“I’ll tell him you asked about him. And we’ll do dinner soon. I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.”
I sat back in the couch and continued watching the movie. How long was Jackson going to pretend I no longer exist? I couldn’t get him off my mind, and I wondered if he was having just as hard a time trying not to think about me. Patrick, or should I say Devaan, was right. I wasn’t going to just let Jackson walk out of my life. She had become my ally, promising to help me get Jackson back. I didn’t know what backdoor deals she was making with him, but I had my own thinking to do. I had to get Jackson back into my life.
38
Decisions, Decision
Jackson…
Saturday, February 14th was a cold brisk day. It had snowed two days earlier, but the only remnants of the one-and-a-half inches we received were a few patches on grass that rarely saw the sun. The sun was shining bright, and I thought the day couldn’t look more perfect, from inside the house.
I spent the first part of the day calling my mother and sister. I wondered if Mr. Kirkwood had given Mother another charm for a bracelet she rarely wore, or maybe he’d replaced those pearl earrings she wore to my Aunt Delaney’s wedding to Uncle Talbert Dawson, the ones she lost when he dipped her on the dance floor. She wasn’t home. When I called Devaan, I was only able to leave a message since her phone went straight to voicemail.
I spent the other part of the day convincing myself what to do about tonight’s dinner with Trevor. I was telling myself go…go, but sometimes the mouth says things the heart doesn’t understand.
I sat in the chair in the corner of the room, tying my shoelace. I had placed the card from Trevor on the corner of the bed after reading it one last time. Meet me halfway, I thought. It hadn’t been an easy couple of weeks. These weeks I felt more alone than I had ever felt since moving, and I was reminded more often than I needed to be that I had no one here. Every night I was talking to someone else. On some nights, I talked to my mother, though I hadn’t told her anything, but just like that morning on the patio on Thanksgiving Day when she asked me if everything was ok, she again, sensed something was wrong. My conversations with Devaan came with unusual rhetoric.
“Maybe this guy Dexter caught him in a rare moment of weakness, and he just couldn’t help it,” Devaan said. “You did say he thought you were doing your own thing, right?”
“Yes,” I responded “But that doesn’t excuse anything.”
“Ask yourself this. Do you think he would have done it otherwise?”
I didn’t know how to respond to her last question. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t have, but another part of me simply just didn’t know. All I knew was what happened. There’s no telling what he would have done if things were different. I must say, Devaan had me thinking, and for a minute, I was ready to give in. After all, aren’t people allowed one mistake? I thought about the many mistakes Gavin and Ethan made and I remembered how easily I found it to forgive them, because I loved them. What did that say about me? I didn’t love Trevor any less, so why was forgiving him so difficult. Could it be that I expected more from him, a different level of respect?
I searched for my cell phone, which was hidden under my sweater, shirt and, tie. It was 7:15 p.m. I had forty-five minutes to finish getting dressed and drive across town to meet Trevor. But something in my head clicked, putting all my questions together and finding one clear answer. I dialed Trevor’s number, sat back in the chair and waited for him to answer.
“You on your way?” he asked. “I’m leaving out now.”
“Trevor,” I called out quietly. He was silent.
“You’re going tell me you’re not coming, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t want you sitting at the restaurant looking at your watch, wondering why I hadn’t gotten there yet, or checking your cell phone for a vibration that never comes. I’m sitting here in dress slacks and shoes with my shirt, sweater and tie laid out on the bed.
“But Jackson…” Trevor began.
“No, Trevor. What have I done since I’ve met you? I waited for you. I distanced myself, giving you space and time to figure out your emotions and your feelings for Kelvin, and since then, the only thing I’ve done was love you. Why couldn’t you do the same? If you were tempted, why couldn’t you resist? I know that feeling you got with Dexter. The excitement of new. This high you get every time you see him. You know what? I still get those feelings with you. But look what happens when the new is old and the excitement has died. We find ourselves here, wanting the same person you’ve hurt.”
“I told you I was…”
“I know. You told me you were sorry—I heard you,” I added. I stood up and began pacing. “But sorry doesn’t fix everything. So am I supposed to put what you did and my hurt aside and we celebrate tonight like nothing ever happened. And then what, I give you another chance to fuck me over again because forgiveness came so easily?”
“Isn’t that what you do when you love someone?”
“What you do when you love someone is not hurt them.”
“So we’re spending Valentine’s Day alone?”
“I suggest you call and cancel your reservation.” I sat back in my chair thinking about what I had just done. Knowing Trevor, I knew how much he wanted tonight to happen. The fairytale ending he was attempting to orchestrate had just been spoiled. This wasn’t a movie where he could do whatever he wanted to me and then write the ending he wanted. It doesn’t work that way.
• • • • •
“Say it isn’t so,” Denard spoke when I answered my phone.
“Hey, Denard. Shouldn’t you be out entertaining?” He was the last person I expected to speak to tonight.
“Sure. Are you coming, or are you sending someone over?”
“I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“What are you doing home? Waiting for the manfriend to come over?”
“There’s nothing happening between me and Trevor tonight.” I laughed, thinking about Denard’s use of the word manfriend.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t think what I want matters.”
“What you want should always matter, Jackson, and not just to you. I’m not even going to ask what happened, but it’s Valentine’s Day, man. You know you love Trevor. Call the guy.”
“I’ve already called him.”
“Then go and be wherever he is.”
“Thanks, Denard. But I think where I am is where I need to be right now.”
“Are you?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“Hey, Jackson. Happy Valentine’s Day, my friend.” Denard hung up before I could respond in kind.
