Wishing on a Blue Star (37 page)

Adding that together with the stuff I mentioned earlier, and I’m left with a deep sense of melancholy today. It wont last, of course. It never does, because something always comes along to distract me. but in the interim I find it hard to be enthusiastic or even interested in anything. Classic signs of depression.

Fortunately, unlike the PCP, Doc doesn’t seem to be bent on stuffing me full of anti-depressants. Perhaps he already knows as I surmise that still more drugs would interfere with an already delicate balancing act. I know for a fact that *I* don’t want to risk it, at least. There are already too many other unaccounted variables to contend with.

Doc is on a more-than-well-deserved vacation all next week, and I am startled to discover an irrational sense of panic. Irrational because I’m quite capable of fending for myself at this point, and yet panic because my “safety net” is gone, I suppose. When did I start relying on a net in the first place? I’ve always been well suited to walking the tightrope without a pole,much less a harness and cushions to land on.

It’s a sobering thought, and one I best contemplate beneath the solace of my rock, carefully shielding myself from the rest of the world lest I start resenting my friends and family for having something I do not; A definite future.

Thank you for all the wonderful comments you’ve been posting. I don’t always have the energy to answer them as I’d like, but I can and do read each and every one. Beyond making me feel good, they also serve to remind me that it’s still worth striving for a future, however long it may be.

Cheers!

Patric

Leaves

Moria McCain

Dedicated to my Hermit Man, who was more than my inspiration and cheerleader, but became my big brother and dearest friend rolled into one.

The wind swirled a handful of gold and brown leaves around the small group by the coffin at the cemetery. The leaves danced about the people as the minister continued to offer words of comfort. Mitch snorted softly to himself. The minister, his dad, was good at offering words of comfort to strangers, but to his own son, he could think of nothing to say most of the time. He admitted to being surprised to see his father officiating over the funeral, as Aldo’s mom had never liked him. Maybe Reverend Tony was ill. He turned his gaze back to his former best friend and had to smile.

Only Aldo would wear a bright yellow suit to his mother’s funeral. Aldo’s father, Steve, had come to the funeral, and if Mitch hadn’t known that yellow was Lorraine’s favorite color, he might have thought that Aldo was mocking the man. Steve hadn’t cared about Lorraine while she was sick, so to come now seemed wrong.

Mitch studied Aldo and noted the rigid shoulders and clenched fists. Aldo was barely holding on, and if he’d thought it would do any good at all, Mitch would have walked over to him and consoled him. Unfortunately, after the way they had parted at the end of their senior year, he doubted Aldo would want anything to do with him, short of punching him even nearly ten years later.

Mitch closed his eyes. God, he had been such a weak-assed jerk. He had caved under the pressure from his parents, and the things, the stupid things he had told Aldo made sure that the young man would hate him forever and with good reason. Mitch opened his eyes to see his father looking at him. Mitch straightened and turned away.

He had come to Lorraine’s funeral as he had promised her he would. They had spoken often, and when she had told him that she was done fighting the cancer, he had broken down and cried. She had been his rock while he had gone through so many changes in his life. It had been Lorraine who had encouraged him to become a paralegal, who had held him when his mother had died in that car accident last year. He had owed her this. Now it was time to leave, before Aldo knew he was there. Walking to his car, he thought back to that day he had broken Aldo’s heart and his own.

“What do you mean you aren’t going to State? I thought we agreed on this. We’d get an apartment and be together, screw family.” Aldo’s voice rose until he was nearly yelling, his long dark hair tangled from where he had run his hands through it. “Damn it, Mitch. What are you saying here?”

“I’m going to The Gospel Ministry College. I’ve been called to be a minister by God. Please, Aldo, understand this. I
—
I was wrong in what we did. I understand that now.”

“Understand what? That we are wrong for loving one another? How is that wrong? Mitch
—
”

“No, we misunderstood. What we feel for each other is a friendship love, not a romantic love.”

