Too Deep for Healing 1/?
The unforgiving winter chill of the Pittsburg evening splits through me like a knife as I stand alone, staring at the name I never imagined in a million years I’d see on a headstone. I blink back the tears threatening to fall as I think back on the last ten years. I never thought I’d come back here, but when I heard the news I couldn’t help but get on the first plane back home.
Home. That’s what this place was for 21 years of my life. Now it seems like a distant memory, filled with pain, sadness, happiness, laughter, tears, rejection, acceptance, and love all at once. After nearly a decade of convincing myself I was so much happier now than I was then, it’s painfully ironic how much I miss it all now; my family, my friends, my life, and…him. Always him.
It would be a lie to say that I haven’t been happy, for the most part, since I left. The first year or so was rocky to say the least, but things quickly settled into a routine for me, and I shouldn’t have any complaints. I made it. Justin Taylor, famous artiste. My work is in shows all over the states and I’ve done well for myself. I have my own penthouse apartment in Chelsea, a few decent friends, and the long distance love and support of my mother and sister.
But for some unknown reason, I feel like a complete and utter failure as I stand here in this vacant cemetery as the sun begins to set in the distant horizon. I wish I could’ve been there, could’ve helped, could’ve at least said goodbye. It’s too late for that, though, and I have no one to blame but myself. I should’ve kept in touch, I shouldn’t have had to hear the news from my mom, I should’ve been one of the first to know when it happened.
“Hey Deb,” I whisper. I clear my throat in an attempt to keep myself together. I shut my eyes tightly as the tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I can’t do this. I just can’t -
Suddenly I hear footsteps slowly approaching, the crunch of the leaves and rustle of the grass telling me someone was close. I jump in surprise and turn quickly at the sound. The first thing I see is his eyes. Those way-too-familiar piercing hazel eyes that still haunt my dreams on a nightly basis. He reaches up to brush a few strands of his dark windblown hair from his flawless face as he stops to stand in front of me and I nearly gasp.
“Hi,” he says, sounding unsure. I find myself unable to speak. I realize that I must look like an idiot, staring at him with wide eyes, mouth parted in a silent attempt to force out some semblance of a response. When it becomes apparent that I’m not going to say anything, he continues, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Gus,” I blurt out, surprised to hear my own voice. He nods slightly, even though it wasn’t a question, as he searches my face. For a second, I almost see recognition cross his handsome features, but it’s quickly replaced with confusion and question.
He’s tall, already a couple of inches taller than me, and slim. At sixteen years old, his shoulders have begun to broaden and his arms and chest look well-defined, perhaps from playing a sport or maybe hitting the gym already. His skin is bronze and flawless, his lips full and pink, and those eyes. Christ, the resemblance is uncanny and I have to catch my breath before speaking again.
“No, you don’t know me. You used to, though, a long time ago,” I tell him.
“Oh? Who are you?” he asks, almost as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m…,” I struggle to find the right words, the right way to verbalize exactly who I am to him, or who I used to me. “I’m an old friend of your dad’s.”
“A friend?” he questions. “What’s your name?”
I almost don’t tell him. What if he tells Brian I’m in town? As hard as it is for me to see Gus for the first time in so long, I can’t imagine how hard it would be to see Brian. I’m not sure which was worse; the thought of Brian wanting to see me again, or the thought of him not wanting to. I couldn’t blame him, of course. Our distance is also my fault. “I’m Justin,” I finally say, after a couple minutes of silence.
For a second his eyes widen in recognition of my name, but that quickly changes as his eyes harden. “What are you doing here?” he asks me.
“I - I came to see Deb. She was like a second mother to me, you know?” I stutter, wondering what he’s thinking, what he’ll say next.
“No, I don’t know,” he states quickly, shaking his head. No, he doesn’t. He was probably too young to remember me, or my relationship with Debbie, but I don’t think that was the message he was trying to send me. His voice was sharp, with an edge that I couldn’t quite place.
I pause. “Oh - well, um.. H - how’s Brian?” I want to know. I need to know. I can’t leave for New York without at least knowing how he’s doing, if he’s okay.
He shakes his head, and for some unknown reason, my stomach tightens. Oh God, please tell me something happened to Brian. Surely I would’ve heard if something like that happened. I wait for him to speak. “He’s…not so good,” he pauses. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
His anger shocks me. I don’t know what he’s heard about me, but I’m sure it’s all true. I’m fully aware of how much I hurt Brian when I left. And what I did after the fact was only that much worse. I can’t imagine the things that have been told to Gus about what an asshole I am. He should be mad at me; he has every right to be. I could almost sense his closeness to Brian, almost like protectiveness over him. I hurt his dad, and it pissed him off, even after all these years.
