Miles (14 page)

"I
miss them already."

"God
will keep them for you."

"If
there's anything I can do..."

*

I
sat alone in the Reflection Room.  It was decorated with dark paneling,
uncomforting religious prints, and burgundy leather furniture that hadn't been
broken in.  One wall featured rows of leather-bound volumes, much like an
attorney would own. I wasn't surprised to note the almost complete absence of
any worthwhile literary works, aside from Balzac's
Pere Goriot
and
Graham Greene's
The End of the Affair
.  Tiny snowmen and Santa
Claus lights were hung around the borders of the stained glass windows. 
There were two black wrought-iron lamps in the suffocating box.  I kept
the one furthest from my seat on.  The only piece of furniture in the room
I really liked was a large cherry wood radio console.

Nobody
came into the room after I had retreated into it.  Nicolasha and Roger
talked quietly amongst themselves outside the door, discouraging anyone from
doing so.

I
spent the first part of the evening playing greeter while Uncle Alex tried to
sober up, and then took to walking back and forth between the snowy parking
lot, the wash basin in the men's bathroom, and the Resting Room, where the
family had grabbed half of the seats to hold court, a chatty swarm of locusts
whose company served only to reassure me that my cage really was too small that
night.

I
almost prayed for Felix to walk in the door.

After
sitting in silence for I don't know how long, I plugged in the radio and
switched it on to the Mom and Pop classical station, just in time to hear one
of their three announcers intone his best wishes for everyone's happy holidays,
and introduce a live recording of the Orchestra del Teatro ala Scala di Milano
playing a few overtures of Rossini.  I'm glad I was alone in the
room.  No one saw me smile.  My wandering mind alternated between
images of Elmer Fudd having his hair done by Bugs Bunny, and lines of robed
guests wandering about the Roman health spa in glorious Felliniesque monochrome. 
Il barbiere di Siviglia
...bravissimo, indeed!

I
decided I would one day visit Milano to see the opera.

"Little
friend, your uncle would like you to come out."  Why?  "It
is time for the closing prayer."  Nicolasha and Roger beckoned me
with a pair of melancholy smiles.  I stood up and made them wait until the
last few bars of
Semiramide
finished.

That's
it, I thought.  I'm going to Italy over Easter Vacation.  To hell
with reality.

Nicolasha
brushed his hand over my hair as Roger shifted back and forth on his heels. 
The funeral home heir said, "If there's anything we can do..." 
I walked past him, laughing under my breath.

I
always knew God had a sense of humor.

*

The
snow continued to fall through the endless night of the wake.  Urged on by
a bitter east wind, the snowstorm was still going strong by the time we met at
Holy Rosary the next day.  The ride to and from our old church was slow
and treacherous.

Earlier
that morning, the Polish priest had called me at home, to ask if I would say a
few words during the church service.

"About
what?"

"Your
parents, of course.  Whatever you might be feeling about them, or their
passing.  Maybe something you remember from your childhood.  It is up
to you."

Fine.

"No
longer mourn for me when I am dead

Than you shall hear
the surly sullen bell

Give warning to the
world that I am fled

From this vile world
with vilest worms to dwell

Nay, if you read this
line, remember not

The hand that writ it;
for I love you so

That I in your sweet
thoughts would be forgot

If thinking on me then
should make you woe.

O, if, I say, you look
upon this verse

When I perhaps
compounded am with clay,

Do not so much as my
poor name rehearse,

But let your love even
with my life decay,

Lest
the wise world should look into your moan

And
mock you with me after I am gone."

I
read Shakespeare's seventy first sonnet in a cold, even voice that unsettled
the drafty, echoing church into a tense silence that continued through the
mercifully brief service at the suburban cemetery's ultra-modern glass chapel.

*

The
mourners filed out to their cars while I sat down on the carpeted cement floor,
staring at my Mom and Dad with the book of sonnets pressed between my chest and
my crossed arms.  The Huns would be off to the local country club for the
post-burial lunch arranged for by Dad's partners, I noted idly.

"Are
you coming, baby?"  I glared at Veronica and Uncle Alex until they
turned around and left. 

