Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) (18 page)

T
he art therapy
teacher pats me on the shoulder as I help her collect the stray pencils that some of the other residents left on the tables in the workroom. This has become a routine for the past week while I wait for my ride home from either Ezra or Lou.

It’s too far of a walk this time to get back to my apartment. Plus that blistering need to burn off excessive energy is slowly extinguishing inside me like a flickering candle losing oxygen. Besides, I’m here for six hours a day, Monday through Friday and by the end of various group, art, and individual therapies, I’m beat.

The thing about being stabilized on the right dosage is that my thoughts and emotions feel more balanced, more rational. I felt completely out of it for a couple of days, but that was only the meds establishing a baseline in my system.

Eventually it will become my new normal. A normal I’ll have to live with.

Like Dr. Wolf said in my individual therapy session yesterday, “You need to accept the fact that you’re going to be on medication for many years. Maybe always. And that’s okay. You have the opportunity to make your life what you want it to be.”

That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I will grieve the moments I felt so goddamn free and on top of the world like I could do anything, be anyone. But the doc explained that grandiose thinking is a feature of manic episodes. He says I’ll have to get my highs in smaller doses—from real experiences, true moments of happiness.

Like finding out that I earned an
A
in my intermediate flight theory class and can move on to register for my flight instrument course.

Certainly I won’t miss the days of being so miserable and despondent that I struggled to see anything good in my life. Except maybe Lucas.

I straighten the pile of rolled up drawings on the back table we had made this afternoon. Today’s theme was body mapping, which meant that we outlined our forms on a large surface area. Then we used words, pictures, and symbols to show what experiences our minds, hearts, and extremities had gone through in life.

Plenty of images and phrases had made it to my head and chest sections, as I labeled my general interests and talents. I even wrote in my parents because I still love them, even if they don’t fulfill me emotionally the way I need them to. Even if my dad’s fists have bruised my skin as well as my heart.

When I got to the midpoint of my outline on the paper, the place the art therapy teacher called our very epicenter, I realized how lonely and barren the cavern of my soul was. The only two things I was able to draw in that area that filled me up was flying and Lucas.

I smile thinking how Lucas would’ve sketched the shit out of the single prop aircraft I had placed there.

Damn, I miss him. I just got him back, and I can’t help wondering if I lost him again. But the only thing I can do is have faith.

My clay hope vessel is drying on a separate table near the therapist’s desk, and I run my fingers over the curved edge. When we made them two days ago, we were instructed to fill the container up with our wants instead of our
needs
. I had placed Lucas’s name inside because essentially I know I’ll survive if he disappears from my life again. But I still
want
him with every fiber of my being. He is always only a stone’s throw away from my thoughts at any given moment. Much like he had been over the years.

As I walk toward the exit to wait for my ride on the outside bench, I wave to one of the younger inpatient residents from my morning group. I plan on making my number available to him if he ever needs a friend because he’s a stark reminder of the scared kid I used to be.

Dr. Wolf always says that before I move forward, I have to take a meaningful look back. So tomorrow, after my morning group, I’m going to write a couple of closure letters. One to my aunt—in order to send my condolences about my uncle. The other will be mailed to my parents, and that one makes me the most anxious.

But I’m an adult, I have my own life to forge, and I need to walk away from their influence comfortable in my own skin.

When I see Lou’s truck, I wave in his direction as he smiles. He has sort of become a surrogate father figure to me, whether he realizes it or not.

“Thanks again, Lou,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat. “I know I really need to get my own wheels.”

He glances at me in his side view as he pulls onto the street. “Your folks never helped you get a car after you got your license?”

“Yeah, I got my dad’s older sedan when I turned eighteen,” I say, remembering that there were stipulations that came with it. Like enrolling at USD and not in aviation classes. “But my dad said if I was going to move out and drop my classes, I was on my own. So I had to leave it behind.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You didn’t want to be in college?”

“I wanted to enroll in aviation school,” I say and shiver thinking about my parents’ disapproval. “My dad knew I had only a slim chance of becoming a pilot because of my diagnosis. It pissed him off that I still wanted to pursue it, even if it meant taking a less prestigious job at an airstrip somewhere.”

