Chapter 18 - Isolation.

Big Bertha rumbled up to the curb outside Brian’s parents’ house, sputtering and cutting out and belching smoke out her exhaust pipe, before coughing to a loud halt with the engine dying. Brian was amazed that the car had actually made it that far. Bertha had been been unwell for months now. Brian had asked a trick - who just happened to be a mechanic as well as a pretty good lay - to peek under the hood a few weeks back. The prognosis had not been good. There were so MANY things wrong with Bertha that the mech-trick didn’t really know where to start. She was already down to only two working cylinders and the exhaust system was so blocked up and corroded that it was amazing Brian wasn’t asphyxiated every time he drove. But, since he’d only paid $500 for the car in the first place, it didn’t make any sense to spend a couple thousand to keep her running - especially since he couldn’t get the tags renewed until he fixed the exhaust system. Brian figured he’d just keep driving her till she died, hoping she’d hold out until he could afford to go out and buy himself a really nice new car.

Brian sighed. The car dying here - in front of his parents’ house - wasn’t a very good omen. He didn’t want to be here at all, but to have to be here and not know if he’d have a reliable means of escape should the day turn ugly, was really bad. And, if Brian knew his family, it wasn’t so much a question of ‘if’ the day would turn ugly, but rather, ‘when’. But he’d been summoned by the Ice Queen to attend Thanksgiving dinner with the family and he felt compelled to comply.

He didn’t know why he was bothering. Brian could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his family since leaving for college. He had absolutely nothing in common with these people other than some biological markers. And he hated that he’d caved in once again when his mother had called him and virtually demanded his presence. Why he still felt any need to maintain the pretence that they were actually a family at all, was a complete mystery to him. If he was smart he’d cut all ties and never look back. But, for some stupid reason, Brian just couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t tell his mother to fuck off. It was probably that guilt-ridden Catholic upbringing - as reiterated over and over by his mother all through his childhood - telling him that a good son wouldn’t turn his back on his family. Whatever.

Brian leaned over so that he was lying across the big bench seat and kicked at the driver’s side door from the inside to get it to open. Then, with more than a little reluctance, he pulled himself out of the car, straightened his clothing and resolutely marched up to the front door. He rapped his knuckles against the door twice but didn’t wait for anyone to come greet him before he twisted the doorknob and opened the portal himself.

Inside, the house hadn’t changed at all. Brian looked around at the drab, dingy walls and the peeling wallpaper in the hall by the front door and shuddered. The whole place reeked of hopelessness and fear. Brian felt his skin crawl at the very idea of voluntarily coming back into this hell hole. The only thing that kept him going was that he wouldn’t let his family see him back down from anything - not even the weight of all the bad memories being here raised.

Brian warily made his way to the right and into the kitchen. He found his mother sitting at the ancient formica-topped table, dressed in a rumpled purple velour housecoat and sipping at a tea cup that was filled with some colorless liquid - knowing his mother, it was probably gin. The air was filled with the smell of something cooking, although the aroma was masked in part by the stink of something that had burned earlier. The fetor didn’t bode well for the fate of their Thanksgiving dinner.

“Afternoon, Mom.” Brian announced his presence, startling Joan who looked up from her teacup with a surprised look as if she’d forgotten Brian was coming over.

“Brian . . . Well, I didn’t know if you were going to show up or not. It’s nice of you to deign to join your family,” Joan said, making a bit of an effort to sit up straighter and pull her robe closer around her throat. “Help yourself to a beer from the fridge if you want. Dinner’s going to be a while yet. Damn turkey didn’t thaw right . . . Your father’s watching football in the other room if you want to join him.”

“Okay . . .” Brian faltered, not sure he was ready for the false father/son bonding moment, but definitely not comfortable remaining in the kitchen with his already half-soused mother either.

