The Telling Page 4

  Chapter Four

  “Sweetie!” Michael braced himself as a red-haired whirlwind launched itself at him—the second today. This one was more aggressive, however, and nearly knocked him down. Despite the fact that she was almost half his size, his mother was a presence unto herself. Chaos, thy name is Sarah Shiller. Or rather, her name had been Shiller on the last letter he’d received. No telling which of her previous last names she’d resumed during her most recent divorce.

  “Hi, Mom,” he managed to squeak once she’d released her hold enough so he could breathe. He fully believed she could teach his sergeant a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat. It would be called “Death by Affection.” The woman just didn’t know her own strength, which, when added to her natural exuberance, equaled lethally, if accidentally, wielded knees, elbows, and feet. She was one of the clumsiest people Michael had ever met; but, hey, that was his mom, she had her faults and made the most of them. And she never apologized for her eccentricities, understanding that she had the God-given right to be who she was. It was a lesson she tried to teach her kids despite objections from various narrow-minded husbands. How the most open-minded person on the planet could wind up with such bigoted losers—five so far, to be exact—was one of the great mysteries of the universe. Angie had a theory that their mom had a fetish for big, dumb, chest-thumping Neanderthal types. Maybe it was more of a ‘taking in strays’ kind of thing.

  Apparently satisfied that she’d properly greeted her youngest child, she turned to the people who stood gawking close by and gave them a harsh glare and a curt, “What are you looking at? My kid just came home!” before grabbing Michael by the arm and hauling him into the darkened bookstore. She bolted the door with one hand while turning the Sorry, we’re closed sign over with the other. She then proceeded to drag him through the dimly-lit room.

  The woman on a mission plowed through the darkened space with her second-born in tow, all the while keeping up a running monologue about Cousin Kathy’s worthless new husband, Grandma’s latest adventures with her arthritis, and how everyone was so happy that Michael was home and couldn’t wait to see him.

  After crossing the length of the building with only minor injuries from bumping into unfamiliar objects, Michael exclaimed, “Ow!” at the precise moment his mother warned, “Watch your head,” and began hauling him up the rear stairs. He was still rubbing what was sure to be large knot when he was blinded by the lights she turned on in the apartment over the store.

  “Let me get a good look at you,” she gushed, grinning like a kid at Christmas and spinning him around to view all sides. Her smile fell. “You’re nothing but skin and bones!” she exclaimed, the tried and true greeting of all Southern mothers when seeing their kids after a long absence, even if it wasn’t true. But then, they were in the South where Sunday dinner was considered an art form.

  “I’m hardly bones, Mom,” Michael protested. “I’ve actually filled out a lot since I left. And I’m more toned now than I’ve ever been. I just don’t have you force-feeding me every time I manage to drop a pound!” How could his mother not remember the scrawny, gangly thing he’d been just a few short years ago? He ceased arguing as his fatigue caught up to him; he needed to sleep, and soon, or he’d be taking his frustrations out on anyone close enough to be his unwitting target. Not that he wasn’t thrilled to see her, he was just exhausted and her whirlwind energy was fast depleting any reserves of strength he had left.

  Ignoring his harsh tone, she continued, “Well, now that you’re here we’ll get you fed up right. Everything’s gonna be just fine now that you’re home.” She got six of seven “i’s” into “fine”, in the true Southern style.

  When sympathetic eyes met his, he groaned. How long was everyone going to treat him like an invalid? Yes, he’d seen some heavy shit over there, but so had lots of other guys, he was just one of many. So what if he was only twenty-two but would now have to emulate his seventy-two-year-old grandfather and turn his good ear to you if you weren’t talking loudly enough. It wasn’t the end of the world. At least he came back. All the visible parts still worked, his infirmities were deeply hidden.

  He took a deep breath to ease the building tension. Fussing over him was her way of showing love, so he held tongue, knowing her reaction was nothing compared to how Grandma would be. He’d need at least twelve hours of sleep before meeting up with her.

  “…you’re asleep on your feet. Why don’t you go take a shower while I put your things away?” Mom suggested, lugging his duffle through the door to a small but comfortable looking bedroom. The bag was nearly as big as she was, but his hand got a playful smack when he tried to take it from her. He had no choice but to follow and watch as she dumped everything out on the bed for sorting. Realizing he’d been dismissed just as surely as if she’d spoken the order, he snagged a pair of boxers from the pile and backed out of the room, disappearing into the tiny bathroom.

  He felt guilty for not staying and talking, but they’d spent so much time on the phone the last few days that he’d actually run out of topics, except for the ones he wasn’t ready to discuss. Best to retreat and allow his mother to put away his few belongings while he took a much-needed shower. As he hunted soap and towels he realized how much effort had gone into preparation for his homecoming. No only had an apartment been created in what used to be empty space, the cabinets had been stocked with his favorite brands of toothpaste, shampoo, and…an industrial-sized box of condoms?

