Baggage

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

BY OPENING all the windows and using his industrial sized fan, Chandler was able to clear the smoke from his home. With Marcus’ help, they made a quick job of it and then at last headed out for a late breakfast.

“Most of the time he’s lethargic,” Chandler explained as he stirred the creamer into his coffee. “Very docile and unassuming. He keeps to himself, stays in his bedroom and uses his computer all day. He plays online games and has an avatar identity in Second Life.”

“What’s that?” Marcus sat across from him in the booth of the small diner a couple miles from Chandler’s home. The restaurant had become Chandler’s favorite: a country-style, down-home atmosphere where they mainly served comfort food.

“It’s like the Sims, ya know. An interactive, virtual-reality game. Each player creates an avatar, or cartoon version of themselves. Or, like in my brother’s case, they create an avatar that represents how they want to be, which might not at all represent who they are in real life.”

“Oh, okay. It’s like a video game where you create your own character.”

“Only more boring. I don’t really understand it, to be honest. They have their own make-believe world where they have jobs, develop relationships with other players, even get married and have sex.”

Marcus laughed. “Cartoon sex.”

“I’m serious.”

“So what kind of character does your brother have?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Hell no. Of course I’ll laugh.”

Chandler grinned. “Warrior princess.”

Marcus guffawed, then burst into laughter. “You’re shitting me. Wow, that’s totally not what I was expecting.”

“And sometimes....” Chandler cleared his throat, then lowered his voice as he continued. “Sometimes, like when I have to be away, I’ll come home and find Raymond dressed up like his character. Like a woman.”

“No way!”

“He even has a wig. And a hand-made warrior princess... um, leopard-print dress with pink camo leggings.”

Marcus cracked up so loudly he rolled over onto his side, lying down in the booth. His laughter, though arguably ostentatious, was also infectious, and Chandler giggled right along with him.

When they both caught their breath, a mild wave of guilt swept over Chandler. “We shouldn’t make fun of him, though. I think it’s all part of his... ya know, illness.”

“I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to make fun of your brother.” Marcus continued to bite back an obvious urge to chuckle. “But it’s f*****g funny. Life’s too short. You’ve gotta laugh sometimes. If you didn’t, you’d cry.”

Chandler grew somber and nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Marcus reached across the table and grabbed hold of Chandler’s wrist. “Seriously, man, I’m not making fun of him. I don’t mean it that way. We all have crazy people in our families. If you knew my family, you’d laugh too. And you know what? They all probably think I’m crazier than the whole lot of ’em combined.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Marcus’ touch sent a tingly sensation up his arm, which seemed to travel straight to his chest, warming his soul. “And I’ve also always been the freak in my family.”

“I just can’t believe he called you a fag. I mean, he’s the one who cross-dresses.”

“He just said that ’cause he was mad. He’s never been prejudiced against me.”

When the waitress returned with their order, Marcus released Chandler’s arm and straightened. He smiled warmly and thanked the server as she delivered the food and refilled their coffees.

“Let me ask you something,” Marcus said, reaching for a packet of strawberry jelly. “How come you haven’t asked me yet about me?”

Taken aback, Chandler held his water glass in mid-air, not completing the intended motion of taking a sip. He placed it back on the table. “What do ya mean?”

“I mean you more or less came out to me. You told me about your partner and s**t. About raising your nephew.”

“Well, you saw the pictures. I couldn’t very well deny anything.”

“I know, but....”

“But you seemed very non-judgmental. And it sort of—”

“Surprised you?”

Chandler nodded. “Yeah. Most straight guys aren’t so open-minded. You even asked if Daniel was my husband.”

Marcus smiled. “And you assume I’m straight because...?”

Chandler took a deep breath. “Are you?”

“Answer my question.”

Chandler looked away, not sure if he could even make eye contact. He focused on the menu board at the dining room entrance. Weird how they wrote out all the specials, each in a different color of dry-erase marker.

“Can you look at me?”

Chandler slowly shifted his gaze and re-established eye contact. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything. You just seem very masculine, ya know. You don’t really fit into any of the stereotypes. But then you’ve said some things... you’ve insinuated....”

“And?” Marcus laughed.

“And every time you did, it sort of made my heart do a backflip.”

Marcus laughed a little louder. “Really? Why?”

Chandler felt his cheeks growing warm. The heat rose up from his neck, and he feared by now he’d become beet red. “Because it made me feel like you were flirting or something.”

“What if I was?”

Chandler’s eyes grew wide as he felt Marcus brush up against his leg under the table.

“Are you straight?”

“I don’t like labels.”

“Is that another way of saying you’re bi?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s the truth. I don’t label myself. I don’t like how limiting they are. I like to think of myself as able to be attracted to individuals, no matter what gender they are.”

It sounded like bisexual to Chandler, and the thought of it made his heartbeat pound like a bongo drum.

“I’ve dated girls before. But I’ve also been with guys.”

Chandler bit his bottom lip. “You know, it’s cool. It really doesn’t matter. Something like that should never matter to your true friends. That’s what we are, right? You said so back at the house. We’re friends.”

