Date: Sun, 15 Oct 2006 21:59:51 -0700 (PDT) From: John Gerald Subject: Connections 13 Thanks for keeping up with the saga. Sorry in advance for typos, it's just spell check and me. By the way, it's always great to hear from people, so let me know what you think. connectwriter@yahoo.com It would have been a great morning if they didn't have the move-out lurking ahead. As he woke up, Mike thought about how wonderful the night before had gone, and wished that it could have just segued into a normal weekend. But with the task of exiting Brad from the only home he had ever known, he could only wish for the day to end soon. So far, the plan to support Brad during the week had gone really well, but his would be the real test. Brad was often the "take charge" guy in the relationship, and Mike was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He trusted Brad with his life, and, to be honest, had to admit to himself that he kind of liked being taken care of, knowing that there was always someone there. Not exactly in line with his old self image of "Mike all alone, against the world," but he wasn't complaining. Besides, on the other side of the coin, he also knew how gratifying it felt to take care of Brad in return. That felt best of all. And today was going to be one of those days, and he know from the get-go that Brad would need all Mike's strength and support if he was going to survive it. Watching his partner lethargically get out of bed was the first sign that it would be just as tough of a day as he thought it would. "Um, I'm not sure when we should leave. It will take around an hour to get there, since there's no traffic today. What do you think?" Brad asked as he wiped the sleep off out of his eyes. "We need to get going as soon as we can," Mike said, as he pulled off the t-shirt he had worn to bed. "Why don't we do our bathroom stuff then just hit the road? I'd like to be all unloaded at my parent's place by dinner time, hopefully before it gets dark out. We can stop at McDonalds or someplace like that on the way and get some breakfast. Brad just replied with a quiet "OK." Mike sat back down and rolled over onto the other side of the bed, almost doing a somersault in the process as he carefully landed himself next to Brad, gently bumping their shoulders. "You all right, babe?" He kept his hands on his own lap, though, and purposefully stopped from embracing him. He would do all he could to make his support know, but thought at this point, the less drama the better. "Yea, it'll be fine. I guess we just need to get through this thing." Brad replied. "Thanks, pup." Giving a quick rub to the back of Mike's hand, he finally got up and started his business in the bathroom. Mike never stopped being impressed with this guy. Sure, he was clearly struggling with the situation, but who wouldn't? He never took it out on anyone, becoming nasty or irritable, though it was the kind of loss that could, understandably, crush someone. Like having to walk straight into the wind during a blizzard, he just pushed on. Two hours later, they pulled off the freeway, only a few minutes from "ground zero." Mike had insisted on driving Brad's truck, the reverse of their typical roles. It was a little off from his strategy of making things as routine as one could reasonably expect in a situation like this, but he thought that it might allow Brad to eat his breakfast easily and catch the rural freeway scenery, something he always told Mike that he really liked. Brad's hometown was the county seat, set in a rural agricultural area in the north central part of the state, not far from the lake. As they drove through the downtown area, it appeared much like other small Midwestern towns where the shopping mall on the outskirts had drained away all the activity from the old town center. Brad pointed out the Methodist church that he had attended, as well as his high school, which was also abandoned for a new building on the fringe of the town. These empty shells made a fitting metaphor for the day, he thought. "There's the Dairy Queen. At least it'll be open soon, when summer comes. God, I just love that place. Nothing like soft ice cream." Brad said as he smiled. "We have to find one of those somewhere this summer. Have you ever had it? Mike was heartened by the brief spark of like from Brad. "No, I never have, just the hard stuff that comes from the round container in the freezer. I think there's one near the beach that we can go to this summer though. We'll do it then," Mike replied, as the reached over and gave Brad a light punch on the shoulder. "Deal" Brad answered enthusiastically. But a moment later, with just three short words and a strong exhale of breath, Mike saw the mood swing down again. "Turn in there," he said quietly. Brad pointed at very small house, almost a cottage, just up ahead on the right. There was a big tree in front, probably a Sugar Maple or something like that. Brad had described to him once the tree in his front yard, how he like to watch it change color in the fall, and as a kid would press the fallen red and orange leaves between wax paper for school projects. But now the leaves were just emerging as small green buds. "I'm going to back in, make it easier to load," Mike explained, as he pulled beyond the drive. Besides making it easier to load, it would also make it easier to leave. It was a different welcoming ritual than Mike was used to. Whenever he got home, at least if it was a reasonable time, the front door would open, Tony would rush out, and he would see someone standing in the front door or window. Or some neighbor kids would be out playing. And if it was dark, the front porch light would come on or some other sign of life. But here it was quiet, except for the hum of a distant lawn mower. Brad was about to get his keys out for the side door when he