The Artists - 18. Medical Care

Kevin stared at the door to their suite as the image of Eric almost striking him lingered in his mind. They’d fought before, it was simply the nature of the beast within them, but never had it gotten to the point of physical violence. They didn’t even yell at each other. Theirs were fights of silence, of not talking for days, once for nearly a month, and always they slowly came back into a mutual harmony that eventually brought them back together.

Today, though, was much different. Eric actually raised his voice; he certainly came within a moment of striking Kevin; and it was all Kevin’s fault for not being sincere toward Eric’s feelings about his situation. Yes, he hadn’t accepted Eric’s death. He couldn’t see beyond the day when they would touch for the final time. He had no plans for a future without Eric.

The only plan they had was growing old together and finally fading slowly to death. He always knew it was a stupid fairytale that they would go together on some magical day in the future, but he did dream of them sitting on the front porch of their yet to be built log cabin in Montana watching the sun crest the Sapphire Mountains on a crisp spring morning. Now, the other person in the rocking chair beside him, if there was even to be a cabin in Montana, wasn’t going to be Eric.

While still staring at the door Eric slammed so forcibly, Kevin pondered about finding a new partner. Should it be someone his own age; or should he look for someone younger? How much younger? Certainly no one Six’s age, but was thirty-something possible or should he aim higher toward the forties. His desire for his nephew was still strong, but the thought of having the boy in bed with him sent a shiver down his back.

Yet, he couldn’t deny the beauty of the boy and the mere thought of seeing Six in his biking togs gave him a familiar tingling sensation in his groin. Six was out of the equation, wasn’t he? That would be incest. They would have to move away. The boy’s schoolwork might suffer; and, later after Six got a degree, what then?

No, Six might be desirable beyond belief, but Kevin knew there was not going to be anything between them except for a familial friendship.

A commotion outside the door interrupted his thoughts and he went out into the hallway. All of the students, except for Casey and Tiffani were in the TV lounge, which seemed a little strange to Kevin since most of them had morning classes and should be across the street at the college.

“What’s going on?” Kevin asked. He walked around the small crowd and momentarily stood behind the chair where Six sat. Nearly overwhelmed with unwanted desire, he quickly moved over near Lynda, the senior.

“Hey, I took a shower this morning, you can stand over here,” Six said as he turned his head and stared at his uncle. “I’m only venomous if you touch me.”

“What’s going on?” Kevin asked again, glancing at the TV screen. “Isn’t that our campus? Wait, is that our house?”

“We’ve been locked down,” Ben said, not turning away from the television. “Someone saw someone with a gun go into Biddly Hall. There are more cops on campus than students.”

“Has anyone been shot?” Kevin asked, suddenly remembering Eric’s first class was in Biddly Hall.

“Yeah, but they haven’t said whether it was a student or staff,” Ben said. “I hope for your sake Dr. Parker is okay.”

“He won a Silver Star in Nam,” Kevin said. “I can’t quite remember exactly what he did, you’d have to ask him, but he killed a lot of North Vietnamese Regulars in some battle; the same one where he lost his arm. You have to watch out for those heroic types. They’re always more than willing to go where fools have all the fun.”

“How can you say Dr. Parker is a fool?” Lynda asked.

“Shush! Something’s happening,” Brent, the junior, exclaimed.

“Oh god, those are aid cars,” Six said.

“And they’re heading straight for Biddly Hall,” Ben said.

“Hey, come on, can’t you guys be quiet?” Brent asked.

“Why? Are you aurally disadvantaged or something?” Six asked.

Everyone looked at Six.

“What?” Six asked.

“You’re only a freshman, you can’t ask such technical questions,” Lynda said. “And we all know Brent is hard of hearing because he displays all the classic signs like the blank stare and constantly saying ‘huh’.”

“Fuck off, Lynda,” Brent exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah, he’s sensitive about it, too,” Mike, the other senior said.

“I’m going to get breakfast,” Kevin said. “I assume you’ve all eaten.”

“Yeah, except Six, who we think is going anorexic,” Lynda said.

“Anorexia is eating and puking,” Six said. “I don’t puke, ever, ergo I can’t be anorexic.”

“Ergo? Have you been paying attention in class again?” Ben asked.

“Nah, his mother is a federal attorney or something,” Mike said. “He was raised in a fancy house in Portland and went to an even fancier private school. He probably learned all about ergo in seventh grade.”

