Chapter Forty-Three Self-Taught 4 страница

God, I started in my head, unsure if He was there, or would welcome me back after all these years of neglect. I know I haven’t been around all this time, and I’m well aware I’ve done things that I’m not entirely proud of. But I have done things I am proud of, and though I’m sorry, I don’t care if they’re wrong. I love Gerard. But, I also love my mother, and I know I have hurt her. I’m not sure how to fix it, and I don’t even know if I can. I just want her to be okay. I want her to smile again, and to be the way she used to be. I want her to be my mom – God – I want her to call me Frankie again, as stupid as that sounds. I just want to go back to being Frankie, and not Frank. I don’t want her to look at me as a victim, because I’m not one, and for once, I’m not lying about that. I know I need to stop lying so much, but for the time being, it’s my only way of saving myself and Gerard at the same time. I don’t know how to save my mother though, and that’s where I need Your help. I’m hoping that if I pray and asked to be forgiven for the lies I’ve committed, and know I will commit in the future, that You’ll just make sure she’s okay…

My thoughts drifted off, and soon enough, I didn’t know what else to say anymore. I had repeated my plea for forgiveness and for my mother’s sanity enough times that I figured I should stop before I started to annoy God. I ended it with some makeshift oath and an uttered word of ‘amen.’ That was the only thing I said out loud for the entire thing, most of my banter staying safely secure within my skull. I had no idea I felt the need to utter the word out loud, but I did and didn’t think anyone noticed. When I lifted my head, I realized that we had finished our prayers already, and the collection plate was being moved around. I looked over at my mother as the brass bowl came between our laps, and for the first time that day, her eyes went through me instead of grazing over me. I saw a small smile creep onto her lips, and something new inside me was restored.

***

 

After the church service, my mother met Beth in the foyer. Something seemed to change inside the full-bodied woman, because she was a lot calmer than she had been previously. I thought I could even detect a hint of melancholy as she wrapped my mother inside a hug when the two first met. Her husband loomed in the background, not wanting to interact with anyone around, but also not wanting to leave his wife alone with the mother of the molestation victim.

“Now, you take care of yourself, you hear?” Beth told my mother, arms still touching her shoulder after the embrace. Surprising my mother and me, Beth reached out and gingerly touched my mother’s cheek, feeling the remnants of where her sorrow had spilled forth. She furrowed her brow, and ignored my mother’s nod.

“You know, we haven’t chit-chatted in the longest time. I had to find out about a lot of stuff from Ralph over here!” With a laugh, Beth motioned back to her husband, and I began to realize why she had been so much more despondent. He had filled her head with lies.

Instead of being infuriated, I was almost relieved. Beth may have had lies as her only source of knowledge, but she was a smart woman, and not the complete ditz she passed herself off as. Instead of believing the lies, she was going right to the source. She was tending to my mother, while sneaking small inconspicuous glances back at me. I tried to look normal (as normal as I could look) and act that I was okay, and remarkably, her eyes didn’t burn into me, even after she heard the vile rumors. She just crinkled her nose with a small nod, and focused her attention back on my mother – the person who needed the most help in all. That was the only reason why I was here, at church, out in the open. I wanted to help her, and honestly, but that point, I had done all I could do. I came, prayed, and maybe even got some sort of faith back, I wasn’t entirely sure yet. This was out of my hands now.

My mom looked back at me from Beth, probing look on her face. “Would you mind if I went out for the afternoon? I could get your father to pick you up…” She trailed off, motioning worriedly with her hands, before I cut her off.

“Nah, it’s fine. The walk will do me some good,” I insisted easily, brushing off my mother’s invitation ineptly.

Taking me by surprise, my mother hugged me before she left, and before I could recover, Beth wrapped me in another one too. “You needed it,” she whispered in my ear, and it was only after the two were both gone and I was walking home that I realized how much I had.

