Make It Fit #2
Slipping inside, I pressed my back against the brick wall. I stopped holding it in. This time, I didn’t temper the emotions.
Instead, I let myself cry.
Jon: You missed Gloria twerking.
Amanda: It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Chris: She hasn’t offered to oil your chest.
Jason: The whole town is excited for you to lead the parade.
Tyler: Hope to see her at the library soon.
Seamus: Give the boy some space.
Patrick: I told Seamus.
Patrick: We’re here if you want a quiet night in.
The fire crackled against the night sky as the light from my phone beamed across my face.
Seamus had silenced the peanut gallery. I’m sure dozens of group chats were trying to figure out what happened.
There was no point in hiding my secret anymore.
My hasty exit had opened the door for questions. I did this to myself.
I started replying and stopped. Patrick’s offer sounded inviting.
Of all the guys, they were the most comfortable with silence.
Seamus carried entire conversations with slow blinks and the occasional scoff.
Patrick could talk a person to death, but with Seamus, it was as if they didn’t need words.
There was something beautiful about their silence.
I flipped off the screen and stared at the orange coals.
A log popped, sending tiny red embers into the night.
It reminded me of the fireflies. If I were a braver man, I could have called Valhalla and invited Sammy to join me in the empty Adirondack chair.
I’d have brought the cooler instead of a single beer, and we’d find our own comfortable silence.
For the last two hours, I had numbed myself. Staring at the fire, thoughts came and went, but I didn’t give them much heed. I couldn’t keep it up for long. Eventually reality would come crashing in, and I’d have to deal with my unknowns. For the moment, I wanted to exist without complications.
Every now and then, I thought about walking inside and packing my bags. Going home wouldn’t be enough. I’d stay in the car and drive through the night. New town. New faces. New me. I’d reinvent myself, and live my best life and… and… not deal with my problems.
“It has its appeal,” I said.
“What does?”
My hand clenched around the can as I jolted upright. Beer covered my hand as I fought to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest. I turned just in time to receive a kiss on the cheek. Rose had appeared as if by magic, a knitted shawl draped across her shoulders.
She moved closer to the fire, holding out her hands. Despite it teetering on warm and the shawl on her shoulders, she acted as if it were a December night. Other than a knitted cap, her winter outfits weren’t much different. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Edward would be joining us.
“No Sarge?”
“He’s inside working on a puzzle. He said it was my turn to come out here.”
She didn’t elaborate as she moved to the vacant chair.
Instead of leaning back, she sat on the edge, keeping her palms facing the dying fire.
With the dwindling flames, the orange flickered across her face.
I’m sure when she was younger, she had been even more stunning.
However, I imagined every wrinkle like one of Charlie’s tattoos, adventures that told a story of a life well lived.
“How are you?” Her eyes stayed focused on the embers.
She asked the million-dollar question. Of course, it was the exact question I had avoided discussing.
Until now, both she and Sarge avoided the obvious.
Anybody else, I might have been able to brush it off.
She decided I had enough space, and it was time to move the conversation forward.
I prayed this wasn’t one of her tough love speeches. One good cry was enough for today.
“I’m good,” I said.
“I see.” She nodded. “We’re going to play that game.”
Tough love inbound.
“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a nurse?”
I shook my head. I listened to so many stories that I thought I must have heard them all. Just as I suspected, every wrinkle had been earned.
“When I was a girl, I used to perform surgery on stuffed animals.” She chuckled. “Every time somebody had a tear or a button falling off, I was the girl to call.” Knowing her skill with a knitting needle, it made sense. I could almost imagine her stitching up a person with multi-colored yarn.
“The world was a different place back then. In high school, they wanted me to learn how to bake a cake.” If not then, I wondered when her love of pastries came about.
“Oh boy, Mr. Sincerbeaux was not prepared for me in his office. I demanded he change my schedule and put in the science and math classes with the boys.” She let out a low whistle.
“That man couldn’t get me out of his office fast enough.
But I got into biology and algebra.” She sat back in the chair, folding her hands in her lap. “I was going to be a nurse.”
Of all the stories she told and the photos hanging on the walls of the house, none suggested the career. She had worked on a farm, been the constable on a train, and even worked in the mill before it shut down. Of all the uniforms I imagined her wearing, none of them included scrubs.
“I don’t think you ever told me you were a nurse.”
“Stop rushing the story,” she said. Rose worked at her pace, be damned anybody who thought differently. It was one of the things I loved about her. She always seemed to move with the universe and not against it.
“I got into nursing school. I graduated high school second in my class. Darn that Timothy Leonard. But I did it.” She stared into the fire, and for a moment, she all but vanished, lost in a memory.
“That summer I went to work on a farm in Dover doing odds and ends. I had a knack for milking the cows. Then… I met a boy.”
In all the years, and in all the stories, she always talked about their first date.
I couldn’t recall if she had ever mentioned how they met.
Fresh out of school, he joined the military and found himself at boot camp.
For as long as I could remember, they were my ideal relationship.
Comfort with a hint of humor had become their brand.
“You know how the rest of the story goes.”
In theory, I did. She buried the most important part. “What about nursing?”
“It never happened.”
It might be the first time I ever watched Rose as she meandered through a life that never came to fruition. Knowing how much she loved her life, it pained me to think there was something, even the tiniest sliver, that she hadn’t accomplished.
“He went to boot camp. I waited for him. He came back and, before you knew it, he was down on one knee.” She smiled, but it came with melancholy.
“I was a newly married woman in a faraway land.” Kentucky, which for lifelong residents of Maine, might as well have been Antarctica.
“I didn’t know anybody. At first, it was lonely.
I feared I had ruined my life for a man. ”
“And then?”
“For a gay man, you don’t appreciate a good dramatic moment.
” I chuckled. She had me wrapped around her little finger.
“The hospital had openings for volunteers. I didn’t have the fancy degrees, but I found a way to be useful.
I spent so much time working toward that moment. It’d be impossible to give it up.”
She finally looked up from the fire, eyeing me. Standing, she walked toward me, bending down until her arms were around my neck. Rose smelled of cinnamon and lavender. I never wanted to let her go.
“I didn’t have to give it up,” she whispered. “I just had to learn how to make it fit.”
With a kiss on the forehead, she stood and moved toward the house. I turned in the chair, watching her as she ran her hands along the tall grass until she vanished into the night. When she reached the house, she gave me a wave before ducking inside.
I returned to my seat, staring at the flames.
She hadn’t pried. She only asked how I was doing.
I’m sure somebody from the meeting had called and given her a heads-up.
Maybe Patrick? Or maybe, when I first knocked at the door, she saw a flicker of a young man needing to make a choice between who he was and who he was going to be. A reflection of her younger self.
“Dammit, Grammy,” I whispered.
As always, one question had been all she needed.