Message of Love (31 page)

Chapter 37

January 1983

The news came to us in a strange way, vicariously.

Wesley had left a call for Everett, a strange one, an almost nonsensical combination of Christmas carols. Everett called back, but didn’t get an answer. Our Christmas card to him was returned in the mail.

Then a week went by. Everett called again, but it just rang and rang. When someone did pick up, it wasn’t Wesley, but his landlord. He was evasive and suspicious, and only offered a number for Wesley’s family after some outright begging.

As Everett crooked the phone on one shoulder, he kept nervously folding his legs into different positions. I sat on the edge of the bed in our room, waiting, wanting to support him for what seemed inevitable.

“Three weeks ago?... Yes, from Pinecrest…We were friends… I … I just…I’m sorry. Yes, I understand. It must have been… no, we saw him last June, and we’ve talked a few…Excuse me?... Yes, sir.”

Despite the lowered volume, I could hear a male voice, tinny through the phone, but growing increasingly terse. Everett’s face tensed and he eventually ran out of words.

“I’m sorry about…No, I understand...When you can. Yes, thank you.”

As he set the phone down, his gaze remained on it, then the blanket beneath him, his legs, anywhere but toward me. Not knowing what to say, I slid over to the bed and held him.

The fact that we had missed his funeral, and even wondered if we, or just Everett would have, or could have even gone to it –Wesley’s family lived in Bradford Woods, a rich suburb of Pittsburgh– added to the lack of closure.

Expecting him to cry, I didn’t let go, until he eased back.

“It’s okay. I’m… It’s not like we didn’t expect it. I’m just… a bit stunned.”

He didn’t cry, not then. We simply lay back in bed, and held each other. I could almost feel him thinking, though, wondering, perhaps the same thoughts as mine. Who could we tell? Who could hear this news and not worry for us or ask more questions? Our parents might panic, and couldn’t be told of his close connection. Holly, perhaps. It was then that I realized, perhaps Gerard would be our only true friend who could understand.

After almost dozing off in thought, Everett shifted to roll over, facing me sideways as we lay in the bed.

“Promise me something.”

I waited.

“If I get sick…”

“Ev, you’re not –”

“Promise me you won’t leave.”

“Aw, Ev.” I clutched him closer, dug my face in his shoulder. It wasn’t right to remind him that I was the one who begged to stay with him after his accident, and that if anything happened to him, it would be he who might tear us apart again. “Never. Never ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Despite my assurances, Wesley’s death weighed on him like a sledgehammer. He stopped going to classes, stopped going to basketball practice, even stopped eating for a few days, until I practically forced a few sandwiches on him.

He couldn’t exactly explain to his parents the depth of his relationship with Wesley. I knew he didn’t have that sort of connection to them. And with my last semester underway, I had other creatures to babysit.

Along with a few other near-graduates, I’d been chosen to work on a special hybridization project between the university and the Parks Department to develop and observe the growth of elm saplings. The trees would be grown under observation to make them stronger and hardy enough to grow in the city’s smaller parks, to withstand the pollution.

The problem was, we had to visit the Ambler campus, which was about a forty-minute drive north. Taking care of Everett’s obvious depression was too much. I didn’t even know if I could leave him overnight for the frequent weekend visits to Ambler.

“I made dinner.” I stood in the doorway to our bedroom, which Everett hadn’t left all day. The television, an occasional distraction, had become a constant annoyance.

“
Green Acres
?”

“I get allergic smelling hay.”

“Funny.”

He seemed fascinated by the most banal programs, watching old sitcoms, obviously to avoid facing the duties of his last semester, and me.

“So. Dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you’re not.” I shook my head, retreated to the kitchen and ate alone.

And yet, hours later, since he wouldn’t shut off the TV, I studied in the living room, and heard him eventually roll into the kitchen. A few irritated clunks and crashes of dishware brought me back to see the leftovers spread across a counter.

“I’m fine. Just–”

I stood, waited, then retreated.

And later, in bed, I asked him, “When was the last time you went to your classes?”

“Why are you…? Tuesday.”

“Do you want me to go to your lectures, get notes from a classmate or something?”

“No. Jeez, Reid, just… I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a bother. I’m just doing labs for the rest of the semester.”