“Will you guys shut the fuck up?” Brent exclaimed.

“Hey, it’s not like you don’t have a TV in your room,” Lynda said. “Why don’t you take little Kevin and you can watch this without any more noise than Kevin sucking your cock.”

“I don’t suck his cock,” Kevin, the junior, said.

“No, you take it up the ass,” Mike said. “Brent’s the cocksucker.”

“Come on Six, let’s go see what Euphorbia can do for us,” Kevin said as he stood up. The image on the television was only making him sick because his visual disability couldn’t deal with the red, green, and blue matrix. It was either black and white or one of the primary colors, usually green, with splashes of the other two at the oddest moments. He rubbed his eyes and tried to mentally calm his rolling stomach.

Halfway up the stairs he became aware of Six walking beside him. He glanced over at his nephew, immediately noticing the bulge in his bike shorts. He quickly turned his head away, silently hoping it wasn’t noticed.

“Still turns you on, huh?” Six whispered.

“Yes,” Kevin said, “and I don’t like it. It’s wrong to have those feelings toward my own nephew. For god’s sake, I’m in my fifties and I’m perving on my barely eighteen-year-old nephew.”

“Shush, they’ll all hear you,” Six said. “You know it ain’t gonna happen so why let it bother you?”

Kevin stopped at the middle landing and turned to Six. Forcing himself not to look down at the object of his disgusting desire, he stared instead into the boy’s blue eyes. He stood back a half step and took in all of his nephew’s body. It was normally colored, including the brown hair, lightly tanned skin, bright yellow and blue shirt, and the tight, incredibly tight, black spandex shorts that left little to his imagination, especially considering it seemed to be increasing in size from the unwanted attention it was getting.

“What?” Six asked.

“You’re not red anymore,” Kevin said.

“Then you’re not attracted to me anymore, either?” Six asked.

“No, other than Eric, you’re the most beautiful boy in this house,” Kevin said. “Given the chance I’d make love to you all day long.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Six said.

“I know,” Kevin said, not believing his words. It was going to happen. He didn’t know when, or how, but he knew it was going to happen; and, he suspected neither of them was going to be able to stop it when it did occur. All he could hope for was that at least one of them might find pleasure in the act.

“Hey, little girl, come look at this,” Doctor Chavez said behind the curtain where she was examining Casey.

“What?” Tiffani asked.

“Come here, you need to see what you did to this boy,” the doctor said with a stern tone to her voice.

Tiffani stood up from the very uncomfortable orange plastic chair and slipped through the curtain. Casey was on his side and there was a round, clear plastic object in his butt hole.

“Come on, he’s in no condition to attack you,” the doctor said with a chuckle. “Are you Casey?”

“No,” Casey whimpered.

“See, once you get yourself in a position like this, one more embarrassment is a piece of cake,” the doctor said. “Now get over here and take a peek up the nether end of his alimentary canal. I want you to see the damage you caused with those talons of yours. See, get a little closer, right there and directly across from it. Do you see those two red slits?”

“Yeah, I did that?” Tiffani asked. She knew she did; why else was she being shown Casey’s anus.

“Yes, so next time you mess around with him anally, make sure you wear latex gloves or trim those talons down to nothing,” the doctor said.

“I’m not going to do that with him anymore,” Tiffani said. “He’s going to have to find a boyfriend.”

“He’s gay?” The doctor asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Casey said. “You know, I am still here.”

“Be quiet, we’re talking about what your girl friend did to your anus,” the doctor said.

“Yeah, well Casey said he was trying to go straight, but look what happened,” Tiffani said. “I’m going out to the waiting room.”

“Nice girl, you should keep her as a friend,” the doctor said after Tiffani left.

“We live in the same residence hall at North Park,” Casey said. “It’s not like we won’t see each other.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” the doctor said. “I want you to follow-up with your doctor in five days. Do you have a local practitioner?”

“I go to the clinic at North Park,” Casey said.

“I’ll give you the name of a GP up by the college,” the doctor said. “I’m not all that certain you’ll get the care you need at that clinic. Okay, I’m done here. The nurse will be back in a few and remember to keep sharp objects, especially fingernails, out of your ass.”

“Sure, I’ll do that,” Casey said.

By the time Casey found the waiting room, Tiffani wasn’t there. Thinking she might be in the restroom, he waited for half an hour. There was a news program on the television, but the reception was so bad the screen was filled with silver and gold ghosts and the sound was turned way down so that he couldn’t hear it anyway.

