A Fluid State

by Rob Browatzke

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Except for Bob the Drag Queen. Bob the Drag Queen is real and wonderful.

  Copyright ©2019 by Rob Browatzke

  |

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the writer, except for the use of quotations in reviews.

  First paperback edition December 2019

  First eBook edition December 2019

  Cover Design: Alexandria Corza

  A Fluid State

  Rob Browatzke

  PATRICK

  Patrick checked the time on his phone for what was likely the hundredth time that morning. His excitement at seeing Peter again after so long had him pacing back and forth across the living room. Two years, he thought. It’s been two years. Finally, he’d see him again. The pictures on the wall, on the end tables, next to the big screen, were all so outdated. Peter and Patrick at the park. Peter and Patrick at the zoo. Peter and Patrick at the beach. They were wonderful moments, and the memory of them had sustained Patrick over the last two years, but he was certainly ready to see him again and make some new memories.

  Would it be awkward, he wondered? After so long? Would it be like starting from scratch, or had Peter hung onto those memories the same way Patrick had? Peter had had his life here though, and it sounded pretty wonderful. That’s how Christy made it sound anyway. Patrick had only had memories of Peter, to keep him company those two years in the Afghan desert.

  Sure, they’d talked on the phone, as often as it was possible. Which wasn’t ever enough. Peter’s schedule, and the time difference, and Patrick’s tour of duty had made it way too hard. They’d written, emails that Patrick cherished in their simplicity and one handwritten letter he kept folded in his wallet. Peter really was his life.

  And now that the tour was over, now that Patrick was home, it was time to make things right. New memories, better memories, and Christy had to be okay with that. It was Patrick’s turn.

  The doorbell rang, and Patrick bolted for it. His hand on the knob, he paused to catch his breath, and then threw the door open. He saw Christy first, just long enough to note that she hadn’t aged a day since he last saw her, and then he was attacked by a blur that he scooped up in his arms and spun around.

  “Dad!” Peter yelled out, his voice as joyful as Patrick remembered it.

  And everything was good again.

  Patrick set him down and stepped back to get a good look. “You’ve gotten so tall,” he said, reaching out and mussing Peter’s dark hair.

  “Dad! No!” Peter said, pulling away.

  “He’s fussy about his hair now,” Christy said.

  “He’s getting old.”

  “I’m eleven now,” Peter said.

  “Eleven! Wow. I haven’t seen you in so long.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  He’d been a small boy, but he was creeping up on five feet, Patrick guessed, still a ways to go before he reached Patrick’s six foot two, but he was only eleven. “You didn’t have to dress up,” Patrick said, noting the button up and tie.

  “Told you, Mom!”

  “I wanted him to look nice for you,” Christy said.

  “He looks great,” Patrick replied. “You both look great.”

  Peter was very much the spitting image of his half-Indian mother, the same dark hair, the same big dark eyes, the same mocha skin. Christy’s hair was much longer than Patrick remembered, gathered together and brought over her right shoulder.

  “You need a haircut though,” Patrick said, running his hand over his own buzzed blond hair.

  “No!” Peter held his hands to his hair as if to protect it.

  “Whoa buddy, I didn’t mean I was going to do it right now. But it’s summer. Don’t you want something nice and short?”

  “I like my hair,” he said, smoothing it down.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll leave it long,” Patrick said. “I got us some new video games,” he went on. “I figured we can play after supper.”

  Peter’s face fell. “I don’t like video games anymore.”

  “What? What kid doesn’t like video games?”

  Peter shrugged. “I just don’t.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Maybe playing for a while wouldn’t hurt you,” Christy said. “Your dad is so excited to spend some time with you.”

  Rolling his eyes, Peter said, “fine.”

  “We don’t have to,” Patrick said. “It was just an idea. I thought I’d barbecue us some dogs with the works for supper.”

  Again, a pained expression crossed Peter’s face.

  “We’re not eating meat,” Christy said. “I thought I told you.”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  “It’s fine,” Christy said, handing Patrick the bag he hadn’t noticed her holding. “I figured you’d forget so I brought some veggie burgers.”

  “I didn’t forget. You just didn’t tell me.”

  “Well, I’m telling you now.”

  Patrick took the bag and looked inside. The picture on the box didn’t even look like a burger, really, aside from its shape. “I hope you don’t mind if I have some real ones.”

  “You’ll have a great time together,” Christy said. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “What?” Patrick said. “I assumed he would be spending the night.”

  “Mom!”

  “Patrick, let’s take small steps.”

  “Small steps? He’s my son, Christy.”

  “And he hasn’t seen you in two years.”

  “All the more reason we need to spend time together.”

  “Not tonight, Patrick.”

  “Fine,” he said, “but I want him all weekend.”

  “Mom! Not the weekend. I have the –“

  “We had plans this weekend, Patrick.”

  “So? I can take him whatever it is. We’ll have a good time.”

  “It’s at the library, Patrick,” Christy said. “Do you even know where the library is?”

  “Of course I do.”

