Page 47

Chapter 47

Conversations with Ghosts

Parker

“Before you ask, I’ve got absolutely no idea what happened next”.

I feel dumb saying this out loud, even though the ghosts in this cemetery are way more real to me than most people. After Brandon and his dad disappeared for peace talks, I crashed out. Drifted in and out of sleep for most of the night, until I finally gave up at 6am. I got in the car, intending to go for a drive and clear my head.

But I carried on driving and ended up here.

I always kind of end up here. A beating heart amongst the gravestones.

My dad has a lot of neighbours. Don’t think I haven’t made up stories about them, because I have. There’s James Miller on the left; 13 November 1965 to 17 th May 2008. James died before my dad, and was a little older, so he’d be able to show him the ropes. How to be dead. How to do it properly.

Then there’s Marianne Louise Behr. Marianne’s a real matron type. Someone that bosses James and my dad around, like a formidable aunt who takes no shit, but is always there to talk to. It makes me warm to think that he’s got friends up there. That he’s not alone.

“I practically had to force Brandon out of the car. They were so close when we were kids”. I scuff my toe on the ground. “Just like we were”.

The early morning air is cool and crisp for August. The cemetery gates are padlocked but they’re easy enough to climb. I’ve been doing it for years. Father’s Day. Birthdays. We don’t go in for all of that. I only ever come here when I can be sure nobody else is around.

It fucking kills me that the headstone reflects how little money my dad had when he died. It’s even starting to crumble, right on the edges.

I’m going to buy a better one.

But now isn’t the time for that. Not when I’ve got important things to talk about. I’ve wondered what he would think about me and Brandon. Me liking guys, period. We never talked about any of that stuff. I have no idea where he would have landed on the subject, and I’m not afraid to admit that it scares me a little bit.

The priest had told me that I shouldn’t miss my dad because he’d always be with me. That he would always be watching.

“Do you already know?” I ask, “About me? Did you know when you were alive? Because I didn’t know. You could have told me”.

What about you, buddy-boy? That was his name for me. He said it in an affected New York accent; like an old-time gangster. Ready for bed there, buddy-boy? Wanna toss the football around buddy-boy?

I’ve got some bad news, buddy-boy. Come sit with me and mom for a minute.

Brandon had assured me that the priest meant it in the metaphorical sense. Because to tell a teenage boy that his father is always going to be watching over him… well, that’s an odd time in a person’s life to feel like he’s got an audience.

If you know what I mean.

“About me and Brandon”.

It starts to rain.It literally never rains here. If there’s a God, and he’s trying to fuck with me, then he’s doing a good job. But I’ve stood by this grave in heatwaves, snowstorms and hurricanes. A bit of rain isn’t going to scare me off.

“No. Can’t say I’m surprised though. You two were always a secret club with only two members”.

“It’s important that I say it out loud just to be sure”. I take a deep breath. “I’m bisexual. I hope that’s okay”.

Are you happy?

“I am when I’m with him”. I pause, “And thanks to him, I’m happier by myself too”.

Then it’s more than okay. Are you going to tell your mother?

“We’re not talking. She wasn’t on board with the whole MMA thing. Or the whole getting kicked out of college thing. Or anything really. I don’t want to be the one to break this to you, but I haven’t exactly set the world alight in your absence”.

I wouldn’t say that. You set the kitchen alight, that time, didn’t you?

“Hilarious, Dad”.

Sorry buddy-boy. It was right there. Besides, that’s not what I meant. You should trust her more. Let her in, like you let me in.

“What? Oh”, I blink, confused.“About what happened at college?”

His headstone stares back at me. Yeah. He means college.

A twig snaps underneath a shoe. I spin round, ready to defend myself against cemetery-monsters. But it’s my mom.

She’s looking at me anxiously. Not in her usual what-the-hell-did-you-do-now-Parker way, but more in an are-you-okay-way. She’s wearing a long red coat, tied neatly at the waist, but her chestnut hair is loose, blowing freely in the wind. I didn’t realise how long it still was. She’s worn it up for years.

I say the first thing that pops into my head. “The gate’s locked”.

“That old thing? I jump it all the time”.

“You jump it?” I echo, incredulously.

“Don’t look so surprised, Parker. I’m not that old”. She looks past me towards the headstone, and her eyes soften. “I like being here alone”. She comes to my shoulder, and rests her head gently against it.

I feel like I should step back, but I don’t. “I didn’t know you came here”.

“Of course I do”, she says softly. There’s no hint of admonishment in her voice. “It’s the only place I feel like I can still talk to him. Eight years is a long time”. The breath goes out of her. “But I don’t need to tell you that”.

“Did you”, I clear my throat, “Hear all that?”

She nods. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But I’m glad I heard it. You’ve no idea the amount of times I used to listen at your bedroom door, overhearing all the secrets you used to tell your dad”. She smiles lightly. “You always belonged to him”.

“I’m so sorry, Mom”.

“What for?”

“Everything”. My voice cuts out. “I know I’m not the son you wanted. And I tried really hard to live up to everything that Dad was”.

“Sweetheart…”

“And that being into dudes is probably the latest in a long line of thingsthat I’ve done that’s going to make you say oh what next Parker , but—”

“Parker”, she says sternly. “You must not apologise for that. Ever. I’m surprised, mostly because there was a procession of women in the revolving door that was your bedroom, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you”.

“The part where you’re constantly worried, or inevitably disappointed?”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I regretted it straight away. And we should have come to your match last night. I changed my mind at the last minute, but we got caught in traffic”.