Lou shakes his head in disgust. “That’s too bad, G-man.”

“He always told me my head was stuck in the clouds.” Lou smiles at that description. “And I guess he was right.”

“I wished you would’ve shared all that with me before,” Lou says as he changes lanes. “I never really understood what was up with you. You sure scared the shit out of me a couple of times balancing yourself on those beams.”

I shake my head and smile grimly, humiliation coloring my cheeks. “That was partially the mania that comes with having bipolar. But it was also just me dreaming about being up there. Flying free. Sorry that I made you worry.”

“It’s all good kid,” he says and thumps his fist on my knee. “But I could’ve told you that my brother-in-law owns Sherman Airfield. It’s a smaller business but they keep pretty busy. They offer flight lessons and charter services.”

My breath catches in my throat. The same airport Lucas had taken me to that one day. I stare at his profile as a hundred questions collide in my head.

“How about I ask him if there are any entry level positions?” he says. “You’d probably have to do the grunt work for awhile. Driving fuel trucks, washing airplanes. Maybe even check out what the aviation mechanics do over there. You’re good with your hands.”

“You…you’d do that for me?” I swallow down the huge lump in my throat. “But what about being part of your crew? Don’t you need me on the new jobsite in a couple of weeks?”

“Sure, I like having you around, but you’ve got your own dreams,” he says as he pulls up to my apartment building. “I can make the call, but you’ve got to do the rest of the work. It’s going to be up to you to prove yourself.”

“Thank you, Lou,” I say, resisting the urge to throw my arm around him. “You don’t know how much your support means to me.”

“You’re a great kid,” Lou says as I slide out of the seat. “You’ll figure it out.”

I can’t help the genuine smile that splits my face all the way up the stairs. These are the moments Dr. Wolf is talking about.

L
ucas
,

Not sure if you’re ready for an email from me. But it feels like old times to send you a status report on my life.

I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately, especially in my therapy sessions. It’s been painful but also really liberating.

I feel like I got a second chance to start over again. I don’t know how many times you get that in life, but it feels damn good.

I miss you a hell of a lot.

But this is a different kind of ache than the one I had five years ago.

This is the kind that is filled with possibilities, and I just hope...

Well damn. I’ll leave it right there. I just…hope.

Do we still got this?

Love,

Gabriel

“
H
ey
, Ma.” I look around to make sure I’m alone before I sit next to her gravesite. She doesn’t have a nice headstone, and she’s not in a nice cemetery. It wasn’t as if we had the money saved for something like that. They’d raised money in the bar she used to work at—people she used to serve drinks to, and people who’d served drinks to her, rallied together when they lost one of their own.

It’s the first time I’ve been back to Riverside County since I moved to LA. It’s the first time I’ve visited her since the one time I came when I got out of juvie.

“So…I’m gay,” I tell her, before chuckling. It almost feels silly to say, because it’s just my truth. Part of who I am, and I’m okay with that. But still, it’s something she should have known a long time ago. I’d used excuses not to tell her, and now I wish like hell I had. She deserved to know that part of me. “Don’t worry. I’m not in the closet and I don’t wish I were straight. I’m okay with that piece of who I am…it’s the rest of my life where I struggle.”

I pick a long blade of grass from the ground, before twisting it around my finger. “For the past year, I’ve been working in a bar, just like you used to do. Before that, I did shit jobs. Nothing that really mattered. Nothing that I really cared about. I know I made you that promise…told you I’d make something of my life. That’d I’d follow my dreams, but the truth is, I was scared outta my fucking mind. Scared of failing, not being good enough or smart enough or having enough money…and…I also felt guilty. Jesus Christ.” I wipe my eyes, but more tears continue to pour out of them. I’ve been crying a whole hell of a lot lately, and I’m pretty much over it.

“I feel like an idiot.” Again, I look around and there’s no one here except me, Mom, and hundreds of other people who lost their lives and didn’t have the means to be buried somewhere nice. “So yeah. I know it sounds stupid, but I was trying to punish myself. Punish myself for letting you down…for letting you die.” The tears flow freely now. I don’t try to hold them back. They water the ground that my mom is buried beneath.