  She smiled wryly. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Mom!”

  “Peter, enough. Your dad is right. You need to get to know each other again, and this weekend will be a great chance to do that.” She pulled Peter close to her in a hug. “You boys have fun tonight. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Thank you, Christy.”

  “Just remember, Patrick. You said whatever it is.” She was almost grinning as she left, closing the door behind her.

  “We’ll have fun, right?” Patrick said, turning to Peter. “Sure, a library maybe isn’t exactly where I’d’ve picked for us, but if that’s what you want to do, champ, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Can we just eat?” Peter asked.

  “Sure, champ,” Patrick said, shaking off the feeling that this reunion hadn’t gone quite the way he had pictured.

  §

  The disappointment of Tuesday evening was gone before Saturday morning came around though. Sure, it had been awkward at first, and sure, the one bite he had had of Peter’s veggie “burger” lingered for hours. But Patrick had told Peter all about life in Afghanistan, and Peter had brought Patrick up to speed on school, and maybe the video games had been a bust, but this weekend, they’d find their groove again.

  Patrick even caught himself pacing the floor again while he waited for Christy to drop him off. At the sound of a car pulling up, he ran to the door and opened it... just to stop short entirely. Peter was getting out of the car, but what in the hell was he wearing? Were those tights? And the shirt he was wearing, it was p
urple, and hung to mid thigh, and there were like four bracelets on one wrist.

  “Wow, Peter, that’s quite the outfit,” he said.

  Peter’s expression was wary but defiant. “I like it.”

  “That’s what matters then,” Patrick said. “Run inside. I’ll be along shortly, and we’ll get you to your library.”

  Peter nodded and ran into the house.

  Patrick spun on his ex-wife. “What the fuck, Christy? What is our son wearing?”

  “It’s what he likes,” Christy said, shrugging. “I let him make those decisions himself.”

  “But c’mon. It looks like he does all his shopping in the girls department.”

  “We do, mostly. That’s the stuff he wants to wear. Look, Patrick, I knew you were going to get all bent out of shape over this. It’s just clothes.”

  “He’s eleven, Christy. He should know better than to dress like that by now.”

  “You should know better than to think he can be argued with,” Christy said. “He’s too much like both of us that way. Remember Cabo?”

  How could Patrick forget? Peter had insisted on wearing a pink hat the whole vacation. “He was six though.”

  “Still.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

  “Arguing with him over clothes? You’re right. Not a good idea at all, so don’t.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. Look, Patrick. Kids today are different. They explore more. It doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  “No? Does he wear stuff like to school? How can he not get hurt?”

  “Sometimes he does. Wear stuff like that, I mean. He’s fine, Patrick. He’s strong and he’s confident, and he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters most?”

  “I guess, but...”

  “No buts, Patrick. Go spend time with your son. And remember. He’s his own person, with his own style, and his own interests.”

  “I don’t know about this, Christy.”

  “There’s nothing to know. Just be there with him.”

  Patrick looked at the house. Peter was watching them through the door. Maybe it was the hair, Patrick thought, in combination with the outfit. “Jesus, Christy, he’s almost a little girl.”

  “He’s a boy, Patrick, and he’s your son. Leave that toxic masculine army bullshit somewhere else,” she said. “Especially today.”

  “Why especially today?”

  “And ruin the surprise? Oh no, Patrick, you’ll figure it out. And you’ll stay calm and together, and you won’t make a scene. Hurry now, you boys don’t want to be late for the library.”

  Patrick watched as she got into her car and drove off. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for another surprise, but he was sure about one thing: he loved his son and nothing would change that.

  §

  Patrick hadn’t been to the River City Public Library in years. He wasn’t much of a reader at the best of times, and high school had been more about smoking and drinking with the guys behind the library than being inside studying. Christy had been the smart one. Copying her homework had probably saved Patrick’s ass more than once.

  He certainly had nothing against books though, or people who read them. Looking back, he wished he’d spent a little more time with his nose in a book and a little less time flipping through skin mags with the guys.

  “So what are you doing here today?” he asked Peter, as they parked.

  “It’s every Saturday in the summer for an hour. We listen to stories.”

  “Listen to who?”

  “You don’t have to come in, Dad,” Peter said. “You won’t like it.”

  “I might! You never know.”

  “Okay but don’t say I didn’t warn you. “

  “C’mon, Peter, I like what you like. That’s what dads do.”

  His son looked at him doubtfully. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

  “I would never!”

  “Remember Cabo?”

  Patrick did. He remembered six-year-old Peter howling when Patrick tried to take away that stupid pink hat. “I swear. I won’t do anything that will embarrass you.”

  Peter looked at him for a second, then nodded, and ran on ahead. Other kids Peter’s age were already gathering in a small seating area just off the entrance, where a sign read “Children’s Storytelling Hour, hosted by Ann Moore”. Patrick flipped through his phone, looking up once in a while to check on Peter. Peter was sitting cross-legged (no easy feat in that outfit, Patrick thought) on the floor, right by an empty chair.

