Ripples Through Time (19 page)

“Yeah,” Portia muttered, bleary eyed. She yawned.

“A movie sounds good,” Jessica agreed.

“There’s nothing good out,” Quincy said, “and the movies I
want to see Portia is too young for. Can I go to Kyle’s house? His parents just
got him a Playstation and a bunch of new games.”

“I don’t like you playing those games,” Jessica said. “They
are so violent.”

“What happened to the good old games, like pong?” Ed asked,
his voice edged with sarcasm. “Couldn’t kill anyone on pong.”

“You laugh, but I think those games make kids more violent.”

“Or less violent, depending which theorist you ask,” Ed said
with a shrug.

“Do you always have to be contrary?” Jessica asked, but the
question was more playful than angry.

“I disagree with your assessment that I’m being contrary,”
replied Ed, smiling.

“So can I go?”

Ed looked at his wife. He had no objection to it, but he
also knew that if Jessica
did
have a problem with it, then it would have
to become his problem as well or there would be hell to pay. Women were funny
like that. They would overlook a thousand dangerous things that their children
did, but the moment they picked one to focus their passion on it consumed them.
One minute roller coasters were the bane of existence, the next alcohol and
cigarettes. If Jessica had picked video games as the new target of her
ire, then he wouldn’t bother opposing her. Better to just agree in the short
term until she forgot about it later.

She decided to let it slide. She threw up her hands for
show, and said: “Okay, you can go to Kyle’s. I’ll drop you off in the morning
on my way to Yoga.”

“Cool. Thanks mom,” he said, hugging her and then
disappearing. They wouldn’t see him the rest of the night.

“I still think those games are dangerous,” she said to no one
in particular.

“Which is why he doesn’t have one of those consoles of his
own,” Ed offered. “But we can’t sequester him. He’s going to experience that
kind of stuff sooner or later, and the more we forbid it the more he’ll want to
do it.”

She shrugged, not really agreeing but also not willing to
argue. Ed picked up Portia—she was almost snoring—and carried her upstairs to
her bedroom. Jessica followed. They tucked her in and stood together for a few
minutes, watching her sleep.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured as they left. He gently
closed the door. Jessica was staring at him, hand on his arm. There was a
hunger in her eyes, subdued by a note of apprehension. Portia was a notoriously
light sleeper. “You’re beautiful too.”

His voice was mechanical, lacking passion. He fought down a
wince.
Come on Ed, you’re better than that,
he thought. He took her hand
in his, hoping for the passionate thrill to shoot through it.

Nothing.

There rarely was.

Her anxiety was turning to worry in his silence. He leaned
in, and kissed her, pulling her close. She melted into him, grateful, and he
guided her to their room. He pushed the door closed and flipped the lock as she
pulled his shirt off. He carefully unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra,
an easy maneuver. He intentionally fumbled a few times, to add authenticity.

He let his mind wander, pulling a few stored thoughts and
images up. Just something to get him started, but today it wasn’t having
the desired effect. He fought back a curse as she worked on him.
Come on, come
on…

“Not in the mood,” she asked, anxiety back in full force.

“Just distracted,” he lied, pulling her away and laying her
back on the bed. He knew how to make her stop worrying, a practiced skill he’d
mastered many years ago. He began kissing her body, touching her in all the
right places. Her back arched when he slid his fingers across her stomach, and
he wished he could feel that same spark when she touched him.

His phone beeped. It was still in his pants on the other
side of the room.
Salvation.
He could check the message—probably from
work—and use it as an excuse to slip into the restroom. He kept a stash of
little blue pills in an ibuprofen bottle for just such an occasion. She was
allergic to NSAIDs so he wasn’t worried about getting found out.

“Ignore it,” she mumbled, gripping the sheets.

“Might be important,” he said. He knew it wasn’t. At least
not important enough that he couldn’t spare twenty minutes before checking it.

