This is near the end of Brendan's time in the city. It's Spring 1981 and Brendan's helped a friend move into a new apartment...
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The walk down Memorial to Shepherd is pleasant, with trees and Buffalo Bayou winding past, for a bit, but it all felt incomplete without Vangie, as if none of it were true or real or even worthy of my attention. I missed her, terrible, and could do naught about it.
During one of our furniture runs, I’d had Jeremy drive past her home -- and it had a realtor’s sign in front, with a pending notice on it. It hadn’t affected me, really, since I knew they’d planned to sell and move...but it was still something to gnaw at my throat, considering how quickly Rene had moved his brood back to New Orleans. I’d silently wondered where she was working, now. If she’d gotten on with Tulane, as she’d hoped. If they had a nice home in the Garden District, near her grandparents. If she’d find a nice lad of the same color and background who could make her happy.
Of course, Jeremy knew and understood, but it was Everett who’d caught me off guard with his comment, “Sometimes you don’t realize what you have until it’s taken away.”
We were having a beer in the kitchen as Jeremy did laundry in his new machines, as happy as a new wife who’d just discovered the joy of washing clothes. I was feeling weary and felt the need of a bath and had the cold beer against my forehead, letting the cold of it seep into my soul. Everett had removed his shirt and it looked as if he’d been exercising; his slight tummy was trimmer and his chest fuller. I’d thought about removing my own shirt just to get the sticky material off me, but he didn’t know about my beating, yet, and I felt no desire to discuss it, right then. So on it stayed, and it was quickly becoming quite irritating.
“Give him time, Rett,” I said, not really paying attention to him or his mood. “He’d fresh back from -- ”
“It’s not Jeremy,” Everett said. “It’s not you. It’s not even about me. It’s about being in a situation and not knowing what that situation truly is, not until you’re out of it. And then you wonder what the fuck happened. How could it happen?”
I looked at him, and suddenly I thought of Danny and his thousand yards stare. “What’re you talking about?”
“You know, I’ve worked for that fuckin’ grocery chain for twelve, shit, thirteen years. Workin’ my ass off. Last minute changes in the specials. Complaints from idiots about my layouts. Doin’ more than needed to be done because I thought that’d protect me if they ever found out I’m gay. I thought if I made myself important to them, that’d be my insurance. But it isn’t. It can’t be. They don’t give a shit about anything I’ve done, and now that I’m about to lose it and I’m lookin’ back, I can see just how miserable that fuckin’ job made me. I whined, yeah, but I couldn’t really see how fucked up it was, not while I was in the middle of it.
“I’m good at what I do, Bren. Damn good. But because of this -- this one aspect of my life, I feel like I have to take shit from assholes because I couldn’t possibly have it as good anywhere else. And now I’m about to turn thirty-five, and I’ve got nothing to be proud of.”
“That’s a harsh assessment.”
He almost smiled. “I mean, career-wise. Having a guy like you as a friend, that does make me proud. Knowing Jeremy once loved me, that makes me proud. But I can’t think of anything else that does. I can’t think of anything I’d happily put in a portfolio to show my work off. When I started, I was helping sell cabbage. I’m still helping sell cabbage. That’s not much to brag on.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” I asked.
“I’m giving notice on Monday. I’m not going to let them run my life, anymore. I’m not letting anyone.” He finally looked at me with a sideways glance, his expression filled with hurt, and I could still see him wondering if there was some way to get me over to his side of the fence. But then he smiled and the expression softened as he asked, “Is that what happened with you in Northern Ireland? You finally saw what a fucked up place it was and got the hell out?”
His question gave me a lot to ponder, because in truth it wasn’t until I was here, with Aunt Mari, and had put a year’s distance between me and the place that I saw how insane it was. It’s a horrible thing to consider, but deep within I’d begun to see that bombing as being my saving grace. Had I stayed there, I’d have wound up in the IRA or PIRA or an H block or dead at the hands of God knows which side, since both were as apt to kill their own for not being perfectly in accord as kill those they considered enemies. I’d gotten hints from Mairead of Colm being deep enough into one of the Republican groups to be wanted by the RUC and the Brits. And Eamonn had grown even harder and more radical in his hatred for the Proddies while in Long Kesh; now he was in the H Blocks, he was seen as a hero and treated as such by those who’d only recently arrived. That would suit him.
