Freestyle Love

by Marcus Lopes

  Jeremy said, “We need to talk,” holding his gaze to the suitcase at the foot of the staircase.

  Cole shook his head. “Not now.” He picked up the suitcase and carried it out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind him. He jammed a shiny, square-headed key in the door and locked it. He made his way towards his silver Hyundai Sonata, opened the trunk, tossed in his suitcase and banged the trunk closed.

  As Cole went to open the driver’s side door, Jeremy grabbed him by the arm. “We need to talk about what happened.”

  “Nothing happened between us,” Cole said, exasperated and desperate to prove a point. “At least not like you think.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Jeremy, staring intently at Cole, tightened his grip on Cole’s arm. “I think that you’re afraid, afraid to admit that you still have feelings for me.”

  Cole twisted his arm out of Jeremy’s grasp. “You should go.” Cole opened the car door.

  “Did he leave? So what, you’re going to chase after him, beg him to come back to you?” Jeremy sucked his teeth. “Why do you want to be with someone who obviously doesn’t want to be with you?”

  Cole felt himself trembling. A sudden wave of anger swept over his body and before he realized it his fist had collided with Jeremy’s jaw. Cole’s hand throbbed with pain, and he looked ruefully at Jeremy, who was picking himself up off the driveway. Cole said, “I’m so sorry,” but didn’t sound remorseful.

  Jeremy touched his hand to his face. There was blood from where his teeth had pierced his lip, and his eyes were moist. “I deserved that.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Cole ran his hand through his hair, and was angry with himself for having lost control. Cole held his gaze to Jeremy, but continued in a dark, pointed tone, “But what happened between us was a mistake. I’ve searched and searched for someone who believes in dreams, who’s not afraid of challenging the world, someone who lives inside hope.”

  “I believe in dreams,” Jeremy said cautiously.

  Cole leaned into the car and inserted the key into the ignition. When he was upright again, he continued, “It’s always felt right with Malachi, in and out of the bedroom. He’s never cared about how much money I make, it’s never bothered him that I’m seven years older than him. All he’s ever cared about is that we’re both happy and doing the things we love. It’s never felt forced, like I’ve had to play a part.”

  “I don’t think you ever gave us a real chance at —”

  “Jeremy…” Cole shook his head. “Let it go.”

  “I can’t,” Jeremy said urgently. “I love you!”

  “I’m in love with Malachi,” Cole said thoughtfully. He went to get in the car, stopped, and turned to face Jeremy. “I don’t want to see you again, not like this.” He glanced away briefly. “Look, I’ve resigned. I promised Tom that I’d come in next week to brief the both of you on where we are on the projects I’ve been leading.” He drew in a deep breath. “But I need you out of my life. For good.”

  Jeremy tried to check his tears, blinking magnificently, and said, “But what will you do?”

  Cole shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it that much. I’m sure something will turn up.” Cole offered half a smile and said, “Goodbye, Jeremy,” and got into the car and closed the door. Jeremy stood there, staring at Cole, and after a few moments finally slinked away, defeated. Cole fastened his seatbelt and watched through the rear-view mirror as Jeremy climbed into his own vehicle parked at the curb, and let out a loud sigh of relief when Jeremy’s car disappeared out of sight a short time later.

  There was an odd tingling sensation sweeping through Cole’s body. He was thinking about that first night in Claredon when he had first laid eyes on Malachi from across the crowded dance floor. Cole was, on that night, mesmerized by Malachi’s beauty, and determined to get Malachi into bed. Cole could still remember, with great detail, how sex had never before felt so right. Perfect. It was the first time Cole had made love to someone with his eyes open. Cole could not help but laugh at his desperation when he said he wanted them to meet again. Malachi must have thought that I was desperate. And Cole, recalling Malachi’s sharp response of, “That’s just not possible,” shook his head. Arrogance, such bloody arrogance. And there I was begging like a dog for another crack at the bone.

  “I’m not going to lose him,” Cole said, looking at himself in the rear-view mirror. He flipped the engine and, with the sun in his eyes, sped towards the airport.

  ****

  While Cole Malcolm navigated the 427 towards Pearson International Airport, Shane Martin was in his classroom, seated at his desk, at Claredon College shoving papers into his brown leather briefcase when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Shane…”

  “Malachi!” A smile spread across Shane’s face. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m better, thanks.” Malachi spoke softly, taking care to pronounce each syllable, stress each word. “Thanks for your messages. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Shane hesitated. “Cole told me —”

  “I needed some time to figure things out,” Malachi said, with emphasis.

  “Where are you?”

  “Halifax.”

  “Oh,” Shane said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  Malachi said, “Yes. I’m going to head back to Toronto in a few days.”

  Shane stood, grabbed his briefcase and walked towards his classroom door. He leaned against the wall. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. I need to sort this out for myself.”

  “Look, Malachi, you’re my best friend, and of course I want you to be happy.”

  “I know.”

  Shane could feel his stomach convulsing. “I love you.”

  Malachi laughed. “I know, but please don’t get sentimental on me now.”

