The Year I Stopped Being Invisible - 18. Chapter 18

Taine Maxwell came to my house on Tuesday night, September 22nd, 1981, at just around 8:00 pm.

It was the night of my first day of suspension from Polk High for losing my mind and beating Kevin Gorman bloody with Taine's English book when I saw the loutish defensive lineman bullying my angel.

I was home alone and Tynah and Rex were at the Velazquez home, catching up with Rex's old army buddy Jorge and his warm and bawdy wife Alejandra. Rex and Jorge had known each other for thirty-six years, since they had both lied about their ages to sneak into service at the tail-end of World War II.

They could be away all night, I knew, and Tynah had even taken a change of work clothes with her for the morning in case anyone got too tipsy to drive home after their get-together.

Meanwhile, I sat cross-legged at the head of my bed, with Taine sitting cross-legged at the foot, and Foxy gnawing at some imaginary attacker on his own rear paws between us. Taine was trying to explain his note to me. The note which contained only the words "Don't love me," written in response to the overheated declaration of my love and devotion which I had slipped under his door on Sunday night, before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

"I need to explain it to you," he had said, looking to me for confirmation.

I had nodded silently, and leaned forward to listen, my heart pounding.

Taine spoke then, for longer than I had ever heard him speak, and I hung on every halting, carefully-chosen and deeply-felt word. He told a heartbreaking story, the story of a life on the fringes, being bullied and persecuted everywhere he went. Aside from his rugby-playing friend, who was often unavailable, there was no one around to protect him from the sadistic teasing, the humiliating pranks, and the brutal physical attacks.

Sly had not been a very big part of Taine's early life, I was surprised to learn, as he was always traveling around the world to compete in races and attend various Formula 1 publicity events. Although he was certainly doing his best to make up for his frequent absences now, much of Taine's childhood had been spent alone in his room, with only his mother downstairs for company.

True, she was the best mother he could possibly want, fussing and doting over his injuries and tears, cooking him wonderful meals and bending over backwards to do the work of two parents and beyond. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her sweet, special, beautiful Taine. I knew the feeling well.

But there had been so many tragedies. Taine's family had been plagued by death...accidents and diseases which claimed all four of his grandparents, his aunt, his young sister while she was still in the cradle, and finally his mother, who had left him seemingly all alone in the world a few short months ago.

Taine told me of his older brother. Blaine Maxwell had left for college and never returned, the mounting deaths and funereal air which had settled over the house after little Patty's death having been too much for him to bear. It was then that I realized that Sly had been having me on about "Chuck" at Rutgers and "Sasha" in Berkeley. That spare bed in Taine's room was just like the picture of his mother over the dining-room table. It was a memory of someone who would never come back. Blaine.

He and Taine had never been particularly close, the now-weeping angel in front of me explained, but he still missed his brother.

The person whom he missed most of all, of course, was his mother. She had been there for him every step of the way, and although Sly was doing his best since her death -- and had certainly stepped up since they had moved to San Antonio -- Taine still resented his absence during the vast majority of his excruciatingly painful childhood.

As much as I wanted to comfort him, I stayed where I was, silently encouraging him with my equally-watering and sorrowful eyes to continue.

To his credit, he did, although his slender body was now wracked with sobs, hunched over almost to his knees, his voice barely rising above a ragged whisper. His pain was incredible, overwhelming, and seemed to grip me and the entire room in a cold, black vise of anguish from which, for him, there was no hope of escape.

It was inside him, it ran through every fiber of his being, this darkness, this agony, and now he was showing it to me, laying it bare in front of me.

When he was done, he continued to cry, but looked up at me with wet, hopeless eyes. Eyes which seemed to have gone completely empty and black. Eyes which were sending me a clear, deadly serious message.

This is who I am, those eyes said. This is me all the time. This is me every second and every minute of every day and every night. This is Taine Maxwell, and this is all that I have for you. Don't love me. Don't, don't, don't, because what is inside me will destroy you just as it is destroying me.

"Everything I touch...seems to die..." he croaked hoarsely, then returned his eyes to his feet, replacing his cap on his head as Foxy leapt from the bed and wandered out of the room.

Somewhere outside, as if summoned by Taine's words and his pain, a heavy rain had begun to fall.

I didn't say anything for a long time.

Although Taine had been frustrated by his ability to articulate his story at the beginning, he had soldiered on bravely until he could. And he painted a picture so bleak, so devoid of life or joy, so solitary and bereft of anything approaching hope, that there seemed to be no words in any language with which I could adequately respond.

So I simply listened, trying as best I could to communicate my compassion, love, and empathy through reddened eyes.

Taine had courage. No one could stand in his shoes and keep walking every day without it. Parts of the mystery were now solved in my head. He was not really a distant, ethereal angel. Taine was very human and he was a fifteen year old teenager who felt that he was cursed with eternal solitude and the touch of death. He had lost his mother, his sister, his brother, his extended family, and his best friend.

Taine stood and walked to the window, looking out into the back yard, tears still falling from his eyes. Something clicked in my mind then. It occurred to me that it was up to me. I was the missing piece.

I got up slowly from the bed and walked behind Taine, who seemed as if he would collapse at a touch. I risked it, slowly placing my left hand on his left shoulder. He didn't flinch, didn't seem to react at all. It was as if everything had poured out of him and he was now empty, wrung-out and flat. Slowly, gently, I wrapped my right arm around his waist, laying my head on his right shoulder and hugging him closer to me.

I only hugged him for a moment before retreating, afraid of overstepping again at a crucial moment, but Taine turned to me then, his eyes still leaking tears, and met my gaze. We spoke volumes to each other through our eyes, our hearts and souls melding as the rain continued to fall outside.

We both knew that this was the moment, that there would be no turning back.

With an almost imperceptible nod, Taine gave his assent.

I took him in my arms, then, and he let me.

And then his cap was falling to the floor and our lips were together and his arms were around me and he was kissing me back. We tumbled back onto my bed, desperately clutching at each other, kissing and squeezing and trying only to get closer, to fill all of our emptiness and pain and need with each other's, as if somehow two negatives would make the positive that we both hungered for so much in our lives, in our souls.

And for the first time since we had met, for the first time in my life, I felt complete and whole and exactly where I was supposed to be...and it was magic.