As Luck Would Have It (27 page)

Just then, I remembered an incident that took place when I was 12 year
s
old. 
It was on our second or third day of middle school,
when on this p
articular
occasion
a guy in our class named Randy Greer called Joseph a faggot without any sort of provocation that I can recall. 
That turned out to be a pretty big mistake for Randy, but a problem for me as well.  I tore into him with uncharacteristic fury, knocking him down and hitting him a few times, and in the process, managing to loosen one of his front teeth.  Mr. Greer came over to our house that night screaming at my father, making all kinds of threats that included physical ones in addition to him slamming the dentist’s
b
ill down on our coffee table demanding that it be paid, the force of it rattling our entire living room and scaring me something awful.

I hadn’t thought of that night in decades, but Iris’ anger brought it back quite vividly into my conscience.  She was fuming
with
rage now, spit had formed around the c
orners of her mouth and she was shouting insults non-stop. 
I remembered too how my father had reacted to Mr. Greer, quietly, without getting angry, letting him go on venting until he tired himself out.  Oh, my father was a patient man, not arguing or losing his temper as I had nearly done with Iris; he didn’t refuse to pay the bill, or agree to pay it either, defending me on the one hand for what I had done, yet agreeing with Mr. Greer on the other that it was wrong for me to hit Randy.

How diplomatic and reasonable my father was; why was he snatched away from me like that, who would defend me and take up for me with such unfaltering patience now, even if I knocked someone’s tooth out or worse?  He had come home from work tired after the long day and missing
his
dinner; I remember my mother keeping it warm for him in the oven.  She had
brought a
beer and the dinner plate into the living room in front of the TV
, and before he could enjoy it, there was the shrieking Mr. Greer disturbing what was left of his evening and ruining the remnants of his supper.  Yes, he was often tired after work, but still he would find the time for a game of catch on the front lawn before it got too dark, my mother turning on the outside lights so we could see better, and standing on the porch waiving and cheering like it was the World Series, until finally she called us in
;
the dinner will get cold, come on!

I stared at Iris in near disbelief, but all I could think of were those times at home with my parents, which calmed me tremendously now, just as they did then.  It was all suddenly right there in front of me again, the cookies cooling just out from the oven, my mother wiping her hands on her apron as she finished the dishes, bringing us glasses
of cold milk while we watched the White Sox run up a late inning rally against the Tigers. 

My anger had evaporated completely now, my co-workers
waiting
with anticipation of what might happen next, their expressions stunned as the anger in Iris reached its crescendo like a symphony’s final movement.  I just let her go on like my father would have done, until she was finally finished and seemingly exhausted.  Tim was standing outside the office along with everyone else when I said to her in a quiet voice, probably not loud enough for anyone but the two of us to hear; I liked Christine, she deserved better, we’re going to miss her.

I turned and walked out of her office while the other employees moved to either side to let me pass, like a
bizarre square dance with me at the center.  I went straight to the car and drove home, feeling good about myself for not losing my temper, feeling good too about speaking up for Christine, but mostly feeling good from the warm glow that surrounded those childhood memories with my mother and father.  I wondered what would become of Iris; maybe she too would move back to Ohio, or wherever it was she came from. 

It wasn’t until we were 16 that I became more curious about Joseph’s sexuality and what it all really meant.  Until then, I just didn’t care about it that much, except for the unease it seemed to create for everyone else on the planet.  In truth, I never really cared about it even to this day, but once we were firmly into our mid-adolescence, I was caused to consider more often what he actually was going through and how he felt about the inescapable fact that he was not only viewed as different from the rest of us but would also be subjected to ridicule and possibly much worse for the foreseeable future, and quite likely until the day he left this life for good for a better one, wherever that was.  For if there really was a heaven, or a life after, or reincarnation, or whatever, which I believed was not at all impossible given the power of luck, that inexplicable force that was looking out for me quite impressively by this time, then it logically followed that there would be a special place for a person like Joseph, a place where his sexual orientation was the last thing anyone there would give a shit about.

He wouldn’t talk about it much, other to say that it was no big deal really; it was just one of those things he could deal with, like when his dog Boog died a few months earlier
, or when his favorite uncle was diagnosed with a brain tumor, leaving him seriously impaired and with considerable pain in the final months of his life.  I knew that both of these events
had
hit him hard, but that he had in fact dealt with them well from
my
perspective anyway.  He had a tough exterior that we often didn’t see, a layer of insulation against the cold and spiteful homophobic world that was ours.  He’d open up occasionally on the subject, but for the most part I would not learn until we were adults, closing in on middle age actually, what it was really like for him growing up gay.

For it was much later, after the turn of the 21
st
century, when gay people had made much traction in their quest for something approaching equality that I was finally able to hear Joseph tell me in his own words, expressed in a way that I had never really considered, unable until now to fully comprehend what it must have been like.  It wasn’t the insults, not the physical abuse or threat of it, not the embarrassment, not even the isolation that was hard.  It was the wanting.  Tell me what you mean
Joseph;
I’m not sure I understand.  The wanting someone so badly and not being able to touch him, wanting the warmth of an embrace of that beautiful boy who sent your head reeling when he passed by in the hall, having to be careful not to let your look linger and forsake you and expose what you are.  It was wanting to hold the hand of the new guy in homeroom
,
who smelled so awesome sitting at the desk right next to you, wanting to smile at him and feel the sweetness of his smile hitting you
back with a beautiful stinging sensation that pierces right through your skin.  It was wanting something so much, so many times, knowing the answer would always be no, you can’t have that, no matter how near it was, always just a bit from your reach.  It was the wanting that swept over you like a wave, nearly drowning you with its strength, the wanting that left you gasping for air, the wanting that hurt so much, worse than the taunts, the fists, the cruelty, much worse than any of those things. 
It w
as the pain of wanting that was
the hardest
part of
it all
; that’s what he told me, that’s what I never knew before.

