Buckle Up, page 12
part #1 of Commitment Series
“Come on, let’s get your gear and get out of here. We can talk about this in private when we settle at my place.”
He puts his arm around me and pulls together us so we’re touching side to side. We walk in silence back to my apartment and he heads into my bedroom and picks up my overnight bag.
Flinging it over his shoulder he says, “Come on, I’ve got your stuff. Let’s leave.”
I look at the beautiful man who has made me happier than I’ve ever been and say, “Do you mind if I don’t?”
He shrugs, knits his lips together in a downward smile. “Nah, if you prefer to hang here we can. It’s probably best you don’t ride that bike right now anyhow.”
“I mean me, Elliott. Do you mind if I stay here?”
“Oh? Uh, OK then.”
“I just need some head space to process this. I’ll do it better on my own.” I tap his arm to soften the impact. I just need him to get out.
“OK, well, I’ll call you later then.”
“I’ll call you. Or see you at work. Thanks for this weekend.” I plant a peck on the lips which have given so much to me and usher him out of the door.
Elliott
So, it’s safe to assume there is more to Kyle’s upbringing than he lets on. I’m not sure what just went down there. I mull it over all that night and the next morning. I don’t have an option; I don’t hear from Kyle and as he asked for distance. I can’t very well go disrespecting that. If I do, how will I be any different from his father who clearly has no respect for his son’s ability to make his own decisions?
The first part of Monday is a disaster. I can’t concentrate on anything that will help me get that car around the track at a breathtaking pace. Knowing Kyle is just a few hundred meters away is a test of my self-control. I take a break to have a green tea and settle into the comfortable routine of observing the hue of the steaming water change as the contents of the mesh bag dissolves. I take my time, dunking the tea-bag, transfixed by the short-lived live collage. When the entirety of the cup is filled with a sufficiently murky fluid to be deemed ready to drink, I sigh and turn to rest on the communal bench.
I hadn’t heard anyone come in, but Jessie is seated quietly.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, why?”
“You seem a bit down. It’s not like you to take so much care over a cup of hot water. You normally dip your bag and run.”
I laugh, but I don’t mean it. “Story of my life.”
“Self-reproaching, too! What’s going on, Elliott?”
I shrug, but plant myself across from her.
“Kyle?”
I roll my eyes. “Is it that obvious?”
She nods and covers my hand with hers. “Tell me.”
“It’s ugly. I don’t know where to start.” I think, formulate a coherent order of words before talking again. “We went away for the weekend which was terrific. It was everything I could have dreamed of, Jessie. The absolute perfect time. But then, when we got back, we stopped at his place to collect some clothes and his dad turned up and caught us.”
“Oh, caught you, as in...” She enlarges her eyes and spreads her jaw until the tendons on her neck are conspicuous.
“Yeah, we were kissing in his living room when his father came in.”
“And he didn’t take it too well, I assume?”
I shake my head and offer a tight, humorless smile.
“I see.”
I hesitate, recalling the scene in the lobby. “His dad, basically refused to discuss anything, disowned him, and left.”
“Oh no!” She squeezes my hand which is still resting under hers.
“But, surely this will blow over. It’s just the shock,” she says.
“I figured the same, but Kyle isn’t so convinced. His dad is big into his religion so... well, it perhaps should have been handled differently.”
“Yeah, calls for some PR.” She grins, but she’s being kind, making light of this.
“Jess, that’s not everything. He said he needs space. I’ve not heard from him since. He stayed at his place.”
She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, sucking in a fierce breath. “Ah, I see. And you’re concerned this is the end for you two. That he doesn’t think you’re worth the effort?”
I steer my head to the right as I shrug. “I can’t call him. He asked me not to. So I have to stick around for as long as it takes for him to reach his decision without any control or input into the rest of my life.”
“You really feel that strongly about him?” She pushes against the floor, back rigid, uncomfortable, but not enough to break the confidential atmosphere between us by shifting to a different seat.
“I think so. I’d certainly like to be given the opportunity to find out.”
“But, if you ignore Kyle’s wishes so you can tell him how you feel, you’ll piss him off because you’re also ignoring his requests?”
“Exactly. Plus, I don’t want to be that clingy guy.”
“You’ve got yourself a conundrum here. Listen, give him a few days. I’m certain he’ll come around.”
“Thing is, I can’t concentrate on the driving. This is precisely why I don’t get serious with people. I can’t allow my head to be smashed to smithereens. I know I want him, but I’m not built to wrestle with all this ambiguity. I don’t have the capacity. Too much of me is already devoted to my job.”
“Now, Elliott, you stop that. There is something pretty special about you and Kyle that’s why he’s managed to get you into such a state. Don’t you dare give up on this because of a career which has a finite end date.”
I hear her, but I’m not sure whether I agree. My heart and my head are colliding and I guess I’ll just have to stand back and see which one is the louder of the two as the week progresses.
