If you ain't old enough to read it, or you ain't allowed to by law, then please don't read this. Yeah, like I can stop you?
Sorry it's been so long. I had an out-of-town trip and was really busy. I'm glad to get back to the story. Please feel free to email me. I like hearing from you!
CHAPTER 9
My heart flies with joy in having my dad back to his old self. I try to avoid looking out the windshield much. That dream was so real about the car jumping the median. The police report said that is what happened to me for real. I hope I don't have any more flashbacks, but I think that is likely going to happen.
"Hey, Jesse, your mom is probably home now. Why don't you just come to over and have lunch with us?" Dad offers. I have to admit, it sounds good. Josh doesn't live far from our childhood home, so I take him up on it.
By the time we pull in the driveway, we're joking and laughing like nothing had ever happened between us. We walk in the door, and mom comes walking out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.
With eyebrows raised, she asks "What's this? You mean you two are done trying to kill each other with silence?"
I kiss Mom on the cheek, and just say "Oh Mother" and saunter into the kitchen, feeling light as a feather. Happiness has a way of making everything right. I dig into the fridge, looking for some ever-present grapes. I try not to eavesdrop, but I can't help it. They're talking low, but they forget that the walls aren't iron!
Mom says in a low voice, with a hint of sarcasm, "I thought you said you were done with Jesse. Not that I'm not glad to see you two patched things up, but why the change."
"Hon, you didn't see his car. When I saw that mass of twisted metal and broken glass, I realized that our SON was inside that wreck. They must have had to cut him out of there. It made me realize how close I came to burying him, and suddenly I decided that I didn't care if he was gay, straight, wore womens' underwear--and I hope he doesn't--or painted himself blue and called himself 'Papa Smurf.' He's our son, and I love him."
Mom sniffs, overcome. "I'm so glad, John. I couldn't bear to see you two hate each other."
I decide to take that moment to walk in, but wipe my eyes first. I walk over to them and pull them into a hug. "You two are lousy at parent talk...you always have been. And I love you both very much too."
Dad pulls his head back so he can look me in the eye. "What do you mean we're lousy at parent talk?" he says with a smile.
"Dad, Josh and I heard every discussion you two ever had. We're not deaf, and you're not exactly the quietest people around." I reply, laughing.
Dad play-punches me in the gut, and says "Come on, Helen, we need to feed this starving young man...AGAIN."
I punch back, but follow along as we all go to the kitchen. It's at the table that my parents decide I should move home with them until I can get my life back in order. As we're enjoying a good lunch, Dad's cell phone rings.
"John Corey. Uh huh. Oh yes, he's here." his voice hardens. "It's Leslie." He hands me the phone.
"Hi. What's up?" I say, non-chalantly.
"Hi, Jess. I tried you over at Josh's and he said you were with your dad. I am only calling to give you a message that was left on our--my--answering machine." (She changed her pronoun apologetically.) "Your boss needs you to call him."
"Oh. Ok. Thanks." I don't wait for her to reply and hang up. Blinking, I ponder a moment of why I was suddenly so angry with her. Then I remembered what her dad said to me. Handing the cell back to my dad, I ask him to tell Leslie I'm gone if she calls back. I walk over to the house phone and dial the boss.
"Hey Daniel, Jesse here. I had a message you called?"
"Oh, Jesse, hi. Yeah, I need to have you come down and sign something for HR. It's just a formality. Apparently they messed up when they put you on disability. Can you come down now?" Dan asks.
"Uh, no, not at the moment. Would it be ok if you just lock it in my knee drawer in my cubicle and I"ll come down later? I can slip it under your door."
"Oh sure, no problem, Jess. We obviously know you're not faking your illness. Has the doctor given you any idea of when you can come back? I'm just asking out of curiosity."
"Uh, no, but I think I have to go see him tomorrow. I'll let you know then." I reply.
"Cool. Ok, Jess, I'll lock this in your desk." Daniel says, then we say our goodbyes.
"Dad, I need to go to the office, but I figured you had to get back to work, right?" I ask, sort of hoping that was the case. I'm still not liking to ride in cars.
"Jesse, I think we need to think about getting out there and car shop." Dad says.
"Uh, no, Dad, I'm still waiting for the settlement" I lie. Like he'll buy it. Sure enough...
"Jess, you can sign the papers and make a big payment when you get the money."
"I think, I need to go lie down. I'm feeling a little dizzy." I say, holding my hand to my head. And as expected, Nurse Helen pops out of her chair.
"Are you ok, sweetie? Let me help you." Mom says, frantic to make sure I'm not about to keel over.
I let her guide me up to my old room and I lie down. The mix of food and exertion of the morning sets in quickly, and I slide comfortably into sleep.
I feel Mom take my shoes off and cover me up, just like she did for the first decade and a half of my life.