I do know why he didn’t talk about it when we were younger,
he was afraid it would repulse me or drive me away, even though I’m sure that it wouldn’t have.  Really Clifford, how can you be so sure? 
A
16
-
year
-
old boy dealing with his own sexuality, the peer pressure, the giggling, the other guys in gym class?  I’m sure because he was my friend and I already said more than once that I didn’t give a damn about it.  Right, you say that now, but weren’t you really just repressing Joseph’s sexual orientation, in essence conforming like everyone else, keeping him closeted where he was easier for you to deal with?  Or were you afraid of your own feelings for Joseph, terrified of where things might lead if you really pushed him to explore his true feelings, afraid he might tell you that he loved you, have you ever considered that?  Of course I have, I loved him too, but it wasn’t that way.  He was more than my best friend; he was the brother I never had, he was there every day to save me from killing myself when my parents died, he was my refuge, the reason to force myself to keep breathing.  Guess what, even if he never said he loved me, I knew it already.  He didn’t need to
s
ay it, I felt what he felt, his pain was my pain.  If he loved me more than I could love him back, it didn’t matter, I would have done anything for him, don’t you understand, I would have taken a bullet for him.  You think it would have mattered if he came on to me, aren’t you hearing what I’m saying; I’d have
gladly died to protect him, you think I’d come unglued if he touched me?  I wasn’t afraid of that at all, I was only afraid of him being hurt, that was it.  Fine Clifford, but you didn’t know all of his pain; you didn’t know how much the wanting hurt, so what would you have done if he told you about that, how would you have protected him then?  I would have been there for him just like he was there for me, always, without conditions, without questions; I have never said no to him and never will. 
Even if he wanted to have sex
, are you saying you would have gone along with that?  I could never have told him no, I just said so.  Weren’t you afraid you might be gay?  I already told you what I was afraid of; I was afraid of him being hurt, why can
’t
you understand,
the hell with
being gay, it wouldn’t have meant anything, yes I would have done what he wanted, call it whatever you want, it wouldn’t have mattered.

I say that now and I think I mean it, but I have to admit to myself at times that what could have happened between us when we were teenagers might have had rather cataclysmic consequences for our friendship.  And as hard as I try to remember if I ever sensed back then that his feelings for me were sexual in nature, I just can’t; I sort of
blank
out for some reason and can’t recall the
details.
  Maybe it was because I was partially numb in the years following the accident, but still that voice inside me keeps asking if it was something else, was I blocking out the reality of what Joseph represented to most of the world, was I
pretending that it didn’t matter rather than confronting it?  Was it possible that I cared more deeply for Joseph than a relatively secure heterosexual boy could ever admit, could even comprehend?

While all of these thoughts bounced around inside my skull like kernels in a popcorn maker, the ringing telephone startled me and made them stop.  There is a Mr. Klein here to see you, the receptionist announced.  A moment later, there was his face in the doorway of my office, the big crooked smile and red hair brightening up the place like it always did.  Clifford, you aren’t going to believe it, I had to come over and tell you right away, he finally proposed to me; we’re getting married!

It wasn’t hard for me to believe at all; Joseph’s boyfriend would have had to have his head examined if he ever let go of Joseph.  And why exactly shouldn’t they be married, they are so good for each other, why wouldn’t they want to show that off to the world?  I gave him a big hug and saw the tears filling his
big brown
eyes and I realized just then that this was one of the happiest moments of my life; Joseph running straight to my office with the wonderful news, me probably the first to hear it.  And you will be my best man, right?  Please say you will.

All I could do was nod in wonder at him and thank my luck one more time for all of this.  You really don’t deserve him Clifford, you know that.  Yes, I have to admit that’s probably true.  What exactly did you ever do that was so special, what was it that earned such loyalty? 
What great deed or exemplary behavior was it?  I can’t think of anything really, other than that I was always a good friend to him.  Wait, I was there for him too; wasn’t I the one to fight Jamie, didn’t I go with him to Mr. Strickmann’s office and wait outside in the cold.  That’s all you can say, you didn’t run away from a bully, you didn’t abandon him after everything he did for you?  You weren’t always such a great friend, admit it.  What about all that time you spent with the Casslemond family; you could have spent more time with the Kleins.  They wanted to adopt you; did you know that?  He thought of you like a brother too; don’t you think he was lonely and needed you then?  I don’t know, I had my own problems, he was fine, I didn’t know about the wanting, I was too young.  You should have done more Clifford, you should have shown him more, he idolized you.  I told him I was OK with him being gay.  You never told him you loved him, did you?  No, I didn’t have to, he knew it already,
we both did.

None of that mattered by this point, no explanations were necessary anymore; his happiness was enough for me.  For the wanting was certainly gone now; the pain of it would never haunt him again.  I was one month from my 60
th
birthday and had plenty of doubts still, but of that I was sure.  Best man, are you kidding?  You think I’m going to let one of your asshole friends give you away?  I love you Clifford, you know that?  There, he finally said it, are you satisfied now?  But you didn’t answer him, did you?  Why can’t you tell him you love him too?  I don’t need to, he already knows
, we’ve always known, both of us
.