The Distance (5 page)

“Yeah, me too.” I changed lanes, then glanced at him and asked, “Do you want me to take you back to the party, or home? You didn’t look like you were having a very good time before I whisked you away on this field trip.”

“The party, I guess. Chance will be expecting me to come back.”

“Yeah, I saw you all arrived together. How’s it been living with your friend and his family?”

He said, “I don’t belong there. Chance and Finn are newlyweds, and on top of that, they’ve only been the legal guardians of Chance’s kid brother Colt and his boyfriend Elijah for a few months. They’re in the process of coming together as a family, and I feel like I’m intruding.”

“I’m sure they don’t think you are. Chance is your best friend, and he cares about you.”

“But I still feel like I am. I need to move out, but that would be a lot easier if I had a job, and if this city wasn’t so insanely expensive.” As he was speaking, his slender hands kept fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. I noticed he’d chosen to wear head-to-toe black to a Valentine’s Day party.

“No luck finding work, huh?”

He shook his head. “The only jobs I’m qualified for pay minimum wage, and I can’t live on that. If I went back to prostitution, I could support myself. But that can’t happen right now. Never mind that Finn’s a cop, and that Chance started a whole new life and quit the business. I’m living with two high school kids. What kind of example would I be setting for them if I went out and turned tricks every night?” Zachary sighed and added, “I wish I’d never given up my studio apartment in the Lower Haight. I didn’t realize what a good deal I’d been getting. I’ve looked at similar apartments since then, and they’re all three times more than I was paying.”

“Why’d you give it up?”

He laughed humorlessly and said, “Ironically, because I was running from Chance, and now I live with him. He used to live right across the hall.”

“Why would you run from your best friend?”

He was quiet for a long moment before saying softly, “Because I was in love with him, and when he got involved with Finn it shattered me.”

“Oh God. It must hurt so bad to see him with his new husband every day!”

“It’s not like it was when they first got together. I’ve made a lot of progress. Every day is a lesson in letting go.” He fell silent and turned his head to look out the window again as my heart broke for him.

When we reached Nana’s house and got out of the car, I went around and grabbed him in a hug. I wasn’t exactly a big guy, but he felt tiny and fragile in my arms. He hesitated for a moment before sinking into the embrace. I told him, “I had no idea you’ve been going through so much. You usually don’t say anything.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But you’re easy to talk to, Jessie. I kind of feel like you’re the same as me in some ways, like maybe you’re hurting inside too, but never want anyone to know it. So, I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d understand.”

“I totally get it, and I want you to know I’m here for you, day or night. Seriously, any time you need a friend, pick up the phone or come on over.”

He let go of me and stepped back, his hair hiding his eyes again as he looked at the pavement. “I appreciate that, Jessie. I don’t exactly have a lot of friends, so that’s…well, it’s kind of huge.”

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand. “Let’s go fill our bellies and enjoy the party. The caterer made way too much food, and I happen to know the mini pizzas are excellent because I helped make them.” Zachary gave me a little smile and let me tow him into the house.

Inside was total mayhem, of course. It was well past midnight, but there was absolutely no indication that the party was winding down. Dombrusos, drag queens, little old ladies, gay guys in their twenties, artists, musicians, families, and a whole lot of people who didn’t fit into any particular category were laughing, dancing, drinking, and generally making merry.

As we waded into the chaos, Nana’s fiancé Ollie hurried over to us, bow and arrows in hand. He was wearing pink long underwear with little wings on his back, a bulky cloth diaper, and red high-top sneakers. Ollie drew back his bow and shot me with an arrow. The heart-shaped foam tip bounced off my chest. He flashed a huge smile, yelled, “Direct hit,” and disappeared back into the crowd. His Chihuahua fetched the arrow, and then he and Nana’s big, furry mutt followed Ollie. Both the dogs were wearing pink sweaters with red hearts.