He wasn’t interested in the television, though. His full concentration was on the squishy sensation in his ass from the medicine the doctor put down there. Plus, there was the growing fuzziness from the pain medication she gave him. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to crawl into a ball in a quiet corner and go to sleep or try to get back to Charles House; and the cloudy sensation in his mind wasn’t doing anything toward helping him decide. The only reason he stood up and walked out the door was the draw of his own bed and the certain assurance Euphorbia would make him feel better.

There was a cab at the entrance causing Casey to check his wallet for enough twenties to ensure a ride. He knew he could catch a bus over on Oak Park Boulevard, but that was at least three blocks away and he wasn’t certain his squishy butt would last the distance. Casey opened the back door of the old yellow Caprice and got in.

“Where to?” the cabby asked. He was young, probably not much older than Casey; African American, with a teardrop tattooed at the corner of his eye; and his voice was soft, like a cooling breeze on a hot summer evening.

“Charles House, North Park College,” Casey said, hoping the squish in his crack wasn’t going to leak out onto the seat.

“What side of the campus is that?” the cabby asked. He stared at Casey with jaguar eyes that sent a chill up the boy’s spine.

“The parking lot is off of Hundred Thirty-fifty, east of First,” Casey said, staring at the teardrop and wondering what it meant.

“That’s where all the gays live, right?” the cabby asked. He turned around and put the car in gear. “I’ve heard of that place. You gay, too?”

Casey didn’t know what to say, to a stranger, who just happened to be black and might not like gays even though his voice didn’t sound mean or threatening.

“Up until a couple years ago I was at Green Hill for armed robbery,” the cabby said. “You know, the kiddie prison down I-5. Anyway, there were always kids who were gay getting stuck in there, but one of them you wouldn’t take for gay. He was big like he played football or something, but he didn’t because he stabbed his stepfather. I think the fucker had eyes for boys, though, because I know a lot of the brothers liked him. I didn’t ’cause he was white, like you. I’m not saying I wouldn’t ’cause you’re kind’a cute like him. You like to suck cock? ’Cause you know if you was, I wouldn’t mind putting in half the fare.”

Casey didn’t want to say anything because he was certain the cabby had already decided what was going to happen. When the cab turned into War Memorial Park and then into the Arboretum, Casey knew what the cabby had in mind. When they pulled into a parking stall in a secluded area amid towering fir trees, Casey waited for the inevitable.

“As I see it, if you are gay, you have three choices,” the cabby said. “First, you can come up here; second, I can come back there; or, third, we can go out into the trees. If you’re not gay, we can go on our way, well, the way I figure it, that’s not an option.”

“I’m not going to do this,” Casey said.

“But I know you’re gay,” the cabby said. “You’re too cute to be straight. And, well, the meter is running.”

“I’m going,” Casey said.

“Fifteen dollars, plus five for the tip, twenty in all,” the cabby said.

Casey pulled a twenty from his wallet and got out of the cab. He was probably more than a mile from Charles House, but he wasn’t going to suck the cabby’s cock.

“Hey, boy!” the cabby yelled out his window. “Remember, you owe me and I know where you live.”

They sat at the small, square table in the back corner of the kitchen where Euphorbia planned the meals, made out grocery lists, ate her meals, and often could be seen chatting with residents and visitors to Charles House. Kevin and Euphorbia sat opposite with Six between them facing the window. With one of Euphorbia’s giant cinnamon rolls oozing melted butter onto the salad plate in front of him, Six vaguely listened to the older queers talk while contemplating how many calories were hidden in the spiraled dough, cinnamon sugar, raisins, and butter.

“I just don’t understand it,” Kevin said as he slathered strawberry jam onto a toasted and buttered English muffin. “Eric is going to die and he’s acting as if he doesn’t care.”

“Of course he cares,” Euphorbia said. “Eat your roll Six, dear; you need some fat to hold you through the winter.”

He hadn’t thought it was that obvious. Of course he was losing weight, what else was he supposed to do to keep his uncle from perving on him? Or was it having the opposite effect? Did Uncle Kevin prefer slender men? Eric was somewhat slender, yet a lot more muscular than Kevin.

Six’s muscles were more focused toward riding his bicycle, not impressing other men, though Cheri seemed enamored with his abs and Casey spent a lot of time kneading his pecs. It was his thighs that were his greatest asset, but they were changing since he didn’t ride his bike or use the exercise equipment in the basement on a daily basis.