With no better alternatives, Brian picked up his beer and shuffled off in the direction of the sound of the television blaring from the living room. Peeking around the wall and into the small front room, Brian could see his father seated on the ratty old brown-and-gold floral patterned sofa, a beer in his hand and two empties standing in a line on the coffee table in front of him. The television, as expected, was set to some football game with the volume turned up too loud and Jack’s attention was rapt. Brian grimaced. What the fuck was he doing here, again? If Deb and Mikey hadn’t been off in New York visiting Vic this weekend, Brian would have had a good excuse to tell his mother ‘No’. But, even sitting in his almost-empty, hole-in-the-wall apartment alone all day would be preferable to being here, right?

“Hey! Sonny Boy! Come on in and pull up a piece of couch!” Jack’s falsely chummy voice hailed him as soon as the old man had caught sight of Brian standing in the doorway. “So far, it’s a pretty close game. Not like last year - that was a total rout and one of the worst games I’ve ever had the misfortune to watch. This one should be worth the $50 I’ve got riding on the Cowboys, though."

"Hey, Pops," Brian mumbled, choosing to sit in the dilapidated La-z-boy recliner rather than on the couch with Jack.

Despite his usually glib tongue, Brian didn't know what else to say, so he just sat and sipped at his beer and watched the colorful figures cavorting around on the television screen.

"So, how's that fancy-pants new job of yours going?" Jack finally piped up during the next long ad break, looking sidelong at his son. "You the president of the company yet, or what?"

"My fancy-pants job's going just great," Brian replied, trying to ignore the demeaning tone with which the question had been asked. "Right now I'm just a junior copywriter, but I'm learning a lot. I've even got a chance to work with one of the partners on a new campaign for a major statewide client. And if I don't completely screw this up, I stand to earn a pretty nice end of the year bonus. So it's all good."

"Bonus, huh?" Jack seemed to perk up and pay more attention after hearing that particular word. "So . . . They paying you a decent salary?"

Brian turned his attention back to the television so that Jack wouldn’t see the way he rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'm doing alright. Especially considering I haven't even worked there a full six months."

"Huh . . . I guess that namby-pamby waste of time liberal arts college thing wasn't as useless as I thought,” Jack stated, his tone of voice negating the words he said.

Brian saw the sly looks Jack was shooting his way and heard the avaricious edge to his father’s comment. He should have known that a Kinney invitation to come for a Thanksgiving Day dinner and visit had ulterior motives. The only thing that really did surprise him was the fact that he could still feel disappointed in his parents after everything they’d already put him through.

Brian set his beer bottle down on the coffee table, leaned forward so that his forearms were propped on his knees and grinned mirthlessly at Jack. “You and Mom need money?” he asked baldly.

“. . . I am a little short this month,” Jack confessed, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, not meeting Brian’s eyes.

Brian pulled out his wallet and dug out the $50 bill that was hiding in the zippered section. He'd been saving that money to buy this beautiful teal blue, hand-folded, printed silk Hermes tie that he wanted to wear when his team did the presentation to the client for the campaign he’d been working on. But, whatever. He could always wear his same-old Macy’s off-the-rack red tie. It wasn’t anything special but it would do, he supposed.

And if that was the price of getting him out of spending the rest of the day with his parents, Brian figured that it was more than worth it.  

“Here, Pops,” Brian handed over the big bill, then stood up and started to move out of the room.

“Thanks, Sonny Boy,” Jack eagerly pocketed the money and immediately turned his attention back to the football game. “I’ll pay you back the next time I see you!”

“Riiiiiight,” Brian mumbled without conviction and headed straight towards the front door without even bothering to stop in the kitchen and say goodbye to his mother.

The sooner he was out of that house again, the better.

Brian trotted down the front walk to his car, almost desperate to get away before something even more degrading could happen. He kicked the driver’s side door at just the right spot to get the latch to release so he could climb in. He slid his key in and turned the ignition, but nothing happened. There was just a faint click as the starter engaged and failed. There wasn’t even the usual gurgle and coughing noises he’d become used to. There was just nothing.

Brian leaned back against the headrest and scrunched his eyes closed. He knew it was futile to even try again. Big Bertha was dead.