Zachary chuckled and leaned close to be heard over the music and noise. “It was worth coming back just for that.”

We filled a couple plates at the lavish buffet, which was still overflowing several hours into the party, then wound our way through the kitchen and stepped out into the much quieter backyard. Several guests had had the same idea. We joined Skye and Dare and a group of their friends, who sat around a glowing fire pit to the right of Cockhenge. Chance and his husband were a part of their group. So was River, who pulled a couple more chairs over for us. He’d donned a façade of rehearsed cheerfulness, which would have been convincing if I didn’t know better.

Skye’s best friend Christian was sharing a lounge chair with his husband Shea, and he called to me from across the fire pit, “So how’d it go, Speed Racer?”

I shot Skye a look, and he said, “Okay, I might have told a couple more people, but it didn’t get back to Nana. I promise.”

I turned back to Christian and said, “It sucked. The other racer is a douche and I thought he was going to slam into me, possibly on purpose. Basically, he played chicken with me and I lost.”

“That does suck, but hey, at least you made it back in one piece,” Haley said. He was holding a huge, half-empty margarita glass and looked like he was feeling no pain.

“Yeah, but I’m also pissed. I hate that guy, and I never hate anybody!”

“I think you just really need him to apologize for making you crash last year,” Zachary said.

“I do, but he never will. It’s like my friend Kenji said, that’d be the same as this guy admitting he was wrong, and he’s not about to do that. Instead, I’ll settle for another rematch. Next time, maybe I can race him on a divided track or something so he can’t pull his usual bullshit.”

“Maybe you should let this go,” Dare suggested before taking a drink from the bright blue cocktail he was sharing with his husband.

“I can’t. I need one more shot. I
had him
tonight, right up until I thought he was going to slam into me and send my car rolling again.”

We chatted with our little group for another half hour or so, until we were joined by Chance’s kid brother Colt and his boyfriend Elijah, who both looked exhausted. Chance, Finn, and Zachary decided to head home with the boys, and I got up and walked them out. I gave Zachary a hug and said, “Talk to you soon, okay?”

“For sure. Thanks for everything tonight, I had a good time.” He offered me a little smile.

I’d followed them to the porch and stayed out there even after my friends took off. I just wasn’t in the mood for a big, noisy party that night. I would have retreated to my room, but that wasn’t an option since it wouldn’t be much quieter in there.

After a while, I decided to go for a drive. I felt better as soon as I got behind the wheel and turned the key. The sound of the engine was as soothing as listening to music. To me, at least. I headed for the coast, and as I drove, I replayed the race over and over in my mind, especially the way the big Mustang serpentined as Trigger tried to keep his car in check. I’d been watching him out of the corner of my eye the entire race, and it had felt intentional when he swerved toward me, a sharp break from the steady pattern his car had been following.

Maybe I wouldn’t have flinched and eased off the gas if he hadn’t wrecked my car last time. Racers swerved or even bumped the other car occasionally, it was usually no big deal. But this was different, given our history. Trigger knew what he’d done to me a year ago, so he had to know lunging at me would make me flash back to the accident. That felt so underhanded. It was like punching someone in the face, and later pretending to throw a punch at them. Of course the person who’d been hit was going to flinch.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. On impulse, I headed south to a neighborhood called Bernal Heights, out past the Mission District. I’d heard Trigger worked in a garage out there, someplace called Vic’s, or Nick’s, something like that. I didn’t expect him to be working at that hour, but I went anyway, just to check it out. Once I found the shop, I could show up Monday morning and demand a rematch. Getting an apology for almost killing me a year ago would also be nice, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

Bernal Heights was built around a huge, grassy open space dominated by a pair of fairly nondescript hills. It was called, to no one’s surprise, Bernal Heights Park. It always seemed odd to me that the people who built out almost every square inch of San Francisco took a look at that pair of hillocks and decided, “Nah.” The neighborhood around the park was nearly as jam-packed as the rest of the city, but those two undeveloped hills stood as an example of what the area would have looked like if San Francisco had never happened.