“I’m sorry for that. Sorry I got locked away. Sorry I let you die alone. Sorry I couldn’t make you stop drinking, but I’m starting to realize something. I feel like shit for even thinking it. It’s like I want to put the blame on you, but I realize now, that there was nothing I could have done. I couldn’t make you stop drinking. Only you could have done that.” The same way no one can make me get my life together except me, and no one can fight Gabe’s demons for him except him.

“I’m sorry you lost your battle, but I’m going to work my ass off not to lose mine. I’m going to start a part-time job building sets with my friend Conner. The rest of the week, I’m going to figure out school. I have a lot of general education classes I gotta do, but I’ll also be working on getting my associates in Architecture Technology. Eventually, I’ll need a bachelor’s or something, but it’s a start.” Tilting my head down, I look at her grave. At the weeds and the grass growing there and whisper, “It’s a start,” again.

That’s all you can do is start somewhere, and then work toward your goal from there. I figure starting is the hardest. Now that I’m doing that, I can do anything.

It’s not going to be easy. I might need to find a roommate to cut expenses, or move out of Hollywood altogether. But it will be worth it. Whatever I have to do, it will be worth it.

Gabe’s fighting his demons; it’s time I begin to fight mine.

From there I tell Mom about Gabe. I start from the beginning—the emails we shared as kids, and how we stopped talking before I got into trouble. I tell her about him coming back into my life and falling in love with him and my fear about his bipolar.

It feels good to tell her things she should have always known. To tell her things I wish she were around to see.

When I’m finished, I tell her goodbye and promise to come back… Maybe even to bring Gabe one day.

I
read
the email from Gabe for the third time. He sent it five days ago. I’ve considered checking my inbox a few times since we separated, but I think I knew something would be there from him. It’s not that I don’t want to see it. I fucking do. Hell, if I had it my way, I’d be at his place with him right now, but the truth is, I know this time is important for both of us.

It doesn’t mean I don’t want him. I want him so bad I ache, but this time will make us stronger. He was right. Even though I didn’t want to believe it at first, he was right.

Gabe,

Thanks for the status update. It’s good to hear from you. I’m glad it’s going well and…fuck, I miss you too. I miss you now more than I did the first time I lost you…maybe because now what we have is even more real? But then, I think it was always real.

You’ve turned me into a sap. LOL. I’m kidding.

Seriously, though. I’m proud of you. You should be proud too. Are you proud?

As for saying we had to do it on our own, you were right. I didn’t want to hear it at the time because I think I was trying to save you the way I couldn’t save Mom, but you were right.

I’m working with Conner now. I’ve also had an appointment with the financial aide office, and admissions at City College. Gonna design buildings one day. Even if it takes me twenty years, I’m gonna do it.

I miss you. Keep getting better, okay? No matter how long it takes, I’m here.

We definitely still got this,

Lucas

L
uke
,

Fuck it was good to hear from you. And I like when you’re a sap. More of that in the future, please…now that I know we’re still a possibility. Because damn. This is very real for me too.

Yesterday was my last day of treatment and I am proud, definitely. And ready, so ready, to get started again. With life.

And dude you should be proud too. I almost fell off my chair when you said were working with Conner. And enrolling at City College. So happy for you. Your mom would be happy too. You know that, right?

Guess what? Lou told me about a job at Sherman Airfield. Does that sound familiar? The same airport you took me to a couple months back. He said a family member owns it and maybe I can get some kind of entry-level job. I’m keeping my fingers crossed because I have a phone call with the dude tomorrow.

So far everything’s cool and I’m doing well on my meds. I don’t plan on ever fucking around like that again. One thing I realized in therapy is that all of this is a permanent part of my life. I actually need the meds and therapy to function. That’s just how it is and I can accept that.

For a while, I was afraid what you’d think of me on these meds—if you’d think I was different or boring or something. You only know the Gabe off the medicine. But I can’t feel like that anymore. I can’t be scared. I am who I am, and I hope you’ll want me as is.

I’m so glad we got this.

Gabriel

G
abe
,

I want you. No worries about that. I want you no matter what. I’ll be glad you’re not hanging off buildings and giving me a heart attack. The only place you need to be wild like that is when we’re in bed ;)

Sorry, been thinking about that stuff too, and if I’m being honest, jerking off to thoughts of you all hot and sweaty. Imagining how sexy you are. I can’t wait to be next to you again. Don’t wanna be with anybody else. Is it too soon to say shit like that?

