Destiny - a novel - 5. Chapter 5: Settling In

Chapter 5: Settling In

Why is it the air in the DMV always seems to be recycled? Reused, repurposed, re-circulated, like the small dark Christmas tree sitting on top of the filing cabinet I'm staring at right now. It and the plastic-colored balls and dusty garland all seem to be holiday decor donated by Goodwill or some other charity shop in an effort to clear out the crap from their storage units.

Jack and I sit side by side in this little side office where they handle the few folks smart enough to book ahead. Hundreds of people are just on the other side of the door, all anxiously clutching claim tickets with numbers well into the hundreds. It's thankfully quiet in here, so Jack and me can sit alone and rest. My boy's flank is in full contact with mine from lower leg to shoulder, but he's running a slight fever that not even the pleather of his awful tourist coat can hide from my senses.

"Don’t worry, Jack. Our appointment is up next."

"I'm not worried, Linc. Just a little tired."

"I know; we come off a flight from Ohio – or was it Idaho..? – and have to zip over to the DMV. Torture upon torture; it doesn't seem fair." I laugh.

When Jack doesn’t follow suit, I gently pick up the clipboard from his lap. I keep up the chatting, as I make sure my boyfriend has filled in all the relevant information needed for his ID card application and signed at the bottom. "That Dawn is amazing. She set this whole appointment thing up – which is perfect – and got all your old phone bills organized." I reach in and pull them out from the inner pocket of my letterman jacket. This is important documentation to prove Jack has been living in California for more than the 90-day requirement needed to qualify as a 'resident.'

"Do you think they should have come in?"

"Nah, Jack. The appointment's only fifteen minutes long, and it's a bit snug in here." I smile and brush the top of his hand. "I'm glad your mom and best friend decided to wait in the rental SUV, it gives us a moment or two alone."

Jack sighs. "I know it's only a few minutes, but still I can't wait to be out of here and into the fresh air again."

That makes me a bit sad – sure, he wants to be out of the DMV, that's a universal feeling, but after this he knows we're only heading straight to Stanford University's hospital, where they'll check him in, poke him and prod him... Maybe he simply wants to climb into bed, poor kid…

"Lincoln?"

"Yes, babe?"

"How did you get a driver's license with your real name on it?"

"Oh, it wasn't hard. I used my real name, but got a fake birth certificate to show I was eighteen at the time I applied in L.A."

"So that makes you twenty now?"

"Yeah. For Daddy and them – the Elite Escort clients – I was twenty." I feel I can laugh about it now, so I do. Jack seems to enjoy the signs of pleasure on my face, for he cracks his own warm smile watching me. "I'll never forget how nervous I was at the Hollywood West Formosa DMV office when I got it."

Jack's eyes scan me with little-boy insistence. "But you used your real name – why?"

A flush of embarrassed heat rises through my torso; I try not to answer directly. "Cuz–I don’t know–just, cuz. I have a question for you, Jack. How come you don’t go online anymore to play World of Warcraft with Dau and those guys nowadays? Hell, I barely see you playing Tetris on your phone any longer."

"There'll be time for that later…" It's his turn to try and avoid answering the question, but as I squeeze his hand, and to my relief, he's honest with me. "Truth is, right now I can't concentrate, and I'd hate to get my character killed off instantly. I can't think straight when I'm on chemo."

I feel like shit; if I can't take his pain for him – which I can't – then I shouldn't be rubbing his face in it with dumb-shit questions. "Jack, I'm sorry – you're right. There'll be plenty of time for online gaming later on."

That makes him grin a little, and I feel somewhat better.

"Jack Shaw!" A middle-aged Asian woman sporting straight black hair streaked with silver has come out of an office and is referring to a clipboard in her hand. She lowers her head so her eyes can rise over the flat edge of her reading single-focus lenses. She scans the empty line of chairs.

"Here!" I say, rising and helping Jack to his feet.

"Do you have your paperwork?" the woman asks while making an exaggerated checkmark on her pad. The whole time she's yet to actually look at Jack.

"Yes. Here's his application, and proof of residency." I offer the documents to her, and she officially goes around to preside from behind the counter – the position next to one of those pole-mounted cameras you only ever see at the DMV.

As the lady flips pages though his bills, I feel Jack slightly falter as he leans on me, so I lock my arm around and underneath his.

For the first time the woman glances up and into Jack's face.

She glares at me. "Is he all right?"

I slowly shake my head. "We need to get his ID before we can check into the hospital."

"Stanford Medical Center?"

"Yes."

She smiles broadly and pats the top of Jack's hand. "Oh good. It's such a good place – my mother went in for cancer treatment and she's all better now."