Brian sighed. He looked around him at the car that had gotten him through the past five years and found he was saddened more by the idea of parting with Bertha than he had been at the idea of leaving behind his parents today. Oh well. There wasn’t much he could do about it. This had been coming for a while. Considering how he’d mistreated poor Bertha over the years, he was surprised she’d lasted this long.

Digging around under the seat, Brian located an old plastic bag. He unloaded the contents of the glove box into the bag, adding a few items from the back seat and the trunk. He left the pile of eight track tapes he’d accumulated over the years from various yard sales and flea markets - there was nowhere else to play them, so they might as well stay with Bertha. And then, without further drama, Brian got out of the car, slammed the door closed behind him and walked away.

It wasn’t that long of a walk from his parents’ house to the part of Liberty Avenue where Brian’s apartment was - and he didn’t have any other plans for the day or anywhere he needed to be - so he dawdled as he walked. For the end of November, it was remarkably warm out, with the sun shining brightly. They’d had a long dry fall so far and some of the trees still had their leaves even. It was quite pretty out and Brian was rather enjoying being outside on such a fresh fall day after escaping from the threat of an afternoon with his family.

When he found himself walking down a very familiar side street towards the local cemetery, Brian didn’t even think twice. He easily hopped over the rusty iron railing and headed towards the crumbling old vault that he'd taken refuge behind so many times throughout his childhood. It all seemed so familiar, even though he hadn't been back here more than a handful of times in the past five years. Nothing here ever really seemed to change. It was strangely comforting despite the fact that the place also had so many connotations with times that had involved much fear and pain. But there was also safety and peace here too.

The bushes that edged around the side of the stone and marble structure were overgrown and had become leggy. It was clear that the landscaping at the old cemetery wasn't being maintained quite as well as it had formerly been. Brian almost couldn't get through in one spot, but ended up snapping a couple of spindly branches off with his hands and eventually made it around to the hidden side of the building where he'd once made a spot for himself. Somehow he wasn't at all surprised to see that most of his stuff was still there.

The old plastic and metal cat box that he'd set up for a stray barn kitten was still tucked away under the bushes at the far back corner. The rickety old metal folding chair that he'd pulled out of a neighbor's trash was still there too, although it was now so covered in rust that Brian didn't know if it would hold his weight. The plastic storage bin where he used to keep a tattered old blanket and some random odds and ends was stashed under the legs of the chair right where it belonged as well, although it was practically covered by the weeds that had grown up around it and over the sides and top.

Brian pulled the bin out and unsnapped the lid, discovering that the inside was still dry and protected, and still contained his old slightly musty blanket. He pulled it out and laid it over the rusty surface of the chair before gingerly seating himself. Luckily the chair was still sturdy enough to support his weight. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the cold stone wall behind him, Brian relaxed and just let the serenity of the place soak into him.

After several minutes, he was startled so badly that he almost fell off his perch on the old chair when he felt something softly brush up against his extended ankle. His eyes flew open as he quickly jerked his leg back away from whatever it was. There was a brown and gold streak of motion that he only barely caught out of the corner of his eye racing into the thickest part of the bushes. He'd had only a glimpse, but it was more than enough to put a smile on Brian's face.

"Joselito? Is that you?" Brian crooned, sitting forward and trying to peer into the darkness under the shrubbery. "Come on out, buddy. I didn't mean to scare you."

Ten minutes later, after a lot of patient whispering and coaxing, Brian had finally convinced the mostly feral cat out of hiding and into his lap. The funny little kitten that Brian had once loved and cuddled was now a fully mature, sleek tom. His striped brown, black and gold coat was a little ratty and he was skinny but otherwise the cat looked healthy. Brian wished he had some food to offer, but since this hadn't been a planned visit he had nothing. He made a mental note to come back with a big bag of cat food as soon as possible. Nevertheless, it was a treat to get to spend time with his furry little companion.

Everything felt so tranquil and secure as Brian sat there in his hidey hole petting the cat, and it didn't seem at all surprising that, before too long, he felt another familiar presence.

"You don't have to hide behind a fucking tree, you know," Brian said out loud without even looking in the direction of the presence - just knowing, in that way he’d always had, who it was that had been surreptitiously watching him.

