Life behind Hazel Eyes - 2. Hanging on a Hangover

When I woke up the next morning I was experiencing a splitting headache and felt a horrible gust of nausea overtake me. At that moment I knew never to ever trust myself in making Veronica’s pre-hangover cure again. I stayed in bed, allowing the sun to bake me at least ten shades darker, because I forgot to close my curtains the night before. When I finally decided to get up it was 10 o’clock and I had approximately one hour before rehearsals started. I ran to the bathroom to take a quick shower, and then headed into my closet to pick an outfit that was as simple as possible. This was no time to be a trendsetter or take fashion risks. I managed to grab a pair of light denim skinny jeans, my white Guns n Roses muscle tank, and then put on blue and white Nikes topped with a black fedora and a pair of Ray Bans. I rushed down stairs and grabbed an apple, kissed Mother on the cheek and hugged her before she could stop me from jetting off.

I heard her yelling, “Don’t forget about dinner with the Andersons tonight.” She particularly liked that family – with the most annoying kids and the most pretentious lifestyle – and that meant I had to endure to them too. I got outside and found Donald ever-ready and pleasant. I got in the car, and that day of all days, he was feeling his chattiest.

“I have something for you. I thought you might need it.” He handed me a flask with a big grin on his face that said it all. I laughed with glee at how this man understood me more than anyone else. And he never asked for much, just a kiss on the cheek and hugs as a form of appreciation.

“I think you are my true guardian angel, Donald. I really appreciate this.” I gave him a pat on the back, as I started taking huge sips of what I thought was the hangover cure that Veronica prepared correctly for me.

“How was your telephone conversation last night?” I nearly choked on my drink as Donald asked that question. It’s freaky how he knew me almost too well, and that he’d be prying so quickly.

“You know how it is. We fight. I try, and he just picks fights. I cannot do it anymore. I’m too tired.” I said this with my voice almost a whisper, thanks to my hangover that didn’t seem to be getting cured. “Are you sure this is the right thing Donald? It isn’t helping.” This was an attempt at changing the topic and avoiding the elephant in the room.

“That’s your mixture for your voice. The one your director prescribed, after hearing you last night I thought you were going to need it more than ever.”

I chuckled at the miscommunication. I thought he wanted to cure my hangover, but clearly he wanted me to sing better. Oh goodness, this was going to be a long day.

I got off at the theatre, gave Donald a kiss on the cheek, and he told me what time he’d be waiting for me. We agreed and parted ways. I walked into rehearsals in a dramatic and hung-over kind of way, I recall thinking I was Naomi Campbell and received stares because I had missed warm-ups. “Angelique, I’m sorry I’m late for warm-ups, I overslept.” I had removed my sunglasses and stared in her eyes giving her the most sincere look I had.

“It’s okay darling, we are only doing vocals today, so I’m going to have you harmonise with Natasha and Paul for a good ten minutes, and then I’ll be over shortly.”

Angelique was such a sweet person, understanding and just overall a great person to work for. And she always knew the right way to push you to get better results.

“Hangover?” Paul inquired.

“You have no idea; I’m worried that I’ll annoy myself today with all my singing. That’s if my voice pitches up for work today.” We chuckled and started on our harmony. To my surprise I hadn’t completely damaged my voice the night before, but I caught myself unable to do my vocal best.

“Lay off the alcohol and smoking for the next three weeks, please,” Angelique said coming up from behind me. "It will be difficult, but please do it for the show! I want your currently absent falsetto to be dominating on open night.”

“I cannot promise anything,” I said attempting a joke, but the look Angelique gave me was an unyielding one meaning she meant business and she didn’t want me ruining her show. “Okay, starting tonight. I’ll strictly drink the honey and lemon mixture you gave me.” That seemed to lighten her up a bit. She then gave us a set of songs to go over and we took off practicing and doing our best not to destroy any of the songs. After an hour we took a break, and I went over to my bag and grabbed my phone to check on my mother. I found two missed calls from a number I didn’t know. So I returned the call and the voice on the other side caused me to freeze.

“Hello. I tried calling you twice earlier, but you wouldn’t answer.” He was at it again; he was trying to pick a fight and I was in no mood.

“I’m at rehearsals. I cannot answer my phone, especially not over all the noise that is going on. How are you?” I asked trying to be pleasant.

“I thought about you coming over next weekend. I don’t want you to, but I know you will. My family loves you and they’ll do anything to have you there, so I’ve decided I want to see you, talk things over and try being civil before we make things uncomfortable for everyone else.” He had to be kidding me, after I told him the same damn thing last night now he is trying to…You know what? I’m tired, so I’d rather agree than fight.