“I won”. It feels hollow saying it, because it didn’t feel like it. “I know you thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I did. I worked for it. Hard”.

“Parker, it wasn’t for a second that I thought you couldn’t do it . It was that I didn’t want you to do it. I didn’t want your father to do it. You wouldn’t have either, if you had ever seen him in a match. It’s awful, watching the person you love most make a choice that puts them in harm’s way”.

She wipes her eyes, “Losing your father was the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. I'm still not sure if I've properly dealt with it. But losing you? It would destroy me”.

I shiver. “You’re always so strong. Everyone says it. It’s like you’re steel enforced”.

“I didn’t have a choice”. There’s a quiver to her voice that I’ve never heard before, “There were so many times I wanted to fall apart, but then what would have happened to my son? My whole world. If I displayed even the slightest weakness, I’d split straight down the middle”.

I never knew that.

“All you ever want as a parent is for your child to be safe and happy. And for a long time, you were neither”. The wind wraps gently around me.

“It’s not like I haven’t put you through a lot over the last few years”.

“Donnie was saying how nice it was that you seemed so… settled. I thought it was Summit. Simon’s influence. Hell, maybe even MMA”. Her eyes scan me searchingly. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“It’s him”. I don’t need to say Brandon’s name. “And us, together. I feel happier. Safe”.

“I remember feeling like that”.

“When you first started seeing Donnie”. She’d come home later than usual, dressed a little nicer. The freshness of her perfume. How he’d made her laugh again. “He’s a good guy”.

“Yes, he is”, she says fondly. “But your father was too. He made me feel I could do anything. Even when I was pregnant and worrying about not being able to finish my degree, he was the one telling me that I could do it. Bringing ice-cream to the library in the middle of the night”.

“So, getting pregnant didn’t completely wreck your life?”I say, only half joking.

She looks genuinely shocked. “No! Why would you say that?”

“Come on, Mom”. I smile at her, even though I’m kicking hard under the surface. “You and Dad were basically teenagers when you had me. I know I wasn’t planned. I’m the reason you got married. If you hadn’t, then you would have gone on to study medicine, and he would have been a world-famous MMA fighter and been able to afford medical insurance and never would have…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. When I look up, she’s staring at me in bewilderment.

“Sit”, she says, sounding almost faintly. “Honey, just sit down a second”.

I look around. “Where?”

“Just lean there”.

“On Dad’s headstone ?”

“He won’t mind”. I lean up against it and she leans next to me. “Your Dad and I met in our first year of college. Love at first sight. And right before we graduated, I found out that I was pregnant. I told him right away. In the communal hallway, actually, right outside his bedroom door”.

“What happened?”

“He ran”. She smiles. “And I thought, well, that’s it. He’s going to leave me, I’ll be raising this baby alone, and just as I’m about to start crying and packing everything up, guess what happened?”

My throat is too thick to speak.

“He came back with a ring. He’d had it in his sock drawer. He proposed straight away, so that I’d always know that he’d planned it the whole time and wasn’t just doing it because I was pregnant”. She smiles, her eyes brimming with warm tears. “He was a big softie. But he knew what he wanted. And that was us. You and me, and the life we were meant to have together”.

Something loosens in my chest.

“Your dad didn’t give up fighting because he was going to be a father. Being a father saved him from a life he didn’t want”.

“What do you mean?”

“Martial arts helped get him into college. Scholarships. Prize money. It was fun for him. Part of his culture. He never wanted to do it professionally. Your grandfather wanted him to, but when he found out he was going to be a dad, he gave it all up in a second. It was the excuse he needed”.

I can’t speak for a moment. My mom takes her hand in mind. “He would be really proud of you, Parker. And so am I”.

I tell her everything. Starting with how I never really wanted to go to college, and that I didn’t fit in when I was there. That I missed Brandon, and home, but didn’t really feel like I had a place. So I carved one out trying to emulate my dad. And in the midst of all of that, I got into a fight with my fraternity brothers by protecting a vulnerable girl.

And I never told anyone, because all the other shit in my life made it feel like it was impossible to be believed.

At some point, the sun goes down, but we’re both still talking. We have a lot to say. “And as for what comes next, Brandon says I can do what I want”.

“Brandon’s right”.

“I was offered an MMA contract. Three fights guaranteed”.

She nods. “I see”.

Something’s pulling at me. A little voice, telling me that I know what I want to do. But I couldn’t do it. Could I? “But things are going well at Summit. Brandon’s going back to college in a few weeks”.

“It sounds like you have some decisions to make”. My mom puts her hand on mine. “If today has taught me anything, it’s that I can be confident in the young man that I raised. That he knows how to take care of himself, and how to do the right thing, even when it’s hard. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for”.

There’s a lump in my throat. “I love you, mom”.

“I love you too, Parker”.

She produces a tissue from up her sleeve, in the way that all moms do. “I want to be able to show my face in this graveyard again. No more crying. Why don’t you tell me about Brandon? I want to hear everything”.

“You already know him”.I smile. “He practically lived at our house until we were eighteen”.

“I know him as your friend. Your friend who used to leave his backpack in our hallway and never stopped eating. I don’t know him as your boyfriend”. She says it so easily, like it’s simple. “As your person. Is he good to you?”

“The best. And he still never stops eating. You should hear his coffee order”.

She sits down on the grass, next to dad’s headstone, and gestures for me to join them. It’s been years, since it was just the three of us. I park it, sitting between my mom and dad. “Well”, my mom smiles. “Tell us about him”.