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Myrna
Part 2
So a couple of times when Ben and I were looking at
schools, I introduced him as my sister's father's partner, but then over a cup
of coffee Ben just laughed as he said, "Gus, let's go with 'uncle,' and
leave it at that."
I know I inherited more than a little of my dad's in-your-face approach to
people, but I have a much better sense of humor about it. I mean, both Ben and
I knew I was introing him like that as much for affect as for clarity. I can't
help it-it just cracks me up the way someone being queer still bothers some
people.
After the graduation ceremony, I made a beeline for my mob, praying I could
chuck that fucking sign before Jane or Chloe used it to track me down. I
figured Dad and Justin would have already ducked out, but they were waiting
right along with everyone else. Public shit like a graduation can be a pain in
the ass for them anyway, just because, you know, it's Brian Kinney and Justin
Taylor and all the shit that goes with that. But even if they weren't so well
known, it would be...I don't know, hard or uncomfortable or whatever because,
well, you know. I mean, any time you're in a crowd, in some unfamiliar place
and you can't see, it's gonna be hard.
The thing is, you'd never know it if you were just watching from the outside.
Justin never looks nervous or upset or anything. He's so...just normal about
it, it's easy to forget he hasn't always been blind. He didn't even start to
lose his sight until I was, like, fourteen, I guess. No, that's not right.
That's when they told everybody. It had started happening way before that, a
few years at least. They just covered it up.
I sort of see why they did. First of all, it was just so awful. And it would
have been awful no matter who it was happening to, but Justin was an artist, a
painter. I know the blurb on his book jackets always says "graphic
designer," but that was just something he did when he wanted to earn a few
bucks. He was really an artist. I know that because his work is all over their
place. We have a couple of pictures at our house, and Gran and Jen have some
too, but most of them are at my dad's.
When they found out that Justin was going blind (but long before they told
anyone), my dad started buying up every piece Justin had ever sold. It's not
like they were worth millions of dollars or anything, but there were a lot of
them.
"He can't stand for them to be out there," was my dad's cryptic
explanation for doing it, and even after we all knew what was going on, I
couldn't understand what he meant. Maybe it sounds callous but it seemed to me
like all of Justin's stuff would be worth tons more money after he couldn't
draw anymore, but all my dad would say was, "I told you. He can't stand for
them to be out there. So, they're not gonna be."
"But that doesn't make any sense!" I said.
Dad just lifted his eyebrow at me and said, "It doesn't have to."
That's kind of my dad in a nutshell.
So, back to graduation day. I made my way over to my crowd, a little concerned
because my friend Chewy's dad was talking to my dad. Chewy's dad is a
neurosurgeon, and every time he talks to my dad or Justin, he tries to get into
all of the stuff they're doing nowadays with conditions similar to Justin's. I
guess there was this operation he could have had a few years ago that might
have saved his sight or at least slowed down the process of losing it, but
Justin didn't do it. There were a lot of risks and stuff, but you'd think he
would have at least tried something.
Dad has a really short fuse about all of that stuff, and if I wanted to be
alive for the round of parties later that night, I needed for us to get the
hell out of there without a scene. "Hey, hey, Dr. Morgan!" I said,
jogging up to the two of them. "I saw Chewy looking for you. He's up
toward the stage with Moog and Fitz."
"Congratulations, Gus!" Dr. Morgan said, shaking my hand. "We'll
see you later at Lewis' party, won't we?"
"Absolutely," I said, glancing quickly at my moms. I knew we were
having a family thing back at our place, but I was counting on it being over by
three, four at the latest. There were parties all over the place, and if I
played my cards right, I could stay one or two parties ahead of Jane and Chloe
and keep my balls in tact for another day or two. But Mom had a tendency to get
way too sentimental about, fuck, I don't know, passages or whatever. And
sometimes Ma could talk her out of it, and sometimes we all had to, like, join
hands together and sing campfire songs.
"Columbia!" Dr. Morgan said to my dad. "You must be proud of
this boy, huh?"
"As can be," Dad said, with this really insincere smile on his face,
and I hoped he wouldn't say anything about Chewy going to Penn State because
even if he was trying to be polite somehow he probably would have made it sound
like a slam.
Justin patted Dr. Morgan on the back. "Good to see you, Don," he
said.
