ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I'm glad you enjoyed it and sorry that I wasn't able to post a little earlier.
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Swimming in Basements
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Hail the day that sees him rise, Alleluia!
to his throne beyond the skies. Alleluia!
Christ, the Lamb for sinners given, Alleluia!
enters now the highest heaven. Alleluia!”
Ascension Thursday was a gold and white day. Aside from the school and the monks were the girls from Saint Anne’s, though Swann, chosen to do the first two readings, did not sit with Anne ,but was at the altar. There were also monks from the small priories of Clifton and Meriwether down south, and Saint Anthony’s College, for Prynne would be their Abbot too. And aside from that were parents and friends. Swann’s family was there, though he was curiously glad to not have to sit with his mother and father.
“There for him high triumph waits; Alleluia!
lift your heads, eternal gates. Alleluia!
He has conquered death and sin; Alleluia!
take the King of glory in. Alleluia!”
Even though Swann had read in church before, and been seen before, this was where he remembered being paid attention to for the first time, where, as he stood at the lectern he realized he commanded some sort of power. He took pleasure, and was embarrassed by this, in the sound of his own voice.
But of course the day was not about him, and of course, he kept looking at Jack and Chris who were not in the normal white robes of servers, but in the old fashioned billowing black robes and white surplices done with lace at the cuffs, looking like solemn angels, attending Fathers Reed and Roberts and Jankowski, and then, after a short sermon by the bishop, Prynne rose from the midst of the monks, and Swann realized for the first time how, at school masses, of course, the brothers never sat at the altar. But now the hood, billowing white robe was removed from Prynne, and under it was his black and white habit. And then the bishop called Prynne’s name. It was all very sober, and asked him what he desired, and he answered that he desired the priesthood, and there was a long list of questions, and Swann wondered what was going through the monk’s head, for he knew by now that Prynne had little taste for the priesthood, and surely the bishop knew as well. In fact, Prynne did not care for spectacle, and yet, here on the Solemnity of the Ascension, he was, being brought to the nave before the altar in a very crowded church and stretching out on the floor, hands before him, face to the stones while Swann led the Litany of Saints.
“Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of Heaven, have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy on us.
God the Holy Ghost, have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, One God, have mercy on us
Holy Mary, pray for us.
Holy Mother of God, pray for us.
Holy Virgin of Virgins, pray for us.
Saint Michael, pray for us.
Saint Gabriel, pray for us.
Saint Raphael, pray for us.
All ye Holy Angels and Archangels, pray for us...”
One day Swann would be moved by the Litany of Saints, but now it seemed to go on and on and as he sang again, “Pray for us,… Prayer for us…” and Chris and Jack prepared the incense, Swann wondered if his godfather thought it was lasting forever too.
And then the strangest thing happened right before their eyes. Brother Prynne, who was kneeling before the bishop and Father Reed and old Father Jankowski, murmuring words back and forth, rose, and then Reed and another priest, put on the stole and the alb and chasuble while the choir, led by the new choir teacher Mr. Miller, was singing furiously, and incense was rising like something out of a movie, Prynne, dressed as a priest, returned to his place before the altar and the bishop consecrated him.
Next, the bishop put on Prynne’s head a bishop’s miters as well, so that it looked to be two bishops, a black and a white one ,and Swann thought of a game of chess and wondered if they would step diagonally about each other. When he caught himself chuckling, he bit the inside of his cheek, and then Prynne and the bishop removed their miters and, as if he had always been there, Prynne rose to the altar, and as the gifts were brought up, took over where Reed had left off. Prynne was priest and abbot now, and if Reed minded being replaced as head celebrant he didn’t show it. He never would, for very rarely would Prynne be lead celebrant again.
“Jack wasn’t the lead altar boy at that mass,” Chris was saying. “It was Josh Daniels.”
“Josh Daniels,” Sal murmured. “Yeah.”
Before Prynne and Herulian had left the house on their way back to Calverton, Doug and Joe had a long talk which went something like:
“You enjoyed my family.”
“They’re the best.”
“Am I going to enjoy your family?”
“I love my family.”
“Am I going to enjoy them?”
“They’re really good, down home people.”
“Let’s try this again,” Doug said. “You know my family. You like my family. My family likes you. All of your friends are here with us. When little black me goes down to Calverton to hang out with you and your cousins, am I going to feel like a fish out of water?”
Before this conversation could go any further, Swann said, “Just come with us, and we’ll all go down south together.”
If it didn’t seem fair to make Joe’s family wait another day together, Swann pointed out, “There really isn’t too much fair anywhere, is there?”
Besides, as little as Swann liked Deborah, he thought it was in bad form that Doug should skip off to Calverton while they take his mother back. Or maybe it was precisely because Swann disliked Deborah that he wanted her son to take her in his car with his boyfriend. Swann offered his mother shotgun, but for some reason she acted like Chris had offered and she was so charming and so sweet, and she said to Chris, “You’ve grown so much,” and she told Sal how handsome he was, and they both grinned and Swann shook his head.
“Are you boys going to spend the rest of vacation together?” she had asked.
And Sal said, “Oh, we think so, Ma’am.”
“Well, just feel free to come and visit at my apartment. It’s small, but it’s homey and I might be able to rustle up some dinner.”
“That’d be great, Mrs. Portis. Mrs….” Sal stumbled over what to call her, because if she had been born a Portis….”
“It’s actually Porter,” Swann took mercy on him. “My father’s name was Porter. Mom wanted me to have her name, so she put Portis on my birth certificate and just didn’t tell Dad.”
Sal grinned and wagged a finger, “You’re bad, Mrs. Porter.”
Swann wanted to hit him in the head.
“I guess I can be a little naughty,” she admitted.
Swann hoped that Deborah was driving Doug just as mad right now.
to his throne beyond the skies. Alleluia!
Christ, the Lamb for sinners given, Alleluia!
enters now the highest heaven. Alleluia!”
Ascension Thursday was a gold and white day. Aside from the school and the monks were the girls from Saint Anne’s, though Swann, chosen to do the first two readings, did not sit with Anne ,but was at the altar. There were also monks from the small priories of Clifton and Meriwether down south, and Saint Anthony’s College, for Prynne would be their Abbot too. And aside from that were parents and friends. Swann’s family was there, though he was curiously glad to not have to sit with his mother and father.
“There for him high triumph waits; Alleluia!
lift your heads, eternal gates. Alleluia!
He has conquered death and sin; Alleluia!
take the King of glory in. Alleluia!”
Even though Swann had read in church before, and been seen before, this was where he remembered being paid attention to for the first time, where, as he stood at the lectern he realized he commanded some sort of power. He took pleasure, and was embarrassed by this, in the sound of his own voice.
But of course the day was not about him, and of course, he kept looking at Jack and Chris who were not in the normal white robes of servers, but in the old fashioned billowing black robes and white surplices done with lace at the cuffs, looking like solemn angels, attending Fathers Reed and Roberts and Jankowski, and then, after a short sermon by the bishop, Prynne rose from the midst of the monks, and Swann realized for the first time how, at school masses, of course, the brothers never sat at the altar. But now the hood, billowing white robe was removed from Prynne, and under it was his black and white habit. And then the bishop called Prynne’s name. It was all very sober, and asked him what he desired, and he answered that he desired the priesthood, and there was a long list of questions, and Swann wondered what was going through the monk’s head, for he knew by now that Prynne had little taste for the priesthood, and surely the bishop knew as well. In fact, Prynne did not care for spectacle, and yet, here on the Solemnity of the Ascension, he was, being brought to the nave before the altar in a very crowded church and stretching out on the floor, hands before him, face to the stones while Swann led the Litany of Saints.
“Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of Heaven, have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy on us.
God the Holy Ghost, have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, One God, have mercy on us
Holy Mary, pray for us.
Holy Mother of God, pray for us.
Holy Virgin of Virgins, pray for us.
Saint Michael, pray for us.
Saint Gabriel, pray for us.
Saint Raphael, pray for us.
All ye Holy Angels and Archangels, pray for us...”
One day Swann would be moved by the Litany of Saints, but now it seemed to go on and on and as he sang again, “Pray for us,… Prayer for us…” and Chris and Jack prepared the incense, Swann wondered if his godfather thought it was lasting forever too.
And then the strangest thing happened right before their eyes. Brother Prynne, who was kneeling before the bishop and Father Reed and old Father Jankowski, murmuring words back and forth, rose, and then Reed and another priest, put on the stole and the alb and chasuble while the choir, led by the new choir teacher Mr. Miller, was singing furiously, and incense was rising like something out of a movie, Prynne, dressed as a priest, returned to his place before the altar and the bishop consecrated him.
Next, the bishop put on Prynne’s head a bishop’s miters as well, so that it looked to be two bishops, a black and a white one ,and Swann thought of a game of chess and wondered if they would step diagonally about each other. When he caught himself chuckling, he bit the inside of his cheek, and then Prynne and the bishop removed their miters and, as if he had always been there, Prynne rose to the altar, and as the gifts were brought up, took over where Reed had left off. Prynne was priest and abbot now, and if Reed minded being replaced as head celebrant he didn’t show it. He never would, for very rarely would Prynne be lead celebrant again.
“Jack wasn’t the lead altar boy at that mass,” Chris was saying. “It was Josh Daniels.”
“Josh Daniels,” Sal murmured. “Yeah.”
Before Prynne and Herulian had left the house on their way back to Calverton, Doug and Joe had a long talk which went something like:
“You enjoyed my family.”
“They’re the best.”
“Am I going to enjoy your family?”
“I love my family.”
“Am I going to enjoy them?”
“They’re really good, down home people.”
“Let’s try this again,” Doug said. “You know my family. You like my family. My family likes you. All of your friends are here with us. When little black me goes down to Calverton to hang out with you and your cousins, am I going to feel like a fish out of water?”
Before this conversation could go any further, Swann said, “Just come with us, and we’ll all go down south together.”
If it didn’t seem fair to make Joe’s family wait another day together, Swann pointed out, “There really isn’t too much fair anywhere, is there?”
Besides, as little as Swann liked Deborah, he thought it was in bad form that Doug should skip off to Calverton while they take his mother back. Or maybe it was precisely because Swann disliked Deborah that he wanted her son to take her in his car with his boyfriend. Swann offered his mother shotgun, but for some reason she acted like Chris had offered and she was so charming and so sweet, and she said to Chris, “You’ve grown so much,” and she told Sal how handsome he was, and they both grinned and Swann shook his head.
“Are you boys going to spend the rest of vacation together?” she had asked.
And Sal said, “Oh, we think so, Ma’am.”
“Well, just feel free to come and visit at my apartment. It’s small, but it’s homey and I might be able to rustle up some dinner.”
“That’d be great, Mrs. Portis. Mrs….” Sal stumbled over what to call her, because if she had been born a Portis….”
“It’s actually Porter,” Swann took mercy on him. “My father’s name was Porter. Mom wanted me to have her name, so she put Portis on my birth certificate and just didn’t tell Dad.”
Sal grinned and wagged a finger, “You’re bad, Mrs. Porter.”
Swann wanted to hit him in the head.
“I guess I can be a little naughty,” she admitted.
Swann hoped that Deborah was driving Doug just as mad right now.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“And Sal, did you go to high school with Swann too?”
“Yeah, I mean, yes, ma’am. We were all at Saint Francis. But me and Swann didn’t become friends until recently.”
“Oh, that’s great. Chris and Swann have been friends for years.”
