Miles (15 page)

"You're
my best friend."  I crossed my arms over my chest and took a few deep
breaths.  "You left your family back in Florida just to be with
me.  Do you know what that means to me?  Everything that's
happened...the last few days, they seem less... horrible, now."  I
sensed the night was coming to an end.  My voice shifted into
neutral.  "I love you, Felix.  You can ask me anything you
want."

"You
said you weren't in the car when your..." I could hear him swallow,
"...your parents..."

"No."

"Why
not?"

I
told him every detail of my family's Christmas Eve.  He listened closely
and unhappily, noting the leftover bruises that were still visible on my face.

"Where
did you go after they drove off?"

I
paused before telling him every detail of my trek to Irma's diner, and,
afterwards, to Nicolasha's apartment.  There was a lengthy pause before he
spoke up again.  We were sitting together under the same blanket, alone
and half-naked, but, in the pit of my stomach, it felt like the Berlin Wall had
been dropped down in between us.

"You
spent the night there?"  I nodded.  He looked at me in a strange
way.  I couldn't tell what he was feeling.  "Did he give you
that photo album upstairs?"

My
heart sank.  I closed my eyes and my fists, trying to escape the chill
that began to smother my heart.  Felix must have run across Nicolasha's
album while I showered.  I shook my head slowly.  "No.  I
brought it home the first time I went to his apartment."  Stole the
damn thing, actually.  "I just never gave it back."

I
guess I never really tried, either.

"Did
you...sleep...together?"

I
took a long time before I nodded my head.  Felix let out a pained breath
through his mouth.  Now I finally understood Uncle Alex's taste for
unusual and exotic forms of liquid and narcotic restraint.  I suddenly and
completely regretted what I had said, and wanted to run clear out of the room,
out into the snow, away, away from everything.

"Why?" 
Felix sounded like he was fighting back tears.  "Do you love him,
too?"

"No,"
I replied angrily, "it's not like that."  My voice wound down to
a peep.  "It's not the same thing."

"Did
you say you loved him, too?"

I
stared at Felix as he fought for his breath while tears rolled down his
cheeks.  "No," I lied.

"Did
you...?"  I shook my head.  I reached for Felix, but my friend
bolted up and stood by the bar with his back to me, trying to catch his breath
while he talked and cried at the same time.  "You're the best friend
I've ever had.  We're so different, though.  I knew that on the first
night you stayed over at my house."  What was it, four, five weeks
ago?  It seemed to me like an eternity ago, right then.  "But I
didn't care.  You were my friend, and that's all that mattered.  I
didn't care if you were different."  Oh, different.  Separate
development for me.  Apartheid for the androphiliac.  "You say
you love me, but I don't know what that means."  Who the hell does? 
"I keep on wondering about what I really feel about you.  I came here
to be with you, but now..."

I
chortled through my closed teeth.  "But what?  I'm the same
friend tonight that I was the first night we spent together, except we're both
still wearing clothes, and I'm down a few family members."  The
statement was fired like a missile, and landed like one, to judge by how Felix
spun around with anger, guilt, and sorrow all burning in his eyes. 
"Nothing's changed, Felix."  Just the temperature of my soul,
that's all.  I tried to put some effort back into my voice. "We're
still best friends, right?”

He
came back to the fireplace and knelt down beside me.  I hesitated before
reaching up to wipe a stray tear away from his lips, making him smile. 
"Will we still be friends after I leave?"

Now
I understood a little more.  "You haven't left yet."

"I
will, when school ends for the summer."

Six
months, and my best friend would leave.  "Do you know where you're
going?"

"Out
west, someplace," Go west, young man.  "I think New
Mexico."  I'd never been there.  Uncle Alex told me it was
gorgeous.  Felix's voice took on another unusual edge.  "Now Dad
wants to be a horse rancher."

I
tried to lighten the mood somewhat.  "That sounds a lot more fun than
commercial real estate, Felix.  Look at it from his point of view."

Felix
agreed.  "I'd rather rustle doggies than schmooze a bunch of filthy
rich investors and lawyers any day."

Lawyers. 
I liked Dad so much more when he was an officer and a gentleman.  "
Let's
kill all the lawyers
." 

