26 #2
And for a moment, I could still see Ralph’s fingertips white as he clutched the doorjamb, him screaming and screaming and screaming, as my dad tried to drag him out to the barn.
“Howie,” Noah said softly.
“I don’t know if I put it into words exactly, but I thought, ‘Fuck that. That’s not going to be me.
’ So, I signed up for sports. I picked fights.
I watched how my dad sat, how he talked, how he held his fucking fork like a fucking caveman—” And for some reason, my voice broke, and I had to scramble to shore everything up.
“If I could be exactly like him, I don’t know.
He wouldn’t see me. I’d be his fucking shadow.
God, Noah, I just didn’t want him to see me.
And now, a lot later, I can say, yeah, I didn’t want him to know both his sons were gay.
But all I knew back then was that I didn’t want him to notice me. I didn’t even want him to look at me.”
Noah rubbed my arm, his other hand still curled around mine. My fingers were starting to ache where I gripped the sofa. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d moved, but the lights on the tree kept twinkling, the shadows kept sliding in and out, and it felt like the whole world was moving.
“Howie, of course you were frightened. You were a child. You were powerless.” Noah’s voice was compassionate, but there was an unfamiliar edge to it. “You grew up with abusive parents who neglected you and terrorized you. I’m sorry I never—I never asked before.”
I shook my head. Maybe that was enough. For Noah, anyway. Because Auggie was right: Noah was kind. And he’d forgive me, and I’d go to therapy, and maybe, next time, I’d do better.
But I’d told him this much, so I was going to tell him the rest.
“One day,” I said. “I came home early from work. It was winter break. It had snowed, but it was one of those really sunny days in winter. You know how they’re almost too bright?
” For some reason, it seemed important to wait, and I sat there until Noah finally nodded.
“We were living in a trailer then. The storm door was closed, but the front door was open. When I stepped inside, I could tell something was wrong. This bottle of Old English was on the floor. The lamp was on its side.” I had to swallow.
“There was this copy of Playgirl. The guy naked on the front, his ass in the air.” I thought I could hear it again: Jerry Springer coming over the TV’s cheap-ass speakers, and the thuds from the back of the trailer.
“My dad had found it in our room.” I had to stop.
The twinkle lights dimmed, warmed, dimmed again. “He almost beat Ralphie to death.”
Noah let several seconds pass before he murmured, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Both of you.”
“No, you don’t understand. It was mine.” Noah didn’t say anything, so I said, “The Playgirl was mine. I stole it from the mom of a girl I’d been hooking up with.
Kept it under my mattress like a fucking moron.
” Noah still hadn’t said anything. “He found it, and he thought it was Ralph’s, but it was mine. ”
“Howie,” Noah whispered.
That was all. He rested his head against my shoulder. He slid his arm around my waist, hugging me to him. I wiped one eye, but my face was dry. Hot. But dry.
“I ran,” I said. “I ran out of that trailer so fast. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore—I just stopped running and started puking.
When I could finally breathe again, I was behind this piece-of-shit C-store.
I called 911 from the payphone.” I wanted to stop talking.
I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep for a year.
“My parents always thought it was one of the neighbors who called.”
Noah held me against him for a while. Then he said, “Come here, my love,” and somehow, he drew my head to his shoulder.
His hoodie was soft, and he smelled faintly like roses.
We sat like that, and he rasped his fingers over my buzzed hair and made sounds like you make to calm down a little kid.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was firm, and he wasn’t whispering.
“Howie, you saved his life. You understand that, right?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You were a child,” he said.
Into his hoodie, I mumbled, “I was sixteen.”
“You were a child. What would have happened if you’d tried to stop your dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“He would have hurt you too. Maybe killed both of you.”
“I don’t know, Noah.” I sat up. The skin of my face felt tight. “That’s the whole point. I don’t know. I’ll never know, because I ran away, just like I always run away when things get bad.”
“That’s not fair to yourself. Not now, as an adult. And not to that helpless boy who did the best he could.”
I shrugged. I looked away. Noah held on to my hands.
“What happened to Ralph?” Noah asked. “Please tell me social services got involved.”
“Somebody came around and asked some questions.” What I didn’t say was, It was a different time, and a different place, and we were the trashiest of white trash. “Ralph left.”
“Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know. He left. He ran away. It’s not like they had a guard on him at the hospital.”
Noah’s eyebrows drew together. He blinked a few times, and then tears started to fall.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to make you cry.”
“Howie, of course I’m going to cry.” He wiped the tears away with steady hands, but his voice trembled. “My heart is breaking. God, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying that for so long. I don’t want you to have to feel like that anymore.”
“I guess that’s something I need to work on too,” I said. “But I wanted you to know because—because it’s not you, Noah. You don’t embarrass me. I don’t wish you were different.” A laugh snaked out of me. “I wish I were different. I wish I were more like you.”
“Oh God, don’t wish that,” he murmured, but he was still crying. “I don’t think the world can handle two of me.”
“I’m going to work on it,” I said. “I’m going to do my best. And I want you to know I’m not going to run, Noah.
I’m here. I’m staying here. With you, if you’ll give me another chance.
” My throat tightened, and my vision blurred, and I gripped his hands like we were holding each other on the edge of a cliff. “I’m not going to run.”