“Me and Sal have been friends for years,” Chris said, while they sped down Lake Shore Drive, the high rises of Streeterville to their left while the undifferentiated winter expanse of Lake Michigan stretched out wide, blue grey and rippling to the right and beyond.
“Yes,” Swann said, “though in the last forty eight hours we’ve become…. So much closer.”
Sal’s eyes flashed at him, and Swann watched for any change in Chris’s driving. Chris was a pro. After all these years, Swann couldn’t do shit to shake him.
“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” Rose said.
“You would have heard a lot,” Swann said.
Sal kicked him.
It was around this time that they began discussing Prynne and remembering his ordination Mass. Aside from saying that she was sure that Prynne preferred Donald to her, and she always wondered if he and Herulian might be lovers—
“They’re not lovers,” Swann said.
“They could be,” she said.
“Mother, they’re not. In fact there are plenty of lovers at Saint Francis and among the priests, and I can assure you, you haven’t guessed any of them.”
“You think you’re so smart, and that I’m so close minded, but you don’t know everything,” Rose said.
“I know enough,” Swann said.
And they had continued talking about the mass until they had gotten onto the topic of who the head server was and Swann said he thought it was Jack. After all, he could see Jack and Chris putting the incense in the thurifer.
But it had been Josh Daniels, and they all grew sober about him before Sal said, “He committed suicide this year. Like, before the whole thing with Garrett. He was a senior in college. Something was going on, and he just….”
“I went to his funeral,” Chris said, as they crossed the bridge over the frozen marina.
“But not Garrett’s?”
“I didn’t really like Garrett,” Chris said, simply. “I knew Josh. That hurt. To think of him doing that.”
“Well, I think it’s selfish,” Rose said.
Sal watched Swann sit up, visibly straighter.
“I think it’s selfish, and I don’t understand why someone would just… I can’t imagine being in a place where you think it’s okay to just take your own life and not think of the people around you.”
“Oh, shut up, you stupid woman,” Swann said.
Rose shut up.
“Swann,” Sal started.
“Don’t Swann me, you don’t know her.”
“Really, Swann,” his mother started.
“And definitely don’t you Swann me. You think you have the right to sit here and judge someone who went through terrible despair… Cause you can’t imagine it? Cause you cant imagine it! Because you have no imagination. Because you don’t think about a goddamn thing past yourself.”
“Swann.”
“Well, I have an imagination,” he continued. “I can imagine what it’s like to feel like you want to die, to think that being in a casket is better than being on this earth. You know why? Because that’s how I felt for years, every day of my life while you, not giving a shit, and that horrible man you were married to that I call a father, went on with yout selfish fucking lives while I was dying. And how do you think I felt when you packed me off to the middle of Indiana because you…. wanted to do whatever the fuck you all wanted to do and you just couldn’t bother being parents to one child, one child who….. did drugs and raised hell? No. Read books and joined theatre club.”
“Swann, I do not think this is the time—”
“You selfish, old witch, unless you plan to open the door and roll out the fucking car onto Outer Drive—which I’m not saying you shouldn’t do—this is the perfect time. And while we’re at it, why is your voice so high when you talk to white people? Why do you sound like Donna Reed just cause it’s two white dudes in the car? You never sound like that. And don’t tell me you don’t understand grief. You live in a giant apartment—it is not small—with no fucking furniture in it, waiting for an awful man to come home who never can.”
Swann sat back, taking a breath, and they drove on in uncomfortable silence as Lake Shore Drive made its left turn into Sheridan Road and the shelter of high rises.
They had gone several blocks down Sheridan, passing Sacred Heart school.
“I went there,” Swann said. “Oddly enough, they couldn’t find a single Catholic high school in the area to send me.”
It was when they turned again before Mundelein College, that Rose said, “Are we done? I mean, are you done?”
“Excuse me?”
“This fit of pique.”
“Pique?”
“Pique,” his mother said. “Is it done?”
“Almost,” Swann said.
Then he said, “Number one: you’re the worst.”
“I’ve known you’ve thought that for—”
“Number two: Sal is not my friend, he’s my boyfriend.”
Rose had nothing to say to this.
“I’m so glad you’re open minded,” Swann continued. “And since you are, you might as well know that, number three: Chris was my boyfriend before that, and after we drop you off, all three of us are going to my house to have group sex….”
Silence.
“Just like we did last night.”
“Yeah, I mean, yes, ma’am. We were all at Saint Francis. But me and Swann didn’t become friends until recently.”
“Oh, that’s great. Chris and Swann have been friends for years.”
“Me and Sal have been friends for years,” Chris said, while they sped down Lake Shore Drive, the high rises of Streeterville to their left while the undifferentiated winter expanse of Lake Michigan stretched out wide, blue grey and rippling to the right and beyond.
“Yes,” Swann said, “though in the last forty eight hours we’ve become…. So much closer.”
Sal’s eyes flashed at him, and Swann watched for any change in Chris’s driving. Chris was a pro. After all these years, Swann couldn’t do shit to shake him.
“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” Rose said.
“You would have heard a lot,” Swann said.
Sal kicked him.
It was around this time that they began discussing Prynne and remembering his ordination Mass. Aside from saying that she was sure that Prynne preferred Donald to her, and she always wondered if he and Herulian might be lovers—
“They’re not lovers,” Swann said.
“They could be,” she said.
“Mother, they’re not. In fact there are plenty of lovers at Saint Francis and among the priests, and I can assure you, you haven’t guessed any of them.”
“You think you’re so smart, and that I’m so close minded, but you don’t know everything,” Rose said.
“I know enough,” Swann said.
And they had continued talking about the mass until they had gotten onto the topic of who the head server was and Swann said he thought it was Jack. After all, he could see Jack and Chris putting the incense in the thurifer.
But it had been Josh Daniels, and they all grew sober about him before Sal said, “He committed suicide this year. Like, before the whole thing with Garrett. He was a senior in college. Something was going on, and he just….”
“I went to his funeral,” Chris said, as they crossed the bridge over the frozen marina.
“But not Garrett’s?”
“I didn’t really like Garrett,” Chris said, simply. “I knew Josh. That hurt. To think of him doing that.”
“Well, I think it’s selfish,” Rose said.
Sal watched Swann sit up, visibly straighter.
“I think it’s selfish, and I don’t understand why someone would just… I can’t imagine being in a place where you think it’s okay to just take your own life and not think of the people around you.”
“Oh, shut up, you stupid woman,” Swann said.
Rose shut up.
“Swann,” Sal started.
“Don’t Swann me, you don’t know her.”
“Really, Swann,” his mother started.
“And definitely don’t you Swann me. You think you have the right to sit here and judge someone who went through terrible despair… Cause you can’t imagine it? Cause you cant imagine it! Because you have no imagination. Because you don’t think about a goddamn thing past yourself.”
“Swann.”
“Well, I have an imagination,” he continued. “I can imagine what it’s like to feel like you want to die, to think that being in a casket is better than being on this earth. You know why? Because that’s how I felt for years, every day of my life while you, not giving a shit, and that horrible man you were married to that I call a father, went on with yout selfish fucking lives while I was dying. And how do you think I felt when you packed me off to the middle of Indiana because you…. wanted to do whatever the fuck you all wanted to do and you just couldn’t bother being parents to one child, one child who….. did drugs and raised hell? No. Read books and joined theatre club.”
“Swann, I do not think this is the time—”
“You selfish, old witch, unless you plan to open the door and roll out the fucking car onto Outer Drive—which I’m not saying you shouldn’t do—this is the perfect time. And while we’re at it, why is your voice so high when you talk to white people? Why do you sound like Donna Reed just cause it’s two white dudes in the car? You never sound like that. And don’t tell me you don’t understand grief. You live in a giant apartment—it is not small—with no fucking furniture in it, waiting for an awful man to come home who never can.”
Swann sat back, taking a breath, and they drove on in uncomfortable silence as Lake Shore Drive made its left turn into Sheridan Road and the shelter of high rises.
They had gone several blocks down Sheridan, passing Sacred Heart school.
“I went there,” Swann said. “Oddly enough, they couldn’t find a single Catholic high school in the area to send me.”
It was when they turned again before Mundelein College, that Rose said, “Are we done? I mean, are you done?”
“Excuse me?”
“This fit of pique.”
“Pique?”
“Pique,” his mother said. “Is it done?”
“Almost,” Swann said.
Then he said, “Number one: you’re the worst.”
“I’ve known you’ve thought that for—”
“Number two: Sal is not my friend, he’s my boyfriend.”
Rose had nothing to say to this.
“I’m so glad you’re open minded,” Swann continued. “And since you are, you might as well know that, number three: Chris was my boyfriend before that, and after we drop you off, all three of us are going to my house to have group sex….”
Silence.
“Just like we did last night.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great portion! The religious ceremony was very interesting. I am glad Swann stood up to his Mum and told her what he has been going through. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Did Chris just run that red light?” Doug asked in his seat beside Joe.
They were on the corner of Sheridan and Broadway, where Broadway turned into Sheridan and Sheridan turned into Devon.
“Yup,” Joe remarked. “Yeah, he did.”
“Probably something Swann said,” Deborah remarked from the backseat.
“Yeah,” Doug agreed as they watched Chris’s SUV disappear toward Loyola.
“I don’t blame him,” Deborah said after a moment.
“Huh?” Doug turned back to her.
“I said I don’t blame him.
“Harold didn’t want children. Swann’s father. He didn’t want children. He wanted to be the child. He was jealous. He didn’t want anything to come between him and being cared for by his wife. And well, Rose didn’t want to lose her husband’s love. In a way, you may have heard, she felt like she didn’t really have her mother’s. And then Aunt Sepra died so young. So Rose was sort of desperate to keep her husband’s attention. That’s why, when he wanted Swann to go off to school, she agreed.”
“Should I even be hearing this?” Joe asked.
“Well, unless you can plug your ears, you sort of have to, don’t you, Joseph?” Deborah said.
She said to her son, “When Harold died, Rose was going to call Swann back home. But he had already planned to go back to Saint Francis, and by then he was happy. She was so… miserable. I told her she couldn’t just pick up and put down her kids when she felt like it. That was a bit into when me and your dad started having problems, when I knew what you’re father was turning into.”
Doug, usually quite vocal, waited for his mother to continue.
“So I sent you to Saint Francis to be away from all that and to be with Swann.”
“I was pretty sure it was because you all didn’t want me in the house.”
“I,” Deborah said, “did not want you in the house. Not with what it was turning into. And your father… He’s just a hateful human being. I’m not going to pretend I was a better or a stronger woman than I am, but I knew you would be safer there than here.”
“And when I got thrown out of Saint Francis, and tried to come home?”
“Your father and Swann’s were friends. They were a lot alike. They didn’t have room for anyone to be loved but them. And I was too weak and probably too stupid at the time to make a wise choice. But…”
Joe tried not to listen as he drove up Sheridan with the old apartment buildings on either side, and by now he knew they were about to make the turn onto Juneway Terrace where Chicago became Evanston and they drove between a cemetery and an inland sea,
“I cannot make up for the past, but we could try and have a future. If you could put away being angry at me. I see how Swann looks at Rose, and I don’t want that for us.”
Joe kept his eyes on the road as they drove the curving path back into Evanston. It felt like the longest silence. He thought about his dad
“You’re right,” Doug said, at last. “We should try.”
“Doug?”
“Mama?”
“Tell Swann to ask Rose how his father died.”
“Mother?”
“Tell him.”
