Sunday night, Peter, Christian, and I went out to dinner. As we ate, I noticed a man at a nearby table watching us. When the men held hands for a moment, the man rose and came to our table.
“Hey, you queers,” he said, “we don’t want your kind in here.”
“Who’s we?” asked Christian quietly.
“Us good Christian men,” he said with something close to a snarl. “And you’re probably indoctrinating this kid,” he said, gesturing at me.
“Well, if you’re a Christian, you might remember that Jesus loved everybody,” said Peter.
“Yah, well, not homos.”
“Did he say that?” Peter asked.
The man sputtered for a bit and returned to his table. He left a few minutes later.
When we left the restaurant, the man was waiting outside with a couple of other men. They grabbed Peter and Christian and began punching them. I froze for a minute, knowing there was no way I could take on the three of them. Then I pulled out my phone, taking pictures of what they were doing.
One of the men tried to grab my phone, but I ran back into the restaurant and dialed 911. When a lady answered, I told her what was happening and where. She told me to stay on the line while she notified the Hyannis police. Back on the line she asked for my contact information. As I was finishing that, two police cruisers pulled up. I told her they were there, hung up, and went outside.
The police quickly got things under control. Christian and Peter were bruised but had no serious injuries. After talking with everyone, even me, the police arrested the three men, and asked Christian, Peter, and me to go to the police station to make a statement. We went there together. The police took my statement and made a copy of what I had captured on my phone.
It was late by the time we got home, and I still had a full load of homework to do. By the time I finished I was exhausted and just fell into bed.
Back at school on the Monday after the funeral, I was greeted by friends with sympathy and support. I only saw Cormac briefly at lunch time, but we confirmed our appointment for after school on Tuesday.
Every night, I reread the message which Mark had left for me on his computer. How, I wondered, can I ever move on? Did he know how difficult that would be? I knew that Peter and Christian both believed I could, but I knew that Mark would always be with me and everything around me, especially now that I was staying with the men who reminded me of him.
I wondered if I was simply being self-centered and thinking only of myself. When I mentioned that to Peter, he said, “Richard, kids do tend to be focused on themselves at your age more than they will be later on. It’s only natural and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. That feeling will lessen with maturity.”
When Cormac and I met in the library on Tuesday he was wearing glasses with black frames which I hadn’t seen before. I asked him about them, and he told me that he didn’t really like them but that he had astigmatism in both eyes, so he needed them. I observed to myself but didn’t mention to him that they set off the color of his hair and his pale complexion.
He was anxious to get started. I began by telling him about the structure of our government, emphasizing that he would need to know it for the test.
“So, could I ever be president?” he asked.
I outlined the requirements and pointed out that, since he wasn’t born in the US, he couldn’t be president.
“But,” I added, “if you’re interested in government you could become a senator or a representative.”
He grinned, saying, “Maybe I’ll run someday.”
We got into the differences between the Senate and the House.
“It sounds a little like the British Parliament,” he observed.
“I imagine that’s the origin of the idea, but of course, we have no lords, so it’s really different.”
“No king or queen either,” he said.
Before we finished for the day, I told him some info about George Washington and then gave him the two pamphlets to study before we met the following week.
A couple of weeks later, on a Tuesday, I invited Cormac to my house for our tutoring session.
When we arrived, I introduced him to Peter and Christian and then took him upstairs to my bedroom. Cormac took a few minutes to walk around my bedroom, examine my books and CDs, and then pointed to the picture of Mark on my wall.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
I really didn’t want to talk about Mark with Cormac, but I had to answer. “Mark Russell,” I replied, reluctantly.
“Cute boy,” he said. “Can you introduce us sometime?”
“He’s dead,” I said, flatly.
“Oh.” Then he asked, “Were you close?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” I said quietly.
“How can he be your boyfriend if he’s dead?”
“That’s really none of your business,” I said, hoping he’d drop the subject. He didn’t.
“It’s kind of a waste loving someone who’s not around anymore. You should really be looking for someone new.”
I exploded. “And do what? Replace him like an old tire?”
“No, I . . .”
“Look, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’re done. Just leave.”
“But I . . . “
“Leave!”
“What about the tutoring?”
“Not today. Maybe never again!” By then I was shouting.
Cormac turned towards the door. “How will I get home?” he asked.
“That’s your problem,” I said.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said.
“Don’t bother!”
He shrugged and left. A few moments later I looked out my window and saw Cormac and Christian heading to the car.
I fell on my bed and sobbed.
It wasn’t long before my phone told me I had a message.
I clicked on it and read, “Please forgive me.”
I didn’t respond, and as more messages came, I turned off my phone.
I lay on my bed until Peter called to say that supper was ready. I wasn’t hungry, but I went downstairs and sat at the table.
“Is there anything we can help you with?” asked Christian. I was grateful that he didn’t mention Cormac.
I shook my head.
“Just know that we’re here for you anytime,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied, and we ate a silent meal.
Later, when I was getting into bed, I turned on the phone because I needed the alarm in the morning. It rang almost immediately. The caller ID said it was Cormac. I refused the call and turned off the phone ring.
I lay there in bed, thinking. Had I overreacted? If I had, why did I do it? I knew that Cormac hadn’t really done anything wrong except for forcing me to talk about Mark. And even that wasn’t wrong, although it had certainly upset me. Why didn’t I want to tell him about Mark? I had no trouble talking about Mark to people who had known him. Why was this a problem?
I thought about it for a long time before I finally dropped off into an unsettled sleep.
As I slept, I had a dream of Mark telling me I’d overreacted and that he didn’t want me to be unhappy talking about him.
I woke up in the morning feeling guilty. I knew I had acted badly, and Cormac didn’t deserve the way I’d treated him. I resolved to try to straighten things out with him.
When we met in the corridor that morning, I asked him to join me at lunch. He looked puzzled but agreed.
At our lunch table, Cormac said, “Richard, I’m so sorry I upset you last night.”
“Well,” I responded, “I’m sorry I was being a jerk. Let me tell you why I reacted the way I did.”
He nodded.
“So you know that Mark and I were boyfriends,” I began.
Again he nodded.
“The thing is, I’ve never talked about him to anybody who hadn’t known him. We really loved each other,” I said. “It wasn’t any little infatuation or crush, we loved everything about each other.”
Cormac didn’t say anything, but he was clearly listening.
“When he died in my arms,” I said, “I thought my world had ended. A lot of times I still feel that way. But he gave me his laptop, and he left a message on it for me, telling me I should move on. Cormac, I don’t honestly know if I can. All I know for certain is that he is no longer suffering, sick, or in pain, and he’s gone. I’m certainly not looking for anybody to move on with. I’m just numb.”
After a long silence, Cormac asked quietly, “Why did he die?”
“He had leukemia. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes.”
“He’d had it when he was little but then it went into remission. When it came back, he fought it with everything he had. It just wasn’t enough. During his last months, I was with him constantly. He was so sick!”
By then of course tears were flowing down my face.
“I’m so sorry,” said Cormac. “And you were right. It wasn’t any of my business. Please forgive me for prying.”
“Of course,” I said. “You had no way of knowing.”
At the end of our lunch I went into the restroom to wash my face. Then I tried to carry on with my day. Perhaps Cormac and I didn’t part that day as friends, but at least we were talking to each other.