thought as he tossed a half-hearted wave their way and pulled into traffic. He just needed a minute—one minute—to think.

  He was out of a job.

  Zero job.

  Unemployed.

  Mark drove with a lump the size of a Granny Smith apple in his throat and it was just as sour. He was sweating and his hands were making a squeaking noise on the steering wheel. Okay…so he hadn’t been that happy in the job anymore, but when he thought of making a change it was more like going after a promotion or transferring to a different department. Not starting a new career altogether. He cursed when the irritating reminder of his 401K begged for notice in his mental freak out queue. Like rolling that shit over should be at the top of his worry list?

  “Fucking-A!” he shouted at a red light, his whole body rigid.

  The Saturday evening traffic wasn’t doing him any favors and he was snugged up on some high school kid’s bumper, shoe polish decorating the windows, “Go Knights! Class of 2012!” Behind him a lady in an open Jeep was blasting—wait—was that Wilson Phillips? He paused to listen, cracking his window.

  “Can you release me?…Can you release me?”

  God.

  When the light changed and traffic started moving, he peeled away from the stream of cars and into a grocery store parking lot, his tires screeching as he pulled to a stop. He bent forward until his head was resting on his hands and he was gulping calming breaths. Only they didn’t calm him at all.

  Okay. So. It was simply another change to deal with. He had no choice but to go with it and stay calm. Right? Right. At least he wouldn’t have to see that bastard Marty again.

  He fought to laugh at this but no sound came out. Why was it so ha
rd for him to look on the bright side?

  Mark closed his eyes, trying to focus only on the sensation of breathing in and out and letting the clean air soothe his stampeding nerves. For some reason, scrunched up in the driver’s seat and practically hugging the steering wheel, he was reminded of the time he’d been driving Rafe over some unpaved mountain road to a secluded camping ground. They were getting jostled all around on the rough terrain and after hitting one really gnarly bump, Rafe clutched the handle above his door and threw out the other to latch on to Mark’s arm. “Damn!” Rafe had yelled. “Tell me we don’t have to drive this road twice!”

  Mark had laughed in response and kissed Rafe’s hand. “Maybe two or three more times…” he’d said.

  Mark blinked and practically hollered with irritation. Why would he remember that now? Why would he think of Rafe right now? Mark knew he wasn’t in love with him anymore, and sure he was equally aware that there was a part of his heart that was still recovering in the aftermath of their breakup, but come on! That man had filled him to the brim with doubts about himself and the type of partner he could be. Not on purpose, but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t matter that Rafe told him in the hospital that Mark deserved so much better—that they just weren’t right for one another. It was much harder to believe the positive stuff when someone nailed him with the negative. Mark’s focus always ended up on the ways he might have failed, or the ways he could’ve saved the relationship if he’d only tried.

  But he’d done everything in his power. He knew that. So why did those doubts about his own character still harass him? Not only where relationships were concerned, but in all avenues of his life. He could be a great boyfriend. He was great at his job. Mark knew this deep down, but knowing wasn’t always the same as believing.

  Mark had never been the type to immediately make good on a bad situation—to trust in his heart that all was going to work out for the best and greatest. He reluctantly agreed with his family that when push came to shove, he usually settled into a maudlin frame of mind before he worked his way around to attacking a problem and getting over himself. Embarrassing as it was to admit, he excelled at being the martyr. A perfect example was in the way he pursued Rafe like it was his job, delighting in the moments the man would look at him with that old light in his eyes—like when they first got together—and then sinking into the depths of despair when Rafe shucked him off again.

  Now Mark had a new example: Losing his job. At the root of these personal problems was this habit of his to steep himself in grief whenever it was called for. When he saw he was losing his ex, he let it take over his life until he was snarling at everyone and generally making himself a walking pissant. If he was serious about manning up, then this job thing was an opportunity to change his circumstances and keep himself from falling back on his usual response: poignant misery.

  He was so lame. Mark couldn’t just focus on what he had going for him. Oh no. He had to pull into a parking lot and make preparations for a breakdown.

  “You’re such a fag,” he said, glaring at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “If you want something different, go and get it. Don’t be such a pussy.”

  Mark gripped the gear shift and knocked his car into reverse. It took him ten minutes to get home where he cranked up his stereo system and let the pulsing bass drive out all the worry that was creeping around his doorstep. He wanted to call Zane but didn’t want to look like he was asking him to solve things. It would wait. He’d still be unemployed in the morning.

  He was sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling when his phone started grooving where it was resting on his stomach. Christian’s name lit up the screen. Mark hesitated for a second before he turned down the music and answered, voice steady and calm.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Two years together and in all that time, Christian never thought Kat would notice that folded bit of napkin in his wallet. Not once had it occurred to him when she’d grab some cash to pay for a pizza delivery, or when she’d be cleaning the dresser where he’d leave his wallet, that she’d see that paper peeking out and look at it. But Kat had known Kevin’s name almost since the beginning of their relationship. She’d memorized his number months ago. At first she’d thought it was a girl’s number that Christian accidentally forgot to hide, but it was a guy’s name and digits. And it never left that wallet, she said. Never.