Sal sat down beside Swann on the couch in his living room, and put an arm over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know how I feel about my dad,” Sal said. “You know we don’t talk and everything, and I forgot how you felt about your mom.”
“I’m not thrilled about my father, either. But he’s not here to yell at.”
“And I would never yell at my parents. I’d just be afraid,” Sal said. “And my dad isn’t charming. Your mom….”
“Is a narcissist and they can be very charming.”
Sal nodded.
“You don’t understand why I always liked Father Reed.”
“That… is still a mystery.”
“Remember when I told you about how I won that race, and I could barely stand up, and my Dad came to me and was like, ‘I knew you weren’t a faggot’?”
“Yes.”
“I was so… fucked up. Not fucked up enough to be angry, but I hurt so bad, and Father Roberts asked me why, and I didn’t want to tell him at first. And then I did. Father Reed was there and he comes to me, and the two of them look me in the face and Reed says, ‘That word has no place here. And you’re not the first boy at this place to have an asshole for a father—”
“He said that?”
“Yeah,” Sal laughed. “And then he said, ‘We’re your family. And we love you. No matter what.”
“Well, I guess I don’t know anything.”
“I didn’t know anything either,” Sal said. “Cause I wasn’t able to hear it. I went on trying to make my dad happy and feeling like I wasn’t any good.”
“And then what happened?”
“You happened, you idiot.”
“No…”
“Yes. I mean, I guess other things happened. But you’re a big part of it.”
They were on the corner of Sheridan and Broadway, where Broadway turned into Sheridan and Sheridan turned into Devon.
“Yup,” Joe remarked. “Yeah, he did.”
“Probably something Swann said,” Deborah remarked from the backseat.
“Yeah,” Doug agreed as they watched Chris’s SUV disappear toward Loyola.
“I don’t blame him,” Deborah said after a moment.
“Huh?” Doug turned back to her.
“I said I don’t blame him.
“Harold didn’t want children. Swann’s father. He didn’t want children. He wanted to be the child. He was jealous. He didn’t want anything to come between him and being cared for by his wife. And well, Rose didn’t want to lose her husband’s love. In a way, you may have heard, she felt like she didn’t really have her mother’s. And then Aunt Sepra died so young. So Rose was sort of desperate to keep her husband’s attention. That’s why, when he wanted Swann to go off to school, she agreed.”
“Should I even be hearing this?” Joe asked.
“Well, unless you can plug your ears, you sort of have to, don’t you, Joseph?” Deborah said.
She said to her son, “When Harold died, Rose was going to call Swann back home. But he had already planned to go back to Saint Francis, and by then he was happy. She was so… miserable. I told her she couldn’t just pick up and put down her kids when she felt like it. That was a bit into when me and your dad started having problems, when I knew what you’re father was turning into.”
Doug, usually quite vocal, waited for his mother to continue.
“So I sent you to Saint Francis to be away from all that and to be with Swann.”
“I was pretty sure it was because you all didn’t want me in the house.”
“I,” Deborah said, “did not want you in the house. Not with what it was turning into. And your father… He’s just a hateful human being. I’m not going to pretend I was a better or a stronger woman than I am, but I knew you would be safer there than here.”
“And when I got thrown out of Saint Francis, and tried to come home?”
“Your father and Swann’s were friends. They were a lot alike. They didn’t have room for anyone to be loved but them. And I was too weak and probably too stupid at the time to make a wise choice. But…”
Joe tried not to listen as he drove up Sheridan with the old apartment buildings on either side, and by now he knew they were about to make the turn onto Juneway Terrace where Chicago became Evanston and they drove between a cemetery and an inland sea,
“I cannot make up for the past, but we could try and have a future. If you could put away being angry at me. I see how Swann looks at Rose, and I don’t want that for us.”
Joe kept his eyes on the road as they drove the curving path back into Evanston. It felt like the longest silence. He thought about his dad
“You’re right,” Doug said, at last. “We should try.”
“Doug?”
“Mama?”
“Tell Swann to ask Rose how his father died.”
“Mother?”
“Tell him.”
Sal sat down beside Swann on the couch in his living room, and put an arm over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know how I feel about my dad,” Sal said. “You know we don’t talk and everything, and I forgot how you felt about your mom.”
“I’m not thrilled about my father, either. But he’s not here to yell at.”
“And I would never yell at my parents. I’d just be afraid,” Sal said. “And my dad isn’t charming. Your mom….”
“Is a narcissist and they can be very charming.”
Sal nodded.
“You don’t understand why I always liked Father Reed.”
“That… is still a mystery.”
“Remember when I told you about how I won that race, and I could barely stand up, and my Dad came to me and was like, ‘I knew you weren’t a faggot’?”
“Yes.”
“I was so… fucked up. Not fucked up enough to be angry, but I hurt so bad, and Father Roberts asked me why, and I didn’t want to tell him at first. And then I did. Father Reed was there and he comes to me, and the two of them look me in the face and Reed says, ‘That word has no place here. And you’re not the first boy at this place to have an asshole for a father—”
“He said that?”
“Yeah,” Sal laughed. “And then he said, ‘We’re your family. And we love you. No matter what.”
“Well, I guess I don’t know anything.”
“I didn’t know anything either,” Sal said. “Cause I wasn’t able to hear it. I went on trying to make my dad happy and feeling like I wasn’t any good.”
“And then what happened?”
“You happened, you idiot.”
“No…”
“Yes. I mean, I guess other things happened. But you’re a big part of it.”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Swann shook his head.
“What would Andy Reed say if you went to him and told him that you had finally found love and acceptance in the arms of Swann Portis?”
“He’d probably shake his head and go, ‘Well, that figures.’”
While they were laughing, Chris came downstairs and leaned against the doorway.
“Uh,” Swann said, “for that stunt in the car…. I’m sorry.”
Chris just shook his head wearily and smiled.
“Fuck it.”
The solemnity of Prynne’s ordination was matched by the festivities afterward that reminded Swann of Abbot Merrill’s wake. How strange that these two events near the end of the year, revolving around the death of a much beloved abbot were filled with so much celebration. This party went on well into the evening, and the boys ate well in the cafeteria that night, for many of the priests and monks joined them. They already knew there would be no class tomorrow, and from the number of bottles of wine and bourbon and whiskey that were consumed by the brothers, they knew why.
That weekend, they all went to Lake Banet, a beautiful blue body of water down in Rensselaer that had once been a stone quarry. Jack and Ben and Vincent Ciprian splashed around in the water, and Swann went walking through the trees with Chris and Jill.
“Can you believe the year is almost over?” Jill demanded.
“Almost? Swann said. “It is over.”
“What are you gonna do?” Chris asked them.
“I guess go back to Indy and work at the movie theatre,” Jill said.
“At least there’ll be air conditioning.”
“It is getting a bit hot,” Chris noted. “Maybe I’ll cut all my hair off.”
“Don’t do that!” Jill said, alarmed. “You look like Danny from the Great Space Coaster.”
“Who?”
“Only he’s a redhead. You look like the 1970’s.”
“I don’t really want to go home,” Swann said. “I mean, I don’t want to be here all summer, and I miss Chicago. But I don’t know if I miss my parents, and to be frankly honest, I don’t think they miss me.”
“You could stay with me,” Chris said. “At least for a bit if you want. My folks are always saying I never bring people home.”
Swann thought of his parents house, the one that would be his much sooner than he then knew. As large as it was, they acted as if visitors were right under their skin. He hadn’t really visited other peoples’ families, but assumed they acted like his, and he wondered, “Would your family really be cool with that?”
“They’d be grateful for it,” Chris said.
“That’d be great,” Swann said. It sounded too easy though. “I will have to go home for a bit, though,” he said.
“Cool,” Chris said.
“You know,” Jill noted, “Chris could go home with you.”
His tall friend with the golden aureole of hair looked delighted at this and said, “How would your folks feel?”
“They’d feel great,” Swann said, because he wanted Cbris and didn’t care about Rose and Harold’s feelings.
They had not even noticed that the seniors were no longer splashing in the water, and now they could hear Ben shouting. The three of them turned around and Vincent and Jack were running down the path, jumping on all of them, not even sparing Jill, and Jack, water dripping off of him, was straddling Swann and tickling him.
“Why so serious? Why so serious?” he kept saying.
“We’re the seniors. We’re going into the real world,” Vincent said, spanking Jill, “We’re the ones who are supposed to be serious!”
The three Freshmen gave no immediate answer, and it was only on the their way back to town, while Swann sat in the back of the truck with Chris, the wind whipping over them as the farm fields passed, that he said, “I’ve gotten used to being here, and now we’re all going home. And you’ve been my home, and now I’m losing you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jack said.
When Swann didn’t look at him, Jack was quiet before he said, “I know, alright?”
The truck bed rumbled beneath them and Jack said, “I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. I got mad at you the other day. For not being a senior. And then I got mad at myself for falling in love with you because you aren’t really old enough.”
Jack had never said “falling in love” or any combination of words like that, and Swann was not going to be the stupid person that looked amazed at a confession that, really, was pretty obvious.
“I can’t take you with me,” he said.
“And you’ve got a lot of stuff to do before college.”
“I guess. I mean, I’ll be working at the Kroger a lot.”
“I don’t even know where you’re going.”
Jack looked at him stupidly.
“I thought I told you.”
“No?”
“Saint Anthony’s.”
Now it was Swann’s turn to frown.
“It’s the college the brothers run. It’s actually on the way to Chicago.”
“So… Not far.”
Jack smiled at him and shook his head.
“Not far at all.”
“What would Andy Reed say if you went to him and told him that you had finally found love and acceptance in the arms of Swann Portis?”
“He’d probably shake his head and go, ‘Well, that figures.’”
While they were laughing, Chris came downstairs and leaned against the doorway.
“Uh,” Swann said, “for that stunt in the car…. I’m sorry.”
Chris just shook his head wearily and smiled.
“Fuck it.”
The solemnity of Prynne’s ordination was matched by the festivities afterward that reminded Swann of Abbot Merrill’s wake. How strange that these two events near the end of the year, revolving around the death of a much beloved abbot were filled with so much celebration. This party went on well into the evening, and the boys ate well in the cafeteria that night, for many of the priests and monks joined them. They already knew there would be no class tomorrow, and from the number of bottles of wine and bourbon and whiskey that were consumed by the brothers, they knew why.
That weekend, they all went to Lake Banet, a beautiful blue body of water down in Rensselaer that had once been a stone quarry. Jack and Ben and Vincent Ciprian splashed around in the water, and Swann went walking through the trees with Chris and Jill.
“Can you believe the year is almost over?” Jill demanded.
“Almost? Swann said. “It is over.”
“What are you gonna do?” Chris asked them.
“I guess go back to Indy and work at the movie theatre,” Jill said.
“At least there’ll be air conditioning.”
“It is getting a bit hot,” Chris noted. “Maybe I’ll cut all my hair off.”
“Don’t do that!” Jill said, alarmed. “You look like Danny from the Great Space Coaster.”
“Who?”
“Only he’s a redhead. You look like the 1970’s.”
“I don’t really want to go home,” Swann said. “I mean, I don’t want to be here all summer, and I miss Chicago. But I don’t know if I miss my parents, and to be frankly honest, I don’t think they miss me.”
“You could stay with me,” Chris said. “At least for a bit if you want. My folks are always saying I never bring people home.”
Swann thought of his parents house, the one that would be his much sooner than he then knew. As large as it was, they acted as if visitors were right under their skin. He hadn’t really visited other peoples’ families, but assumed they acted like his, and he wondered, “Would your family really be cool with that?”