We
giggled together.  Felix sat back down next to me. "What is that
from? 
Richard II
?"

"
Henry
VI
, dear boy."  I mimicked our Mister James the Literature Fiend
Granger's rich voice.

"I
can't believe you read Shakespeare in your spare time."  Felix looked
at me with respect, and then, affection, mixed with lonely fear.  I knew
that lonely fear look. I saw it every morning in the bathroom mirror. 
"Will you still love me after I leave?  As a friend?"

"As
a best friend, you mean."  A reflexive urge to reach up and kiss
Felix mushroomed through me.  The gesture came out in words,
instead.  "I love you now, Felix.  I'll still love you after you
leave.  I just won't be able to say it to you in person.  Not as
often, anyway." 

Felix
braced himself visibly before speaking again.  "Would you keep loving
me, as a best friend, if we...did what you and Mister Nicolas...did?"

He
spoke the simple little word "did" with the same awkward inflection
all teenagers use as a tenderizer for a more explicit sexual description. 
So, hey, Paco, did you do it with Betty?  You bet your ass we did it,
Jack.  We did it until my rocks hurt.  I did it all over her
face.  I did it. 

The
fire crackled in the background.  I ran my finger along Felix's lower lip,
but he didn't move away.  Slowly and without interference, I began to
unbutton his pajama top, while neither of us looked at the other. 
"Do you want to?"

"I
don't know," he whispered, "I don't know."  He bit his
lip.  "I feel so afraid, and I shouldn't, because you're my best
friend."  He laughed uneasily.  "Maybe that's why I'm
acting like such an idiot tonight."

I
painted Felix's soft cheeks with the teardrops that dribbled out of him in the
pause.  "You're not an idiot at all.  Believe it or not, I know
exactly what you're feeling."

"I
thought we'd stay best friends if I...if we..."

"We
might not stay friends at all.  Who knows?"  I let out a tired
laugh.  "We might be dead before school ends."

Dead. 
I decided I didn't want a wake.  I wanted the defector priest to perform
the service in Polish at the gravesite, and I wanted "
His cares are now
all ended
" inscribed on my tombstone.

"Did
you ever think about it?"  Felix kissed my fingers.  He made my
waist squirm beneath the blanket.  Our eyes locked up, the same way they
did the first day we met, sitting on Felix's bed making promises to each other
neither of us really thought we'd have to keep.  I was going to pretend he
was talking about dying when he pressed my closed hand against his lips. 
"You know, with me?"

I
considered how honestly I would answer Felix's question.  "At
first.  Yeah.  The first night, definitely."  I was the
first friend to look away from the other.

"What
about after that?"

"A
little bit."  Ha, try nearly every day.  "The more we
became buddies, the less I thought about it."  The more I tried not
to think about it, which hurt.  A lot, as I recalled.

"And
now?"  There was pressure and dismay in the soft tone of his voice,
the same feelings I was aware of, deep inside again.

"I
don't know."  I sounded as unconvinced as I felt. 

We
sat in my family room's echoing stillness without touching or looking at each
other, until the fire finally burned itself out.

*

My
bedroom was freezing.  I had forgotten that I closed the heat register
when we were playing "Hazel".  I left it that way.  My
heart needed company, and the cold would have to do.  I switched on the
radio in time to catch the beginning of Schumann's piano suite,
Carnival
.

Felix
climbed into my bed first.  I followed, still wearing my robe.  We
laid side-by-side in the dark for the duration of the deeply sentimental piano
composition, before he rolled to his side and faced the wall, away from me.

The
bedroom's chill began prodding my heart in the wrong direction.  "I
don't think I'm what you're really mad about.  It's not us, either."

"I'm
not angry," Felix mumbled.

"Oh,
yeah?  Maybe we're not so different, after all."  I pulled my
robe off and threw it across the room.

I
couldn't even hear Felix breathe.  I thought about kissing the back of
Felix's neck in apology, or cradling him in my arms like Nicolasha had done
with me a few nights ago, but I didn't.  Instead, I pretended to fall
asleep, and listened hard while my best friend used his pillow to keep his
sniffling to himself. 

I
was actually happy someone else was doing the crying, for a change.  I
should have felt bad about that, but didn't.  

Mom
and Pop Radio moved on to their next selection.