39
Only You
Jackson…
Happy wasn’t how I would describe any of what I felt. Valentine’s Day had turned into a regular Saturday night. Denard was right. What I want should always matter, but for a long time, it never mattered to the person it should. I picked up my cell phone, placed it in my pocket, and walked downstairs to the kitchen. I was ready to pour my glass of wine, sit on the couch and eventually fall asleep to a basketball game because I surely didn’t want to watch any movie about love. But whoever was calling me now had a different plan.
I removed the phone from my pocket.
“Hello Mother,” I answered.
“Thought I would have gotten your voicemail. Happy Valentine’s Day! How are you?”
“I’m ok.”
“You don’t sound ok,” she speculated. “How’s Trevor? Is he there? Tell him I said hello. Did you boys end your night…?”
“Mother.” I paused.
“Yes.”
I hesitated. “I didn’t have a night with Trevor, Mother.”
“What happened?”
I removed a bottle of wine from the cooler and poured a glass full. I leaned against the refrigerator and drank the wine as if it were water. “The same thing that always happens. Trevor turned out to be not so different,” I said, and poured
another glass full.
“No different from whom?”
“You name him,” I suggested. “No different from Gavin, from Ethan, from D…”
“From Demetrius?”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“And who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
“They came into my life or brought me into theirs only to do what, prove to me that love’s only purpose, as far as I’m concern, is to hurt me.”
“So now you’re through with Trevor? And what do you do now? Are you going to just move on to the next? Is it always one and done with you?”
“Mother, nothing gives you the right to say that.”
“Besides being your mother and loving you, you’re right.”
“Love has been one big disappointment after the other.”
“And there’s no second chance?”
“What about my second chance? Did I ever get one? I’m waiting for a reason that never came. And I have forgotten how it feels to have his love. Why couldn’t he have left before I had gotten to know him? Then his love wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Jackson, sweetheart. You do realize you’re no longer talking about Trevor. Your relationships are never going to work if you keep looking for your father in these men you love. They don’t owe you his love. You are no longer the little boy he left.”
“He gave me no choice.”
“You’re right. He didn’t. But not being here to see the man you’ve become is his lost. I hate to sound harsh, but baby, get over it. Your father has, I’m sure.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mother. I have to go.”
“I love you, Jackson. And remember, love doesn’t end because you choose not to forgive.”
“I love you, too, Mrs. Kirkwood.”
• • • • •
I usually don’t question my decisions. Each exit I passed, I tried to convince myself to take the next one, and then the next, but here I was turning onto Willow Crest Court, still wondering if it were too late to turn around.
“What are you doing?” I asked Trevor when he answered his phone. He sounded as if my call was the last thing he expected.
“Sitting at the table, thinking?”
“About?”
“You. What else?” Trevor asked.
“Come outside.”
“What am I coming outside for?”
“Stop asking questions. Are you coming or not?”
I sat in Trevor’s driveway, playing with the radio dial. It’s funny how a song can summarize exactly what you were feeling.
John Legend bellowed with his passion wrapped around his voice. “You love, you love, you love, though you’ve been burn, you still return.”
I wasn’t ready for what his words were doing to me. My heart sank as I thought of Trevor, his love for me, and the love I had for him. I thought about how much I had grown because of loving, and because of losing love.
I reclined my seat, closed my eyes momentarily, and smiled, ignoring the tears that created their own path down the side of my face. I smiled again. When I finally opened my eyes, Trevor was standing there looking at me. He looked at me like he was seeing my face again for the first time. His look appeased me.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His arms were folded and rested on the top of the car. He was staring down at me. He licked his lips as I answered.
“Oh, I’m fine.” I was still in my reclined position, looking at Trevor from the corners of my eyes.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that to convince me.”
I returned the chair back to its upright position, folded my arms on the car door, and rested my chin on them. Trevor stooped. We were now looking into each other’s eyes.
“No, seriously, I’m fine.” I turned my head and smiled.
We both sat there in silence. As we sat, I thought. The thoughts came and went. The smiles came in between thoughts. I did nothing to interrupt.
My search for love had always been one constant in my life. I tried to picture myself with someone else, but even when I closed my eyes, squeezing them tighter than my muscles would allow, the only face I saw was Trevor’s. Love was telling me not to let go, but it couldn’t tell me how to stop hurting if I held on.
I wanted something.
I wanted someone to ask me what I was doing on New Year’s Eve, though it was only the Fourth of July. The part of my heart I thought I would never get back was mine again. Many things never happened for me, but I’m glad Trevor did. And to think I almost lost him. I did everything I could to keep my father, Gavin, and then Ethan, in my life, but here I was, doing everything I could to shut Trevor out.
“So how much longer are you going to stay out here?” Trevor asked. “As much as I like looking at you, I can’t stoop like this too much longer.”
“I don’t plan on sleeping out here.” I smiled. “Give me a few minutes.”
“I thought tonight wasn’t going to happen. Thanks for not hurting me like I hurt you.”
“Do you love him?” I asked. I was looking straight ahead.
“No.”
I turned to look at Trevor, looking through his eyes and into his soul.
I remained silent.
He stood, turned, and began walking towards the house. When he was several feet from the front door, his cell phone rang.
“This is Trevor,” he answered quickly.
“I forgot to tell you I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Trevor turned around and smiled. The phone was still pressed against his ear.
“I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone and slowly sat back in the car.
About the Author
Kristofer Clarke is the author of Less Than Perfect Circumstance. He is an educator in the District of Columbia Metropolitan area. He holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from Middlebury College, and a Master of Education degree from Bowie State University. He is currently working on his next novel.
Visit Kristofer at www.kristoferclarke.webs.com
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