“They’d be grateful for it,” Chris said.
“That’d be great,” Swann said. It sounded too easy though. “I will have to go home for a bit, though,” he said.
“Cool,” Chris said.
“You know,” Jill noted, “Chris could go home with you.”
His tall friend with the golden aureole of hair looked delighted at this and said, “How would your folks feel?”
“They’d feel great,” Swann said, because he wanted Cbris and didn’t care about Rose and Harold’s feelings.
They had not even noticed that the seniors were no longer splashing in the water, and now they could hear Ben shouting. The three of them turned around and Vincent and Jack were running down the path, jumping on all of them, not even sparing Jill, and Jack, water dripping off of him, was straddling Swann and tickling him.
“Why so serious? Why so serious?” he kept saying.
“We’re the seniors. We’re going into the real world,” Vincent said, spanking Jill, “We’re the ones who are supposed to be serious!”
The three Freshmen gave no immediate answer, and it was only on the their way back to town, while Swann sat in the back of the truck with Chris, the wind whipping over them as the farm fields passed, that he said, “I’ve gotten used to being here, and now we’re all going home. And you’ve been my home, and now I’m losing you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jack said.
When Swann didn’t look at him, Jack was quiet before he said, “I know, alright?”
The truck bed rumbled beneath them and Jack said, “I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. I got mad at you the other day. For not being a senior. And then I got mad at myself for falling in love with you because you aren’t really old enough.”
Jack had never said “falling in love” or any combination of words like that, and Swann was not going to be the stupid person that looked amazed at a confession that, really, was pretty obvious.
“I can’t take you with me,” he said.
“And you’ve got a lot of stuff to do before college.”
“I guess. I mean, I’ll be working at the Kroger a lot.”
“I don’t even know where you’re going.”
Jack looked at him stupidly.
“I thought I told you.”
“No?”
“Saint Anthony’s.”
Now it was Swann’s turn to frown.
“It’s the college the brothers run. It’s actually on the way to Chicago.”
“So… Not far.”
Jack smiled at him and shook his head.
“Not far at all.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a very well done long portion! It is definitely a time of change for these characters with school finishing. Some of their parents seem to be real fucked up people. I am glad they all have each other for support with that. Great writing and I look forward to more soon! Sorry I took so long to read this, it’s been a busy weekend.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Well, I knew you were doing a lot of fun stuff, and this story wasn't going anywhere. So I'm glad you enjoyed it when you got around to it.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
And here is the conclusion of chapter 8!
Monday morning of exam week one thing changed and would stay changed, and it was that when Brother Prynne—now Abbot Prynne—walked into class he wore sandals, a white robe and a black hooded and belted scapular. Swann noticed he had shaven his head. As usual he ignored the pledge of allegiance and the morning prayers, and turned up the television for the announcements and then he sat on the edge of his desk, drummed his thighs and said, “Let the exam begin.”
He was magnificent looking, and no one dared to say it. He asked, “Christopher Navarro, what did we read this year that you loved?”
Chris, in the back of the class, looked suitably surprised, and he thought a moment, and then he said, “I think I liked Great Expectations.”
“You think?”
“I did. I mean, I did like it a lot.”
“Whaddid you like about it?”
“Uh…. I liked Pip.”
“That helps.”
“And I liked when he finds out who his real benefactor was.”
Abbot Prynne suddenly looked like he was waiting for more, not like he was angry or impatient, just like he was waiting, and then Chris continued, “Because Mrs. Favisham.”
“Havisham,” Swann whispered.
“Havisham. She was horrible. And so was the girl…. Isabella. And he was so in love with her, I mean Pip, but this old woman had taught her to be terrible, and I couldn’t believe that someone like that would really help Pip out at all, and it just goes to show you that sometimes your senses are right, like it didn’t make any sense for her to be the benefactor, and also that you can’t judge people and think that they have nothing to offer, because here we met the real benefactor, practically on page one, and you’d think he wasn’t worth anything, but he was. He was rough, but he was a good guy. It’s like my dad days. Sometimes a rough thing comes in a good package.”
“Oh, Mr. Navarro, you had a rough start, but I think in the end that warrants a B plus.”
Prynne had said that ordinary exams were bullshit, and that the papers existed to teach students how to write. He’d already graded them on those, and the exam, he told them, would be oral. There was no studying for it. They would either do well or they wouldn’t. Swann did. No one was surprised. Prynne even thanked him for whispering to Chris that it was Havisham and not Favisham. But Swann didn’t talk about Great Expectations. He went straight to Shakespeare. He was a good reader and a good speaker, and he had no trouble in an oral exam. Each of them got, eventually, three questions to answer about things of their choosing they had read throughout the year.
“So if you don’t like English, and you can’t remember anything,” James Lung said, irritated, “then you’re going to get a bad grade.”
“How else should it be?” Prynne asked him.
“We should get a chance to know that, so we can reread stuff and study it.”
“That’s not learning,” Prynne said. “And that’s not what I do.”
It was what most teachers did, though. Swann was surprised to pull a strong C in math.
“You shouldn’t be,” Jack said. “We study every afternoon.”
At lunch, on Wednesday, Pete Agalathagos came to Chris and Swann, setting his lunch tray down, and reported, “We almost have the suite. But, we need to get one more student, or else it’s going to go to some juniors.”
Chris bit his fist, but Swann wanted to know, “Why are we even in the running if some juniors want it?”
“They’re grades are crap. They got in trouble a lot, and they need another student too” Pete said. “When they found out about you and Chris, you all were like our golden tickets.”
“Well, really, finding a last roommate’s our golden ticket,” Swann said, sensibly.
Thursday afternoon was the religion exam, Old Testament, which for Swann was not only the last, but the easiest. To the chagrin and in some cases outright anger of some, he walked out after forty five minutes in the allotted two hours. He was strolling down the warm corridor toward his room when he heard his name hissed, and turned around. Jack, in jeans and sneakers for senior week jogged down the hall, and then embraced him,
“I graduated! I just finished my last exam. I’m passed. That’s it!”
Despite everything, Swann was swept up in Jack’s happiness, and they jumped up and down clutching each other, and then Jack looked at him, and Swann looked at him, and Jack thought Swann in his white shirt and black trousers and tie looked handsome and grown up and Swann felt the strength in Jacks biceps, wanted more than just to look at him in his faded jeans and white tee shirt, and Swann look him by the hand, and Jack nodded eagerly, and they went down the three flights into the Freshmen rooms where Swann pulled Jack into his, pulled close the curtain on the light, and then bolted the door.
“Do you hear something?” Swann whispered in the dark.
“Nope,” Jack said.
“There it is again.”
“I don’t hear a thing,” Jack insisted.
On the bed that had never been made the two of them lay naked in the dark, Swann snuggled to Jack who lay on his back, one knee up, eyes closed, ignoring the knock at the door.
“I’m getting that.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Pull that blanket over your head. Coming!” Swann called.
He pulled on his trousers, didn’t bother with a shirt, and half opened the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“Brad?” Swann said.
“Yeah.”
Brad Crist, who sort of looked like he might be Chris’s doppelganger, the tall, blond, buzz cutted member of the Young Republicans said, “You did really great in that oral exam today.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah…. And religion too.”
“Thank you.”
“But…. You must have been asleep.”
“I was. I mean, I’ll get up soon, but I was.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll keep this short. I… I heard you and Pete were looking for a last roommate for the corner suite on the second floor next year and I—”
“Absolutely, yes,” Swann said. “Go tell Pete, and then go tell housing. In fact, tell housing first.”
Brad looked suddenly very excited, red cheeked and merry eyed, he made little fist and said, “I promise I’m not trouble.”
“No one thought you would be, Bradley.”
“Alright,” Brad still stood at the door. “This’ll be great.”
“Yup.”
“I’m gonna go now. Tell housing.”
“Great. Great. See you at dinner.”
Brad had already skipped off. He turned around and shouted, “See you at dinner.”
Swann closed the door behind him and shut the lock.
Reclined on his side in the bed, Jack chuckled.
Swann came to him.
“Well,” Jack said, “you got your roommate for next year.”
Swann pushed Jack back onto the bed and straddled him, bending to kiss his mouth.
“I am much more concerned,” he said, “with the roommate I have right now.”
Monday morning of exam week one thing changed and would stay changed, and it was that when Brother Prynne—now Abbot Prynne—walked into class he wore sandals, a white robe and a black hooded and belted scapular. Swann noticed he had shaven his head. As usual he ignored the pledge of allegiance and the morning prayers, and turned up the television for the announcements and then he sat on the edge of his desk, drummed his thighs and said, “Let the exam begin.”
He was magnificent looking, and no one dared to say it. He asked, “Christopher Navarro, what did we read this year that you loved?”
Chris, in the back of the class, looked suitably surprised, and he thought a moment, and then he said, “I think I liked Great Expectations.”
“You think?”
“I did. I mean, I did like it a lot.”
“Whaddid you like about it?”
“Uh…. I liked Pip.”
“That helps.”
“And I liked when he finds out who his real benefactor was.”
Abbot Prynne suddenly looked like he was waiting for more, not like he was angry or impatient, just like he was waiting, and then Chris continued, “Because Mrs. Favisham.”
“Havisham,” Swann whispered.
“Havisham. She was horrible. And so was the girl…. Isabella. And he was so in love with her, I mean Pip, but this old woman had taught her to be terrible, and I couldn’t believe that someone like that would really help Pip out at all, and it just goes to show you that sometimes your senses are right, like it didn’t make any sense for her to be the benefactor, and also that you can’t judge people and think that they have nothing to offer, because here we met the real benefactor, practically on page one, and you’d think he wasn’t worth anything, but he was. He was rough, but he was a good guy. It’s like my dad days. Sometimes a rough thing comes in a good package.”
“Oh, Mr. Navarro, you had a rough start, but I think in the end that warrants a B plus.”
Prynne had said that ordinary exams were bullshit, and that the papers existed to teach students how to write. He’d already graded them on those, and the exam, he told them, would be oral. There was no studying for it. They would either do well or they wouldn’t. Swann did. No one was surprised. Prynne even thanked him for whispering to Chris that it was Havisham and not Favisham. But Swann didn’t talk about Great Expectations. He went straight to Shakespeare. He was a good reader and a good speaker, and he had no trouble in an oral exam. Each of them got, eventually, three questions to answer about things of their choosing they had read throughout the year.
“So if you don’t like English, and you can’t remember anything,” James Lung said, irritated, “then you’re going to get a bad grade.”
“How else should it be?” Prynne asked him.
“We should get a chance to know that, so we can reread stuff and study it.”
“That’s not learning,” Prynne said. “And that’s not what I do.”
It was what most teachers did, though. Swann was surprised to pull a strong C in math.
“You shouldn’t be,” Jack said. “We study every afternoon.”
At lunch, on Wednesday, Pete Agalathagos came to Chris and Swann, setting his lunch tray down, and reported, “We almost have the suite. But, we need to get one more student, or else it’s going to go to some juniors.”
Chris bit his fist, but Swann wanted to know, “Why are we even in the running if some juniors want it?”
“They’re grades are crap. They got in trouble a lot, and they need another student too” Pete said. “When they found out about you and Chris, you all were like our golden tickets.”
“Well, really, finding a last roommate’s our golden ticket,” Swann said, sensibly.
