Sunshine - 1. Sunshine – a Valentine for Matt

Sunshine –

a Valentine for Matt

 

 

A nondescript man waits alone, and looks nervous. Through him runs a momentary thought of humorous terror, a non-distinct concern about coffee, donuts and cops. Maybe he's picked the wrong place to do this, but fortunately for him, no one can see the twelve hundred dollars in his pocket, or the heart pounding out of his chest.

The shop is nearly devoid of people, however, he's still self-conscious about wearing a suit and tie here. It's as if his accountant's 'uniform' will give away the fact that he's playing hooky from the office.

He knows he needs to calm down, so he shifts his weight on the high stool and allows his roving eyes to settle on the steam rising from his paper cup. It sits untouched on the small, twofer table in the back corner of this Starbucks, mainly because he's not used to drinking coffee at three in the afternoon.

And worst of all, a song is stuck in Isaac Waterman's head. He must have heard it on the radio this morning, either while getting ready for work, or during his commute. It's the kind of song you can't shake; the kind whose meaning seems plain as day, although the fact is reflexively ignored, or actively denied.

Such a passive-aggressive notion appears to fit Valentine's Day to a tee, which today is, and also reminds Isaac how relieved he is the holidays are over.

It was the first in over ten years without him, and the whole 'family thing' felt like slow, agonizing torture. The fact that everybody had been so goddamn nice to him felt like a personal affront when all Isaac wanted to do was rip the decorations from the wall and urinate on the tree. He wanted to stop being so goddamn sad and make a suitable display of the depthless anger he had been enduring.

While his mind is distracted, his hand comes up and pats the unfamiliar lump poking him from the inside of his suit jacket. As soon as he touches it, its existence jolts him back to reality. An envelope full of twenty-dollar bills for a young man he's never met is a jarring reality to be brought to.

Instead of facing immediate facts, he leans elbows on the table, grips the warm sides of his cup, and gets lost looking at the cuff of his jacket. Isaac likes to dress his six-foot-two swimmer's frame in baggy, off-the-rack suits. These are work clothes he prefers to think of as frugal, when the truth is, he does not give a damn about brand names. As long as he presents a professional appearance at his job, Isaac is satisfied he's done all he needs to along those lines.

He unconsciously chuckles, and then takes a sip, savoring the recollection of how Kaplan took over buying his casual wear. 'A truck-driving reservist with great fashion sense…. How amazing is that to have for a husband?!'

For some reason, those song lyrics stuck in his head decide to come out.

 

"…Don't feel much like playing,
Some guy's come to be the boss of me,
But he don't know what he's trying…"

 

Periodically over the last six months, well meaning friends and family had urged him to make a profile on a dating site. Pressure had increased in recent weeks, and come to an uncomfortable head over the holidays. "Just put yourself out there," he was told by concerned busybodies who only wound up adding fuel to his resentment. If, at some point in the future, he could generate an ad, how would he describe himself? Is anyone ever good at doing that…?

'A 42-year-old GWM accountant from Kokomo, Indiana, 6'-2" tall, 175lbs., ashen hair with touches of blondish-gray at the temples, dark brown eyes – seeks….'

Seeks what…? Seeks…who…? Isaac had had all he ever wanted and needed in his man, and now…. Now…what?

No, he could never place an ad, and yet his loneliness had driven him to look at them, not only dating sites, but other places where perhaps the connections would be less tangled, would be remunerative based. Like a business handshake, an exchange of feedback and then a parting with smiles on all sides. At least it's how he imagined and hoped such 'transactions' were conducted, but he had no experience per se.

He shudders to think what his own ad would look like, but he knows it would never be posted on Manscort.com. However, there's where he saw the ad which had set him on the course to this Starbucks on Valentine's Day.

'A coffee date with a hustler…? What has my life become?' As soon as he thinks it, Isaac realizes the young man is probably not a 'hustler' at all – as far as he knows, at least – but a kid with some form of ambition.

Thinking about the boy's ad raises a desire to see. He fishes the phone from his front jacket pocket and pulls it up.

 

Struggling Young Musician – Beautiful Inside and Out – 20

Male Escort's Phone:

317-555-9978

Male Escort's Location: Kokomo, Indiana
Male Escort's Age: 20

Male Escort's Statistics: Height: 5'-10½". Weight: 155lbs.
Date of Male Escort's Post: 9 February 15:54:00

Male Escort's Message:

I am a guitarist committed to playing and loving music for the rest of my life. The model I have fallen in love with costs $1,200.00.

I currently have a low-paying job, and am willing to do anything to get it. I am truly charismatic, a lot of fun, and very popular amongst my friends. Any assistance with helping me achieve my goals would be highly appreciated and highly rewarded.

I can assist you with any odd jobs around the house, or run those pesky errands you don't have time to do during the day. Or, I may just show you the friendship and affection lacking from your life.

Message me at 3175559978.

 

He scrolls down to the first of the three pictures the young man has posted. Someone low to the floor has snapped a dramatic shot of the boy. His upper body is angled, so his head appears in the left-hand corner, while his fingers are in playing arrangement on the fret board of an electric guitar. Based on his position in the frame, and how his hair is swaying to the left, it appears he just struck a powerful chord.

He wears a v-neck tee-shirt with a horizontal black-on-black set of stripes, and it, along with the young man's dark hair, stunningly complements the alabaster skin of his face, neck and arms – all of which are the same color, and all of which are flawless and blemish-free. The leather cord of a pendant hidden against the skin of his chest peeks through the v of his collar.

His face is somewhat obscured by wispy bangs, some of which reach halfway down the bridge of his straight-arrow nose. However, his eyes are partially visible, and play a soulful havoc with the viewer through the swoop of his collar-length cut. The hair itself is smooth, dark-brown – nearly black – and styled in goth-kid taste.

