Short Stories

Alex pushes the door open wide and steps into the darkness. He lifts his hand and searches for the wall, shuddering at first contact at its coolness. He gingerly moves his hand up-and-down, side-to-side, until he comes across a light switch. He flips the switch upward and squints at the sudden brightness, blinking magnificently. He turns and closes the door, then kicks off his shoes.

The crisp air sends a shiver down his spine as he makes his way deeper into the house, turning on more lights. He coughs a couple of times as the stench of rotten apples and spoilt milk invade his prominent nostrils. In the kitchen, he opens the window above the sink, his attention quickly shifting to the pile of mildewy pots and plates caked with bits of food. He tries not to breathe.

Alex withdraws to the living room and stands there, his arms folded, embalmed by the disquieting silence that strikes a dissonant discord of a past long forgotten. His round golden brown eyes rove the room and, taking in the scene around him, draws in several deep breaths. The framed eight-by-ten photographs of him and his brother Charles, taken the day of their respective graduations from university, that dominate the mantelpiece like bookends. The frayed royal blue wool upholstered wing chair that sits in the corner next to the brown brick soot-stained fireplace, and where he remembers his mother retreating each night to read her large print Bible. The dark cherry wood coffee table cluttered with unopened mail, receipts, and worn copies of Christian Reader and The Daily News, the local paper. His last trip ‘home’ was two years ago for his father’s funeral. Now his mother is dead. Oddly enough, he doesn’t feel sad. Really, he doesn’t feel much of anything. Shouldn’t that worry him?

He’s not sure what any of it means, to be back in this house. The place where he was born. The place that summons him whenever death calls. The place that cannot claim him. What could it possibly mean when the simple truth is this: he’s been running so long. Running from the man he never became. Running from the man he never wanted to be. Running from the place where he was born.

Alex sits down on the brown leather sofa, exhausted and surprised by the tears banking in his eyes. “It’s a house,” he mumbles at the listless walls, “not home. And I don’t live here anymore.”

“Get off my back,” Todd barked, reaching for his beer stein.

“Do you know what you even want to do with your life?” Jeremy asked.

“Damned if I know!” Todd’s words reflected the fiery rage gleaming in his brown eyes.

“‘Damned if I know,’” Jeremy repeated, then sucked his teeth. “So the game plan is to just sit here, sulk, and drink your life away?”

Here was the Lighthouse, an Irish pub popular with the Georgetown locals. But for Todd, it was more than a pub. It was the place where he could, drunk, chase away his demons. The place where, drunk, he could look himself in the mirror and not feel repulsed. The place where, drunk, he felt safe against a world crushing him.

Todd tapped the bar counter twice and, when the bald bartender looked at him, signalled for another beer.

“Really?” Jeremy shook his head. “Do you really think you need another?”

Todd drained his drink and set the beer stein to the side. “Why the fuck do you care if I have another?”

“Because you’re my brother and I care about you,” Jeremy said, turning slightly to his right on the bar stool. “I want to help you, Todd. I really do. But this…” He pointed at the beer the bartender had just placed in front of his brother. “You need to do something besides … drink.”

“If you’re not going to help…” Todd bit down on his lip. “Why are you here?”

Jeremy bristled. “Why am I here?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and held it out to Todd. “Here.”

“What’s that?”

“Why I’m here,” Jeremy spat. “Take it, Todd.”

Todd, holding his brother’s gaze, eventually took the paper and unfolded it. “Is this a joke?”

“You said you needed money for your rent, so I made the cheque out to your landlord.” Jeremy cupped his hand to Todd’s shoulder. “I’m not paying for you to drink your life away.”

Todd crumpled the cheque into a ball and hurled it behind the bar.

“Fuck, you’re an ass.” Jeremy polished off the last bit of scotch in his glass, then flagged down the server and settled the tab. He slid off his stool and looked down at his brother. “I’m not doing this again. Don’t you … remember what drinking did to Dad?”