But what had bothered me most was Ma’s shift into a warrior’s mother. Mairead said nothing to me about her newfound religion, but it came across in her letters when she’d sometimes give a careful sigh at how Ma disparaged her peace group and its attempts to bridge the ever-growing divide between Catholic and Protestant in that snippet of land. She’d mention how Ma refused to watch her wains for the day she needed to be in Belfast for a meeting, so she had to ask Mrs. Donnelly to do it. And how Ma would make her weekly travel to visit Eamonn and come home glowing about how well he looked and strong he’d become in The Cause. And how Mairead had been in a cutting argument with Kieran on him chucking stones at an army PIG, trying to get him to understand he could be hurt or killed if the soldiers inside felt too threatened, and Kieran’s response had been that he only listened to Ma, not his traitor of a sister. So being away from that had saved me from being gently worn down from the unceasing nature of it.
Just before he’d left for Hong Kong, Jeremy told me an interesting little fact about frogs. If you put them in hot water, they instantly jump out. But if you put them in cold water and heat it, slowly, so very slowly, the frog adjusts to the growing temperature and doesn’t move, not before it kills him. His follow-up comment had been, “That’s why I’m leaving; I refuse to become another boiled frog.” I’d laughed at him, but now I understood all too clearly what he’d meant and could see how true it was of any creature...and the fact he'd returned to Houston was of no consequence; I still could see its relevance to Everett’s situation.
“You’re smart to leave, Rett,” I said. “And I’ve got some scratch put aside, if you need.”
He smiled and shook his head. “There’s something wrong with this picture,” he said. “Jeremy’s the Jew but spends like a blond trophy wife; you’re Irish and I’ve never seen anyone so tight with a buck.”
We’d left it at that, but now as I was walking up to Shepard, I was seeing how blind I’d been during my time with Vangie. I’d ignored the looks sent our way. Paid little attention to the slow service and bad tables we’d gotten in restaurants. Not really understood the danger behind that cop stopping us en route back from San Antonio. Even as things had grown harsher around us, I’d been so lost in my love of her I couldn’t see the danger building. Uncle Sean had...and had tried to warn me. Even Aunt Mari, in her gentle way, had suggested I should be more careful in my actions. And now that she was gone, I could see how if we hadn’t left to live in a world more accepting, the strain would have ended us, sooner or later, no matter how much we loved each other. One can only go so far in their battle against the world before it crashes down on them.
-------
The walk down Memorial to Shepherd is pleasant, with trees and Buffalo Bayou winding past, for a bit, but it all felt incomplete without Vangie, as if none of it were true or real or even worthy of my attention. I missed her, terrible, and could do naught about it.
During one of our furniture runs, I’d had Jeremy drive past her home -- and it had a realtor’s sign in front, with a pending notice on it. It hadn’t affected me, really, since I knew they’d planned to sell and move...but it was still something to gnaw at my throat, considering how quickly Rene had moved his brood back to New Orleans. I’d silently wondered where she was working, now. If she’d gotten on with Tulane, as she’d hoped. If they had a nice home in the Garden District, near her grandparents. If she’d find a nice lad of the same color and background who could make her happy.
Of course, Jeremy knew and understood, but it was Everett who’d caught me off guard with his comment, “Sometimes you don’t realize what you have until it’s taken away.”
We were having a beer in the kitchen as Jeremy did laundry in his new machines, as happy as a new wife who’d just discovered the joy of washing clothes. I was feeling weary and felt the need of a bath and had the cold beer against my forehead, letting the cold of it seep into my soul. Everett had removed his shirt and it looked as if he’d been exercising; his slight tummy was trimmer and his chest fuller. I’d thought about removing my own shirt just to get the sticky material off me, but he didn’t know about my beating, yet, and I felt no desire to discuss it, right then. So on it stayed, and it was quickly becoming quite irritating.
“Give him time, Rett,” I said, not really paying attention to him or his mood. “He’d fresh back from -- ”
“It’s not Jeremy,” Everett said. “It’s not you. It’s not even about me. It’s about being in a situation and not knowing what that situation truly is, not until you’re out of it. And then you wonder what the fuck happened. How could it happen?”
I looked at him, and suddenly I thought of Danny and his thousand yards stare. “What’re you talking about?”
“You know, I’ve worked for that fuckin’ grocery chain for twelve, shit, thirteen years. Workin’ my ass off. Last minute changes in the specials. Complaints from idiots about my layouts. Doin’ more than needed to be done because I thought that’d protect me if they ever found out I’m gay. I thought if I made myself important to them, that’d be my insurance. But it isn’t. It can’t be. They don’t give a shit about anything I’ve done, and now that I’m about to lose it and I’m lookin’ back, I can see just how miserable that fuckin’ job made me. I whined, yeah, but I couldn’t really see how fucked up it was, not while I was in the middle of it.