Elliott
By the time Wednesday afternoon rolls around, I still haven’t heard from Kyle and I’m going half crazy. I make an excuse to head down to the mechanics workshop. I’m standing chatting to Greg for as long as I can muster. It’s not easy as the cars have already left for the first race and the crew will be on their way soon, so I’m scratching around and producing more excuses to elongate a conversation about nothing when it becomes abundantly clear there isn’t anything more for me to ask. And Greg has nothing more to tell.
In the end I have to just come out with it. “Where’s Kyle?”
“He’s contracted the shits. He figures he ate something rotten.”
Fuck! One of our issues in getting together was that neither of us wanted this to affect our jobs and now, in hardly any time at all, I’m a head case and he’s off sick. What were we thinking?
Greg continues talking, blind to my panic. “Yeah, he took off on Monday afternoon and hasn’t been up to coming in since. He must be really sick.”
My temperature rockets. My top lip is moist and there’s no air in the room. The heavy stink of the oil makes me nauseous. I leave with a quick goodbye to Greg and get the hell out of there before I black out. We’ve messed up big time here and we need to deal with this. He loves this job, and now he’s off sick with food poisoning, an excuse that I do not buy. This relationship which was meant to be the right thing for both of us is eating at our sanity and our careers. We either need to get our shit together or walk away with no hard feelings.
I’ve been telling myself this whole implosion of emotions isn’t that big a deal, that he’ll come around. But, hell, this is way more serious than even I realized. I slam through the external doors and suck in a lungful of air, enjoying the prickle of the brisk breeze against my tacky skin. Thoughts accelerate in my head, racing around a carousel of fears. I will them to slow, to allow me to breathe. But they persist. I can’t catch my breath. I’m gasping for air, unable to fully fill my lungs. The room spins, I squat and lean against the building, close to the ground.
I don’t know how long I rest there. It could not have been for very long because no one had missed me when I return. But that was a heavy wake-up call. I am Elliott Judd. I don’t have panic attacks. I drive around dangerous tracks at speeds faster than any other man on the planet, and I’m due to be starting another world championship contest in a few weeks. This situation needs to be resolved, and quickly.
* * *
I see the rest of the day out at work with a new intensity. While even I have no clue what resolution I’d like for us to reach by the end of today, at least I have taken back some control. I don’t care what he asked for. I’ve given him his space, and he did nothing with it other than to make himself look bad in a position he’s been striving for his entire career.
It’s time for action.
Kyle
I’ve tried calling my parents a few times since my dad left. They’ve never answered, nor returned my calls. Not even my Mom. They usually return a missed call from me within five minutes. “Oh, sorry love, the phone was in the other room. I didn’t get to it in time.” This can be a variation on a theme, it was in my handbag, I left the phone upstairs. But they always call me back.
My calls are more persistent at first, every half hour. For a moment, it occurs to me that they may have had a terrible accident. The prospect warms my heart considerably, teasing me that they aren’t just ignoring me, but they’re helpless to communicate due to circumstances outside their control. I appreciate this is awful, but it's how I feel. However, over time I dismiss this idea. Someone would have let me know. And they haven’t.
As my flurry of unanswered calls slows, I start to face the fact that my parents have washed me from their hearts as though I were no more than a stain on a pair of dirty pants. It's tough.
I waste hours scouring the Bible by which they run their lives, trying to understand their position, and fail. Unable to elicit a response from calling, I compose a text. Surely, they can’t deny the written word?
‘Timothy: Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything.’
I press send and pray for the first time in years that my excerpt will be enough to resonate with them.
I keep my phone close by, constantly plugged into charge. But, nothing comes through.
I can’t believe that they would ignore the Bible. And so, two hours later, on the off-chance my last text went into cyberspace, I compose another message.
‘Corinthians: But as you excel in everything -- in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in all earnestness, and in our love for you -- see that you excel in this act of grace also.’
Another hour passes and still my phone remains devoid of any response.
A churning rage boils in the pit of my stomach. As the searing pain erupts, I hurl my phone across the room smashing the screen of my small TV. I collect the broken mess in my arms as though it were no heavier than a bag of sweets and launch it toward the kitchenette. The satisfaction from the exertion of tossing it, combined with the intense crashing as it shatters, is short lived.
I stand, staring at a shattered TV, a shattered phone, nursing a shattered life. I sigh, swallow back tears and spend the rest of the day and most of the next in a shrunken, drunken mess.
I don’t change, I don’t sleep, and I certainly don’t shower. Why would I want to wash away the mist that is numbing the pain? Not that I think about it that logically; I am actively trying not to think, happier to drown in wallowing self-pity.
But then as soberness dawns, reflecting on this all-consuming drama becomes inevitable. But, now it’s with a dull headache and a heaving stomach.
I cover my eyes as I stretch back on my bed.
Is Elliott worth losing my family?
If my family treat me with such overt contempt, are they worth losing Elliott for?
The two conflicting questions circle my brain with no resolution.
Kyle
“Kyle, let me in,” Elliott pleads down the intercom to my apartment. The first twinge of shock at him just showing up unannounced is replaced by a misery in my heart. My finger hovers over the button, unsure whether I’m ready to confront him, but I stab it anyway, listening to the tinny buzz of the entrance granting him access.
