As I Am

by A. M. Arthur

  The place didn’t serve alcohol, though, and wine was supposed to be perfect with pasta, so Taz needed to procure wine. The hacienda on the corner of the block usually had wine and beer for sale, at pretty cheap prices. Taz wasn’t much of a wine snob, but he knew from college experience which were the cheapest.

  He’d walked there on his own before, but only with extreme effort and a lot of episodes. He could do it again. Last night, he’d hung around with half a dozen strangers, and today he’d allowed another stranger into his home. No one had said anything nasty about his face. And the hacienda owner knew him. He was always polite, courteous. Never did or said anything to make Taz feel like a freak.

  Huh.

  “Time to go get some wine,” he told his computer monitor.

  He still wore his ball cap but held his head high on his walk to the store. Midday on a Sunday, so the sidewalks were full of people going various places. Churches, restaurants, family dinners, shopping—all things normal people did every single day. Well, maybe not church every day. Regardless of destination, no one paid Taz much mind.

  The hacienda on this block appealed to him, not only for its proximity to his building, but because it was small, had a discreet sign advertising what it was, and it wasn’t easy to spot from the street. Very much a locals-only kind of place, it was an odd combination of licensed liquor store and mini market. Besides the beer and wine in abundance, it also had sodas and racks of snack food and chips. Sometimes fresh fruit. And the place always smelled like tobacco and old leather.

  A bell chimed as he opened the door. The owner glanced over from behind the counter, his familiar, age-lined face showing no actual expression. Mild interest, maybe. He probably didn’t get a lot of pale, freckled gingers in the store.

  “Hola, señor,” Taz said.

  “Hola. Como estas?”

  Taz’s very limited Spanish, left over from barely passing grades his freshman year of college, failed on a good response, so he said, “It’s a good day, sir.”

  The owner nodded, then returned to whatever he was doing behind the counter. A young Hispanic couple was in the store, browsing the cold cases. Taz slipped to the rear where the racks of wine bottles were housed. The cheapest brands were at eye level—sugary four-bucks-a-bottle labels that guaranteed a hangover the next day. Nope, not for this date.

  On a bottom shelf, he spotted some red wines that were a bit pricier, from Pennsylvania wineries. Localish had to be better than imported from California, right? He picked a bottle of merlot from Chaddsford Winery, mostly because he liked the label. Hopefully it tasted good with pasta.

  He kind of wished the place sold fresh flowers, too. Flowers were always a good, romantic gesture.

  The owner glanced at the wine as he rang it up. “You are trying to impress someone, yes?”

  Taz chuckled. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Boys your age don’t spend so much on wine, except for good reason.” He told Taz the total, and Taz handed over some cash. “You are a soldier?”

  He startled and nearly dropped his change on the counter. “Um, no. Why?”

  The man waved a hand at Taz’s face. “Your scars. My brother was in Vietnam. He returned with phosphorus burns on his face and chest. They look very similar, so I ask.”

  His gentle, conversational tone kept Taz’s rising panic from completely overtaking him. The man wasn’t being nosy or mean. He was simply curious, asking out of a kind of solidarity that compelled Taz to be more truthful than he normally would. “I’ve never been to war, sir. Someone threw acid on me.”

  The owner did a lousy job of hiding his horror and outrage. “You seem like a good boy. Who would do that?”

  Thrust into the unusual position of having a stranger immediately taking his side—being angry on his behalf—Taz wasn’t sure how much to reveal. This man was still an unknown, but he seemed like an ally. “I was a wrestler in college. Near the end of my senior year, I came out, and one of my teammates took exception to my being bisexual. He flipped out, threw acid on me and my boyfriend at the time.”

  Taz braced himself, having just said way more out loud than he’d intended, to someone who could very easily scream “fag” at him and demand he leave his store immediately. Instead, the owner shook his head, still frowning, and asked, “This boy, they prosecuted him, yes?”

