Friday, November 21, 2003

Justin

“Christ, I hate birthdays.”

“Relax, Brian – it’s not yours.” We’re driving to my party and Brian’s been grumpy ever since we started getting ready. Of course, it's not officially my birthday until tomorrow but the celebration's tonight at Lindsay and Mel's.

“I hate parties.”

“It’s not yours – it’s mine, remember? And I don’t hate parties.”

We stop at a red light and he slants his eyes at me. “All you really care about is the presents. And the food.”

“I’m going to have a ton of packages to open.” That’s what happened at my birthday party last year and I smile just thinking about it.

“Most presents suck,” Brian snorts. “They’re the wrong size or they’re hideous pieces of crap.”

“But you can exchange them.” Which is what I did last year. I got some awful shirts and some music CDs from the stone age. But I also got some super art supplies from Lindsay and Mel and some great gift certificates.

At last year's party, Brian didn’t give me a present and everybody hassled him about it. I didn’t care – Brian does so much for me all the time, a birthday present isn’t necessary. Besides, I’d rather have nothing than another hustler! But he waited a few days and then he gave me a credit card, prepaid for a thousand dollars. He said it wasn’t for my birthday – that he only did it so I’d buy some decent clothes. I protested that a thousand was too much but he scoffed at me, "Not if you shopped where I do." He made me promise not to tell anyone about the card.

I’m not expecting a present at this year’s party either and I called everybody and specifically told them not to hassle Brian, I don’t want my twenty-first birthday party ruined by people picking on him. At least he’s coming to the party willingly – sort of willingly. Last year he said he wasn’t going to come till somehow Lindsay guilted him into it. Even so, he’s grumpy.

“Why are you so grumpy?” I ask, even while reminding myself that a grumpy Brian is pretty normal.

“I’m not grumpy, I’m preoccupied. I’m thinking deep, profound thoughts.”

“What profound thoughts?”

He pauses, then says, "I'd like to take some time off this winter."

"You mean, like a vacation?"

"Yeah. Maybe go someplace warm, like Key West. Or New York, see a couple plays."

My breath catches in my throat but I try to hold down my excitement. He's keeping his eyes on the road and though I wait a moment, when he doesn't go on I dare to ask, "Would I get to go with you?"

He swivels his head then and growls, "Don't be stoobug, of course, you'd go with me."

I don't remind him that there's never an 'of course' with Brian, making assumptions about anything he says is dangerous. "I'd love to take a vacation."

"Maybe around Christmas. If you can leave your mommy." He gives me a little smile - making sure I know he's not being sarcastic.

"Mom’s thinking about spending Christmas with my aunt in Atlanta, she asked if I wanted to go too." Quickly I add, "I already told her no."

"Why'd you tell her no?"

That's a question that's dangerous to answer. "I don't like my uncle," I say quickly, which is not exactly the truth. 'Because I don't want to leave you,' is the truth.

Last Christmas Brian was very glum - I think Christmas depresses him, though of course, we didn't talk about it at the time. He refused to let me decorate the loft - he said he hates the mess a Christmas tree creates and the smell of pine makes him nauseous. I bought a couple large poinsettia plants for the coffee table, and while he glared at them so often the leaves should have shriveled up and fallen off, he didn't throw them out the window as he threatened to do at first. He refused to go with me to Mom's on Christmas day and he wouldn't join Lindsay and Mel either, though Lindsay begged him to come share the day with Gus. He spent the day alone in the loft and he insisted that's exactly what he wanted to do - 'Have some peace and quiet for a change,' was how he'd worded it, which naturally hurt my feelings. Maybe he wanted to.

The single thing Brian agreed to do last year was go to Deb's on Christmas eve, for dinner and a cup of eggnog, then before people started opening presents he was dragging me away back to the loft. Well, he didn't drag me, he told me to stay if I wanted, but instead I left with him and we went to bed early and made love for hours. Long before that I'd figured out that I shouldn't give Brian a present in the traditional sense, and he'd already warned me there'd be no present from him. So instead on Christmas morning I made him pancakes with blueberries, and he sat on the sofa with his arm around me for an hour watching a Power Puff Girls video, before I got ready and left for my mom's.

