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Only So Many Tears
There are only so many tears you can cry
Till your heart stops breaking
Only so many doors you can try
Till you finally find your way
Out of the dark, into the light
No, the clouds won't always be grey
The sun reappears in the blink of an eye
And there's only so many tears you can cry
There are only so many reasons to give up
You're not even close
You got to believe in the power of love
That's all anyone knows
And what makes you strong comes from inside
And as far as weather and woes
Buckets of rain can fall from the sky
But there's only so many tears you can cry
Get on with it, get on with life
Forget about who's wrong or right
Come out and dance with me tonight
And we laugh, laugh, laugh those tears away
|
"Ezra?"
"Yes, Buck?"
"Thanks."
"That's what friends are for."
// That's what I said to you. That's what friends are for … I took your
revelation as calm and silent as I could, for I could see in your eyes
you did expect me to do otherwise, yet hoped I wouldn't. You have seen
otherwise, right? You had people looking at you as if you were the biggest
bulk of dirt they could think of.
I've seen those looks, that tilt of the head, that question in the
eye - can I trust him? Trust him with my money, my life, my secrets. Can
I trust him to be there, or to stay away, whatever you want.
Since I came here, that has changed.
Sheech I remember the first time I entered that building, ATF, they
had said. Chris Larabee and his team, they had said. I didn't have the
slightest clue of what to expect, but I sure as hell haven't expected something
like this.
Like this.
Like taking off my sunglasses and looking into your eyes. You have
tilted your head back then, too, but there wasn't a question in your eyes.
You clearly hadn't heard of me then.
And now you are sitting here in front of me with a hangover as big
as the Grand Canyon, I bet, and poured your heart out. Telling me you are
bi, loving a man.
Bad choice, Buck Wilmington.
Not if you want a career in law enforcement.
They don't take this kind of things nicely, you know?
Of course you do. You have told Chris about your preferences. Of course
you had to. The man's your friend; he didn't condemn you, right?
You're one lucky man, having friends like him, you know, friends you
can trust and who trusts you?
Of course you do.
Wonder who it is. Chris maybe? JD?
You've been to a bar often lately, I can tell. Sure, I've been watching
you, that's part of my job description. But I can tell because I've been
doing the same. Not the same bar, otherwise I would have met you there,
would have been able to tell earlier. //
"Ezra?"
"Hm?"
"Think you can do me another favor and drive me to that bar, get my
car back? 'Sides, I still owe you that twenty-three dollars."
"You assume the 'tablissement is already open for the public?"
"Naw, not for the public. But Greg'll be there – the bartender, you
know? He, uh – knows me."
"I see."
I grab my keys and then we're on our way toward the bar you've spend
far too much time lately. When you stumbled over my threshold this morning,
all but falling into my arms I wasn't exactly angry or mad at you. I was
surprised that you would choose me. Me to come to when mostly vulnerable.
Why me? Why not Chris?
The most unlikely person, hm.
We're there.
~
When he opens the door I don't have to look to know it's him. Buck Wilmington.
He has come back to look for his car. It's well cared for like every time.
Hell, I have a reputation to lose already.
"Mr. Wilmington, I hope you didn't have any problems yesterday? You
forgot your wallet."
I reach under the counter into the hidden place where I always keep
his stuff and handed it over to him. This time the tip's even bigger. Whoa.
Then I notice he didn't come alone. The guy he came here with is – well,
let's just say interesting, okay? The bar's not that strong lit, even at
this hour, but I can see the man has the most incredible green eyes I've
ever seen. And the man's a pro from what I can tell. He's watching closely
without being too obvious, just taking in. Bet he already knows that except
us three there are two other people in the building, where those persons
are and what they are doing. And he's doing all that while leaning on the
bar looking all casual like.
"Thanks for givin' me a ride, Ezra," Wilmington says, and the guy just
nods at him.
Then it strikes me.
He's the one.
The reason Mr. Wilmington comes here every now and then.
Wonder which bar 'Ezra' goes to. Man has the same lost look in his
eyes like Wilmington has, just hides it better. I have a good idea why.
The pain's older.
"Would you like a coffee, Mr. Wilmington?" I ask. Hell if I know why.
I'm not planning on playing matchmaker, good lord, no. Especially since
I could be wrong.
"We're open within the next half hour anyway, and Rosita has some snacks
ready, if you like. Best Burritos and Chili you ever had."
"Ez?"
"You're paying."