What can be seen of the non-smiling face below the level of this fringe appears to prove the kid's no liar; he is beautiful, with honest features, high cheekbones, and delicately rosy lips.

Isaac sweeps his finger and regards the second picture. Here the boy is brighter and viewed from an eye-level position. His torso is again in the left-hand side of the frame so his hands on a fret board can be in the shot too. Perhaps he seems more luminous because he wears a pale-blue tank top, but also because his eyes are fully uncovered now, and his head is kicked back slightly to show an open and nearly vulnerable expression of trust. Perhaps it, the expression on his face, is purely for the person who snapped the pic, but it is captured beautifully.

Without the hair obscuring them, the unique color of his sad eyes is revealed to be a very light brown, veering to subtle shades of emerald and indigo. Hurt is in them too; hurt Isaac cannot deny looks familiar to any LGBT person. Also visible are naturally full eyebrows the exact same color as the hair on his head.

One feature not noticeable in the first picture is a lower lip ring about midway on the right side of his mouth. It’s a thin band of gold, and although not Isaac's kind of thing, he has to admit it lends a certain 'beauty-mark' sensuality to those lips. By drawing attention to them, they become the second center of his face, and compete effortlessly with his eyes for dominance. Another piece of jewelry can now be seen too. The pendant on the leather cord is a round object riding high on his chest; it looks rather like a pewter coin.

More details not seen in the earlier shot reveal themselves. This young man's hands are certainly masculine, with strong fingers, free of swollen knuckles, and midway between gracile and pugilistic. The nails are trimmed short and wear black polish. Altogether they resemble the hands of a skillful piano player more than anything else.

Scrolling down takes Isaac to the most arresting image of all. Snapped in a wall of mirrors, the boy with the dark hair and intriguing sorrow in his eyes, stands shirtless in the middle of a garage space with a slight scowl. To his right is another shirtless youth, and both pose with 'Rock-n-Rock' attitude. Their knees slightly bent and torso held at a rakish angle towards one another, the new boy flips the bird, and the dark-haired boy makes devil horns. His other hand is gracefully holding the black camera phone taking the picture.

The boy who posted the ad stands in full head-to-toe splendor in the center of the pic. Again, his head is kicked back slightly and the near-black hair is out of his face. His naked arms, chest, abdomen and belly are like living stone; the fleshly marble Michelangelo only wished he could have quarried. Once more, every spot of exposed skin glows flawlessly pure and free of any blemish. The only 'exception' is a handsome tattoo of black ink running along most of the underside of his left arm and resembling a spear with streamers encircling it. The young man's build is naturally fit and strong, with his tummy even sporting the soft definition of a six-pack.

Far below his belly button rides the gray waistband of his boxer briefs hugging the skin of his hips. A few inches under this, a black leather belt grips his dark blue-gray low-rider jeans in place. Boot-cut pant cuffs tuck themselves into low-height black lace-up boots. At his feet behind him is a puddle of black fabric. Once again, Isaac thinks that must be the boy's shirt; one he ripped off for this impromptu photo shoot with his friend.

His buddy in the picture looks remarkably unlike the poster of the ad. Although the same age, height and build, his hair color is reddish-blond, bang-free, and shorter than his companion's. On his forehead, he wears a light-colored bandana folded to be a band in front, but one which trails down to a point behind the boy's left ear. The same colored hair appears lower as well in the form of a mustache-free beard. Uniquely, it is mostly trimmed off of his face, but runs like a chinstrap to connect his youthful sideburns along his cheeks, jaw lines and under-chin section

His chest features a pectoral tattoo of blue, red and green, and its appearance makes the tasteful black tattoo the ad poster has seem very discreet. This second boy has the same kind of jeans and belt, only in addition, he has light-gray basketball shorts which show between the top of his jeans and the black waistband of his drawers.

Their environment is also interesting.

It's a basement or garage space, containing a concrete floor covered in a series of Persian rugs, an open staircase going up in the back right corner, and a steel column painted black. Band equipment and backpacks sit on the floor in the room behind the boys. The walls are white, and the large mirror in which the picture is taken is attached to the wall with giant plastic flowers resembling stained glass – two hibiscus and one sunflower are in the shot.

No picture ever said 'I still live at home' like this one.

Altogether, he is a remarkably beautiful young man; the kind generations of poets have fallen for. With that being said, Isaac has to admit he's most intrigued by the boy's boldness, for attractiveness is almost a base requirement for this type of listing, but to say 'beautiful inside and out' is a testament to substance, and such statements are not required either by the viewer or the guy making the listing.

He also has to admit it's ballsy to post an ad promising nothing more than housework and friendship. Could that explain why Isaac has brought the cash with him…? He doesn't know.

Inexplicably, he begins thinking about Kaplan. On the one hand, perhaps it's natural, especially on this day of all days. Isaac remembers twelve years ago how they met under strained and difficult circumstances for the accountant in the baggy suits. He recalls sitting in a greasy fast-food restaurant with the stranger and listening to him single out Isaac's 'self-pity bullshit.' Needless to say, the impression was a strong one, and who was to know as Kaplan sat across the booth from him on that Valentine's Day, a spark had been set to smolder into an ember, and it was one that would in a matter of months lead to them being good friends, then good lovers, and finally, devoted spouses.

Not romantic to be sure, but ultimately, it turned out to be the most romantic day of Isaac's life.

The lyrics reappeared at the surface of his mind.

 

"He's saying I better sign up,
But I can't take what game he's playing
Cuz I'm gonna make him mine when I grow up,
And collect these rewards I've been saving."

 

Isaac's phone vibrates in his hand.

He looks down. There is a new one-word text.

"Here," it says.

