A Purple Winter Read online

  Frantic to be near him again, I quickly finished cleaning myself up and hurriedly towel-dried my skin and hair. I dressed in my favorite black jeans and a plain black long-sleeve shirt and then stepped out of the steamy washroom.

  In the kitchen, I found my mother sitting at the table in front of a tea pot and two cups. “We need to talk, Derek.”

  So she knew. Tensing, I pulled up a chair and sat in it, not meeting her eyes. I hoped this would be quick so I could rush off to the Lunds.

  “What did you do last night?” Mom pushed the sugar shaker my way. “Where did you go?”

  I shook sugar into my tea and watched the tiny white grains dissolve as I stirred them into oblivion. They were gone, yet I could taste them on my tongue. Even invisible things mattered. You couldn’t deny the essence of certain things, and though my mother refused to see who I was, it didn’t mean my nature could be erased. I had to find the courage to believe that. And maybe I could say it out loud.

  “Answer me, Derek.”

  I bit my lip, staring at the golden tea in my cup. “W—went to a clu—ub.”

  “A club? How did you even get in? And without asking me first?”

  I hated that I was blushing like a schoolboy caught cheating. “S—sorry,” I sputtered.

  “You were with Nicolai, weren’t you?”

  The sound of his name made me bold and I chanced a look up at her. I knew my usual gentle eyes were fierce now.

  “I told your father that a young man needs his dad around, but of course, he wouldn’t listen. Always chasing after some dream or another. He thinks money will mend my broken heart.” She sighed heavily. “And now…look at the mess he’s left behind.”

  I supposed I was the mess she was referring to.

  “I know that you’re…confused, Derek. I know that you’re lonely and—” she cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, “—your body’s changing. Your hormones are acting up and—”

  “I—I need to—to eat.” Mortified, I stood and went to hide my hot face in the fridge, pretending to be rummaging for breakfast in there.

  “There’s no shame in having…impulses.” Mom’s voice grew stronger. She’d probably rehearsed this conversation all night. “But as Albert Camus says, a man restrains himself. That’s what makes him a good and decent man.”

  God, she was quoting Albert Camus. This was serious. My mother despised existentialism. Never mind French authors.

  With my head still in the fridge, I mumbled a quick “yes” and grabbed the butter and some cheese slices.

  “Nicolai dropped out of school and he’s always driving that mean black car of his and doing God knows what around town. He’s trouble. His family doesn’t even attend church on Christmas Eve anymore, or any other day for that matter.”

  I shut the fridge door and looked at her. Had to say it. Had to release the truth into my own home. How could I live here and deny the very thing that made my life worth living? She couldn’t ask that of me.

  “Sometimes,” she said, holding my stare with hers, “teenage boys can’t help it. But if he’s been touching you, you need to tell him to stop. You’re too old for that kind of playing.”

  If sex was a game, then I intended on winning lots of rounds and taking home a few medals.

  “Has he been touching you?” Mom tried to hide her anxiety with a small smile. “You can talk to me.”

  Talk to her? She’d been neglecting me for years. Barely looking at me some days. And now she expected me to open up to her? To hand over my secrets?

  “I’m getting better, Derek. The new medication is helping and I’m fighting every day to survive and get out of this depression. But it’s an illness, baby, not a choice.” She lowered her eyes. “Though I’m sure that doesn’t make things easier for you.”

  I didn’t want to feel pity or compassion, but I was compelled to touch her. I walked up to her and put my hand on her shoulder. Mom grabbed my fingers and pushed her face into the nook of my arm.

  We stayed that way for a long time, motionless and silent. I could see our reflection in the patio glass. Why did it feel like I was holding a memory?

  I couldn’t be angry with her. Couldn’t hold a grudge. The truth was, I loved and forgave her. Then I remembered my brother’s name. He’d lived for a mere three minutes. Joseph. Joey. Yes, that was his name. The little brother who never came home.