“No, thank you.” He turned away, as if trying to hide himself under the covers.

And he kept at it for another week. This wasn’t working.

So I called in the emergency assistance.

“Holly?”

“Reid?”

A casual drive across Pennsylvania usually took about six hours, seven if one stopped for a meal or a break. Holly showed up at the door in five.

“How did you…?”

“I obeyed the speed limit, mostly,” she snarled as she unraveled a hat, scarf, and coat.

“Damn.”

“Where’s the brat?” she growled as she hugged me.

I nodded toward our room.

“Pretty nice digs!” she admired as she preceded me through the rooms and to the bedroom door.

“So, I hear someone’s having an extended pity party? Should I have brought a gift?”

“Holly!” Everett sat up in the bed, looked to me. “You… You called her. You didn’t have to
–”

“Apparently he did,” Holly said. “Now get out of that bed, get your bony ass in the shower, and we are gonna have a little powwow.”

“But…”

Holly snapped her fingers like Mary Poppins and, much to my surprise, Everett obeyed.

As we heard him showering in the bathroom, Holly said, “So, we’re just going to talk; old family stuff. Who knows? Maybe you should–”

“I’ll, I’m gonna go for a run,” I said.

“Okay, then.”

“I guess I’m sleeping on that,” she said, glancing toward the sofa.

“Yeah. We have blankets.”

“You’re a sweetie.”

“I should… make some food.”

Holly shrugged, but I foraged in the fridge. She paced around the living room, then to the side table in the dining room. Among a stack of magazines was Everett’s pile of graduate school applications.

“Ooh, UC Berkeley!” she called out, then entered the kitchen. “I had a college friend who moved there. Damn, what was her name?”

“He hasn’t even looked at those, so I don’t know if–” I couldn’t find any bread for sandwiches.

“Well, if you decide to visit, maybe I can look her up.”

“You mean if he goes.”

“But aren’t you–?”

She stopped. Everett finally appeared, dressed, his hair damp yet clean, a sheepish smile on his flushed face.

“Are we eating?” he asked.

I leaned against the counter, unsure of what I was doing.

“Why don’t you let me take him off your hands for a bit.” Holly then coaxed him out of the house with a lure of coffee and a chat in whatever secret code they had between them. He seemed reluctant but resigned. Holly had driven for five hours, after all.

Left alone, I changed, put on track pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, chose a hooded sweatshirt, and changed into my running shoes. But then I just felt like not going running.

Mrs. Kukka was off at a faculty retiree dinner. I decided to clean up, even though there wasn’t much cleaning to be done, other than some laundry and changing the sheets. Instead I selected a few blankets and spare pillows, placed them on the sofa.

I found myself sitting on the stripped bed, the dryer humming down the hall, and that funny green quilt Everett had bought lying folded on a chair.

That’s when it hit me, the calm, silent creeping inevitability of what could happen to us, to him and me, to anyone else like Wesley, or anyone who got too intimate with him. The choking bursts of tears overtook me, then settled after a bit.

Everett had his sister to talk to, about himself, but also about me. Who could I turn to? Gerard, who still rode a jagged balance between his fantastic urban adult life and college, had already mentioned some friend of a friend of his older gay friends who was in some Manhattan hospital with pneumonia. Anything I confessed to him would eventually be shared with Everett in some way, or his new roommates.

My parents were certainly understanding about the situation, but explaining the details would be too much, too exposing. Had we become so intimate to the point of excluding others?

After I finished up cleaning and rearranging the blankets and sheets, the pillows we had shared, I searched in our boxes of souvenirs to find the scrap of paper nestled in with one of my dried palm fronds from Florida, and dialed a phone number.

“Yello.”

“Nick?”

“This is Nick.”

“Nick, it’s Reid. Reid Conniff. We, uh, met in–”

“Reid! Oh my god! You don’t have to remind me! How are you, stud? How’s Everett?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, actually, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

After explaining as best I could between another shudder of choked back sobs, he soothed me with his deep voice and that affable accent of his. He listened to my version of Wesley, a truncated variation, and our fears, and I asked for his discretion.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you,” he said. “I’ve seen a few guys, cases, emergencies that were way overdue. There ain’t that many guys out here in Long Island. It’s mostly in the city. But…we had this one guy. His family, he’d come home and they didn’t know what to do. He had pneumonia, and they had his room all blocked off and were wearing facemasks and afraid to even touch him. The coroner wouldn’t even ... It’s lookin’ bad, I gotta tell ya.” His voice soothed me, despite his news told in quiet outrage.