He glances up, and the boy of the ad is standing in front of the table. First impressions come: stunning, but no smile; he looks just like his ad, right down to the black nail polish. His upper body is clad in a tastefully detailed leather jacket with zippers and snaps, and a grommeted half-belt along the bottom front; the strap of a worn-in newsboy bag crosses his chest. The 'coin' pendant turns out to be a cast yin-yang roundel.

Before Isaac can think another thought, the young man deftly comes to stand by Isaac's stool, and a moment later, he feels the boy's hand on his shoulder, and the kid's lips on his cheek as he kisses him. The cold of outside lingers like laundry detergent on the kid's coat. Underneath is a clean smell, not one of soap, but the boy's naturally fresh smell. It reminds Isaac of sunshine on bed sheets left outside to dry.

Then in a series of graceful and masculine movements, the young man is back on the opposite side of the table, shrugging his bag unconcernedly to the floor by the wall, and plopping himself on the stool. His actions are confident in the way grown men convey assurance without trying to impress.

"It's nice to meet you."

Not quite knowing what's just happened, Isaac murmurs: "Likewise." He snaps to, pulling himself out of the boy's hazel-green depths. This slight emotional distance allows him to see something clearly: this guy is the serious type. No smile of any kind accompanied his greeting; the ring rides gracefully on the boy's lower lip as he speaks. The young man strikes Isaac as more poised than nervous, and the older man wonders which aspect he is showing to the Manscort.com ad poster right that moment.

The accountant suddenly remembers his manners. He shoves his phone away and half rises. "Can I get you a cup of coffee…? Something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm good. And I don’t want coffee." The young man laces black-polished fingers together on the tabletop, and leans on it while lowering his voice. "Already jittery enough, if we're gonna do this."

There's something in the kid's unflinching eyes, and the moist sheen he casually added to his lips before speaking, which has Isaac's pants tightening. Maybe he's misread the 'money for nothing' aspect of the ad.

The accountant chuckles. "Well, I suppose the best way to avoid a caffeine addiction is not to let it start."

The boy responds with polite laughter and straightens up on his stool.

Maybe he should not have mentioned 'addiction,' Isaac wonders. "No soft drinks; water?"

"You're sweet to ask, but, really – I'm good at this point."

There, perhaps just then, Isaac could see a flash of nervousness. "Suit yourself."

Waterman thinks he better change the topic. First noticing a feature not reveled in the photographs, Isaac sees a chunky silver band on the kid's left ring finger. It resembles a series of wings overlaying one another, with plenty of oxide filling the lower areas for contrast.

"Have you had many replies to your ad?" Only after he's said it does it seem like Isaac's lobbed a grenade into the conversation.

The young man succeeds at playing it cool; his answer only comes across as evasive. "Some."

Isaac goads himself on in a fit of ill temper. "Met with any of them? If you don’t mind me asking." The man knows darn well it's none of his business, and yet he feels 'entitled' to find out.

"Nope. And, you're the first one."

"First one you've met?"

"First one to contact me, actually."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks for letting me know." Isaac regrets his earlier petulance. This kid seems all right after all. He's honest, at least. Suddenly, Isaac's heart lurches. Sitting before him like this, the young man has become a real flesh and blood person, and Isaac dreads how the boy could be only a predator's message of 'Meet me at the Starlight Motel' away from tragedy.

"Kool," Isaac adds, hoping he sounds like the kids these days. "There aren’t many listings for Kokomo, but that's not why I – " He stops before admitting he's looked but never responded to escort ads before; he omits saying the boy's posting is unlike any of the rest.

The young man's whole demeanor suddenly takes on a sparkle. An "OH!" escapes his lips as an excited gasp. He leans half of his body – sending a black denim-clad leg kicking into the aisle for balance – as he reaches down to his bag. The flap gets flipped back, and the kid retrieves something. Righting himself again, the young man places a school-sized box of chocolate before Isaac on the table. "I almost forgot. I brought those for you." His fingers slide the box squarely in front of the accountant in slow motion, his eyes never leaving Isaac's.

It's a pre-packaged heart with some cartoon character on it, a goth girl with straight black hair and humongous eyes staring out from an oversized anime head. "Be Mine" is written in dark letters with spiky curls in the background. Glancing at it, picking it up, Isaac finds himself suspecting the four bonbons contained within are a drugstore gift bought and intended for the boy's sweetheart. It's exactly the sort of Valentine's 'Be Mine' a teenage guy would give his longsuffering girlfriend to make up for 364 otherwise romantically inattentive days of the year.

"I'm sorry, I didn't bring anything for you."

"Nothing…?" The boy wants to make sure.

"Well…." A smile creeps across the accountant's face. "No chocolate or flowers, but maybe something else you want." Isaac shifts on purpose and makes the envelope pinch him from the inside of his suit coat.

Instead of smiling, or blushing, or bobbing his Adam's apple, the young man says "Kool," and extends his right hand. "Matthew Tarlach, but you can call me Matt. Everybody does."

"Isaac Waterman." They shake, and the warm feel of Matt's touch confirms Isaac's suspicions. 'Definitely not a professional,' he thinks. For not only did the kid give a full name, but Isaac suspects it's the boy's real name as well.

"So, what do you think?" Matt asks.

"Think about what?"

"Do I look like my pix; are you disappointed?"

"You look exactly like your ad, well, I mean – better."

"Okay. That's good."

Isaac's surprised. Obviously the young man's a confident soul, so his question is not related to feeling less than the 'beautiful' promised. There must be more to it than that, but what it could be….

"And me? You did not ask for a pic, so do I look okay. You know, acceptable at least?"

"Umm, you look fine, man. I mean – you know what I mean."

"Yeah, it's all right. We're cool."

"You look a lot better than I was expecting, to be honest." The kid unconsciously jerks his head to the right and sends dark bangs out of his line of sight, the motion seemingly introducing a new seriousness to Matt's voice. "Why don’t we get the rest out of the way too?"

