A Note in the Margin (13 page)

David stared down at the laminated menu; he wasn’t reading but needed somewhere to look other than at John while he collected his thoughts. Finally he said in a soft but clear voice, “I know, John, and I do appreciate that you want to do these things for me, that you want to take care of me. It’s just….” He broke off and sat quietly for a while. John could see the tension in his clenched jaw and when the waitress came over he smiled and said, “Can you give us a few minutes, please?”

David waited until she left to continue. “I don’t know how to explain the way I feel. How can someone who is willing to sell himself in a public toilet have trouble accepting a handout?”

John sat and thought about what David had just said; Jamie had kept trying to tell him that despite his situation David was a proud man. He said he understood but still kept doing these things.
Fuck. Jamie was right again.

John took the menu from David and smiled. “Mind sharing a sandwich?”

The
small plastic button snapped in half as fingers clutched and wrenched the linen shirt. The fabric strained and tore, leaving pale skin to bare the marks of purpled fingerprints. The hands hurt, turning to fists, punching to the point where knuckles bled. They unclenched and pushed, cheek grazed and bleeding against the rough concrete of the rendered wall. But the real pain was lower. This can’t happen…. Please stop.

John tried to make sense of the small sounds in his head; pained and frightened murmurs.
David.
The muffled noises of distress continued. John sat up and tried to focus in the gloom of the darkened bedroom. “Dave?” he whispered. No reply.
Still asleep, still asleep.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “Wake up, Dave. You’re just dreaming.”

John wasn’t sure whether it was his touch or words that startled David awake but he quickly pulled away from the hand with a strained, “No… please….”

David’s reaction initially shocked John, but he quickly reasoned it was probably a residual of the dream. He said slowly and quietly, “It’s okay, Dave. You were dreaming, that’s all.” David looked at him but his expression was one of confusion. He glanced around the room as if unsure of his surroundings and carefully edged to the side of the bed until he was able to slide his legs out and sit on the side.

Sitting up, John looked at David’s hunched form; it was so hard not knowing what to do to help. He leaned over and carefully rubbed his hand over David’s back, but David cringed away from John and quickly stood up to avoid any further touch.

John reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Squinting a little at the sudden light, he said in a soft but worried voice, “David?”

After starting to turn toward John, David shook his head and walked out of the bedroom. He stood in the kitchen feeling lost and disconnected from his surroundings. David desperately wanted the comfort John offered, but couldn’t face him. The other touch was still too clear in his mind.
Too damaged for John.

He took a glass from the draining rack and turned on the tap, but the liquid threatened to spill over the rim of the glass with the constant tremors of his hand. The water was tipped back into the sink untouched.

David stood and watched the water slowly drain through the old and ineffective plumbing until he heard a quiet voice behind him. “Come back to bed, Dave.”

Not knowing what to say, how to explain, David simply nodded and accepted the gentle hand resting on his arm that guided him back to the bedroom.

John hadn’t been sure if the touch would be welcome when he saw David silently staring into the sink, but he simply didn’t know what else to do. He purposely kept his touch light, guiding rather than gripping.

When they reached the bedroom David got into the bed without any further words of encouragement and carefully pulled the covers up, facing away from John.
A wave of helplessness swept over John as he looked at David’s back. He crawled into bed as carefully as he could and made sure he was close but not touching. “Try to get some sleep, Dave,” John said in a deceptively calm voice.
He was met with silence.

It hurt that he couldn’t touch him, that he couldn’t hold him. Not for the first time John felt in over his head. He didn’t know how to deal with this.
How do I tell him it’s all right when I don’t know what the fuck is wrong?

John
went straight into the back room of the store, leaving David to wander up to his chair among the used books. Jamie leaned against the counter and watched the two men. He frowned
and walked to the door of the kitchen. “What’s happened, John? What’s up with Dave?”

John stood at the sink with his back to Jamie and muttered, “Leave it, Jamie. Okay? David had a bad night is all.”

The tone of John’s voice and the shape of his back convinced Jamie to try elsewhere for answers. He quietly walked to the secondhand book alcove where he knew David was sitting, legs folded beneath him, staring into space. Jamie sat in “his” chair, like he had done so many times before, and waited until David turned to look at him.

“What happened, Dave?”

David returned his gaze to the bookshelf and said softly with a shrug of inevitability, “Ghosts.”

Jamie nodded, even though he had no idea what David meant. David sighed, turned back, and said, “I’m okay, Jamie. Just a dream is all.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” Jamie asked, but David just shook his head. “You know you can, Dave. Talk to me about stuff, I mean. Man, you know every possible thing there is to know about me.”

David gave a little smile and said, “Yeah, I think I do.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah yeah, I like to talk and
you
are
a great listener.” His smile slipped a little as he added more seriously, “You never judge me, Dave. I’m sure John will listen, too, if you give him a chance.”

John will listen, but he won’t understand what it was like.
David didn’t voice his thoughts.

