Freedom in Falling

by J. Emery

  Liam replaced the photo he held and picked up a new one.

  "Studio." There were only two or three of those, taken after allnighters or sleepless nights when he'd gone out instead of staying in bed and staring at the ceiling. The days were getting longer but that still left plenty of night to fill.

  Another.

  It was different from the others. The dawn was barely visible through the window, only the first traces of color creeping up into the darkness, the window frame monopolizing the shot. He could still feel the cold hard floor under his face when he'd woken up shivering and miserable but too tired to move. Feeling used up and raw. It had taken all his energy just to reach for the camera.

  He pointed at the spot on the floor, not far from Liam's feet. "Right there."

  Liam didn't ask for details. He just nodded. "They're good. I like them."

  Normally those words from Liam felt like a gold star. But this time, his praise was air. He missed feeling things. That full range of human emotion that he was always hearing so much about.

  Noah gathered all the photos together again and tucked them back into the envelope he kept them in.

  Liam squeezed his shoulder.

  "Let's take a walk. I need some fucking air." Noah shook himself out of the past. It was still too easy to linger there over the what ifs and the maybes and which fault belonged where. He'd forgotten the coffee Liam had brought and almost spilled it all over the table as he pushed it back to make room so he could stand.

  "Good call. But put on a coat first. It looks like it might rain."

  "Nag, nag, nag."

  "I brought you coffee. That means you have to listen to me."

  "Like that's ever worked."

  "First time for everything. Besides if you hurry up, maybe I'll even buy you a treat."

  "Can you even afford to bribe me? I'm not five anymore. It's gonna cost you to satisfy these refined tastes."

  "Try me."

  Noah got his coat. "Hope you brought your wallet."

  THERE WERE A NUMBER of ways to perform penance. West had learned all about them as a boy while sitting at his mother's side for Sunday mass, breathing in incense and the feeling that something holy was happening just beyond his awareness. Surrounded by candles. Choirs singing. Those memories had engraved themselves deep.

  Now, gone were the days of Sunday masses and vigils. He had stopped practicing years ago when he realized that, for him, there was no longer anything else hiding behind that vast curtain of ceremony. There was no magic. No wonder. No... sense of being touched and changed into something better, something greater. It might be holy, but he couldn't feel it. Trying only left him more alone.

  But the idea of penance, that stuck with him. Anyone could seek penance as long as they had an earnest wish for forgiveness and that he had in spades. Even if he was afraid to seek his forgiveness direct from the source.

  West hadn't been back to the coffee shop since the break with Noah. Was it a break up? Had they been dating? West had left too many things unsaid and now he didn't even know how bad he was allowed to feel about what he had done. Had he ruined a friendship or a partnership or a romance? Did it even matter? Broken was broken.

  In any event, he hadn't gone back. There was no unringing that bell and there was no chance of seeing Noah if West avoided everywhere he was known to lurk. Whole neighborhoods were off limits because Noah's memory haunted them. It was better to pretend like West didn't miss him, didn't miss what they'd been together, what they could have become given enough time. He regretted it. But he couldn't take it back. He couldn't even try to apologize. Not when he feared right down to his core that history would repeat itself. It was easier to be a coward. It was easier to do what he'd always done and be who he'd always been. He didn't have to like it. Maybe that's just who he was.

  And maybe someday he wouldn't hate himself for it.

  He could live with that as long as he could keep the illusion alive that Noah didn't hate him too. That what he'd done was the only way. It was better for both of them.

  So there was penance.

  West's version of penance was visiting his family.

  With his newly free schedule, he had gone to Sunday dinners and helped his mother run errands. He'd even submitted to helping Reese move. By the end of that ordeal, each box had been neatly labeled and stacked for the movers to take and West had been scoured raw waiting for Reese to say something. Some personal dig. A question about Noah. Something. It was the not knowing what it would be that made it worse. So when Reese smiled, eyes still on the movers loading his boxes into a truck, and slapped West's shoulder it had been a relief.

