Dignity - a novel - 16. Chapter 16: Confession

Chapter 16: Confession

Birds sing, breezes blow and I am in a field.

Around me is mile-after-mile of golden grassland rising and falling in undulating folds of hills and hollows.

Where I walk, the path leads me to a stream. Here willow trees raise branches and almost look as if their small yellow leaves are reaching across the moving ribbon of water to hold hands.

I walk along the bank, and swing arms. It's then – really for the first time – that I let myself notice how battered and bruised they are. Somehow I know my limbs have been like that for quite a while, but I never wanted to look, and never wanted me to worry about them. It was like they didn’t matter, no matter how much they hurt, but here, today, I am ok with 'seeing' them.

'I did it to myself,' I think. 'Only I am to blame for my own injuries. And, so be it.'

There is a sweetness in the air now; a fragrance that's dense in the way honey coats the back of the tongue.

The willow trees give way to a low groundcover of plants with spear-shaped leaves growing by the water's edge. Rising from this foliage are stems with that most perfect of white flowers in full bloom – calla lilies. They grow in abundance, and soon I am in a field of them. The scent is almost too pleasant to bear, and I have a notion to stop and pluck armfuls of them, but I realize, they don’t belong to me. I did not plant them here, they grow of their own accord, and so I have no claim to take their lives. They are much too perfect to serve any other purpose than to be born, live in the fresh air and sunshine, and die – die right where and when they are supposed to.

I hear music; it is carnival music accompanied by the crash of surf rolling over itself on a beach. Ahead of me is a pier, and way out at the end, a gloriously lit Ferris wheel.

Suddenly, I am standing on top of it, and I'm not afraid. My hand goes up to my chest, and through my t-shirt, I can feel Linc's brass ring that I placed on a cord to wear around my neck. I glance over my shoulder and first notice the curving tent roof of the Santa Monica merry go round. 'Ah,' I think. 'That is the roof I slid down in the dream where I'm falling. Now I understand it.' Behind this antique building, the modern city twinkles as a mass of land-locked lights.

Turning back, and looking straight ahead, I am much more taken by the peaceful beauty of the wide-open Pacific Ocean. A wet salt-breeze comes to stroke my face and makes me lick my lips to taste it.

I glance under my feet, and the structure of the Ferris wheel is a myriad of steel beams and rods, and all these lines of support are traced out in light bulbs. They form glowing concentric circles of tracery, like an incandescent cobweb where drops of glistening color might shimmer here and there.

Far above the brooding ocean water, stars frost the night sky, and add their glint to the cresting whitecaps below. These run over and under one another with their own seething blue-green phosphorescent and living light.

Inside, I feel as beautiful as the sights look.

A butterfly appears near me. I hold out my finger, and he settles on it with upraised wings.

As I examine his orange and brown coloration, I unexpectedly think of Lincoln Oliver.

"Yes," I tell myself with the easy faith of the newly converted. "He will be all right."

I set the butterfly free, and he flits up amongst the stars to add his own special luster to them.

Now I have wings too. I spread them, and this time – in perfect contrast to my old useless raven wings – these are of the purest white.

I don’t ache anymore, I'm not pissed off, I'm not asking for more time, and I'm not sad either – I'm just free.

I jump off the Ferris wheel and glide down to about the water's surface. Sea spray splashes my face, and exhilarates me. I fly with easy grace.

I'm in control, and I am finally free!

I'm giddy with laughter, and shout at the top of my lungs: "Yes, everything will be all right!"

˚˚˚˚˚

I wake with a jerking motion.

Lincoln is above me placing a cold washcloth on my forehead. As soon as he sees that I am awake, he croons to me tenderly, "Shoosh."

Oh yeah, now I remember. Dau let me have his bed last night, and Linc nursed me after he got off from work.

I rotate my neck, cuz a shadow is moving by the closets.

Dau rattles some clothes off hangers, stops and asks Linc, "Was I too loud? I have to get ready."

