When You Don't See Me

by Timothy James Beck

  I wondered if it was pathetic that I took pride in such small accomplishments. But I felt good. Maybe because my Thanksgiving weekend had ended so much better than it began. The unpleasant phone conversation with my father, the sadness of not seeing Blaine and my big gay family, as Fred called them—even the absence of Fred from my life—had all been made better by my roommates and my painless phone conversation with Chuck.

  Then on Saturday, Roberto and I were invited to a big family feast at Adalla’s uncle’s place on the Upper West Side. On Sunday, Adalla’s mother took care of Isleta so that Adalla, Roberto, and I could have dinner with the Mirones family at their favorite Mexican restaurant in East Harlem. I’d ended up with three family dinners instead of none. My friends had made me feel like I was part of something, and that feeling lingered.

  When I got to Vance Kitchen and Bath, Howard let me go with Julien to the stock room to find the exact food processor I needed. Julien pulled the ladder over, gave me a look with soulful brown eyes, and said he didn’t like climbing ladders. I wasn’t sure whether or not I did, but I went up three steps and reached for the first food processor. That was when I felt Julien’s hand slide its way up my inseam.

  I looked down at him with a frown and said, “Stop that.”

  “You don’t like me?” His face looked pouty. “It’s because I’m French, isn’t it?”

  “I already lost one job when a hidden camera taped me doing something I shouldn’t.”

  Julien looked around anxiously and said, “You think there are cameras back here?”

  I suspected his hand had gone up a few other inseams before mine. “There are cameras everywhere.”

  He dropped his hands, I brought down the food processor, and he opened the box and handed me the paperwork.

  “Friday, damn it,” I said, and climbed the ladder again. At least that time I went unmolested.

  The third box I pulled down had a Tuesday food processor. Julien led me back to the floor, I paid for it with Eileen’s money, and finally I was outside, hugging the box to my chest and hoping it would block the cold air. I walked toward Union Square, where I intended to spend more of Eileen’s money on a cab back to the office. Then I realized that I’d forgotten to put on my gloves. My hands were freezing. I set the box on the ground and gripped it with my calves just in case thieves were lurking. When I took my gloves from my coat pocket, one of them fell to the ground. I angled myself to pick it up, and as I stood upright again, I scanned the area around me. Which was when I saw her, down a narrow alley between two buildings.

  I must be crazy, I thought. It’s because last week was Thanksgiving, Gretchen’s favorite holiday. But I swear, if that’s not Gretchen…I know it’s Gretchen…

  I finished pulling on my gloves, picked up the box, and checked out the storefront. It was covered by a pull-down metal door. There was no sign to tell me what business was on the ground floor, or even if the space had a current tenant.

  I walked slowly down the narrow alley toward the spray-painted mural. Finally I stopped and stared at the woman in the painting: head thrown back, arms raised in dance, laughing face, chestnut hair with blond streaks…Someone had painted Gretchen on this hidden wall. I even recognized the fawn-colored shirt she was wearing, which had been one of her favorites. It tied at the collar. She’d always left it untied, then complained when the little tassels on the ends dipped into whatever she was eating. She stopped wearing it once Emily started putting the tassels in her mouth.

  When I could tear my gaze from her, my heart pounded, because I recognized her partner in the dance. She was touching the brilliant wing of a giant bird. No, not just a giant bird. Gretchen was dancing with a quetzal, Roberto’s signature muse and totem. This was his work, a perfect depiction of Gretchen’s soul, her zest for life. I wanted to kiss the wall. To go home and rave to Roberto about how much I loved it, how good it felt to see Gretchen happy and alive because of his art.

  Except…I looked around, realizing how the painting was tucked away. I’d never have noticed it if I hadn’t stopped in the exact place that I did. I wasn’t meant to see it. No one was. In spite of the cold air, and even though I needed to go back to the office, I stood there for a long time, trying to work things out in my head.