  “Yes, sir. He served time, and he’s on probation in another state.”

  “Good. Some men are monsters. My oldest daughter tells me she is a lesbian. I don’t understand it, but she is happy, so I am happy. Someone does this to her, I shoot him in the face.”

  Taz found himself smiling, despite the death threat the man had just issued at any future violence against his daughter. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “Your parents? They are good to you?”

  “My dad has been amazing during this whole thing. Thank you for asking.”

  “Good, good. Rueben Costas.”

  It took him a second to realize he’d just been given the man’s name. “Thomas Zachary.”

  “Anyone around here is giving you any shit, Thomas, you tell me.”

  Taz nodded. “Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”

  He left the store with a boost of confidence, head high, wine tucked into his left arm. Instead of judging him or being cruel, a stranger had sought common ground and, in the end, become a supporter. A small thing to some people, but not to Taz. This was huge. And it was all because of Will.

  Instead of hiding away at home, dependent on his father for everything, Taz was outside in the fresh—if hot, somewhat smelly—air, preparing for a date with his boyfriend. As he walked home, he clung to the joy of his life in that moment, all too aware of how incredibly fragile it all was.

  Chapter Eleven

  Will was going out of his mind.

  No matter how many times he’d left the house to go to the Stanley Center, no matter the handful of times he’d left to walk to Taz’s apartment, he’d never experienced such a full-blown need to double over and let himself freak the fuck out. And over something as stupid as a dinner invitation.

  Not that the invitation itself was stupid. He was excited to spend time with Taz. That wasn’t the problem.

  The problem was the seduction Taz had promised him. The romance. Will didn’t know how to do any of that. Sure, he’d seen his share of romantic movies, so he got the basics, but he didn’t understand it. He understood sex—and that was part of the problem, and the reason Taz insisted on going about this the ooey-gooey way.

  Ooey-gooey wasn’t so bad, though. Will wanted a relationship with Taz based on more than just sex, so he had to trust Taz to get them there.

  He didn’t have to leave until around four thirty to arrive at Taz’s apartment on time, which meant waiting. Pacing. Worrying. He’d already changed into his nicest khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt. Sandals on and ready to go.

  Exhausted of his room, Will shut the door and went down to the living room to see if anything interesting was on TV. Donata was on the couch, in control of the remote. Other voices came out of the kitchen, probably Gloria and Natasha on dinner duty. Will had traded his night to help cook with Natasha so he could make this date.

  “Hey, butt boy,” Donata said, soft enough that the comment wouldn’t carry to the kitchen. She never called him that when the social workers could hear her.

  “Fuck off,” Will replied, just as quietly.

  “That was rude.”

  “Then stop calling me butt boy.” He hated it. All the name did was remind him of what little value he’d had to anyone until recently, and he hated her for using it. Some of that hate bubbled right out of his mouth. “Unless you want me to start calling you cutter arms.”

  She glared, then concentrated on the TV, ignoring him again.

  Good. Great.
>
  Except he’d stooped to her level in order to stand up for himself. He left the house, needing to get away from her and the entire exchange. He’d just walk slowly, maybe take a longer route so he didn’t show up to Taz’s too early. Didn’t want to ruin any surprises Taz might have planned.

  He slunk down the driveway to the sidewalk, aware of the light traffic flow in the road. The hot, humid air made his shirt adhere to his back. A few steps north, red flashed in the corner of his eye. A red sedan pulled up to the curb nearby, the window rolling down. Will looked over, his heart already beating faster, ready to assess the driver as a threat or not. For all he knew, Christopher no-last-name had tracked him down and wanted to shut him up.

  A girl maybe a few years older than him stuck her head out of the open window. “Hey, are you Will Madden?”

  Will froze in place, his gut souring. Random strangers in cars didn’t recognize him, and he for sure didn’t know her from the Stanley Center. “Who wants to know?” he asked, unable to keep a small tremor out of his voice.