  "Glad you finally found some time for us. Missed you."

  West doubted that. Very much.

  But he kept his face blank and kept his head down.

  "What's the matter? Not still mad I told Mom about your little friend, are you?"

  "I'm not mad."

  "It was for your own good, you know. We were concerned. You weren't acting like yourself." He nudged West so suddenly he almost fell over. "Seems like you came to your senses though—hey, not like that. You'll scuff the finish," he barked suddenly, already halfway to the truck to stop the movers from moving some boxy little table wrapped in plastic.

  No one heard West's scoff. Or if they did, they ignored him.

  And now here he was again, spending his Sunday afternoon driving his mother and Charlotte over to Reese's new condo with "housewarming gifts." He didn't know what most of them were. He didn't care. His trunk and half the backseat were stuffed with throw pillows and assorted other things in boxes and bags. Not to mention the waffle iron that Charlotte had convinced them all was vitally important.

  The condo was in a new construction not far from the river and he couldn't help a moment of longing as the river came into view, glittering blue-green water visible as they drove over the bridge and the GPS told him to turn left at the next street. For one pitiful moment, he expected to find Noah walking down the street. Drifting and ghostly like one of those urban legend hitchhikers who begged for rides and then disappeared before their destination. Except Noah was flesh and blood and West had taken a sledgehammer to their relationship. That probably meant West wasn't allowed to dream of him anymore either.

  The GPS voice dispassionately directed him to make another left and then a right before informing him that their destination was on the right. West pulled into the lot.

  "This place is huge," Charlotte said, pressing so close to the window that her nose left a mark.

  Huge was an understatement. The building took up an entire block with its brutalist grey presence, angled balconies jutting from the wall of each unit like thorns. Fitting for Reese.

  "Let's get this over with."

  That earned him another disapproving frown from his mother. He ignored it.

  West loaded his arms up with their tower of presents and followed them inside to the elevator. An equally bland voice announced the floor as the doors slid open to deposit them on Reese's floor.

  "You really didn't need to take all that at once, West." He couldn't see his mother around the load in his arms as she spoke.

  "I didn't want to make another trip."

  The only thing he hadn't taken was the waffle iron. Charlotte had insisted on carrying that herself.

  "Welcome to my humble home," Reese said as he answered the door. There was probably a sweeping gesture or two to match his greeting but West couldn't see it around his burden. If he could have avoided hearing it, he would have done that too. "And that is a lot of bags. What is all that?"

  "Presents for your new house! I picked the waffle iron," Charlotte said. "They didn't have the mix at the store so you can't try it out yet."

  "I think I can live without waffles for the foreseeable future. Just put all that other stuff on the kitchen table, West. You should have made two trips. You look ready to fall down."

  "I got it," West snapped. Except he couldn't see where the kitchen ta
ble was. From where he was standing everything looked like bare laminate flooring and uninterrupted white wall. Hell in bland minimalism.

  "It's straight ahead and to the right."

  Charlotte pulled the top box off the stack and tugged his arm. "I'll lead the way. Come on, West." Her bright tone dropped as soon as he'd unloaded everything onto the table. "You're being a jerk again today," she whispered.

  He hadn't needed her to tell him that. He'd been a jerk longer than just one day. He went to bed angry and he got up angry and he still wasn't sure who he was angrier with: his family or himself. After all, they had set up the course, but he was the one who had mowed down his first taste of happiness. And for what? Unhappiness felt darker now that he knew what was on the other side of it.

  He turned back towards the entryway without answering.

  She hissed his name.

  "What?"

  "Did something happen?"

  He almost told her. Maybe it would help to string the words together. He hadn't said a word yet to anyone because if he broke up with his almost-boyfriend and no one was around to witness it, had it really happened at all?

  "West? Charlotte? Hurry up. Your brother was going to show us around."