  “You’re such a lovely, lovely boy,” Mom said, looking up at me with misty eyes. “But you need to pray, Derek. Pray very hard and those…feelings will go away.” She squeezed my hand. “Remember Diana from church camp? You two got along so well and she asked about you this week. She’s real pretty now. I think you’d—”

  “Mom.”

  She shut her eyes briefly and got out of her chair. She went to the counter and took the bread out of the bread box. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

  For a moment, I hesitated, the words I’m gay rolling back and forth on my tongue like a wave never reaching shore. But when she started buttering the bread, I sealed my lips and the opportunity was lost, squandered, and wasted.

  I was a coward.

  “By the way,” Mom said, unwrapping the cheese slice, “your father will be home next week. He says he’s made quite a bundle of cash and we might all go on a trip for Christmas. Would you like that?”

  The idea of leaving Nick, even for a few days, disgusted me.

  “Maybe we’ll go to Europe or something.” Mom was dreaming, her eyes riveted to the snowbanks in the yard as though she was seeing sand dunes. “We could go to Greece. A beach. Find a little village to stay in. All those sun-bleached roofs everywhere. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Greece. The blue Aegean Sea. A wedding? Hot sand crackling between my toes. And Nick standing against the brightest of lights.

  “Derek…wouldn’t you like that?”

  No, I wanted to stay here. Here where the winter stretched on forever and all I had was time and youth to spend it on.

  * * * *

  Sunday afternoons always wrapped me in a thick layer of gloom. The threat of school tomorrow, of that awful routine returning in full force, and the idea of people having family dinners all over the neighborhood while I watched some boring TV show, or worse, a golf tournament, weighed me down, until all I could do, was curl up with a book somewhere and wait for the night to finish me off.

  It was four in the afternoon and I’d gotten the heater in my bedroom to work again, so I sat over my blankets on my bed, listening to my mixed tapes. I knew them all by heart. When a song ended, I’d start singing the first lines of the next song before it even began.

  My father was coming home next week. Why did I have a feeling we wouldn’t recognize each other anymore? I could scarcely recall his features. He was a red head, like me, but his hair was darker, I remembered now. And he had brown eyes. But what did his voice sound like? It was as though I hadn’t seen him in centuries. He’d been a good father when I was little. Kind and patient, and at times, funny, too.

  What would he think of me now? I’d never marry a woman or father his grandchildren. Would he believe that he’d wasted his time raising me? That I was somehow defective? Surely, he’d be crushed. Maybe even repulsed by his own flesh and blood.

  Yet I’d withstand unimaginable suffering or loss if it meant winning Nick’s true love. I’d endure my mother’s silent judgment and my father’s shame, in exchange for the freedom to follow my heart’s desire.

  When the phone rang, I looked at it there on the wobbly table in the next room and knew I’d been expecting her call. “It’s time, hon,” Aunt Fran said on the line.

  Suddenly I was sitting on the cold cement floor with the phone on my lap. Couldn’t remember lifting the receiver or walking out of my bedroom.

  “You have to come back now.” Aunt Fran sounded weary, her voice thin as a sheet of paper. “You’ve gone in too deep, can’t you see that? Nick is falling apart. Your friends and family are praying and already starting to gri
eve your passing.”

  I blinked, my fingers twisting around the phone cord, my blurry gaze following it to the phone jack in the wall. No. Not coming back.

  “Derek O’Reilly, now, you listen to me. You’re lost in a world, a life, a dream, that doesn’t exist. Nick left for Vancouver in 1988 and you were twelve years old, not sixteen. You survived. You picked yourself up and graduated and then got your damn degree in finances. You met and fell in love with Nathan, Derek. Remember, Nathan? And you didn’t see Nick for another seventeen years before you met again and started a love affair. That’s the story, my darling. That’s your past and you’re stuck with it. But you still have a future, don’t you see? What of it now? And Nick? Do you know the state he’s in? He’s been sobbing in his hands for the last hour and no one dares even try to comfort him. Every minute that passes, is a minute lost, Derek. Please, listen—”

  “You’re not real.” I got to my knees and crawled to the phone jack. She wasn’t real. This was a dream.