  Leave it to Mom to think of everything. He found what he was looking for under the sink and unwrapped a bar of scented deodorant soap before stepping under the soothing shower spray, the warm water working out his kinked muscles. A fluffy towel, so unlike what he was used to, felt like heaven when he dried off. Nearly asleep on his feet, he somehow managed get his teeth brushed and his boxers on. He found his old, ratty-but-comfortable bathrobe hanging from a peg on the back of the door and put it on. It fit more snugly than it had four years ago. Finally ready to face the world, or at least his mother, he left the room in a cloud of steam.

  A quick glance in the bedroom showed the bed had been turned down. He looked forward to putting it to use—soon. No matter how much he’d traveled or where he’d been, there was nothing like sleeping in his own bed, even if it had been a while since the last time he’d had the privilege. He stared longingly at the soft, quilt-covered haven, then sighed and went to join his mother in the living area of the shoebox-sized apartment.

  He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she bent to retrieve two beers from the refrigerator. For the first time he noticed the strands of gray hair that he’d sworn she didn’t have, and the lines around her eyes, not all caused by laughter. She looked tired. She also didn’t have much room to accuse him of losing weight. Her shoulder blades stood out more sharply than he remembered, and her jeans didn’t cling to her thighs. Time and disappointment had taken their toll. Maybe he had inadvertently told his buddies the truth: he needed to come home and take care of his aging, graying mother. Leaving to find his own place in the world might prove more difficult than expected.

  A woman with a heart of pure gold, that was his mother, and all the qualities he liked about himself came from her. Honesty, open-mindedness, dependability, compassion, but she’d always sold herself short. He wished that she’d shaken off the loser who’d gotten her pregnant at sixteen and gone on to college like Angie. Why did such an intelligent woman let barely-literate guys convince her that she was stupid and worthless?

  And why did his free-spirited mother keep returning to Cookesville? Larger towns they’d lived in had accepted her eclectic tastes, many praising her as a modern, free-thinking woman. Here, she was just the kook who ran the bookstore. Even then she had to censor what she normally would have stocked on her shelves. The good people of the town would run her out on a rail if they saw some of her personal collection of books, with topics ranging from comparative religion to alternative romance. Several alternative romance selections had answ
ered quite a few questions for Michael during his formative years, while raising even more.

  All she wanted was for someone to love and appreciate her, though she never quite succeeded in finding that in her love life. In a way she didn’t belong in Cookesville, but at least here she had Grandma, Grandpa, and Angie—and now Michael.

  Smiling as she looked up and found him watching, she straightened, closing the refrigerator and handing him a beer. “Let’s go sit on the couch a while,” she said. “You look so tired.”

  Mumbling his thanks, he sprawled on the plaid couch that had once occupied his grandparents’ living room. Though he tried hard to appear attentive, his yawning soon became uncontrollable.

  “Honey, why don’t you get some sleep? We can talk tomorrow morning. I’ll bring breakfast,” his mother said.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She rose and kissed him on the forehead, something she could never do had he been standing. “Love you, sweetheart,” she murmured.

  “You too, Ma.”

  After she let herself out Michael studied his surroundings. His apartment had just been empty space when his mother bought the store and sent him pictures. Now he was once more reminded of how much she missed and wanted him there. All his things had been carefully placed where they used to be in his old bedroom. His high school era posters graced the walls of his living area and the guitar he’d never quite learned to play sat upright in an old beanbag, like an honored guest instead of a musical instrument. Even his neon beer sign occupied its rightful place above the head of his bed where it had always been.

  In a restless haze he dimmed the lights and attempted to relax, first on the couch, then on his bed, but the fatigue, the excitement of being home, and his whirling thoughts just wouldn’t let him sleep. Finally, he turned the lights back on and familiarized himself with his new apartment.

  He made his way over to his old stereo. All CDs, and even his old albums were present and accounted for. An ancient TV and a cheap DVD player sat in a corner with his favorite movies stacked beneath. A cursory inspection of the cabinets and refrigerator showed the results of a major shopping spree, stocked with all his favorites. Even his well-used Steelers coffee mug was there. After helping himself to another beer, he sat on the couch, surfing through channels on the TV. All right! Mom hooked up cable.

  Once relaxed to the point that he might actually get some sleep, he tucked himself into bed, wrapping the blue, patchwork, Grandma-made quilt over himself, and closed his eyes, hoping against hope to sleep through the night and not wake up screaming.

  ***

  The next few days were a blur of activity as Michael settled into his new home and routine, working in the book store, visiting with and being fussed over by his grandparents. Most importantly, he began to relearn how to live as a civilian. After all the discipline and stress of his previous life, having every minute of every day planned and structured, the loss of stability left him unnerved.

  It also left him with entirely too much time to think. Many nights were spent in sleepless frustration, lying in his bed, unable to turn off the never-ending stream of self-doubts and what-ifs. He now had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted, go to college and pursue any of the courses of study he’d been debating, or go to the local technical school and study for blue-collar work. Decent money and jobs could be had in many fields, and he’d always excelled at working on things around his grandfather’s farm.

  He could have stayed here, married Ruth Ann, but that dream hadn’t been his. The wife and kids were what his grandparents and his girlfriend had wanted. At one time he’d accepted having his future planned by someone else. But marrying Ruth Ann wouldn’t have been fair to her or to him.