  Reese gave them a tour of the condo showing them one bland, box shaped room after another full. Each had been decorated with as little personality as possible in the style of furniture stores everywhere. The bedroom held a king-sized bed, neatly made with navy blue sheets and nary a wrinkle in sight to prove that Reese had ever lain between them. An office with an empty desk. A living room with a square sided couch that looked painful to sit on. Each room left West feeling more uncomfortable and he couldn't even say why.

  He had never really understood Reese. There hadn't been heartfelt talks in the dead of night or fond memories of childhood games. The only evidence of their relation was in the similar shade of their hair and eyes. Looking at Reese's house, West realized he didn't know a single thing about his brother. And he didn't want to. He didn't want to sit on his uncomfortable couch and pretend there were ever going to be heartfelt talks in their future. He was tired of pretending.

  Their mother began scattering throw pillows and rugs over every horizontal surface. Someone made coffee. Maybe it was West. He couldn't remember after, but the coffee was terrible so it was probably his fault.

  "So, what do you think of the place? The area is a little rundown, but it's not as bad as it was. All this new construction will supposedly revitalize the area. We'll see how that shakes out." Reese leaned a hip against the kitchen counter while he held his coffee mug in one hand. He looked posed right down to the creases in his pants.

  "I'm just happy you've finally come back home. We missed you." Mom smiled as she swept a glance between her three children.

  West made a point of looking elsewhere.

  "You've hardly said a word since you got here, West. Are we boring you? I know my house isn't as exciting as your art friends." Reese's face flickered with a grimace as he sipped his coffee. Another thing West had screwed up.

  West slammed down his own mug. "Shut up."

  His mother jumped. "What is wrong with you lately? You've been nothing but rude for days. Apologize to your brother right now."

  Words crowded onto his tongue.

  What was wrong? What could possibly be wrong? He'd rearranged his life for them. He'd done everything to please them, but it wasn't enough. He still felt like an outsider, an afterthought in their happy family. To them he was always going to be a petulant child having a tantrum. Nothing changed.

  It never would as long as he was around them.

  They would repeat this cycle.

  Forever.

  "I'll wait for you in the car." He snatched his coat off the back of the chair and pulled it on. "I need some air."

  "West, you get back here and explain yourself." His mother's voice barely rose as he stormed out. He was only a minor inconvenience even now.

  "It's fine, mom. You know how Westie gets. Especially after being in that kind of company. Who knows what kind of—" Whatever else Reese said was cut off by the closing of the door.

  West's composure made it as far as the elevator before it cracked. The metal wall of the elevator rang dully when he kicked it. He sagged over the rail.

  So much for penance.

  He'd lasted a few weeks at least, self-flagellating his way through family dinners and holding his tongue over Reese's increasingly unsubtle barbs. It never used to bother him this much. Squashing himself down into whatever version was least offensive, least likely to cause problems or earn remarks. He had tried. After all, his family was the only thing he had left without Noah. He had been resigned. He thought.

  But he couldn't even do that right. He didn't want to do that right. He'd been hanging on all this time, clinging to hope, holding on for Charlotte because he couldn't imagine leaving her to them either, and he died a little more every day while doing it.

  He'd already lost Noah. The first thing in years he had wanted. Desperately. The hunger of it still surprised West. The aftertaste of it sat on his tongue, a sugar sweet echo. He really thought he had done it with Noah. That he was different. Finally. But one little nudge and his entire house of cards had fallen down because he still didn't know how to be what he wanted, how to be himself, with his family around. And maybe he never would.

  Why did keeping his family mean giving up everything he wanted? When had their opinions become more important than his own? He didn't want to live like that anymore.

  Couldn't.

  Wouldn't.

  The force of it stunned him.

  It wasn't that simple. His mother would never let it be. But making the decision dropped a load off his shoulders. It was a weight. He just hadn't realized how big of one.

  The car rocked as his mother pulled the passenger side door open, so suddenly it was as though he'd unconsciously summoned her. Charlotte slipped into the back without a word. Tension laced the air with electricity.