  “Don’t you dare, Derek! Don’t you disconnect yourself from reality. You’ll sink so deep into your coma, you’ll never open your eyes again!”

  Staring at the wire in my hand, I remembered I hadn’t checked if Nick had returned from his short shift at Fleur de Sel. How could I have forgotten? He was probably home by now. I’d go to him and forget every word Aunt Fran had spoken. It was all just a dream.

  “Hon…don’t do it to him. You’ll kill him. Nick won’t make it without you.”

  It was easy pulling on the wire. There was a satisfaction in the sound of a dead dial tone. Now I was indeed free to pursue my heart’s desire.

  There would be no more phone calls. No more disturbances.

  Chapter 16

  The river bank was frozen, the water fixed in time.

  What day was it? Friday? Why wasn’t I at school?

  I sat on a park bench by a desolate playground, facing the Saint-Lawrence River. I was numb and shivering under my coat. Where was Nick? He’d tell me he’d be there one day, and then wasn’t. The days and nights passed, but I never was sure of where I stood and what was real or imagined. His kiss on my lips. His words in my ear. He had the bluest eyes in the world.

  Blue. Like the Aegean Sea. But I’d never even been to Greece. Never set foot on a beach. Maybe I’d read about it in some book Aunt Fran had given me.

  What was happening to me?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black figure coming closer and closer on the path. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to see David’s pale face watching me over the uplifted collar of his long black coat. His eyes, black and bottomless as a well, looked right at me. His expression was like an apparition in a mirror. “What are you doing here, Lucky?”

  Yes, what was I doing here? Suddenly, I was warm and alive again. I smiled and waved at him.

  “You’re skipping school, aren’t you?” David stood right above me, the wind lifting his cologne through the air. “Me thinks our little boy is sowing his wild oaths.”

  “Wha—at are you d—doing here?”

  David looked at the river. There were black circles under his eyes. “Making sure you don’t get lost.”

  “What?” I stood and came face to face with him.

  He looked away. “I fucked up, Lucky.” His eyes brimmed with tears, but he quickly ran a gloved hand over them and cracked a caustic smile.

  With a fingertip, I skimmed the edge of his shoulder. I wanted to hug him. To give him solace or peace. But I was too scared of his reaction.

  Then he walked away.

  “David!” I called out with such urgency, my own tone surprised me. “Wait!”

  He walked on for a few more seconds, but finally stopped and turned around, shooting me a hard glance. “What do you want?”

  I hesitated, the confession dancing on my tongue. “T—to be your friend.”

  David’s jaw tightened as though I’d shoved him. Slowly, his features changed and a subtle smile appeared on his face. “Am I not your foe, little boy?”

  I stepped up to him, never looking away from his face. “No…”

  “Ah, so you’re changing the story. All right…We’ll do it your way for a while. I could use a friend right about now.” He frowned and threw his arm around my shoulder. “Okay, Lucky, let’s go then. Let’s take a walk.”

  I wanted to ask him where, then realized it didn’t matter to me either way.

  * * * *

  “You know, people without roots are like leaves in the wind.” David jumped, spreading his thighs in mid-air, and then landed on the tips of his black hard-toe ballet shoes, spinning on himself, once, twice—I lost track. “You and I, we seek. Just drift and seek. But what are we seeking? Inclusion? Acceptance?” He was breathless, dancing, spinning, stretching. I could see two of him. David in the mirror and David in the room. We were in that warehouse, in his practice room. I sat by the radio, up against the wall, facing the wall-to-wall mirror. “But Nick,” David went on, running across the room, his weight barely shaking the hardwood floor, “his roots are so deep and strong, he can withstand any storm, any calamity. He can go anywhere and never leave himself.” Finally, David stopped, his thin chest heaving under his white tank top. He stood, graceful and pliant, gazing at his own reflection as though he was looking at another man.

  I thought of Narcissus. Of Echo.

  “We cling while Nick searches for uncharted territory. And it fucking terrorizes us, doesn’t it, little boy?” David moved closer to his face in the mirror. “The idea of not being enough.”