"You're fine!" Lincoln assures him. "Thanks for bunking with Damien last night."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Oh, he's all right. He complains a lot, but he went right to sleep. Snores, though."

"Oh, I know," Lincoln chats busily.

I reach out for his hand.

Dau continues, "He's a big wingnut. What? He thought I'd pants him in the middle of the night…"

"What time is it?"

"About 7:30."

"AM?"

"No, Sean – at night."

"…And," Dau merrily slips on his shirt. "I may or may not be in possession of some pix."

"Oh?" Lincoln laughs.

"Pix of a certain muscle-headed jock, asleep, but with a gorgeous Asian cock pressed against his lips."

"Shit!" Linc jumps up and gives Dau a high-five. "But, you gotta share, buddy."

I sit up in bed. Then it hits me. "Wait, Dau! Did you do that to me too, roomie?"

"No, Sean. I only do that to guys who piss me off. You're safe." Then his mood shifts to the serious. He lowers his tone, and makes it almost sound like a warning. "Linc, I know you don’t want to…" it seemed as if he was searching for the right turn of phrase, "…go out tonight, but Daddy's not too keen on unscheduled time off."

Linc shrugs shoulders. "Fuck 'em. Sean's sick. So, I'll make up for it later."

"Ok." Dau pulls out a jacket. "You are grown boys, so you know what you are doing." He flings it over his shoulder, and sails out of the room.

Linc comes back and sits on the bed. "Are you feeling better?" He presses his hand against my forehead. I can gauge by the relatively cool and dry pressure of his palm that I am burning up. "Here, you need Advil. I'll go get some from the bathroom." He stands and walks halfway to the door. He stops, comes back and kneels on the floor, mid-bed. He lifts my hand and runs it along his cheek. His blue-green eyes look guilty, and it breaks my heart.

"It’s my fault," he says. "We should not have sat on the cold floor at the carousel. It made you sick."

"It's not that. You didn’t do anything."

He rises to his feet. "You need more Advil. Want anything else; more of your 'crocodile juice,' as you call it?"

There's a knock on the open door. It's Daddy. Lincoln goes to him and pulls him a few feet down the hall, but I can still hear them talk.

"What's this about you sending Dau on your date?"

"Just for tonight, Daddy. Sean has a fever, but by morning he'll be fine. I'll work extra – set up an afternoon date – tomorrow, plus my regular one too. Ok?"

"Look, Lincoln, caring in this business only goes so far. You can 'care' about a user all the way to the grave, if you're not careful."

Linc protested: "Sean is not – "

Daddy cut him off with an authoritative snap. "Hey, I'm just saying, that if you expect to stay an Elite boy, you – and Sean too – will have to pull your weight. Got it?"

"I understand."

It sounds like Daddy walks away, but I don’t hear Lincoln stir at all. A couple of moments go by, then he sticks his head around the door, and pats the frame a quick time or two. He has on a fake-ass smile for me – the most beautiful fake-ass smile anyone has ever given me in my life. "Be right back, babe," he says, and disappears.

'Oh, Lincoln,' I think to myself. 'What have I done to you?' I am going to hurt him, one way or another, and now it's too late.

I grab my phone. Hum, no new texts from Dawn. That's unusual.

I type out:

Where U at, gurl? U have a secret 2 tell me..? LOL

I hit 'send,' and plop the phone down.

Lincoln comes back. In one hand is a glass of water and a pill bottle, in the other dangles a freezing-cold Popsicle.

He closes the door, and comes and sits by my side. He grips the plastic wrapper of the frozen treat in his teeth, then looks down and around it as he pops the pill top and knocks two blue gel caps into my waiting palm. He relids the container, gives me the water, and after I drink, takes the glass and holds up the Popsicle.

"Want this? It might cool you down. It's orange sherbet…your favorite!"

His smile is so fuking beautiful, I wanna cry over it. "You eat it, ok?"

"Suit yourself." He tears into it and starts coating his lips with an icy orange gloss.

He tries not to act too concerned, but asks, "Sean, what are those lumps under your arms?"