"What do you mean?" Isaac asks with an awkward grin.

"I mean, the nosy intros. I know your name now; how about your age, profession, interests? And I'll tell you mine."

The older man chuckles. "You're twenty, love rock-n-roll, and have a 'low-paying' job."

"I'm a waiter actually, downtown, at one the sidewalk cafés. It's all right; sometimes I meet interesting people, people who like music, like me."

"Oh. Well, I'm forty-two, and work as an accountant for a manufacturing company just outside of town."

"Oh, that's interesting."

And there it was, perhaps the first 'lie' the boy has offered Isaac.

Matt continues, "Yeah, I'm a pretty ordinary guy for my age. Love video games – I don’t suppose you are interested in – "

"No," Isaac interrupted him. "I'm not a gamer."

"What about music?"

"Old fuddy-duddy there too. I like James Taylor, John Mellencamp, any singer really who plays and write their own music."

The older man witnesses Matt perk up. Isaac actually sees him swallow a quick lump in his throat.

"That's me and Preston too! We write all the stuff we perform, and you're right, manufactured 'pop' – stuff written and selected by guys in suits…no offense…for singers to record – that's all shit."

"Tell me how you really feel, Matt."

The dryness of Isaac's smart-ass comment seems to have bypassed Matt in his zone of youthful sincerity, but then the young man sits back and lets out a hearty laugh.

In Isaac's eyes, it only enhances Matt's beauty to see him let lose. "Who's Preston?"

"My…best friend, my band mate, my music partner and buddy."

"That's cool."

"Yeah…." A faint smile plays in the corner of the young man's mouth, animating his rip ring beautifully. "He is a cool guy. He's the one in the pic, if you noticed."

"Oh, the tattoo guy with the Amish face hair?"

Matt blinks.

For a moment, Isaac thinks he's insulted the boy by his comment. Instead, Matt kicks back his head and laughs delightedly.

"Oh man, you are funny. Wait until I tell Adam that tonight. He'll fricken lose his mind and love it. He'll probably start telling people he's ex-Amish or some such shit. That'll be funny."

"Adam…?"

"Oh, sorry. Adam Preston. He prefers to go by his last name."

The innocent comment gets Isaac lost in his head for a moment. It's eerily similar to…he has to tell the boy. "My husband's the same way; imagine the coincidence. His name's Michael 'Mac' Kaplan, but he prefers everybody, including me, call him Kaplan."

"Oh. Kool."

Matt's comment is clear as a bell. News of a husband is fresh information, and he has to process it. He apparently changes the subject. "Me and Preston are the lead guys of our band, and we're gonna make it big one day. You won't forget that once you met 'Matthew Tarlach.'"

In his head, Isaac has not doubt of it; none whatsoever.

Matt continues gingerly. "So…Kaplan, is it…he's at home now?"

A wave of anger washes over Isaac Waterman. He feels his mouth tighten, and the pulse accelerate against the tight collar of his shirt. "I don’t think you should be asking about such personal matters."

"I'm sorry.…"

The sheer worried beauty and concern that he's messed up on Matt's face snaps Isaac out of it.

"Hey, sorry. You didn't mean anything. See, truth is, he's gone."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry. I only meant to find out if you have your own place."

"Yeah, I live alone now in a little house."

"That's awesome."

A bit confused, Isaac asks, "Why? Where do you live?"

"Still at home, with the rents." It looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't.

"Oh," Isaac chuckles in recognition. "Those pictures are from your parents' basement?"

"Attached garage, actually."

"Yeah. It's pretty clear it's not your own place."

"How?"

"That one where you're shirtless with your buddy, the mirror on the wall is hardly 'Rock-n-Roll,' what with the giant flower sticker or magnets, or whatever they are." Isaac laughs.

Matt blinks, a little wash of hurt paints itself over his sadly beautiful features. "Oh. I guess I shouldn't have posted it – "

"That's not what I mean. I mean, it's just not a match for the devil horns and 'fuck you' finger you guys are throwing down in the pic, that's all."

"I never really noticed. It's just something that's always been there…." Matt's train of thought is interrupted, as if he had no right to feel Isaac had invaded his privacy. He quickly adds, "But now that you mention it, I can totally see it!"

Isaac senses no sarcasm coming from the boy, and it humbles him.

Matt's hand slides across the table into Isaac's, and he shakes his bangs out of his view. "So you have a house, where we can go, and get comfortable?"

Without wanting to, even the oblique reference to Kaplan and his absence flushes Isaac with emotion.

He extracts his hand from the young man's warm grasp, roughly grabs the box of chocolate, and rises to his feet.

He looks the boy straight in the eyes, and says, "Let's do this."

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

They walk the mall side by side. Isaac watches Matt's eyes get large as they turn the corner and make a beeline for the music store. The boy's box of chocolate rides inside his jacket pocket, and bumps against his phone occasionally to remind him it's there.

"Can I tell you something funny?"

"What's that, Isaac?"

"In your ad, I sort of doubted your age."

"Huh?"

"It's worded so well, and now I know you are a bright guy, so I can see it, but encountering the word 'charismatic' on Manscort.com threw me for a loop."

Matt says nothing for a while, but a little stiffing of his spine as they continue on tells Isaac the boy likes his intelligence complimented.

Inside the Music Barn, walking around and glancing at the instruments for sale, Isaac considers how he had 'tricked' the young man when leaving Starbucks. Instead of leading him to his car, he turned to the right and headed for the mall entrance; his intentions were to bring the young guy here and find the guitar mentioned in Matt's ad. The one that the boy has 'fallen in love with.'

"So, show me this instrument you want to buy," Isaac tells Matt.

