Birth of a Hero Box Set

The Powers of Love-6

Much as Vic would have loved to linger in bed with Matt the rest of the day, he was scheduled for an evening shift at the bus depot and had to leave by three. “I’ll stay here,” Matt promised, snuggling into disheveled sheets as he watched Vic dress for work. “Keep the bed warm for you. Maybe you’ll get off early.”

“I’ll try to hold it until I get home,” Vic replied with a wink. “I’d rather get off with you.”

Tucking his shirt into his pants, he leaned over and gave Matt a rough kiss in the middle of his forehead. Before he could stand, Matt caught him by the collar and pulled him down to press his lips to Vic’s. Against his mouth, he murmured, “What you said last night. Was it true?”

Gently, Vic took Matt’s upper lip between his teeth and kissed it, then did the same with the pouty lower lip. His third kiss covered Matt’s mouth completely. “Love you, yes,” he whispered into Matt.

Beneath him, Matt relaxed and lay back against the pillows as Vic stood. Releasing his collar, Matt’s hand smoothed down the front of Vic’s shirt to fist at the buckle of his belt. With a slight tug, he said, “I’m missing you already.”

It took all the strength Vic had to leave Matt like that, naked in his bed. He still felt his lover within him, as if a part of him had burrowed deep inside Vic’s body and pulsed beneath his heart with a life of its own. Knowing he would come home to find Matt waiting for him made him giddy—the thought was a sudden rush and caught him at odd moments when he least expected it. In the bathroom, the mirror showed his usual dour expression but he could see a new light shining in his own eyes, and his lips threatened to break into a goofy grin. Him, in love. Him. Loved back, by a man like Matty. Vic had to keep glancing down to make sure his feet still touched the ground.

On the drive into work, Vic’s body buzzed with unspent energy. He felt invigorated after their lovemaking; he felt new and exciting and alive, in a way he’d never felt before. Matt wasn’t his first, not by a long shot, but something about the man kept Vic on edge, wired almost, as if he hummed with an electric charge that built up inside him, waiting to go off. Tonight… the thought intoxicated him. Tonight.

As Vic drove downtown, the sidewalks grew crowded with shoppers looking for New Year’s sales, and the buzz inside Vic’s head turned into words and phrases, snippets of talk like overheard conversations. That blue one looks nice— He glanced to his left and saw a young mother with a child in her arms, staring in the window of a boutique at a display of cocktail dresses. One blue dress stood out from the others, backlit by the display. And the man crossing in front of his car, head high but eyes downcast as he counted the white stripes in the crosswalk, one, two, three, four, five. Vic heard the numbers rattled off in his head as if he were counting them himself. And to the right of his car, on the opposite sidewalk, came the insolent thought, No fair! This from a little girl stomping behind her parents in a huff, unhappy about something or other.

About not getting a pack of gum at the drug store, Vic thought, surprised. He wasn’t usually this imaginative, inventing thoughts and lives for strangers in the street. But he wasn’t making this up—he could close his eyes and see the candy in his mind, a short wrapper of six round sour gum balls, colored blue and white for Hanukah, imprinted with gold dreidels and marked down to a dime at the counter. Where was this coming from?

Dazed, Vic shook his head to clear it, and the words receded to a dull roar, like distant surf. Maybe it was the champagne still in his system from last night, or hell, maybe it really was Matty, maybe he was drunk on the guy… Vic could think of worse things. In the movies, true love was usually accompanied by birds twittering in newly budding trees, or Celine Dion singing about how her heart will go on, or something equally as dramatic. So why not this sudden interest in the world around him? Why not these make-believe thoughts he subconsciously assigned to people he didn’t know?

Cars lined both sides of the road, making driving difficult. Twice Vic stopped mere seconds before someone pulled out in front of him without looking. But his reflexes were sharp today and he avoided an accident both times. The way some people drove, really—

Oh, my God, Gregory, STOP!