  By the time he was fifteen, Roberto had been caught a half dozen times “defacing” buildings and subway cars. I had no idea how much it had cost his mother and older brothers to work out the deal that landed Roberto in art school. They’d paid fines, legal fees, and tuition. Roberto had been placed on two years’ probation. That had ended the year before, and now that he was over eighteen, it was no longer illegal for him to have spray paint in his possession. But if he got caught in the act, things probably wouldn’t go well for him. He was likely to lose his job, and with it, the health insurance he needed.

  Creating graffiti was always an activity that required stealth. But once it was done, the whole point was to have it seen. Since Roberto had hidden his work, he knew what he was risking. The fact that he did it anyway…

  He had to be so frustrated. It was like a sickness, his compulsion to create these huge splashes of color and form. Since leaving school, he’d had no opportunity, no space, no encouragement to do what he really wanted. He’d tried to channel his creative energy into his job at Drayden’s, but it obviously wasn’t enough for him.

  I realized I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe this was just a one-time thing. Or maybe he’d done it a long time ago. Except the mural was only a little weathered. I leaned forward and located his tag, a subtle BirdO hidden in the quetzal’s plumage, and the 9/03 beneath it.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered. “How am I supposed to pretend like I didn’t see your gift to New York on a shitty anniversary?”

  My gut told me that there were other gifts hidden on other walls of the city. How long could he tempt fate before he got caught? And could I really keep my mouth shut about it? Roberto and I weren’t like Fred. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.

  I thought about the roommate confessional on Thanksgiving and reached up to lightly touch Gretchen’s hair with my gloved hand. I was wrong. Roberto had been really good at keeping a secret.

  If Roberto noticed anything different about me over the next couple days, he didn’t question me. The holiday shopping season was in full force. Even though Roberto’s retail job didn’t involve selling, he was still constantly changing displays or creating new ones at Drayden’s. He came home late, didn’t talk much, and fell asleep quickly. Which was fine with me.

  One thing I was sure of: There was no evidence of what he was doing in our apartment. There wasn’t a place to hide paint cans, markers, nozzles, tips, and masks. Of course, he could be doing it with a crew, so somebody else might be keeping his supplies. But he’d always worked alone in the past, and I didn’t think that would have changed.

  Any other time, I’d have talked to Fred about the mural. Now that was out of the question. The last thing I needed was for Roberto to read about my discovery on baristabrew-dot-com. If I asked for advice, it would have to be from someone wiser. Older. Maybe Adalla or Blythe. Or Uncle Blaine.

  When I got home Thursday night, I found a letter that seemed like an answer. My cousin Emily’s mother, Gwendy, had written me to suggest that we get together. Gwendy was not only an attorney, but as Gretchen’s widow, she’d understand what had driven Roberto to paint that particular mural in September.

  I called her and arranged a time and place for us to meet on Saturday.

  “Wow,” Gwendy said. “That’s…I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful. It’s so her.”

  Gwendy hadn’t canceled our plans to meet at the Big Cup, even though a storm had dumped eight inches of snow on the city the night before. Although more snow was forecast, the air was clear when we walked from the coffee shop to the mural.

  I held her hand and pretended not to notice the tears streaming down her cheeks. At least until she turned and hugged me for the tenth time. Except unli
ke before, she didn’t let go for a while.

  “Okay,” she finally said and pulled away.

  “Okay? You sure?”

  “I’m okay. I’m glad you warned me. It must have been quite a shock for you to find it on your own.”

  “It was, but it made me happy, too. In a weird way.”

  “It’s not weird,” Gwendy said, turning again toward the mural. “Explain the parrot to me. What I know about art could be painted on the head of a pin.”

  What you know about birds, too, I thought. “The quetzal’s a rain forest bird. Sacred to the Mayans. They called it the god of the air. To them the quetzal represented freedom. Unfortunately, it was such a symbol of wealth that it was hunted until it was almost extinct. Roberto’s always been fascinated by the quetzal. One time he told me…”

  When I trailed off, she returned her gaze to me, her eyebrows raised. “What?”

  “Sometimes the female quetzal leaves her children, but Roberto said the male is just as nurturing, so he steps in to take her place.”