“But I don’t want you to worry. I mean, I’m as healthy as a horse, okay? And as long as you guys are careful–”

“But what does careful mean?” I asked. “Can we even have sex, I mean, just between us?”

“I think you’ll be okay.”

“You think.”

Neither of us spoke. I heard a television in the background, then the sound of him shifting, then silence.

“You still there?”

“Yep,” I answered.

“Sorry. Stupid TV.”

“It’s okay.”

“Hey, what if I came out to visit you guys?”

“Oh, I dunno.”

“A lil too tempting, huh?”

“Yeah. We’re… He’s… I’d really like to see you, but…”

“It’s okay. Just an idea.”

As we exchanged farewells, part of me wanted to erase what had happened between the three of us. The other part wanted him to take us in his big furry arms and hold us.

As I waited for Holly and Everett to return, I sorted through the pile of mail Everett hadn’t touched.

He had yet to complete his applications to Yale for PolySci-Public Policy, and to UC Berkeley for a Masters degree in Disability Studies. Temple also had such a program, so I had also begun to fill out an application, but was waiting to see if he even wanted to return there.

For me, working again at Fairmount Park would do for a challenge, but only if he was nearby. I had sent for an application to the Forestry program at Boulder, Colorado, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in academia, or Philadelphia.

We could stay or leave.

But if he stayed in this mood, avoided making decisions, how would that affect our plans? I needed him to be strong, make a choice, otherwise I would have to do it instead.

Chapter 38

February 1983

Birthdays and Christmases had their fumbles on my part. I was never the best shopper. But Valentine’s Day had to be perfect.

Of course it wasn’t.

Everett had cheered up a bit, and returned to his classes. But despite Holly’s visit, an unspoken tension clouded our days. It was as if Wesley’s ghost had moved in with us. I imagined him sitting on the sofa, calling out, “Hey, Mutt! Get me a beer.”

It got to the point where I couldn’t stand it any longer. My consoling was met with indifference. We hadn’t had sex in more than a month, which was understandable. But even hugging, holding him in bed, became a sort of cautious grieving gesture. It wasn’t about just us any longer, and I didn’t know when it would be again.

One night, as I embraced him from behind, he merely tugged down his sweatpants and pushed my hips toward him. My kisses to the back of his neck were met with indifference.

“Ev.”

“Mmm?”

“Are you even…?”

“Go ahead,” he muttered.

I rolled away. “I want to have sex with you, not on you.”

He rolled over, looked at me, then turned away. “I’m just tired.”

When Valentine’s Day approached, on a Tuesday, I thought a special weekend might help get Everett out of the last of his depression. We both would have the next Monday, Presidents Day, off.

After dinner, where the holiday had yet to be mentioned by either of us, I presented Everett with a card. Inside was a little handmade certificate that read, “This entitles Everett Forrester to a romantic weekend at the Wedgewood Historic Inn in scenic New Hope.”

Everett stared at the card, the envelope. “I’m so sorry I forgot.”

“We can go this weekend. I made reservations. It’s for your birthday, too.”

“I can’t, sweetie. I did get you something, but I forgot to–”

“Why not? It’s even accessible. Well, sort of.”

“I’m just not up for it. I’m sorry. We can have sex tonight, if you want. I can get my present, if you can wait a few days.”

“That’s it? Sex and, oops, I forgot?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Yeah, I know; still grieving over the jerk who sort of raped you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, but it’s accurate, according to you.”

“I have to… Listen, I need to go visit a friend at Magee. He’s not doing very well.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re so considerate.”

I took our plates and walked off into the kitchen.

He would be gone for hours, but even after returning, a distance kept us quiet, avoiding each other.

That Thursday, I packed some clothes.

“Where are you going?” Everett had been in the living room, catching up on his studies. I had hoped to make a quick and painless exit, but he wheeled into the bedroom.