  You really screwed the pooch this time, he told himself.

  Kat looked so haunted when she spilled that old truth out in front of him. She tried to reason through it as she sat across from him in that uncomfortable chair, her hands clenched around a couple wads of tissue. Why wouldn’t Christian just enter the number into his phone’s memory and be done with it? Or stick it in a desk drawer? Enter it into his email address book? He was chained to that thing anyway and was constantly adding contacts to it. All of the people he needed to stay in touch with were at his finger-tips in one way or another; his job sort of required it. But months passed and that bit of napkin was always there, looking more and more ragged like it was being taken out and unfolded and then put back again.

  Then she said she’d seen him one morning when he thought she was getting breakfast in the kitchen. Kat said she must have known the truth in her heart then. She watched Christian take the number out and stare at it with this expression on his face of such loss, slowly bringing the ragged paper to his lips.

  Hearing Kat confess her guilt over witnessing the private moment made Christian squirm in embarrassment. He didn’t want people seeing him vulnerable and needy. He never wanted Kat to know anything about that part of his life. Too late now.

  Much too late.

  It was his own fault for being unable to get rid of the number that was the only link he had to that night and that memory. His only link to really living.

  Christian pushed his head further into the pillow as the alarm clock ticked past one fifteen in the morning. Of course he was still awake, flopping around restlessly on a friend’s guest bed. After talking to Kat and watching with stunned humiliation as she poured out her knowledge of his secret, he took the rest of the day off and went with her back to the apartment to start packing his things. The place was hers long before he came around and most of what they had in terms of furniture they bought together, but he wanted Kat to keep all of it. She was the one who picked everything out and he was without a place to store it. He concentrated on stuffing the few bags he owned with clothing and filling a couple boxes with random books he’d collected over the years—heavy on the James Patterson and Dean Koontz.

  Kat was sweet but silent at the apartment, all the way to the bitter end, helping him gather his things and making room for him to drag the shit downstairs to his H2. It was the worst kind of rebuke because Kat wasn’t trying to rebuke him. She spoke only occasionally, keeping to neutral topics like, did he want some dishes for his next place, or what about the pictures they kept on the walls? He said yes to the dishes and no to the pictures. There were too many memories he wanted to leave behind.

  When he made the trek to the parking lot the final time, he slipped his key off his key ring and handed it to her. She waited stoically on the curb in front of the Hummer, a muted participant of the breakup.

  Christian approached Kat carefully, still waiting for the moment when she’d go wild on him. Slap him. Pummel him. Sob and cry. He should’ve realized by now that wasn’t her style.

  Slowly—apologetically even—he opened his arms and she shocked him again by moving into his embrace and holding him tightly. His admissions today hadn’t erased the love she felt for him, though it was greatly tempered by hurt now. Christian knew that the anger would rise up later. She was a kind soul who didn’t have a straight circuit to bitterness even though he always expected her to get mad first like the way his mom and sister did. Kat’s feelings had to travel over a lot of ground before they ever reached bitterness. It was one of those very rare characteristics he knew he didn’t deserve to benefit f
rom. When she shuddered against him, the guilt hit him center-chest, rocking him.

  “Don’t do this to another person, Christian. Don’t,” she pleaded.

  He didn’t know if he could make that promise, so after a weighted pause he made a noise that he hoped sounded like an affirmation.

  “I’m not kidding,” she said, pushing away to look up into his face. He was oddly struck by how much shorter than him she was. Mark would come up to his chin. Kevin could look him in the eye.

  Kat shook him, sensing his distraction. “Figure out what you need to do and do it. Don’t hurt other people with your complacency. It’s worse.”

  Christian felt a weird sensation building in his body; a flicker of emotion that made him want to escape. It was honest to admit that he’d never been in love with Kat, but he cared about her and didn’t like the fact that he was witnessing the aftermath of his choices in full swing. No matter that it wasn’t the case, he preferred thinking his actions happened inside a vacuum, harming no one but himself.

  “It’s not that I don’t care about you, Kat” he murmured, dropping his eyes.

  “And I fell in love with you a long time ago. So what? Does it matter for anything now? I’m not ready to be your pal, Christian. You have to wrap your mind around the way this kills me. I don’t want to spend my life with someone who likes my company but is forever wishing to be with someone else…someone you’ve actually met. What you’ve done—besides being totally unfair and dishonest—is heartbreaking.”

  Christian could only think to apologize again, so he did and Kat shook her head.

  “I know that. I know you’re sorry. I get it. But that doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make me feel better, like I can go back inside and be normal, or get the last two years of my life back. You still need to get your life together and I need… Well, what I need isn’t really any of your business anymore.”

  He wanted to argue with her; tell her what they had wasn’t a lie, but that was a knee-jerk reaction that he had to stop right away. Kat wasn’t dumb and she wouldn’t accept any excuses from him. She’d figured out about Kevin, hadn’t she? So why was he still trying to hide right there in front of her?