The thought crashed through Vic and he slammed on the brakes, sure the words had been screamed out loud—he felt them reverberate through him like an aftershock. As his car jerked forward, a red ball bounced out into the street inches from his front tire, a small child immediately behind it. His hands shook on the steering wheel, adrenaline surging through his body. If he hadn’t heard the shrieked warning, Vic would’ve hit the kid.

But how did he hear it? His windows were rolled up, the heater blowing full blast, the radio turned up high to cut out the traffic. A woman on the side of the street watched Vic intently—the mother, though he wasn’t quite sure how he knew that. When she was certain he wouldn’t roll over her son out of spite, she raced into the street and snatched the kid up. The set of her jaw told Vic she was more scared than angry, but that didn’t stop her from scolding the child. Her lips moved and Vic heard the words in his mind—don’t you EVER do something like that again, do you hear me, Gregory? Santa might have to come take that ball back.

Vic couldn’t hear her. The words bubbled up in his head as if he just knew what she was thinking. He felt fear radiating from her like the heat of a small sun and sensed Gregory’s impending, frustrated cry moments before the boy burst into tears. No one else around them seemed to notice this little scene, yet here he was, locked in his car and practically living the moment through this woman and her son.

What the hell?

* * * *

By the time Vic reached the bus terminal, he thought he had it figured out. It all came back to Matt, of course. Now that he had someone like that in his life, Vic could be more sympathetic to others. He wanted to see the good in people, the way they felt for each other, and so what, he just started making up this s**t?

Sure, why not?

The thing with the kid, that was a bit strange, but he’d been on edge from the other two near-collisions and was probably expecting something like that to happen anyway. The streets were filled with children today. Matt’s gentle loving had awakened in Vic feelings long dormant, emotions he didn’t even know he had, and that sort of self-discovery left him raw and tingling and overly susceptible to the outside world.

That was it. That had to be it.

Then why couldn’t he turn it off? The constant undercurrent ran just below his conscious mind like a babbling brook, words and phrases and a myriad of emotions, snatches of thought, none of it his. With each person he saw, it was the same, as if he were inside their heads looking out at himself. Bothersome really, and more than a little unnerving, but he figured he’d get over it soon enough.

As Vic entered the employee lounge, he saw a co-worker named Larry by the time clock and knew the guy was ignoring him because he thought Vic was someone else to whom he owed money. Vic knew it without knowing how he knew. Larry’s thoughts filled Vic’s head as if they were being broadcast over the PA system. Don’t say anything about that twenty, he thought as he riffled through his jacket pockets, pretending to look busy. You’ll get it when I have it.

Vic even knew who Larry thought he might be. As he passed by, he couldn’t help teasing, “I ain’t ‘Feno.”

Larry jumped as if goosed. With a surprised look on his face, he snapped, “Tell him to lay off. He’ll get his money.”

At the time clock Vic punched in and nodded to his boss, Mr. Morrison, who always watched the lounge during shift changes. As he looked Vic’s way, his thoughts closed the distance between them and Vic heard, clear as day, Always on time, good man. Even if he’s a bit hard on the eyes.

Vic didn’t bother to challenge that.

* * * *

As his shift wore on, Vic learned to ignore the barrage of thought that assaulted him. He found it easy to drown out the noise if he didn’t dwell on it, and it helped that he had a habit of never looking directly at the fares who boarded his bus. If he didn’t look anyone in the eye, their thoughts weren’t so loud, or maybe he just wasn’t as tempted to make up something to go along with what he saw in their faces. He still wasn’t entirely convinced his head wasn’t playing tricks on him, but it wasn’t something he could actually test. What would he do? Ask a complete stranger, “Is this what you’re thinking?” Like some crazy magician flipping through card tricks at a kid’s birthday party. Then stand back as distrust hardened on their features or duck when the fist came swinging. Best to just wait until he got home. He could ask Matt in some roundabout way that wouldn’t make him sound stupid or silly, and Matt wouldn’t lie to him, wouldn’t get offended, scared, or mad. Then he’d know for sure if he could…

Could what? Read minds?