"You too," Dr. Morgan said. He held a card out to Justin who
obviously couldn't see it. My dad kind of snatched it from him and slid it into
the breast pocket of his suit coat. "Call next week to set up an
appointment," he said, then walked off to find Chewy.
"Fuck you!" my dad called softly once Dr. Morgan was (thankfully) out
of earshot. Justin smacked him on the chest as he threw an arm around my
shoulder.
"Gus! You're a high school graduate!" he said, and then everyone
remembered why we were there, and I was hugged and kissed and slapped on the
back within an inch of my life.
"Christ, get the hell off my boy," my dad finally said, prying Gran's
hands off me. He licked his finger and tried to smear away the lipstick
covering my face, but his grimace told me it wasn't working very well.
"Could we get this show on the road?" he griped. "They're gonna
smear my picture all over the paper tomorrow. Like I need the world to know
I've got a high school graduate for a kid."
There were the usual groans and eye rolls that always come when my dad says
stuff like that, but at least it got people moving toward the door.
"Guster!" Moog shouted as we passed him, raising his fist in the air.
"Moooooog!" I shouted back. "I'll pick you up at four! Fitzie's
Mommy's gonna drop him off at Chewy's around five!"
"Chewy, Moog, Futzie," my dad muttered, shoving me out the door.
"Why can't straight people use actual names?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "It's Fitz," I said, which he totally knew
because Chewy, Moog, and Fitz had been my best friends since I was, like,
eight. "His last name's Fitzpatrick. It makes perfect sense." Dad
hrmphed, but it was mostly for effect.
We stopped by the passenger door of what is the fucking coolest 2018 Porsche
Dhormer on the planet. He'd just bought it a few weeks ago, and I'll admit I
was hoping he might hand his 2016 Porsche down to me. I know, I know, I have a
totally choice two-year old Benz, but Jesus think what I could score on the
Columbia campus with the Porsche? Dad just made this whole big production of
laughing his ass off when I asked about having it, but he might come around
yet. He's one of the few parents in the world who's actually swayed by
arguments about how much more you can fuck around if you have this accessory or
that.
"Hey, can I drive?" I asked, expecting little more than incredulous
laughter from my dad. Usually he won't let me touch a new car until it's at
least six months old.
Dad studied the keys in his hand for a second then studied me with this fake
intensity that had me rolling my eyes at his drama. He chuckled then and threw
me the keys, and I whooped with victory and slid into the driver's seat as
quickly as I could before he changed his mind.
He stood outside the door for a minute, acting like he was fixing the cuff of
his shirt, but he was really watching Justin getting into Jenn's car. It's a
habit for my dad because it's not like Justin needs special help anymore for
stuff. Well, I mean, he does, you know, need a guide when he's walking through
the parking lot or making his way to a seat in the auditorium. Dad still sort
of thinks he's the only one who knows how to offer an arm or mention how many
steps are coming up or things like that.
"So are you gonna make Justin call Dr. Morgan?" I asked once we got
on the road.
My dad sighed. "I wish I had a dime for every well-meaning asshole loser
who's found the next great cure for what ails us. I'd be a rich man."
"You are a rich man."
"Hmmm, true. I'd be a richer man. Always a good thing."
"Ma said they're making new discoveries all the time and you never know
when they'll be able to do something so he can see again. Why don't you just
get him to go talk to him?"
A small smile played at my dad's lips. "Why don't I get him to go?"
he repeated.
"Don't act like that's some out-there thing to say. He does shit for you
all the time."
"Do we really need a sermon about Saint Justin the Divine today? I'm all
about a little macaroni salad, seven thousand beers, your mothers' tearful
lamentations about how they used to diaper your darling little ass and now look
at you, all grown up, a man..."
"God, shut up."
"Shocking the way you speak to your father," he said, with a tragic
sigh. "The father who bought most of those diapers. The father who steered
you down the road to adulthood, who selflessly nurtured you on the..."
"Jesus, Saint Who the Divine are we talking about again?" Dad just
laughed, even as I shook my head. "I just think Justin should have, like,
tried harder. Don't you ever get, like, pissed at him?"