"I'll . . . I'll go if you don't want me here . . ." Justin offered as he reluctantly stepped out from behind the massive ancient oak tree that abutted the rear wall of the burial vault.

Justin had been avoiding Brian ever since the confrontation at the Country Club last spring. He'd felt a bit guilty - like it had been his fault that Brian had overreacted, gotten drunk and ended up in bed with Lindsey. Justin knew that was irrational, but still . . . So, he'd been laying low, staying away from Brian, and trying to simply let the young man live his life. Keeping his distance might hurt like hell, but Justin hurt even more when Brian intentionally ran from him. And as long as Brian was safe, Justin couldn't justify causing Brian any additional stress.

But sometimes . . . Sometimes he just couldn't help himself. The compulsion would get to be too much, and Justin simply HAD to peek into Brian's life and reassure himself that everything was okay. Mostly, Justin would only let himself succumb to these impulses late at night when he knew Brian was asleep. He'd pop into Brian's small apartment and watch over the beautiful man as he slept - just sitting there silently and letting himself absorb Brian's beauty but never daring to speak or touch him no matter how much he longed for that.

Today though, Justin had again felt that insistent pull and couldn't wait until nighttime. He didn't think Brian was in danger - the compulsion wasn't that alarming - but there was something about Brian's mood that was calling to him today. Melancholy? Pensive? Justin knew that Brian would hate those words being applied to him, even in a mere thought, although Justin couldn't come up with any better terms. But the bottom line was that Justin couldn't fight the impulse today. So he'd followed Brian, watched the sad scene with Jack, and then trailed him all the way here. Still, he'd hesitated to impose himself on Brian's moment of quietude.

Brian shrugged his broad shoulders, not looking away from the purring ball of fur in his lap. "It's your place as much as mine . . . Maybe even more yours . . ." Brian squelched the rest of that thought before he had to admit something about the blond sprite he always tried hard to ignore.

Trying to maintain a neutral expression in spite of the fact that inside he was overflowing with joy due to the simple fact that Brian wasn't trying to run from him for once, Justin scurried out from behind the tree and made his way over towards Brian and the ecstatically happy cat. The blond youth squatted down on his haunches next to Brian's chair and reached out a tentative hand to ruffle the coat of the brown furball. Joselito's purring ramped up yet another notch at the additional offer of attention. Justin grinned up at Brian and felt elated when the young brunet smiled back at him.

The two men and their cat were still sitting there peacefully when the early fall twilight started to set in and the temperature in the shadows of the dilapidated stone building began to drop. Brian had no idea how long he’d been just sitting there, although it must have been a long time considering how stiff his cold muscles felt. It had been such a nice, mellow, relaxing idyll that Brian hadn’t wanted to keep track of time.

But, while Brian Kinney wasn’t normally the quiet, contemplative type, he still didn’t really want to leave. Even if it WAS probably time to get going. He was sure that, Thanksgiving or not, there would be the usual bevy of hot guys waiting for him at Woody’s or Babylon or the Baths. He could go to the bar, have a couple of shots of something alcoholic to start his night and then fuck away this strangely despondent mood. It would be so simple. Right? That’s precisely what he should be doing right now. Not sequestered in the dark with a ghost and a stray cat. How pathetic was he?

And yet, Brian couldn’t conjure up the willpower to get up and leave. To interrupt this brief intermission in his life. To step back into the usual Brian Kinney whirlwind persona.

“Have you ever noticed that sometimes you feel less lonely when you’re all alone than when you’re in the middle of a huge crowd of people,” Brian voiced the odd, very un-Brian-like thought that popped into his mind just then, speaking aloud for the first time in probably hours.

“You’re never alone, Brian,” the placid presence beside him spoke up boldly for the first time that afternoon. “I’m always with you. I always will be. No matter what. No matter where you are. You don’t have to ever be alone if you don’t want to be.”

Brian didn’t reply to that statement. He didn’t know how. ‘. . . if you don’t want to be.’ That was the seminal point, wasn’t it?