***

 

My mother did come back from Beth’s until just before dinner. My walk had taken me a lot longer than usual; I kept getting sidetracked and looking at the flaws of the city I found around me. I wished I had brought my camera, but I knew this was one thing I had to just keep as a memory inside my head. Some things were spoiled when analyzed too much, forced into too many art forms. Some things just needed to be.

Like faith, I realized. People shouldn’t have to explain why they believe. They just do it, and it works for them. I had to admit; though my mother’s faith was still kind of lost on me in a lot of aspects, I could respect her for just believing and not raising any questions. It took a lot just accept things the way they were, and be content with that. It felt like I could never do that. I always asked questions, and in a way, I supposed that was why there weren’t answers for everything.

I didn’t know what to do with myself when I had arrived home. My feet ached and blistered, but it was invigorating to my system. I collapsed down on the couch, expecting to fall asleep or have Jasmine come by, but when none of those two things happened, it left me feeling restless and alone. My body drifted into the kitchen, stared into a water glass, and waited for the distinct pattern of my mother’s soft footsteps into the room.

“Oh, hey,” she greeted, not really expecting me to be in the kitchen. I had been such a hermit the past few days, sticking to my room and to myself that this act of human companionship was new for me, at least with her. Gerard seemed to open up a part of me inside where I needed constant human contact. I had been an only child all my life and was used to being alone – hell, half the time I preferred it. It seemed like with the way the leaves seem to change colour and fall down without people noticing, I had become a people person, and my mom was surprised to find a pile of leaves on the lawn for her to rake up.

“How are you?” she asked, mostly to say something. She walked over to the fridge, opened it, closed it, and then pretended to look like she was getting dinner ready. When she had first set foot in the room, I noticed the way her skin had hung off her bones. It was looser, more relaxed. Refreshed and cleansed. Her eyes had a tinge of red in them, and I could tell she had been crying. She looked purged; devoid of any hurtful or bad thing that had been suppressed al this time. Because of this, she walked with so much more ease and air to her step. Upon seeing me, some prior nervousness overtook her, almost unsure of how to explain her new presence to her son.

She didn’t have to explain; I was just happy to have her back, or at least, as much of her back as I could have. I didn’t think she would ever be one hundred percent, at least, not when my father was acting the way he was, and not until all of this was blown over. I could see, draped like forgotten cobwebs in the corner of her eyes that she still had doubts about me, but God, she was okay.

“Thank you,” I uttered under my breath, almost completely unbeknownst to me. It was so instinctive, so intuitive to give thanks – almost like it was meant to be.

“Hmm? What was that, Frank?” my mother called, her head stuck in a cupboard.

“Nothing,” I replied quickly, another idea striking me. “I just said I was okay.”

There was something about the way I said my words that caused my mother to look at me from across the kitchen. She got down from her tippy-toes, closing the counter quietly. “What Frank?”

Though feeling like I was under a little too much scrutiny and feeling the pressure mount, I kept my cool. I even smiled a little as I clarified. “I said I was okay, mom. You asked how I was, and I said okay. And I really am okay. I’m fine now. I always have been.”

She sighed a little, and walked the few short paces to the table, and sat down. More tension seemed to ease off her aged bones as she filled up the old wooden chair. She placed her elbows on the table in bad manners, propping her face in her hands and studying me astutely. Now that she was closer, I could see more than just tried tears and relaxed face. I saw new skin, a new beginning, and more importantly, a new understanding.

“I know, Frank. I know you’re okay,” she breathed, the words tiring her out. She dropped one of her arms to the table, reaching over to try and touch my fingertips. I was taken aback at first, but eventually let her cling onto my index finger, as if she was the child and I was the comforter.

“It just took me a little while to come around, that’s all,” she tried to explain, gripping me tightly. I wanted to tell her to stop talking, to just appreciate this for as little words as possible, but I could barely speak myself. “I know you’re okay now. I’ve known it all along. You’re happy and I can see that. I didn’t need everyone else to tell me. I could have answered my own questions.”

She gave me a weak smile, and I did everything in my power to keep looking at her.