"All the time," he said easily. "How fucking hard is it to put
the milk back in the fridge when you're done? I've poured fifteen thousand
dollars down that sink in the last 20 years. And you know what he says every
time? Every fucking time? 'Oh, I didn't see it out.'"
"Dad," I interrupted, "You know what I mean. That he didn't have
that surgery. That he didn't, like, at least *try*, you know?"
He turned and looked at me with that condescending amusement that makes me want
to throw shit and, like, totally wipe that look off his face forever. He shook
his head and said mockingly, "Still think you've got us all figured out,
don't you Sonny Boy."
God, I hate that! I hate it so fucking much! "What?" I said. We were
home by then, and I got out of the car and stood there for a minute.
"Just...maybe you should have pushed even harder, that's all I'm
saying."
My dad got out and gently closed the car door, then walked toward me, his chin
raised in that way that said he was going to challenge me to do something or
think something.. "I begged him," my father said slowly, using that
tone that meant I'd better be listening. "On my knees, Gus; God damned
down on my knees, wailing like the helpless little fairy you think HE is and
throwing out every lame ass bargaining chip I could think of, I begged him not
to have the surgery. Hell, I'd've run for president of the fucking PTA in high
heels and pearls if that's what it took."
I was nodding, like I was totally getting it, but then the words actually
registered and then I was shaking my head. "Wait, no, that's not how
it..." I said, but was interrupted by that cool, dangerous tone.
"What, you don't like that picture of your big butch daddy? Does that mess
with the tidy image of your old man as the mighty lord of the manor and wussy
Justin as the timid little woman?"
Okay, see, this is where Dad and Justin are so different. Justin would never in
a million, billion years throw back in my face what a total shit I was to him
for...or, I don't know, like, the first few years of my adolescence. My dad, on
the other hand, will remind me of it on his death bed when he's, like, a
hundred and twelve.
Well, what the fuck can I do? I was a shit. But God, I mean, I think I can be
cut just a little bit of slack, you know? There I was, like, 12 or 13 years
old, and I'm in the middle of the weirdest fucking family situation in the
universe and everyone around me is totally queer, and I'm trying to figure out
what that makes me, and then there's all these different ideas buzzing around
me about what it means to look like a man, never mind what it means to actually
*be* a man. I think I'm entitled to be ever so slightly screwed up.
Which, actually, my father granted me. I just wasn't allowed to shit on Justin
because of it. And isn't that what you need to hear when you're a kid who's
just coming to understand how fucking hypocritical the entire universe is? My
dad shit on Justin all the time, but the minute anyone else looked at him
cross-eyed, he blew up.
Look, there's a reason why no one lets him read J's book reviews before they've
been sanitized.
So, I'm 13, and my father is Brian Fucking Kinney. He's always been this, sort
of, dangerous, mysterious figure and he's just so fucking...cool. Everything
about him just seemed so totally cool, you know? He's, like, the best looking
guy and rich as fuck and has all these cars and electronics and, God, his loft
was huge and full of the best of, like, everything, and he has a condo in Aspen
and use of a beach house in Miami. I thought he was a god. And then there's
Justin. And he's, like, short and skinny and doesn't dress cool or anything and
he's kind of quiet and, I don't know, he's not, like, effeminate the way Emmett
is, which is kind of funny and, sort of made up or, you know, done just to get
a rise out of people. But I started to realized that Justin was effeminate in a
different way, like a really irritating, lame kind of way. Like...weak, you
know?
I just couldn't understand what a man like my dad was doing with someone like
Justin. My dad could have been with the richest, smartest, coolest guy
anywhere, but instead he was with Justin.
And it's weird because the feelings just came on, like, all of a sudden. Justin
had been around my whole life, and we'd always gotten along okay. He and my dad
had always been a package deal, and my dad worked all the time, so a lot of
times when we were supposed to do shit, it ended up just being me and Justin,
and I'd always been okay with that. But then I started feeling all, like,
embarrassed when I was with him, like, ashamed of him, I guess. It's not like I
wanted to feel that way, I just did.
I just came to feel like Justin was so, like, beneath my dad it wasn't even
funny, and I didn't see why I had to pretend like everyone else that it wasn't
totally ridiculous for them to be together. I wasn't going to act like Justin
was as good as us when he totally wasn't. Maybe everyone else was some kind of
hypocritical loser, but not me.