A southerner. What an accent. No, I'm not into guys - well, not really
- but I can understand it. And this man has a voice – whoa. Bet he knows
how to use it.
I give them a table at the far end of the room, where they can't be
seen. 'Ezra' is placing himself strategically, so he can watch each door.
Must come automatically, part of being a fed, whatever. Now, let's see
what develops.
~
"Cold beer and hot chili, here you are. Enjoy your food."
"Thanks, Greg."
"So that's Greg?" I ask. The man is good, I give him that, bartender
by the book. Paying attention without being evident, yet getting exactly
what the customer needs. You're in good hands here, Buck. Whoa, that chili
can compete with Josiah's. Ah, here comes some bread. Good man, thank you.
"Yep."
We eat in silence, me watching you, you knowing it. I can see that
you don't really know how to act around me. Maybe you're feeling uncomfortable,
regret having given away too much? Don't be, I appreciate your trust. You
were open to me from the beginning, well, mostly. I wouldn't have thought
of you as being into men with all the ladies you were dating, but dating
is one thing, and … well, that's another. Living together with JD doesn't
make it easier, right?
~
They know each other, I can tell. Not talking while eating, not even
looking at one another. I sigh. Wouldn't say they'd be perfect together,
but … another beer? In a second, sir.
While I prepare the beers I reflect on these men. They're friends,
that much I can see, from the way they are able to be silent together and
not feel uncomfortable with it. I serve the beer and retreat, but I can't
help watching them, gazing over every now and then. They are starting to
talk now.
~
"Ez, I really appreciate what you've been doing here, I mean… "
Ezra raised his hand to stop a helpless ramble before it could begin.
"Buck, it's all right. I don't need a speech of thanks."
"But I want to, Ez."
"Oh. Well then – shoot."
Buck smiled dimly over his second beer.
"I never talked to anyone that openly before, Ezra. Except Chris, maybe."
Ezra cocked one eyebrow in mild surprise. Buck not talking openly?
The man was as outgoing and open as a man could be, wearing his heart on
his sleeve literally. On the other hand, he mused, there was a fine line
between outgoing and open. Ezra smirked slightly; he of all people should
recognize obfuscation when he saw one. Buck talked, Buck flirted, Buck
smiled – but there was a subtle borderline, a fine but firm border protecting
the man inside. Not from his friends, Ezra had thought, but even there,
he realized now, was a part of Buck the man didn't want to show. Until
now.
"When did you …?"
"Realize I like men, too?" Buck asked calmly.
"You wanna hazard a guess?" Now there was a small twinkle in his eyes,
and Ezra almost choked on his beer.
"No!"
"Yep. College. Roommate."
"I thought you've been to college with …"
"Yep again."
"Oh … "
"That's how he knows."
"You … and …?"
Buck grinned, shaking his head.
"Uh-uhn. Man was cool with it back then, but told me in uh- no uncertain
terms, I quote: we're friends, and I want it to stay that way, Buck, so
keep your hands where I can see 'em or kiss your ass goodbye."
Ezra almost sprayed his beer over the table.
"Early career choice."
"Yep."
Ezra watched Buck getting silent again, running his fingers through
the puddle of moisture that had been running down his cold beer glass.
After a long moment he decided to just ask.
"Buck?"
"Hm?"
"Has it … were there … "
"Others? One or two, nothing serious. Turned to the ladies instead.
You see how successful I am in that department."
//Uh-oh, not good. I recognize that tone of voice immediately. A little
bitter, a little cynical – and utterly sad. Under that cheerful surface
you are one lonesome cowboy, Buck Wilmington. Who would have thought? You
and our fearless leader … I can't help smiling about that certain quote.
Chris Larabee all right, even in younger years. I wonder what he had looked
like at twenty … I bet there hadn't been that hard lines around his eyes,
or the sharp edges around his lips – nor the look in his eyes that told
about a man who had seen a lot in his time. Too much maybe, losing his
loved ones in a car bomb that had been destined to kill him instead.
It is better to have loved and lost then never have loved at all.
Could someone please shoot Shakespeare?
Yes, I know how I sound, and I tell you what – you're right. I know
that cynical, sarcastic, sometimes a little self-pitiful tone of voice
because I use to sound that way sometimes myself.
Appearance is everything, Ezra darling.
Ha!
Look where 'appearance' has taken me, mother. I'm sitting here – don't
get me wrong, I like where I am sitting now, having friends like this group
of six oh so diverse men – but I never know what could have been. There
was a reason behind the gossip and mobbing in Atlanta, and it wasn't nice
at all.
