I debated what I should do. She had invited me to live with her, but I didn’t want to presume on her hospitality. Walking into someone’s house uninvited was not something my mother would have approved of. Maybe Mrs. Rohring changed her mind? The doubts and fears swirled in the pit of my stomach as I finally approached her back porch. I could see the screen door was closed, but the inner door wasn’t latched.
“Mrs. Rohring? It’s me, Kaine Monroe!” I called softly. The only sound was my heartbeat thudding in my ears. I knocked again, louder this time, thinking maybe she had been in the shower or in a distant part of the house. To my surprise, the door wasn’t latched and it swung inward.
“Mrs. Rohring?” I called in question. The door had hinges on the right side, so when it swung open, I could see most of the first floor of her house. I craned my neck through the door so I could see the kitchen, a large farmer’s sink with a single light fixture overhead off to the left. A set of stairs led to the second story directly in front of me, and a skylight let in light down the stairs. I tried to open the door further, but it hit something on the floor.
“Mrs. Rohring?” I called, looking down to see what the door was catching on.
I saw a pair of bright pink slippers and skinny, pale legs sticking out of a pink bathrobe lying perpendicular to the stairs.
“Mrs. Rohring!” I screamed, rushing into the house and kneeling next to the older woman.
She lay face first on the ground, a trickle of blood running from her head. She was unconscious, and from the tiny puddle of blood under her face, it looked like she had been that way for a while. She was still wearing the pink bathrobe she wore in the mornings when she walked out to get her newspaper. I could see she was breathing shallowly, because her back was moving up and down intermittently, but it seemed like her breaths were coming slower and farther apart even as I watched.
I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to move her, remembering stories of people being paralyzed from falls. I knew how independent she was and how much she’d hate being in a wheelchair or having to depend on someone else.
Looking around wildly, my eyes coming to rest on the telephone on the wall in the kitchen. I ran to the phone and dialed 911 with shaking fingers. When the dispatcher answered I’d given her the address with remarkable calm, my eyes trained on Mrs. Rohring’s prone body. I watched as she took a breath, an extremely long pause, then another. Then nothing.
By the time the police and EMS showed up, I knew it was too late. I had tried to do CPR on her, paralysis be damned, but I had no idea what I was doing. The paramedics pulled me away from her when they arrived, but only long enough to confirm what I already knew. She was gone.
I’d sat in the back of the police cruiser while they’d taken her body away in an ambulance. The police had asked where I’d lived. When I’d pointed mutely at the house next door, one of the officers walked over to the house and knocked. When no one answered, he came back to the cruiser.
“Where are your parents, son?” he’d asked, not unkindly.
I shrugged. It didn’t matter, did it? They’d left me. Just like Mrs. Rohring had left me. Just like everyone left me.
* * *
The feeling of tiny claws digging into my thighs brought me back to the present. I looked down to see that Bottles had seated herself back on the bed and was doing that adorable kneading thing cats did for comfort.
“I am not alone,” I muttered, knuckling my eyes, trying to chase away the feeling of emptiness. “It’s not now. I have friends. I have a family. I amnotalone.”
I repeated the mantra in my head as I struggled with the aching feeling of emptiness that I’d felt for years. I struggled to control my emotions, listening to the sounds of the household as my family woke up.
I hadn’t felt this bad in ages. The compulsion last night to check on everyone probably should have clued me in that I wasn’t doing well. I didn’t usually struggle this much with my feelings anymore, except when I was my most stressed, most tired. That was when I had to battle with my old demons.
I’d been taking on a lot of extra shifts at The Belt, our local LGBTQ bar and dance club. I’d been working there for almost two years now, and it seemed like we were always a little short-staffed. I had started as a bar back, then become a bartender when I’d turned twenty-one. Josie, one of the other two bartenders that worked there had asked me to cover for them so they could celebrate their birthday with their boyfriend. I’d been exhausted, and really wanted to say no, but then I’d seen Sammie giving me heart eyes from her office door, and I couldn’t turn them both down.