Basically, he was losing muscle mass through inactivity and watching what he ate to reduce his caloric intake in the absence of caloric outgo, which was subtly turning him from a trim bicyclist into a skinny boy, an image he might want to pursue, an image he was more than familiar with.

Six continued to stare at the roll that looked absolutely delicious as he swallowed a mouthful of saliva. He wanted to take a bite, a small bite, but there were way too many calories in just one bite. He knew the raisins in the center were going to be hot and plump, yet to get to them he’d have to eat into their warren. There was a lot of butter and sugar between him and them.

His grandmother made terrific cinnamon rolls that were covered with buttercream frosting then heated in the oven just before serving and he remembered slathering them with softened butter. He took a bite of Euphorbia’s cinnamon roll and saw himself vomiting up in his room in a few minutes, ridding his body of all the calories he was going to ingest.

He wasn’t exactly anorexic or bulimic. His shrink simply said he had an eating disorder. He wasn’t as bad as most of the other kids in group down in Portland—where he should be at the moment—but bad enough to warrant a frequent trip to a psychiatrist, plus being thrown in a circle of similar thinking teens. He hated them for their unwillingness to at least have some excuse for abusing their bodies. He needed to be taut and slender to ride, aerodynamic if you will. Of course he could’ve gone the bulky thigh route, but he couldn’t imagine finding a boyfriend if his legs made him look like Pan or some other mythical creature.

More of the masticated cinnamon roll slipped down his throat while his mind attempted to disassociate itself of the act of eating. He knew as soon as the swirl of sweet dough, sugar, butter, raisins, and cinnamon was finally totally consumed he’d run up the stairs to his room, grab a bottle of ipecac and down it on his way into the bathroom where he’d watch his breakfast spew out of his mouth into the toilet. It was an act he was quite good at, so good, in fact, that he had been able to maintain the same weight since he was fourteen and a half even though he’d grown taller by five inches.

“Six, dear, here drink this milk,” Euphorbia said as she set a full glass of whole milk beside his plate. He hadn’t even noticed her approach so lost in his reverie of keeping excess weight off his extremely slender body.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Six said trying to avoid her eyes.

“Drink the milk,” Euphorbia said. “You’re too skinny and we’ve spoken to your mother, so don’t try to get smart.”

Six looked at the milk as he wished he could will himself to vomit.

Meanwhile, Tiffani found a seat in the waiting area of County General’s Trauma Center fully expecting an ambulance to show up carrying the love of her young life. She knew Karl wasn’t good for her and he’d probably kill her given the chance, but she was hopelessly in love with him. She couldn’t explain it to anyone.

Karl wasn’t easy to love. He was domineering, possessive, and mean, qualities most women did not look for in a man, yet Tiffani had a few things in her own personality, minor things really, that seemed to find comfort in being beaten up by a lover. If she had to take a bullet from the man, well so be it. She was going to die in love. How many people could say that?

“Hey beautiful, what the hell are you doin’ here?” A slightly familiar voice asked at Tiffani’s right.

She turned, but didn’t immediately recognize the boy behind the voice. There was only a hint of awareness that she’d seen the face somewhere in the near past.

“You remember me right?” the boy asked.

“No, only sort of,” Tiffani said.

“Mark, Mark Porter, Karl’s friend, we met at Jimmy’s birthday,” the boy said.

Tiffani thought back to that one time Karl took her to one of his friend’s parties and remembered being surprised she wasn’t the only girl there. Quite simply, a lot of Karl’s friends weren’t gay or at least that’s what Tiffani assumed. She remembered thinking that maybe they were just like Karl, having a girlfriend only for appearances sake.

“Oh, yeah, I think I remember you,” Tiffani said while thinking she still didn’t really know who this boy was or if she’d met him at that party. There were a lot of boys there.

“Jimmy had an accident a little bit ago,” Mark said. “Really bad from what the doctor told his family. He’s blind, you know, and likes his sex a bit rough. I suppose you know about that being with Karl. I broke up with him the first time he punched me in the face. That was back in high school. Who’re you here for?”

“I think Karl is coming here from North Park,” Tiffani said. “I think he was going there this morning to kill me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, but I was at North Park Memorial with one of the boys who lives at our residence hall, so I wasn’t there. I guess you could say it was luck. I guess.”