I wake up to darkness, or semi-darkness. I look over at the clock and it reads 6:00pm! I'd slept for six straight hours. I got a piss hard-on that'd break concrete and my stomach informs me that I'm missing feeding time. Eager to satisfy both biological urges, I get out of bed as fast as my still-healing body will allow. As I'm pissing, I realize that it's past 5, so the car dealerships will be closed since today is Tuesday. I exhale in relief for my bladder and my anxiety which dissipates quickly.
I head downstairs and see dad's cell on the table, and that reminds me that I have to go down to the office. I try Mark's number, but there is no answer. I realize that the house is empty and walk over to the kitchen table. There's a note that says that my parents had gone out with some neighbors to get some dinner then go to a show. Dinner is in the oven. I grin as I realize that HAD to have been Mom's input into the note's contents.
I see a leftover pizza in the oven, and take a few bites to quell the hunger. As I'm sitting at the table, I look up and see the spare keys hanging on the little organizer on the wall. I stare at them for a minute then decide, "What the hell." Getting up, I walk over, grab the keys, and with the confidence of an army general, I head toward the garage. I get into the seat of the SUV and start the car, opening the garage....and I sit.
And I sit. Hands on the wheel, I sit. Sweating hands on the wheel. Sweating, shaking hands. I shut the engine off quickly, close the garage and head back inside. I sit back at the kitchen table, calming every part of me that's shaking, sweating, or twisting. When I finally can think over the pounding sound of the blood racing through my brain, I decide I'll have to get a ride. I dial Mark's home number, but he's still out, I guess. I try Josh, but he's doing dad stuff at the school, and Marianne just put the baby down for a nap. I pace, trying to decide who can help me. Marianne calls back, saying that if I can make it down to the office, Josh can come downtown and pick me up. I decide that's the best plan. I lock up the house and walk to the bus stop. I'm wearing my dad's leather jacket, so I look tougher than I am, so I figure no one will mess with me.
Sure enough, the 40 minute trip downtown is uneventful. Only a few people sort of gave me a look, but I guess they decided I either wasn't worth it, or they were afraid of me. If they only knew I was actually a kitten when it came to fighting. I walk the two blocks from Market Street to my building, check in at the front desk, and head up to 15. It's been so long, I muse, and nothing's changed in here. I wonder when I WILL be able to come back?
I finally arrive on the 15th floor and start the trek down to my cubicle down the north aisle. I work in the "end zone" of the crushed-donut-shaped building, and I usually take the north way so no one observes my comings and goings. Not that I have anything to hide; I just don't like people keeping tabs on me. I walk into my cubicle. I open my desk, find the paper Daniel needs, sign it, seal the envelope he gave me, then walk over to slip it under his door. As I walk back into my cube again I think I see someone round the corner as if heading up the south aisle toward the elevators. I decide my mind must be playing tricks on me. I'm tempted to check my email, but I decide to forget it. It'll be here when I get back. No one has left me a voice mail, so I'm not worried there either. (Word got out quickly about the accident, so people knew not to call me.)
I decide to take the south aisle to get back to the elevator. I notice it's getting darker earlier as the summer starts to wind up. I get as far as the vending room when my stomach reminds me that I only had one slice of pizza at home. I stare at the vending machine for a minute, but decide that nothing looks good. My bladder, though, sends a requisition to the brain to send me to the bathroom, which is right outside the break room. I smile a little smile, remembering what happened oh so long ago in that very room. Walking in the door, I notice that for once, it doesn't squeak horribly. As I round the stalls to get to the urinals, I stop short. Vic is against the stall wall, eyes closed. Kneeled in front of him is a guy, sucking Vic's cock. A familiar guy. And ALL TOO familiar guy. Rage swells up inside me instantly as I bellow "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Vic jumps as if he'd been lit on fire. Mark stands up, his hard on in his right hand.
"Oh my god! Jesse!" Mark says, anguish in his voice.
Vic is instantly filled with rage himself. "What the FUCK are you doing?!" he demands. Funny, didn't I just catch HIM doing something??
I stare at them, back and forth, turn on my heel and march out of there, dead set on getting to the elevator and out of this building. I hear some scrambling behind me as dicks get put away. I reach the elevators and jab the button furiously. I hear Mark in the distance calling me. Finally the elevator arrives. I get into it and hit "L" and jab just as furiously at the close door button. The doors start to close as I hear Mark running toward the car. "Jesse! Wait!" he cries out desperately. Luckily, the doors shut and the elevator goes down. Unfortunately, he had hit the Down button which causes me to stop on the 14th floor. "Serving Other Deck" the elevator's female voice says.
"Shit!" I hiss. These elevators are double-deckered, supposedly making them more efficient. That means when I get out on the lobby, Mark will get out on the Mezzanine level above me. That'll give me time, since after hours you have to use the shuttle elevator to get down to the lobby as they shut down the escalators at 6:00pm.