I circled around the park to Cortland Avenue, where a lot of the neighborhood’s businesses were clustered, but didn’t spot a garage as I drove the length of it. Eventually, I pulled over and consulted my phone. A place called Kit’s sounded right, and when I found it, I stopped in the quiet street and checked it out.

The garage was good-sized, probably big enough to hold six or seven cars, but it wasn’t much to look at. It sat by itself on a weedy lot at the very edge of the neighborhood, close to the freeway. Most of the paint had worn away, exposing rough-looking wood siding. The pair of graffiti-covered metal doors that made up the front of the shop didn’t look any better, and a sign above them was so faded that it was almost illegible. Apparently Kit wasn’t big on the concept of curb appeal.

A light was on under the metal doors, and when I’d driven up, I’d caught a glimpse of movement through a glass door on the right side of the shop. Really? Someone was working at this hour on a Saturday night? Well, that or somebody was robbing the place, but what self-respecting crook would choose to knock over a complete crap pile?

I backed the car up to get a better look at what was happening inside and spotted Trigger through the glass door. Well good, I wouldn’t have to wait until Monday. I parked and went up to the door. Surprisingly, it swung open when I pushed on it, jingling some old-fashioned chimes to announce my arrival.

Trigger was dressed in a tight, black tank top and worn-out jeans, and was washing his hands in an industrial sink when I came in. The shop’s interior was spotless and well-maintained, in sharp contrast to the outside. His Mustang and two black, late sixties Impalas were lined up on the far side of the concrete floor. The Stang’s hood was up, and an empty paper coffee cup and a greasy shop rag decorated its fender.

To say he was surprised to see me was a major understatement. Trigger’s brown eyes went wide and he blurted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I want an apology. I also want a rematch, but first we have to find a track with a concrete barrier down the center to keep you from coming at me again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m capable of purposely trying to wreck your car, why would you come here? I mean, according to you, I’m guilty of attempted murder. I also must have the reflexes of a cobra, since I managed to hit your careening car in the split second that your tire blew out. Yet here you are, strolling into the lair of someone who’d have to be a complete sociopath, given your accusations.”

“I don’t think you meant to hurt me. You’re a dick, not a psycho. You probably just wanted to knock my car out of commission. But that’s still incredibly dangerous and a really shitty thing to do to someone, so would it kill you to say you’re sorry? Just once? Would those words make you shrivel up and die, right here on the concrete?”

His voice rose as he exclaimed, “Why would I apologize when
you
hit
me
?”

“Oh yeah. I swerved right, hit you, and then my car went flying off to the left, where it rolled half a dozen times. Because physics works like that!”

“Sure it does, when we’re talking about your little Fisher Price car ricocheting off a solid metal object!” He stormed over to his Mustang, picked up the paper coffee cup and said, “Here’s a demonstration so you can understand this once and for all. This cup will stand in for your toy car, since they weigh about the same. My Mustang will be playing herself in this reenactment. I’m driving along, minding my own business, but then your tire explodes and oh, look!” He threw the cup at the Ford’s fender, and it bounced off and rolled across the floor. “See that? That’s exactly what happened! Cause and effect. You hit me, you bounced off, and the stupid embankment on the side of the road acted like a ramp, so you went airborne and then you rolled. I’m sure that sucked, I’m sure it was scary as shit, but what it wasn’t was
my fucking fault
.”

“Thank you for that brilliant reenactment, and your point would have been made spectacularly, except for the fact that I was actually driving something made by Mazda and not by fucking
Dixie
.”

“Whatever. My car weighed twice as much as yours, so the result was the same.”

“Except that here’s what actually happened,” I said, marching over to the coffee cup. “You hit me, and my car did this.” I stomped on the cup and flattened it. “And yet, somehow, saying you’re sorry is just asking way the hell too much from you!”