34. MAX

Chapter thirty-four

MAX

I had already recounted the events of Friday night to the police officer before Eddie even came over. "I was at the bar with some friends," I began, my tone neutral, "when the argument broke out between me and Tim."

The officer had scribbled down notes in his pad, his pen moving quickly, scratching the paper. His expression remained unchanged, no matter what I said; the cops, they'd heard it all before.

Now Eddie had gone, I returned to my living room and found him there.

"So, back to the altercation," he said, the backdrop of silence in the quiet of the day only amplifying the tension of what I should and should not say.

"Things got heated," I admitted. "Words were exchanged, and… yeah, things got heated, like I say."

The officer nodded, his gaze fixed on the pad.

"Then what happened?"

I hesitated.

"I lost my temper," I confessed. "I hit him."

The officer's pen paused momentarily.

"But why? What made you hit him?"

"He made an implication about me."

"Yeah," the officer said, "but what did he say ?"

I felt so stupid.

"He said that the guy who just knocked on my door… that I was sleeping with him."

The officer finally looked up at me.

"What?" I sighed, embarrassed. His brow furrowed. "You don't strike me as gay."

I heard his suspicion. Did he think I was saying this to get off on some hate crime loophole?

"I'm not."

The officer groaned.

"I'm confused. So are you…?"

His question faded in his own mouth.

"Am I what?" I asked, my irritation coming out.

"Sleeping with him?"

"Well, yes…"

Finally, the officer got to his feet.

"So why deny it?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know."

The police officer put his pad away.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'll be in touch, but if you want my advice, I would make it alright with Mr. Bailey and also with the other party."

"What other party?" I asked.

He pointed toward the front door, where Eddie had been standing only minutes before.

"You'd be amazed how far a sincere apology goes in these situations," he said, and his kindness surprised me.

***

Alone in the aftermath of the police visit, I found myself grappling with my thoughts. The officer's words lingered in the air: about apology, about making things right.

What did I want? It was the simplest question in life, yet also the hardest, the most complex, and sometimes even the most unknowable. What did I truly desire, and who? But also, what could I have or do beyond the confines of expectations and external pressures?

I allowed myself to ponder the possibilities of what life I might have. I could stay here in this life, in this city, doing this work, in fact, simultaneously living a life and not living one. My life would pass, just another life, like those that belonged to all the gravestones I saw in the cemetery where they buried Megan. And what then?

***

In the early evening, the warm air alive with clouds of insects drifting this way and that on its imperceptible movements, I revved up the engine of my motorbike and drove down the city streets.

As I tore down the road, the wind whipping against my skin, I couldn't help but revel in the sensation of freedom that getting on my bike has always given me.

When I left prison, getting back in the saddle, I used to think, made me feel like I was a bird flying through the air. Lots of guys who are "inside" dream of flying because that represents being free. Now, on that troubled evening, I imagined myself as a bird again, reeling on the warm currents of that evening air. I gave myself up to the thrill of the ride.

I knew all along that I was going toward Eddie's doorstep. I steeled myself for what lay ahead: confessions of feelings and what I had done wrong. It didn't come naturally to me. For in that moment, I no longer would be a man defined by the fantasies of what could be but by the reality of what was.

As I stood at Eddie's door, the weight of that hung heavy on me. With a tentative tap, I called him toward me and whatever the next minutes would provide.

Eddie's gauzy, shadowy shape appeared behind the screen door to his house. Without a word, he opened it. We stood in the doorway for a moment before Eddie finally spoke.

"Come in," he said.

I followed him into the living room.

"Where's Jared?" I asked.

"Frank's," he said without explanation. A silence stretched between us until Eddie broke it with a soft sigh, indicating a chair. "Sit down," he said.

We began to talk. I recounted the whole thing: the events in the bar, Gayle's confrontation, the Facebook video, and the police.

"Jeez, that's awful," he said.

"Yeah, it's pretty embarrassing," I admitted. Meeting his gaze, I could see his compassion – but also some kind of resistance.

"Is it being with me that's embarrassing?" he asked.

"What?" I felt the shock in my own chest, because in part, the answer was yes, and I was ashamed that that was true, and I could never tell him that. And it wasn't him . He was wonderful. It was the world seeing me in that new way; it was that which made me feel ashamed, and I was doubly ashamed of even feeling that.

He took a deep breath. Eddie reached out his hand from where he stood and ran it over the top of my head, his fingers catching softly in my curly hair.

"I've realized that you will never be happy with people thinking you're gay," he said.

"No, Eddie…"

He gave me a tight smile.

"Yes, Max. Yes."

I blinked slowly.

"Maybe," I confessed.

His eyes went very wide momentarily.

"I have to think about your feelings, but I also have to think about mine."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

He sighed slowly.

"We should end it."

The ache in my chest was immediate. I really didn't want that.

"No, Eddie."

"We want different things," he said.

I felt such emotion. I was actually afraid I was going to weep, and I hadn't done that since my first night in prison, not even when I got divorced.

"But I want you, Eddie," I said. "I just need time."

He shrugged.

"But there is no time left, Max."

"What do you mean?"

"Jared is at Frank's because I'm going back to New York tomorrow."

"What?"

He gave a softer smile this time and just nodded.

"Jared wants to move there, so we'll go off once he finishes the school year in a week. We have to be out of the house anyway, because Megan's 30-day notice will end soon."

I stood there in stunned silence, grappling with the hugeness of what he had just told me.

"So what now?" I asked. "We just pretend we are friends?"

He shook his head.

"We haven't been friends for years, Max. Not really. This is just a fling for you, with some gay guy you can try it out on."

"No!" I cried. That was absolutely not how I felt.

But he seemed so resolute.

"We should just go our separate ways," he said. "Sometimes that's just for the best."

"What do you mean?"

"We're not friends, Max," he said. "We haven't been friends for many years. What we had is already gone, and it's wrong for us to pretend that we were friends all along when we haven't been friends for many years. You should go."

"Eddie, please."

"You should go!" he said very firmly. But then I realized he was going to cry. "Please…" he added softly, sadly now. "Just go…"

I got to my feet. Saying nothing else, I turned and made my way to the door. As I stepped out into the humid night air, I pulled my helmet over my head and got on my bike. I saw him watching me from his door. I slid the visor over my face and let the tears run down my cheeks.

Was that it? Was it over so easily, so completely, just like that?