  Shane closed his eyes and said, “I mean, you can talk to me any time. That’s what big brothers are for.”

  They laughed.

  “All right,” Malachi said after a short pause, “I’ll call you when I’m back.”

  “Great,” Shane said, and then, urgently, “Malachi, he loves you.”

  Malachi said, “I’ll be in touch soon,” and hung up.

  Shane, still leaning against the wall, smiled and felt relief. Malachi had, in fact, come to Shane precisely at the moment when Shane thought it mattered most. And wasn’t that proof that they were connected, fully integrated into each other’s lives? Some of Shane’s other friends were contingent, but his friendship with Malachi was necessary, essential. Malachi was Shane’s anchor, and, yes, Shane loved Malachi like a brother, or was it something more than that? Shane wasn’t sure. He was just so relieved to have heard from his best friend and to know that Malachi was all right. Shane shoved his cell phone into briefcase and made for home.

  Fifteen

  It was morning. Malachi sat at the dining room table nursing a cup of coffee as he read the newspaper. He wasn’t really reading the articles as much as he was staring abstractly at the headlines. His sleep had been restless, continuously interrupted by the slightest noise — the creaks of the old house, the early morning rain pelting against the window, the howling of the wind. And when he climbed into bed, he lay in the darkness thinking about his conversation with Sarah. They had stayed up late, sharing a bottle of wine and talking like they had never done before, like friends. There was a new easiness between them, an easiness that neither of them was sure would last or if they’d be able to nurture it. Something had changed between them, or was it that the alcohol had worked to break down barriers, open them up to a new way of being with each other? Whatever it was that was happening between them, Malachi had been moved, as if he and Sarah had finally come to some understanding about their past and present. He felt he could confide in her, and he wanted to tell Sarah about Chad, about that incongruence in his life, b
ut talk about their childhood and parents dominated.

  Sarah was smiling. “Mama was furious when you came back from that party smelling of alcohol and barely able to walk in a straight line. You were fourteen I think.”

  “She never would’ve known I was drunk if I hadn’t tripped over your shoes that you left in the middle of the hall,” Malachi said, somewhat curt.

  “And then the next day we both got one of her famous lessons that always ended with ‘Train up a child in the way he should go’.”

  Malachi nodded his agreement. “ ‘And when he is old, he shall not depart from it.’ It’s like the one verse of scripture that I haven’t been able to let go of.”

  “She worried constantly about you,” Sarah said, trying to sound convincing. “She didn’t want you to become another statistic, running the streets with some gang and ending up in jail.”

  “Instead I ended up gay and unholy,” Malachi said pointedly. “I think she would have preferred me in a gang.”

  Sarah cut her eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

  There was a silence.

  “And what about you?” Malachi went on the offence. “I’m sure Mama feared you’d end up a teenage mother on welfare.”

  “I didn’t end up on welfare.” Sarah’s voice was throaty with frustration. “And he made an honest woman out of me.”

  Malachi shrugged. “What does all that mean now?”

  “It doesn’t mean a thing.” Sarah sounded relieved. “Joshua’s a fine young man, and I’m proud of him. Mind you, he’s stubborn like his stepfather.” She looked at Malachi, and in a hushed voice, said, “I think he might be gay, too.”

  Malachi choked on his mouthful of wine. “What?”

  “He’s twenty-one and hasn’t brought a girl home yet, or even mentioned —”

  “Doesn’t mean anything,” Malachi said, irritated. “Maybe he’s a late bloomer, or maybe he’s too busy with school.”

  “Maybe you could talk to him.”

  “Sarah, really.”

  “I don’t care if he’s gay. But if he is, I want him to know that he can be open about it with me.”

  “Then talk to him,” Malachi said, somewhat flippant as he contemplated Sarah, who immediately glanced away. All of a sudden, she was unrecognizable to him, as if the possibility of having a gay son had made this normally self-confident, determined woman weak, unsure of her own moral core. “I won’t promise anything. If there’s an opportunity before I leave —”

  “You’re leaving?” Sarah’s eyes opened wide. “When?”

  “Monday or Tuesday.”

  It was almost two o’clock in the morning when Malachi had gone to bed, and as he lay awake, there was a different sort of heaviness in his heart. During the five hours that Malachi and Sarah had sat out on the back veranda talking, he had not once mentioned Cole. It was Chad who invaded Malachi’s thoughts, who was gaining power over him. Was that a sign that Cole no longer mattered to Malachi, not like Cole used to? Had everything between them unravelled to the point where they were completely unsalvageable? It seemed unimaginable to Malachi to believe that he and Cole — and the life they had built together — were a dream, fictitious, make-believe. Was it really just a dream? If it were just a dream, wouldn’t that somehow make Malachi unreal? But Malachi was real, more real than the staid notion of home that tried to claim him.