Sammie, the woman who owned the bar, was amazing. She had started The Belt back in the days when gay bars weren’t something people really acknowledged existed - just a dirty little secret that wasn’t openly discussed. She had turned The Belt from an oddity to an important part of the local music and entertainment scene. Several bands that got their start at The Belt had cracked top forty music lists. I respected Sammie’s business acumen, but even more so, I appreciated the fact that she seemed to care for each and every one of her employees.
I scrubbed a hand across my face and stumbled toward the door as Bottles meowed at me again. I opened the door and watched Her Highness race into the hallway and down the stairs before I collapsed back onto the bed, tempted to fall back asleep, but I knew I had too much to do.
I was going to school full-time, working full-time, and holding down a part-time job. It seemed like all I did was work, study and sleep. I was enrolled at the University of Akron in their engineering program, but I was struggling with the work and wasn’t sure if that was even what I wanted to do with my life.
I winced as I heard an excited bark and Bottles’ hiss of annoyance from the first floor, follow by the sound of Mama K’s voice yelling “Kaine!Mijo, come get your demon cat!”
Fuck, fuck, anddoublefuck! I’d forgotten we were watching Gracie today. Gracie was the service dog of my friend Brannon Eames. We—meaning I—had agreed to watch her while Brannon and his wife Anna visited with Anna’s parents for a few days. Anna’s mom claimed to have a dog allergy, and while we knew it wasn’t true, Bran and Anna had agreed that taking Gracie on the visit wouldn’t be diplomatic.
They were expecting their first child in a few weeks and the in-laws were in town for a few days. Bran had called me the night before asking if Gracie could stay with us overnight, as they were planning on staying with the in-laws, but he had wanted to check on his girl. Yes, I’d video chatted so that he and his dog could talk. I’d held the phone up so Gracie could hear Bran talking on the other end, and then painstakingly cleaned the dog slobber off my phone after she got done trying to lick him. It was gross, but the bond between the two of them was awe inspiring. Gracie was such a part of their life, I knew it would destroy him if he ever had to give her up permanently. They had been talking about getting a pet in addition to Gracie—who was very much a working animal—when Anna became pregnant. That, along with the mother-in-law’s allergies, was making them unsure if they should even consider another animal.
I wished I could blame my parents formyindecisiveness, but they had been nothing but supportive of me and my plans for my life. I mean, at twenty-three I was still living at home for God’s sake! Yes, I worked part-time at one of their dojo’s to “pay” my rent, but I still felt like my life had stalled. By “parents” of course, I meant my adoptive parents, Diana and Kyra Devereaux.
Mama D and Mama K were a couple of the most amazing people in the world. First, they were a same sex couple who had been together for over twenty years, almost thirty. In my opinion,anycouple who was together that long was remarkable. Second, they had six (yes,six!) kids—all of whom were gay. Some of it was probably genetics: Lee, Weaver, Sonny and Hicks were their biological children. Some of it was because they were just good people who had seen Bishop and I struggling and had given us homes.
Lee was the oldest, and sometimes the biggest pain in my ass. He meant well, but he was struggling with his own demons after losing the love of his life overseas. He’d come back from Afghanistan with a shattered hip and a broken heart. His fiancé had been killed in an ambush there just a few weeks before their tour of duty would have been up.
Weaver was the only girl amongst my siblings, and she was in the Air Force. She was stationed at Wright Patterson AFB outside of Dayton and only had another eighteen months on her enlistment. I loved Weaver. When she was in town, we were the original party children. That was generally the only time I turned down overtime at the bar. If she was in town, we were more likely to be dancing and drinking than doing anything productive. She kept inviting me to Dayton and swore there was a bunch of wonderful clubs I would enjoy, but I hadn’t had the opportunity yet.
Then again, who was I trying to kid? I hadn’tmadethe time to go. Ever since she’d left to join the military, I’d battled with this tiny seed of resentment that had taken root inside me. Weaver had gotten out. She escaped Akron, Ohio and was making a life for herself out in the real world, while I sat at home and slowly worked myself to death.