  I swallowed dryly and looked at the radio. The last song on the tape had played. The silence spread into the room like water filling a sinking ship.

  David went to a little fridge in the corner of the room and plucked a juice box out of it. He stabbed the box with a straw and came walking back to where I sat. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and plopped down on the floor, kneeling before me. “I’m hypoglycemic.” He slurped the grape juice.

  “I ha—ave asthma.”

  David licked his lips, watching me with those clever eyes of his. “So…wanna dance?”

  Dance with him? No way. I’d step on his toes. I’d make a fool of myself.

  “Come on, Lucky. Up you go.” David stood and offered me his hand. There were bruises on his wrists. Almost like finger marks. He glanced down at them and moved his hand away. “Let me find the perfect song,” he said, crouching by the radio.

  “What ha—happened to your a—arms?”

  He popped a tape in and pressed rewind or fast forward, until he’d found the song he was looking for, and then looked over at me. “Stand up and take your shoes off.”

  I knew the song. I’d recorded it from the radio on one of my mixed tapes, except the end was cut off by a radio commercial. It was Purple Rain. It had made me cry the first time I’d listened to it. But I wasn’t going to cry today.

  “I’m always gonna be some man’s weekend lover.” David signaled for me to rise and come forward. “Always going to be the one left behind.”

  I stood. No, I wouldn’t forget him or leave him behind. Why would I? But how could I know him? He was so aloof and secretive.

  “Come, Lucky.” David opened his hands, those purple marks showing again. “Not dancing to Prince is a sin greater than you think. Remember what Alice Walker said about the color purple.”

  I smiled a little and took a step to him.

  “Ah, that’s it, little boy. Come.” David laughed and grabbed my shirt, drawing me close to him. So close, my breath caught in my throat. I could feel his body, lithe and warm against my chest. “Now gimme your hand,” he whispered, raising my arm and gently wrapping his fingers around mine. “Put your other hand right here.” He guided my arm around his waist and I pressed my palm against his lower back. His stomach was taut against my own. I could see his pulse beat in his slender neck. Could watch the blood fill the vessels under his pale skin. “We move. We just move.” He sidestepped and I followed his lead w
ithout resistance. “Ah, you’re a natural,” he said, moving again. “I knew it. There’s the dance and then…there’s the dancer.”

  I held on to him, my body gliding along with his, while in the background Prince played his lonesome guitar. I relaxed my grip on David’s hand, and staring into his furious eyes, let him dance me across the room. This was a waltz. We were two men waltzing. I caught our reflection as we gently spun, and knew this would be the first and last waltz of my life. There would be no other moments like this. Not even with Nick. Because Nick would never waltz. He’d never allow it.

  Greedily, I enjoyed each step and gave the dance my all. Then too soon, the song ended and the tape popped. For a moment, we only stood face to face, still wrapped up in each other, eyes locked. But David couldn’t stay still. He hurried away and fiddled with the radio.

  I watched his shoulders. They were shaking. Frowning, I took a shy step forward. What was wrong? Then I heard his quiet sobs and my heart started to thunder. I didn’t know what to do. What to say. Go to him or let him be? I stared at his back, listening to his silent tears. “David?” I took another step.

  “No…don’t. Just don’t.” He waved me off without turning back to look at me. He was kneeling by the radio with his head hanging low. “Don’t touch me. Stay over there.”

  I obeyed him, but it was difficult.

  David sniffled. Then he laughed dryly. “Nick is right, you know. I am my own worst enemy. And sometimes I hate him. He’s so righteous. So controlled. Nothing deters him from his goals. And I’m so fucking weak. So needy and weak.”

  I closed my eyes, hearing my own thoughts out of David’s mouth. I too, was weak. What was it about Nicolai Lund that made us lose our heads? It wasn’t because he was beautiful. There were other beautiful men in the world to chase. No, it was because he was more alive than the rest of us. Thinking of him now, I could feel him in the air, like I was standing under a power line.