“Bullshit! Tell me that it was friendship when you sucked my cock!”

Mitch felt his stomach tighten, and his head felt like it was going to explode. Why wouldn’t Aldo just accept this? He tried again.

“Stop it. We committed a sin; I have to atone for that. My dad says that if I go to this place, I can be fixed so I won’t get tempted anymore. Then I can be a minister.”

Aldo turned away from him. “Fuck you, Mitch, and fuck your father too. He’ll never be happy with you, never. You keep thinking you can live up to what he wants, and you can’t. We have something real, something good, but you want…you want…I don’t know what you want. To be the perfect son? To not be gay?”

Mitch protested, “I’m not gay, just confused.”

Aldo’s eyes flashed as he spun around. “You are gay, Mitch. You’re gay, gay, gay, and nothing your dad says will change that.” His face softened as he stroked Mitch’s face. “Please, you love me, I know you do. Stand up to them.”

Mitch froze. His dad would never accept him as being gay, all of his expectations would go down the drain, and Mitch would be cast out like yesterday’s food. He would never see his family again, and he would never be able to have a normal life. Most importantly, there was someone else to consider, and a secret he had to hide. He straightened up and sneered at Aldo.

“I never loved you. I just said that so we could mess around. I could never love another guy, and certainly not one as gay as you. Look at you. You have hair like a girl, and you dress like a faggot. Why would anyone want to be with you?” He strode over to the door, trying hard to ignore the hurt on his best friend’s face. Just before he opened it, he turned back for the coup de grace.

“The only reason I was ever friends with you was to have you suck my cock. My buddies and I would laugh about it at football practice.”

Mitch managed to run all the way home before he lost the contents of his stomach by the bushes in front of his house. He staggered into the house where his parents waited for him. His dad spoke first.

“Well, Mitch? Have you taken care of everything? Bishop Montrose has said that if you do this and complete the Crossroad program, he can overturn your expulsion from the church.”

Mitch nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet. Inside, he felt as if something had died. Traitorously, his mind whispered that he had killed something, something that was good.

“Good, good.” His father nodded with approval. Mitch’s mother pointed to a suitcase on the floor, her face still puffy from crying.

“I packed for you, honey. The bishop is coming by tonight to take you to the facility.” She hesitated, glancing at her husband. “We just want what’s best for you, you see that, right?”

Mitch nodded again and was pathetically thankful when they didn’t press him further.

Mitch stared at his car door handle with disgust. Even now, he was weak. Instead of facing Aldo, he was running away again. His dad won again. He jerked open the door and got in. It only took him a few minutes to get to his hotel room, where he was left with his memories and the mini bar. He sat on the bed and cracked open the first bottle he found. Staring at the bland walls, he swilled it down, making a face as the booze hit his throat. Or maybe it was the memory of the second most terrible day of his life.

The day he was supposed to graduate from college, his family had been so proud. He had stood facing himself in the mirror and wondered who this person was. On the outside, he looked like the all-American guy, short blond hair, a strong square jaw, and blue eyes. He looked like the type of guy who had it all, a great family, a wonderful girlfriend (soon to be a fiancé) and a career that made everyone proud. He said the words out loud.

“Minister. Pastor Reynolds.”

He stopped when the words made him want to vomit. He couldn’t do this. Mitch turned to his bathroom and made his way to the medicine cabinet. Looking inside, he stared at the bottle of sleeping pills. If he took several of those and used the X-acto knife, he doubted it would take long to kill himself. How long before they noticed he was missing? Would his mother come looking for him, or his father? Maybe his sister would come in first.

Mitch stared for a moment more and then closed the cabinet door. He started to shake, and it hit him that he needed help. Not from here though, not from the college. He grabbed his keys and his cell phone.

After driving randomly for several hours and ignoring the multiple phone calls from family, he pulled over along a street and dialed a number he had memorized.

“Thank you for calling the suicide hotline. How can I help you tonight?”

