Commitment Collection, page 20
part #1 of Commitment Series
He scowls and comes over to stand next to me.
“It looks like an OK track.”
“It looks like a piece of shit track.” It’s an outdoor one, with makeshift crash barriers made from old tires.
“Hey!” Bobby pulls up, hopping out of his beat up pick-up and claps Elliott on the back.
“Hi Bobby.” I smile and wave from my position behind him.
“Are you racing today too, Kyle?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to. I’m no expert. But I can if you have space. It would be fun?” I look at Elliott for some kind of direction although really, I know he won’t want me getting in his way. A laugh rises from my stomach at the thought and I swallow it back down. He’ll be hopping mad.
“Y’all follow me then.” Bobby waves us over to a dilapidated barn with a wobbly desk which is as old as the ninety year old chap behind it. To one side, there’s a line of go-carts, to the other, three skinny guys with mullets wearing checked shirts and dirty jeans sit on bales of hay drinking beer. It’s 10 am.
They stand as we approach. “You weren’t kidding around then?” One of them guffaws at Bobby, tipping the peak of his baseball cap at us.
He shakes his head, “Why would I do that, man?”
They amble over, phones at the ready and there is to be no further progress with the booking in procedure until everyone has sufficient selfies.
“Come on then. Let’s do this. We have to fly out this afternoon.” Elliott claps his hands, his PR grin plastered over his face.
The process of dealing with the legalities of the race takes about one second before we’re told to hop in the carts.
“Everyone line up,” Elliott instructs as he shuffles his vehicle forward.
Everyone follows suit and I’m quite proud of myself as I am able to line up alongside them all.
The old man who checked us in ambles over, his right thumb fiddling with the rope looped through his trousers in place of a belt. “Now boys, I don’t want any trouble. Play nicely.”
Everyone nods, the boys jeer, and I smile. Elliott is focused. He has that hard stare he gets when he drives. I can’t believe how seriously he’s taking this.
“Are you ready?” the old man asks. Without waiting for our reply, he shouts, “1, 2, 3, GO!”
I shove my accelerator to the floor and my cart moves off. Behind everyone else’s. I don’t understand the issue; my pedal is down to the floor and yet I’m still lagging at the back. I press harder, feeling like I could cram my foot through the base and I’d still not speed up.
The boys are jostling at the front and to be fair, Bobby is running a close second to Elliott.
“You won’t win!” His screams filter back to me.
Elliott ignores him, staring ahead, cutting the corner of the track and almost taking out Bobby’s front end.
Before I know it, I’m being lapped and Elliott is whooping as he passes.
‘Fucking prick,’ I laugh. ‘I’m going to get him to change a tire in under two seconds, see what he thinks to that.’
The race finishes in a foreseeable order. Elliott is of course number one because he is way more than an average driver in a great car. The rest are sandwiched between Elliott’s first place and my rather predictable last position.
I throw a V with my fingers at him as I pull up at the finish line. The others are already out of their carts and starting to congregate. Elliott is waiting for me, glowing at his win. You’d have thought this was a world championship. He jumps on the front of his tiny car as he would after winning any race and punches the sky.
“Winner,” he hollers before running over to me as I finally finish my lap of shame, planting a huge kiss on my lips.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Bobby sneers.
“Just kissing my man before I start my victory dance,” Elliott beams.
“Your man? Nah man, we don't have any of that around here.”
Within seconds the group has circled around Elliott in a horse shoe. “He’s your man? You two are together?” Bobby laughs, but it’s not a fun laugh. He sounds as though he’s verging on hysteria and his eyes have narrowed. I’ve never noticed before how pale his complexion is. Thin, blue veins bulge under the paper thin skin beneath his eyes.
My nerves crackle up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Sure, why wouldn’t he be?” Elliott asks.
I identify each one of those guys in slow motion. Elliott is smaller than everyone else here, but he’s quick and fights as part of his fitness program. I reckon he can take on two of these chumps. That leaves me with two. We might be able to get out of this unscathed.
My eyes flit around, searching out potential weapons, both those we can use and anything our enemies may have picked up. None of the guys look to be carrying. The only potential help is a rusty crowbar behind me. I take a step back, edging nearer to my potential defense in case I should need it.
And then it starts.
Bobby throws a punch at Elliott. He’s slow and Elliott ducks, but it’s enough to kick start the pandemonium which had been brewing.
Without thinking, I take Bobby by the throat and I pin him against the barn behind him. His feet dangle, limp, off the ground, and his face previously grey is now pink. He chokes. I could fucking kill him. The power running through my muscles is intoxicating. In this moment, I feel indestructible.
I jab my hand against his windpipe using my other to punch him in the gut before dropping him to the ground in a quivering heap.
The others, who were about to pile in, are frozen before one runs toward the quivering wreck previously known as Bobby. He sits, clutching at his throat, struggling for air, red faced and eyes bulging.
“Might be a fucking pansy, but I can beat the crap out of you,” Elliott spits.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I cry, but Elliott has already turned on his heel before we get embroiled in more distastefulness.