* * *

Much Ado About Nothing

Lawrence
the Laughing Lawyer was very businesslike and cordial.  The office staff
looked at me with over-solicitous pity.  Dad's ex-partners each came out
of their suites to say hello, shake my hand, ask how I was doing, and, of
course, inquire if there was anything each of them could do. 

Such
was the glory of being reduced to the role of poor, lonely orphan. 

The
whole office, from the walls to the jewelry, seemed painted in a rainbow of
conservative grays and blues to me.  It always had.  Felix and his
trench coat fit right in.  My blue jeans and hiking boots didn't. 
None of legal eagles made open notice of the fact I was wearing Dad's favorite
greatcoat, a black tweed that would qualify me to play a vampire hunter in the
next Hammer Film.

Uncle
Alex waited for me in Lawrence's dull "Better Homes and
Garden"-approved office.  He was alone.  He did, however, look
refreshed and alert.  Maybe it was the bracing cold he loved so
much.  Felix stayed in the anteroom.

Lawrence
slid his large leather chair close to his tidy and empty desk, empty except for
a single, open file, which he rested his hands over.  "I'll try to be
as brief as possible."  He lit a short, unfiltered cigarette. 
"I'm sure none of us want to linger over this stuff."  He
cleared his throat with a smoker's cough and looked at me directly, without
emotion.  "You understand your parents arranged for me to look after
their affairs, take care of things."  I nodded and returned his
vanilla stare.  "We can have one of the other partners handle this,
or any other matter, if either of you would prefer."

Uncle
Alex winced with impatience, and turned to me for my decision.  I could
picture Aunt Hilly grinding Lawrence's knees over the phone, making him agree
to ask such an inane question.  I smiled thinly.  "They don't
give family discounts, do they?"

Lawrence
smiled back.  "No."  The ice was broken.  "Now,
everything’s yours."  He indicated me with his cigarette. 
"There aren't any wills, but nothing ends up in Probate Court or creates a
tax issue, because you’re the only survivor.  Your name is on the house,
as you know, and it's going to be paid off out of the firm's bereavement
annuity."  My eyes widened.  "It's one thing you won't have
to worry about."  He coughed again.  Stop smoking, for God's
sake!  "You're listed on the bank accounts, so there's no problem
there, unless you decide to run away in style." 

Uncle
Alex gave me a humorous look that said, "That’s what I’d do!"  I
laughed to myself, even as a numbing sensation grew inside of me.

"It's
kind of funny."  Lawrence's voice was sadly ironic. "Your dad
put all those utility stocks in your name, alone, right after he said 'yes' to
that New York firm."

In
a rare moment of emotional lucidity two anniversaries ago, Aunt Dutch had given
Mom and Dad all her electric and gas company shares.  I didn't know what
they were worth, but I knew there were a lot of them.  The whole family
had come a long way from our decidedly working class, immigrant background in
Roseland.  I used to think it was funny we weren't happier as a result.

"They're
very conservative stocks.  Our money man, Mister Nadell, could definitely
do better with their cash value."

"What
do you think?"

My
lawyer cousin shrugged the shoulders of his light grey suit. 
"Utilities are slow and steady, but they get you there in the end. 
You can probably live on the checks until you're done with college." 
He gave me a quick, hard stare.  "You
are
planning on college,
aren't you?"

"My
lit teacher sent a few of my poetry samples to some of his Ivy League friends
back east.  I guess they like them.  They're interested in having me
come visit them."  Lawrence nodded approvingly.  Uncle Alex
rolled his eyes. 

"Good. 
Good."  He flipped a number of pages in the file.  "Now,
your uncle and I spoke last night..."

Uncle
Alex was my Godfather, and agreed to be legal guardian.  He would sell his
Minnesota property, and move in with me.  No mention was made of
Veronica.  Once I made plans for college, Lawrence and Uncle Alex would
help me decide what to do with the house.  The water level of the
conversation kept getting closer to my face.  I was underwater by the time
Lawrence told me about Mom and Dad's substantial life insurance policies. 
The payoffs would be put into a sheltered trust that I could access for
college, and anything else, once I was twenty one.

"So
I've got a lot of money now, huh?"