“Don’t!” Todd took a large swig of his beer. He didn’t like talking about their father, or being compared to him. Drunk, his father beat him with whatever had been in arm’s reach — a belt, a frying pan, a beer bottle. Drunk, his father couldn’t stay sober long enough to work, and lost his job and his home. Drunk, his father passed out while driving and crashed into a concrete utility pole. No, Todd wasn’t his father and wouldn’t become him. He had his drinking under control. That was what he told himself.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Jeremy said.

Todd set his beer down on the bar with a hard clunk and locked his gaze on Jeremy. “You have no idea what it’s like … always living in the shadow of the great Jeremy Miller. Author. Professor. Person extraordinaire.” Tears banked in his eyes. “I was fifteen, and you left me there … in that house … with him. Every day after you left Dad used me as his punching bag. Every day for three years, until the accident, I suffered. Where were you? Where was my big brother?”

“I got out,” Jeremy shot back. “I told you to get out, too. Did you listen?”

“Where was I supposed to go?”

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry.” Jeremy ran his hand over his mouth. “I stayed as long as I could. And I tried to protect you…”

Todd looked down. That was true. When their father started beating on him, Jeremy always threw himself between them. Jeremy took the blows without crying until their father got bored and walked away.

“It can be different now,” Jeremy said cautiously. “If you want it to be.”

“Really?” Todd raised his head. “How?”

“Come live with me.”

“Me … live with … you?” Todd, rubbing his eye, laughed. “What would Aiden think?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re my family. Back then…” Jeremy slipped his hands into his pockets. “I let you down once. I won’t do that again.” He paused. “But I have two conditions.”

Todd sucked his teeth. “There’s always conditions with you.”

“You stop drinking and see a therapist.”

“Can I finish this beer at least?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Todd picked up his beer, chugged until it was gone and then let out a loud belch.

“Classy.”

“This is so fucked up.” Todd leaned forward, rested his elbows on the bar and hid his face in his hands. He’d been crashing on his friend Dylan’s sofa after being evicted six weeks ago, and testing the limits of their friendship. He’d lost his job, too, because he never showed up on time, if at all. He uncovered his face and winced at the acidic taste in his mouth. Christ, maybe I’m exactly like my father.

“So?” Jeremy shook his head. “I know you were evicted, Todd. Dylan called me last week.”

“Then why…” Todd stood. “Dylan’s a good guy and I’m driving him crazy. So I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Maybe this is the moment when you figure out what you want to do with your life,” Jeremy said, throwing his arm around Todd’s shoulders. “And I’ll be there to help.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They started for the exit, and for the first time in his life Todd felt the misery cloaked around him starting to fall away. Could things really be different?

Maybe … if he could stay sober.

Sober, he stood a chance of remaking himself and his life.

From across the crowded room, I glimpse the round caramel face glowing with inner contentment. Then I see the gold-winning smile, and instantly I’m hooked. He doesn’t notice me, though. How can he? People are elbowing each other to gain the front position, wanting to be the first to shake his hand or pat him on the back. I don’t know who is or why he’s so popular, but now I’m determined to find out.

I turn to my cousin, Ethan, who’s standing next to me, and tap his arm. “Is he why we’re here?” I don’t need to point, and by the sly look on Ethan’s face, he knows exactly who I’m talking about.

“Yes,” Ethan says, that one word resonating his annoyance.

“But…” My throat locks, like it did back in high school when I went to ask Grayson Ball to the prom. That didn’t go so well. “Who is he?”

“Oh, Tobias,” Ethan says in his crotchety tone, “please don’t make a fool of yourself. You can’t afford to have your jaw broken again.”

A broken jaw. That’s what I got for asking Grayson to the prom. Despite our regular hookups in the woods behind the school, where we took turns sucking each other off, he wasn’t gay.

“Just tell me who he is,” I say askance.

Ethan takes a long sip of his wine, turning slightly away to survey the room. He’s doing it all on purpose … to torment me. Just like when we were kids. “What’s a boner?” I’d asked him one day, when we were ten, on the way home from school. He smirked and kept walking. Ethan was older, and I thought that meant he knew everything … about life and boys. That’s why I looked up to him. But he could be a cocky son of a bitch. Back then and now.

