by Andrew Grey
Brent patted Dean on the shoulder. “Unlike the literary one, Peter Pan just grew up, and it’s okay. You were happy for a while with Dumbfuck, and you’ll be happy again. Only this time you’ll be more careful about who you let into your heart.”
“But what am I going to do with all this free time?” Dean asked with a wry grin.
“I don’t know. You could take up knitting and make me some socks if you like. Or God forbid you could read and try to improve that useless thing two feet above your ass.” Brent bumped Dean’s shoulder.
“Actually, I thought I’d maybe try writing something. I was good at that sort of thing in college, and I spend my days writing code that’s logical and all that. So I want to do something else.”
“I know you can do whatever you want. What sort of things do you want to write?” Brent asked, curious.
Dean shrugged. “What I know best. What else? Stories about guys trying to find other guys.” He smiled. “I saw some books at Outwords Books, and I think I’m going to try to write one of those. It probably won’t be any good, but I think it will be fun.” He beamed, and damn it all, it was the first time in a while that Brent had seen Dean truly excited over something.
“Hey, you have a great imagination, so do it and see what happens.” Brent realized he’d been giving that advice to a lot of people lately.
“I know that.” Dean grinned. “Speaking of putting your mind to something. What about your friend from work?”
Brent sighed softly. “I told him that I cared for him and that I was a fool to have waited. And I think we’ve decided to be friends.”
“But that isn’t what you want.”
Brent nodded. “It doesn’t matter what I want. His life is in complete upheaval at the moment. He’s just found out that he can no longer hear. They keep hoping the condition will reverse, but I think he’s giving up. Pressuring him into any kind of relationship isn’t a good idea, so I’ll be his friend and try to be there for him.” Brent reached for a tissue and blew his nose, hoping to cover the well of emotion that rose inside him.
“You were always a good friend.” Dean finished his soda, and Brent got up to get the ice cream. “Is this kid really worth all this angst and drama?” Dean called from the living room.
“Was Dumbfuck worth two years of slutdom?” Brent just had to ask.
Dean chuckled. “I get your point.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants, and Scott is an amazing man who’s going through hell at the moment. Would a real friend turn their back on him?” Brent got out two bowls and scooped ice cream for both of them. His phone beeped as he carried the bowls in, and Brent handed Dean his before peeking at the message.
“Your mom?” Dean asked.
“How did you know?”
“You have that freshly scolded look.” He grinned, and Brent rolled his eyes dramatically. He had gotten his mother a new phone a year ago, and she liked to send text messages. Apparently it was now all the rage with her friends.
“She made a pie for Scott and says she wants me to take it over to him tomorrow.” Brent sent his reply, promising he’d do that just after work, and she messaged back that she’d have it ready for him.
“Why does she have this pie thing?” Dean asked between bites of rocky road.
“You’re complaining?” Brent teased, patting Dean’s belly. “Let’s find something to watch.”
THE FOLLOWING afternoon Brent left the garage, having arranged for Darryl to close up, and headed to his mother’s. If anyone had asked and demanded a truthful answer, he’d say he was nervous. When he arrived and went inside, she called out from her room and joined him in the kitchen in what looked like another new summer dress. Apparently, she was going all out for her new look.
“Mom, you look beautiful.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. He liked the way his mother looked and that she seemed happy.
“I bought a few others as well.” She turned slightly, gliding as she moved. “Do you need something to eat?”
“No, Mom, I’m fine.” He watched her closely. “Besides, you look like you’re getting ready to go out.” He wasn’t going to cramp his mother’s style, as it were.
“Just meeting some friends for dinner.” She had that glint in her eye, and Brent crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay. Mike invited me to a retirement dinner for one of the men who works for him. But I can stay here with you.”
“Nope. It would be a shame to waste that dress and your newfound hotness on just me.”
His mother blushed and it was adorable. “Go on and take the pie, then. I put it in a box, but be careful.” She pointed to where she’d put it on the counter, and Brent lifted it before getting ready to leave.
“And I want a full report.” He tried to scowl and failed.
His mother, however, succeeded. “I will do no such thing. Now go. After the hospital, he’s going to want some real food, and the entire family will need to know they have friends who can help.”
“His mother is cooking for him.”
“Yes, and she’s probably worrying herself sick. I know I would be.” She patted his arm and paused, capturing his full attention. “Strength runs in our family. Your father had it, and this is testing yours.” She released his arm and patted his cheek. “I know you’ll make me proud.” She picked up her purse and left with Brent, backing out of the drive right after he did.
Brent had looked up Scott’s address and had already programmed it into his portable GPS. It didn’t take long before he pulled up in front of a small ranch house in a beautifully landscaped lot in Glendale. He parked and got out. Brent had messaged Scott that he was coming, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t expected. Hell, Brent felt like a seventeen-year-old on prom night approaching the front door of his date’s house. All that was missing was the tuxedo shirt digging into his neck and the shoes pinching his feet.
The door opened as he approached, and Carolyn held open the door. “He’s been talking about this pie since you messaged him.”