“I’ve got rehearsals until six pm; afterwards I have dinner with my parents and the Andersons at eight pm. We can meet up during the break that we are going to get from rehearsals at four, that’s if you are not busy with anything.” I was being polite, mainly because of my headache, and every gush of fury that came over me was too loud for me to tolerate.

“I’ll bring you lunch at four. Send me the address and I’ll be there.”

I was about to add something, but he was quick to say goodbye and hang up. So I got to texting him the address. Well, at least he was coming. After a year and a half of everything, he was actually going to come see me. I got up and walked over to Paul; he had promised me an aspirin and water to help with the hangover. Paul was a good kid with mediocre dancing skills, but great heart and passion. I enjoyed his company. He gave me the aspirin and water to drink, and went off telling me about his girlfriend and how she meant the world to him. Our talk reminded me of how I once felt that way. But I didn’t share my pessimistic view on love; I just sat there and was supportive.

The tea break was cut short and we had to go back to rehearsals, this time Angelique and Pierre had decided to make us go over our dialogues and acting scenes. I was trying my hardest not to swear because some people in the cast forgot the few lines they had. We kept going over the dumbest things just because people refused to get their lines right. The rehearsal went very well, and I would’ve loved to continue it without a break, but we had to get some form of rest and food. We got off stage and started chuckling at the stupidity of my lines in the last scene I had done; I was sitting by my bag when I felt my phone rang.

“I’m outside. I’m driving a white BMW.” He hung up once he was done. I knew I was going onto a battlefield. I knew that after lunch I’d be a mess, but I knew more than anything else that I had to face the music before the weekend, or else my pride will ruin a little girl's sixteenth birthday party. So I walked out into the parking lot and made my way over to the parked BMW. I grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath as if I were going to plunge into the deep end of a swimming pool. I got in and he turned to me with his piercing amber eyes, eyes that hadn't looked at me for a year and a half. And they wore the same kind of anger and bitterness they had worn then. He looked like I remembered him: his face with its light complexion; his cheek bones high and well defined, his lips full and luscious, and his eyebrows bushy and well-shaped. He still resembled a Latino from California with his short dark brown hair.

“Here’s your lunch. I brought you a sandwich. I don’t know what you like anymore, so I got you what you used to eat.” He handed me the sandwich and the juice then faced forward. His voice came out of his clenched jaw and it was heavy with annoyance.

“Thank you very much. This is still my favourite sandwich,” I said, trailing off at the end as I noticed him tightening his jaws. I tried to hand me a few bills to pay for my lunch.

“There’s no need for you to throw your money at me. I’m not one of these young cats that fall for your rich-kid charms.”

And there it was, the start of the fight that wouldn’t end.

“Thank you. I appreciate the sandwich. You still look the same,” I said calmly. I then added a smile to show that the last bit was a compliment. I wanted him to know I came in peace.

“Thanks, I guess. I see you went ahead and got a septum ring, guess it’s your new identity now, along with being a drunk.”

So, he was really going there? He really wanted this fight.

“I got it straight after what happened. I was at a point in my life where I couldn’t feel anything, thanks to you, so I got it to feel again. It reminds me that I can still feel; that I’m not as numb as I was when you left.” It was the first time I had explained the septum ring to anyone, other than my best friend. My parents never said much about it because they could see at the time that I was breaking down.

“Ok, so this is how we are going to talk shit out? For the record I never wanted to see you ever again in my life. I really never thought I’d feel like this about you, considering how much I felt for you. I really don’t understand how you could’ve gone ahead and done that shit to me.” Still looking forward, Brian seemed to have tightened the grip on his steering wheel; I swear his knuckles were starting to turn white from how tight his grip was.

This conversation wasn’t heading where I wanted it to head, I just wanted to skip to the let’s be friends part. “Brian, I’m sorry. I’ve said this before, but you insist on holding a grudge.” I was trying to be as apologetic as possible and keep my voice sincere.

“Mikhail, sorry isn’t going to bring back my child. You having piercings on your body isn’t going to make things better. You had no right to out me to my family and tell my fiancée about us. That miscarriage caused everything to end for me. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

There it was, the ‘Mikhail you fucked it all up for me’ speech.

“If you’re done, I’m leaving. I won’t sit here and listen to this.” As I finished my sentence and grabbed the door handle, he locked the doors and started the car. I wanted to ask where he was going, but again I was tired; I’d had this fight with him so many times but he’d never been this blunt and blatant about things. He’d always say ‘I don’t want toxic people in my life,’ or something hurtful that made me feel less happy about everything. This, this meeting in his car was the first full-on fight we’ve had since his fiancé lost the baby. He drove, in silence, a few blocks away from the theatre before stopping in an empty parking lot in front of an abandoned building.