“Mom…” I found my voice. “I’m sorry for lying.”

“I’m sorry for not believing you when I should have,” she responded, not missing a beat.

I felt my heart ache, twist, crumble, and be rebuilt in the silence that followed. The entire time, her hand was still clasping my finger.

“Well,” she stated abruptly, shaking her gaze away and moving on. She unleashed my finger slowly, tentatively, backing away from the table and watching to make sure that things were still solid and in place, even when she wasn’t holding them together.

She only started to speak again, when she was convinced everything was back to order.

“I think it’s time for dinner, don’t you, Frankie?”

I nodded. She could not have been more right.

 

***

 

The last time I had seen Tom, he had given me only one rule to follow: stay out of trouble. I had to stay away from Gerard until this whole thing blew over, and then I could go see him. When I first heard this, I was perfectly fine with the news. As the boring and monotonous week drudged though, I began to realize there was a small flaw in this theory.

How could I tell if it was all blown over? What did Tom mean by that? I was still secluded in the house, not going to school, and so far, nothing had really changed from one week to the next. Sam and Travis had only been particularly heinous that first week, and now were probably high or drunk and found something shiny to amuse themselves. I had no concept of time where I was; how was I supposed to fathom when everyone else moved on?

Since my visit to church with my mother, I tried to convince myself that I could wait, even if I didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for. I could be patient and virtuous and do all the things I needed to do to win back people’s trust. It had worked for my mother, and though she sometimes seemed worried when she looked at me, it was mostly when Jasmine was around, and it was normal maternal urges. I was growing up in her eyes, and I was pretty sure she thought Jasmine was my girlfriend, even if she didn’t ask me. Coming home and finding us both asleep on the couch together, her head on my shoulder, was usually a big tip off that we were something more than friends. Though we were never meant to be anything physical in this moment in time, Jasmine was still much deeper than anyone else in my life who wasn’t Gerard.

And as much as I hated to admit it, even her company wasn’t cutting it anymore. Just the idea that Gerard was out and free and not under his bail conditions anymore made my stomach flutter. It was an even stronger flutter than what I had felt when Jasmine had started coming to my house every day after school. I was getting numb to her and her touches; they were still just as meaningful, but they had moved into something routine. I hated routine. I wanted everything fresh and new and exciting again – I wanted Gerard back.

I tried to liven up my life with my new love of photography, but I needed something more. I had gone to the store to get more film, but I scaled back on taking as many pictures as I had been simply to save rolls, and because I was running out of inspiration. I had seen my house, my room, my neighborhood enough times. I needed a new muse, and I knew I could find one in Gerard. I needed to shower my love for this man all over my camera. I wanted to get that perfect image of him, the one he wouldn’t do of himself, and the one I had never been able to capture in my own work. I knew the camera would lead me there like it had done for Jasmine. But I needed him to see that work first, and for now, it was going laying inside a role, blind to everyone.

I began to wonder if Gerard would maybe crack first, calling me now that he was no longer being watched. I even began to feel sad some days, debating if he even still wanted to be with me when he hadn’t phoned, but Jasmine was always there making me feel better.

“He can’t call you because of your dad,” she said, stating the obvious I was oblivious to. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t think your dad likes me coming here most days.” She bit her lip slightly, pointing to the basement door, where my dad often sought refuge now, not wanting to talk to anyone.

“What makes you say that?” I asked. I had never really noticed how he was interacting with other people, just myself. His reaction with me had been big enough to capture my whole attention; I didn’t see how anyone’s could compare.

“Just…” she trailed off, her hand motioning slowly, wondering how to state things without offending me. “He’s so loud and big. He’s not the happiest person on the face of the planet, and I can’t blame him, but it’s still intimidating.”

Well, that was the understatement of the year, I thought, before I eventually uttered a low “yeah.”