“It’s his favorite, as far as I know.” He stepped inside and handed her the box.
She took the pie out and inhaled as if it were a bouquet. She sighed. “That’s wonderful.”
“My uncle lives in Alabama and he has pecan trees. He picks the nuts, shells them, and sends them to my mother. So what she gets are extra fresh and better than anything from the stores.” Brent looked around, wondering where Scott was.
Carolyn set the pie on the table and got out plates and glasses. “Please stay with us. Scott was tired and went to lie down. I need to wake him up.” She shook her head. “I never realized just how many audible cues we have in our lives until I tried to put myself in Scott’s shoes. He can’t hear alarms. I ordered one that flashes, but he sleeps through the worst thunderstorms with all the lightning, so I don’t know if that’s going to do any good.” She fussed but seemed more together than she had in the hospital.
“Is he doing well otherwise?”
“Healingwise, he’s doing great. But I’m worried. He’s already talking about sign language classes and looking into tools for the deaf. It’s like he’s given up hearing again, and I can’t bear that. I want him to fight.” She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and collapsed into it.
Brent sat down as well and kept his voice light and soothing. “Fight against what? It isn’t like he has an opponent or a bad guy. He can’t will his hearing to come back or his nerves to heal. All he can do is deal with it.”
“I share your concern, I really do,” Reggie, Scott’s dad, said as he came in, gently putting his hands on her shoulders. “But he wants to try to move on. I think that shows real maturity.”
Brent directed his advice to Carolyn. “I think perhaps it isn’t an ‘or,’ but maybe him doing both.” She was an amazing person with so much strength and guts.
She didn’t seem so convinced, and it wasn’t Brent’s place, as a guest in her home, to argue with her. “I’m just scared and I wish this had never happened.
Excuse me,” she said quietly and left the room.
“She’s having a hard time with this. In some ways it’s more difficult for her than Scott. He’s her only child, and it hurts her to see him struggling and in pain. If it were something she could do anything about, she’d be fighting by his side like a tiger. But this….” Reggie pulled out the chair at the end of the table. “I know there’s nothing else to do but move forward, but it’s hard not to look back and wish things were different.”
Brent kept quiet. If they needed to talk to someone, a near stranger, about what they were going through, that was fine with him. Brent would listen, but he was running out of advice that didn’t sound like some worn-out cliché. Scott’s parents needed to come to grips with what had happened as much as Scott did.
Brent was starting to think that maybe he should have become a therapist.
After taking the job with Trevor, Brent had learned that running a business was part manager and part therapist. His employees had problems that sometimes made it into work. He listened and gave them an outlet in the hope that whatever those problems were, they wouldn’t interfere with their work. And it wasn’t like he could turn off those skills. They had come as a surprise to him. Brent hadn’t thought that was something he’d be good at, but he seemed to be, if the overall harmony in the garage was a judge.
“I wish there were magic words that would make things better.”
“Me too.” Reggie nodded, picking up a fork and nervously twirling it with his fingers.
Scott came in, moving slowly, followed by Carolyn, and Brent stood. Scott looked from his mom and dad to Brent. He seemed tentative and a little confused. Brent stepped forward, and Scott did the same, so Brent hugged him gently. Scott shook in his arms, but Brent didn’t release him, letting Scott have some of his strength if that was what he needed. Neither said anything until Scott stepped away.
“Thank you for bringing the pie.” He spoke more loudly than was necessary, but Brent ignored it. Carolyn made a lowering motion with her hand and moved toward the table. “Please tell your mom that I really appreciate it,” he said more softly, almost too softly. Brent hoped Carolyn didn’t motion again. He didn’t care if Scott spoke a little loudly. He didn’t want him to be self-conscious every time he said something.
Brent pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and wrote. My mom told me to tell you that she has more pecans and can make you as many pies as you want. She loves baking and adores people who appreciate what she makes. When Scott sat next to him, Brent slid the pad closer.
Carolyn cut the pie and served it with ice cream. Scott ate silently, with a smile on his face that said more than words could express.
“This is really wonderful,” Carolyn said after taking a bite.
“I’ll be sure to tell my mom.” Brent smiled, a little uncomfortable under Reggie’s and Carolyn’s gazes. They seemed to want something, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Instead, he wrote to Scott. How’s the healing going?
Scott nodded. “I need to rest and let my ribs heal. I have an appointment in a few weeks with Grant at the School for the Deaf, and we’re going to go over some possibilities. I think Mom and Dad are going to take sign language classes with me.”
I am too. I called them as well, he wrote and turned to Scott so he could see his smile. I know it will take time, but I want to be able to talk to you directly.
Scott set down his fork with a loud clang on the plate. “You’re going to go through all that for me?”
Brent barely heard him, and he wondered if Scott meant to voice the thought out loud. “Of course,” he mouthed slowly, then smiled and shrugged.
Scott turned his attention back to his plate and picked up the fork. He finished off his pie and ice cream in silence while Scott’s parents talked quietly between them about normal things. Once he had finished, Scott stood slowly and motioned for Brent to come with him. Brent excused himself and followed Scott into the neutrally decorated living room. He had to think of the last time he’d seen so many shades of beige in one room. Scott motioned to the sofa, and they sat down.