The
cemetery people came in to take the coffins away.  I stood up and let
Nicolasha wrap his arm around my shoulders and walk me out to his snow-covered
Volvo.  I heard the chapel door close behind me.

Many
Christmases ago, me and Mom and Dad spent the holiday at Uncle Alex's new
Minnesota redoubt, which he called Der Schloss.  It was the last really
happy Christmas we had together.  I don't think it got above zero the
entire time we were there.  The front of Unc's Schloss was built on top of
a big hill that rolled down to a good-sized lake that the town was built
around.  The lake was frozen solid, of course, and so was Unc's hill,
after Dad snuck out and hosed it down one night.  We spent the next day
with Unc's hick neighbors, trying to kill ourselves sledding, rolling, sliding,
and falling down the hill of glass. 

It
was some of the best fun I've ever had.

Nicolasha
cleared the snow off of the car with a tiny broom.  As I sat and looked
out of windows, the whole world seemed white.  The sky.  The grass
and the trees.  The air. Everything.

* * * 

And I am sick at heart.

Hamlet

My
teacher dropped me off at home.  He kissed me once on the cheek and waved
at me as he drove away, leaving me to face my empty house alone.  As I
unlocked the front door, I saw a yellow envelope sticking out of the mailbox. 
I left it there to answer the phone.  It was Felix.  The snowstorm
had stopped almost every flight in and out of the Midwest.  He didn't know
when he would be able to come, but promised he would, even if he had to sleep
another night at the airport to get a seat.  I believed him, and was happy
to hear his voice, even though I'm sure he couldn't tell that, because I didn't
say much.  He said he loved me before he rang off.  I trudged
upstairs to take another long, hot shower.  Offenbach's
Orpheus in the
Underworld
kept me company.

*

I
threw my suit into the corner of my closet and put on a brand new pair of long
underwear and jeans, a fresh t-shirt, wool hiking socks, and a thick, itchy,
and black V-neck sweater given to me by Veronica.  It crinkled with static
over my uncombed hair as I slipped it down my arms.

I
walked into the family room to lace up my hiking boots.  I had planned to
take a walk in the park before ordering a pizza and going to bed early. 
Instead, I stared out into the backyard and watched the sky get darker and
darker.  It still hadn't stopped snowing.  The phone rang.  I
switched on a light before answering it on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey! 
This is Brennan.  Merry two days after Christmas!"

"Hi." 
I plopped onto the couch with relief.  It wasn't a family member, thank
God.

"How
are you?"  My voice was a mixture of happiness and exhaustion.

"I'd
be happy to get back home."  Speak for yourself, bud. 
"We're stuck at my Grandpa's place in Terre Haute."  Talk about
being in mourning.  "The local Interstate is all screwed
up." 

I
remembered the limousine almost being broadsided by a Chicago Transit Authority
bus as we slid across a red light at Halsted Street on the way to the
cemetery.  Wow, I thought, almost got the entire family in two days. 
"I tried calling you on Christmas."

"Really? 
I tried calling you, too, but all I got was a busy signal.  The same thing
last night."

I
had taken the phone off the hook before going to sleep.

We
bantered on about our presents and the weather and going back to school and
playing baseball again, until I finally told him about Mom and Dad.  I
also wanted to tell Brennan about the wake and the funeral, about all the
bizarre things I had to do and listen to and watch, but chose not to after I
almost started crying again, just thinking about it. 

I
looked forward to the day when I could go more than twelve hours without
wanting to break down and cry.

"I
don't know if I'll see you before school starts again."  Brennan's
voice sounded regretful and unhappy.  He had been so cheery when the
conversation began.  "My parents are talking about staying here until
after the first."

"That's
okay.  I'll see you when you get back."  I tried to sound as
hopeful as I suddenly realized I wanted to be.

"No,
it isn't.  I should be there now, with you."

I
felt a small flash inside of me. 