Everybody's used to Brian by now and last year Debbie had warned me how it would be. Michael warned me too, though he couldn't resist telling me to leave Brian alone and not rag on him. Brian didn't give anybody Christmas presents and he was very ungracious about the gifts he received at Deb's, saying 'thanks' gruffly while refusing to open them, shoving them all in a shopping bag and bringing them home. The bag sat in a corner of the living room for several days before Brian finally gave in to my nagging and opened them. Then he made rude remarks about each one.

Last year Brian and I were too new in our changed relationship for me to make waves but I was hoping this year to somehow get Brian to acknowledge Christmas and share it with the rest of our extended family. Maybe he sensed that I'd push for things to be different this year and that's why he wanted us to go away instead.

"Now you're thinking deep, profound thoughts," Brian's voice pulls me back to the present, and I'm tempted to go along with his joking.

But things are still changing with us, he's changing and I'm changing, and I'm not going to walk on eggshells around Brian anymore. Well, probably I am, just not so carefully. Not quite so carefully.

"I'd love to take a winter vacation," I tell him, "But Christmas is for family, we need to be with our family."

"Bullshit."

"Brian - Gus is old enough now to know that you're missing at Christmas."

There's a red light and Brian hits the brake harder than necessary, bouncing us in the seat. "I've had this lecture from Lindsay already, I don't need to hear it from you." He doesn't look at me, just stares out the windshield.

"But you're his father - "

"No guilt shit. All right?" He turns and raises those eyebrows at me. "Guilt shit has no effect on me."

I've learned that's not really true, but I don't contradict him.

"I want to be here for Christmas," I say instead. "And I want you to be with me. We can spend Christmas morning with Gus. And have dinner with my mom, if she doesn’t go to Atlanta."

Brian turns his eyes back to the window and keeps them there. Quietly he says, "Justin - no."

"Brian - yes."

"I don't buy into all this Christmas shit and family shit and presents and decorations, it's all part of - "

"A Commie plot?"

Brian says nothing, just exhales sharply through his nostrils. Like a bull.

"But the thing is," I tell him quietly, ignoring all the danger signs, "The thing is, Brian, I do buy into it. I love all that Christmas shit, and now that we're - we're partners - " I hold my breath for a moment to see if he's going to contradict me, then I go on, "Now we're partners, and we have to compromise for each other. So you have to give in a little, about Christmas. For me."

He's silent for a long time, then he says, "I don't want to compromise."

There's another long silence, then Brian says, "And I don't want to go to your mom's for dinner. Like, ever. But especially not for Christmas."

"Okay." He's got to know that hurts me, but he's also got to be honest, otherwise he wouldn't be Brian. We had dinner with Mom once, he picked at his food, talked in monosyllables, and afterward he dropped me at the loft and went off alone, to get wasted and fuck his brains out. Mom really gets to Brian, even when she's not trying to.

Then I suggest, "Could we invite her over to our place for Christmas dinner? Instead?"

"Maybe she'll go to Atlanta." He's grasping at straws.

"And if she doesn't?"

"You're harassing me. And we're almost at the munchers’, don't you want me to be in a happy-go-lucky mood when we get there?" Brian brakes at the stop sign on the corner where we turn onto their street, gives me a look that says 'kiss me,' so I lean across the seat and kiss him. A beeping horn breaks us apart and Brian turns to flip off the car behind us, then he laughs and says, "It's Debbie and Vic."

I wave out the back window, Brian turns the car and in a moment we're there.



Debbie

Sunshine's really excited about his party this year - thank God for Lindsay, Brian would let the day pass without a wink. Even so, he's bound to be a crabby shithead so I hope he sits in the corner and keeps his mouth shut like he did last time. Naturally, he didn't give Justin a present last year - Brian doesn’t believe in presents - and this year Justin called everyone, begging us not to say anything about it. We're used to Brian and his ways, and even though it's tempting to call him a selfish bastard, we all know that if ever we need anything Brian will be there with his wallet held open, no questions asked.

Brian's always been like that - even when he was a kid, he shared whatever he had with Michael. Brian was bigger, tougher and he looked years older than Michael when they were boys, so he managed to get jobs at McDonalds, the supermarket, the gas station - and he always shared his money with Michael, paying for movies and sodas and comic books. Even so, as generous as Brian can be, you'd think he would want to acknowledge Justin's twenty-first birthday. But I promised to keep my yap shut and I will.

