Powerless (25 page)

His phone dropped out of his pocket and landed with a soft plop in the sand. He kicked off his sneakers, still feeling the chill in his toes from the snow and the subzero wind he had encountered on his walk to the Metra train stop at Clark and Lake.

He popped the button on his jeans and pushed them over his hips then removed his black undershirt. His bare chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. He stumbled to the shore where he sagged to the ground and splashed water into his face. He was relieved to find the water was fresh, not salt, as he had anticipated.

He’d been passing through a graffiti-laden alley only seconds ago, his chin tucked into his chest, a scarf wrapped tightly over his mouth to keep out the cold, and now he stood on a beach. In summertime.

Waves lapped at his toes, soaking his cotton socks and the tattered hem of his jeans. He closed his eyes and put his head between his knees. His brown hair, shaved on the sides and long in the middle in the mohawk he had favoured since rehab, hung down over his eyes, the soft ends brushing against his cheeks.

He remembered the haze of a morning routine, a routine that kept him alive and moving, but nothing else. He’d showered and dressed. He thought he’d eaten, but didn’t know for sure. He’d stopped for coffee at the Starbucks below the Lake Shore Drive condo which now belonged to him, but would never feel like home. Then he’d manoeuvred through the alleys, away from Michigan Avenue.

He’d always avoided the crowds, and this morning was no different. Just one heartbeat in the pulse of the city. Chicago was intoxicating and anonymous. But since Isaac’s death, the city felt…foreign. It offered him everything and yet provided nothing. It was more than he could handle, but he couldn’t leave.

Then again, maybe leaving was exactly what he had been trying to do when he found himself on this beach. He’d been pushing towards the Clark Metra train station, but he couldn’t remember where he’d planned on going or what had driven him into the cold. He’d stepped out of the alley, off the kerb and…into sand.

Now that the layers were gone, Poe rolled his shoulders and breathed in the humid air. It settled like a comforting hand, heavy on his back, becoming silken threads in his lungs, and chased the chill from his bones. He began to feel warm for the first time in months.

An awareness tickled at him, a whisper in his ear that reassured him this place was more familiar than strange. He ripped the headphones away from his neck, his iPod cascaded from his pocket and he picked it up and hurled it into the water. He couldn’t think with the noise—which had been the point all along—but now the thumping bass was more of a nuisance than a necessity. With the driving beat gone, his senses began to come back online, one at a time. Slowly.

Something, an instinct he couldn’t place, silently urged him to reserve judgement. To listen. He scrunched his eyes tighter, shutting down the drive to trust only what his eyes could see.

A seagull called overhead, and the waves crashed and ebbed, keeping a steady rhythm which soothed him. In the distance, the muffled roar of car engines told him a highway must be close. He sat back and pulled off his socks, sliding the soles of his feet against the smooth, round rocks buried in the surf.

Thunder exploded in the distance.

It will rain soon.

The thought whispered through his consciousness. More than observation, it was memory. He tensed, inhaled deeply and nearly retched when he took in the scent of blooming snapdragons, dune grass, charred wood and lake water.

There was a sweetness to the air which ignited a memory so volatile that he stopped breathing. He refused to let one more hint of that pain into his body.

Not here. He couldn’t be here. Not on
this
day.

The whisper teased at Poe, buzzed around him like a phantom hummingbird, flitting into consciousness and then retreating, the vibration of its wings sweeping away his fear. If he was really where, and when, he thought he was—then there was nothing to fear.

On this day, hope still existed.

He slowed his breathing, his eyes squeezed shut. He waited for the old man to yell. Waited for the moment he could sense was coming that would verify he’d come back to this day.

There was another roll of thunder, this one louder and closer than the last, and then a gruff voice carried on the wind kicking off the bay. He was amazed the voice hadn’t been altered by the years.

A crash reverberated off the thick wooden trunks that supported the main dock, followed by a deep growl and raucous laughter.

Poe could see the scene without needing to open his eyes. He recalled him and Isaac trying to steal beer, the stack of cases toppling as they fled. Glass shattered and shards rained down the sides of the boat, musical, as they cast into the water.

But this sound didn’t come solely from memory. He could hear the boards of the pier strain under the boys’ rushed, heavy footfalls. The hysterical laughter whipping around him.

“What did you do, Artie?” Isaac’s playful tone echoed back to where Poe sat a hundred yards down the beach.

The voice gave him purchase. The surety that Isaac belonged here and not where and when Poe had come from tethered him to this world and time.

But the stability was fleeting. He swore under his breath and again, louder, as his mind snapped back—forward?—to the countless times Isaac had repeated that phrase. The meaning was always clear from Isaac’s intonation. Whatever frustration or disappointment Isaac felt was always tempered by teasing, never anger.

* * * *

January 2011

“What did you do, Artie?” Isaac shifted the truck into drive, the tyres spinning in grooves worn into the snow bank. The truck rocked back and forth, but the tyres couldn’t get enough traction to propel them onto the street. Isaac’s eyes crinkled at the corners, showing his amusement despite their predicament.

Poe didn’t find it quite as humorous. He surveyed the derelict neighbourhood and wondered if they were safe. “I think we may be stuck.”

Isaac snorted and put the truck in park. “Obviously. Where is this restaurant supposed to be?”

Poe shrugged. He had no idea where to go from here. The restaurant they had been looking for, when they got stuck on the snow-packed side street, wasn’t within sight, even though it should have been right here. “Edgar told me to take a right at the corner with the red door, baseball mural and the hooker in the lime-green skirt.”

“I didn’t see a hooker,” Isaac mused.

“Very helpful,” he mumbled under his breath.

Isaac tapped at the temperature gauge on the dash. “Although it is below zero. She may be elsewhere.”