The young man makes a confirming motion with his mouth and leads the way. The electric guitars are displayed high, and rest in carpeted compartments on the back wall.

As they make their way to them, Isaac's bean-counter brain considers his true motivations for being here. He wants to know what his money will potentially go for, and he wants to see what love looks like coming from this kid.

When they get to the section, Matt pauses for a slight second. He glances up and down the display.

"Something wrong?" the older man inquires.

"Nope. I guess they moved it."

Matt gestures and leads the way to a snazzy model in black. Shrugging his newsboy bag to the floor, he hurriedly plucks the guitar from its cradle and tosses the strap around his neck.

While he watches, the boy scowls, rocks his head and bangs dramatically to the left, and does an air wang-chung for Isaac's inspection. His Taoist pendant rocks on his chest too.

The pose – so much like the one from the first picture – makes the older man grin, but there is something missing from this tableau. Namely, it's connection. The boy and guitar have no emotional 'history' whatsoever, and it shows on the boy's apathetic face.

The man glances at the postcard-sized price tag attached to the chosen instrument's cubbyhole. Under plastic lamination, it reads "SALE - $1,199."

"Do you play an instrument, Isaac?" Matt shrugs the strap and lifts the guitar off of his chest. It goes back to its place with hardly a look-back.

Isaac refocuses on the boy, not really buying the 'let's change the topic' vibe. "In high school band, I did."

"Oh yeah, which one?" Matt comes to stand right before the accountant.

"You're gonna laugh at me," Isaac chuckles.

"No, I won't. Try me?"

"Flute." The older man's grin fades as he watches Matt's reaction.

The young man steps close, and lowers his tone while saying, "Kool. I bet you're talented at 'playing the flute.'"

The come-on was obvious, but Isaac can't believe the kid isn't about to crack a smile after delivering such a corny line. Isaac bumps his shoulder into Matt's chest good-naturedly and laughs in warmth. "You – see, I knew you'd make fun of me."

"Well," Matt plays along, admitting, "flute players are usually the most popular members of the band."

"We sure are," chuckles Isaac. "And for good reason too."

"Come on." Matt swoops down and snatches his bag. In another half-moment, it gets slung across his chest, and he tugs on Isaac's coat lapel. "Let's look around some more."

They stay silent for a few minutes, wandering down the line of display cases. An occasional glance catches Matt peering at Isaac in the reflection of the glass. Longing seems to be in the look, but Isaac doesn't think it's for him with his baggy clothes.

"How long were you with your husband?"

Matt's question makes Isaac feel off kilter again. "Matt, please – "

"Why did you answer my ad?" Again, it seems he's changing the subject.

"What?"

"There must have been some reason. Why me, I guess I'm asking."

"Truth is, I'm not a hundred percent sure myself. If you want to know whether I find you attractive, the answer is not only 'yes,' but 'hell yes!' You are intriguing, intelligent and kind, and handsome as sin."

"Handsome as sin – I like that," Matt chuckled. "Preston will like that one too. I can see him using it to introduce me to new people. 'This is Matt. Careful, he's handsome as fucking sin.'"

And there again, a nascent smile forms, commingling with the thought of Adam. Seeing it makes Isaac want more. He wants to connect with this kid, and as for the 'why,' maybe it would sort itself out later.

By way of amends, he decides to answer the boy's original question.

"We were together twelve years, Matt."

After a few paces in silence, the young man shoves hands into his jeans' pockets, and softly asks, "Where did you guys meet? I love a good love story."

Isaac inhales and steels himself to tell his tale as plainly as possible. "I was a fuck-up, Matt. Twelve years ago, I hit rock bottom. You see, in college, I was a part time bartender, only the major problems were I didn't drink, and I was a morning person. So, do you know what an uptight economics major does in that situation?"

Matt shakes his head. He pauses and leans a forearm on a glass counter to watch Isaac relay his story, his ring with the feather detailing showing prominently.

"Well, if he has a bit of resources, he turns to coke to keep him perking along all through the night. It was easy enough to get in the club. And, that worked – sorta – for a while, but my grades began to go down, and most of my salary went up my nose. I eked through school, but just barely. Afterwards, to me a job was a job. The spark was gone, and I didn't really care."

"That's too bad man. I hope…."

"You hope what?"

"I hope I never lose my 'spark' for music. I don't know what I'd do." His tone brightens as he encourages Isaac to continue. "Sorry to interrupt. Please go on."

"Yeah, you were asking how I met Kaplan. So picture this – my first Narcotics Anonymous meeting, on Valentine's Day, twelve years ago – a stuck up little shit who thinks he knows it all says 'Hi, I'm Isaac Waterman, and I'm addicted to cocaine.' Everyone in the room seemed to buy my act and offer me pity, kind words, and that kind of crap. But the guy I get randomly assigned to as my sponsor takes me to White Castle and lays it on the line.

"He tells me he's a freelance truck driver, and spends some weekends training for the National Guard, but mostly he struck me as full of energy, opinions and 'free advice.' Turns out he's also a card with a booming laugh, has a streak of cad running through him and likes talking about this or that hot guy. He can be crude too, but he's never intentionally mean, at least not that I ever saw."

"So, what happened that first night?"

"In the White Castle?"

"Yeah."

An ironic snort escapes Isaac's mouth. "I sat there, resenting being told the truth. He says, 'Isaac Waterman, drug addict, death is on the path of your current bullshit. Wake up and realize this process is hard. Take it seriously, cut out the self-pity crap, and you may do all right. Even if you don't, I'll be here to help you pick up the pieces. Got it?' I had to tell him 'Yeah,' even though I didn't know at the moment what he meant. I came to understand it though, and I came to appreciate his honesty with me. It was not a very romantic Valentine's Day by any stretch of the imagination, but a spark was lit."

Isaac reaches out and tugs on Matt's bag strap. "Come on. This spot's getting old."