“So far.”

The bongos grew louder.

“I’m kind of not exactly the type of guy.... I mean, we’re very different from each other. I’m a bit older.”

“You’re thirteen years older than me. That’s nothing.”

“And... and, and... look at you. You’re tall and sexy. You’re f*****g drop-dead gorgeous.” Did I just say that out loud?

Marcus dropped his fork, and before Chandler even knew what was happening, Marcus had slid out of his seat and was standing beside the booth. He grabbed hold of Chandler’s arm and pulled him out, forcing him to stand. He then quickly marched him through the dining room toward the restrooms.

“What? What’re you doing? Where are we going?”

He continued to grip Chandler’s shoulders, holding them firmly and steering him toward the men’s room. As they pushed through the door, Marcus finally stopped and positioned Chandler in front of the full-length mirror.

“What the f**k do you see?”

Instinctively, Chandler looked directly into Marcus’ eyes, staring at his reflection. Dark and sexy, a milk-chocolate brown, barely richer than Marcus’ skin tone.

“No! Look at you! Look at yourself.”

He squared his shoulders (which Marcus still firmly held) and took a deep breath, then looked his own reflection in the eyes, staring at it for a few seconds. He examined his face, his cheekbones, and lips. Small lines, crow’s feet, now extended from the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines from years of smiling. Yet his complexion remained clear and unblemished, no noticeable wrinkles.

The top of Chandler’s head barely eclipsed Marcus’ nose. And Chandler’s light brown hair, thankfully not yet receding like his brother’s, held a fine, soft texture. All his life he’d envied guys with thicker, coarser hair. His seemed so unmanageable. So unruly.

Looking down toward his torso, he saw his narrow shoulders, unable to deny the contrast with those of Marcus. And Chandler’s arms appeared twigs compared to Marcus’ bulging biceps. Yet Chandler’s core remained fairly trim. Flat as always with a narrow, thirty-two-inch waist.

Chandler had always hated his height. Well, at least until Daniel. Being with him, feeling secure and protected in that way, he enjoyed being smaller. He appreciated the contrast. The same contrast he now observed against Marcus.

But this was so different. This man behind him, this young man, was barely older than Chandler’s nephew, Alex. Marcus was just now embarking upon life. Just starting out, while Chandler had already been through so much. Chandler had already experienced multiple losses, horrific tragedies. He’d already endured far too much, and Marcus deserved someone young and positive. He deserved someone not yet jaded by the pitfalls and disappointments of dashed hope.

“What?” Marcus insisted. “What do you see?”

A swell of emotion surged through him as Chandler stared at his own reflection. He locked his gaze upon his own eyes and looked into his very soul. “I see....” he began, his voice cracking with emotion. “I see someone completely... used... up.”

Marcus spun him around and stared straight into his now-moist eyes. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not what I see. I see one of the kindest, sweetest men I’ve ever met. I see someone who’s incapable of being used up because he’s overflowing with goodness. I see someone cute and sexy, with an ass to die for and soft, kissable, pouty lips.”

“You... you... do?”

The crush of Marcus’ kiss nearly swept Chandler off his feet as he pressed his lips against Chandler’s mouth. Gasping from astonishment, he opened and let him in, then responded in kind, wrapping his arms around Marcus’ sculpted torso. He tasted of coffee and strawberry jelly, and smelled like fresh-baked cookies. Chandler strained to stand on tiptoe, caressing Marcus’ shoulders and back as he gave himself completely over to the kiss.

When he pulled back, breathless, he looked up into Marcus’ dark brown eyes and allowed a surge of fear to race through his body. What if this all was make-believe? Another dream. What if in seconds he awakened to discover there was no Marcus, there’d been no kiss, and he’d still lost everyone he’d ever loved.

But it didn’t happen. He didn’t wake up. Instead Marcus kissed him again, this time with even more passion.

“Our food,” Chandler said, when at last he pulled back.

When he felt Marcus take hold of his wrist and move his arm between them, Chandler surrendered to his guidance. He pressed Chandler’s hand against the rock-hard bulge in his jeans.

“I have a breakfast sausage for ya.”

“Marcus!”

His devilish laugh echoed off the walls of the tiny bathroom. “Okay,” Marcus whispered. “I’ve been a bad boy. I’ll behave, but I’m not done with you. After breakfast we’re going back to your place.”

Chandler nodded.

“And if your brother says one mean thing to you, I’m going to—”

“Politely ask him to be quiet.”

Marcus chuckled. “Okay. Once. I’ll ask him once, but I swear if he ever talks to you like he did today. If he ever calls you any names like that....”

“He won’t. He’ll probably apologize, actually. After he comes down from those fits of rage, he usually feels pretty bad.”

“And I don’t want you saying things about yourself, putting yourself down. Can you feel this? Can you feel me throbbing in your hand?” Chandler nodded, his heart racing ninety miles per hour. “That’s what you do to me. You give me major wood.”

In spite of himself, Chandler smiled. “Did I just die and go to heaven?”