Fic: QAF "Back to the Beginning" (5/9)
Title: Back to the Beginning (5/9)
Rating: G
Summary: Michael explains a few things about Brian to Justin.
Disclaimer: I wish it were otherwise, but the characters of QAF belong to CowLip and Showtime.
Earlier installments: One, Two, Three, Four
I was stupid, I’ll admit it. I got off the plane in Pittsburgh and realized that I had no clue where Brian’s parents’ house was, and how was I going to fix that? Calling Brian was out of the question: there’d be ten seconds of pleasure in his voice followed by a string of reasons why he didn’t need me right now. So I dialed the local Gay Information Hotline instead. Debbie.
She answered on the second ring-”Liberty Diner, we’re here and we’re queer 24 hours a day”--and I had to smile. Somehow I know the world’s okay if she’s still the biggest PFLAG mom who slings hash for a living.
“Deb, it’s me. Justin.”
“Sunshine!” A bunch of glasses clattered in the background, and the sounds of voices, lots of voices were behind her. She used that softer voice she has, the less glib one, to ask, “Michael told you, didn’t he?”
No need to ask about what.
“Yeah. He called. Look, I need an address. Where Brian’s parents’…lived.” Past tense now.
“Oh. Yeah. Uhm, just a minute,” and I heard the phone being put down on the counter while she talked with somebody else. Then she was back, babbling quickly. “Sunshine, where are you, the airport? ‘Cause Michael’s here and he’s getting ready to take some food over to the house.”
That’s all I needed to know. “I’m getting in a cab. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Tell him to wait for me, and I’ll go with him, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart. We’ll see you soon.”
+++++++++
The reunion with Deb wasn’t as cheery as usual-somebody dying usually puts a damper on things anyhow-but it was the look she shot Michael as we got ready to go out the door that made me wonder what was up. She gave him the “I’m worried about one of my sons and you need to help” look that she reserves for special occasions, and that told me there was more than just a corpse that concerned her. Michael’s sketch of a nod and his hurried “’bye, Ma” were his way of Morse coding back to her that he’d take care of it. As we walked out of the diner together, I suddenly had a chill, and it wasn’t just the twenty degree weather of February making me uncomfortable, though it was damned cold.
Clouds of foggy warm breath preceded us as we walked down dimly lit streets towards a part of Pittsburgh I didn’t recognize, away from Liberty Avenue. The houses and streets became so monotonously the same that after a while, I wasn’t exactly sure where we were. But Michael obviously knew the way, walking the route of stop signs and intersections like he’d done it a million times before. Which he probably had.
Sometimes I forget how many years he’s known Brian, how much history they shared before I joined the fag family that Debbie so proudly presides over. Michael has known Brian for decades, and he was probably thinking about all those times right now. Maybe that’s why he surprised me when he started talking.
“Uh, Justin, how much did Brian ever tell you about his family?”
Not exactly the sort of thing I expected from Michael, but still, a reasonable question.
“As little as possible. I met his mom once, at the loft, when she dropped off a cake. Chocolate chocolate chip. She seemed okay.” Which she did, although Brian’s impersonation of a clam afterwards told me that everything wasn’t okay. That plus the fact that the cake was pitched in the garbage so fast I didn’t get a chance to try some. I added, “I’ve met Brian’s sister, and her son John. When the little shit accused Brian of molesting him.” The disgust in my voice was plain.
“Yeah. Well.” Michael wasn’t walking as fast anymore, and as our steps got slower, something was clearly on his mind.
He stopped and turned toward me. “Justin, he’d probably kill me if he thought I told another soul about this. So you have to swear what I’m gonna tell you doesn’t get repeated to anybody, especially Brian.”
I could see how uneasy he was, and tried to make it easier. Fuck, what was this all about? “I promise. What is it? C’mon Michael, I’m freezing and I swear I won’t repeat it to anyone.”
He started bobbing his head, that sort of twitchy thing he does before he starts blurting out everything, then I got hit with it. All of it. “Brian’sparentswerehorribleshits and hisfatherabusedhim and hismotherignoredhim and that’swhyhepracticallylivedatmyhouse and theybothdranklikefish whichiswhy he’snearlyanalcoholic and nowhismomlefthimthehouse and didn’tleavehissisteranything.” It was like getting wiped out by a verbal firehose and I couldn’t half understand what he was saying.