  Only an hour, Patrick thought. They’d be here for an hour and then they’d have a whole day to spend together. Maybe there’d been some tension. Not even tension. Just awkwardness. Once they got to know each other again, that would go away. And as for the clothes, well, that would probably change too. Christy hadn’t dated since the divorce, so Peter had no male role models in his life. Patrick was home now though and that would change.

  The kids cheered and Patrick glanced up, to see a woman sitting down, book in hand. She certainly wasn’t pretty. She was almost a caricature of a librarian, down to the beehive and cat eye glasses. He went back to flipping through his phone as the cheering died down.

  “Hush now, kids,” she said. “This is a library after all.” Patrick glanced back up at the sound of her breathy voice. It had to be an affectation. It was more 1-900 number than storyteller. Still, if Peter was into this, Patrick would support it.

  “Who remembers where we left off last week? Peter?”

  Patrick looked up, as Peter answered, “The princess was just about to start fighting the dragon,” he said.

  “Oh yes, I remember now,” she said, flipping through the book in her hand. “Prince Michael was in the dungeon of the evil warlock and Sara was trying to rescue him. Let’s find out what happens next.”

  The kids cheered again and Patrick tried to tune out the story as he browsed some things they could do later. Maybe Go Karting? He was old enough now to enjoy it. It was crazy to think he could be actually driving in seven years. A two year gap certainly impacted that. It had been worth it though. His dad had been a soldier, and Patrick had idolized him. Of course he wanted the same thing with Peter. Military kept the world safe. They made the world better. Peter deserved that kind of world.

  “Are you a parent too?”

  Patrick looked up. Three women hovered near him, coffees in hand. He looked over at the kids, enraptured by the story. “Yes. My son’s there.”

  “You’re just new. We hadn’t seen you before.”

  “We don’t get many dads here, that’s for sure,” another said.

  “Anything for our kids, right?”

  “I wish my husband thought that,” the first said. “Hi. My name’s Jess. This is Monica, and Lizzie.”

  “Patrick,” he said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

  “I wish I could get my husband to come,” Monica said.

  “I wish my husband looked like you,” Lizzie said, earning her playful swats and laughs from her friends.

  “You’ll have to ignore her,” Jess said. “She doesn’t have a filter.”

  “We were all thinking it though,” Lizzie went on.

  Patrick felt himself blushing. His flirting game was certainly off, if people were being that direct now. “Which kids are yours?”

  “That’s my Brittany,” Jess said, pointing out a redhead.

  “And that’s my Britney,” Lizzie said, pointing out a blonde.

  “Don’t worry,” Monica said. “My girl isn’t Britney.” Patrick chuckled. “That’s my Kim there.”

  “Oh, that’s my son, Peter, next to her.”

  “Oh, you’re Christy’s ex husband then,” Jess said. “Our girls love Peter.”

  “I’m glad to hear.” He looked back at the group. Peter was the only boy. “Not a lot of boys, hey?”

  “No, certainly not. Peter’s definitely an exception.”

  “It’s the host,” Lizzie said. “I mean, we thin
k he’s wonderful but...”

  “She,” Monica interrupted.

  “Shit. Yeah. She. You know what I mean, but the point is, not everyone is going to be into that.”

  “Wait. What?” Patrick asked.

  “Ann. She’s a drag queen.”

  Monica kept talking but Patrick turned to look more closely at the host. That was a drag queen? That was a man? How...? Why...? He had too many questions all of a sudden, but he could see it, now that he was looking for it. Bobbing up and down there in his/her/their neck.

  Why was Christy letting Peter come to some drag queen reading storybooks? Is this why Peter was dressing like he was? Of course it was. He was tempted to go grab Peter and take him home. But then he remembered Cabo, and he remembered his promise to not embarrass Peter, and it was only another thirty minutes. Then Go Karts for sure. Or football. Or something masculine. That’s what Peter clearly needed.

  And what Patrick needed was to talk to Christy. “If you can excuse me?” he said, pointing at his phone and stepping away. He dialled her number as he walked out of the building, keeping an eye on Peter through the windows.

  “I was waiting,” she said when she picked up.

  “What the fuck, Christy?”

  “Calm down, Patrick.”

  “No. He’s eleven. Why are you letting him hang around a drag queen? That’s hardly appropriate.”

  “She’s reading a children’s book, Patrick. What’s inappropriate?”

  “That she is a he.”

  “Wow. I had no idea you were so homophobic.”

  “I am not. I have no problem with gay people.”

  “Of course you do, Patrick.”

  “No. I just want my son to have a fighting chance, but this, hanging around drag queens, letting him dress like you do. Jesus, Christy, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I want my son to be happy, and right now, this is what he’s into.”

  “Into?”

  “Drag. He watches it on TV. He’s crazy about the show.”

  “There’s a show about this?”

  “Where have you been, Patrick? Drag is everywhere right now.”

  “Afghanistan. That’s where I’ve been.”

  “Look Patrick, this isn’t a big deal.”