I open my door and leave it ajar so he can let himself in while I pour two glasses of water. It’s not like I’m playing the perfect host; my mouth turned into an aged leather boot at the precise moment Elliott’s voice reverberated through the intercom.
“What the fuck, Kyle?” Elliott is standing, hands on hips at the entrance to my living room.
“Water?” I hand him the glass which he takes without looking, still surveying the state of the space which I now see for the first time.
“What’s been going on?”
I shake my head, plant my butt on the sofa. “Nothing, Elliott. Precisely nothing.”
He sits next to me, but there’s a distance between us. He bends one knee, props it higher on the couch and shifts to stare at me. “Did you do this?”
I nod.
Elliott sends a hiss through his teeth.
We’re both silent. And we sit. I have no words; for the first time in days my head is blank.
“I came to kick your ass and get you back to work. It appears you need it.”
I’m still stranded in the moment. My chest is heavy, not like a crushing feeling, more that it's crammed into my stomach, a space too low and too small to be able to breathe. I have no desire to move, so I stare ahead, focusing on the wall where the TV once lived.
“You didn’t call.” His voice is soft.
“I broke my phone.”
He nods, takes a sip of his water, and runs his finger around the wet rim before placing it on the laminate floor. He shuffles his feet and picks at a piece of invisible fluff.
“Is this how you deal with your troubles, with violence?” His tone is gentle.
Now that arouses a response. He’s got some fucking nerve! “This isn’t a commonplace problem, Elliott. This is my parents not giving a shite about me because I don’t fit into their perfect package. It’s about me challenging everything I ever thought I knew and consequently not understanding where I belong anymore.” As those words spew out, they make more sense than any of the thinking I've done over the last few days and it's suddenly clear what my trouble has been.
He’s quiet. He studies me, his eyes scrunched in the adorable way they did at the weekend when the spring sun was blinding him. I focus in on their beauty, not on his curls falling forward with the slight angle of his downward gaze. He still doesn’t touch me and the ten centimeters between us could be a brick wall.
His voice remains cool when he whispers again. “You know smashing up your home won't fix this, right?”
I snap. I rise, glaring down at him. “You can leave if you’re going to be a sanctimonious prick. It made me feel better, alright?”
He stays seated, head tilted back, his jaw relaxed. His pale eyes meet my bloodshot ones which glint on the precipice of rage. I pace around the cramped space like a frenzied dog.
Elliott
“Come and sit down.” I pat the space on the couch next to me when he starts pacing again.
He pauses again while he considers the option. Running a hand through his hair he expels a dramatic sigh before rolling his eyes like I’m the one with the issue. At least he joins me on his crappy brown sofa. If it wasn’t so destructive, it’d be funny.
“OK, so the way I see it, you have two options.”
He raises his eyebrows, ready to explode, but he’s waiting to hear what I have to say first. I take that as a positive.
“You can either hang around here, blow your career and any vestige of self-respect you have left. Push me aside and expect your parents to forgive and forget. Frankly, I’d be skeptical about their ability to do that.” I hesitate, let my words settle in. He doesn’t blanch but resumes his intimate examination of the bare wall. “Anyway, that’s option one. Your second alternative is to clean yourself up, pull yourself together, and accept that your mom and dad will deal with this in whatever way they see fit, regardless of your downward spiral. Your application for a sympathy vote has been flat-out denied Kyle. It’s time to clean yourself up.”
“Where do you fit into that second option?” His voice is gruff.
“It depends.”
Now, finally he considers me, concern spread across his beautiful strong features.
“I’ve stayed away from relationships because I don’t have the head space to manage personal drama. I appreciate you’ve had a tough week, but if we’re together we cope with shit together. You don’t shut me out. If you can’t do that, I don’t fit into either option.” I’ve been pondering the words, but speaking them is finite. The anguish in my chest wall is overpowering as I employ every ounce of self-control to make the decision which has been rolling around my head a reality. I hold my face soft, but underneath my calm exterior my heart is pounding, pleading with him to sort himself out.
He switches his attention back to the wall.
I wait. My fate in his hands.
The few seconds he takes before he turns toward me and clears his throat feel like hours. But, his words remain unspoken. He sighs. Tries again, “I want you Elliott. I don’t see myself with anyone else ever. I didn’t intend to push you away. I just needed space to process everything.”
“You needed space to process whether I’m worth you losing your parents for.” I spit the words out before I’ve had a chance to catch myself.
He nods. “Possibly.” Nods again, “Probably. But this is all strange. I’ve not had any time to handle it myself before my family judged my decisions.”
Resentment is building in the pit of my stomach and my voice is stronger. “I know that Kyle, and I also know that my situation was different because my parents were unconcerned in my sexuality. I’m not saying I understand how you’re feeling. But, if we're going to make this work, you must allow me to try, too. You have to keep giving me those chances until I get it. I’m only in this if we’re one unit.”