Wait, he said that Brian wasn’t ‘so good’. I have to know what that meant. Was he hurt? Was he sick? Or worse? “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?” Please tell me, please -
He finally speaks again. “He’s…sick,” he finally says.
“Sick? Is it --,” I struggle with the words, saying the first thing that comes to mind, “Is it cancer again, or -“
His eyes narrow slightly. “Something like that, yeah.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shakes his head in annoyance. He’s wondering why I give a shit. If I didn’t care ten years ago, why would I care now? God, if he only fucking knew how much I care.
Cancer. The tears well back up in my eyes and I shake my head in disbelief. How did I not know? I feel like I’m going to throw up, but I swallow hard, “Gus, please -“
He cuts me off. “Listen, maybe I should give you a couple of minutes to say goodbye to Deb so you can scamper on home.” He starts to back away from me. Almost in a panic, I reach out to touch his arm to keep him from leaving but he pulls away from me as if being burned.
“Gus, I know what you must think of me. I did a lot of shitty things to your dad, and I’m sure I’m not your favorite person,” he scoffs. “But you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything! Why do you even care? Just go home. Don’t worry about Dad, his wellbeing doesn’t concern you anymore,” he tells me, raising his voice at me for the first time.
“You’re right. You don’t have to tell me. But please, is - is he going to be okay?” I plead with him.
“No, he’s not. He’s dying,” he blurts it out quickly, almost like an insult, like he’s trying to hurt me. It worked.
“Dying? No, no, that can’t be right,” I refuse to believe he’s telling me the truth. It’s impossible. He’s Brian fucking Kinney. He’s going to be okay, he has to be okay, Brian can fight anything.
“Well it is. He has Kaposi’s Sarcoma,” he tells me, his voice softer now, sounding more sad than angry all of a sudden.
That stops me in my tracks. I shake my head again. No. “But - Kaposi’s Sarcoma, that’s a cancer you get when you have -“ I trail off, unable to say the word.
He nods. “AIDS.”
All of a sudden, I can’t breathe.
Notes: Ok, so I'm in nursing school and only just learned about Kaposi's Sarcoma. If you haven't seen the movie Philadelphia starring Tom Hanks, watch it! Amazing movie. This story is not based off that movie, but it's where this idea began to develop. You don't have to do any research on the disease to read this story, I'll provide you with the information.
Kaposi's Sarcoma is an opportunistic infection closely associated with AIDS. Abnormal (cancerous) tissues form under the skin, in the mouth, throat, nose, and respiratory system most commonly. This is often noticed by the dead giveaway symptom of lesions on the skin. KS is what Tom Hanks' character suffered from in the movie Philadelphia.
So, should I continue?
Home. That’s what this place was for 21 years of my life. Now it seems like a distant memory, filled with pain, sadness, happiness, laughter, tears, rejection, acceptance, and love all at once. After nearly a decade of convincing myself I was so much happier now than I was then, it’s painfully ironic how much I miss it all now; my family, my friends, my life, and…him. Always him.
It would be a lie to say that I haven’t been happy, for the most part, since I left. The first year or so was rocky to say the least, but things quickly settled into a routine for me, and I shouldn’t have any complaints. I made it. Justin Taylor, famous artiste. My work is in shows all over the states and I’ve done well for myself. I have my own penthouse apartment in Chelsea, a few decent friends, and the long distance love and support of my mother and sister.
But for some unknown reason, I feel like a complete and utter failure as I stand here in this vacant cemetery as the sun begins to set in the distant horizon. I wish I could’ve been there, could’ve helped, could’ve at least said goodbye. It’s too late for that, though, and I have no one to blame but myself. I should’ve kept in touch, I shouldn’t have had to hear the news from my mom, I should’ve been one of the first to know when it happened.
“Hey Deb,” I whisper. I clear my throat in an attempt to keep myself together. I shut my eyes tightly as the tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I can’t do this. I just can’t -
Suddenly I hear footsteps slowly approaching, the crunch of the leaves and rustle of the grass telling me someone was close. I jump in surprise and turn quickly at the sound. The first thing I see is his eyes. Those way-too-familiar piercing hazel eyes that still haunt my dreams on a nightly basis. He reaches up to brush a few strands of his dark windblown hair from his flawless face as he stops to stand in front of me and I nearly gasp.
“Hi,” he says, sounding unsure. I find myself unable to speak. I realize that I must look like an idiot, staring at him with wide eyes, mouth parted in a silent attempt to force out some semblance of a response. When it becomes apparent that I’m not going to say anything, he continues, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Gus,” I blurt out, surprised to hear my own voice. He nods slightly, even though it wasn’t a question, as he searches my face. For a second, I almost see recognition cross his handsome features, but it’s quickly replaced with confusion and question.