I shrug.

"Have you had them for long?"

"No," I lie.

"Well, do they hurt?"

"Not really. They'll go away."

His attempt not to look worried fails. His Popsicle hangs lifeless in the air between us. "Maybe we should go see a doctor."

"Linc, please. You don’t need to fret over me – " I suddenly can't go on.

"Do you love me?" He asks out of the blue.

"Don’t try to confuse me, stud. You know I love you. What I don’t know is why you seem to love an ordinary guy like me."

"Ordinary?" Lincoln sounds like he can't believe my question. "Oh no. Do you want to know a little secret?"

"Is it one I have to swear to keep until my dying day?"

"Pretty much." He licks deep on his orange stick, LOL.

"Ok."

"I…I basically loved you at first sight."

"What? That day in the kitchen, but you – "

"Hardly said a word to you?"

"Yes."

"I was scared shitless, boy. Truth is, what could I say to you not to make you think I was nuts."

"Um, how about 'hello?'"

"Asshole." His smile glows all sherbet slick at me.

"Ah, now is that any way to talk to your 'love at first sight?'"

"See! I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"Linc?"

He acted all mad. "What."

"I have a secret too. Wanna hear it? And, you can tell everybody you know, if you want to."

He looks like he is about to cry. "That you loved me too, Sean, at fist sight..?"

"Yes. See. I can't keep any secrets from you, can I?"

He kisses the tip of my nose. "Nope. So don’t even try. I was attracted to you the first time I saw you."

"Why?"

Lincoln shakes his head real slow. "Don’t know. Just was."

"But, I'm so ordinary."

Linc pulls back a little. He forces me to hold his gaze. "You don’t really believe that, do you?"

There is a long pause. Does he want me to say it..? "Yes. I do."

He comes back close to me, sighing. "From now on, kid, use me as your mirror. And see that you are not ordinary in the least."

Shit. I can feel the bottom my vision becoming blurry. Damn, shit, fuk – when this gorgeous jock of a guy says he 'loves' me, he means it.

"Ok." I inhale and try to steady myself. "I will use you as my studly mirror."

"Damn right you will."

Lincoln kisses me, transfers some of his sweetness to me, and in return, I get some of my tears on his cheek.

"Don't cry."

He leans back and inhales deeply, then goes at the Popsicle with his teeth, and it disappears pretty quickly. Meanwhile, he starts rambling a bit about 'us' and the 'future.' "Daddy is nice, but he can be an insensitive old fart sometimes. We need to get up and running on Backpage. Hey, you know, I think we should get at least a two-bedroom apartment, cuz when you get better, we can invite Dau to come work with us, and soon, maybe you won't have to work at all, if you…"

"I'm not going to get better."

"What?"

"Lincoln, I'm a lot sicker than I seem, and, well – I'm not going to get any better."

Lincoln's shock coalesces into one of his patented smirks. "Bullshit. Little Miss Pessimism here. Come on, kid – have some hope!" He laughs and sucks on the last of his Popsicle stick.

I just shake my head. This sucks. This is about the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Lincoln teases me again: "Debby Downer."

"I'm fuking dying of leukemia, ok! I, I am, sorry. I, maybe should have told you earlier, before you…"

"Sean, you're shittin' me, right?" Panic rises in him.

"Lincoln, no. I'm not gonna be around for much longer, but, I won't burden you – "

"Shut up."

I start tearing up. "Linc, I know I suck as a friend, as a boyfriend – "

"Sean! Shut up, please." He's crying too. "How could you not trust me enough, to, to tell me before now?"

"Phew – it's not a matter of trust…"

"Sean, without trust – where's the love?"

"Lincoln, I do love you, God, please don’t think I don’t; think anything but that."

Linc suddenly changes his attitude. I guess something in him switches. He calmly holds my gaze. "Yeah, I know that." He wipes snot from his nose, stands up and tosses the Popsicle stick out the window. "But, what do you mean 'you're dying?' Aren’t you getting treatments? Don’t you have a doctor?"