“You’re really going to take those classes with me?” he asked quietly.
Brent nodded, taking one of Scott’s hands and squeezing it to show him he was truly serious. He didn’t want to write notes but rather wanted a connection with Scott. He needed him to understand he was serious. He’d do what was necessary to be a part of Scott’s changing world. “It’s important to me,” he said slowly, and Scott nodded, leaning closer to rest his head on Brent’s shoulder.
“Mom and Dad are doing their best for me, but they’re doing what James said his mom did. They want to shelter me and take care of me.”
Brent reached for the pad and held it where they could both see it. You need to feel like the man you were before this happened instead of a child.
Scott lifted his head, smiled, and nodded. “I’m not a child, and I hate that this happened. It’s total shit.” His voice got louder, and Carolyn stuck her head in the room for a second and then left. “I want to hit someone. Hell, I want to hit God, make him deaf to see how he likes it.” Scott jumped to his feet. “I want to scream and yell, but I can’t fucking hear myself. Everything is silent, expect for the buzzing that happens sometimes. The doctors say that’s good because something is working, but I don’t know. I think it’s my head being angry with me.” He rampaged, his hands trembling in front of him. He looked upward, shaking his fists as he seemed to fill with anger.
Carolyn came in again and hurried toward him, but Brent spoke up before she could get to him.
“Please let him work through this. He needs to let the anger out.”
“But he could hurt himself. He isn’t healed,” she said forcefully.
Brent turned back to Scott, who stared at his mother, still seething, face red, anger rolling off him. “This is healing for me.”
“Carolyn,” Reggie called, his voice gentle and understanding. This was hard on everyone. “Come back in here and leave them alone.”
She left the room reluctantly, and Scott shook from head to toe.
“What did I do to deserve this? Maybe God hates fags like the people at church think.” He glared at the doorway. “I’m not going there anymore!” It was loud enough that Scott’s folks were sure to hear it, which had to be Scott’s intent. “Mom and Dad are cool with the whole gay thing, but the Sunday morning bigots aren’t.”
Okay, it was clearly Scott’s time to vent, which was probably a good thing. Brent had found that most people expected those with a disability to be mild-mannered and quiet. Lee was quiet some of the time, but he had a temper. So did James, and clearly Scott did as well. That was good, as far as Brent was concerned. It would serve him well.
Brent wrote quickly and handed Scott the paper. You know God isn’t like that. Accidents and diseases aren’t handed out as punishment. They just happen.
Scott threw it to the floor and stomped on it. “Son of a bitch, they could fucking happen to someone else!” He stopped and held his ribs. Brent hurried to him and helped him to the sofa. “I’m okay. Just some soreness.” Scott leaned back, breathing heavily as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
Brent could only try to imagine how Scott felt. He had to let him work through this and get it out. There was little Brent could do, and that was the hard part for him, as well as for Scott’s parents, who had to be sitting in the other room, listening intently to everything, probably worrying themselves half to death.
Brent retrieved the squashed notebook and picked up the pen he’d been using. It’s okay to get angry.
Scott turned toward the kitchen and then back to Brent. He grabbed the pen, his handwriting barely legible as he scrawled his message. Not really. Mom gets all “calm down, calm down” every time I feel anything. I’m angry and I don’t want to be deaf, but I’m supposed to be quiet, sit still, and let them worry about it and figure out what I’m going to do. I’m supposed to get we
ll, and they’re supposed to figure shit out for me.
Brent took the pen off him and wrote. Bullshit! It’s your life, and the decisions are yours. Make them, if that’s what you want to do. You stood up for yourself and Lee three weeks ago. You’ve never had any problem with that. Why should you being deaf change that? Scott’s spunk was one of the qualities he admired. Brent pushed the notepad into Scott’s hand, shaking it for emphasis, then pulled it back. You don’t need to be a dick about it, but knowing what you want is good. Tell them, tell me, tell anyone, and we’ll help.
Scott blinked at him. “You really think I can do that?”
Brent nodded. I have faith in you, and you’re the same person you were before the accident. In your heart you know that. So be that person! He handed Scott the page and nodded.
Scott leaned back, closing his eyes. Brent was getting the idea that was part of his defenses. If Scott closed his eyes, he was shutting off everyone and everything. He couldn’t hear and now he couldn’t see, so he didn’t have to deal with things… at least in that moment.
Brent waited for Scott to open his eyes and reengage with him. Did you ever find out anything about the guy who hit you?
Anger flared in Scott’s eyes all over again, and he gestured as he talked, sitting forward. “He hit me really hard. The guy had to be drunk. I don’t remember anything about that at all. Mom and Dad told me that there were pieces of the car that hit me at the scene. Other people called for help. Apparently they know the make and model of the car, as well as the color, from the parts left at the scene, but nothing else. No one actually saw the accident, I guess, or they didn’t get the license plate.”