He’s tall, already a couple of inches taller than me, and slim. At sixteen years old, his shoulders have begun to broaden and his arms and chest look well-defined, perhaps from playing a sport or maybe hitting the gym already. His skin is bronze and flawless, his lips full and pink, and those eyes. Christ, the resemblance is uncanny and I have to catch my breath before speaking again.
“No, you don’t know me. You used to, though, a long time ago,” I tell him.
“Oh? Who are you?” he asks, almost as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m…,” I struggle to find the right words, the right way to verbalize exactly who I am to him, or who I used to me. “I’m an old friend of your dad’s.”
“A friend?” he questions. “What’s your name?”
I almost don’t tell him. What if he tells Brian I’m in town? As hard as it is for me to see Gus for the first time in so long, I can’t imagine how hard it would be to see Brian. I’m not sure which was worse; the thought of Brian wanting to see me again, or the thought of him not wanting to. I couldn’t blame him, of course. Our distance is also my fault. “I’m Justin,” I finally say, after a couple minutes of silence.
For a second his eyes widen in recognition of my name, but that quickly changes as his eyes harden. “What are you doing here?” he asks me.
“I - I came to see Deb. She was like a second mother to me, you know?” I stutter, wondering what he’s thinking, what he’ll say next.
“No, I don’t know,” he states quickly, shaking his head. No, he doesn’t. He was probably too young to remember me, or my relationship with Debbie, but I don’t think that was the message he was trying to send me. His voice was sharp, with an edge that I couldn’t quite place.
I pause. “Oh - well, um.. H - how’s Brian?” I want to know. I need to know. I can’t leave for New York without at least knowing how he’s doing, if he’s okay.
He shakes his head, and for some unknown reason, my stomach tightens. Oh God, please tell me something happened to Brian. Surely I would’ve heard if something like that happened. I wait for him to speak. “He’s…not so good,” he pauses. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
His anger shocks me. I don’t know what he’s heard about me, but I’m sure it’s all true. I’m fully aware of how much I hurt Brian when I left. And what I did after the fact was only that much worse. I can’t imagine the things that have been told to Gus about what an asshole I am. He should be mad at me; he has every right to be. I could almost sense his closeness to Brian, almost like protectiveness over him. I hurt his dad, and it pissed him off, even after all these years.
Wait, he said that Brian wasn’t ‘so good’. I have to know what that meant. Was he hurt? Was he sick? Or worse? “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?” Please tell me, please -
He finally speaks again. “He’s…sick,” he finally says.
“Sick? Is it --,” I struggle with the words, saying the first thing that comes to mind, “Is it cancer again, or -“
His eyes narrow slightly. “Something like that, yeah.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shakes his head in annoyance. He’s wondering why I give a shit. If I didn’t care ten years ago, why would I care now? God, if he only fucking knew how much I care.
Cancer. The tears well back up in my eyes and I shake my head in disbelief. How did I not know? I feel like I’m going to throw up, but I swallow hard, “Gus, please -“
He cuts me off. “Listen, maybe I should give you a couple of minutes to say goodbye to Deb so you can scamper on home.” He starts to back away from me. Almost in a panic, I reach out to touch his arm to keep him from leaving but he pulls away from me as if being burned.
“Gus, I know what you must think of me. I did a lot of shitty things to your dad, and I’m sure I’m not your favorite person,” he scoffs. “But you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything! Why do you even care? Just go home. Don’t worry about Dad, his wellbeing doesn’t concern you anymore,” he tells me, raising his voice at me for the first time.
“You’re right. You don’t have to tell me. But please, is - is he going to be okay?” I plead with him.
“No, he’s not. He’s dying,” he blurts it out quickly, almost like an insult, like he’s trying to hurt me. It worked.
“Dying? No, no, that can’t be right,” I refuse to believe he’s telling me the truth. It’s impossible. He’s Brian fucking Kinney. He’s going to be okay, he has to be okay, Brian can fight anything.
“Well it is. He has Kaposi’s Sarcoma,” he tells me, his voice softer now, sounding more sad than angry all of a sudden.
That stops me in my tracks. I shake my head again. No. “But - Kaposi’s Sarcoma, that’s a cancer you get when you have -“ I trail off, unable to say the word.
He nods. “AIDS.”
All of a sudden, I can’t breathe.
Notes: Ok, so I'm in nursing school and only just learned about Kaposi's Sarcoma. If you haven't seen the movie Philadelphia starring Tom Hanks, watch it! Amazing movie. This story is not based off that movie, but it's where this idea began to develop. You don't have to do any research on the disease to read this story, I'll provide you with the information.
Kaposi's Sarcoma is an opportunistic infection closely associated with AIDS. Abnormal (cancerous) tissues form under the skin, in the mouth, throat, nose, and respiratory system most commonly. This is often noticed by the dead giveaway symptom of lesions on the skin. KS is what Tom Hanks' character suffered from in the movie Philadelphia.
So, should I continue?