Thursday afternoon was the religion exam, Old Testament, which for Swann was not only the last, but the easiest. To the chagrin and in some cases outright anger of some, he walked out after forty five minutes in the allotted two hours. He was strolling down the warm corridor toward his room when he heard his name hissed, and turned around. Jack, in jeans and sneakers for senior week jogged down the hall, and then embraced him,
“I graduated! I just finished my last exam. I’m passed. That’s it!”
Despite everything, Swann was swept up in Jack’s happiness, and they jumped up and down clutching each other, and then Jack looked at him, and Swann looked at him, and Jack thought Swann in his white shirt and black trousers and tie looked handsome and grown up and Swann felt the strength in Jacks biceps, wanted more than just to look at him in his faded jeans and white tee shirt, and Swann look him by the hand, and Jack nodded eagerly, and they went down the three flights into the Freshmen rooms where Swann pulled Jack into his, pulled close the curtain on the light, and then bolted the door.
“Do you hear something?” Swann whispered in the dark.
“Nope,” Jack said.
“There it is again.”
“I don’t hear a thing,” Jack insisted.
On the bed that had never been made the two of them lay naked in the dark, Swann snuggled to Jack who lay on his back, one knee up, eyes closed, ignoring the knock at the door.
“I’m getting that.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Pull that blanket over your head. Coming!” Swann called.
He pulled on his trousers, didn’t bother with a shirt, and half opened the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“Brad?” Swann said.
“Yeah.”
Brad Crist, who sort of looked like he might be Chris’s doppelganger, the tall, blond, buzz cutted member of the Young Republicans said, “You did really great in that oral exam today.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah…. And religion too.”
“Thank you.”
“But…. You must have been asleep.”
“I was. I mean, I’ll get up soon, but I was.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll keep this short. I… I heard you and Pete were looking for a last roommate for the corner suite on the second floor next year and I—”
“Absolutely, yes,” Swann said. “Go tell Pete, and then go tell housing. In fact, tell housing first.”
Brad looked suddenly very excited, red cheeked and merry eyed, he made little fist and said, “I promise I’m not trouble.”
“No one thought you would be, Bradley.”
“Alright,” Brad still stood at the door. “This’ll be great.”
“Yup.”
“I’m gonna go now. Tell housing.”
“Great. Great. See you at dinner.”
Brad had already skipped off. He turned around and shouted, “See you at dinner.”
Swann closed the door behind him and shut the lock.
Reclined on his side in the bed, Jack chuckled.
Swann came to him.
“Well,” Jack said, “you got your roommate for next year.”
Swann pushed Jack back onto the bed and straddled him, bending to kiss his mouth.
“I am much more concerned,” he said, “with the roommate I have right now.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was an excellent portion as always. I am glad exams are over for the characters in this time period. I am still very curious to see what happens with Jack. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, and I'm glad you enjoyed and glad I could post during the mess of the last week. I'm glad you're still enjoying the story.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Chapter Nine
When his father had lived, and when Doug’s father had still been married to Deborah, the six of them made a tight, strong and uncomfortable family knot, all living in the southern part of Evanston by the lake. Ron Portis was unwelcoming, and Jay Merrin was unfriendly with that combination of open disdain for other Black men and a concealed disdain for white people mixed with a sort of ill concealed jealousy. So, though the house on Judson was large and ought of have been inviting, though it was summer hot, there was something small and cold and embarrassing about it when Swann brought Chris there for the first time.
This was when Swann found out what a small world it was. His twelve year old cousin Doug, much more quiet, much less sly than he would be, arrived at the house and jumped into Chris’s arms.
“Little Man, but…” Chris looked from Swann to Doug. “Ah, I get it now.”
“You just thought all Black people looked alike,” Ron Portis said.
If Swann wished for anything, it was that he had told his father, while he lived, to shut the fuck up.
Instead his father told him a story.
The one thing his parents had done for Swann was make sure he had a high interest bank account, and because he so rarely touched it, it grew and grew. He knew that long ago it had been set up, and money showed up in it automatically. Not enough to be wealthy, but enough for a fifteen year old who never spent anything to be wealthy enough. In addition to this, he had biweekly allowance. So, without much in the way of warning, he woke Chris up early one morning, took a cab to Davis Street, got on the Metra and rode the train into the Loop, transferred to another and arrived in South Shore toward noon. They went toward 70th and Paxton and soon were knocking at the door of Birches.
“Well, if it ain’t a nephew,” Donald declared after Popeye had let them in. “And a tall friend. Thought you’d be here long before!”
“This is Chris, from Saint Francis.”
“I remember from the ordination. The white boy with all the hair! How’d you like it up there in Evanston?”
“It was… interesting.”
“They were assholes, wasn’t they? Always was. Always will be. Well, it’s late for breakfast, but I got some cold catfish from last night. How’d you like that? You will like it,” Donald decided. “Come on and let’s get you all some.”
That was how Swann and Chris had come to Birches, and that was how Swann had fled his father’s home. It would be a very long time after the death of his dad before he realized the house on Judson Street was his own and there was not even a hint of the ghost of Ron Porter
“You have a really beautiful home, Mrs. Merrin. I was just looking out from the room I set myself up in.”
“Set yourself up in?” Deborah said.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “That wasn’t presumptuous, was it?”
“Maybe I was presumptuous,’ Deborah said. “I mean, I thought you and Doug were… I thought you all slept in the same room.”
“I… we… I… uh, I didn’t want to be disrespectful or anything.”
“We’re all grown, and Douglass doesn’t tell me much, or very often anything, but he does talk about you, and everyone in the family knows what you are to him.”
“Oh,” Joe said, embarrassed, scratching the back of his head.
“You’re a good boy,” Deborah said. “I mean, I supposed you were, but I always wondered about you. Doug is a handful and I wondered who this other boy was that meant so much to him. I think I can understand it now. You’re a good match. You’re quiet where he isn’t.”
Joe shook his head and blinked.
“Doug is sure about everything. He’s… He’s a force.”
“He’s a Portis.”
“He is definitely, definitely a Portis. And sometimes I feel dumb and silly next to him. I… uh…”
Joe tilted his head.
“He really talks about me?”
“Oh, my God, yes.”
“Damn. I mean, dang. I mean…. I knew, but… You know, what, Mrs. Merrin, I need to go find him.”
“You do that, and you should probably call me something else. I haven’t been Mrs. Merrin in years.”
“Miss Portis.”
“Deb is fine.”
Joe nodded and went up the old stairs to Doug’s room, where he was half asleep.
“Hi, you,” Doug turned his head lazily and blinked at Joe.
“I was talking to your mom.”
“Yes?’
“It’s not my place to tell you anything.”
“Sure it is.”
“But I think we should come here more. It’s big and its empty. And…”
When his father had lived, and when Doug’s father had still been married to Deborah, the six of them made a tight, strong and uncomfortable family knot, all living in the southern part of Evanston by the lake. Ron Portis was unwelcoming, and Jay Merrin was unfriendly with that combination of open disdain for other Black men and a concealed disdain for white people mixed with a sort of ill concealed jealousy. So, though the house on Judson was large and ought of have been inviting, though it was summer hot, there was something small and cold and embarrassing about it when Swann brought Chris there for the first time.
This was when Swann found out what a small world it was. His twelve year old cousin Doug, much more quiet, much less sly than he would be, arrived at the house and jumped into Chris’s arms.
“Little Man, but…” Chris looked from Swann to Doug. “Ah, I get it now.”
“You just thought all Black people looked alike,” Ron Portis said.
If Swann wished for anything, it was that he had told his father, while he lived, to shut the fuck up.
Instead his father told him a story.
The one thing his parents had done for Swann was make sure he had a high interest bank account, and because he so rarely touched it, it grew and grew. He knew that long ago it had been set up, and money showed up in it automatically. Not enough to be wealthy, but enough for a fifteen year old who never spent anything to be wealthy enough. In addition to this, he had biweekly allowance. So, without much in the way of warning, he woke Chris up early one morning, took a cab to Davis Street, got on the Metra and rode the train into the Loop, transferred to another and arrived in South Shore toward noon. They went toward 70th and Paxton and soon were knocking at the door of Birches.
“Well, if it ain’t a nephew,” Donald declared after Popeye had let them in. “And a tall friend. Thought you’d be here long before!”
“This is Chris, from Saint Francis.”
“I remember from the ordination. The white boy with all the hair! How’d you like it up there in Evanston?”
“It was… interesting.”
“They were assholes, wasn’t they? Always was. Always will be. Well, it’s late for breakfast, but I got some cold catfish from last night. How’d you like that? You will like it,” Donald decided. “Come on and let’s get you all some.”
That was how Swann and Chris had come to Birches, and that was how Swann had fled his father’s home. It would be a very long time after the death of his dad before he realized the house on Judson Street was his own and there was not even a hint of the ghost of Ron Porter
“You have a really beautiful home, Mrs. Merrin. I was just looking out from the room I set myself up in.”
“Set yourself up in?” Deborah said.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “That wasn’t presumptuous, was it?”
“Maybe I was presumptuous,’ Deborah said. “I mean, I thought you and Doug were… I thought you all slept in the same room.”
“I… we… I… uh, I didn’t want to be disrespectful or anything.”
“We’re all grown, and Douglass doesn’t tell me much, or very often anything, but he does talk about you, and everyone in the family knows what you are to him.”
“Oh,” Joe said, embarrassed, scratching the back of his head.
“You’re a good boy,” Deborah said. “I mean, I supposed you were, but I always wondered about you. Doug is a handful and I wondered who this other boy was that meant so much to him. I think I can understand it now. You’re a good match. You’re quiet where he isn’t.”
Joe shook his head and blinked.
“Doug is sure about everything. He’s… He’s a force.”
“He’s a Portis.”
“He is definitely, definitely a Portis. And sometimes I feel dumb and silly next to him. I… uh…”
Joe tilted his head.
“He really talks about me?”
“Oh, my God, yes.”
“Damn. I mean, dang. I mean…. I knew, but… You know, what, Mrs. Merrin, I need to go find him.”
“You do that, and you should probably call me something else. I haven’t been Mrs. Merrin in years.”
“Miss Portis.”
“Deb is fine.”
Joe nodded and went up the old stairs to Doug’s room, where he was half asleep.
“Hi, you,” Doug turned his head lazily and blinked at Joe.
“I was talking to your mom.”
“Yes?’
“It’s not my place to tell you anything.”
“Sure it is.”
“But I think we should come here more. It’s big and its empty. And…”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“I think Deb should move Cousin Rose in here,” Doug said, “And maybe take a border. And I think… Donald…”
“Your uncle?”
“No the duck who doesn’t wear pants. Yes, my uncle. I was thinking, my great grandmother had him so late. He was my age when she died. I mean, Swann’s dad is dead, and maybe he wasn’t a treat, but still. And both of Donald’s parents were gone when he was my age. Garrett and Kyle and Chris’s baby… And John Bishop…. You don’t know how much time you have, and I don’t want to be mad at my mother anymore. I just… I don’t have the time for that shit.”
Joe climbed on the bed beside Doug and turned to him.
“You love me,” Joe said.
“Of course I love you. We’ve discussed this already. I—”
Joe pressed a finger to Doug’s lips and smiled on him, and for a moment, the green eyed boy looked so goofy, looked so much like Gilligan he wanted to put a little white cap on his head.
“I guess I didn’t know,” Joe said.
“I think the world of you,” Doug said. “Honestly. I think you’re the most handsome amazing man in the world. I have since I was a Freshmen.”