We pull up behind the jeep at the intersection and see the boys kissing. Vic says, "Toot the horn," so I do, and we laugh when Brian turns around to give us the finger. Then we follow them around the corner to Mel and Lindsay's and park on the street. Justin jumps out of the jeep and runs over to hug us.

“Ooh, are those for me?” he laughs, pointing at the brightly wrapped packages in our arms.



Brian

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” It’s the first thing Justin asks me as we buckle ourselves into the jeep.

“Not for you. You got twenty presents and ate three pieces of cake.”

“Brian – were you bored?”

Of course, I was bored. Birthday parties are fucking boring. But Justin wasn’t bored, he was excited and laughing and hugging everybody. How did somebody so cheerful attach himself to me?

“It was okay.” I won’t lie, but I don’t have to smack him either.

“You liked playing with Gus on the swings.” That’s true. I nod silently, and he adds, “And you liked talking to Jesse, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” And no. Mostly I like talking to Jesse. Except sometimes he says things, or somehow I end up telling him things, that I’d rather not think about.

I’d been surprised when Jesse showed up at the party – I wouldn’t have invited him, simply because even after all this time it seems like an imposition to expect Jesse to want to spend time with my family. I don’t even want to spend time with my family. At least not when they’re in party mode.

When the party was in full swing – Justin had blown out the candles on his cake and was happily attacking a pile of brightly-wrapped gifts, everyone gathered around talking and laughing and forking wads of cake into their mouths – I managed to slip into the kitchen and out the door into the backyard. It was too hot and crowded and noisy in the house and besides, I needed a cigarette – there’s no smoking allowed around Gus. I moved a few steps away toward the fence where it was slightly warmer out of the wind, then turned up my collar against the cold, pulled out my pack and was just flicking the Zippo when Jesse came out the back door and asked, “Want company?”

“Sure." Then I explained, "I just needed a cigarette break,” annoyed with myself for feeling the need to explain.

”Hmm,” Jesse said, accepting a cigarette from my proffered pack. We lit up and smoked in companionable silence for a few moments, then Jesse said, “You didn’t want to watch Justin open his presents?”

“Not you too.” I bit my lip, wishing the comment back.

“That wasn’t criticism, Brian – you know that, don’t you?”

“But it’s something I get from all sides.”

“Sorry.” Jesse stretched his shoulders, then glanced down at his feet, he appeared to be staring at his shoes. I know him, though, he’d gone away some place inside his head, some place where he goes to figure things out. Sometimes that’s cool but maybe other times I don’t want him to figure things out.

I discovered that I was almost bracing myself against Jesse and that was ridiculous. “Justin doesn’t care,” I said quickly as if to ward him off. “He knows I’m not into ritual shit like birthday parties and he’s okay with it.”

“That’s good.” Jesse flicked the ash off his cigarette before taking a puff and adding, “Besides, all families have their own way of celebrating things, there's no one way that's right for everybody."

“Jesse.” I shook my head. “This is something I just really don’t want to talk about. I mean, I really don’t.”

“No reason we should talk about it.” Jesse continued to stare at his feet. “Did I tell you about my grandson Stevie’s new soccer coach? He’s – “

“Jesse.”

Jesse stopped and waited. He’s got the most fucking patience in the world.

Leaning back against the fence, I dropped my cigarette and ground it out under the heel of my boot, shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. Without looking at Jesse I told him, “It’s not because of my own family, it’s not like we didn’t do birthdays or holidays, because we did.”

When he said nothing, I glanced at him and laughed, “Of course they were usually nightmares, Pop getting drunk and busting things up.” That made me laugh harder, remembering some of those special occasions that in retrospect are really almost hilariously funny.

Like the Christmas when I was nine, I finally got the skateboard I’d been wanting forever. It was red and blue, Christ I’d been ecstatic, I remember thinking: ‘This is the best Christmas ever.’ But somehow the skateboard got pushed to one side, it rolled over near the sofa. Pop was taking a picture of me and Clare in front of the Christmas tree, and when he moved backward he tripped on the skateboard and fell down sideways, hitting his arm on the coffee table. There was dead silence, and I clearly remember ordering myself not to cry, no matter what happened.