“I have to work on my saplings for my final project.”

“You’re going up to Ambler?”

“Well, you don’t want go to New Hope, so, I’m gonna work over the weekend.”

“Well, maybe it’s best that we have some distance.”

“No, it’s not best, Ev. It’s the worst. But I’m not gonna watch you be all depressed about something we can’t change.”

“There’s a lot of things we can’t change.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t stand knowing I’ve robbed you of a normal life.”

“Oh, this again.” I tossed a sweatshirt into my duffle bag. “Normal? What is normal?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, we’re not sick. We’re fine. You need to let him go.”

“It’s not just that. I tried so many ways to let you–”

“What, let me go? Give me an exit sign? That’s not gonna happen.”

“Until we know, we can’t be normal, and that’s on top of all this,” he said, gesturing dismissively toward his legs.

“Ev. We’ve never been normal, not even ‘gay’ normal. I mean, jeez, the first time we made out, we had sex with a tree, in the middle of winter! That’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too. That’s why I can’t–”

“No. Ev? No. I don’t want any more excuses. When you are ready to accept that Wesley is gone, and accept being stuck with dopey me, who doesn’t know any better, who knows he isn’t gonna get sick because of you, and doesn’t want anyone else…”

That was where I should have started crying, but I didn’t. Wesley’s ghost had deadened my tears.

“When you can trust me enough to know, then you come back to me,” I said. “And you need to finish those grad school applications.”

“Fuck that.”

“No, Ev. Do not ‘fuck that.’ Don’t let him fuck up your life any more. Because you’re fucking up mine, too.”

He sulked. “I thought you liked taking care of me.”

“Like?” A fury overtook me. “I do it because I have to, because you’re my boyfriend, and I’m yours. Do you know how many times I think about that day, and wish I’d gone to your school and just yanked you off the field and made it never happen?”

“We can’t blame anyone for it, Reid. That’s…just don’t.”

I waited. His silence kept me there, standing in the doorway, clinging to his indecision, his doubt, flushed with my own awful admission. And then, as if to offer a truce, he asked, “Do you wanna take the van?”

“No, I’ll take the bus. I’ll be back on Sunday night.”

“But what if I need to contact you?”

“Write me a letter.” And then, I added, caustically quoting myself, “We always did good with long distance.”

For the next three days, I dug my fingers into the greenhouse piles of dirt with a frenzy. Our instructor, Professor Marsh, was almost shocked by the determination I showed in getting saplings planted, nurtured, sampled. Despite the snowy cold outside, in the warmth of the greenhouse, I sweated.

She had no idea how angry I was, how frustrated, how the low stream of panic running through my veins drove me.

What if this was the real break up with Everett? What if he couldn’t find it in himself to let me be his, to settle for the jug-eared nature geek who would not let go?

“Reid?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I’d been jarred out of my worries. Professor Marsh gave me a curious look.

“You seem very intent on your work.”

“Oh, sorry, Ma’am. I was just–”

“Can you stop with the Ma’am stuff. You make me feel old.”

“Sorry.” I stood, wiped my hands of soil.

“Don’t be. Anyway, I was going to ask you; didn’t you mention having worked at a summer camp?”

“Two years; well, a month for two summers, with disabled kids.”

“Yes, that’s sweet. So, I was putting together a summer project that… You also worked at Fairmount Park, right?”

“Yep.”

“And how was that?”

“Tough, but I learned a lot.”

“Well, if you’re going to stay in Philly, I might have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

“Doing what?”

“Teaching kids about nature; planting trees and flowers in the park and on a few day trips up here.”

“Oh. That sounds great.”

“Okay. Well, the applications will be available in a few weeks. I’ll get one to you.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t bring up the question of whether or not I would stay in the city, because I didn’t know. Almost thinking I would have to check with Everett first, I then stopped myself, and wondered if I should. Our growing silences didn’t seem to allow such news.

When I returned to the house, he was gone, a note clipped to the fridge; ‘B-BALL.’

I didn’t know if it meant he had practice or a game I should attend.

He got back late. We spoke little, some perfunctory niceties, but the ice hadn’t broken. A few times I walked in on him, headphones on, probably making another mix tape, avoiding me.