“Slow down, slow down. Hey, one more time from the top.” I put a hand on Michael’s shoulder to steady him-the poor guy looked like he gonna topple over from the strain of getting all those words out at once.
Michael glanced over at the next block, just one more long line of drab brown houses, and something made him calm down, or at least talk slower. He said, “Look, before we go in there, you’ve got to understand. Brian’s dad hated fags, made it clear he didn’t think they were men. He drank too much, ran around with a lot women, and sometimes he’d come home in time for dinner. Most of the time he didn’t bother. He was too busy to remember his family, and even when he was there, he ignored ‘em.” Now that Michael was talking, it seemed like he couldn’t shut up. “He never wanted Brian in the first place and was stupid enough he even told Brian that when he got drunk one day. Sometimes he’d get angry, take a swing at one of ‘em. Brian had a lot of bruises and black eyes when he was younger, before he got tall. Too big to hit. You have no idea what it was like to grow up with a dad like that.”
I guess my mouth was hanging open by that time. Oh Brian, that’s why you never talked about him. No wonder you were ready to believe the worst about my dad. Suddenly my heart was pounding too fast. Angry. Miserable. Ready to throw up. I could feel the muscles in my stomach clench, imagining what it would be like to live in a house with a monster, ready to strike without warning.
Michael took another deep breath and then kept going. “Brian’s mom put up with a lot, but she was just as bad in her way. Worse, actually. She drank herself senseless a lot of nights, waiting for his dad to come home. And she never…she didn’t….” Michael’s voice trailed off.
“She didn’t what?”
Michael looked me in the eye and said, “She wasn’t like my mom, alright? She never said ‘I love you’ or gave him hugs or force-fed us food when we were little or did anything that moms do, okay? She was the fuckin’ Frigidaire Ice Queen, with everybody, even Brian. If she said something, it came out all bitter and twisted. And yet, that was better than when she didn’t say anything at all. The silences in their house were so bad, there were times I thought I’d suffocate if we didn’t get the hell away from her.”
Oh. My. God. The shock on my face must have encouraged Michael to continue. I could only stare at him, hearing a distant voice in my head. ”Love is something that straight people tell themselves they're in so they can get laid. And then they end up hurting each other because it was all based on lies to begin with.”
“So now, she’s gone and left him everything. House, insurance, the works-it’s got to be some sick twisted joke, the kind that’ll hurt Brian the worst. Apparently Claire gets nothing, or at least that’s what he told me this afternoon. And knowing her, she’s probably in there right now, crying her eyes out and ready to tear him apart all at the same time. That’s what she did when their father died.” Michael was shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe one human being could do that to another.
I took a shaky breath, and then another. “Christ. What a nightmare.”
“Yeah. But you needed to know.” I could tell he was wondering whether I got it. Did I understand?
Oh yeah. It explained a lot. Whole segments of Brian now aligned and made sense to me for the first time. The ruthlessness. The bitter remarks always timed to inflict maximum pain. The loneliness I could see in his eyes.
How would he react now that she was gone? He’d probably be dishing out the witty comebacks twice as fast to cover up the fact he was hurting. Or give everyone the silent treatment. Fortress Kinney with the drawbridge up.
Suddenly I figured out what Debbie’s glance had told Michael back in the diner. And I realized I owed Ben bigtime for giving Michael so much love that he could tell me these things without feeling like he was giving away memories of Brian he'd kept safely hidden all these years. Brian’s self-appointed homeland security force, ready to repel all invaders. Eight, nine years ago, Michael would’ve told me to get lost, and I wouldn’t have understood. I rolled my eyes at that younger self, too immature to help anybody but himself. I gave Michael a halfhearted smile and the answer he needed to hear.
“I…thanks. For telling me. I won’t tell anyone. Least of all Brian.” A few more facts got filed away in my copy of the Kinney Operating Manual, and I put a hand on Michael’s arm, pushing him forward. “C’mon. He needs us.”
“Yeah.”
When we walked through the front door a few minutes later, he was sitting there, a wad of paper in his hand and a vacant stare on his face. When he heard us, he turned, and I could see all the hidden griefs written on him, in his eyes, in the cynical curl of his lips. Only now, I could see not just today’s, but the older bruises that made him the man I love.