I kick his foot. “Ethan!”

“Sean Mendonça. He’s a writer.”

“Do you know him?”

Ethan throws me a knowing look. “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“So you can —”

“Absolutely not,” Ethan interrupts, his eyes on fire and locked on me. “I’m not playing matchmaker. And if you need to get laid, there’s a gay bar two blocks down the street.”

I focus on the crowd, searching the faces for his, but I can’t find it. He’s hidden behind his fans now clamouring for autographs and selfies. I’m annoyed that they’re taking up all his time. Shouldn’t he be working the rest of the room? Really, I just want him working me — to feel his reddish-brown lips touch mine, the weight of his arms wrapped around me, to inhale every single breath of him.

Then it happens, as if God hears my prayer and answers it. He bursts through the multitude, shaking hands along the way as he nears Ethan and me. My mouth goes dry, my stomach clenches and, oh God … my cock quickly swells.

“Sean, I want you to meet my cousin, Tobias,” Ethan says, almost with a snicker. “He’s a big fan.”

“A pleasure,” Sean says and grips my hand.

Our eyes lock, and Sean doesn’t immediately let go. I’m not sure he’s ever planning on letting go. Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something, but I just stare back at him. His dark-brown eyes hold me in a trance, my mouth agape and unable to say a word. The unexpected elbow in my side makes me wince. I shoot a menacing look at Ethan, turn back to Sean and finally spit out, “He-Hello.”

The handshake is over, yet the chill cast over my body remains as Sean moves off.

“Smooth,” Ethan says, chuckling. “Is that how you pick up guys?”

I punch Ethan in the arm and stare him down. Like he used to do with me when we were kids. It was his way of announcing his arrival, leaving me to explain — unconvincingly — the bruises on my arm to my mother. “What the hell was that? ‘He’s a big fan?’ You made me look like an ass.”

Ethan, rubbing the spot on his arm where I hit him, sucks his teeth. “You did that all on your own.” He steps past me and folds into the crowd.

I stand there, my heart racing, scanning the faces again. He’s there, a few feet away — the man who has me under a spell, makes me feel buttery inside. The man I want to love me forever. Crazy, I know … because I don’t know him. But isn’t that how relationships start? Out of curiosity and attraction? Or maybe even a weird, unhealthy infatuation?

Our eyes meet. I can feel my lips curling into a smile. When Sean winks, I’m rock hard in a flash. I hold myself back. I want to walk over to him, take his face in my hands and press my lips to his. And let the kiss go on forever.

Then he’s gone, one more time devoured by the throng. I sigh, swept up in an emptiness always riding roughshod over my life — the aftereffect of one failed relationship after another. I snatch a wineglass of the tray of the passing server and take three big gulps. Drinking takes the edge off, yet I know I should stay sober. Sober, I won’t make a fool of myself. Sober is safer. I rise up on the tips of my toes and look for Ethan’s buzzed head. I see him near the bar and edge my way towards him.

I take two, maybe three steps when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around, and my gaze latches onto those dreamy eyes. I’m seventeen years old again and trembling like I did while waiting for Grayson to respond to my invitation. The silence tortured me then. It tortures me now. I try to speak, but I can’t.

Sean smiles. “I hope you’re not rushing off.”

“No … I…” I swallow hard. Why can’t I say anything?

“Things should die down in a bit,” Sean says. “If you don’t have any plans, maybe we could go for a drink?”

I just stare, blinking magnificently.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sean chuckles. “I’ll find you.”

He’s gone again.

I do not — cannot — move as my heart swells. My face starts to hurt because I’m smiling so hard, already imagining our first kiss and the life we’ll build together. Suddenly, it hits me: this is my ‘prom’ night, and I’m there with the most popular guy in the room. Okay, it’s not exactly a prom, but it is a moment that could dramatically change my life.

The big question is … am I ready?

Oh, hell, yes.