As I said, law enforcement doesn't take men like us too nicely, Buck
my friend.
And you, by coming to my door the other night, revealing your deepest
secret, have made yourself utterly vulnerable, have literally exposed your
throat to me. All it needs now is for me to bite down and rip it apart.
//
~
The bar starts to get crowded in the later afternoon. They are
still sitting there, still talking silently about one thing or another.
I hope 'Ezra' finds the right words. They haven't ordered another beer,
guess they both want to drive home tonight.
I have silently placed a bowl of nachos and cheese on their table.
Looks as if it's gonna be a long evening. No need to stay hungry, though.
~
//Greg has set a bowl of nachos on our table without being asked to,
and I look at him surprised. He just nods, murmurs something about 'on
the house' and vanishes behind his counter again. You don't even flinch
at that gesture. So does that mean you're already accustomed to it? Or
are you that far gone you don't even notice? Oh, Buck, don't tell me you're
losing it here … //
~
Suddenly I have to think of something a wise person once told me: If
you don't get the thing you want, just think of what you don't get that
you don't want! * Well, bet there are a lot of things these guys
don't get and don't want.
Doesn't really help, though.
I sigh.
~
"It's late, Ez. Think we should go now. JD'll be worried."
"No, he won't:"
"Oh?"
//Buck, whom do you think you're talking to? First thing I did this
morning was calling your 'little brother' to let him know where you are.
He wasn't too surprised have finding you gone … were surprised you were
with me, though. //
"No need to be troubled, dear friend. I called him."
"You did? Thanks, Ez."
//There, there's that look again. Just fleeting, just passing through,
but there. Now what does it mean, for crying out loud? You smile
at me again, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You get me worried here, Buck
Wilmington. Yes, you have exposed your throat to me, as I thought earlier,
trusted me, now do you expect me to do – what? You look like you wait for
me to strike, wait for the other shoe to drop. You don't feel comfortable
around me … though we have talked for the major part of the evening.
Shouldn't you know me better?
On the other hand – how should you?
I'm as good as you are, even better in this hiding-one's-true-feelings-department.
It's part of my job description as well.//
~
Oh, wait, they're leaving. Bye, Mr. Wilmington. Yes, of course. Why,
thank you. Yes, sir. Good night, sir. Drive carefully.
I look after they're departing figures and pocket my tip.
Wonder if I ever see them again.
~
We step out of the bar. It's dark already, and chilly, and I see you
shiver due to the unexpected temperature drop. There's something about
your shiver …
You accompany me to my car.
"Thanks again, Ez. It was – nice of you to listen to my … silly rambling."
"No big deal. You'd do the same for me."
"Anytime."
//I bet… //
"I'll better head home, don't get JD too worried here."
"Yes, I think you're right. You're good?"
"Absolutely."
//Yeah, right… //
"Good night then, Buck."
"Night, Ez."
I fumble for my car keys, hands frozen from the cold that had set in
during the day. It's December, all right.
"Ezra?"
You sound hesitant. I turn to see you still standing there, looking
as if there's something on your mind yet.
"Yes, Buck? Something else?"
You hesitate, again. You look – uncertain, almost shy.
"No … no, not really. Thanks, Ez. G'night."
And then you turn around.
I see you walk away slowly, hands stuffed into your coat pockets, shoulders
slouched, shivering from the moist cold of winter. The fog is swirling
around your frame and creeping through your clothes slowly, making you
shiver again. I know you are cold, but it's not the outside temperature
that makes you freeze. It's an inner coldness, black and ugly, threatening
to freeze your heart and soul to death. I know. I've seen it before; I've
seen it in your eyes today. I see it every day - every time I look into
a mirror.
And suddenly I know.
Suddenly I see.
And suddenly - it doesn't matter anymore.
"Buck!"
I call out your name and see you start, pulled out of your thoughts
by my voice, not expecting it. You turn around slowly, looking at me questioningly
and I see you standing there, under a flickering street lamp with the fog
whirling around you, dampen your hair and your mood.
And I tilt my head slightly, gesturing toward my car.
I see your frown, the question in your eyes, not understanding what
it is I want.
I look at you.
I wait.
I smirk.
And then you tilt your head, comprehension slowly dawning in your eyes,
and, at the same time, doubt if you'd taken it the right way, and the question
is still there.
And then – slowly - you smile.
The End
Continues in Aurora Mirabilis