We were silent for a bit, my fingers tracing a small stain on the couch we were sitting on. I could accept the fact that Gerard couldn’t call me, couldn’t do anything, really. If he showed up at my house, my father would beat him to a bloody pulp, especially now that there was no ‘legal justice’. When he had found out for sure that the charges weren’t sticking for good, he had forbid me to see him. He had forbidden me to do a lot of things in these past weeks, everything from leaving the house to looking at him funny, most of them empty threats. This was empty, but full of fear. He evoked emotion in me that I couldn’t fathom ever feeling for a parent. I still felt the sting from my slap, though the wound relatively gone from my face. In that moment in the kitchen, where our own voices echoed and yelled in our ears, he had been tall, menacing, and powerful. As the days began to wear thin, I began to watch his menace and power he inflicted revert itself and become a lack of everything inside himself. He shut himself in his room all the time, hiding in the basement and drinking. He was doing what I had been doing before, drowning out everything he felt. And it did him some fucking good to drown out the rage. I knew he would still be violent if opportunity presented itself, and I didn’t want to fuel anything more than the cold shoulder I already had to deal with.

“I wish I could call Gerard,” I stated randomly, trying to be as quiet as I could.

My mother was upstairs, and though no one was within direct earshot, I knew I had to be careful mentioning ‘his’ name. When I had told Jasmine the stories of Gerard and I it had been when no one was in the house. I sometimes dared to talk about him while my mother was home, but we would sometimes refer to him as ‘The Keeper’, ‘Keeper’, or sometimes even just ‘K’ and hoped no one caught on or understood. I loved sitting on the floor with her, getting carpet burn form moving around so much and talking endlessly about The Keeper. The title suited Gerard so well and it had even started to sound fitting coming out of her mouth, when she had never met the man. I told her I’d take her as soon as I could but I had to make that journey alone, whenever the fuck it came.

“Why don’t you call him?” she asked naively, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t have his number,” I spat out, more annoyed than I should have been. I felt bad for getting mad at her, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to see my keeper in order to actually have him attend to me. I had too many questions for him; Jasmine wasn’t cutting it anymore. And whatever solace I had found in religion had worn away as quickly as it had temporarily saved me. It wasn’t my thing; it was my mother’s, and now that I had her back, it fell into the background again. As much as I had learned to appreciate everything around me, I needed Gerard.

Remarkably, Jasmine understood that.

“Then why don’t you just go and see him?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She leaned in closer to me, looking around before she did. “Just go and see him tonight. Tell your parents you’re with me if you want. Just see him, Frank.”

Her eyes were wide and open, conveying her command. I let my mouth fall agape, unsure of what to say or do. The idea had come to my mind every so often, especially when I stood stuck in deliberation on that fork in the road, one path leading to Gerard’s place, the other, back to where I was then. I had been here enough. It was taking too long and I was running out of time. Gerard was out of custody now, but I always had Tom’s words of encouragement and my dad’s violent threats enter my head and tell me logically what I should be doing.

There was no logic in art though – only chaos. And Gerard liked chaos. Maybe I could do this.

I could feel my heart beating inside my chest. I looked at Jasmine, my eyes wide.

“Just do it,” she said, encouraging the voices inside my head. She smiled deviously, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me lightly into reality; her words shook me the rest of the way. “You told me that you have to take risks for art. Take this fucking risk.”

The words rolled off her tongue slowly and into my ears, lodging themselves somewhere between logic and imagination. There was no distinct line anymore. I had to take risks for art, for imagination and really, there was no logical place I would have rather been than with Gerard.

I got up from the couch suddenly, and picked up my camera in my hands. In chaos, there was always some truth, and this object would find it. I needed to show Gerard my world, and all of the things he had been missing, though present for in his own small way. If it were not for his teachings, I would not have survived how ever many days I had been cooped up like this. If it were not for him, I would not have noticed that the proper time to escape was now, and I would not have known how to do it.

I hoped the situation had blown over enough in Tom’s mind, because regardless, I was going, breaking the one rule he had given me. There were always exceptions, anyway.