"No. I ran away cuz I can't go through it again. This is the third time, and I figure my number is up, so I came out here to live a little, and not sit in a sterile hospital room with tubes in my arms, pumping poison in me and making me sick as a dog. This fever, and a few aches and pains, are 100% milder than 'the cure' that doesn't work."

Lincoln comes back and sits. He grabs my hand and transfers his nervous tension to it.

"Un-uh," he says, shaking his head. "Those times, you were a child. Now, you're a man, and you've got me to be there with you."

"Lincoln…"

"I said, no. We're gonna get you help, and Sean, you don’t have to worry about me."

I feel so sad to have my fake-ass name in his pure mouth and thoughts. "It's not Sean."

"Then, what is it?"

"Jack. Jack Shaw."

"Oh, so it's 'Jack' and not Sean." His head bounces a few times, and then he shrugs. "That's nice. It suits you. Any other secrets you wanna share?" He's acting sarcastic.

"No. But, Linc, I'm not gonna get help, and – most of all – I'm not gonna put you through it."

"Don’t be a selfish asshole."

"I'm trying not to be. But, you don’t know what it's like to see someone wither up and die from cancer. I do. I can't put you through it."

"What are you talking about? I can help – "

"No, no, no you can't, and it was my dad, ok. Get it? He had pancreatic cancer when I was seven, and my mom looked after him at home, and she had to wash his ass for him, and empty his piss bags for him, and had to watch him shrivel up like a fallen leaf, and in the end, there was not a goddamn thing she could do about it, but fuking cry. Where’s the nobility in that! Get it? I ran cuz I was not going to put her through it again, and I am not going to put you through that either – I guess I love you both too much to let it happen."

Lincoln appears devastated, but slowly, he lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.

His devilish smile returns. "Selfish prick. You tell me, did your mom look after your dad for money?"

"Oh course not. What – "

"No. Why did she do it, then? Why else? She did it for love. So, there is nobility up the wazoo, if you want my opinion."

He leans in and hugs me. He squeezes me hard, and my hand falls on his upper back to soothe him.

He lets go and stands. "I'm just gonna lie with you for a while, after I get my tunes, ok?"

I nod.

He goes to the door, opens it, but pauses. On his face is a 'this ain't over' look of determination. He leaves, and I try not to break down. But, what I have to do seems clear. My sight drifts out the window, and now, it's time for me to go. It will be best for Lincoln that I leave him as soon as I can shake this fever.

My eyes half close. In a moment or two my vision of the immediate future will come true: Lincoln will return, get down to his undies, pull back the covers gently, and slide into bed next to me. He will raise his jock arm and I will use it as my pillow, while he settles and then gazes down on me. He will use his precious lapis-jade eyes to admire me, and I will be suspended in his calm self-assurance, over which I can hang weightless above my doubts and fears.

I seem to remember some passage from Catcher in the Rye about Holden looking down into a puddle on the street. There he sees the iridescent sheen of a drop of gasoline floating on the surface of the water. He uses words to say how impossible it is to express the loveliness of having life; of the beauty that exists still and quietly in the possibility of the connection of two human hearts suspended in time; expressed for all time within the captured ripple of a floating moment.

In my vision, Lincoln will place an earbud in my ear, and the matched one in his own. He'll select something serene to listen to, some Woodkid, if I know my man, which I do. He will pause so I can listen to it a moment, and, then he will whisper into my free ear: "It's beautiful, Jack, just like you."

And in my vision, I will let go of all assumed motivations, and judgments, and maybe too the notion that the world is phony, because maybe we never know what someone else has been through. To live, beauty and hurt and all, that is what I ran away from, and now I think I have found it at my doorstep, and can be at peace.

But then again, I have hurt my mom, and soon I will have to hurt Linc as well. That sucks.

I open my eyes. I must run from him too, and do it because I love him. Now I am really crying, for this will probably be the last night I will ever have to spend with my beautiful Lincoln Oliver.