“And I still can’t believe that,” Joe told him. “Because…. I think the same thing about you.”
They were on the living room floor of Swann’s house eating a lot of ice cream and the remains of two pizzas that Mike and Ben Forrester had brought over, and Doug said, “I’ve put off the Joe’s parents thing long enough. We’re going tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean you can’t stay.”
“Whaddo you mean?” Swann said.
“You should talk to your mother.”
“When the hell did you turn into Jesus?”
“When I talked to my mother, and she said some things. And I hear you said some things to Cousin Rose today.”
“He said a lot of things.” Sal said, scraping the bottom of his glass bowl with his spoon.
“Life is short,” Doug said, playing with his big toe, his legs folded under him where he sat across from Swann. “That’s all.”
“Rose ain’t like Deborah,” Swann said.
“No, Rose is a narcissist,” Doug replied succinctly. “But don’t you want to say, at the end of the day, that you did everything right, you did everything you could? Instead of being like all those old Negroes who are always talking about how they wish they’d been nicer to their mamas or how they wish they had one more day with them.”
“I do not wish for another day with Rose.”
Sal looked at Chris. Chris looked at Sal, and Joe mouthed, “Stay out of it.”
“You know what?” Doug said. “I feel like that’s not exactly true. Here’s the thing,” Doug leaned in, “my mom told me to tell you to ask your mom how your father died.”
“What?”
“That’s what she said. Tell him to ask Rose how his father died?”
Swann looked troubled a moment, and then he seemed to recover, and in his usual acerbic way said, “Well, if the answer is she killed him, maybe me and Rose can be friends after all.”
After a while Mike said that he had to show Ben off to his parents, and as they were preparing to leave, Ben called Swann into the foyer.
“What’s up?”
“Number one,” Ben said buttoning his coat and turning up his collar, “I can’t believe you’ve grown up, and I’m sorry I missed the last few years. It’s… it’s damn good to see you. Number two, your cousin’s loud, but he’s right. Make it up with your mom. And three, what happened with you and Jack?”
“Jack?”
“I talk to him every day.”
“You do?”
“And he asked me to pass on a message. He’d like to see you.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I’d have to be blind to not know you and Sal have something and…. Apparently you and Sal and Chris have something and more power to you.”
“Me and Chris have not officially been together since junior year at Saint Francis.”
“But you were together. I could see that happening. You always were close. But, anyway, I told Jack I would ask your permission, and if you felt like it, you would give me your number to give to him. Or… whatever.”
“Yeah,” Swann said, nodding
“I’ve given you a lot to think about, and I can tell you already have a lot to think about. Just….”
“Think about it?” Swann raised an eyebrow as Michael and the others approached.
Ben embraced him, and the sober young man with the thin handsome face nodded.
“Your uncle?”
“No the duck who doesn’t wear pants. Yes, my uncle. I was thinking, my great grandmother had him so late. He was my age when she died. I mean, Swann’s dad is dead, and maybe he wasn’t a treat, but still. And both of Donald’s parents were gone when he was my age. Garrett and Kyle and Chris’s baby… And John Bishop…. You don’t know how much time you have, and I don’t want to be mad at my mother anymore. I just… I don’t have the time for that shit.”
Joe climbed on the bed beside Doug and turned to him.
“You love me,” Joe said.
“Of course I love you. We’ve discussed this already. I—”
Joe pressed a finger to Doug’s lips and smiled on him, and for a moment, the green eyed boy looked so goofy, looked so much like Gilligan he wanted to put a little white cap on his head.
“I guess I didn’t know,” Joe said.
“I think the world of you,” Doug said. “Honestly. I think you’re the most handsome amazing man in the world. I have since I was a Freshmen.”
“And I still can’t believe that,” Joe told him. “Because…. I think the same thing about you.”
They were on the living room floor of Swann’s house eating a lot of ice cream and the remains of two pizzas that Mike and Ben Forrester had brought over, and Doug said, “I’ve put off the Joe’s parents thing long enough. We’re going tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean you can’t stay.”
“Whaddo you mean?” Swann said.
“You should talk to your mother.”
“When the hell did you turn into Jesus?”
“When I talked to my mother, and she said some things. And I hear you said some things to Cousin Rose today.”
“He said a lot of things.” Sal said, scraping the bottom of his glass bowl with his spoon.
“Life is short,” Doug said, playing with his big toe, his legs folded under him where he sat across from Swann. “That’s all.”
“Rose ain’t like Deborah,” Swann said.
“No, Rose is a narcissist,” Doug replied succinctly. “But don’t you want to say, at the end of the day, that you did everything right, you did everything you could? Instead of being like all those old Negroes who are always talking about how they wish they’d been nicer to their mamas or how they wish they had one more day with them.”
“I do not wish for another day with Rose.”
Sal looked at Chris. Chris looked at Sal, and Joe mouthed, “Stay out of it.”
“You know what?” Doug said. “I feel like that’s not exactly true. Here’s the thing,” Doug leaned in, “my mom told me to tell you to ask your mom how your father died.”
“What?”
“That’s what she said. Tell him to ask Rose how his father died?”
Swann looked troubled a moment, and then he seemed to recover, and in his usual acerbic way said, “Well, if the answer is she killed him, maybe me and Rose can be friends after all.”
After a while Mike said that he had to show Ben off to his parents, and as they were preparing to leave, Ben called Swann into the foyer.
“What’s up?”
“Number one,” Ben said buttoning his coat and turning up his collar, “I can’t believe you’ve grown up, and I’m sorry I missed the last few years. It’s… it’s damn good to see you. Number two, your cousin’s loud, but he’s right. Make it up with your mom. And three, what happened with you and Jack?”
“Jack?”
“I talk to him every day.”
“You do?”
“And he asked me to pass on a message. He’d like to see you.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I’d have to be blind to not know you and Sal have something and…. Apparently you and Sal and Chris have something and more power to you.”
“Me and Chris have not officially been together since junior year at Saint Francis.”
“But you were together. I could see that happening. You always were close. But, anyway, I told Jack I would ask your permission, and if you felt like it, you would give me your number to give to him. Or… whatever.”
“Yeah,” Swann said, nodding
“I’ve given you a lot to think about, and I can tell you already have a lot to think about. Just….”
“Think about it?” Swann raised an eyebrow as Michael and the others approached.
Ben embraced him, and the sober young man with the thin handsome face nodded.
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great portion! Poor Swann, his parents did a real number on him. The whole Swann, Sal, and Jack situation seems to be a bit of a mess. I look forward to seeing what happens. Excellent writing!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
It's kind of a mess, but don't forget, Swann hasnt talked to Jack in years, so it might be more of a situation for Jack than anyone else.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“What are they talking about?” Doug asked, more to make conversation than because he cared..
“Well, Ben went to school with Swann so…. I guess old times.”
“Real old times, cause I never met him till now. Did you get a big scholarship for DePaul?”
“Not really,” Mike shook his head.
“I was… uh…”
“Surprised that I got there?”
“You weren’t a great student.”
“You were. You were always smart. I’m surprised you aren’t there.”
“I haven’t been anywhere. I’m just about to start at Saint Anthony’s.”
“That surprised me,” Mike said. “You had everything together. I mean, till you got up and left junior year. But…. You even had that together.”
“Yeah… well.”
“Hey,” Mike began, “we left on bad terms, didn’t we?”
“We didn’t leave on great ones.”
“I’d… if you’re around… I mean, it seems like we’re all catching up, and it’s like no one knows what it was like to be a Frannie like another Frannie. And we used to be friends, so…”
Doug sighed before agreeing.
“I don’t feel like being mad or holding onto things. And I don’t really have any friends, so—”
“That doesn’t look true at all, but I’d like it if we were friends. I promise I’m not half the asshole I was.”
“You weren’t an asshole.”
Mike grinned, and he looked as if he was staring very closely at something.
“Yeah… I was,” he said.
Doug held out his hand to him.
Mike surprised him with a very quick hug, and he said, “If you and Joe come down to DePaul, I’ll show you Boystown and all the bars. Maybe we’ll even hit the bath house.”
“He’s joking,” Ben said as they walked out the door.
“No he’s not,” Doug said after Swann shut the door.
The next morning, Swann went immediately to his mother’s condo because he had always been the type of person who liked to get things he hated doing out of the way.
“This is a surprise. You want coffee?”
And because it was a surprise to be welcomed cheerily by his mother, especially after the explosion in the car yesterday, he said “Yes.”
But then that had always been their way, avoiding or ignoring unpleasantries, and what had been more unpleasant than that? Rose made coffee and he added hazelnut and sugar, and they sat silent, smoking at the island as the sun came up over Lake Michigan.
“You would have a beautiful place if you did something to it,” he told his mother.
“The trouble is I don’t seem to really want to.”
“Move in with Deborah,” Swann said.
“What?”
“It’s ridiculous for her to live alone in that house. Rent out this condo and move in with Deborah.”
“I don’t know if she’d want that.”
“She’d love it, and even if she wouldn’t, the house is big enough that you’d never have to see each other. Doug and Joe are going to be there a lot. I’ll even be there.”
Rose exhaled smoke and nodded.
“I could think about that.”
Swann took a breath and said, “How did my father die?”
“What?”
“You heard me the first time, Mother. How did Ron Porter die? I never asked. I was in Benton when it happened. I just came home and then came to the funeral? How did he die?”
When Rose said nothing, Swann said, “I thought I never asked because I didn’t care. I mean, I didn’t like the man. But… maybe I didn’t ask because I was afraid. How did he die?”
“He killed himself.”
Now it was Swann who stopped himself from saying, “What?”
“He took two bottles of pills, and then, to make sure he did the job right, he just shot himself in the head. I can still hear it. The gun popping and me thinking, maybe it was fireworks. But I knew.”
When Swann said nothing, Rose continued.
“I went down to see. I found him. I wasn’t as surprised as you are. You see, he tried to kill himself twice the year we got married, which is a bad sign. And then, before your grandmother died, he was running around with some bitch called Bambi or Candy or Brandy of some shit like that. She wasn’t the first. But it seemed that being married to me made him want to kill himself, and then running off with women made him feel better.”
Swann wanted to say he didn’t think that was true, but he couldn’t think of a way for that to sound sincere. He only kept listening.
“When your grandmother died—my Mom—that brought him back, and I kept trying to make him happy, make him not leave.”
At last, Swann said, “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? You know that?”
Rose said nothing, and then she said, “I was wondering if I should tell you this. I will, because you should hear it. You know we sent you away. You may have not felt very welcome. I never brought it up. I never wanted to upset your father. One night I tried. It was before your junior year and you were never here and we didn’t know you anymore. And he said, ‘That’s because he is all Portis. You named him that. And I don’t think he’s mine. I always knew he wasn’t.’
“Now, I couldn’t believe this because he was the one who was always cheating on me, and I just laughed in his face and said, ‘Of course he’s yours. He was always yours. You had a son you treated like shit for seventeen years because you thought he wasn’t yours?’ You see, I’m not stupid. I did know how he made you feel. I didn’t do anything about it, but I knew it, and I ignored it because I was ignoring how he made me feel too, but that night I just said everything I had bottled up. I talked about everything he had done and how he had missed the chance to be a parent because he thought he wasn’t a parent. I… I think I was drunk. I know I was. I laughed and laughed and laughed, and he went upstairs and locked himself in his office. The next few days he went around to the bank, to his lawyers. I thought, this son of a bitch is going to divorce me. But he didn’t divorce me. He killed himself.”