Lawrence
waved his cigarette in the air.  "It's not all liquid cash, per se,
but you'll have to go on a terrific drunk to end up as poor as our
great-grandparents were."

We
both looked at Uncle Alex, a man well familiar with spectacular lost
weekends. 

"You
want my advice?  Fuck the Ivy League.  Go to the University of
Hawaii."  

"Why?"

"You
won't have far to go to the beach when you skip classes."

*

Dad's
office was decorated like a Captain's cabin on an important ship.  It was
one of his very few childish indulgences, besides the Stingray.  I
realized I loved them both, for what they were, and what they represented, and
Dad, for breaking down and having them in the first place.

His
secretary, a large, grey-haired woman named Paula, was still shaken by what had
happened.  She had trouble talking to me as I showed Felix the
office.  She was on the verge of tears.  Dad used to treat her like a
dog.  No, he treated dogs better.  "I'll have one of the clerks
pack up your father's belongings.  I'm sure you'll want the
photographs."

Dad
had that irritating habit of lining his office of all the pictures he had
snapped of me as the number one son, and us as the number one family, a
desperate effort to shout down his own doubts about it all to the rest of the
world.  Felix was impressed.  Paula got sadder.  I got
irritated.  Look at them all, I carped to myself.  My birthday
parties.  Christ, even the Bus-O-Fun!  My Halloween costumes. 
It figures he wouldn't have proof lying around the office that I once chose to
be "Blacula" one year.  Ah, yes, opening presents every
Christmas morning.  There's my favorite: the motorized cable car and ski
lift from the extraordinary F.A.O. Schwartz catalog.  That was the year
Mom became a nurse.  All the Easter Sunday Masses, in our sharp
three-piece best.  Stolen moments from all of our trips.  I looked
pretty funny falling, not diving, from the Fontainebleau’s diving board in my
zebra-stripe bathing suit.  And how could I forget?  Every single one
of my school portraits, from Kindergarten (spot the dimwit smiling away in his
checkerboard suit jacket and red bow tie) to this year, as a "tough"
and detached Junior (white button-down, black sweatshirt, bleak "take the
Goddamn picture" sneer).

I
handed Paula a 5 by 8 picture of me and Mom and Dad, equipped with hats and
pennants, sitting along the upper deck railing of White Sox Park, bundled up
for the ever damp and cold Opening Day, smiling like we might actually win the
game.  She began to cry and left the office.

I
sat down in Dad's chair, swinging myself back and forth with my feet. 
"Can I have one, too?" Felix asked.

"Take
whatever one you'd like."

He
didn't hesitate.  He reached for the shot of me as a little kid, floating
in the middle of a Playboy Club life preserver.  A scuba mask was propped
up on my forehead, and I was wearing flippers.  Two cute teenaged life
guards, a guy and a girl, were each holding a side of the inner tube and one of
my feet out of the sparkling indoor pool waters.  I was grinning from ear
to ear.

"I
like this one."  I don't know why I thought he'd take my most recent
school portrait.  "You look so happy in this."

I
was.

*

Earlier
that morning, me and my best friend entered the atrophied, suburban universe of
talking without saying anything, listening without hearing anything, and
carrying on without living.  We were there together, clearing the driveway
of snow, making breakfast, and crossing the invisible line that is drawn on a
person's belongings when they die, sorting through Mom and Dad's remaining
effects like busy little beavers, packing away Mom's stuff for anyone who
wanted it, and trying on Dad's clothes, to see what I wanted to keep and Felix
thought his dad might like.

The
night before didn't happen.  Nobody cried.  No conversation of import
occurred.  No hand or heart was touched, and nobody was killed, either.

We
left the lawyers, laughing and otherwise, and returned to my home.  We sat
together inside Dad's Stingray.  As always, the gleaming white fiberglass
body was polished and waxed like new.  The red leather seats were cold and
stiff from the weather.  Felix picked up on the glimmer of excitement I
felt, pretending to pilot the car.  I already had my learner's
permit.  I would get the license before my birthday, this summer. 
Felix admitted he could hardly wait to take the car out for a test drive with
me, but didn't say where.  He didn't mention any place special, or far
away, like New Mexico, for instance.

My
only reply was a phony smile. 

It
was a pair of performances for the ages.

* * *