That’s fucking awesome about the airport. Let me know how it turns out.

I was able to get financial aid and I’m enrolled in my first class. Can you fucking believe it? And I like working on the sets. It’s pretty badass.

We’re finally doing this—this adult thing we kept dreaming about so many years ago. This time we’re doing it right.

We got this,

Lucas

L
uke
,

Is this like sexting but with old school emails? LOL. Damn you got me so hard reading that. I can’t wait to be with you again. Your raft, my raft—it doesn’t even matter as long as we’re together. I don’t want anybody else either.

I can’t believe it’s been a month since all that went down. Which also makes it a month since I last saw you. One week since I started working part-time at Sherman Airfield. Lou was right. His brother-in-law has me doing basic stuff, but I’ve never been happier because I’m around all kinds of aircraft.

I’ve been straddling both jobs because my new boss wanted to make sure I was a good fit. But after this week, he told me I could start full time beginning of the month, if I want. I can still make my weekly therapy appointments after my shift.

Maybe someday I’ll be standing on the roof of one of your skyscrapers. And you’ll be a passenger on one of my planes.

Someday we’ll fly high. High on life.

Gabriel

G
abe
,

Maybe we should be skyping instead of emailing. We’re so archaic.

But if I saw you on that screen, I’d want to jump in my car, pick your ass up, and have you all to myself. So it’s better this way. It’s killing me not seeing you—not even gonna lie. But it’s important too, I think. That we have this time.

I don’t miss the bar at all. Building something, even if it’s just sets is so much more satisfying. There’s a guy on the crew who’s trained in structural engineering, like that dude you work with. He said I might be able to be his apprentice, if this job doesn’t become permanent. Fuck, that would be so cool.

I miss you,

Lucas

L
uke
,

Damn do you get me all horny when I read how much you miss me. I miss you too. I want to feel you inside me again. Like really feel you. I jacked off last night thinking about it. Being connected like that again.

I’ve been hanging out at the garage where the mechanics rebuild engines. It never even occurred to me that I would enjoy that, but I do. It’s my favorite part of the day. Along with fueling up the aircraft before they take off down the runway. I pretend like it’s my plane and I’m about to go on an adventure.

My boss knows I’m enrolled in on-line classes and agreed to give me flying lessons. He said I’d get them for free as long as I’d be open to working overtime when he needed me. That was a no-brainer.

When we finally see each other, I got something special to show you. Ezra hooked me up with his tattoo artist friend. I got ink behind my ear. It’s a semi-colon. I first saw it in day treatment on a couple of patients. Apparently it’s a thing for people who suffer from mental health disorders. It means you haven’t given up yet and that you’re making a commitment to stay healthy.

Well, I did it. I made my commitment. I wanted you to know that.

Love,

Gabriel

G
abe
,

The idea of you getting that tattoo and making that commitment got me all choked up. See, I told you that you turned me into a sap.

I want to be inside of you again too. So fucking much.

Most of all, I just want to see your face. Talk to you. Make sure you’re real. That we’re still real.

I want to talk to you face to face. You’re my best friend, and I was so fucking scared I would lose you.

You let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be here waiting.

Love,

Lucas

L
uke
,

Remember when I told you that I wrote some letters in therapy? One was to my aunt. She sent me a box of things from my uncle. Things like aviation books, model airplane kits, flying pins, stuff like that. Really cool.

The second letter was to my parents, which was painful but cathartic. Well, my mom finally wrote me back. I knew my dad wouldn’t. I honestly didn’t expect anything from either of them. I just wanted to say my piece.

She told me that she’s happy for me, and that her doctor put her on a trial of anti-depressants and they are helping. Go figure. Finally.

She said that she and my dad are going away next weekend and that she’ll leave the keys to my car—which apparently has been sitting, collecting dust all this time—under the front seat. It’s mine if I want to drive home and take it.

Will you go with me, to get my car? Day trip?

Please say yes. I cannot wait to see you. To show you this is real.

Let’s do this.

Love,

Gabriel