“And then left everything to me.”
“Your father was a strange, unhappy man. I suppose for him that was easier than apologizing.”
Swann waited for the cigarette to burn to a pillar of ash, and then laid it down in the tray where it collapsed.
“This is the time where I say I would trade all my inheritance for him to have apologized and me to know him,” Swann said. “Except…. I don’t think that’s true.”
“I think Ron knew that he’d made it impossible for that to be true,” Rose said.
Swann said nothing for a while, and then he said, “Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Move in with Deborah.”
“Wow,” Chris murmured as he sat on the edge of the pool, kicking his feet in the water. Sal was swimming lengths, the water splashing in the up and down path of his body.
“Yeah,” Swann said.
He was the only one wearing clothes, sitting in pajama pants and tee shirt, picking his toe nails, used to and then in love with Chris’s naked silhouette as he sat on the edge of the pool watching Sal move through the water.
“Umm,” Chris murmured, and then Swann laughed.
“What?”
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“You sick fuck.”
“What?” Chris cried.
“You’re wondering where he did it, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I know you. Don’t lie. You’re wondering where my father shot himself?”
“What if he did it here?”
“If you think you’re going to spook me out of enjoying my own swimming pool—”
“I was just wondering if he did it here. And you were wondering too. Or else you wouldn’t have known I was.”
“That’s fair. And fuck you.”
Sal swam over to them and pushed his hands through his wet hair.
“What are we laughing at?”
“I’m not sure we’re laughing at anything—”
“Swann and I both think his dad killed himself in this pool room.”
“Fuck,” Sal said.
Then he said, “Well, we fucked in this pool room, and I think that cancels out the killing.”
Chris looked at Swann, amazed, and then said, “Of course you two did.”
“Get in the water,” Sal commanded Swann.
“We have to go. Doug and Joe are going to leave in an hour, aren’t they?”
“Get,” Sal said again, “in this fucking pool with us before I pull you in in your clothes.”
Swann looked to Chris, but the look on Chris Navarro’s face said he would be all too happy to help Sal pull him into the water, so Swann stood up and, pulling off his pajamas said, “Fuck…. The both of you.”
“Well, Ben went to school with Swann so…. I guess old times.”
“Real old times, cause I never met him till now. Did you get a big scholarship for DePaul?”
“Not really,” Mike shook his head.
“I was… uh…”
“Surprised that I got there?”
“You weren’t a great student.”
“You were. You were always smart. I’m surprised you aren’t there.”
“I haven’t been anywhere. I’m just about to start at Saint Anthony’s.”
“That surprised me,” Mike said. “You had everything together. I mean, till you got up and left junior year. But…. You even had that together.”
“Yeah… well.”
“Hey,” Mike began, “we left on bad terms, didn’t we?”
“We didn’t leave on great ones.”
“I’d… if you’re around… I mean, it seems like we’re all catching up, and it’s like no one knows what it was like to be a Frannie like another Frannie. And we used to be friends, so…”
Doug sighed before agreeing.
“I don’t feel like being mad or holding onto things. And I don’t really have any friends, so—”
“That doesn’t look true at all, but I’d like it if we were friends. I promise I’m not half the asshole I was.”
“You weren’t an asshole.”
Mike grinned, and he looked as if he was staring very closely at something.
“Yeah… I was,” he said.
Doug held out his hand to him.
Mike surprised him with a very quick hug, and he said, “If you and Joe come down to DePaul, I’ll show you Boystown and all the bars. Maybe we’ll even hit the bath house.”
“He’s joking,” Ben said as they walked out the door.
“No he’s not,” Doug said after Swann shut the door.
The next morning, Swann went immediately to his mother’s condo because he had always been the type of person who liked to get things he hated doing out of the way.
“This is a surprise. You want coffee?”
And because it was a surprise to be welcomed cheerily by his mother, especially after the explosion in the car yesterday, he said “Yes.”
But then that had always been their way, avoiding or ignoring unpleasantries, and what had been more unpleasant than that? Rose made coffee and he added hazelnut and sugar, and they sat silent, smoking at the island as the sun came up over Lake Michigan.
“You would have a beautiful place if you did something to it,” he told his mother.
“The trouble is I don’t seem to really want to.”
“Move in with Deborah,” Swann said.
“What?”
“It’s ridiculous for her to live alone in that house. Rent out this condo and move in with Deborah.”
“I don’t know if she’d want that.”
“She’d love it, and even if she wouldn’t, the house is big enough that you’d never have to see each other. Doug and Joe are going to be there a lot. I’ll even be there.”
Rose exhaled smoke and nodded.
“I could think about that.”
Swann took a breath and said, “How did my father die?”
“What?”
“You heard me the first time, Mother. How did Ron Porter die? I never asked. I was in Benton when it happened. I just came home and then came to the funeral? How did he die?”
When Rose said nothing, Swann said, “I thought I never asked because I didn’t care. I mean, I didn’t like the man. But… maybe I didn’t ask because I was afraid. How did he die?”
“He killed himself.”
Now it was Swann who stopped himself from saying, “What?”
“He took two bottles of pills, and then, to make sure he did the job right, he just shot himself in the head. I can still hear it. The gun popping and me thinking, maybe it was fireworks. But I knew.”
When Swann said nothing, Rose continued.
“I went down to see. I found him. I wasn’t as surprised as you are. You see, he tried to kill himself twice the year we got married, which is a bad sign. And then, before your grandmother died, he was running around with some bitch called Bambi or Candy or Brandy of some shit like that. She wasn’t the first. But it seemed that being married to me made him want to kill himself, and then running off with women made him feel better.”
Swann wanted to say he didn’t think that was true, but he couldn’t think of a way for that to sound sincere. He only kept listening.
“When your grandmother died—my Mom—that brought him back, and I kept trying to make him happy, make him not leave.”
At last, Swann said, “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? You know that?”
Rose said nothing, and then she said, “I was wondering if I should tell you this. I will, because you should hear it. You know we sent you away. You may have not felt very welcome. I never brought it up. I never wanted to upset your father. One night I tried. It was before your junior year and you were never here and we didn’t know you anymore. And he said, ‘That’s because he is all Portis. You named him that. And I don’t think he’s mine. I always knew he wasn’t.’
“Now, I couldn’t believe this because he was the one who was always cheating on me, and I just laughed in his face and said, ‘Of course he’s yours. He was always yours. You had a son you treated like shit for seventeen years because you thought he wasn’t yours?’ You see, I’m not stupid. I did know how he made you feel. I didn’t do anything about it, but I knew it, and I ignored it because I was ignoring how he made me feel too, but that night I just said everything I had bottled up. I talked about everything he had done and how he had missed the chance to be a parent because he thought he wasn’t a parent. I… I think I was drunk. I know I was. I laughed and laughed and laughed, and he went upstairs and locked himself in his office. The next few days he went around to the bank, to his lawyers. I thought, this son of a bitch is going to divorce me. But he didn’t divorce me. He killed himself.”
“And then left everything to me.”
“Your father was a strange, unhappy man. I suppose for him that was easier than apologizing.”
Swann waited for the cigarette to burn to a pillar of ash, and then laid it down in the tray where it collapsed.
“This is the time where I say I would trade all my inheritance for him to have apologized and me to know him,” Swann said. “Except…. I don’t think that’s true.”
“I think Ron knew that he’d made it impossible for that to be true,” Rose said.
Swann said nothing for a while, and then he said, “Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Move in with Deborah.”
“Wow,” Chris murmured as he sat on the edge of the pool, kicking his feet in the water. Sal was swimming lengths, the water splashing in the up and down path of his body.
“Yeah,” Swann said.
He was the only one wearing clothes, sitting in pajama pants and tee shirt, picking his toe nails, used to and then in love with Chris’s naked silhouette as he sat on the edge of the pool watching Sal move through the water.
“Umm,” Chris murmured, and then Swann laughed.
“What?”
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“You sick fuck.”
“What?” Chris cried.
“You’re wondering where he did it, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I know you. Don’t lie. You’re wondering where my father shot himself?”
“What if he did it here?”
“If you think you’re going to spook me out of enjoying my own swimming pool—”
“I was just wondering if he did it here. And you were wondering too. Or else you wouldn’t have known I was.”
“That’s fair. And fuck you.”
Sal swam over to them and pushed his hands through his wet hair.
“What are we laughing at?”
“I’m not sure we’re laughing at anything—”
“Swann and I both think his dad killed himself in this pool room.”
“Fuck,” Sal said.
Then he said, “Well, we fucked in this pool room, and I think that cancels out the killing.”
Chris looked at Swann, amazed, and then said, “Of course you two did.”
“Get in the water,” Sal commanded Swann.
“We have to go. Doug and Joe are going to leave in an hour, aren’t they?”
“Get,” Sal said again, “in this fucking pool with us before I pull you in in your clothes.”
Swann looked to Chris, but the look on Chris Navarro’s face said he would be all too happy to help Sal pull him into the water, so Swann stood up and, pulling off his pajamas said, “Fuck…. The both of you.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Wow that was a shock learning Swann’s Dad killed himself. Poor Swann and poor Rose. She may not have been the best mother but that is a lot. I hope she does move in with Deborah. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, it was a conversation they needed to have ,and while it doesn't make her better, it does explain things and maybe now they can move forward. I think the things you're saying are very true.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
The very summer camp that Chris went to every year was the one he was going to this summer, and Doug would be there too. He’d be a councilor for five weeks and Swann didn’t ask, “How can you stand it?” because he sounded like a snob in his own ears. Jack had said he would be working most of the summer, and Swann couldn’t imagine sitting in Jack’s house all day with his parents and little brothers, waiting for him to come home, or getting a job at Kroger with him. No one had ever told him how work was healthy and created self esteem and responsibility. No one around him believed that. Work was what you did to get money, and if you had enough, then you did what you wanted.
“That is not exactly the case,” Donald, who was rarely serious said.
“There is the work that most people do, because they have to, because ends have to meet. Or because they don’t know anything else. And then there is the Work.”
When Donald said it, Swann could hear the capital W.
“It’s whatever you were put in the world to do, and when you find it, you work at it more than anyone else works at their jobs. You do it for little pay, or no pay. You do it no matter what others think of you.”
It wasn’t until the summer when Swann was fifteen, staying at Birches, that he knew much about either his Aunt Pam or Uncle Donald. In the late mornings there would be a knock on the door, and then Swann would get it, and his uncle would receive visitors, and Swann didn’t need to know to be quiet or go upstairs. Donald might draw the living room curtains across the bay window that looked on to East 70th Street, but often he didn’t. He was conversational as he lit a candle, took out incense, and pulled out a box of large cards, like playing cards, put painted with strange beautiful figures. There were other things Donald did that Swann didn’t rightly understand, but it hardly mattered because, as much as Pamela was fine with having him in her apartment, there was the whole third floor, and Swann began to accumulate water colors and pads that turned into more expensive paints and easels. With a little bit of money and the Metra and buses, Swann made his way to the Museum of Science and Industry, the Field Museum, the Shedd Aquariam, Adler Planetarium, all of the beaches, the rocks of Craggy Beach. He got lost in libraries and in old nearly abandoned entertainment palaces. Everywhere he went, he went with is notepad, and left on his own he discovered he did not get lonely. Once a week he went all the way up to the Loop and roamed the Art Institute until he found not a picture, but a place he liked, and then sat down and sketched till he thought, “It’s five, and if I’m slow like I usually am and head for home, I should be at Aunt Pam and Uncle Donald’s by seven.”