So I was not really surprised when Pop picked up the skateboard and threw it at me. I flinched away and it ricocheted off my forehead and slammed into the tv, there was a crash of glass and a puff of smoke, for a moment it seemed the tv would catch fire but it didn’t. Eventually Pop took me to the ER when the bleeding wouldn’t stop, and a handsome young medic put three stitches in my eyebrow. Even at nine, I could appreciate the irony as Pop explained that I’d been hurt by a skateboard and the doctor recommended that my dad take the skateboard away from me. Of course, that’s exactly what happened.

I caught Jesse looking at me, I couldn’t read his look but I was afraid it was pity or something equally unacceptable. So I added quickly, “Just because I had a crappy childhood, I’m not taking it out on Justin or anybody else. Lots of people have crappy childhoods, that’s a stupid excuse to ruin things for other people. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re ruining Justin’s birthday, Brian – he’s having a great time.”

“Yes,” I agreed enthusiastically, feeling somehow vindicated.

Then I shook my head. Fuck. “Well, it bothers him I guess,” I admitted slowly. When Jesse said nothing, I added, “But the thing is, even though I hate parties, I came here with him today anyway.”

Jesse nodded. “That’s good, Brian – I’m not surprised at all. Compromise is the only way to go."

“Yeah.”

Sighing heavily, it occurred to me that agreeing with Jesse meant I was going to have to eat Christmas dinner with Jennifer Taylor after all. I should never have gone outside for a cigarette.

"Brian - you missed the turn."

"Huh? Oh." I've passed Wabash without turning. At the next corner I hang a left, then a left again so we're headed back toward Tremont.

"Are you thinking profound thoughts again?" he teases me.

Mentally shaking off the conversation with Jesse and its repercussions, I ask Justin, "So, where shall we go on vacation?"

"Brian," he says seriously, reaching over to lay his hand on my thigh, "I want to be in Pittsburgh for Christmas. It's important to me."

"Yeah, you already told me. So where shall we go on vacation? Key West? New York? Disneyworld?"

"Brian - "

"We'll go in January. Don't you still have school break then?"

"Yeah," he confirms, "Winter term ends before Christmas and Spring doesn't start till mid-January, I need to check the calendar for the exact dates." He's quiet for a moment, then he squeezes my thigh. "Thanks," he says simply, then adds, "About Christmas I mean."

I haven't promised anything about Christmas but I decide to let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, we still have Thanksgiving to get through. Of course, we'll go to Deb's that day. Deb pulled me aside at the party and said she needed to talk to me about Thanksgiving dinner. She had a serious look on her face but we were interrupted by the arrival of Michael and then I forgot it until this moment. Oh well, if it's important she’ll tell me later.



Saturday, November 22, 2003

Justin

Brian made sure we left the party in time to be home in bed at twelve - he'd already said he wanted to be stroking me at the stroke of midnight when I turned twenty-one and that's exactly what happened. Later I insisted he let me fuck him too, as a birthday treat. "You think you're a man but you're only a boy," Brian scoffed, then we wrestled and struggled around on the bed until finally, he let me win. That doesn't happen very often and it was a great ending to my birthday celebration.

This morning I wanted to sleep in but Brian dragged me out of bed at eight o'clock. I couldn't even get my eyes open but I let him pull me into the shower and by the time he was done washing me, I was awake and feeling great. "I'm finally twenty-one!" I exulted. "But why are we up so early?"

"I told you I have to go into the office today, and I need you to come with me first to help pick something up."

"What?"

Brian turned off the shower and opened the door. "Here," he said, handing me a towel, "If you hurry I'll stop at McDonalds, you can get some of those McVomit things you like."

"Egg McMuffins."

"Whatever."

Once we're in the jeep and headed downtown, Brian with latte in hand and me scarfing down the second of three McMuffins, I try again to ask where we're going, I can't imagine what Brian needs my help to pick up - he always uses delivery services. Brian says manual labor is an honorable pursuit that he chooses not to pursue. But again he changes the subject, asking if I'm seeing Mom tonight.

"Brian, you know she's making me a birthday dinner - she invited you too, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he says, as if it's slipped his mind.

Mom had phoned last week to see if I'd be free tonight. Brian and I were getting dressed, he was sitting on the side of the bed putting on his shoes. Mom had said, "Of course you know that Brian's invited." I'd held out the phone toward Brian, saying, "Mom's making me birthday dinner next week, do you want to come too?"