  Sarah felt a new closeness to her brother, that they were perhaps now more than friends — that they were, finally, brother and sister. There were times, when Malachi looked intently at her, that she thought he was on the verge of tears. There was such sadness in his dark brown eyes, such hopelessness. Despite the hours they had spent talking, she still did not feel like she knew him. There was understanding in the absence of truth, constricted by a hesitation, unwillingness even, to ask difficult questions, delve into each other’s worlds in a way that brothers and sisters should. She knew something had happened, something that destabilized her brother, set him off kilter. “Doesn’t he know he can talk to me?” she wondered, and hoped that Malachi might reveal more about what had brought him home. And despite her own curiosity, she decided not to press him.

  “I suppose you’ve been up since the crack of dawn,” Sarah said as she came into the dining room.

  “Roughly,” Malachi said abruptly.

  “It’s Saturday,” Sarah said from the kitchen. “Don’t you ever take a break?” She came back into the dining room and sat down at the table. “You don’t have to go. You can stay as —”

  “I have to go.” Malachi lifted his gaze and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “I have to deal with this straight on otherwise —”

  “Otherwise?”

  Malachi ran his index finger around the edge of the mug. “Otherwise, I’d be running away.” He chuckled. “I wanted to be one of those people who lived the fairytale life. I wanted to believe that it wasn’t pure fiction to be deliriously happy, to have a great career, good friends, to fall in love. I, um…” He cleared his throat. “I caught Cole with someone else.”

  “Oh!” Sarah sat back in her chair, her lips pursed. “Are you thinking about leaving him?”

  Malachi drummed his fingers into the table. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about forgiveness.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. What could she say? Her two marriages fell apart not because of infidelity, but because she wanted a career while her husbands wanted her at home with a plethora of children. She felt sorry for Malachi, sorry for the decision he was stuck making.

  Malachi trained his eyes on Sarah. “And I made things worse.”

  “How so?” The doorbell sounded. “Those damn Jehovah Witnesses again.” Sarah winced as she pushed herself back from the table. “I swear they don’t ever give up.”

  Malachi chuckled. As Sarah made her way towards the front door, Malachi went into the kitchen to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee. From the kitchen, he could hear voices — Sarah’s of course and the indiscernible yet somewhat familiar voice of a man — but he could not make out what they were saying. He came back into the dining room and set his coffee mug on the table. Malachi was about to sit down when Sarah reappeared, Cole in tow. Malachi froze, and he and Cole looked intently at each other. Sarah, taking in her brother’s harsh, wild look of distrust, picked up her half-full cup of coffee and left the room.

  Cole took a step towards Malachi, who took a matching step backwards, bumping into the corner of the dining room table, which he hit with enough force to send his coffee spilling over the edges of the mug.

  “Shit!” Malachi ran into the kitchen and grabbed the tea towel off the oven door to soak up the coffee from the table. He wiped the outside of the mug dry with the tea towel and then returned it to the kitchen, placing it on the counter next to the sink. Malachi came back into the dining room and studied Cole, who stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, rocking gently back and forth.

  Cole kept his eyes on Malachi. “This has gone on long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Malachi dropped his gaze and made his way around to the other side of the table. Malachi was not yet prepared to deal with Cole face-to-face. Malachi had not worked out in his mind what he wanted to say, or what he wanted. Cole, appearing on the scene unexpectedly, had somehow trumped Malachi, and now Malachi was forced to play his hand.

  Malachi looked at Cole. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great,” Cole said. How do I tell him I’m sorry, and make him believe me? Cole could see that his being there had set Malachi on edge, but he wanted Malachi home, with him, where Malachi belonged. “Thanks,” Cole said as Malachi handed him the cup of black coffee.

  Malachi sat down and gestured Cole to do the same. Malachi focused his gaze on the caramel liquid in his mug. Cole stared at Malachi. The silence between them was occasionally interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, and the thunder of Sarah’s high heel shoes colliding with the hardwood floors
at the other end of the house.

  Cole was the first to break the silence. “I’d like you to come home.”

  “Home,” Malachi drawled without looking at Cole, and then, cheekily said, “Where exactly is that?”

  “It’s with me,” Cole said confidently and smiled, a rueful smile in search of forgiveness. And then, hesitantly he said, “Let me explain about Jeremy.”

  “That seems pretty self-explanatory,” Malachi said sharply.

  “Malachi, please.”

  “This isn’t about you and Jeremy, Cole. We both know that. This is about us. It’s about whether or not we’re going to stop playing games and finally be honest with ourselves and each other.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Malachi looked at Cole. “It’s like playing connect the dots. Christ!” He sipped his coffee. “Are you happy, really happy?”

  “I love you,” Cole said, matter-of-fact.

  Malachi sucked his teeth. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re playing games and not answering the question.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Cole was almost yelling.

  “I want you to be honest with me. I want you to tell me if you’re happy.”

  Cole said, in a painful tone, “No, I’m not happy because I never meant to hurt you. I love you so much Malachi but…” Tears filled his eyes. “You walked out on me without saying a word.”

  “I didn’t know what to say to you that night,” Malachi said, gritting his teeth. “I was too angry, too afraid of saying something that —”

  “It would’ve been better than leaving that God forsaken note.” Cole leaned forward, resting his head in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry.”