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done, calling that number. Thank God for the man who answered. Cary Dixon was a retired minister and a gay man. He had known exactly what Mitch was going through and had offered him sincere hope. It still had taken him almost two years of therapy before he could face his demons and be strong about the fact that he was indeed gay. Aldo would have laughed at that.

That had been the worst part, missing Aldo. They had been best friends before they became more. Mitch had written a letter to him after his therapist had encouraged him to do so. He never got a response, and he wasn’t surprised.  Mitch closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard. They shot back open when a knock sounded at the door. He knew who it was
—
his father coming by to berate him for being there.

With a sigh, he got off the bed and opened the door. Every thought he had flew out of his head as he gazed at the man in front of him: Aldo McKay in his bright yellow suit and a scowl on his face. He shoved his way past Mitch into the room and spun around.

“Close the door.” Aldo’s voice had deepened, and Mitch wasn’t sure if it was from anger or from maturing. He shut the door quietly.

“How the hell could you come to her funeral? You, of all people!”

“She asked me to.” Mitch could hardly bear to look at Aldo.

“She asked you?” Aldo’s voice rose, and he moved closer to Mitch. “There is no way in hell my mother would have asked you to come!”

Mitch nodded to him. “She did. Lorraine and I often talked on the phone. She made me promise to be here today. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I stayed back. How did you know I was there?”

“Your beloved father told me. He seems to be under the impression that you and I are seeing each other again. He wasn’t happy about that, told me that I was screwing you up again.”

“My father is an asshole, and he just wanted to make my life hell. Ignore him.” Mitch felt weary and walked over to the chair at the desk. He sat with a thud and gazed at Aldo. “I know even if my father doesn’t that I made sure there could never be anything between us.” He hesitated. “I am sorry for all of that. I know it’s too little, too late, but I wanted to say it to you.”

Aldo sneered at him. “What? Writing the letter wasn’t enough? Do you know how that affected me?”

“Yes.” Mitch spoke very quietly. “Lorraine made sure I understood the consequences of my actions all the way around. I know my words mean nothing to you and that you could never forgive me for what I said and did.” He didn’t expect what happened next, although in retrospect he should have known Aldo’s temper would get the best of him.

Aldo punched him in the face hard, rocking his head back. Tears filled Mitch’s eyes, but he didn’t try to defend himself. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Aldo looked shocked, staring at his hands.

Mitch got up slowly, head spinning a little, and reached out a hand to touch Aldo. “It’s okay, Aldo. It’s okay, I deserved that.”

Aldo shook his head and backed away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me.”

“All right, I won’t. I just want you to know that I know I deserved that.”

“Fuck! Don’t say that, either. Don’t be nice and understanding, damn it.” Aldo ran his hands through his shorter dark hair in a familiar motion.

Mitch shook his head at him. “No, I’m not being understanding and nice. I’m being as honest as I can. It took me a long time to be honest about you and everything I put you through. I don’t want to be anything less now.”

“I can’t be here, can’t do this with you, don’t you understand? I can’t. You destroyed me. It took me a long time to trust anyone again.”

Mitch felt that familiar sinking feeling in his stomach and had to take a couple of deep breaths.

“I do understand, Aldo. I came because Lorraine asked me to, not because I thought I could get you to forgive me. I thought I could go to the funeral and leave before you ever found out I was in town. I won’t be back, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Green eyes stared at him with suspicion. Mitch tried to look back as honestly as he could. His face hurt and his heart hurt, even though he had told himself that things would be this way. If Aldo saw all of that, then he was welcome to his pain.

Whatever the other man saw in his face must have satisfied him because he nodded slightly. Aldo moved stiffly to the door and paused.

“I don’t want to see you again. Don’t come back here.”

The door shut quietly after him and Mitch sat there, tears filling his eyes. There had been no doubt in Aldo’s voice, and all he could think of was the leaves falling off the trees at the cemetery. Everything was dead. He did the only thing he could do. He called Cary.