There
were about ten of us who played ball together.  We didn't have
teams.  We just took turns coming to bat and switched positions when we
weren't up.  Most of the guys went to the local public high school, and
they were the closest friends.  They saw each other every day, no matter
what.  Brennan and Ozzie went to the nearest Catholic boys school, but
didn't seem to hang out much, except with us.  I was the only one who left
the immediate suburbs every day and always seemed to be the last one called out
to play, even though everyone was cool to me.  I suppose if you counted
all the games and all the cookouts and all the times we'd drink and light up
together since I moved in from Roseland, we were actually a pretty good group
of buddies.  But I never pictured any of them as friends, or ones that
would last, and never felt like anyone was picturing me that way either. 

Brennan
all of a sudden did.  Another close friend?  I was still getting used
to the one, and now out of the clear blue I had two.  Flash.

"Are
you still there?"

"I'm
sorry.  My mind’s someplace else."  I wasn't day-dreaming. 
I couldn't focus long enough to do that.  I was tired, but not terribly
sleepy.  My stomach felt like it was a pretzel.  I wasn't sure if I
was hungry or I had some queer ache that wouldn't go away.  Since the
Captain had brought me home, I had washed my hands and face more than Lady
Macbeth.  My teeth ground together, picturing Brennan playing in the
untouched Indiana snow.  I had two close friends my own age in the entire
world, and they were both in different states, I protested to any god that
might have been listening.  I sighed heavily.  "I'm glad you
called, though." 

"I
feel real close to you right now."  Sure.  Terre Haute might as
well be in France, for all intents and purposes.  And Fort Myers? 
How about the Seychelles?  "Hey!"  He barked at me like I
was standing across an outfield from him.  "Did you get my Christmas
card?"

The
envelope I left outside.  I felt a little life creep back into me. 
"That yellow thing?  What are you trying to say to me, hm?"

"It's
all they had left down here," Brennan replied defensively. 
"They ran out of fluorescent pink envelopes."

"That's
because you kept them all for yourself."

"Fuck
you!"  I heard a single, loud "hey!" from an older man in
the background, probably his dad.  "Fuck you!" Brennan
whispered.

"No. 
Not unless I can fuck you back."  We burst out laughing, nervously
you could hear it, but laughing all the same.  Terre Haute didn't seem so
far away right then.

The
doorbell rang.  I flinched.  "Someone is at the
door."  Oh, please, I pleaded to the ceiling, don't let it be a
relative.  We listened to each other not say anything for almost a
minute.  The chimes rang again.

"Okay. 
I'll call you in the morning."  Brennan's voice got cheery
again.  "Don't stay up all night drinking."

"It's
an idea at that."

*

Wait. 
Oh my God!  I knew it!  It was those damned coffins!  Mom! 
Dad!  I
told
them they were too uncomfortable!

*

"The
eaglet has landed."  Felix's usually dapper trench coat looked old
and wrinkled.  Snowflakes dotted his shoulders and were strewn all over
his wind-blown hair.  He held out his hand with an apologetic look on his
sun-burnt face, which looked funny in the cold.  "I'm sorry I
couldn't get here any sooner."

I
shook my head in disbelief, but seized Felix's offered hand in both of
mine.  I had resigned myself to a long night alone.  Now I had Felix
standing in front of me, smiling me into submission.  "I thought you
were still in Florida," I said dumbly.

"My
pale face is." 

We
practically knocked ourselves over trying to hug each other, the snow, wind,
and cold be damned.

*

The
entire house looked like the Red Army had just gone through it.  Dishes
and glasses, clothes and boxes, wrapping paper and books, everything was
everywhere it didn't belong. 

Felix
peered into our arid refrigerator.  "What were you planning on doing
for dinner?"  He took out a bottle of Coke for the two of us.

"Pizza,"
and a bottle of vodka for dessert.

"Well,
there's nothing in here.  You go and order one, and I'll start cleaning
up."

"Felix,
I can do it myself later on."

"Later
on when?  Next year?"

"Next
year starts in three days."

Felix
brought the mini-debate to a halt by turning on the kitchen radio, which was
set to Dad's usual jazz station.  He nodded his head with
satisfaction.  "This is pretty cool music."  My friend
pushed me toward the wall phone.  "You won't do any work if there's
some symphony on."