  “My name is Sophie Horowitz.” She cut off the engine, officially not going away. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  “What for? How do you know who I am?” He stepped away as she got out of the car, working hard to keep his anxiety off his face.

  “I’m a grad student at the University of Delaware, and I’m using your criminal case as part of a thesis paper I’m writing for my graduate degree in psychology.”

  Your criminal case.

  “I don’t have anything to say about anything to you,” Will said, a bit of anger overtaking his fear. “Not about that, or anything else.”

  “I’m not trying to be invasive, I promise.” Sophie smiled, probably trying to reassure him. She was pretty, well dressed in a linen skirt and matching jacket, all professional and shit. But none of that helped put him at ease. “My goal is to work with abuse survivors and trauma victims. I’m not a gawker or a rubbernecker, I promise.”

  “Rubbernecker?”

  “I’m not here to get a quick look at the accident and then speed away to tell my friends about it.”

  “Good, because I don’t want to talk about it.” Will didn’t like to talk to his actual shrink about any of that, much less a total stranger. It had taken Dr. Taggert months of chipping away at Will’s armor before he got the smallest peeks into Will’s life.

  “I heard another suspect was identified.”

  “What?” Will tucked his trembling hands beneath his armpits, chilled and too hot all at once. “How?”

  “My brother is a police officer. He’s familiar with your case.”

  “Shit.”

  Sophie pulled a business card out of her jacket pocket and held it out. “Listen, I know this is an uncomfortable topic—”

  “Uncomfortable?” Will laughed. “Sitting on a rock is uncomfortable, lady. What happened to me? You couldn’t begin to fucking understand.”

  Her pleasant smile dimmed. “I might surprise you.” When he didn’t take the card, she gently tucked it between his arm and chest. “Call me, or email me. Please. What you have to say could one day help us help others. Thank you for listening.”

  He didn’t say anything while she got back into her car and drove away. He didn’t even unfold his arms or reach for the card until the red sedan was out of sight.

  “I might surprise you.”

  Curiosity leached in alongside his anger at her approaching him in the first place. He hated knowing anyone besides the police was paying attention to his past, and even more that she knew about Christopher. It scared him that he wasn’t as anonymous as he’d hoped. He needed to stay anonymous, damn it.

  “Fuck it,” he said to the sidewalk. He wasn’t going to let one exchange ruin his day or his future date.

  It took almost the entire seven-block walk for his hands to stop shaking. By the time he knocked on Taz’s door ten minutes early, his stomach was a squirrelly mess—a mix of Sophie’s words and his anticipation of the date.

  Taz opened the door on a waft of tomato-and spice-scented air. He grinned, dressed up in slacks and a white button-down shirt that brightened his eyes and made his hair seem even redder. “Hey, you,” he said with a wide grin.

  “Hey.” Will rose onto his toes to kiss Taz’s right cheek. “You look amazing.”

  “So do you. Come in, please.”

  Will did, noting that Taz had accepted his compliment without comment or a change in facial expression. Definitely progress with the whole self-image thing. Unless he didn’t count compliments from Will as real compliments, not like a stranger might give him.

  Stop doubting yourself. Enjoy being here.

  Taz stepped around him to shut and lock the door, and Will froze in place. The empty space between the entry and the couch was now filled with a round table and two chairs. A red tablecloth and white place mats, silverware, wineglasses and an open bottle of wine decorated the table. Soft music was playing somewhere, probably from Taz’s computer.

  “Is this your place?” Will said. “Or did we just transport to a nice restaurant?”

  He laughed. “I may have gone a little overboard planning this. I didn’t want us to eat on the floor like we do with sandwiches and stuff. I wanted this to be special.”

  The magnitude of how far Taz had gone for him—for broken, used-up little Will Madden—punched him right in the heart. If he hadn’t already been falling for Taz, he was a goner now. “I can’t believe you bought a table and chairs for me.”