We each jump onto our motorbikes and with our helmets slung over an arm, we squeal out of the place, dirt flying as the old man who started the race, comes after us, arms flapping. A few miles down the road, when we’re sure we’re not being followed, we pull over.
“Time for a beer?” Elliott laughs.
“You and your big mouth. I don’t know how you get yourself into these scrapes. Can’t you just keep to yourself?”
“Beer?” He asks again, gesturing to the bar.
“Of course!”
Elliott
We’ve been back from vacation for a few days and although Kyle hasn’t said anything, I can’t shake a sick feeling in my gut that I let him down. Fighting is not my style but my big mouth got us in some hot water and that’s not cool. So, I’ve come up with a plan to make up for my errors of judgment.
It’s one of those rare summer days in England where the weather is glorious. If I'd requested perfection I couldn’t have planned it any better, the birds are singing in the trees as a light breeze eases the heat from the full sun in the cloudless sky. I’m starting to get antsy; I want the surprise to start.
Kyle is due to return from the factory at any moment and I swear the stress associated with waiting for him is worse than any race pressure. Although the place is closed for the summer break, he wanted to go over some developments which have been done to the car while he’s been recuperating, so he’s up to speed again when the season kicks off in a few weeks.
It’s given me ample time to get everything prepared and as I sit here now, brushing imaginary fluff off my shorts, picking my thumb nails and generally fidgeting, I’m shaking from a combination of nerves and excitement.
I hear our car on the gravel and jump up, rushing to the front of the house.
“You’re back. I thought you’d never get here.” I hug him.
He laughs, “What’s wrong with you? I’ve only been gone a few hours.”
“But, I missed you.” I brush my lips over his.
“I missed you too. Shall we go inside and reacquaint after our extended separation?” He lifts an eyebrow and my heart swells. But no, my surprise will not wait until we’ve finished any kind of making out. “Come with me first,” I manage instead of giving the game away. Taking his hand I lead him around to the back of the house.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I have a surprise for you. I wanted to give you something special.”
We pass through the ornamental garden and head out into the woods which lay beyond. “OK. I love surprises, especially when you’re leading me into a secluded wood. I have good memories of us being alone among the trees.” He stops, dragging on my arm and pulls me toward him, kissing my lips and thrusting his memory of that time against my leg.
Shit! “Stop it Kyle, you’re like a dog in heat today.” I laugh.
“This must be some surprise if we don’t have time for making out.” His lips curl downwards, but he's in good spirits and releases me allowing me to continue to lead the way.
As the trees clear by the lake, the picnic blanket comes into full view. The plates and glasses are laid out ready and the drinks are on ice.
“What the fuck, Elliott?”
Kyle
“Are you kidding me?” I can feel my eyes bulging out of my head, my heart is racing and adrenaline makes my arms and legs shake. I stand and stare, rooted to the floor like one of the trees which surrounds us.
Time trickles away in slow motion while I take in what’s happening. My parents are still seated on the picnic blanket. They appear uncomfortable, they’re too old to be hanging out on the ground eating picnics around a lake. Dad’s legs look like they don’t fit in any position.
I step backwards.
“Come on, meet with them. They just made a huge mistake Kyle and they want to put it behind them,” Elliott whispers.
“You’re mental if this is your idea of a surprise. Actually, I take that back. It is a huge shock, but it’s not your finest moment.” I seethe at him through gritted teeth.
“It’s been months since your disagreement. Look how you reacted after your Dad found us. You went nuts, big time, and it was the shock which made you behave like that. How can you not understand that your parents are built the same way? You’re the same DNA; you’ll react with the same errors of judgment. What would have happened if I’d not forgiven you?”
Despite myself, I feel something. My emotions connect to these two individuals on a level I’d rather fight, but am unable.
The look in their eyes is imploring.
Dad stands, takes a few steps toward us. Mom fishes a handkerchief out of her cardigan sleeve and wipes her nose. Her hay fever will be acting up out here.
“Son, can we put the past behind us?” Dad asks when he’s still only half way between us. He stretches out both arms as if to hug me.
I don’t reply. I take in how he looks. His eyes look tired, and he’s thinner than I remember. He reaches me and those arms wrap around me. I’m still rooted to the spot, my arms attached to my sides as he holds me in his. His soft body squelches into my stoic frame. And he feels warm. Too hot to be hugging me when the weather is so sunny.
I back up, using my arms to free myself from his embrace, but step forwards toward the picnic blanket. My mom dabs her watering eyes with the tip of her hankie and sniffs.
“Sorry. It’s the hay fever, Kyle.”
“Let me get some drinks.” Elliott is bustling in a way I’ve never seen before. Rushing to the front of me and my Dad, messing with the champagne he has cooling.
“Mom and Dad don’t drink.” I hear my voice, detached and flat.
“We will have a small one,” my Mom says, “This is something to celebrate.”
My chest slips a little deeper into my stomach.
“Thanks Elliott,” my Dad says as he takes the half-filled glass.
I have no idea why we’re drinking champagne. Are we just going to toast the day and carry on with our afternoon as though we have nothing to discuss? A fish makes a ripple on the clear surface of the lake, the round ‘O’ of its mouth making a visible rim before it disappears down to the depths.