Jamie watched David carefully and knew he’d pushed enough for now. He leaned over and gave David a little kiss on the shoulder, knowing it would be barely felt through the fabric of the shirt and said, “Okay, Dave, I’ll give you peace, yeah? We still on for lunch?”

David smiled and nodded as Jamie got up and left him to settle in the safety of his books.

While
Jamie sat with David quietly eating their lunch, John took the opportunity to slip out of the store with the excuse of grocery shopping. He needed the air, needed to get away for a few minutes to clear his head. The previous night had scared John more than he cared to admit.

Trying to decide between the red and green peppers gave John the relief of something mundane to think about. The supermarket was always quieter at this time of day and it gave him a chance to wander through the food aisles and pretend his life was still normal.

He looked up from the produce when a woman walked past and commented on the ever-escalating prices. They made eye contact briefly and John recognized her from the shelter.

She smiled at him. “Hello again. Did you find the man with the sketchbook?”

“David. Yes, I found him, thanks,” John replied, a little surprised that she remembered.

“Good. I’m pleased to hear it.” She gave a single nod and turned back to the tutting at the price of the broccoli.

John hesitated for a second, absently rubbing his thumb over the waxy skin of the pepper in his hand then asked, “Um… would you mind joining me for a coffee? I really would appreciate some advice.”

The woman gave John a searching look before answering. “Sure. Meet you next door after the checkout.”

John
looked at the plastic-coated red-and-white-check tablecloth while she gave the waitress her order. He ran the edge of his fingernail along the line of the intersections and watched the indentation slowly smooth out again. She noticed how unsure John seemed and said cheerily, “I’m Barbara, and thank you for the invite. It’s not often I get picked up in the market these days.”

John broke into a relieved smile. “I’m John.”

“Hello, John. Lovely to meet you,” she replied, giving him the chance to control the conversation.

His smile dissolved as he said quietly, “I’m not sure how to do this or even what to ask, but I….”

“Is David doing all right?” Barbara interrupted.

“If you’d asked me that yesterday I would have said yes, but today… I don’t know.”

Barbara gave John a long look, trying to fathom how to broach the subject; in the end she decided to opt for blunt honesty. “Tell me one thing, John; what kind of relationship do you want with David?”

John’s cheeks colored, but he answered. “I want… I want us to be, um… together.”

“Okay, now I have to ask; do you really know what you are in for here?”

The question startled John and he tortured the tablecloth for a moment longer before answering. “I thought I did, but now I have to admit no and that’s why I am talking to you, I guess.” He hated the admission that he couldn’t control the situation. Asking for help simply wasn’t in his nature.

She nodded, understanding how difficult this conversation was for John, and softened her tone. “So what happened to change your opinion since yesterday?”

John rolled his eyes and gave a small frustrated chuckle. “Seems daft in daylight, but he, David, had a dream last night that, um…
upset
him. He didn’t want me to touch him and wouldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to do.”

Barbara gave him a sad look. “I don’t know how long David has been on the streets or what drove him there, but he’s going to need a lot of patience, John. Things can happen out there that we would have trouble understanding.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “He was beaten pretty badly a while back, but this seemed different.”

“Some things are more difficult to get over than others. John, you have to understand that I believe David falls into the unfortunate category of the chronic homeless, and they are often there for reasons other than economic.” John felt his stomach clench at the
labeling
of David, but he nodded for her to continue. “Many of these people, particularly the men, have trouble dealing with their situation as well as their reason for being there. Okay, I know I’m generalizing, but most men would hate being seen as a victim and that’s what many of these men have become. To compensate they can adopt a fight-or-flight mentality.”

John frowned and interrupted. “I can’t see David fighting.”

Barbara smiled at John’s instant defense of David. “I know. From what I remember he was often withdrawn and tried to avoid any contact when he visited the shelter. So what I mean is he falls into ‘flight’ because he withdraws into himself.”

“Or runs,” John said softly.

Barbara looked at him for a moment before repeating, “Or runs. Either way, John, try to talk to him. You need to be honest and up front about things so he knows where he stands. Ask him questions if you want to know what’s wrong. Let him know you don’t expect an answer straight away, but you are there if he wants to talk. Give him space and time.”

She hesitated for a minute, unsure whether to ask the next question, but she knew it was important for John’s sake. “I am assuming you have a sexual relationship with David?”

John did
not
want to have that conversation, but he nodded and nervously gulped a mouthful of tea.

Tread carefully,
Barbara told herself. “As I said before, John, things happen on the street that we might not understand, and safe sex is not always an option.” She paused and watched John’s reaction before saying, “You have to make sure
you
are safe, John.”

The muscles in John’s jaw tightened at her words and he thought back to his first time with David.
I might not be safe.
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaled a slow breath, and said quietly, “David was worried about that the first time we….” He let the sentence trail off.

Barbara gave him a smile and said, “He sounds like a good man, John. Don’t hold it against him; he might not have had any choice. Try to get him to a doctor if you can.”

John wanted to answer, but his throat closed and he just nodded instead. Barbara gave him time to take in what she’d said and perused the display of cakes and slices.