*

We
gutted every room in the house.  The kitchen was now spotless.  Every
dish and glass was washed and put away.  I started a fire while Felix
tended to the couches, the book shelves, and the wet bar.  He did two
loads of laundry while I dusted and vacuumed both the living and dining
rooms.  He even scrubbed my bathroom down while I changed the sheets and
made my bed, which I hoped we would share later that night.  I put away
the clothes Felix had washed while he went through my record collection.

"Have
you listened to all of these?"

"Not
yet.  That's my Christmas project."  We smiled at each
other.  "Want to help out with that, too?"

"We
didn't shovel the driveway yet."

"That's
what American technology is for.  We have a
snow-blower."      

He
put a hand on my arm.  "I know.  Let's get up early tomorrow and
take it out and do a bunch of driveways.  We'll take turns so we don't get
tired, and make a ton of money."  His eyes sparkled at me, but I
turned away from him and idly fiddled with my record player.

"I
think I've got a lot of money, now."  The doorbell started ringing,
another fine friendship moment broken by the bell.  I looked at my
Omega.  Two hours for a pizza?  I handed Felix a ten dollar bill from
my jeans pocket, and said in an empty voice, "We didn't do my Mom and
Dad's room yet."

Felix
put himself in my arms.  I closed my eyes, fighting off another attack of
tears, when my best friend whispered, "Tomorrow."  He held my
face in his hands for a moment, before going downstairs to get our sumptuous
dinner. 

I
knelt down and began picking out albums I wanted to listen to with Felix. 

*

Felix
asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing,
really." 

I
wore my tartan robe and a pair of white socks.  Felix wore its matching
pajama top, which hung down below his underwear.  He sat on the carpet,
propped up on an oversized pillow against the couch.  I lay next to him in
front of the warm and colorful fireplace.  His arm was draped over my
chest while my head rested in his lap.

"Who’re
you trying to fool, bro?  You’re always thinking about something."

I
placed my hand over his, pressing his palm over my breast.  Felix slid his
other hand beside my face.  "I'm trying not to think in the first
place."

He
lowered his voice, as if someone might hear him.  "What are you
feeling, then?"

"I
feel loved."  The words came without hesitation or thought.  So
did his.

"You
are."  I sat up slowly and moved beside Felix, pulling a blanket up
over our legs.  "Am I?"

I
nudged closer to him and touched his face with the side of my fingers. 
"More than I can probably say out loud."

"Do
you mean that?"

I
shifted around to face him, taking both of his hands in mine.  "Sure
I do.  Doesn't it sound like I mean it?"  Felix looked
embarrassed as he nodded his head.  "Why would you even ask
that?"

Felix
pulled his hands out from mine, only to take them inside of his.  "My
Grandfather always says that people already have an answer in mind when they
ask a question."

"He's
probably right.  So?"

"I
know you meant what you said.  You always do."  Felix let go of
my hands and looked away from me to the fire.  "I just wanted you to
say it again."

I
sensed something was wrong.  Felix sounded afraid and defensive, nothing
at all like his usual optimistic, playful self.  His happiness made him
such a source of strength for me.  "Well, just for the record, I'll
say it again."  He tried to laugh me off, but it didn't work. 
"And again and again, until you finally believe me."

"I
believe you."

"No,
Felix.  I mean, believe me, deep down, in your heart of
hearts."  I put my arm around his shoulders and drew my face close to
his, making him finally look me in the eyes.  I all but smiled at the
worry I saw and felt in my fellow lone wolf.  "You're my best friend,
Felix."  I watched his bottom lip begin to shake.  "I love
you."  His eyes shut fast.  I started to speak softly. 
"Do you hear me?  I love you."  I moved my lips closer to
his.  Excitement coursed through my body, as tension gripped Felix's. “I
love you, OK?”

"Sure,”
he whispered.  “But if you love me, will you tell me the truth, no matter
what I ask you?"  I could almost smell the alarm inside of Felix's
voice.  I leaned my forehead against his before sitting back beside him,
regret seeping into the warm waters that only moments before were flooding
throughout me.