“Was there a shooting? I haven’t heard anything, but then I’ve been here all morning. Say, would you like to go down to the cafeteria? I haven’t had breakfast and I don’t want to be alone right now. Could you go with me?”

“Well, I was waiting to see if they brought in Karl,” Tiffani said. She did want to wait, but wasn’t all that positive Karl might actually appear. After all, he could be dead and would be going to the morgue instead. For a brief moment she wondered where that was and if they’d let her see him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Great!” Mark exclaimed as he stood up. “You know, we could go up toward Swedish. I know a great place where you can get fantastic breakfast burritos. If you wanted.”

“Sure, why not,” Tiffani said.

“My car’s over here,” Mark said as they exited. “It’ll be quicker to go by car.”

“How did you get such a good parking place?” Tiffani asked.

“There’s hardly anybody here at three in the morning,” Mark said. He seemed to be fumbling with the lock on the passenger side. “This stupid thing is always sticking and I don’t know why I don’t spray some lubricant in it. Lazy I guess. See if you can do something with it.”

“What can I do?” Tiffani asked.

She was at the door as Mark stood aside. Unexpectedly, she felt his hand on her ass.

“Karl said you like a strong man,” Mark whispered in her ear. “Give me your right hand. Come on, give it to me.”

Tiffani winced as the cuff tightened around her wrist.

“Come on, give me the other one,” Mark said blankly.

Tiffani complied and wasn’t surprised when the car beeped when the locks were released. After all, it was a new car. He helped her into the front seat where she discovered it wasn’t all that comfortable sitting with handcuffs behind her back. Mark fastened her seatbelt.

“Karl told me a few other things about you,” Mark said after he’d gotten into the driver’s seat. “I suspect most of them were lies, but one does know about other people’s sex lives. We’re going to have fun. You know that, don’t you?”

“What’re you going to do?” Tiffani asked. She was close to panicking, but forced herself to keep her wits.

“I know what you’re thinking. I have that talent. Knowing what people think,” Mark said as he pulled into traffic. “I was surprised to see you here this morning. I guess the gods were listening. I’ve been praying for you to come to me and now you’re here. No, no, don’t say anything. That’s a rule. Only I talk. You don’t. There are other rules, some that I’m certain you won’t like, but you must never complain. Jimmy complained and now he’s quite close to death. He fell from a bridge. Well, pushed, actually, but someone found him and brought him here. You’re not going to complain, are you?”

“No,” Tiffani whispered. The slap of the back of his hand against her nose sent waves of sharp agony through her head.

“See, I told you no talking and what’s the first thing you do? Talk. And look at you. You’re bleeding all over yourself. Oh, no matter, it’s not like you’re going to be wearing any clothes from now on.”

Tiffani sat listening to Mark ramble on and on about how horrible her life was going to be. She never heard of anything so horrifying. It sounded as if she was going to be some kind of sex slave kept in a windowless room and forced to do all sorts of things, many of them sexual, to please Mark.

Where had she let her guard down? At what point in all of this was there the choice not to follow along like a lamb going to slaughter? Was she going to be able to get out of this or was, she too, going to find herself being pushed off a bridge, or worse? Maybe a bullet from Karl wouldn’t have been that bad after all.

A stranger in a dark business suit walked into the kitchen, not stopping when Six looked up. He went over to where Kevin and Euphorbia were sitting.

“Well, if it isn’t Detective Harkins,” Euphorbia said flashing her eyelids. “How’re they hangin’ Chucky?”

“This is a business call, Euphorbia,” Detective Harkins said. Looking directly at Kevin he asked, “Are you Kevin Charles?”

“Yes,” Kevin said, tensing after he remembered what was happening over on the campus.

“Professor Eric Parker had a card in his wallet identifying you as his next of kin. There’s been a shooting and he’s being transported to County General.”

“Oh my god,” Kevin said.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Euphorbia said.

“He’s alive, just, but if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to the hospital. It’ll be safer and you might want to be there in case.”

“What do you mean, you revived him?” Kevin asked the trauma surgeon. They were outside Eric’s cubicle in ICU. “Didn’t you check his wallet for his DNR?”