“I’m good at what I do, Bren. Damn good. But because of this -- this one aspect of my life, I feel like I have to take shit from assholes because I couldn’t possibly have it as good anywhere else. And now I’m about to turn thirty-five, and I’ve got nothing to be proud of.”
“That’s a harsh assessment.”
He almost smiled. “I mean, career-wise. Having a guy like you as a friend, that does make me proud. Knowing Jeremy once loved me, that makes me proud. But I can’t think of anything else that does. I can’t think of anything I’d happily put in a portfolio to show my work off. When I started, I was helping sell cabbage. I’m still helping sell cabbage. That’s not much to brag on.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” I asked.
“I’m giving notice on Monday. I’m not going to let them run my life, anymore. I’m not letting anyone.” He finally looked at me with a sideways glance, his expression filled with hurt, and I could still see him wondering if there was some way to get me over to his side of the fence. But then he smiled and the expression softened as he asked, “Is that what happened with you in Northern Ireland? You finally saw what a fucked up place it was and got the hell out?”
His question gave me a lot to ponder, because in truth it wasn’t until I was here, with Aunt Mari, and had put a year’s distance between me and the place that I saw how insane it was. It’s a horrible thing to consider, but deep within I’d begun to see that bombing as being my saving grace. Had I stayed there, I’d have wound up in the IRA or PIRA or an H block or dead at the hands of God knows which side, since both were as apt to kill their own for not being perfectly in accord as kill those they considered enemies. I’d gotten hints from Mairead of Colm being deep enough into one of the Republican groups to be wanted by the RUC and the Brits. And Eamonn had grown even harder and more radical in his hatred for the Proddies while in Long Kesh; now he was in the H Blocks, he was seen as a hero and treated as such by those who’d only recently arrived. That would suit him.
But what had bothered me most was Ma’s shift into a warrior’s mother. Mairead said nothing to me about her newfound religion, but it came across in her letters when she’d sometimes give a careful sigh at how Ma disparaged her peace group and its attempts to bridge the ever-growing divide between Catholic and Protestant in that snippet of land. She’d mention how Ma refused to watch her wains for the day she needed to be in Belfast for a meeting, so she had to ask Mrs. Donnelly to do it. And how Ma would make her weekly travel to visit Eamonn and come home glowing about how well he looked and strong he’d become in The Cause. And how Mairead had been in a cutting argument with Kieran on him chucking stones at an army PIG, trying to get him to understand he could be hurt or killed if the soldiers inside felt too threatened, and Kieran’s response had been that he only listened to Ma, not his traitor of a sister. So being away from that had saved me from being gently worn down from the unceasing nature of it.
Just before he’d left for Hong Kong, Jeremy told me an interesting little fact about frogs. If you put them in hot water, they instantly jump out. But if you put them in cold water and heat it, slowly, so very slowly, the frog adjusts to the growing temperature and doesn’t move, not before it kills him. His follow-up comment had been, “That’s why I’m leaving; I refuse to become another boiled frog.” I’d laughed at him, but now I understood all too clearly what he’d meant and could see how true it was of any creature...and the fact he'd returned to Houston was of no consequence; I still could see its relevance to Everett’s situation.
“You’re smart to leave, Rett,” I said. “And I’ve got some scratch put aside, if you need.”
He smiled and shook his head. “There’s something wrong with this picture,” he said. “Jeremy’s the Jew but spends like a blond trophy wife; you’re Irish and I’ve never seen anyone so tight with a buck.”
We’d left it at that, but now as I was walking up to Shepard, I was seeing how blind I’d been during my time with Vangie. I’d ignored the looks sent our way. Paid little attention to the slow service and bad tables we’d gotten in restaurants. Not really understood the danger behind that cop stopping us en route back from San Antonio. Even as things had grown harsher around us, I’d been so lost in my love of her I couldn’t see the danger building. Uncle Sean had...and had tried to warn me. Even Aunt Mari, in her gentle way, had suggested I should be more careful in my actions. And now that she was gone, I could see how if we hadn’t left to live in a world more accepting, the strain would have ended us, sooner or later, no matter how much we loved each other. One can only go so far in their battle against the world before it crashes down on them.
As it had on me not a month past.
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