“I cannot handle you blaming me for the death of your sperm,” I spat out in a level of annoyance that had been suppressed for such a long time. I couldn’t allow myself to get completely angry around Brian, because it would only escalate the situation more than necessary. I’d get angry, he'd get angry, and someone would slap someone and we’d become physical. It hadn’t happened yet, but knew his rage and mine.

“So my baby is a sperm now? How dare you? How dare you, reduce the life of my unborn child that you murdered to just a sperm?!” He was getting angry and I was getting scared, the last time he got this angry I had to call his uncle to calm him down. Both times I seemed to be the cause. I’m always the cause.

“Brian, I cannot do this with you. I’ve had a year and a half of you making me feel like shit. Correction, it’s been longer. I’ve been your fucken dirty little secret for years, loving you so much but you never for one damn second showed me or made me feel how much you felt for me. And out of the blue you come tell me you're ending things with me just because you got some whore pregnant and your family wanted you to marry her? I gave up so much for you for six of my fucken damn years, and now you sit there acting like the damn victim! You didn’t even want the damn baby! You're just mad that being straight isn’t an option for you anymore, and you don’t know how to be anything other than what everyone else wants you to be. I’m so sick of you making me drink myself shit-faced! Every time I think of what happened I just want to die. Every time I hear your uncle talk about you I just want to drink myself to oblivion, because I loved you and you never gave two shits about me!” There it was, everything I’d been keeping inside for what seemed as ages. That had to have been one of the only times I’d let my anger actually come out. Ever since Brian and I I met – when I was sixteen and he was nineteen – he had only seen me this angry once; and that was when he told me he had gotten some girl pregnant. I watched the shock consume his face, as he realised for the first time how what had happened had affected me. I watched as he understood every single word and what it all meant. We remained quiet for close to two minutes before he broke the silence.

“The one thing you need to know is, I was never ready to be out of the closet. So what if I never loved Kelly? It was my road; my decisions and you just came in and took everything away. I would’ve loved to see my baby grow and be a good father, something that I never had; now I’ll never get that. I’m sorry you took your problems out on liquor, but you should’ve known better. I should’ve let you know how I felt; I get it, but didn’t understand 'us.' I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was I needed to find a way to be ‘normal’ and Kelly was there. She was my way of hanging on to being normal.”

He was calming down now and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. I could hear his resolve. To be honest, I’d never considered even half of what he had said before, all I had thought about was being with the man that took my virginity and spending the rest of my years with him, but he wanted to be normal. No one ever teaches you how to handle this kind of betrayal when you come out the closet. You hurt all by yourself, and Brian hurt me the worst.

“Take me back to the theatre, I’m done here. I’m done fighting. I’ve been telling you, I’m tired!” I had to interrupt his ideas. They all seemed to be going in circles, and it all seemed so pointless. Yet, he stayed parked and was showing no signs of going. Brian seemed deep in thought before finally breaking the silence.

“Why did you have to do it? Why not just let me go? Why couldn’t you accept everything and move on? Why do you always have to get what you want?” His voice was starting to get irritated and it had a quiver in it.

“All I wanted was for us to be together. I loved you so much. I couldn’t let you go and be unhappy with her, not after the time I had spent with you, being there for you, through everything. I couldn’t leave without knowing you loved me. But I guess I had known all along that you’d leave me for some bimbo and disregard me like any old newspaper you were done with.” I didn’t notice that I was crying until he took his hand and wiped the tears from my right cheek. We remained silent for a while before he decided to speak again.

“I never wanted to make you feel like that. I swear I felt a strong connection with you. I had never felt so close to anyone before, and to feel it with a guy scared me. What does a nineteen-year-old adolescent know about love? I understand I hurt you badly by leaving like I did, by getting someone pregnant while expecting you to be loyal to me. I get it, I hurt you bad and you couldn’t understand how to cope besides destroy what was a threat. But by doing that, you destroyed us, you destroyed my trust.” His voice had gotten softer, and his hand hadn’t moved from my check. He turned my face to look at him, our eyes met, and for the first time looking in his eyes, I didn’t see anger. I could look into them and not worry that my life would come to an end in a minute. He raised his second palm to my face and cupped it in his hands.

“Now, I think it’s time to remove this,” he said as he started to undo my septum ring. “It’s okay that you feel again, but know I won’t ever bring you pain again. It’s Over: all the fighting, all the hatred, I’m getting over it. All the things I’ve done to you are a lot worse than you saving me from a lifetime of lies and betrayal. I understand that now, but if you could’ve told me everything that day we wouldn’t have gone through all of this.” He was back to using his normal voice now, he was the friendly Brian I knew. He took my septum ring and placed it on the dashboard and turned to face the road.

