Blink (26 page)

This one is filled, I believe, with a purer hope. That you and I have been given a second chance that maybe neither of us ever believed would come.

I like to think that. I like to think of you, which I am doing right now, lying here in my bed. I can still smell the scent of you on the pillow next to me.

Until we meet again….

And hey, can we make it thirty-two hours instead of thirty-two years?

Yours in hope,

Andy

I stare down at the screen and realize I’m smiling. I look up and see that a young man has boarded the train while I lingered over Andy’s sweet message. He’s young, bundled into a winter coat that’s probably too warm or will be once the sun comes up, and he has his nose buried in a book.

He reminds me of Andy.

I
T
’
S
ONE
of those autumn days that still looks like summer. The sun is shining brilliantly, and there are only a few clouds, long wisps of white, up high. The leaves have only just begun to turn, and green is still predominant. Bees buzz in the air. The water of Lake Michigan sparkles like someone has cast diamonds upon its surface. Its waves crash gently onto the shore.

Wafts of roasting meat from grills permeate the warm breezes, and I hear the laughter of children and the murmur of conversations all around. A car passes by, engine grumbling, but above it, an aria is playing on the radio. Jessye Norman.

Yet there’s an undercurrent, barely noticeable, that summer has already packed and is waiting at the station to make its departure for another year. Maybe it’s conditioned in my bones from years of repetition, but I know night will fall earlier, and it will be a little cooler than the previous night. The shadows on the ground are just a tad longer than they were in August. The boats on the water are fewer. Winter patiently bides his time, knowing eventually that he will reign, all of this but a memory.

But I don’t want to think about that coming season, or even autumn. We’re here today with my dad and his new boyfriend, Carlos. I gaze up from the blankets we’ve spread out and look at the two of them, walking along the shoreline. Dad’s in cargo shorts and a white Cozumel T-shirt I brought back from a trip there with Mom a couple of years ago. He looks young, tanned, and vigorous, and from this distance at least, I can almost imagine him as a contemporary of mine rather than a parent. Carlos walks next to him, talking animatedly, using his hands a lot. He’s wearing jeans, rolled up, and a loose-fitting linen shirt, pale blue. The shirt makes a wonderful contrast to his skin. He’s a pretty gorgeous guy, one that I would only admit to myself I’m a little attracted to. I mean, come on, hot Latin
Papi
… what’s not to like?

As I said, though, I’d never admit that anywhere farther out than from the confines of my own mind. I have my own hot guy anyway, who should be getting here any minute now. Completely different from Carlos but all mine! At least for now….

Anyway, I’m happy for Dad. Growing up, I watched him hunt for the right guy and meet lots of losers on the way. There was always this guy or that one he wanted me to meet. We’d go to lunch on a Sunday, or take in the Lincoln Park Zoo, or maybe ride the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Those guys are all pretty interchangeable in my mind, maybe because none of them were right.

They were always just putting on a show, being friendly to me. I think to most of them I was little more than an obstacle, something standing in the way of my dad. I saw right through it. And so, I think, did my dad.

They never lasted, and sometimes I wondered if Dad was trapped in a kind of torture. He’d met my mother when they were younger than I am now, and I know they had a passionate and very loving relationship, but one that could never be because he was not only hiding from himself, but also from her.

It was rough for a while, once they split up. I was only six, and it was hard for me to understand why our happy little family had had the supports kicked out from underneath it.

A memory comes to me, and it warms. I’m standing with my little blue coat on in the vestibule of Dad’s apartment building, waiting for my mom to pick me up. I must have been six or seven, and Dad had his first boyfriend, a passive-aggressive type named Keith, who wasn’t home for my visit this time. Dad and I had watched a videotape from Blockbuster
, Edward Scissorhands
, and ordered in pizza. I remember asking, a little tearfully, if Dad loved Keith more than me. He got down on his knees and gathered me into his arms and said, “No, never.” I have never doubted his love since then. As I grew, though, and saw Dad’s string of failed relationships, I always wanted him to find someone to love at least as much as he loves me. I smile to myself. Maybe he has.

Time heals, and we all moved on. Except Dad. He always seemed trapped in his neat little existence. Never miserable, but never happy either. He would see his friend, Jules, take me on visits to Ohio to hang out with our family back there, and date the occasional guy.

Looking out at him and Carlos now does my heart good. Anyone seeing them would know they’re two gay men. They can’t hide the way they look at each other, the smiles they have only for the other. They’d be holding hands, I think, if they were brought up in a different generation.

But I can also see they’re two guys in love. Dad waited a long time to reintroduce me to Carlos, and I think he wanted to be sure about him, that he wasn’t yet another empty dream in a long line of empty dreams. He told me about their dates throughout the summer and would conveniently leave out that Carlos was spending several nights a week at his place. I knew. I’d sometimes hear Carlos in the background, or there’d be music playing that wasn’t quite what Dad would choose.