They walk side by side to a wall of brass instruments. In front of an arrangement of artistically polished French horns, Isaac stops. He asks the beautiful young man next to him a question, and hopes he won't sound too much like an adult. "You aren’t into that stuff, are you, Matt?"

The young man blinks, but only once, sending his dark hair out of his eyes. He's truthful. "We do a little 420 now and then, but only after we're done playing. Preston and me, we'd never do smack or shit like that."

"Never's a long time. Why do you think you'll never do it?"

"Easy. It'll get in the way of our playing, and me and Adam don’t want anything interfering with that. It's our music, man. It means the most to us."

Isaac begins dividing his attention between the display and the young man. "That's good, Matt. Keep your passion close to you, and keep it safe."

"Isaac, I'm really sorry about Kaplan. He sounds very nice, and like a great man and partner and husband. I'm just, sorry, okay?"

Each horn on the wall is a highly buffed masterpiece, but the concerned gleam coming from Matt's eyes puts each and every one of them to shame.

The boy repeats: "I'm sorry, man."

It becomes too much. Isaac lets go. "Matt…." A pleading tone creeps into his voice; for some unknown reason, he desperately needs this beautiful stranger to understand him. "I'm angry. So fucking angry, Matt. If it came out right now, it'd be enough to incinerate this whole goddamn mall. I have so much of it, Matt; I don’t think you can even imagine."

Matt says, "I don’t know what it's like, but – "

"I'm supposed to be fucking sad, Matt. All my friends and relations pity the shit out of me and only make me feel more and more cheated. I'm angry at Kaplan, but I'm pissed at Fate too; she's a cruel thing, and why the fuck can't I be angry at her?! I'm looked on as sad and pathetic, but all I am inside is mad."

The young man places his hand on Isaac's forearm. In another moment, the boy is dragging the accountant into a hug.

"He didn’t have to do it, Matt. That's what eats me up. He didn't have to…"

Matt locks his arms around Isaac's waist, and even though Isaac starts out feeling awkward, soon he embraces the boy too. Into the side of the young man's neck, he says, "It was one year ago today. Fucking Valentine's Day – of all days!"

Matt draws his head back to hold Isaac's gaze, but he maintains his reassuring grip on the man. "It's okay, Isaac. I'm here." Then a softly-placed hesitancy lingers on full, rosy lips. The young man unconsciously adds a delicate sheen to them as he adds, "I'm here for you, man."

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Highland Park is a treasure in the middle of town, and if a tourist cannot find it easily on a map, perhaps it's due to some Hoosier ingenuity, for as they say, the best spots are local ones. Meaning, they are unspoiled by outsiders.

They had parked Isaac's car in the broad bend of the recreation area's cul-de-sac. Theirs was the only vehicle to be seen on this late afternoon of a workweek holiday.

Now, as they trudge along the footpath, compacted snow glistens underfoot. Isaac looks around, and everywhere is beauty, for last night's snowfall clings to the bare tree branches with frosty tenacity. A smooth layer of whiteness resembles cotton batting as it blankets down the sleeping grass all the way to the indigo-blue margin of water. Kokomo Creek never looked so beautiful to the accountant, for under the thin layer of blue surface ice, a strong current moves unseen and still supports life just out of view.

Matt and Isaac walk side by side in silence, except for the crunch, crunch, crunch the men make as they move. Matt thrusts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, but his eyes stay on Isaac.

The older man tells him, "Most people don't like winter, but I love it in a way."

"For days like this, yes, I love it too," the boy confirms.

"It's good to get outside for a bit. Prevents cabin fever. I'm glad you suggested this, Matt."

"Me too. I like it here, and come here to think sometimes."

Up ahead is their sightseeing destination. Barn-red glimpses of it can be seen between tree trunks along the winding path. A great wall of vertical boards crosses above the creek in a straight line, while a shingled roof dangles a vertical xylophone of icicles towards the water.

"When's the first time you saw the Vermont Covered Bridge?"

Matt inhales in concentration. "Ummm, I suppose in 1^st grade. I think we had a spring picnic and afternoon outing here. I loved it; I love the whole park."

"I probably first saw it on a similar day, although I can't say I remember the details."

A vista point opens up through the frozen foliage.

They sidle up to the handrail, and the young man idly brushes snow off the top of the information placard. He reads it for Isaac: "Built in 1875, and relocated from the town of Vermont, Indiana, 5 miles east of Kokomo."

The young man glances up.

To Isaac's eyes, he seems happy and in his element.

"Do you hear that?" Matt asks slowly, rakishly cocking both head and a single eyebrow towards his companion.

Isaac doesn't hear a thing. He shakes his head.

"It's silent here. No traffic, nobody walking around while yelling into a cell phone. It's perfect."

Suddenly the falling temperatures of a winter's day creeping towards twilight do not matter to Isaac. "I like it here too," he murmurs as if not to disturb the process by which the season and snow can muffle all doubt and pain. She seems to gather them to herself, and let Isaac's mind free. To his surprise, that song is there too, like it too has a tenacious reason to stick around.

 

"…Don't feel much like crying,
Some man's gone and thrown his life away,
And he don't know how I'm dying…"

 

"I like your eyes."

Isaac blinks. "What did you say…?"

Matt comes to stand before Isaac. A slight head tilt and curl of his upper lip say he refuses to be embarrassed. "I said, you have beautiful eyes, Isaac." A finger comes out to rest under the accountant's lapel. "They are…what's the word…soulful."

Isaac cannot hide his surprise. "Of all the things to say. You know, it's what Kaplan used to tell me too, 'soulful eyes.' That, and I was fairly hot, for a pencil-pushing geek."

The older man tries a chuckle, but it falls flat as Matt's finger turns into an entire open palm on his chest.