Six
Author's Note: The shift from third person omniscient to first person was unintentional. That's just how the guys were talking today.
Rating: G
Summary: Michael explains a few things about Brian to Justin.
Disclaimer: I wish it were otherwise, but the characters of QAF belong to CowLip and Showtime.
Earlier installments: One, Two, Three, Four
I was stupid, I’ll admit it. I got off the plane in Pittsburgh and realized that I had no clue where Brian’s parents’ house was, and how was I going to fix that? Calling Brian was out of the question: there’d be ten seconds of pleasure in his voice followed by a string of reasons why he didn’t need me right now. So I dialed the local Gay Information Hotline instead. Debbie.
She answered on the second ring-”Liberty Diner, we’re here and we’re queer 24 hours a day”--and I had to smile. Somehow I know the world’s okay if she’s still the biggest PFLAG mom who slings hash for a living.
“Deb, it’s me. Justin.”
“Sunshine!” A bunch of glasses clattered in the background, and the sounds of voices, lots of voices were behind her. She used that softer voice she has, the less glib one, to ask, “Michael told you, didn’t he?”
No need to ask about what.
“Yeah. He called. Look, I need an address. Where Brian’s parents’…lived.” Past tense now.
“Oh. Yeah. Uhm, just a minute,” and I heard the phone being put down on the counter while she talked with somebody else. Then she was back, babbling quickly. “Sunshine, where are you, the airport? ‘Cause Michael’s here and he’s getting ready to take some food over to the house.”
That’s all I needed to know. “I’m getting in a cab. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Tell him to wait for me, and I’ll go with him, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart. We’ll see you soon.”
+++++++++
The reunion with Deb wasn’t as cheery as usual-somebody dying usually puts a damper on things anyhow-but it was the look she shot Michael as we got ready to go out the door that made me wonder what was up. She gave him the “I’m worried about one of my sons and you need to help” look that she reserves for special occasions, and that told me there was more than just a corpse that concerned her. Michael’s sketch of a nod and his hurried “’bye, Ma” were his way of Morse coding back to her that he’d take care of it. As we walked out of the diner together, I suddenly had a chill, and it wasn’t just the twenty degree weather of February making me uncomfortable, though it was damned cold.
Clouds of foggy warm breath preceded us as we walked down dimly lit streets towards a part of Pittsburgh I didn’t recognize, away from Liberty Avenue. The houses and streets became so monotonously the same that after a while, I wasn’t exactly sure where we were. But Michael obviously knew the way, walking the route of stop signs and intersections like he’d done it a million times before. Which he probably had.
Sometimes I forget how many years he’s known Brian, how much history they shared before I joined the fag family that Debbie so proudly presides over. Michael has known Brian for decades, and he was probably thinking about all those times right now. Maybe that’s why he surprised me when he started talking.
“Uh, Justin, how much did Brian ever tell you about his family?”
Not exactly the sort of thing I expected from Michael, but still, a reasonable question.
“As little as possible. I met his mom once, at the loft, when she dropped off a cake. Chocolate chocolate chip. She seemed okay.” Which she did, although Brian’s impersonation of a clam afterwards told me that everything wasn’t okay. That plus the fact that the cake was pitched in the garbage so fast I didn’t get a chance to try some. I added, “I’ve met Brian’s sister, and her son John. When the little shit accused Brian of molesting him.” The disgust in my voice was plain.
“Yeah. Well.” Michael wasn’t walking as fast anymore, and as our steps got slower, something was clearly on his mind.
He stopped and turned toward me. “Justin, he’d probably kill me if he thought I told another soul about this. So you have to swear what I’m gonna tell you doesn’t get repeated to anybody, especially Brian.”
I could see how uneasy he was, and tried to make it easier. Fuck, what was this all about? “I promise. What is it? C’mon Michael, I’m freezing and I swear I won’t repeat it to anyone.”
He started bobbing his head, that sort of twitchy thing he does before he starts blurting out everything, then I got hit with it. All of it. “Brian’sparentswerehorribleshits and hisfatherabusedhim and hismotherignoredhim and that’swhyhepracticallylivedatmyhouse and theybothdranklikefish whichiswhy he’snearlyanalcoholic and nowhismomlefthimthehouse and didn’tleavehissisteranything.” It was like getting wiped out by a verbal firehose and I couldn’t half understand what he was saying.