I was happy for him and hoped for the best.

Dad arranged this lakefront picnic today so the four of us could get together. It’s a little awkward because there’s so much hope in all the parties—hope that we’ll all get along, we’ll all be friends.

And there’s hope for me too. I look away from Dad and Carlos to see Kelly walking toward me. He has a shy grin on his face, and he’s barefoot, wearing cutoff jean shorts and a white T-shirt. His red hair and freckles give him a boyish look, but that body—oh, that body—contradicts it.

“Hey, stranger.” He plops down on the blanket beside me and gives me a kiss. A long, lingering one. If someone is watching and has an issue with it, that’s their problem, not ours.

We recline back on the blanket, both propped up on our elbows. Wind rustles the leaves above us.

“It’s a gorgeous day,” I say.

“Oh yeah. I’ll need sunscreen. I’m not like you. You brown. I burn.”

I offer to lather it on him, all over. “I’ll make sure to get your most vulnerable places.”

“What? And get me all worked up in front of your dad? No way!” Kelly laughs. He grabs my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine. “Do you like him?”

“Who, Carlos? Sure. He seems like a nice man. Kind. The important thing, though, is that Dad likes him. And I think he does, maybe even loves him. And that’s good to finally see.”

Kelly moves behind me and massages my shoulders. I close my eyes. He leans down and whispers, “Love is always good to see.”

I grab one of his hands and kiss it.

T
HIS
IS
a work of fiction, but it’s based, more than anything else I’ve written, on my own life. For the curious, I will admit that much of what happened in 1982 happened in my own life that same year. Carlos was a real person, and that poorly timed phone call from my mother actually happened. Or maybe it wasn’t so poorly timed after all. As Andy realizes, the paths we take in life should never be regretted because they bring us both treasures and tragedies. Like Andy, I wouldn’t trade my treasures for anything. So thank you, Mom, for calling to ask about the wedding. Life can change in the blink of an eye.

The truth of the second part lies more in my imagination. Like Andy, I had a string of failed relationships. And like him too, I found the man who made my life complete, even if he wasn’t the gorgeous Cuban I flirted with on the ‘L.’ He’s better. But the second half of the book, I like to imagine, is what
could
have happened had I not met my husband. Who knows?

I hope you’ve enjoyed taking this stroll down memory lane with me and that you’ve found the journey in imagination to what might have been satisfying. I’d love to hear from you at [email protected] if you’d like to let me know what you thought of the book.

And Carlos, if you’re reading this, you can get in touch too. Although I’m happily spoken for now, it might be interesting to hear how your life has turned out. I hope as good as my own and that your happy ending came to you as well.

R
ICK
R. R
EED
is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery, and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for
Caregiver
,
Orientation
, and
The Blue Moon Cafe
). Lambda Literary Review has called him, “a writer that doesn’t disappoint.” In his spare time, Rick is an avid runner, loves to cook, and reads voraciously. Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever “at work on another novel.”

Visit Rick’s website at http://www.rickrreed.com or follow his blog at http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/. You can also like Rick on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks or on Twitter at https://www.twitter.com/rickrreed. Rick always enjoys hearing from readers and answers all e-mails personally. Send him a message at [email protected]

Bashed

By Rick R. Reed

It should have been a perfect night out. Instead, Mark and Donald collide with tragedy when they leave their favorite night spot. That dark October night, three gay-bashers emerge from the gloom, armed with slurs, fists, and an aluminum baseball bat.

The hate crime leaves Donald lost and alone, clinging to the memory of the only man he ever loved. He is haunted, both literally and figuratively, by Mark and what might have been. Trapped in a limbo offering no closure, Donald can’t immediately accept the salvation his new neighbor, Walter, offers. Walter’s kindness and patience are qualities his sixteen-year-old nephew, Justin, understands well. Walter provides the only sense of family the boy’s ever known. But Justin holds a dark secret that threatens to tear Donald and Walter apart before their love even has a chance to blossom.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Caregiver

By Rick R. Reed

It’s 1991, and Dan Calzolaio has just moved to Florida with his lover, Mark, having fled Chicago and Mark’s addictions to begin a new life on the Gulf Coast. Volunteering for the Tampa AIDS Alliance is just one part of that new beginning, and that’s how Dan meets his new buddy, Adam.

Adam Schmidt is not at all what Dan expected. The guy is an original—witty, wry, and sarcastic with a fondness for a smart black dress, Barbra Streisand, and a good mai tai. Adam doesn’t let his imminent death get him down, even through a downward spiral that sees him thrown in jail.

Each step of Adam’s journey teaches Dan new lessons about strength and resilience, but it’s Adam’s lover, Sullivan, to whom Dan feels an almost irresistible pull. Dan knows the attraction isn’t right, even after he dumps his cheating, drug-abusing boyfriend. But then Adam passes away, and it leaves Sullivan and Dan both alone to see if they can turn their love for Adam into something whole and real for each other.