realized that it was already open, so they both just walked directly into the kitchen area, which formed one long space with the living room. Both of the areas were pretty spartan, at least by the standards of Mike's family. Since he had been at architecture school, Mike had learned to disdain some of the family clutter, like the pictures, that his Mom had hung all over the place. Not the clean, simple modernist furnishings that his professors raved about. But he now had a new appreciation for his Mom's decorating talents. Unlike Mike's house, Brad's didn't require people to take their shoes off inside, so Brad just waved Mike off when he was about to remove them. "Don't worry about it, we'll be going in and out a lot anyway" Brad just finished his sentence when his Mom came into the room carrying a cleaning pail. Mike thought that she bore somewhat of a resemblance to him, but he wasn't a dead ringer, or "his mother's son" as someone might say. She was a tad overweight, though not grossly so, and wore an old-fashioned house dress that you would only see on elderly women now, or from old 1950's movies. "Hi" Brad said. It appeared to be the only word he could get out of his mouth. "Hello." She replied matter-of-factly. "You and your helper need to get is all out as soon as possible. Even the bed. We want that room for Rick when he stays over, and we'll get him a new one. There was a long paused as they all stood there, before Brad spoke again. Surely bringing up the subject of his now estranged nephew was calculated to hurt Brad, Mike thought. These people were every bit as mean and cruel as he had imagined. Brad changed the subject, trying to move things on with what little emotion he had left. "This is my friend Mike. Mike this is my mom." "Hello," she said again, very coldly, declining to shake Mike's hand, another subtle, or not so subtle insult. Luckily for Brad, however, Mike couldn't have cared less about her courtesies. He had held up final judgment of these people pending at least meeting them, but the curt greeting that she had given her son immediately sealed if for Mike. He only cared about Brad, and just dismissed the lack of even basic civility as the authentic expression of here status as a true moron. "We, um... should start, uh with..." Brad was starting to stutter, even though they had only just started. It briefly surprised Mike. Brad was always a confident and assertive speaker when there was a job to be done. Even if these assholes hadn't physically abused him, they had certainly done the job on him emotionally. "Let's go and take a look and sort things out. Lead the way." Mike said as he put his hand on Brad's shoulder and steered him where he thought the bedrooms were. Leaving his mother behind, they went down the short hall to the first room on the right. "The bathroom is down there at the end, if you need it." Brad said. In response, Mike thought to himself, "Yes, in case I want to drown your sweet mother in the bathtub. Or better yet, the toilet." Then brought himself back to reality. "Everything?" Mike asked, as they surveyed the room from the doorway. It was just was just a bed, chest of drawers, rug, and small nightstand visible, with some sports posters on the wall. I didn't look like a lot. "Well, yea, everything here, plus the stuff in the closet." Brad went over to the corner of the room and opened up the bifold doors. It was like he opened up a window to another world, beyond the plain white walls of the room that they were in. Besides the clothes that were neatly hung and stuffed to one side. there was shelf upon shelf of personal mementoes. Besides trophies, there were framed school photographs and boxes with labels such as "1st grade" and "Camp.' It was his whole life before college. He could tell that Brad was about to get emotional, and so would he if he just kept looking at what were really the archives of the life of Brad North. Giving him another light punch to the shoulder, he told him their strategy to get his mind back on the task of moving. "Let's get the big stuff in first, then we'll work the small stuff in between them to fill in. I think that we'll be able to get it all in but we're going to have to be real efficient." Then he turned directly to Brad. "You going to be OK, bud,? He asked again, concerned. "Yea, I think so. I guess we should just get going," he said. Mike saw him shake as he pulled himself away from the closet. "Don't worry, babe," Mike said, as he moved over to the bed, pulling it out from the wall as he called over to Brad, "it's all coming with us. Now, let's get these sheets off so we can move this thing out." Mike wanted badly to stop and comfort Brad through the process, to do whatever he could to take the pain away. But he knew that they had to keep pressing ahead. There would be time for that later, but right now they needed to just plow through the task. He saw how excruciatingly difficult it all was for him, and was afraid that if Brad let it all get to him once while still in this house that he might not make it out in one piece. Amazingly, he soldiered on. Between the two of them working efficiently, it took about 4 hours for them to get just about all of it into the truck, including cleaning out the closet and finding miscellaneous other items in the attic and other places. Mike thought things were going as well us they could, and was hoping that they could get out of there before Brad's dad showed up. Unfortunately, his Saturday shift at the factory was let off early, and he showed up before the guys were able to finish. Mike was incredulous when he saw him as came in the same side door that they were using to move things. He was short, much shorter than Brad, and a bit on the chubby side, with a definite jowly look of too much eating and not enough exercise. "And this was the guy who