Jack attempts a grin.

"So," the lady announces in her professional DMV voice. "This is all in order. Please stand in front of the screen for your picture."

I lead Jack to where she indicated. He asks me, "Is my hair ok?"

Walking Jack backwards for the last step or two until his heels and feet are aligned with the markings on the carpeted floor, I glance over my shoulder and see the woman has loaded the camera with a click and is now pivoting it up to aim at my boyfriend.

"Your hair..?" I repeat. "Let's see." I lick my palm and try to smooth down Jack's blue-green cowlick on the left side of his head – that's where he slept on it during the flight. I can feel many strands sticking to my hand as I rub, but I do not draw any attention to them as I pull my hand away again. I tell him, "You look beautiful, baby. You're ready for your headshot, Mr. DeMille. And your hair is fine."

˚˚˚˚˚

The sky outside, and back over our shoulder, is leaden. It looks like it will rain soon.

Jack and I sit on the sofa in his room and watch Dawn and Mrs. Shaw make a fuss. Their photo-ID visitor badges flop on their chests like plastic dog tags, and my hand unconsciously goes up to touch the one around my neck too. The ladies have Jack's bag on the bed, unzipped, and are ferreting the patient's clothes, underwear, gamer mags and toiletries into drawers, the closet and bathroom. The whole time they are rhetorically informing him/us "Ok, Jack. Clippers are top left drawer of the dresser," etc.

Like the eye of a mini storm, Jack and I just sit on this couch while 'stuff happens,' driven apparently by the nervous energy allowed to swirl around us. We can take a moment to simply sit, but I do not let the opportunity slip by without sliding my hand into his. He squeezes it gently for a moment, and I know he feels as calm and centered as I do. I give the plastic ID bracelet on his wrist a slight twist. His own little miniature photograph is on too.

I glance around the room before saying softly, "I don’t see any holiday decorations in here."

"Nope, I guess they wouldn't put any in the rooms. You never know, I could be Hindu."

"That's true, Jack. Better nothing than the cheesy and dusty kind on display at the DMV."

"Ah – but there's the difference," Jack whispers like a smartass.

"The difference?" I mouth back.

"ANY thing helps improve the atmosphere at the DMV. Anything!"

"Yeah…can't argue with that logic. But you have to get to used to it, you'll have many future visit to it in the years to come."

He laughs: "That a threat or promise?"

"Total promise, babe." My eyebrows go up once so he knows I'm serious.

Dawn fishes something from the bottom of Jack's gym bag, and says, "What do you want me to do with this?"

In her hands is the snow globe I gave Jack.

"Right there!" Jack points with vigor to his bedside table, his tone sparkles with relieved determination. "I want it front and center so I can see it and pick it up anytime I want."

Dawn walks it over the spot Jack selected, and places it down next to the room phone. As she moves away again, both Jack and I catch the little drift of snowflakes shimmering around the central figures.

"Lincoln," Jack's tone is suddenly all business, and low so only I can hear him. "I think it's time to do it now that I have my Cali ID." His free hand goes up to smooth back some blue-green hair from his forehead.

"Is it time to shave, and say good bye to your Kool-Aid, kool berry locks?"

Jack reacts by smiling a bit and leaning into me. He pulls out his wallet from his hip pocket and extracts his new ID. "Look at that fool – bags under his eyes, pale and distracted looking."

I try and cut him off. "Jack – "

"And worst of all, patchy, silly-looking hair. It's time for it to come off. You will help me do that, right Lincoln Oliver?"

I put my arm around him. "I don’t know who you think who you are looking at, Jack Shaw, to offer up such harsh words about your appearance, but from where I sit…" my hand goes to his to raise up the ID to our view "…I'm looking at about the handsomest boy in the whole world – and best of all, he's my boy."

Jack's eyes slowly close in the aftermath of an uncontrollable smile, and our lips come together. I think as I kiss him, 'It's not bullshit, Jack is my perfect guy, now and always.'

"Hello, hello!" a cheery voice calls from the doorway. Dr. Kimball strolls in all pearly smiles and white lab coat. "How is everybody?"

"Fine, doctor!" Mrs. S. calls out from the closet door, one of Jack's shirts and a hanger still within her grasp.

"How was the flight, Jack?"

"It was all right, Dr. Kimball. Kinda long."

"Yes, it always seems to take longer going west, but maybe that's just me."

Dawn zips up Jack's empty bag and takes it off the bed. It gets tossed into a corner of the closet floor.

Dr. Kimball talks to Jack's mom. "Did you get set up with the hospital's housing for patients' families?"