But that wasn’t the point. He stepped away and picked up his
pants. She sighed, covering herself and frowning.
She’s more suspicious than
she’ll ever admit,
Ed knew, overcome with guilt.

“More important than me?” she asked under her breath, just
loud enough that he could hear.
That’s where Quincy gets it.

He flipped open the phone and clicked the message. “Oh,
honey it’s just…”

His voice trailed off.

The number was unlisted. He would never dare to save it in
his phone, but he knew it by heart.

A chill shot up his spine.

No, no, no, why now?

“It’s just what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Damn it all. I can’t. I can’t,
he told himself,
knowing he would. It wasn’t even a weakening of resolve. There just wasn’t any.

“A work emergency,” he mumbled. “I have to go.”

He tried to focus, but his mind was whirling. “You have to
go now?” she asked, disbelief seeping in. It was tinted with despair and
confusion, and quite a bit of self-consciousness. She pulled the sheets higher,
covering her chest too.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shrugging his shirt on and
pulling up his pants. He caught her eyes and followed them to his crotch. He
was standing at full attention.
Damn it,
he thought.
I need an
excuse. Something. Anything.
But nothing came. “I’ll be back after
midnight.”

“I’ll be asleep,” she said, her voice flat. She was trying
not to cry.

I’ll stay. I should comfort her. This isn’t fair, and
definitely not acceptable. I should stay.

He paused at the door on his way out, turning to face her. “I
love you,” he said.

Silence.

He closed the door, miserable and thrilled at the same time.
He hated himself but that didn’t change anything. He took another glance at the
text on his way down the stairs, grinning like a buffoon:

Seven simple words that set his flesh with Goosebumps.

I’m off tonight. Want to come over?

The phone snapped shut.

His stomach hurt. It felt like shame.

Two years of these late night phone calls. He’d called off
work four times in the last three months, each time swearing it would be the
last. Each time he left the younger man’s apartment he was filled with self-loathing
and despair, promising it would never happen again. But a few days later the
shame would turn once more into despair and he would frantically await the next
phone call or text.

Alex zipped his pants and flashed Ed a smile, his piercing
gray eyes full of excitement and vigor. Ed felt another tingle, followed by
sharp jealousy. Alex was promiscuous, a fact he flaunted. They had fun, Alex
repeatedly said, but that was the end of it. Ed was okay with that, or at least
he wasn’t willing to press the issue. The only time he’d asked Alex to do
something outside of the college-kid’s bedroom had resulted in stony silence
and months without contact.

Its better this way, Ed knew. Safer.

Though, what did that even mean? He loved his wife…or at
least he wanted to be loyal to her. These midnight excursions were threatening
everything he knew. Everything he loved.
I’m normal. I want to be normal.

But that hadn’t worked. He tried. Oh how he had tried. First
it was out of sheer fear. Of his father. His teenage years into early college
he’d slept with a great many young girls. He’d never had an issue finding
them—he was handsome enough—nor had he had trouble pleasing them. His youthful
vigor and enthusiasm were all it really took.

Yet it was the tail end of college when he learned what he
was missing out on. One chance encounter (though looking back it hadn’t really
been chance) with a college roommate and he’d been forever changed.

That was after he met Jessica. She was pregnant with Quincy
at the time, and he did love her. In his own way. They were building a life
together, and since then his roommate had moved on. They’d never seen each
other since, and Ed never had the guts to try anything else like it.

Until he met Alex.

Let’s stay or something,
he wanted to say. But he
didn’t. He had to leave as well. Jessica would be worried and he’d been out too
late as it was. And worse, part of him really did want Alex to go. From his
life. Never to return.
I was fine without you. If you hadn’t shown up, my
marriage would be happier, Jessica would trust me more, and I wouldn’t be
risking everything.

“What are you thinking?” Alex asked. His piercing eyes were
staring at Ed, shocking him back to reality.

“I’m thinking of how complicated life is,” he said finally. That’s
a copout. It’s complicated because I make it complicated.