And he was aware, like a city person, of how soon to be home and what blocks to walk through and which ones not to, and in the city he felt bigger, larger than in Evanston, and different than he did back at school. He talked to Jack a couple of times a week, not for long, because it was long distance, and he was surprised when he got his first letter from Chris.
Chris had neat handwriting and filled two pages of notebook paper. He talked about everything they were getting up to at camp, and how he’d met this girl, but wasn’t really sure how much he liked girls anymore, and as much fun as it was he missed Swann a bunch and he and Doug both thought it would be fun if he was here. He promised to write again next week.
Up on the third floor of Birches, looking down on 70th Street in the evening, Swann felt like he was in his own safe little penthouse. There was solitude when he wanted it and family when he needed it, and he felt truly loved, thought this whole year was the first time he’d really felt loved and safe, secure. He flounced on the sofa in the dining room turned library and closed his eyes, thinking of the long, elegant Blue Period Picassos he had seen or the old Cretan bullheads, and he smiled about his adventures around the city, wondering what he would tell Chris when he sat down, probably in the darkness of one in the morning, to write him back.
One day in the middle of July, Swann Portis opened a letter from Chris.
What should I say? The end of camp is always really sad, and there’s this ceremony where you say goodbye to all the councilors who are going off to college and won’t be able to be councilors anymore, and it’s really sad and all the girls cry and all the guys pretend not to care, but we get all shook up too. And there’s this one where you welcome all the campers who are old enough to be councilors—it’s my second year. And then all the kids who hated it but don’t want to go home start crying and we all get sad about maybe never seeing each other again, and it’s all really kind of a mess and kind of fun at the same time, and I feel like a big goof for talking about it. But I’m telling you because you always understand me. Even when you look like you’re too cool for school, you’re always the one person who doesn’t judge people, doesn’t make fun.
The one good thing I can say about camp is that two of the kids are going to be going to Saint Francis. Mike Buren, who is in eighth grade is coming this year, and I feel like your cousin Doug’ll come the year after. You’d know better, though, I guess. I just think it’s so cool we’ll all be together. I think it’s because I’m an only child and I always wanted a big family.
I’ve only been to Chicago a couple of times with family, and just to see the Cubs games or the museums. Once we went to that popcorn place and had what they call Chicago mix, it’s cheese and caramel, but you probably already know that. Anyway, the way you talk about it, traveling on the trains all day and seeing all the museums and the shops and the bookstores, it seems like so much fun, and I hope one day we can do that together. Of course, you still won’t come to camp. I get it, it’s not for everyone. But promise me this: when you come over, we’ll camp around my house and I’ll show you how much fun it is! You’ll love it.
This is my last week, and I’ll be home July 20th. Are we still going to spend the rest of the summer together, or have you changed your mind? And if we are, then should I come and get you, or what? And when I say I, I mean my Dad. We’ve got a finished basement and I stay there a lot. I don’t even go to my old room anymore. We can both stay there and have the TIME. You’re going to love Benton, I promise, even if it’s not as much fun as Chicago. I don’t have a car, of course, but I do have mopeds and I’ll teach you how to use one so we can get around. I’m probably saying and planning too much, but I just miss you, buddy, and can’t wait to see you. If you want, you can just call once I’m home. I’ll leave my number at the end of the letter…
By then, Swann had a taste for relative independence. He got out the map and decided to take the South Shore out of 68th Street and across Indiana to Dune Park. It would be a short drive for Chris’s dad to meet him there, and they could go on to Benton.
Swann was, firstly, surprised to like Mr. Navarro, for the only real models he had for fathers were Doug’s and his own. And second, though he was glad to be back with Chris and surprised at how good it was to be with his friend, he was even more surprised by how good it was to be back in the relative countryside, where the road went through deep green paths and they passed through towns that were more wood than city, spaced apart quiet houses, and old taverns on US !2, a high school that rose up out of the trees, a road that stretched out south to who knew where until, at last, they were on a road that stretched north to who knew where, and the who knew where ended in a cul de sac and the cul de sac had Chris’s house and his friend grabbed his bag before he could and said, “I mean, I’m glad to be home, and I hope you like it, and I realize it’s not like what you’re used to in the city and all, but…”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
He was about to ask just where Chris thought he lived when he remembered Chris had seen exactly where he lived.
When Chris showed him the basement—
“When you said basement—”
“Well, now I told you it was finished.”
“This is the size of a fucking house.”
Chris burst out laughing, a little pleased he hadn’t made a poor show of himself.”
“You like it?”
“Even if I hated it I’d like it,” Swann said. “I’ve missed you for the last six weeks. But yeah, this is something.”
The train ride hadn’t been overly long, but it was long enough, and Swann hadn’t wanted to do much. He decided not to call Jack, because he wanted to have at least one night with him and Chris, and he knew the moment he saw Jack was the moment he’d stay the night with him.
Looking back, Swann could never remember what he and Chris said to each other. He just remembered they laughed a lot and on the second night, Chris convinced him to go camping in his enormous back yard.
“We could actually go to the Dunes,” he said, and Swann agreed.
Marie and Skip Navarro thought they might as well go camping too, and they drove up, leaving the boys with a tent, camping supplies, and Swann’s bookbag, paints and easel.
Chris threw his arm around his friend and declared, “This will be better than any hotel.”
As they began walking under the trees chittering with crickets, and the late day burned into evening, Swann said, “I doubt it.”
“We got a month before school starts and we’ll be sophomores, can you believe it?”
“I can’t believe that I don’t hate going back,” Swann said, passing the cigarette back to Chris.
“You really hated it?”
“At first. Yeah. My folks were sending me away. And now… Well, now I can’t imagine being with my folks all the time or staying up in Chicago. I miss it, don’t get me wrong, buy I’m kind of glad to be going back to SFS. Even with all the nonsense.”
“There was a little bit of nonsense.” Chris said.
That was his kind way of referring to the Black students who either insinuated or said out loud that Swann wasn’t Black enough, to the white kids who, knowing they had the backing of Black kids, launched on Swann as well. When most of the year was so good, it didn’t do to go into all of that, and when some kids insinuated that Swann wasn’t quite right, that he was gay, it didn’t make any sense to protest when Jack was in his bed.
“This year things will be different,” Chris decided.
They were on top of a great, high dune, and below them thick grass descended to the endless lake.
“They probably won’t be that different,” Swann said. “But we’ll be different, and if you ask me, that’s what matters.”
“Lake Michigan is so beautiful,” Chris said, drawing his knees to his chest, his long feet stretched out in front of him. “It’s so huge and the sky is so high. It’s like nothing we do matters.
“No,” Chris stopped himself, cocking his blond halo of hair. “It’s like nothing we do can ruin it.”
In the distance they could hear other campers, perhaps even Chris’s parents, and after a while they could smell marijuana.
“Would you ever smoke that stuff?” Chris demanded.
“Probably,” Swann shrugged. “I want to do everything. I want to try everything. I don’t want there to be anything I haven’t done. Well, except for the things I have absolutely no desire to do.”
“Are you really going to paint the sunrise tomorrow?”
“As best I can. I’ve never done one before.”
“Is it going to be like Thomas Kincaid.”
“Fuck Thomas Kincaid. You know what every Thomas Kincaid pictures needs?”
“A blow torch I bet you’ll say.”
“No, that’s just mean. I was going to say King Kong. King Kong would improve every single Thomas Kincaid painting ever made. I’m thinking of making something like Frida Kahlo, or Salvador Dali.”
“I don’t think I know who either of those people are.
“When we go back to Chicago, I’ll show you.”
Chris said nothing as the large yellow sun yolked itself across the sky and spilled over the water and the grasses.
“The lake is chalky blue-green. It’s beautiful. I bet mermaids live in it,
“I’m going down into it,” Swann said, standing and rolling up the his trouser legs as he weaved through the grasses to the beach and, followed by Chris, walked toward the water.
When Chris showed him the basement—
“When you said basement—”
“Well, now I told you it was finished.”
“This is the size of a fucking house.”
Chris burst out laughing, a little pleased he hadn’t made a poor show of himself.”
“You like it?”
“Even if I hated it I’d like it,” Swann said. “I’ve missed you for the last six weeks. But yeah, this is something.”
The train ride hadn’t been overly long, but it was long enough, and Swann hadn’t wanted to do much. He decided not to call Jack, because he wanted to have at least one night with him and Chris, and he knew the moment he saw Jack was the moment he’d stay the night with him.
Looking back, Swann could never remember what he and Chris said to each other. He just remembered they laughed a lot and on the second night, Chris convinced him to go camping in his enormous back yard.
“We could actually go to the Dunes,” he said, and Swann agreed.
Marie and Skip Navarro thought they might as well go camping too, and they drove up, leaving the boys with a tent, camping supplies, and Swann’s bookbag, paints and easel.
Chris threw his arm around his friend and declared, “This will be better than any hotel.”
As they began walking under the trees chittering with crickets, and the late day burned into evening, Swann said, “I doubt it.”
“We got a month before school starts and we’ll be sophomores, can you believe it?”
“I can’t believe that I don’t hate going back,” Swann said, passing the cigarette back to Chris.
“You really hated it?”
“At first. Yeah. My folks were sending me away. And now… Well, now I can’t imagine being with my folks all the time or staying up in Chicago. I miss it, don’t get me wrong, buy I’m kind of glad to be going back to SFS. Even with all the nonsense.”
“There was a little bit of nonsense.” Chris said.
That was his kind way of referring to the Black students who either insinuated or said out loud that Swann wasn’t Black enough, to the white kids who, knowing they had the backing of Black kids, launched on Swann as well. When most of the year was so good, it didn’t do to go into all of that, and when some kids insinuated that Swann wasn’t quite right, that he was gay, it didn’t make any sense to protest when Jack was in his bed.
“This year things will be different,” Chris decided.
They were on top of a great, high dune, and below them thick grass descended to the endless lake.
“They probably won’t be that different,” Swann said. “But we’ll be different, and if you ask me, that’s what matters.”
“Lake Michigan is so beautiful,” Chris said, drawing his knees to his chest, his long feet stretched out in front of him. “It’s so huge and the sky is so high. It’s like nothing we do matters.
“No,” Chris stopped himself, cocking his blond halo of hair. “It’s like nothing we do can ruin it.”
In the distance they could hear other campers, perhaps even Chris’s parents, and after a while they could smell marijuana.
“Would you ever smoke that stuff?” Chris demanded.
“Probably,” Swann shrugged. “I want to do everything. I want to try everything. I don’t want there to be anything I haven’t done. Well, except for the things I have absolutely no desire to do.”
“Are you really going to paint the sunrise tomorrow?”
“As best I can. I’ve never done one before.”
“Is it going to be like Thomas Kincaid.”
“Fuck Thomas Kincaid. You know what every Thomas Kincaid pictures needs?”
“A blow torch I bet you’ll say.”
“No, that’s just mean. I was going to say King Kong. King Kong would improve every single Thomas Kincaid painting ever made. I’m thinking of making something like Frida Kahlo, or Salvador Dali.”
“I don’t think I know who either of those people are.
“When we go back to Chicago, I’ll show you.”
Chris said nothing as the large yellow sun yolked itself across the sky and spilled over the water and the grasses.
“The lake is chalky blue-green. It’s beautiful. I bet mermaids live in it,
“I’m going down into it,” Swann said, standing and rolling up the his trouser legs as he weaved through the grasses to the beach and, followed by Chris, walked toward the water.