“EMTs don’t check for those things,” the doctor said, with his arms folded across his torso in the classic defensive position. He couldn’t have been much over thirty, if that. Kevin had to admit he was cute, in a dumb yokel sort of way. Sort of an ‘aw shucks’ country boy with wispy blond hair, a nice tan, and a slender body; the kind of kid he’d probably be looking for in a couple years, once he got over Eric’s death.“He’s a hero. He fought a killer and saved the school. His name will be in all the papers. He’ll get book deals like you can’t believe.”

“He’s in stage four of prostate cancer,” Kevin said looking away from the doctor. “Eric will be lucky to live a year and how many times did you have to resuscitate him? Didn’t I hear one of the EMTs say he was practically dead when they arrived at Biddly Hall?”

“More than likely the lack of blood caused a momentary interruption of oxygen to his brain,” the doctor said with an over authoritative air. “Our neuro guys will be able to tell more in a few days. Are you coming down to the press conference? They’ll want to know all about you and Eric.”

“No thank you, the love of my love is too close to death for me to go off looking for publicity,” Kevin said. He turned away from the doctor and went in through the curtain to sit beside the man he loved.

He couldn’t quite understand how or why Eric tried to subdue Karl. Everyone knew the boy was responsible for at least five cold blooded murders, so how could Eric want to get involved? After all, he was a disabled veteran whose artificial arm was practically useless. What was he thinking he could do to stop someone like Karl Klein?

Or, was it on purpose? Was it possible Eric saw it as a chance for an honorable death? He would’ve known he’d have to fight for the gun with one arm, wouldn’t he? He took two bullets and Karl—who was in the next cubicle with a police guard, grieving parents, and bullet fragments in his brain—received only one. Karl’s must have come at the end of the struggle. Yet, how could Eric continue to fight with two bullets in him?

And, now, what was to become of Eric? The paramedics and hospital chose to ignore the DNR. There had to be some loss of function, it was only logical with the amount of blood loss, plus the number of times they had to resuscitate. Was he going to be the same person or had Eric died and all that was left was a body with a beating heart?

“Excuse me, sir, could you move over here, please?” A voice asked. Kevin followed the hand and sat where directed. He wasn’t aware of anything other than what was to become of Eric and himself. He had to admit he was selfish in a way. He shouldn’t be looking past Eric’s death, but keeping up the appearance of hope for a speedy recovery. Yet, reality of the situation had to be considered.

They hadn’t made plans for Thanksgiving. They’d actually had a horrible fight over it, with Eric nearly hitting him, something that had never happened in all their years together and then practically stomping out of their suite in disgust at Kevin’s insistence they do something new. He knew they weren’t going anywhere for any length of time, but he felt Eric should do something he hadn’t done because he’d never had time to get around to it. Yet, Eric exploded in his face saying he was getting tired of Kevin trying to make a big deal out of his death.

“I’m going to die, Kevin,” Eric said. “Get used to it.”

Kevin felt a tear dribble down his cheek and brushed it away with the back of his hand. Could he get used to the fact that Eric was going to die? Now, over there in that bed with nurses coming and going, was Eric closer to death or turning a new corner to recovery, a short recovery before the certain death of cancer overtook him?

What was the point of it all? Eric was going to leave him just as his Uncle Robert left Jimmy. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he wanted to call Jimmy to get some reassurance that it was going to work out. Then he remembered leaving his cell at home. Why did he do that when he’d certainly need it to call Eric’s family? Or, had Euphorbia taken care of that, too? She’d driven him to the hospital and told him she’d be back.

What if Eric died while she was gone? What was he to do? Would there be an autopsy? So many questions and Eric used to take care of practically everything in their lives.

“You give me your loving arms every night,” Eric once said, “and I’ll keep you in love until the day we die.”

But, that wasn’t going to happen. He was going to have to figure out how to take care of himself. He couldn’t drive because of his color blindness. It’d always been easier to say that than to say he saw everything in shades of green; except for people, which were mainly shades of primary colors, unless there was something wrong and then they were shades of gray.

Could he safely learn how to drive? Or, could he find somewhere to live where driving wasn’t necessary. Maybe he could buy a condominium up on Capitol Hill in Seattle, something near a grocery, maybe up on Fifteenth. He’d be living alone for the first time in his life. How was that going to work?

Even if Eric came out of this with some semblance of intelligence, could he be of any help? Was there enough time left before the cancer killed him for Eric to teach Kevin how to live? Who else was there? Euphorbia? No, not Euphorbia. They’d been close, almost close enough for sex, but there was a wall of something between them that kept them away from each other.