“It doesn’t have to be. You could leave her.”

Ed winced. “I wouldn’t leave Jessica.”

“Even for me?” Alex asked, pretending to pout.

Oh God, please don’t ask that of me…

Alex laughed. “You’d have a lot of fun with the other guys I
bring around.”

That hurt. So thoughtless. The words helped Ed make his
promise—hollow as it was—that this would be the last time. “I couldn’t leave
the kids,” he whispered mostly to himself. Alex shrugged.

“Nah, maybe not. But you’d be happier. You wouldn’t have to
keep pretending.”

“I think she suspects…”

Alex laughed. “Dude, she knows.”

Ed narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Come on, how many guys married as long as you spend that
much time with their tongue between their wife’s legs? By this point in your
marriage it’s supposed to go: she spreads, you pump, and game over. All she’s
got to do is ask one of her girlfriends how often they get licked and she’ll
know something ain’t right.”

Alex spotted the anxiety on Ed’s face and quickly added:
“But the bitch has it made. Even if she knows you aren’t into her, she probably
has more orgasms than most married women. Hell, if you give her one orgasm a
year you’re better than most husbands.”

Ed wished he could get mad at Alex, especially for calling
Jessica ‘the bitch,’ but he couldn’t. He was too worried that he might be
right.
Does she know?
He wondered that a lot. Would she say anything to
him, to jeopardize their stability? Or would she just put up with it for the
sake of the marriage? For the sake of the children?

How can I justify forcing this loveless marriage on her.

It had been so much easier pre-Alex. He hadn’t been
distracted, and all of his focus was spent making sure they were happy. A few
online subscriptions—another thing he was masterful at hiding—had been enough
to keep himself satisfied. But Alex had reawakened something in him, and his
building realization was that Jessica didn’t stimulate him emotionally. Sure,
with pills he could fake the physical side of it, but the game had grown
exhausting. He was depressed, worn thin, and sinking. Alex had revitalized him,
despite being unavailable emotionally.

“Why aren’t you in a relationship?” he blurted, cursing the
question. The last thing he wanted—despite his self-proclamations—was to scare
the gorgeous tanned man-whore away again.

Luckily, Alex only chuckled. “I don’t do the dating thing. Clubs.
One night stands. Those are for me.”

Ours isn’t a one night stand,
Ed thought. He didn’t
say it, afraid that voicing the concern might make it so. He didn’t want to do
anything to jeopardize…

This.

What the hell is this?

“I should go,” he announced, climbing out of the bed. Alex
was halfway in his shirt, and he watched the young man’s eyes explore his body.
His face heated up from the attention.

“I don’t think so,” Alex said, sliding back out of his shirt
and grinning as he moved back to Ed. “It looks like we aren’t quite done.”

When Ed finally made it home he felt sick, shameful, and
recharged. It was past four in the morning. He’d showered at Alex’s, but still
made sure to dump his clothes in the laundry and started it washing before
heading upstairs.

The house was deathly quiet and every breath sounded like an
earthquake.
I can’t keep doing this,
he decided, knowing he couldn’t
stop.
Never again,
he told himself, praying it wouldn’t be long before
he got another phone call or text.

What do I tell Jessica?
he wondered, gently pushing
the door open. She was asleep, the room quiet.

Part of him wanted her to find out. Or for her to admit that
she knew. He hated the lie, and she didn’t deserve it. But a much larger part
of him didn’t want to lose her and the kids.
They are all I have. They
justify me. I can’t lose them.

He slid into the bed, watching her soft breathing and
wishing she could make him feel like Alex did. Then he would never have to
leave or search around for something to fulfill him.

I don’t desire you, he thought, lying back on his pillow. God
help me, I want to. But I can’t.

He fell asleep, miserable and exhausted.

Mellie had you pegged before you turned fifteen.