Poe pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his knees. Nervousness was overtaking him. He breathed deeply, trying to reclaim the calm he’d had only hours ago as he’d waited for Isaac to pick him up.

With each inhalation came the distinctive clean-water scent of Isaac, filling his lungs. He swore he could feel Isaac in his bloodstream, like a rush of nicotine, but more satisfying, because Isaac would help him heal. He attempted to make his voice unemotional when he answered. “Probably at home, curled up next to a fireplace, instead of driving around the South Side of Chicago looking for a hole in the wall with the best fish and chips in the city.”

“True,” Isaac responded as he hit the button for onboard support and requested a tow truck. They had a full tank of gas, so Isaac shut off the windshield wipers but left the engine running.

Ice crystals feathered across the windshield as soon as the wipers swished off. Poe kept his head resting against the seat, but couldn’t keep his eyes off Isaac. Heat poured through the vents and the radio played softly to fill the awkward silence which had settled between them.

He had been sober for exactly one hundred and two days.

Outside the truck, a steady shower of heavy snowflakes fell to the ground, passing under yellowed street lamps. A white blanket covered the dilapidated houses and began to muffle the rumble of the V8 engine. A light, icy rain mixed with the snow, adding a shine to the winter landscape. They settled in to wait.

“Well?” Isaac asked, his voice snapping Poe back to the present.

Poe looked to Isaac for guidance. He hadn’t heard Isaac’s original question, but knew Isaac was probably asking about rehab. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Isaac sat back in the driver’s seat, his legs wide, his left arm draped on the window sill and his right resting on the console. His right hand hung loosely on the steering wheel. Only his bouncing knee gave away how nervous he was. Isaac blew out a frustrated breath. “The truth. Tell me it was good, it was bad, I hate you, thank you, I need to leave. Any of those. Just make it the truth.”

Poe immediately zeroed in on one of Isaac’s words. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Isaac shook his head emphatically. He was grinding his teeth.

Poe knew he was at the edge of Isaac’s patience level and wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t meet Isaac’s gaze when he answered. “What do you want from me, Isaac?”

Isaac had rarely lost his cool with him in the months while Poe was in rehab, but something was eating at him today. Isaac slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “The truth, Artie! Didn’t I just say that? I can’t be any clearer.”

Poe felt the tension rolling off Isaac. “I don’t want to leave.” It was the only answer he could give, because it was the only one he didn’t have to think about. Beyond his desire to stay with Isaac, he wasn’t sure of anything else. He just knew he didn’t want to go, and he hoped Isaac wanted him to stay just as badly.

Isaac visibly relaxed. “Okay.”

Poe relented, giving Isaac what he needed to hear. “And rehab was good. Hard, but good. I just don’t know where I go from here.”

Isaac was frozen to the spot, even more so than the truck which was being coated in thick ice as the rain-snow mix pelted down. It was obvious he was trying to form his next words carefully. He sighed. “Your therapist told me I needed to give you space. Support and space. But I can’t do this anymore, Artie. I can’t keep waiting around for something to either happen or not. It’s been too many years and I’m tired of waiting.” Isaac ran his fingers through his blond hair, mussing it. “I want you to come live with me. Give us a try.”

Poe tried not to look as shocked as he felt. In the time since Isaac had found him again, they’d never spoken about a relationship beyond the friendship they’d had since they were both kids.

Until this moment, Poe had been unsure if it was what Isaac wanted. But there was no denying Isaac’s words.

Poe looked at the seat where Isaac’s hand rested and he reached out, closing the invisible gap. The weight of Isaac’s hand in his felt right, perfect. A heat rose in his body. Isaac’s touch meant more than anyone’s ever had or would.

His world shifted. After so many years apart and so much pain, one sentence and one touch was all it took to bring them together. He had to laugh at the simplicity of it. “Was the answer always this easy?”

Isaac slumped forward, circling his forearm over the steering wheel and resting his head on it, facing Poe. Isaac’s brown eyes danced, hopeful once again. “We are idiots.”

Poe snickered. “Agreed.”

He lifted their intertwined fingers and placed a soft kiss on each of Isaac’s knuckles. Isaac turned his whole body so it was facing Poe and reached out to run his hand down Poe’s cheek. Isaac seemed to be searching him for any indication of what to do next.

Poe knew what came next, he wasn’t a virgin. But this was Isaac. With Isaac, sex wouldn’t be a game or a means to an end. For once Poe craved to touch and be touched just for the sake of connection.

And that scared him.

He let go of Isaac’s hand, retreating into himself, seeking equilibrium again. He couldn’t think with Isaac’s skin against his. This was everything he had wanted, for years, and inexplicably it felt like too much too soon.

He needed a distraction. “I brought you something.” He bent forward and opened the bag at his feet.

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “From rehab?”

“I still had some store credit left when I checked out.” He pulled the plastic bag out of his backpack and handed it to Isaac. “I cleaned the place out.”

Isaac untied the straps of the plastic grocery bag and laughed, the joyful sound filling the cab of the truck and rumbling through Poe.

Poe reached over, picked one of the Snickers bars out of the bag and handed it to Isaac. “I figured sixty-three of them should last you a while.”

Isaac ripped the top open. “Isn’t sugar supposed to be the go-to substitute for recovery? That and cigarettes?”

Poe shook his head. “I don’t need either of them.” He didn’t say the only thing he needed to keep him sober was Isaac. He still wasn’t sure whether he could trust Isaac to stay. Would Isaac be able to love even the new and improved Artie? Maybe too many years had passed and too much damage had been done. Isaac’s ideal
—
the teenage Artie tucked safely in Isaac’s memory
—
was long gone. He didn’t know how to begin reconciling their lives.

“You want one?” Isaac asked, either oblivious to Poe’s inner turmoil or ignoring it. Most likely the latter if Poe knew him at all.