  Gwendy’s mouth twisted in a reluctant grin, and she said, “Blaine would appreciate that part. I want to tell Roberto that I’ve seen it and it made me feel good.”

  “I haven’t told him yet that I saw it. He’s only been off probation a year. What if he gets caught? What if some building owner wants to press charges? What if his career goes down the toilet?” I stared into her untroubled eyes. “Am I making a big drama where there is none?”

  “Oh, who doesn’t do that? Maybe this was a onetime tribute. Or maybe Roberto’s gone back to street art. I don’t know. I can say that if he gets caught, or the next time you get caught with something like a fake ID, would you just call me? What’s the point of having an attorney in the family if you don’t use me?”

  “Again with the freaking fake ID,” I mumbled. “That was ages ago.”

  I realized my mistake too late when her eyes flashed at me and she said, “Which goes to show how long it’s been since I saw you. Why have you stayed away from Fifty-seventh so long? Where have you been? What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing. Nowhere. I’m just working. You know. But it’s all good. I like my job. I like living in Harlem. My roommates are cool, and I’ve made other friends. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss everyone. I do. But I’m mostly just working.”

  “It wouldn’t kill you to pick up a phone and call someone once in a while, you know?”

  “Okay, okay,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, just don’t keep giving me reasons to make you feel guilty.” She smirked as if acknowledging a job well done.

  “Did you bring the camera?”

  “Yeah. I forgot I had it.” She reached into her pocket and handed me the camera.

  I removed my gloves and took photos of the mural. Roberto’s color choices on the brick would look great with the snow providing contrast.

  “The thing is,” Gwendy said thoughtfully, “if it’s been here since September, chances are no one’s gotten too worked up about it. Who knows? Maybe he had permission—”

  She broke off, looked at me, and we both shook our heads. Getting approval wouldn’t be Roberto’s style. It defeated all the emotion and intention behind street art.

  When she took back the camera, we both stared at Gretchen for a while in silence. Finally, I asked softly, “How do you do it?”

  She didn’t pretend not to understand me. After a few seconds, she said, “I don’t ever mind talking about Gretchen. Why don’t we walk to keep warm?”

  I fell in step next to her. I figured we wouldn’t walk long before she’d catch a cab back to Midtown, if for no other reason than to get out of the cold. I wondered if I wanted to go home with her. I didn’t think so. Not yet.

  “You know I’m not one to mince words.” She broke into my thoughts. “Was it our fault you disappeared?”

  “I didn’t—whose fault?”

  “Mine. Blaine’s. Did we heap too much responsibility on you with Emily? You basically took over, and we let you.”

  “I wanted to be useful. You’d lost Gretchen. You couldn’t get back into the Tribeca loft and were stuck staying with us. You and Blaine had to deal with all those agencies and attorneys and people asking you questions. I wanted to help. So I took care of Emily. After you got your apartment in our building and Kruger moved in, you didn’t need—I didn’t—”

  “You felt like you got dumped, didn’t you?”

  “No. I just…You know, I had school and friends and shit to do.”

  “Uh-huh.” After a pause, she said, “There’s something I never told you. I don’t know if it makes a difference.”

  “What?” I asked anxiously. I tried not to panic over all the things she might be about to say. Things I’d worried or wondered about. Questions with answers I didn’t necessarily want to hear.

  “You helped me in a way that’s hard to put in words,” Gwendy said. “See, everyone else knew me or Gretchen before we were a couple. But for you, it was always Gretchen and Gwendy. Everything you did or said showed that you completely respected our relationship.”

  “You mean other people didn’t?”

  “Not always. Maybe it wasn’t intentional. For example, it never crossed your mind that Emily wouldn’t stay with me. To you, I was Gretchen’s surviving partner. Emily’s mother. But some people assumed Blaine would take Emily because he’s her biological father, whereas I’m not her biological mother.”

  “Uncle Blaine didn’t feel that way, did he?”

  “No. Neither did Daniel. There was never a question that they saw me as Emily’s parent. Just like there was no question in my mind that she and I needed them. That’s why I used the first insurance money to buy in their building. We’ve created our version of a family, and it works for us.”