After a minute of us sitting in silence and occasionally glancing at each other, the car came to life and we drove back to the theatre parking lot. I was still silent and had shifted my head to look out the window of the passenger’s side. He unlocked the door, but before he allowed me to get out he pulled me in and hugged me. “I meant what I said about caring for you. I really did, even though you never saw it. I wish you all the best, and see you next week.” I got out of the car without a word and walked into rehearsals. I sat in a corner and took two bites out of my sandwich, and then I went to the bathroom to get water. That was when I realised my eyes were blood red and puffy from the crying. I put on my sunglasses and walked onto the stage. I hid my eyes behind the sunglasses, claiming my hangover was giving me hell, which was my alibi until Donald came to fetch me.

I got in the car and noticed that Donald was still in his chirpy mood so I decided to give him feedback on the Brian situation I said to him aloofly, “We had a fight. We are okay now. Next week will be pleasant for everyone.”

“I’m happy you are going to be civil, but does that mean that you two are planning to get together?” Donald sounded a bit too cheerful for my liking. He was on some level of optimism and I had no intention of entertaining, neither him and nor his ideas.

“There’s no rehearsal this Sunday, we can go to church, or I can visit your wife and kids,” I said feigning happiness.

“He won’t be home for Sunday lunch you know,” Donald said.

“Donald, I’d rather not talk about him please, and I hope you don’t find me rude for saying so. It’s just I’ve had enough,” I said in a melancholic voice. That saw the end of the conversation, and from there onwards we drove in silence, up until I got home. I guess Donald could somewhat understand where I was coming from. I climbed out forgetting to give him his kiss this time, so he hooted at me. I went back and gave him a ‘reward,' then walked off slowly into the house, which I suddenly remembered was going to host a dinner party for annoyances tonight. I took a quick nap before my dad came to wake me for dinner.

The Andersons’ were old family friends that have been passed down from generation to generation – my grandparents had been friends with the late Mr. & Mrs. Anderson, who gave birth to Andrew Anderson, who grew up with my father – and luckily had no children around my age group, only younger; so I’d have no ties to them beyond my parents. They would come over for dinner every second week, they would talk about the same damn things. How dangerous it felt living in Johannesburg and that they wanted to leave for Port Elizabeth. “It’s a safer and friendlier environment to raise the kids, you know. My friend Marge has already moved there and her son is having the time of his life, and is so well-mannered now. They haven’t had any criminal incidents yet,” Mrs. Anderson went on and on. Dinner moved along pretty much the same as always, and as soon we were done I started packing the dishes away in the dishwasher. Then, after I had dished out the dessert and sherry for the adults, I moved upstairs. I threw myself on the bed and plunged my head into my pillow; I remained like that for a while.

“Any plans for tonight?” My mother said, as she made her way into my room with a slice of cake that Mrs. Anderson had brought with her.

I shook my head in disapproval to show her no.

“I came bearing cake; I could see you weren’t all there during dinner. Want to talk?”

I lifted my head to speak to her. “Did Barbra bake it herself? Because if she did, I’ll have to take a rain check,” I said in a giddy voice, while making a sick face. We shared a laugh and then she sat beside me on my bed.

“She didn’t bake it herself. I think her husband has told her the truth about her baking skills, or lack thereof.” I could see my mother liked to make fun of Barbra’s baking, and Barbra in general, but she broke her taunting and teasing. “I’m worried Mikhail, you barely ate or made witty remarks about Barbra. It’s not like you to be like this. I don’t want to be those overprotective moms, but I don’t want you to go back to the excessive drinking.” She had started absently stroking my hair while looking down at me. And I could see her eyes were filled with worry and sincerity.

“I’m just tired today, Mom. I promise you won’t have to worry about that anymore. I realised that I’m better than that. Oh, and don’t ever try be the overprotective mom, it would clash with Dad's personality.” My last sentence was an attempt at a joke, and it worked. We laughed together once more before she got up and placed the slice of cake on the bedside table.

“Sleep well my little princess.” She laughed as she walked out. Ever since I came out to my parents, whenever either of them said good night, they’d always call me their princess. My dad liked to call me princess whenever he wanted me to go shopping with him for a gift for Mom, or when he was sending a text that required a favour. So I laughed at mom’s joke and drifted into a nice relaxing sleep without any further hassles.

Thank you all very much for coming back for more . AC Benus you are my star. Thank you so much for everything:)