In spite of my disappointment that Brian doesn't want to be around my mom, I have to smile when I remember his reaction to the invitation: A look of exaggerated horror came over his face. He was joking - but not really. When I merely frowned at him and shook my head, Brian pulled out an imaginary gun, shot himself in the center of his forehead, and fell over in slow motion onto the top of the bed. It was all I could do not to dissolve into giggles while I explained to Mom that Brian had another commitment and wouldn't be able to make it.

"Here we are." Brian pulls over and parks, we're on the street by the Honda dealership where he leased the car last year. He releases his seatbelt and opens the door. "Well, come on," he says when I haven't moved, "Come with me."

"Brian," I sit stock-still in my seat, "What are we doing here?" I'm beginning to have a pretty good idea and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Brian circles the jeep and pulls open my door. His hand covers mine on the seatbelt, releasing the mechanism and pulling on my arm. "Come on," he says again, but gently.

“Brian – no.” I can hardly speak, something’s choking me.

"Don't make a scene and embarrass me," he tugs my arm, pulling me from the jeep and holding tight to my hand, making me look up at him. "Remember that today's your birthday, so I can officially spank you and you can't resist."

"No," I mumble, but I let him hold onto my hand and lead me toward the dealership office building.

"Mister Kinney - good morning!" A tall man with shiny moussed hair comes out the office door, all smiles. Brian shakes the proffered hand and says "Morning. Is it ready?"

"Of course, just as you requested, come right this way."

Shiny-Hair leads the way around the building and we follow him single file. He walks past a long row of cars and stops next to a blue one, spreading wide his arms like Vanna White. "Here she is, freshly detailed and ready to go!" He raises his hand and waggles a set of keys. Brian takes the keys and turns to give them to me. He smiles but the look in his eyes says, "Shut up or I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Th-thanks," I stammer, taking the keys and looking down at them.

"Drive it out on the street and park next to the jeep - I'll sign the papers and meet you there," Brian's voice is brisk and unemotional, he turns away and walks off with Shiny-Hair, leaving me standing there stunned and almost frozen with surprise.

The car is so beautiful - a Honda Cirrus. I get in and turn the key, buckle up and pull out of the row of cars, drive through the alley behind the dealership and turn onto the street. There's room to park right behind the jeep, and I sit there staring around the inside of the car, loving the new-car smell and feeling so comfortable in the leather seat. After a few minutes, I see Brian walking toward the car so I hurry to jump out and I don't care that we're in public, I throw myself into Brian's arms and squeeze as hard as I can.

"Oomph," he says, pulling gently away, he's not annoyed, there's a smile on his face and his eyes are crinkled up. "Like it?" he asks, as casually as if he's just given me a new sketchbook.

"Brian - it's too much! I can't, you really can't - " I'm nearly crying, which of course I wouldn't really do but even so I feel choked up, almost speechless.

“Hey, you know I don’t give presents. So don’t make me sorry that I made an exception for you.”

“Brian, it’s beautiful."

"It's the exact same color as your eyes," he tells me, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Is that why you picked it? Oh Brian - that's so romantic!"

Making a disgusted face, Brian shakes his head. “Don’t be a twat. Here’s the keys – get in, stop crying, and drive yourself home.”

"I'm not crying. Thank you so much! I still can't believe it. It's beautiful, Brian. Thanks!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I've got to go, you've made me late getting to the office. What time are you going to your mom's?"

"Six - but I won't stay very long. Could we maybe go to Babylon tonight? I feel like dancing and drinking and acting crazy!"

"Sure," he agrees, then his phone starts beeping and he pulls it out of his jacket and flips it open, staring at the number. "Deb," he says, a frown creasing his brow. "Deb, is Vic okay?" Brian's voice is carefully casual but I can tell that he's worried. Vic seemed fine at my party last night, but -

Brian glances at me and nods, smiling slightly. "Good, that's good. So, what's up?"

There's a short silence as Brian listens to Deb, then suddenly he's frowning and shaking his head. "No. No, Deb - absolutely not."

I put a hand on his arm but he shakes it off, walks away two paces and back again as he listens to Deb. "Absolutely fucking not," he says again, "No, I will not fucking compromise. How can you even ask me that?"

"What?" I put my hand on Brian's arm again and whisper, "What? Brian, what's Deb asking you?"