I wish I could follow it, crawl back into my hole and forget any of this needs to be dealt with.
Elliott has finished pouring the drinks and I take a swig of mine without waiting. Mom and Elliott exchange a look before Elliott makes his toast. “Here’s to the future.”
“The future.” Mom and Dad raise their glasses and sip their fizz. I drain my glass.
Elliott
I figured the privacy of my place would be a good start, and the calm that comes from being outdoors and near water could only help to move reunification on in the right direction.
Now that the time is here though, I’m not sure how I should behave. I’m almost encroaching on their personal conversations, busying myself as the peacemaker.
“Quiche anyone?” I hand around the homemade masterpiece from the local deli. Even I can see how ridiculous this is. It had worked differently in my head when I planned the afternoon. Not so awkward by any means.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” Kyle’s Dad accepts a piece.
“I do love quiche. Don’t I, Miriam?” He nods at his wife who smiles.
“You do, yes. Always loved quiche hasn’t he, your Dad, Kyle?”
Kyle looks at them, widens his eyes and chomps down on his stuffed focaccia. The tension in the air is not dispelling as I’d hoped.
It’s time to ease the strain. “So, I’ll be the first to admit, this is more awkward than I’d planned. I think we need to address the elephant in the room so that we can all move forward.”
The silence hangs, and George even quits munching through the quiche. I guess it’s up to me then. “So, Kyle and I are in love. Obviously the way you found out about it wasn’t ideal and it was quite a shock for you.”
They both nod.
I turn to Kyle who until now has not allowed me to discuss this with him. “We talked this over when you were in the hospital, Kyle, and your parents understand that we hadn’t intended to tell anyone at that stage, that everything was too new and it was a time only for us.”
He nods, but then speaks properly for the first time, “Here’s my issue. It shouldn’t matter how you found out, you should still love me. And you didn’t even reply to my texts. You pushed me away and now I’m just supposed to move on. You only came to the race so you could have bragging rights over your friends. You still didn’t visit me then.” His voice is strong and clear.
“We’re sorry,” his Mom says.
“It’s not that I don’t want you in my life, I do. But you didn’t want me. And that’s not something that a kid can move on from very easily. I spent my whole life worrying about whether I was living up to your excessively high standards. For what? So you could reject me the first time I don’t fit your vision of what my life should be? It doesn’t matter to you that I’m truly happy.”
“That hurts, Kyle. We tried to bring you up in the best way we knew how. We wanted you to have opportunities and that’s why we guided you to make clean decisions that would ruffle the least amount of feathers. The world has changed, and it takes time for us to move on with it. We’re not part of your world. We don’t see life through the same eyes and we're not as adept at accepting change. We worry about you. That's all.” His Dad’s shoulders lift in a sad shrug.
“That’s fine, but you expect me to see life through your eyes.” He spits the words out like they’re dirt and everyone retracts, reeling from the searing pain as they cut.
No one speaks. His Dad fiddles with the crust of his quiche, breaking the edge off and discarding it on the side of his plate.
“Kyle, your parents have not been perfect. They accept that. What would it take for you to move on from this and for you guys to be a family again?”
He thinks for an infinite two seconds before replying. “I don’t think we’ve ever been a true family. But I just didn’t realize it before.”
Kyle
I want to work this through with them. But I don’t know how. The more we talk, the more distance I feel. I stare into the water. Everyone is waiting for me, but I'm numb.
“Look. My childhood was OK because I didn’t know any different. I’m not saying you were bad parents, but looking back I wasn’t happy. I was never happy until I met Elliott and then you took that happiness and smashed it against a wall with all your might. You didn't stop to think twice. So, thank you for coming to the hospital and waiting, but I didn’t want to see you then and I’m still not sure whether I’m ready.”
My mom and dad glance at each other and then mom speaks. “Your Dad has a condition, Kyle. You should know about it. It may be nothing, but he has to go into the hospital for an operation to remove a tumor. We didn’t know when everything went upside down with you, but he had been having headaches and his behavior had changed. It turns out that could be why he reacted so aggressively toward you,” she pauses, “and, uh, your news.”
The frustration which had been riding high, falls off a cliff with a lurch. “You mean he has a brain tumor?” I hear the tremor in my voice.
Mom nods while Dad studies his discarded pastry.
Elliott places his hand on my arm. “We didn’t realize.”
“No, of course not, why would you? Anyway, we thought you would like to know.”
My heart is thawing. We’ve wasted time and there’s not an infinite amount of it left. With the click of a button, I’m so aware of the fragility of our world. That things we take for granted, lives we take for granted, are on a path that we have no way of controlling.
I shift, trying for some inexplicable reason to hold onto my anger, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to hug my Dad. El shoves my arm, and that’s all I need. I crumple into his arms. “I’m sorry, dad.”
“I’m sorry too, son.” He pulls me into him and I no longer care that it’s hot out and the closeness of our bodies creates a river of sweat under my shirt. I close my eyes and breathe him in. My Mom rubs my hand which is wrapped over his shoulder. I release my other one and pull her in. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to see the light.
