Living On Without You

Maligned by how today unfolded. Accepting events as they come. For as they are. Had in ways been ferocious to control. Making a valiant attempt to withstand and bear them. Splashing water again on my face. Feeling as if I’ve been asleep the past few days. My perspective has come unraveled. I only remember excerpts. 

     My younger brother Scott barrels through the men’s bathroom door. The ginger man mountain coddles me over my shoulders. Asking if I had broken. 

“Bro, you were screaming. It’s gonna be okay, I swear.”

      Is it? How will it be? I wasn’t screaming, I was splashing water on my face. Pulling myself back together. Apparently I said nothing and it was all an inner monologue. Whipping his tears from his face. Scott said I could talk to him and how he was here for me. Pulling me towards the door out into the hallway. Emotionless I conveyed to his will. 

     Fight the urge to flee. Apropos to seeing what Scott called family. Still no sign of my third shift beloved, Mary. Standing in front of my parents. Fumbling in suit pockets for my cigarettes. Noticing my birth giver Rose admiring the flooring along with her feet. If I was her I wouldn’t be able to look me in the face either. I’m now the twinless of identical twins. We’re the grieved, mourning the suicide of my twin brother Vincent. 

     If Rose the birth giver were able to look me in the face. She would have to acknowledge and accept. That one can’t make up for lost time. She shouldn’t however be held in contempt. Rose simply forgot she had twin boys. Beside her the malevolent father figure Scott Sr. with a flush face. Had been weeping for the son he abused and disowned. For being a homosexual. Oh the memories that turned my hatred into resentment. 

     Before Vincent came out he would be picked on and ridiculed. So I’d fight regularly in his defense. I’d go as far as at night. I’d make Vincent sleep in my bed. Sleeping in his, covering myself with his thick comforter. Bracing myself for when Scott Sr. would come in. Commencing the beating of who he thought was his nancy boy son. I took it in silence as Vincent wept. When he got his fill. Vincent would scurry over to me. Whispering how he loved me. Holding me till we both fell asleep.

     Still no Mary as relief found me. In discovering my cigarettes. I apparently said nothing cause everyone just kept inquiring if I was ok. I was barely outside before I lit the cigarette. And there she was the awkward angel. She looked emotionally exhausted, pushing her glass back to their proper position. 

“Have you slept? I’ve not heard from Jordan since the night we found him.” 

     As she approached me it was clear she was projecting. I flicked the butt into the street. Holding her consoling her. As she sobbed uncontrollably.

“I miss him, in this weather Vincent was the best companion. He’d be on the couch in sweats with his cocoa and marshmallows. Listening to blue jazz and sketch pad. Or snuggling with a good book.” 

     Kissing her forehead in agreement. Vincent indeed was the best of the cuddle buddies. I suggested we leave citing how Vincent despised theological archetypes. Expressing how he believed the hypocrisy of man. Had manipulated and distorted the purpose of religion. So that it segregates and poisons the masses. Which is counter productive to the foundation of any theological ethos. 

     Forcing herself deeper into my embrace. She conveyed in whisper. That nihilistic cynicism isn’t the appropriate response. Believing whole heartedly that the path to my salvation. Is through memories through the path of heartache. Evoking love’s vibration, forcing me to accept Vincent’s death. Allowing time to heal me. While I live on without him. 

     Back inside the cathedral. Still in each other's embrace. Blowing past my toxic family. Mourning a man they never acknowledged. Let alone cared about. Once at the pews up at the altar. Beside the casket kneeling was the mocha Adonis, Jordan Pierre. My twin brother's flame. They met when we moved back to Brooklyn, NYC. Vincent became a curator for an independent gallery in the East Village. He met Jordan amidst the rigor of his day to day. As their fling was turning serious. Vincent introduced me to his assistant. During a dinner party he was hosting at our loft apartment in MidTown. 

     I didn’t indulge in his socialite company. Having just finished the shift of my Chef apprenticeship. I went straight into my bedroom. Getting clothes to shower the kitchen aroma off me. Vincent knew I was now a chef. Met me coming out of my bedroom. Handing me a glass of the wine I made. Telling me how proud he was and that there was someone he wanted me to meet. Promptly kissing his forehead. I made my way towards the bathroom. Coming out of it was a cute awkward brunette. 

“Excuse me, Vincent? You’re not Vincent.”

    Bemused, I remained silent. I felt gross having just left work. I could smell myself, which to me was unpleasant. Vincent’s laughter was turning maniacal.

“There’s my awkward angel. Mio Rocci, meet Mary. Mary, this is my twin brother Chef Rocco.”

     Walking past us back to the party. Vincent bumped me hard enough to move into her. Strutting through the hallway. Laughing as he vocalized his inner monologue.

“Open your mind honey. My Rocky’s an intellectual sweetheart. Rocco take in the shower with you and fuck her brains out. You guys will make a cute couple. Now get to it, chop chop!”

     The memory faded and I turned to my sobbing beloved. Holding her tightly I kiss her passionately. Wiping her tears from her cheek. Jordan noticed us sitting in the front pew. He quickly ran over to us. Sitting at my side hugging me for dear life. Consoling both of them. I spoke what was on my heart.

“I don’t wanna be here. The priest is gonna roast Vincent for being gay, and damn him for committing suicide. Which is the last thing I wanna hear right now. Why isn’t this being held at United Methodist? Who organized this, cause I sure as hell didn’t?”

     Gathering himself Jordan replied it was Rose & Sr. I flipped candidly expressing my contempt for the whole ordeal.

“Now it makes sense why none of his friends and colleagues are here. It’s a pity me charade. All for the pathological lying birth giving cunt. I’m not sitting through this. I’m fucking out of here.”

     Mary and Jordan began pulling me back into my seat. Wrestling free from their clutches. As they basked in the shock of my outburst. 

“Get off me! I’m not staying for this bullshit, I’m leaving!” 

     Turning back to them I went on in my distaste for the charade.

“In your hearts you know Vincent would never step foot in these people’s presence. No matter the reason for any type of gathering. The contempt he held for everyone in this cathedral. You’ll be disrespecting his memory if you stay.”

     Jordan’s jaw hit the floor. As Mary collapsed into her hands. Making my way through the aisle. I didn’t bless myself as I broke through the doorway. Fumbling in my pockets again for my cigarettes. My older brother Lee embraced me. 

“I’m truly sorry for the hell I you and Vincent through. I’m proud of what you both have accomplished. I hate that I’m reconciling with you this way.”

     I discovered in astonishment that I was hugging him back. All I could muster to say. Was how I was going out for a cigarette and leaving.

“Vincent wouldn’t be here. Neither would I for that matter. So I’m leaving.”

     As I turned to leave. Lightning my cigarette just before stepping out of the threshold. Feeling vindicated stepping into the bitter cold. A hand rubbed up my back. Then began rubbing the back of my neck and head. Consoling me in a way. As I began to weep. I realized it was my beloved. She was clearly in shambles. The sight of her suffering in sorrow. Thawed my heart, easing the burden of misery’s company. I tossed the smoke. Mary despised the habit anyway. Pulling her into me. With an open heart, comforting her to the best of my abilities. Jordan found us bursting through the front door of the cathedral. Practically lifting us off the ground. Seeking comfort of his own. The three of us broken. Sitting in the mud of heartache together.