History Is All You Left Me(64)

I fake a smile. “You tend to have good taste,” I joke instead of screaming. “So you really weren’t expecting Jackson on Halloween?”

“Not at all,” Theo says, almost in one breath. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What did he dress up as?”

“Cyclops,” Theo answers. “He grew up with a Wolverine and Cyclops fantasy, so we thought it would be funny.”

I don’t see how it’s funny to do a couples costume thing when you’re not dating someone, but okay. “Hey, I actually have to call Wade back,” I lie. “But you should text me a photo from Halloween if you have any. I want to see what this guy looks like.” It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve said.

“Will do. We still good for our call tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” There’s no fucking way I’m ever having another video chat with him as long as Jackson is in his life. I put on an okay show tonight, but my face is bound to betray me. Only phone chats from here on out, where he won’t be able to see me dealing with any of my tics. “Don’t forget to send that photo. See you, Theo.”

Theo takes a deep breath, his head shaking a little. “Later, Griff.”

I log out.

I stare at my phone, waiting for this picture.

I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself. Every word he said felt like a brick to the face. He’s not trying to hurt me; I trust he loves me enough to never intentionally destroy me. But once a brick is thrown, it’s out of his hands and it’s up to me to dodge it. If I duck, Theo will think I’m not strong enough to withstand the pain. He may be right.

I wonder if Jackson will look like I imagine, which is everything I’m not: lean, with a surfer’s tan; hair more golden than Theo’s; unreal blue eyes some crush would be poetic about; roll-out-of-bed stubble that looks intentional.

My phone buzzes and there are two attachments. I click them open before I can change my mind. The first is of Jackson, alone, sitting on some floor somewhere. He’s not what I was expecting at all. He reminds me of myself. We have the same complexion, same dark hair, same long legs, and same smirk. Theo found himself a Griffin clone. I’ll throw money down that Theo walks on Jackson’s right.

I check out the second photo, this one of Wolverine-Theo with his arm thrown over Cyclops-Jackson’s shoulders, and both of them are smiling.

The weird thing is, I actually feel better. I don’t think I’m out of the running here. If I have to let Theo throw bricks at me in order to keep him in my life, I don’t have to let them hit me.

I can catch them.

Thursday, December 31st, 2015

Last year on New Year’s Eve, I thought a lot of nonsense about storms being awesome. Then an actual storm brought Theo and Jackson together. I also didn’t really account for lightning, which feels like it’s struck over and over.

Lightning hit when Theo got his acceptance letter.

Lightning hit when Theo packed up his room.

Lightning hit when Theo moved away.

Lightning hit when Theo met Jackson.

There’s nothing I can do but allow myself to keep getting struck. Even if I stop talking to Theo, that won’t help with my imagination. It doesn’t help tonight, when I’m trying to force myself to fall asleep early because I know there’s no chance Theo will pull himself away from Jackson to call me at midnight, my time. I can’t stand to be awake at the exact moment hours from now when he’s kissing Jackson in a completely different time zone.

Theo will finally be visiting for his birthday, so if I can be strong until February, if I can keep bouncing up whenever lightning strikes, there’s a chance I can win him back.





TODAY


Monday, December 12th, 2016

Jackson pulls into the parking lot of a church. I should remind Jackson where I stand on this God character, but this place is beautiful. I’m practically sticking out of the window to admire the sand-beige bricks and sunlight glinting in the stained-glass windows. You never mentioned going to services with Jackson, but I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I’m trying to be respectful here, but my feelings on faith at the moment are the same feelings I have for the church itself—beautiful and promising on the outside, but possibly disappointing on the inside.

I won’t share any of these nonbeliever thoughts with Jackson. He’s clearly here with a purpose, maybe to pray for you, wherever you are.

Jackson gets out of the car and I do the same. It’s so nice out here and I feel weird thinking it, but it’s nicer to grieve during a winter in California than back in New York, where the weather makes life miserable enough. He’s already helped me by letting me run away with him.

“Get in the driver’s seat,” Jackson says.

“Say what?”

“I’m teaching you how to drive.” Jackson goes toward the passenger’s seat.

“Wait. You’re not here to pray?”

“No, we’re using the parking lot. It’s a Monday afternoon. Not exactly a busy time.”

I start to laugh. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Damn it, Griffin, language.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but why not? I get in the front seat; Jackson sits shotgun. He buckles up quickly like there’s a chance I will send us gunning into the church in the next moment or two. Being in the driver’s seat is odd. It’s been a couple of years since I even sat shotgun.