Prettyboy

10: Blasé

Of course I didn't get home to my wife at an instant. Halfway through the walk home, I realized how confused I'd let Robert behind. And as I was walking back to his house to apologize or whatever I was planning to do, my eyes started stinging and welling with tears. He must have caught a glimpse of me walking back from the window, as he was still awake with a martini on his left hand, and then he ran out of the house. He cried out to ask what was wrong.

Everything, quite frankly.

I never knew the magnitude of a friend's embrace. In fact, I don't recall ever having a shoulder to cry on. Whenever I'd shed a single tear, my stepfather used to tell me not to act like a gal. So, I'd stop but that didn't mean I'd overcome the reason I wanted to cry.

Robert and I just stood on his porch, and his hand was patting down at my back, but I couldn't think of him at that moment because of the din in my mind. I hadn't realized it was raining cats and dogs, I was so preoccupied. But the next thing I knew, I was coughing uncontrollably and my chest rose and fell intermittently. 

I slept on his couch that night. When I woke up, he was asleep on the floor beside me, his head askew. 

The morning was somehow better. Like the surges of yesterday had ebbed away. 

Naturally, when I got home I hadn't been expecting any of it. What I heard first was foreboding.

Gerard was home, for some reason. His voice was raw and his tone belligerent. 

Lana was leaning on the chiffonier in the living room, a turbulent expression all over her face, so contorted, I suddenly knew exactly what was going on.

"You can't do this to me, it's not fucking fair!"

"Watch your language, Gerard. Don't you think I know what's best for you?"

"I haven't even flunked or anything, I've passed all my exams so far, and not in a half-assed way, for fuck's sake—"

"I said watch your language," I heard Lana say in a voice that brooked no altercation. "You should at least be thankful that your aunt is amenable to take good care of you. You don't know how lucky you are."

A loud thud resonated when she said that. You could tell he'd kicked something over from his rage. He was this close to hitting the ceiling. "I don't wanna live with that old spinster in fucking Maryland! I have friends here. If you think I'm—"

Lana continued to admonish him for his language and his tone, and then I came in, in need of an explanation, because nothing had happened like I thought it would. I thought she'd told him about her suspicions, about how she'd thought he was morally corrupt. I thought she would sock him at some point, but she didn't, when I grasped her hand firmly and stroked it in hope to mollify her. 

That was it. She was sending him away to another school, giving him another life, a life he didn't want; a life far away from his friend and his family. And then she proved to me she had it planned all along; raving about his undisclosed friendships, she was sending him to Maryland for school. Then a summer camp. Then to college. She was practically disowning him and asking for commending. He stuck to his guns and tried to defend himself, until she finally told him about her suspicions and he was left gaping at her, unable to even hold a distorted countenance. Unable to even raise his finger to point to her or to me, he just stood with his mouth agape. 

I felt wrong. 

He turned to me. "You knew about this?"

I didn't know if he was referring to the school-chaotic-situation, his aunt, or the antics Lana was referring to. Still, practically floored, I did what I deemed right at that moment and nodded my head. He snatched his hand back and his index finger that was pointing to me, and looked even more shocked, more so dejected.