The car arrives at the lobby level and I dash out, and through the turn-styles, forgetting I'm supposed to sign out with the front desk. I go out the emergency crash-bar doors and run toward the Metrolink station. I'm determined NOT to see Mark. I run down the escalator to the subway station, no hard thing since (as usual) the fucking things aren't running anyway. I buy a ticket, then hide back in the doorway, watching for Mark. I must have given him the slip because I don't see his lying, cheating face come down the stairs. The Metrolink arrives, finally, and I hop on. Breathing hard, trying not to cry over this. Cheating? I barely KNOW him. But this guy is a catalyst to my divorce, and I was hoping to get to know him, and my gay side. I take a seat, and make a decision. I'm leaving town. As luck would have it, I had the sense to get on the train going to Lambert International Airport. I sit back and ponder as we ride along, all sorts of people getting on and off the train. I see a happy young couple get on at the Forest Park stop with their two kids. It's too much, I can't take it. I walk to the back, put my head in my arms and cry from the bottom of my soul.
Damn him. How could he DO this to me, and with the very guy who threatened me, and.....oh my god. It was HIM. That night of the accident. It HAD to be. It was MARK's knees I saw. That realization stabs at my heart, making me feel sick. I'm unable to believe this. Did he sabotage me and Vic? Did he use me to get to Vic? WHY? WHY?!!?!?
A drunk walks up to me. "Hey buddy" he drawls. "You ok? Wanna nip?"
I look at him, disgusted not by his appearance, but just by his demeanor. Why are people so willing to let themselves go to pot? I shake my head, and he shrugs and walks off.
After thirty minutes, the train finally pulls up to Lambert International's East Terminal. I walk over to Southwest Airlines' monitors and look over what flights might be leaving shortly. As I scan the list, I notice that there is a flight to Phoenix leaving in 20 minutes. My favorite and closest cousin lives there along with her family. There's no question in my mind. I need to go to her. I walk over to Southwest's ticket counter.
"May I help you?" the ultra-cute ticket agent asks. If I wasn't so upset, I'd have sprung a woody over him.
"Hi, I know this is unusual, but I need to get on that flight to Phoenix, now. I have a family emergency."
Mitch, the ticket agent, clicks on the computer for a minute. "Well, sir, it looks like the flight might be full, but let me call up and see if there's any possibility of standby." He calls to the gate, and chats for what seems like an eternity. At long last he hangs up, just about at the point where I was ready to jump across the counter and beat the ever-living daylights out of him.
"You're in luck, sir, we have a couple of seats available. Will you have any bags to check?"
I go through the regular routine and finally he gives me a ticket. I pay the astronomical cost of nearly $1,000 on my Visa card, get my pass and head for security. Because of my haste, I forget that my cell phone is on my belt and set off the metal detector. I get wanded over and the royal treatment by TSA and they finally wave me on through. I run to the gate and the nice lady says to me that they put my name on the stand by list and I was just in time to get onboard. Thanking her, I go down the jetway and get into the plane. I get a middle seat in the very last row. Huffing and puffing, I sit down and buckle in. Naturally, I'm between two very large women, so I'm forced to cross my arms and my legs at the ankles to avoid contact. Why oh WHY do some people insist on wearing too much perfume?
I settle back into my seat for the nearly-3 hour flight. The lady on my left at the window seat introduces herself as Julie. I reply with my name. Julie, as it turns out, is a lawyer, and we get to talking about my impending divorce and disability. She points out that traveling to Phoenix might make create a problem for my disability case, but at that point, I growl that I couldn't care less about that damned company. At that point, she decides that maybe I'm in too bad a mood and should be left alone, because she gets her SPIRIT magazine out to read it in silence for the rest of the flight.
I fall asleep, reliving that awful experience in my head over and over. I hear Mark's desperate pleas asking me to wait, that he could explain. Explain my ass, you bastard! WHY did you betray me?!
At long last, with sinuses clogged to the max from crying earlier and from the over-perfumed plump women on each side, the plane mercifully lands at Phoenix Sky Harbor. I rush over to the first rental car agency I come to, rent a car, and ask directions to Chandler, AZ, where Stephanie lives. 30 minutes later, I pull onto her street, feeling a sense of de ja vu as we were just here this past summer. Luckily, I have an uncanny sense of direction and can get anywhere once I've been there before. I pull into Stephanie's driveway, and run up to her door, ringing the doorbell. Her 16-year old daughter, Melanie, answers the door, sees me, and with eyes wide, calls out "Mom!"
Stephanie comes to the door. "Jesse! What...honey, what's wrong?" she says, instantly concerned.
Unable to move, I sob. "I...I'm getting divorced, and...I had a lover who cheated, and...oh god!"
Stephanie pulls me into an embrace. "Wait. She cheated? You had another girlfriend already and she already cheated on you?" she asks, confused.
I back away. She looks at me quizzically.
"Stephanie," I sob. "It was another guy. I'm gay."
Stephanie looks at me, shocked, mouth open. She has her hand on the door, as if getting ready to slam it in my face...
To be continued
NOTE: Once again, I take editorial license on the travel Jesse just took. I'm sure Southwest would have stricter policies than to allow a man in Jesse's appearance and emotional state to just board the plane without carry-on's or luggage. This is just fiction. I had to get him there SOMEHOW. :)