"Well, he was right about the eyes, and the hot part too."

Isaac's hand comes up to cover the top of Matt's. He again attempts to be conversational. "Hey, aren’t you worried your friends will see you like this, with a stranger and all?"

"Fuck my friends. And no, I don’t care if I'm seen with you. Why would I? You're a great guy."

Like the sap frozen in the heart of the trees around them simply waiting for a warm day to release it, Isaac wonders if the kid is teasing him or not. A quick glance in the young man's light brown and indigo clarity buries all doubt. 'Handsome as sin,' runs through his mind, and puts him in contact with a segment of their earlier conversation.

He grasps the boy's hand gently, and holds it while they start walking back along the footpath.

"Let's see the other bridge as well," Isaac says, trying to gather his thoughts and emotions.

"Kool. I love the falls."

And so they make their way to the other feature of Highland Park, a footbridge over the creek. The overpass' slight bow upwards appears held in place by a series of X braces forming the handrails.

As they near it, the sound of moving water greets their ears, for here the friction of a four-foot high spillway, built about two hundred years ago for a now-vanished flourmill, gurgles away at keeping the ice at bay below it.

They cross to the center of the bridge and lean elbows on the apex of the guardrails to look out over the falls. They also listen in silence for a moment.

When Isaac glances in his direction, he again finds the boy's beautiful eyes are trained on him. The thought of what he wanted to say earlier comes to the fore. "Matt, one of the things that drew me to your ad was the way you worded it. You are bright, and amazing."

As he suspected, this may be Matt's 'weak spot,' for a new sorrow grips the young man's expression.

"Do you really think I'm intelligent? My grades in school aren’t that great."

Isaac tells him bluntly, "Kid, I knew you were smart long before I met you. Do you think even one out of a hundred ads on Manscort.com are worded half as eloquently as yours? No, and again I say, 'hell no!' You are smart as a whip, and better than having brains is having a heart to use them compassionately, and you do. There, does that take care of your concern?"

Matt shyly nods, and moves some stray hair out of his face with his hand. His confidence appears shaken, but only momentarily, and only for a slight bit of maintenance so it can come back more shiny and beautiful than ever. "Thank you, Isaac. Yes, it answers my question." And there. A smile lifting the beauty-spot perfection of his lip ring appears. But, it's not one for Adam or his recollection, but for Isaac. A smile because of Isaac.

"Does my opinion really matter that much to you?"

Matt's eyes twinkle. "Yes, Isaac. I know we haven't known each other for long, but it seems we have. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, Matt, I do. I feel it too."

"Look, man…." There is new urgency in Matt's voice. "I think what Kaplan did was – "

"Matt, please." Isaac's heart instantly jumps. Fight or flight mode kicks in, and the winter around them seems to lend all her stored grudges for him to tap into.

"No, Isaac – I'm gonna say this: Kaplan sounds great and all, but he was a fucking fool to leave you. I'm sorry, but I'm entitled to my opinion. And now you know how I feel; he was an idiot, and I hate him for hurting you."

Through his boundless rage, a ray of sunshine breaks; the kid's earlier smile for him seems to generate it. It's time to face the root of Isaac's anger and deal with it. No amount of planning for it to be over, or therapy sessions to provide emotional tools to cope with it, can appoint the time and date for a breakthrough. But now, here with Matt, it all trickles down as a single tear of letting go.

"Matt, you don’t understand – there's no way you could, because I didn't tell you. He didn't leave me. He was killed in Afghanistan. One year ago, today – February 14^th – Valentine's Day."

"I – "

"No, Matt. Don't say you're sorry. It's me who's been sorry for too long. He did not leave me, but he's gone all the same. I've never said that to anyone, I've never been able to accept it, but – here we are, and it's out now."

"Oh my God, Isaac. I'm so – " He halts himself before he utters the prohibited 'sorry.' "I'm so glad you told me. So glad you can let it out."

"Yes, Matt, that's it. I'm ready to let it go. One year is rough, two years, and I don't think I'd make it."

Matt places an arm around Isaac's waist. He hugs and rock with him for a moment.

"Saying it is a big deal to me, Matt. I've avoided telling any new people I meet simply because I can't deal with all the rage it brings up."

"It's okay, Isaac."

"It's not okay, Matt, but it is time to face it, and accept it. I told you earlier how Kaplan chose his fate, and what I mean is, he sacrificed himself to save others. I've been so angry knowing he didn't save himself for me."

The expression on the young man's face goes blank; it's clear he wants to say something but needs permission.

"It's all right, Matt. Say what you wanna say."

"Isaac, the truth is – and I'm sure you know this deep down already – Kaplan already saved you."

"What…?" Shock vibrates through the older man's throat.

"He saved you from yourself; that's what you said. He told you to stop the self-pitying bullshit. He was there for you when you were in danger of dying. So in my opinion, you can't blame him for helping others; you must love him for it."

No words come to Isaac; none are necessary. He knows the beautiful boy before him is right, and knows Isaac is ready to accept Kaplan's love again. Instead, in the gratitude he feels for the young man, he focuses on his companion's wellbeing.

"Matt, aren’t you getting cold?"

"Freezing my ass off, Isaac."

He pushes back on the boy to hold his eyes. "Then let's go sit in the car and warm up."

"Yeah, I'm down for it."

As they begin to walk along the sloping arc of the bridge, Matthew Tarlach again slips his hand into Isaac's and smiles at him.

It's as if rays of spring warmth are hitting Isaac's heart.

In the car, the engine running, and the heater blasting out a quiet stream, they sit and stare out into the woods in front of them.

The evening is coming on quick, and Isaac feels torn as he notices the place on the dash where he's put Matt's box of chocolate. The goth girl's anime eyes stare at him in reflection through the windshield.

He glances over, and the boy in the passenger seat looks sadly in his direction. "What is it, Matt?"