I never imagined this conversation. Similar ones, yes. I’ve
feared those most of my adult life. But never with this man. After everything
that has happened, today and in my life, it seems so out of place for this
wrinkled old man with rheumy eyes and baggy skin sitting across from me to drop
something like
that
into the conversation. To claim that he knows that
I’m…

Even more, to claim that he’s
known.
For years. For…

God, since before I turned twenty. It seems so ridiculous to
think that Calvin, of all people, would be able to keep
that
secret. He’s
not really the secret-keeping kind of guy.

But the way he said it, ‘
Mellie had you pegged before you
turned fifteen’
, doesn’t really leave a lot to the imagination. There’s
only one thing he could be talking about once you blow the smoke away. And when
I really stop to think about it, it makes a sadistic sort of sense: Emily
always was perceptive as hell. 

The first burst of anger I’d felt at his words is already
ebbing. The terror is fading as well. They are being replaced with a hollow
sort of ache that settles in the pit just above my stomach. Angry butterflies,
ripping each other apart. I’ve always wondered how a conversation like this
would go. The things that would be said. The accusations leveled. In my
fifty-two years on this planet I’ve always been afraid of a moment like this.

But now that it is here, I just feel depressed.

“No, Edward,” Calvin says finally, interrupting my musing. I
come back to reality to see him shaking his head.

His mouth moves slowly whenever he isn’t speaking, like he’s
chewing gum. It’s like watching a cow chewing cud. Calvin’s done that for at
least the last four years, maybe even longer. Ever since his teeth were pulled
and replaced with dentures. Calvin has never noticed, and no one ever bothers
to point it out to him.

He says: “I’m not blackmailing you. I’d never do
something like that. Plus I promised Mellie I’d never tell a soul. I broke
enough promises to her already, and I ain’t breaking one more.”

“Then why tell me?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted you to know that I know,” he says.
“I wanted you to know that someone knows. That it’s okay.”

Okay.

That it’s okay.

I almost laugh.

Instead I nod, but more to be polite than because I agree
with what Calvin said. If it looks like blackmail, and tastes like blackmail…

But I don’t want to jump to conclusions. As far as I can
tell, if Calvin does know, and if he’s really known for a long time like he
says, then at least up until this point he’s been true to his word. He’s kept
my secret. But I highly doubt Calvin brought it up just now, on this sunny
and auspicious day, without purpose. Doubtless he has some goal in mind. At
best it serves to bring it to the forefront of my mind, maybe earn Calvin some
goodwill.

At worst…

I don’t shudder, but just barely.

The thing is: it’s a truth I’ve avoided for most of my life.
It wasn’t until recently that I really came to terms with it. I don’t regret
it—I regret the way I handled it, the way I hid from it, but not it.

I grew up in a conservative household. It was a weekly
occurrence that I heard about gay people. God hates homosexuals. They are an
abomination against the Lord and deserve nothing from a good and righteous
society except a merciful death. That’s what the bible says when interpreted by
my father. My father told me what he’d do to gay people, if he ever had the
opportunity, and it usually involved his shotgun.

He was an ignorant, foolish, and useless man. Racist,
sexist, prejudiced, and believing in his own self-righteousness by being born
white and Christian in America. As if he’d done something successful by it. But
I didn’t realize any of that until many years later. Parents don’t understand
to what extent they influence their children when they spout ignorant
principles as if they are the facts of life. I grew up thinking what he
thought, saying what he said, doing what he did. I wanted to make him proud,
and I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be
right.
Of course I wasn’t
gay. I
couldn’t
be gay, because that wasn’t natural. My feelings were
unnatural, wrong, and the Christian thing to do was to fight back against them.

By the time I understood how wrong that idea was, how full
of shit and stupid of a man my father was, it was too late. I had a wife with a
child on the way. It wasn’t their fault I was such a stupid bastard. I don’t
blame my father, because at a certain point it was my choice. At a certain
point my life had become my responsibility, I was just too blind to see it. I
could have done different, been different. But I was a coward.