  They’d been close at one time, or as close as he’d ever been with anyone, but it wasn’t his high school sweetheart now starring in his thoughts about the future. No, as unbidden as the thoughts were, they all seemed to focus on a man. And not just any man—Jay. When he’d first seen the Texan in the living room of his sister’s place, he’d felt something he now realized he’d felt before over the years, only not as strongly. Then he hadn’t wanted to admit what the subtle signals meant and he’d become quite skilled in denying his attraction to other men, or passing off crushes as admiration.

  Like it or not, he could no longer lie to himself about why he hadn’t been that interested in girls when all his high school buddies had been hormone driven lunatics. What he’d do with that information was what he still couldn’t decide. He could hide who he was and try to live an ordinary, straight life, deep in the closet. That’s what Jim from church had tried to do, back when Michael had been a kid. It hadn’t worked very well.

  Everyone knew something was different about Jim and whispered behind his back. Even when he married the rumors persisted. All the poor man had gotten for the subterfuge was misery and a broken marriage. Where was the man now? Did he finally accept himself and find happiness? Everyone deserved a happy ending. Well, most people, anyway.

  But what about Jay? Before, any leanings Michael had were simply theoretical. Now that someone made him feel, well, like doing something about it, what should he do? He couldn’t exactly come out and say, “You make me hard.”

  That day in the car Jay had definitely been flirting even before disclosing his sexuality. But… regardless of what he’d said, he still hadn’t called.

  Jay had been right in saying that being seen out together would be taken negatively as far as most of the narrow-minded community was concerned. What of the family? Mom had so many gay friends over the years and was so accepting and non-judgmental that coming out to her shouldn’t be a problem. She’d probably join a support group and slap a rainbow bumper sticker on her car. More than likely she’d just want him to be happy—but you never could tell how a person would react until you actually told them.

  Angie? Since she obviously accepted Jay and Terry she might be open-minded about him. Then again, it could be a different matter when it came to her brother. Besides, Jay was her friend. Getting together with him might cause some weirdness. But if Angie didn’t approve of something she’d just come out and say it. It wasn’t like her to mince words or hide her opinions.

  His grandparents? Another matter entirely. They were good folks—good, church-going folks—and the church condemned homosexuality. Though he didn’t like lying to them it wouldn’t be the first time he’d kept things from them. However, they knew Jay and, from what Angie had said in her letters, they thought highly of him.

  What would it be like to be in a relationship with another man? Not the sexual part, but how would it be to kiss, hold hands, sit together at the end of the day, prepare dinner together, be a couple?

  Jay smiled and laughed in Michael’s fantasy, playing the role of the perfect mate. Not good, not good at all imagining the man as someone he might not be. And he hadn’t called, so obviously he wasn’t interested. Even if he were, could Michael cast aside years of conditioning to attempt a relationship with another man? Or, like Jim long ago at church, would he present one face to the world while sneaking around, deluding himself that no one knew the truth?

  He hadn’t seen Jay since being dropped off that first day, and Angie hadn’t said much about her roomie, other than that Jay, like herself, was hard at work studying and finishing final projects.

  Between the gloomy thoughts running rampant in his head all day and the nightmares that plagued him when he finally was able to let go of the waking world, was it any wonder Michael was exhausted?

  ***

  “Sure, Mom, I’ll call Grandma,” Michael said, patting his pockets for his cell phone and coming up empty handed. She was using the store’s phone to place an order, so he mouthed, “I’ll be right back” and took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment.

  He searched his nightstand, the couch cushions, and even his dirty laundry hamper before the phone’s distinctive buzz called him to the kitchen counter. Three messages waited. The first was a text fr
om Angie, asking if he wanted to drive up to Atlanta for some shopping the next day. His first reaction was “Oh, Hell yeah!” but shopping meant leaving his sanctuary. A chill ran up his spine. He hated lying, but sent a bullshit response about how he’d promised Mom he’d work and asked if they could reschedule. He’d love to go just for a chance to spend some time with his sister, but didn’t think he could do it, not yet at least.

  “Missed call” appeared on his screen, along with the icon for voice mail. The name “Ryan Jackson” caused his heart to flip.

  He quickly dialed the number to retrieve the message, nudging his apartment door closed. This was one conversation better held without a curious mother or customers around. After keying in the proper codes and selecting from the long list of options, the soft voice that he knew so well spoke. “Hey, Big Guy. Ummm… Sorry it took me so long to call, I’ve been, you know, busy.” The normally straightforward Ryan sounded nervous and uncertain, something that never happened before their convoy was attacked. After a moment of awkward silence the message continued, “Look, I hope you’re not mad at me or anything. I’d hate to lose you, too.” The last words were murmured so quietly they could barely be heard. There was a soft sigh and then, “Anyway, I’m doing okay and hope everything’s going good for you. Give me a call sometime, that is, if you’re not mad.” Another long pause followed. “Look, I know what I did was wrong, but…well, you know what I was thinking. I just wanted to feel… I just wanted to feel anything again. I’m sorry for using you like that. Look, I gotta go, just call me sometimes, will ya? Can we still be friends?” Silence.