  West didn't speak first. He needed to get used to doing that. Family was a synonym for discomfort and he needed to get used to that too.

  He started up the car, backing out of his parking spot and onto the street. He knew the way back so there was no GPS to break the silence. His mother had to do it herself.

  "I don't know what's gotten into you, young man," she said again. Young man. As though he was still fourteen and caught sneaking a sip of wine from the open bottle in the fridge. When he didn't respond she kept on grumbling under her breath, but it all sounded about the same to him. West kept his eyes on the road and tried not to listen. She was still at it when he pulled up outside the house. He didn't turn off the engine. "You owe your brother an apology after that stunt today. That was uncalled for."

  "No, I don't think I do. Goodnight, mom." He popped the door locks so she would take the hint.

  She did, but not the way he might have hoped. "And now you're going to pout, is that it? I thought you might stay and visit a little while for once. You're always hurrying away to do God knows what. I don't think I like whatever you've been up to if this is the kind of attitude it leads to."

  He could have laughed at that. "I'm sure you don't."

  She frowned at him in disappointment. It was the look he'd spent years withering under. He didn't take a breath until she'd thrown open her door and stepped out onto the curb.

  West met Charlotte's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "You want to come visit next weekend? I think I can handle pizza again."

  "Yeah." She smiled. "I would like that."

  It didn't help the guilt completely, but it was a start.

  "WHEN DO I GET TO SEE what's in your show?" Margot asked as she and Noah stood side by side and surveyed the newly cleared white walls. Dots of paint stood out where they'd had to cover scuffs and marks left behind by the previous show, the faint sheen of wetness reflecting the light. Now that they were unencumbered by frames, the hanging wires swayed slightly in the draft.


  Four stark white walls. All of them his. He could get used to that.

  "You get to see it when everyone else does," Noah said primly. "It's a surprise."

  She nudged him with one hand. Thankfully it wasn't the one still holding the hammer. "Come on. Just a peek."

  "Nope."

  "So you're gonna hang the entire show by yourself? That'll be a neat trick. Good luck with that."

  "My brother is helping. And I do know how to nail things to a wall, you know. I've nailed plenty of things." His lips curved in the suggestion of a smile at the joke.

  Margot favored him with one "heh" of amusement before she nudged him again. "How are you holding up?"

  "If you mean, am I still wallowing in self pity? Then yes. I am. Wholeheartedly. And I plan to continue doing so as long as possible. You better bring good liquor to the reception. I want to get drunk and have a chance at enjoying myself for once." He delivered the whole speech with a carefully flippant shrug. This time there was only a tiny sliver of pain in his chest. It barely hurt at all.

  "I'm glad you're doing better."

  "I'm not. I'm miserable. I was just trying to be decent so you wouldn't pity me."

  "But you love pity."

  "I know. But I'm even starting to annoy myself now." He sighed. The voice, not of reason, but of self-loathing hissed from the back of his mind. He did his best to ignore it. "It happened. It's over. I'll be fine."

  "You will. But it's okay if you're not right now," she said gently and put her hand on his shoulder.

  He nodded and picked up the caddy of tools and putty to stow them in the back.

  The gallery was empty save for them. The director had gone home after unlocking for them and wouldn't be back until tonight. She'd left the keys in Margot's care in the meantime.

  The white walls of the front changed immediately to bare brick and drywall painted a faded golden yellow once he passed through the door to the back half of the space. This side wasn't for the public and it looked like it. The warped floor was rougher, scarred by years of hard use. The lack of windows left grey shadows heaped up in the corners but he knew his way around well enough to avoid running into anything. Stacks of boxes. Spare chairs. All the glamorous detritus of their artistic endeavors. He took a left into the storage room and flicked on the light. The metal shelves were crowded with baskets of decorations for holidays and accessories for the open draw they hosted once a month. Hardware winked at him from a line of jars stored on a middle shelf. He slid the caddy in beside them.