I’d said my vows, sworn my oaths to my wife, and I grew up
believing that meant something. Not as a Christian, not from some misguided
principle of religious loyalty, but because it was the right thing to do. The
moment I fathered a child, the
second
I made the decision to bring one
into the world, my life stopped being about me. My life took on new meaning,
and my job was to raise that child as best I could. To do for that child what
my father never did for me.

I refuse to be one of the ‘
me, me, me
!’ parents that
expects entertainment to raise their children. Someone who is wrapped up
entirely in their own lives. Their own happiness. A lot of parents nowadays
seem to be almost surprised that they have kids. All of their energy goes into
their own careers and their free time is dedicated to their own happiness. I
think that most parents today are selfish, letting their kids get away with
anything to justify their own inattention.

I guess I’m just old fashioned.

Point is: I would never consciously do anything to
jeopardize my family, even at the cost of my own happiness. My own love. I
decided early on that I would be there for them no matter what, and I would
love them and accept them unconditionally. I’ve made my peace and come to terms
with it, and for the most part it’s never really been brought up.

Yet here Calvin sits, throwing it all in my face. After
the countless nights that I spent lying awake in bed, different versions of my
wife’s accusations playing out in my mind, Calvin is the one who finally
broaches the topic. And now butterflies are raging, I have a headache, and
anxiety and terror dance their way up and down my spine. Because there’s been
one common thing for each of those imagined conversations:

They all ended in tragedy.

“You’re thinking awful hard over there,” Calvin says, his
words slow as he chews on his invisible food. He is so tiny, I realize. Tiny
and frail, perpetually stooped over with only the barest few white hairs still
covering his pockmarked scalp. The chair practically absorbs him. He used to be
a tall and attractive man with a sharp chin and strong features, but all of
that strength and vitality is gone. Gone like dust in the wind.

I rub my eyes. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”

“Your secret. Was never mine to tell. If you want to keep
it, then you can keep it. You have grandchildren now, I hear.”

“Two,” I agree. “Quincy had twins.”

“And you love them.”

I nod. “I do love them.”

“You love your wife?”

“As any brother could love a sister. Or as close friends.
She means the world to me because she’s a great mother. But I don’t… It’s hard
to describe.”

Calvin waves his hand. “I’m sure it is.”

A moment passes in uncomfortable silence.

“I knew when I was twelve,” I say suddenly, eyes on the
table in front of me. “Or, not so much that I knew, but rather I had the
inclination. I never acted on it or even desired to act on it. I was afraid of
my father.”

“Afraid he would hurt you?”

I shake my head. “Afraid he wouldn’t love me. That meant way
more to me. I was afraid he would find out and then I would be alone. So I
never really took it seriously. I knew, but I didn’t really get it. There’s a
difference between knowing something and understanding what it means. I had no
clue what it meant.

“By the time I turned sixteen I started to understand. What
it meant. How it changed things. I just thought I was broken. It was so
completely unacceptable of a desire that I never stopped to think I would stay
that way. I was wrong. I thought I needed fixed.”

I glance over at Calvin, abashed. Now that my mouth has
started moving it doesn’t want to stop. “But you don’t want to hear about
this.”

“I do,” Calvin says. “I’ve always kind of wondered. It
shocked me, and I didn’t believe it. Mellie said it was fine and natural and
that we’d be there for you if you ever needed us. She changed my mind about a
lot of things.”

“Is this one of them?”

Calvin is silent for a moment, staring. “I’m not sure. I
grew up thinking it was wrong. Everyone thought so. But the thing is, you’re a
good man.”

I nod, nothing to interject.

“And you’re good for your kids. They love and adore you in a
way mine never did. You’re a better man than me in all the places it matters.
And I know, Edward, so if you want to talk about it, then talk about it to me.
I’ll never say a word.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“Tell me everything,” he reiterates. His expression is grim,
but his eyes are twinkling. “Tell me, and I’ll take it to my grave.”