Mrs. Shaw spills a quick glance on me and tries to state it in a way that will not overburden Jack. "We've decided to stay at The Hermione Motor Lodge, since the medical center would not qualify Lincoln as 'family.' It will be for the best, with Dawn and I sharing a room, and Lincoln right next door. We can carpool. It will be fun!"

I speak up. "I appreciate the solidarity, Mrs. Shaw."

"Pee Shaw! We have to stick together – that's why we're here."

"But still, thank you."

"I've stayed at the Hermione before; it's everything you could want in a motel, and the diner next door has great Belgian waffles!"

Dawn licks her lips, and seems to perk up at the mention of the whip cream and strawberry-topped griddle pastries, lol.

Dr. Kimball comes over to stand by the sofa next to Jack. His expression is solemn, and that makes me immediately rise to my feet.

"Jack," he says softly, "My wife Marta wants to wish you well. Do you mind if I conference call her for a minute or two? I said we might ring her around this time."

Jack lifts his arm so I can help him stand. "I'd love to say hey to Marta. Call her up."

As the doctor extracts his phone from his lab coat pocket, Dawn and Mrs. Shaw gather and sit on the bed.

The oncologist's speakerphone begins to sound off as his wife's phone rings back in Ohio.

"Hello?"

"Marta, it's me. I'm here with Jack Shaw and his family. We're all safely checked into Stanford, and he thought he'd say hello."

"Hi, Marta. How are you?"

"Oh Jack, my little chiquito, I'm fine! It's so nice to get this chance to talk to you."

"Yes, Marta."

"Jack, do you remember how you played cupid to Edgar and me? Do you remember how seven years ago, you brought us together?"

Jack's eyes go round and hold Dr. Kimball's gaze. "Yes, Marta. I remember – you were my nurse, and taking care of me was how you two first became aware of each other."

"Yes, chiquito, that's exactly it! So, even though Edgar may be going through a crisis of faith right now, I want you to know there is no one on this earth that we wish the best for more. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Marta. I think I do."

Dawn, Mrs. S. and me exchange glances. We're all thinking 'crisis of faith?'

"Marta," Dr. Kimball sounds a bit embarrassed. "Jack needs his rest after the flight – "

"Of course! You take care of yourself, Jack Shaw, and know you are always in my thoughts and prayers, ok?"

"Ok, Marta. Thanks for telling me."

"All right, Marta," Jack's oncologist announces. "We have to go now. I'll talk to you later this evening. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye!"

"Bye." He hangs up and slowly puts his phone away like he's still slightly shell-shocked. "Thank you, Jack, for doing that. You know you hold a special place in her heart."

"Yeah," Jack laughs. "Apparently one where I'm in a diaper, flying through the air."

Everyone laughs.

Dr. Kimball puts his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Ok, young man, you should get changed and into bed. At 3 PM my colleagues will be here to meet you and have a consulting examination." The doctor gestures between Dawn, Mrs. S. and me. "The hospital has a lovely café where you can hang out, and I'll come and get you after the consult."

Jack slides his hand into mine in a room-wide display for all to see. "Yeah, you guys go. Linc will help me undress, and then he'll meet you down in the cafeteria. Ok?"

The three of them nod, and Jack's mom looks momentarily concerned, but they move dutifully towards the door. They exit, and I kick up the doorstop to let the room have some privacy.

I turn around to find my Jack poking his hair and doing a duck and weave with his own reflection in the wall mirror. "Ok, Lincoln," he stops, straightens up and says with conviction. "It's time to go bald!"

I open the drawer where Jack's best friend had recently stashed the clippers, and pull them out wanting to know, "Should I shave my head with you? I'll do it, you know."

Jack comes up and hugs me. "A show of solidarity?"

"Yes, kid. A sign that we're linked."

My boyfriend is adamant as he pushes back on my chest a little, so he can hold my eyes. "It's a nice gesture to offer, but no thank you. I want to see you just as you are – a display of affection is one thing, but not if it changes the glorious view I already get of you."

It starts storming outside. Fat raindrops pummel the window glass and briefly gain our attention, but it's only briefly. Soon we're focused on one another again.

"Come on, Jack. Let's do, and I'll keep mine if you want me to." I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom. "Take off your shirt and sit down."

I find the plug and check on the size of the blade on the clippers. It's a 30, and you can hardly get any shorter than that. "I used to clip Damien's hair, you know."

"No," Jack says. "I didn’t know that. That's cool."

I flip it on, and the machine's motor runs smoothly. I switch it off again, set it down and drape Jack's bare shoulders with a large white bath towel. I'm careful to cover the leather cord around his neck. The brass ring he won at the Santa Monica Merry-go-round has been his constant companion since he first grabbed it. He grips the corners of the towel tightly under his chin, and I begin to cut off his hair. Blue-green puddles start collecting at my feet.