The rest of the week became that, him huffing through some task in the other room, or being out early in the morning with a mere nod to go help his friends in need.

By the next weekend, I merely left a note for him; ‘Ambler. Back Sunday.’

But I heard back from him sooner than that.

The guest dorm rooms provided for myself and a few other commuting students were sparsely furnished but quiet. I’d slept deeply, having almost forgotten how easy it was to sleep alone.

With a towel and my small bag of toiletries, I was about to leave for the bathroom down the hall when I saw a little green piece of cut-out paper in the shape of a heart that had been slipped under the door. When I opened the door, I found a small package on the floor with one word written on it. LISTEN.

Opening it, I already figured what was inside, a cassette tape. He must have noticed I’d packed my WalkMan and earphones.

Ducking back into the room, I looked out the window to see if I could see his van anywhere nearby. No such luck. How had he, why had he snuck in here and then just left?

I returned to the package.

In between his instructions were songs, music I listened to as I sat on the bus, headed back toward home. His voice told me where to get off, when to stop the tape if the timing wasn’t right.

As he had instructed, I got off the bus at the stop. Taped to the stop, right on the map, was another little cluster of hearts.

I walked, as instructed, down Spruce Street, where I found more little hearts, randomly taped or pinned to trees along the sidewalk. At every stop, I plucked them and stuffed them into my pockets. It was my usual route, but each step filled me with hope.

Expecting a room full of little green hearts, I instead saw a trail leading to our bedroom. My best suit, a tie and a white button-down shirt hung on the suit rack, with another heart: PUT ME ON.

Confused to find that he wasn’t in the apartment, I changed, again pressed play on my WalkMan. I heard more instructions. ‘Take the town car outside.’

And there, outside, was a black sedan.

“Mister Conniff?”

A portly older gentleman in a cap and dress suit opened the door for me. Inside the car, the seat and floor were littered with tiny paper red and green hearts. Okay, the color theme had changed.

‘Enjoy the ride,’ Everett’s voice said on the tape, as Gary Numan’s “Cars” piped in. The subsequent music sometimes switched genres, but the songs’ themes about love repeated: Pete Townsend’s “Let My Love Open the Door,” The Spinners, “Working My Way Back to You,” Spandau Ballet’s “True,” and our old favorite, our first song, The Babys’ “Every Time I Think of You.”

The chauffeur drove downtown, around the Logan Square fountain, and along a street up into Fairmount Park. Still mystified by this journey, I gazed at the passing tree branches, all coated in a fine layer of snow.

The Valley Green Inn at first appeared like Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” Closer inspection showed icicles dripping, slushy grey snow on the road, and the scent of burning wood.

It was mid-afternoon. The driver nodded as I got out.

“Are you…?”

“Staying to take you gentlemen back? Yes, sir.”

I didn’t know if I should have saluted him.

As I removed my glasses, my eyes adjusted to the darker interior. The rustic restaurant was almost empty of patrons. But there, at a corner table, by the bright light of a window, Everett sat, dressed in a suit and tie, forcing a smile, expectant, nervous, and perhaps relieved.

“What is all this?” I leaned in for a brief hug, and sat across from him. A waiter approached, presented us with a bottle of wine, an expensive one, it seemed.

A few people huddled around tables nearby, sipping hot drinks, but mostly the dining hall was empty, with a few waiters hovering at the edges.

“How did you …?”

“They don’t do many wedding parties in the winter.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

I rubbed my hands for warmth, then emptied my pockets. His message of love, the paper hearts that littered the trail to him, spilled across the table.

“How long were you waiting here?” I asked.

“About an hour.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, at least you showed up, finally,” he smiled.

“This is… Thank you.”

“Before we have dinner, or, lunch, actually, I have something for you.”

“There’s more?”

He reached into his breast pocket, extracted a small container and offered it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.”

Inside the small velvet box were two rings. The silvery loops resembled… “Tire treads?”

“I had them made special. I ordered them before–”

He didn’t want to say his name, but I knew. Wesley would be with us, perhaps always, just not now.

“I’ve never had any jewelry.”

“I noticed,” he said.

“Is the other one for you?”