I can’t help but laugh. Conniving bastard. I stare at the
marble table in front of me. I always loved this table, and the lawn. It’s well
kept. The grass never climbs higher than a few inches before someone is out to
trim it back down. This is the kind of place I want to live after I retire. The
kind of place I can settle down and relax. With my wife. I love her dearly,
but…

“Jessica is my best friend,” I admit. “I actually used to think
that was all there was to it between man and wife. You married your friend,
someone you enjoy spending time with and want to be around. I thought
eventually the feelings would come. The desire would manifest itself. But it
didn’t. I never understood how important the sex was. The love. The lust.”

Calvin nods and chews.

“I always wished I could give her more. To love her in the
same way she loves me. That little extra bit that everyone feels but no one
really talks about. I finally figured out that it wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
I could hide my feelings, bottle my emotions up for weeks. Months. But then
they would come out in a rush. I did things that are terrible.”

I pause here, the words hanging heavy in the air. I can
practically see them, dancing in front of me, mocking me in their finality.
That side of me, locked up and ignored, but never forgotten. Never far away.

“No,” I decide, “not terrible. I never did anything risky,
just things I promised myself I wouldn’t do. It took me forever to figure out
that I couldn’t change how I was born. No matter how badly I wanted to be
different, this is what I am. And now that I understand, it makes sense.
I’ve come to terms with it.”

“It’s not as big a deal anymore,” Calvin says. “When I grew
up you just didn’t talk about it. We pretended gays weren’t real.”

“It was a different time. If I was born today…or even twenty
years later…I don’t know what would have happened. What I would have done. I do
wonder, sometimes, how different my life would have been if I’d been with...” I
trail off, a sharp pang in my chest “…instead of Jessica.”

“You couldn’t have the children,” Calvin says firmly. Now I
have a pretty good idea of where Calvin stands on the situation. He only sees a
family as one thing: a man and a woman having children. The idea of a gay
couple adopting probably doesn’t even cross his mind, and if it did he’d have
serious reservations, like most Americans. They’d rather the child suffer in
foster care, alone and neglected, than to think of them raised by someone from
an ‘alternate lifestyle.’

I disagree with the old man’s viewpoint. I have, in fact,
met and spoken to several gay couples on the internet—male or female
couples—who have adopted children and live happy normal lives. Those children
are being nurtured and loved in a way that foster care never could. But Calvin
comes from a different era, and no matter how willing he is to let bygones be
bygones because of Emily, I know better than to think he will ever truly
understand.

“No,” I agree to be polite, “I wouldn’t have the children.”

“Did you love any of the men,” Calvin asks suddenly.

“One of them,” I reply with a shrug. “There only ever was
one that mattered, over a few years period. It was like a short hurricane in my
life. Threatened to uproot everything. It ended badly. None of them were
interested in anything except satisfying lust. But the one I loved, I loved the
same way you love Emily.”

Calvin seems to think about this. “You’ll still have to
answer to the Lord.”

My heart sinks.
This
was the conversation I’d
expected to have. Fire and brimstone, the Lord’s wrath, all of that. The
conversations my father would have had.

“For being gay?” I ask. “You think I’ll have to answer for
that?”

Calvin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The Lord made you
exactly how you’re supposed to be.”

“Oh,” I reply, flummoxed. “Then why?”

“You said your vows to your wife. Promised to be faithful.”

“Those were vows I hoped I could keep.”

“But you didn’t,” Calvin replies. “It’d be the same if
you weren’t gay and you cheated on your wife. You still cheated.”

I nod, conceding the point. I suppose if I took religion
seriously it might mean more to me.

“You weren’t honest with yourself.” Calvin chews for a
second. “But I suppose its people like me, too dumb to know any better, who
forced you to hide who you are. I reckon the Lord will be pretty lenient when
it comes to your sentence, considering.”