wanted Brad to take boxing lessons to toughen him up," Mike thought as he smirked to himself. He just stared at him for a moment, before he was given an introduction by Brad. There was something weird, here, Mike thought, but it wasn't the time to discuss it. Brad never said anything about being adopted or anything like that, but Mike could hardly believe that this guy was one of Brad's parents, though his Mom had some vague resemblance. He remembered that Brad had said that they called him an "accident," but assumed it was something like a broken condom, that Brad was a just the product of a leak in some cheap plastic bag. Like his wife, he refused the simple acknowledgement of a handshake, which again didn't surprise Mike. It was just one more reason why he wanted to get out there as soon as possible. Unlike Brad's mom, though, who had made herself scarce during the initial move-out, Mr. North hung around in the living room. Brad tried to be civil with him a few times, but he would only respond coldly or not at all Brad. "Dad, you uh...um want to... uh keep any of these pictures of my grade school stuff, with me and Ralph? He asked once. Mike noticed his stuttering again. "Not really. We got plenty of Ralph, and the ones with you just ruin it. Keep `em," he replied dismissively. Seeing this continual abuse of Brad put Mike almost beside himself with rage, but he kept it as well as he could. They were almost done. Soon, he hoped, he'd never see these assholes again. And with the last boxes just about packed away, they were almost out of the woods.. Brad was just coming in when he saw an overloaded Mike tottering down the hall, clothes in one hand and a box full of pictures in the other, moving as big a load as possible to in order to hasten their exit. He was wiping his forehead with his sleeve when he saw his Dad approach the struggling Mike in the hallway. "You one of his queer friends, boy." The old man questioned. Mike didn't answer, but rolled his eyes at the slight smell of booze on his breath. So much for biblical abstinence. Not getting any answer, let alone the answer he wanted, Mr. North decided to get belligerent. He got in front of the Mike, blocking his pathway out. "Answer me boy. You one of his queer friends? Mike wouldn't normally be bothered by the guy, but was starting to get nervous about this confrontation. Being defenseless with all the stuff in his hands, he tried to maneuver around him in the hall, but Mr. North kept getting in his way. Brad saw what was happening, watching and praying that nothing would come to pass and that his Dad would come to his senses. Even more than Mike, he didn't want a scene. And he never got confrontational or was ever defiant with his folks. Mr. North was obviously counting on that precedent as he began belligerent toward Mike. All he saw was that his dad went to grab Mike, like he remembered his Dad grabbing him as a kid. The memories rushed in front of him, the hitting, the pain the screaming. And then that fight at the company party, when he first saw Mike get hit by someone. At that moment Mike ran over, grabbed his dad by the shoulders and threw him up against the wall. The whole house shook with the impact. "You fucker!" Brad yelled. He pulled his dad off the wall and threw him against it a second time, the veins in Brad's neck and face bulging out. "If you ever, ever, touch him again, I swear to god, I'll fucking...I'll..." "Brad! Stop! Let him down! He didn't hurt me, I'm OK" Mike was terrified, not for himself but for Brad. Mike didn't see anger in Brad's face, certainly what Mr. North saw, but more like a lot of pain. He didn't know what kind of memories were unleashed from him at just that moment, but whatever they were they had to be awful. Brad glanced over at the pleading Mike, but still wouldn't let his Dad down, just held him up there, simmering, glaring at him. The old man was shaking in his boots, he'd never expected that his son would ever touch him. He thought that he had intimidated him out of that. Just that minute Mrs. North came up behind them. "You put him down this instant, Brad! Now! She barked. She was about to go for Brad's back when Mike turned around and inserted himself between them. "He gets down when he says what he has to say, doesn't he?" Brad asked rhetorically, his eyes drilling into his Dad's. "As soon as he says it, he gets down" The only sound was just the inhaling and exhaling from the hanging Mr. North. At first, he was too surprised to answer. Then he was too scared. It was clear that Brad no longer responded to his threats and bullying, the tactics that worked so well in the past. Something was different about him now, and it probably had something to do with this friend he brought with him. There was some kind of new fire in Brad. "Ugh...he mumbled, still hardly able to speak while hanging there. "yea, I won't go near him... ever..." he was able to squeak out. "....just...let me down." As they were pulling out of the driveway, Brad didn't say a word, and continued his silence for practically the entire drive back to Mike's hometown. Not wanting to force anything with his clearly traumatized partner, Mike would periodically reach his hand over and rub Brad's leg. It wasn't until they were almost all the way back, when he felt Brads hand stir even a little and weakly scratch Mikes hand in return. They had arrived later than Mike had planned, and It was dark out by the time they pulled into the driveway. Fortunately, he had warned his family of a worst-case scenario and they were well prepared for the battered Brad. They each greeted Brad with open arms, Mr. and Mrs. Kovar, and Hana, who made a special trip back, and though he still said nothing, he tightly returned the embrace of each of them. Mrs. Kovar especially held him for a long time. But even though he badly