“Slow down, slow down. Hey, one more time from the top.” I put a hand on Michael’s shoulder to steady him-the poor guy looked like he gonna topple over from the strain of getting all those words out at once.
Michael glanced over at the next block, just one more long line of drab brown houses, and something made him calm down, or at least talk slower. He said, “Look, before we go in there, you’ve got to understand. Brian’s dad hated fags, made it clear he didn’t think they were men. He drank too much, ran around with a lot women, and sometimes he’d come home in time for dinner. Most of the time he didn’t bother. He was too busy to remember his family, and even when he was there, he ignored ‘em.” Now that Michael was talking, it seemed like he couldn’t shut up. “He never wanted Brian in the first place and was stupid enough he even told Brian that when he got drunk one day. Sometimes he’d get angry, take a swing at one of ‘em. Brian had a lot of bruises and black eyes when he was younger, before he got tall. Too big to hit. You have no idea what it was like to grow up with a dad like that.”
I guess my mouth was hanging open by that time. Oh Brian, that’s why you never talked about him. No wonder you were ready to believe the worst about my dad. Suddenly my heart was pounding too fast. Angry. Miserable. Ready to throw up. I could feel the muscles in my stomach clench, imagining what it would be like to live in a house with a monster, ready to strike without warning.
Michael took another deep breath and then kept going. “Brian’s mom put up with a lot, but she was just as bad in her way. Worse, actually. She drank herself senseless a lot of nights, waiting for his dad to come home. And she never…she didn’t….” Michael’s voice trailed off.
“She didn’t what?”
Michael looked me in the eye and said, “She wasn’t like my mom, alright? She never said ‘I love you’ or gave him hugs or force-fed us food when we were little or did anything that moms do, okay? She was the fuckin’ Frigidaire Ice Queen, with everybody, even Brian. If she said something, it came out all bitter and twisted. And yet, that was better than when she didn’t say anything at all. The silences in their house were so bad, there were times I thought I’d suffocate if we didn’t get the hell away from her.”
Oh. My. God. The shock on my face must have encouraged Michael to continue. I could only stare at him, hearing a distant voice in my head. ”Love is something that straight people tell themselves they're in so they can get laid. And then they end up hurting each other because it was all based on lies to begin with.”
“So now, she’s gone and left him everything. House, insurance, the works-it’s got to be some sick twisted joke, the kind that’ll hurt Brian the worst. Apparently Claire gets nothing, or at least that’s what he told me this afternoon. And knowing her, she’s probably in there right now, crying her eyes out and ready to tear him apart all at the same time. That’s what she did when their father died.” Michael was shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe one human being could do that to another.
I took a shaky breath, and then another. “Christ. What a nightmare.”
“Yeah. But you needed to know.” I could tell he was wondering whether I got it. Did I understand?
Oh yeah. It explained a lot. Whole segments of Brian now aligned and made sense to me for the first time. The ruthlessness. The bitter remarks always timed to inflict maximum pain. The loneliness I could see in his eyes.
How would he react now that she was gone? He’d probably be dishing out the witty comebacks twice as fast to cover up the fact he was hurting. Or give everyone the silent treatment. Fortress Kinney with the drawbridge up.
Suddenly I figured out what Debbie’s glance had told Michael back in the diner. And I realized I owed Ben bigtime for giving Michael so much love that he could tell me these things without feeling like he was giving away memories of Brian he'd kept safely hidden all these years. Brian’s self-appointed homeland security force, ready to repel all invaders. Eight, nine years ago, Michael would’ve told me to get lost, and I wouldn’t have understood. I rolled my eyes at that younger self, too immature to help anybody but himself. I gave Michael a halfhearted smile and the answer he needed to hear.
“I…thanks. For telling me. I won’t tell anyone. Least of all Brian.” A few more facts got filed away in my copy of the Kinney Operating Manual, and I put a hand on Michael’s arm, pushing him forward. “C’mon. He needs us.”
“Yeah.”
When we walked through the front door a few minutes later, he was sitting there, a wad of paper in his hand and a vacant stare on his face. When he heard us, he turned, and I could see all the hidden griefs written on him, in his eyes, in the cynical curl of his lips. Only now, I could see not just today’s, but the older bruises that made him the man I love.
Six
Author's Note: The shift from third person omniscient to first person was unintentional. That's just how the guys were talking today.