  “It’s a lot healthier than what some people call normal families.”

  We’d walked another half block when she surprised me by asking, “When did you cry, Nick? You were only seventeen, just a kid yourself. I was so lost in my own grief that I didn’t think about yours.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I promise. I’m fine.”

  “I want to know what happened. I feel like there’s something we missed. Something that pushed you to drop out of college. To move out of Blaine’s.”

  “I needed to figure some things out,” I said. “You didn’t do anything. Neither did Blaine.”

  She had on her attorney face, and I knew she was thinking back to January. Her instinct was good, but her timing was off. I wasn’t going to pinpoint it for her, or remind her that I hadn’t wanted to go back to Wisconsin the previous Christmas. Gwendy hadn’t really wanted to travel by air, either, with Emily. In the end, we’d all been flown there on a jet belonging to one of Blaine’s bosses. Not going commercial had been a compromise. But nobody had considered that I might not want to stay at my parents’ house, or deal with my father.

  “Whatever it is, you need to snap the hell out of it,” he said after my grades came in the mail. “If this is about Blaine’s—whatever she was—that happened over a year ago. It’s time that you—”

  “Gretchen,” I said. “Call her by her name. She’s the mother of your niece.”

  “I’m not heartless. I don’t blame that little girl for being the result of science taken to an unnatural extreme. If you want to think of her as your cousin, go ahead. But her mother was never a Dunhill. It’s not like you lost a relative. She’s just somebody who used your uncle’s sperm to get knocked up because she wouldn’t do it the normal way. And now she’s somebody you’re using as an excuse to fuck up. Dunhills do not fuck up, Nicky. At least not on my dime. Get it together.”

  “Nick?”

  “How do you do it?” I repeated my earlier question. “How’ve you done it? It must’ve been impossible for you, all this time without Gretchen. I miss her, but it has to be a million times worse for you. I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m making it better.”

&nbs
p; “Keep talking,” Gwendy ordered.

  “There are times I can barely walk down the street. I hear a noise that’s louder than it should be, and I practically come out of my skin. A low-flying jet makes me freeze. You’re so together. You, Uncle Blaine, Daniel, and Gavin. Everyone. Everyone has it so together and I don’t get it. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy because this stuff still affects me so much. I feel like I’m living on another planet. Or like I’m invisible on this one. Like I’m standing there freaking out, and nobody can see me.”

  She reached for my hand, and we kept walking.

  “Nick, the strong times, the weak times—they all come in waves. Trust me, none of us has it together. Just when I think I’m through the worst of it, I’ll read something that sets me off. Or I’ll dream about her. Last night when it started snowing—do you remember that blizzard we had right after Emily was born? It was the first time Gretchen let Blaine take Emily home with him. All last night, I thought about that day, how hard it was for her to be separated from the baby even for a few hours. And I sat by the window and cried my eyes out while I watched it snow.”

  “I wish I could cry,” I said. “I’ve tried to make myself cry. It just doesn’t happen.”

  “So you keep it all in? That’s not good.”

  I shook my head and said, “Roberto. I can talk to him. Although I usually don’t have to. He always just knows. Do you think I’m crazy? For freaking out over loud noises? Hating the subway? Not wanting to leave the island by tunnel or bridge? Even though sometimes I feel like the city’s out to get me?”

  She’d turned down Seventh, and we came to Greenwich Street. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional. When I stopped, she looked around as if to figure out why.

  “Oh,” she said. “I don’t know what I was…See? We’re all a little crazy.”

  “What finally happened with the loft?” I asked, looking in the direction of the building where she’d lived with Gretchen.

  “I sold it. I want to talk to you about that, too, but another time.” She started walking again, leaving me no choice but to follow her. “I’d think you were crazy if you didn’t freak out now and then. You’re not alone. Lots of us don’t want to go on subways, be in tall buildings, or do things that we used to consider no big deal. We work around it. We go about our business because we have to. But you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re here for you. It’s okay if you come home once in a while, even when you’re not okay. Especially when you’re not okay.”