wanted to let go, to fall apart, to cry his eyes out, the support and love of these people, whom he hadn't even known for all that long, helped him keep himself together. "You go upstairs and rest, Bradley, OK?" she half ordered and half asked him. "I need to get this stuff unpacked, it's going to be in the way, especially stuff like the bed, I need to..." "We've got plenty of time for that, and also a lot of help for you" she replied, "If it's all right with you, we'll unpack some of it for you tonight. But you really need some rest, and Mike can go up there with you." Brad just shook his head yes, barely able to acknowledge them but knowing that he himself simply couldn't go on anymore. "Yes, and I think you'll need one of these," Mr. Kovar chimed in, as he handed Brad a cold Urquell beer, a Czech specialty that he was now able to get in the United States. "We like them warmer, of course, but I knew you'd like it cold, so have a drink before you go up." Brad broke a small smile, and then took the beer in his hand and took a deep, long slug of it, which made them all chuckle. "Therapeutic, no? Mr. Kovar asked. Letting a smile escape his face, Brad replied, in little more than a whisper, "yes, it is." Mike followed right behind him as he finally went up the stairs, moving more like a ghost than a person, carried by inertia more than by his own power. Reaching his hands up to Brad's hips, Mike kept him steady on the slow march, stair by stair, up to the room. Gently pushing Brad onto the bed as he got into the room, he untied and removed his shoes and then pulled off the socks. Brad sat mutely on the edge, finally stirring enough to take off his own shirt, and, with Mikes help, his pants. While Mike put the clothes away, Tony jumped onto the bed and rested his head in Brad's lap, pulling Brad out of himself for just a moment as he rested his hand between the dog's ears, gently caressing him. As Brad stroked the dog, Mike gently rubbed Tony's back, each of them silent as they continued to give Tony the much-wanted attention. "You both need to sleep, so why don't you let Brad brush his teeth, and then you can crawl in bed with him, OK?" Mike asked his eager pooch. Taking the hint, Brad got up and did his bedtime prep, finally returning as Mike lifted the covers for him. "Where are you going sleep, tonight, pup?" It was said more plaintively than anything else, wanting to be sure that he wouldn't be far. "Right down here on the floor, next to you. Just remember I'm here, though, in case you get up to pee." He said with a smile, hoping to coax a bit more life out of Brad. "Hey, you can't do that. You need to sleep more than I do... I want you to.." Cutting him off, Mike pushed him back into the bed. "We can talk about this later, but tonight YOU are the one who needs to sleep. IN!" he ordered. Too weak at this point to resist, he quickly followed Mike's commands, an acknowledgement of the need for Mike's comfort and care in what was probably one of the worst days of this life. While he slept, he dreamt that he heard some muffled pounding. Maybe it was real, he thought, but maybe it's just a dream. Maybe the Kovars are putting the bed back together, but, then again, why would they put it together anywhere but in the bedroom itself, since they'd never get it up here if it was in one piece. In the end, he decided he could care less one way or the other, he just wanted to drift off to some other place. Rousing himself in the morning, and checking on exactly where Mike was on the floor next to him, he quietly got up, carefully making his way around his snoozing partner to the bathroom downstairs. He'd been at the Kovars long enough to know that Mr. Kovar might well be up, but in fact there was no sign of him as he tiptoed into the bathroom for his morning release. When he came back out, he made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping to find something to snack on and maybe some milk. He had declined any food the night before, in spite of the insistence of Mrs. Kovar, so at this point was completely famished. An odd thing, in spite of the trauma of the day before, there was something very comforting about the Kovar house to him. Though still down emotionally about what had happened, this house gave him a lot of warmth and support, kindnesses that couldn't help but raise his spirits. Noticing that something about the house was different, he couldn't quite figure out what it was. The picture wall, Mrs. Kovars family "Hall of Fame," seemed rearranged, as did the mantle piece and a few other walls, but at first he couldn't figure out what was different. Even though he was tired and famished, there was one thing he wanted to do before he ate. Returning to the foyer, he thought he'd indulge himself again by looking at the pictures of Mike growing up, the one's he saw on his first visit. It was the kind of thing that always gave him a high, seeing Mike as a kid, and right now it seemed like just the kind of thing to help get him back on his feet again. Just when he went to look at one of the baby pictures of Mike that he really liked, he saw that it was moved and that a new picture had gone up. His jaw dropped and he was incredulous about what he saw. It was him. Brad. In one of his baseball pictures, on the championship little league team. And there was another a few pictures away, of Brad's high school graduation photo, next to Mikes. So that was the pounding that he heard last night! They were pounding in nails to hang his pictures up with theirs. And there were other things, too. As he looked over to the living room, he some of his trophies were up on the mantle piece, along with another picture, this of him receiving an award form his high school principle. With some of his best memories right alongside the Kovar families own, he knew he really had found a home.