The boy slowly, painfully admits, "I can't stop thinking about Kaplan. I mean, I just can't imagine losing Preston like that…."

"So, you and him are boyfriends?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. That's great, Matt."

A new sparkle of brightness illuminates Matt's whole visage; a smile for Adam builds. "We've been together since 8^th grade, and we don’t plan on changing anything. You can relate, I'm sure."

Isaac slowly nods.

"Remember you mentioned about me saying I have charisma in the ad?"

Isaac nods again.

"Well, it's his fault. Preston must have latched onto it when it was used on some TV show or movie, because he started going around saying 'Matt, you’re full of cris-ma.'" The young man chuckles, a radiant grin of contentment shines forth. "Although now and then when he says it, it sounds like he's really telling me: "Matt, you're full of your own bullshit."

"That's funny," Isaac confirms. "You guys sound great together."

Matt nods and goes on in a slightly depressed-sounding tone. "Yeah, but sometimes I get bummed about the partial 'secrecy' thing, but all our friends know about me and Adam anyway."

Isaac smiles in admiration. "You guys have your whole life ahead of you."

A new concern creeps into Matt's tone as he asks, "You're not upset, are you? About me and Preston; about me lying – I mean – not telling you right away that I have a boyfriend?"

"Upset? No, I'm happy for you. Really, I am, but I think we should – "

Matt sets his open palm high on the top of Isaac's upper thigh. He massages it gently. "I can't imagine how hard it's been over the last year, but, I'm here. And maybe I can help take your mind off of it for awhile."

"Adam doesn't know you placed the ad, does he?"

The question stuns Matt. He blinks and his hand partially lifts from Isaac's leg. "I – "

"I know he doesn't. I don’t think he'd approve, would he?"

Matt swallows and slowly shakes his head. He fully withdraws his hand and slumps back looking defeated in his seat.

"Remember earlier, you asked me about the 'why' of answering your ad."

Matt nods.

"I think I've pieced the answer together. The 'why' goes back to my days as a bartender. In that job, you have to be a therapist, a doctor, a cop on occasion, and pusher of alcohol all the time. But the good thing about doing it day in and day out is seeing how similar people really are. A lot of folks would look at us – at the details of us, like age, life experience, the fact you're an artist and I'm a numbers man – and think we're worlds apart. But the truth is, bartenders know. Men like me, and guys like you, we are both driven by a secret desire to be free, only with my type it builds up as a shell, which can be broken easily, and with your type, it usually comes out as overly loud bravado, which can be penetrated easily too.

"So, you see? 'Why' I felt attracted to your ad, and to you, is because we're probably pretty much alike on the inside. Get it…?"

Matt nods, still looking dejected. He turns his head to Isaac and mutters with earth shattering plainness: "I need the money, man."

 

"All's fair in love and war,
He's got plans he ain't saying,
But anyway, I know the score,
And love's the vibe he's been laying."

 

"It ain't for a guitar. That much I know, because if it was, then you would have pressured me to buy it for you in the store today. But you didn’t do that, did you? So, what's the money really for, Matt?"

"Preston's found a place for us. An apartment close to where we work, and easy to get to my folks' home so we can practice. See, our jobs earn us enough money to pay for rent and living costs, but it's not enough to save up for a deposit. We've got until the weekend to come up with it, or we lose the place."

"How come?"

"His cousin's in good with the landlord, but they can't hold the apartment for long."

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah, I've always had this vision that once we're out on our own, we won't give a fuck who knows we're together. We'll just be a couple, and everyone, including our parents, will know it. And since we've been together so long already, everybody will just be happy for us."

"Oh, Matt. That's beautiful, and they will. The people in your life who matter will just want to see you happy, and the fact of you and Preston being committed to one another will mean a lot to them. It has to."

"Yeah, that's kinda what I thought too. See, me and you, we think alike, don’t we?"

"Yes, Matt. I think we do."

A desperate cast appears on the young man's features. Matt shifts on his seat and leans close to Isaac. His tone dips; an edge of seduction makes it keen. "So, you don’t want me…? You don’t want to do it?"

A long-suspended tear finally rolls down Isaac's cheek. It all makes sense to him now; all the emotional and motivational books are in balance. "Matt, I do – oh fuck – I do, but you belong to somebody else."

The boy skulks deep his seat. It's as if he's watching his dreams slip away.

"You know, your ad didn't lie, Matt."

"What do you mean?" He raises sad eyes to Isaac.

"You said you were beautiful inside and out, and it turns out to be one hundred percent true."

Isaac reaches into his inner jacket pocket and extracts the envelope full of cash. He then retrieves the box of chocolates and sets the money on top. Both get passed to Matt.

"There's the twelve hundred dollars for your time, and a deep and sincere thank you from my heart."

Confused, Matt takes the two items. He peeks in the envelope slowly, and then holds up the chocolate with a blinking expression, as if wanting to give it back.

"Matt, you bought those for Adam, didn't you?"

The boy nods guiltily.

"Then take it to him and enjoy your Valentine's Day with the one you love; do it with a free conscience."

"You sure, cuz – "

Isaac chuckles. "Matt, you better say 'Okay' before I change my – "

That's all the accountant can get out before the young man slams into him with a much-relieved embrace. The halo of Matt's aroma, which is as sweet as sunshine, envelops him.

While he's held tight, Isaac feels a quick kiss. "You will take that ad down, right?"

"We'll do it together, before we say goodbye, so you know it's done."

"Good." He pats Matt's back. "You're a good soul, Matt. I'm glad I met you."

"Me too."

Again, Isaac perceives the boy's kiss on his neck, followed by his warm breath as he speaks softly.

"I'll never forget this Valentine's Day. Never."

"Me neither, Matt. Never."

                    

~