  “Believe it. I got a really good deal, too. And home delivery.”

  “In one day?”

  Taz shrugged. “Somehow it all worked out. Don’t jinx the good luck, okay?”

  Will mimed locking his lips with a key, then gave him a thumbs-up. “What’s for dinner? Something smells amazing.”

  “Before you ask, no, I didn’t cook, I got delivery. And it isn’t gourmet, but it’s better than pizza. You like pasta, right?”

  “Sure, I guess. It’s the only thing Cherie really knows how to cook, so when it’s her turn we almost always have spaghetti.” Cheap spaghetti with canned sauce. Sometimes frozen meatballs, if the budget allowed for the extras.

  “I bet this’ll taste better than Cherie’s spaghetti,” Taz said. He stepped to one of the chairs and pulled it out. “Have a seat. I’ll get our food.”

  Will sank into the wooden chair, enamored of the gesture, even in the solitude of the apartment. It was so...gentlemanly. Taz disappeared into the kitchen, only to emerge a moment later with two plates of food. He put one in front of Will first.

  The faint aromas of tomato sauce and oregano and garlic made Will’s head spin for a moment, unused to such pungent food. Layers of pasta, sauce, and cheese, topped with more cheese. Two pieces of crispy garlic bread.

  “Wow,” Will said.

  Taz chuckled. “Smells great, doesn’t it? I’ve stopped myself from eating it way too many times since it got here.” He earned even more gentleman points by filling Will’s wineglass halfway with something ruby red. “I’ve got water and soda, too, if you don’t like this. I read online that you have to let reds breathe, so I opened it about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Will took the glass from Taz and gently swirled the liquid, mesmerized by the color. “I’ve never had wine before.” He sniffed it, half expecting it to smell like grape juice. Instead, he got a whiff of something much earthier, almost bitter.

  “I never drank the nicer stuff,” Taz said. “Only the cheap stuff that college students can afford. I kind of had to guess on what to buy based on what the store had.”

  The enormity of the things Taz had done today, for one date with Will, was almost too much. Will’s throat closed up. Taz had bought furniture, and inevitably had allowed a stranger to bring it into his safe place. He’d gone out of the apartment
in search of wine. He’d had food delivered and taken care to plate it so nicely.

  “I don’t deserve all this,” Will said.

  “Yeah, you do.” Taz sat after pouring his own wine, then held his glass out. “You deserve this and more, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

  Or until you get sick of saying it all the time and just dump my stupid ass.

  Will held his glass up, too. “To very, very patient and wonderful boyfriends.”

  Taz tapped his rim against Will’s. “To fellow basket cases who get each other, and who want to help each other live again.”

  “To us.”

  Will took a chance and sipped the wine. The intense flavor startled him. Much like its scent, with no real sweetness. “That’s...interesting.” Another sip, much like the first. Not his favorite thing in the world, but he didn’t hate it.

  Taz, on the other hand, pulled an epic face after tasting his. “Wow, that’s...wow.”

  “Not a fan?”

  “Are you?”

  “It’s okay. Maybe it’ll grow on me.” Will put the glass down, keen on figuring out if dinner tasted as amazing as it smelled. He used his fork and knife to cut a corner of the lasagna. The mozzarella pulled into a long string that finally dropped off, so he curled it around the bite with the knife.

  For the vast majority of his life, food had been about survival. Finding enough to live off, be it from stealing or from raiding restaurant trash cans. In foster care, it was learning to deal with food instead of fearing it. At the halfway house, he experienced more variety, thanks to his housemates.

  But food had never tasted like this. So many different things assaulted his taste buds at the same time. The tang of the tomato sauce. The different spices. The sweetness of the cheese. Pasta with just enough bite. Hints of garlic and other things. He chewed as slowly as possible, savoring every nuance of that lasagna until he had to swallow.

  “Holy shit, that’s good.” Will looked up, expecting to see Taz eating. Instead Taz was staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “What?”