"So, that phone call was a little bit odd," I say. "Who exactly is she?"

"They both have a special dose of affection for me. They met each other while I was going through my first round of treatments. Marta was a pediatric nurse then, and I was one of Dr. Kimball's first 'guinea-pig' patients. They met and fell in love while taking care of me, so I guess they look at me – and my sickness – in a special way. Marta's cool, you'd like her if she was here."

"What does she do now?"

"Phew! – She runs one of the specialist pediatrics departments at Cincinnati Children's Hospital. I don’t really know which one, but she's a bigwig."

I use my hand to brush off some of the cut hair from Jack's shoulders and back. I set the clippers to 'off' and lay them down carefully – you never want to drop them, believe me, I know! I finish by sliding my hand back from his brows, across the crown of his head, and around back to keep any stray and cut razor-edged shards from falling into his eyes. "There, you're in the Navy now, kid!"

Jack lifts his big, chocolate-brown eye and a smile to me, which in turn makes me come down and kiss his forehead. "Now you'll have to wear some headgear for warmth. Do you have a cap?"

"Ummm…"

"Will you wear one of mine?"

"Awww!"

"I have one in mind for you, and it's adjustable so it will be warm and cozy." I pat his back lightly and whip the towel from his shoulders. "You're done, sailor. Go get into your hospital PJs and I'll clean up the mess."

My Jack rises to face me. In another moment, his hands go up behind his neck and lifts off his pendant. "I'll borrow your hat, if you'll let me lend you my brass ring."

Before I can answer, he places the leather cord over my head, and lets the ring settle on my chest. The immediate transference of heat from Jack's person to mine is complete. It just feels so right.

"Of course, I'd love to look after it for you – I'm just borrowing it, of course."

"Good. I know this place with its EKGs and whatnot won't allow me to keep it on anyway, so now I'll know it's safe and where it belongs."

"I'll look after it."

He smiles. "Just like you look after me?"

"Yup." My smile comes to bloom and matches his springtime grin.

"I love you," Jack says as he embraces me.

I hug his shoulders tight, and kiss him like I mean it. "I love you too. Now go!" I smack his ass to send him on his way with emphasis.

Jack heads to his bed and his pajamas, and I survey the mess wishing to hell I had gathered a broom and dustpan to me before I started cutting hair. I kneel on the floor and pull the wastepaper basket towards me. Scooping cut hair with my bare hands, I start to cry. I can't help it; seeing the blue-green color between my fingers instantly puts me in memory of that first, awkward moment I saw this amazing boy standing in Daddy's kitchen. For me there's no doubt that it was love at first sight, but I was tongue-tied and made uncomfortable by my own emotions.

I gather up all the hair I can and dump it into the bin with its small white plastic liner.

I rise up and wash my hands, my eyes trained on my face in the bathroom mirror. I can't let my Jack see me like this, but as I examine myself, I realize that no one should ever be embarrassed by their love of another, but it seems with us Gay kids we have an extra burden to cause hesitation. I guess straights will never understand that part, but that's okay. Quite frankly, they don’t have to, except as a means to understand what we have to go through to find and keep relationships.

I see me smile in the mirror. I see a man who's miraculously found that elusive and wonderful thing known as 'love,' and think that sometimes it's okay to have a secret affection – like the kind I carried around for Jack for a while – because oftentimes esoteric knowledge is sweet all by itself.

I splash some water on my face, comb back my blond hair with wet fingers and get ready to go back out to Jack.

Returned to his room, I see Jack is climbing into bed, so I head over to my backpack. I pull out my cap and keep it hidden from my boyfriend's sight. Once my kid's head is settled on his pillow, I bend down, kiss him and hold out my white U.S. Olympic cap. It was the official fleecy cap issued by Team USA to all the winter athletes a few years ago; it's like a barrette of sorts, but constructed in three pieces like a baseball cap, and it has cool 1970's style modern lettering for our county's name in thin black lines of embroidery. It also has that handy elastic drawstring along the bottom edge so it can be tightened to any size.

Jack's eyes grow large as he turns it over and over in his grip.

I slip it on his head so the USA is front and center like it should be and then work the press button of the plastic fastener to make the cap snug but comfortable for Jack's head.

"I love it, Lincoln Oliver. But, I wanna see it in the mirror."

"Later, babe. You've already had a lot of activity for one day. Trust me, you look hot, and later we'll look at it in the mirror, together."

"I'm not ready for my close-up, Mr. Oliver..?"

There's nothing I can say to that…