Page 18 of Jealous of the Clouds
Once freed from the confines of our small town and tiny, but loving family, he hadn’t developed a solid moral compass within himself to lead the way.
Maybe he would have learned, given some time. We all have to figure things out.
But my brother never got the chance.
I was thrilled, though, when he told me, on one of our customary Sunday phone calls, that he’d met Joshua Kade. He’d said that Josh was the man he’d been waiting for, the one who would right the sinking ship he was on. “He’s such a good guy, Karl. You’re gonna love him. He’s older, but that’s good, becausehe’s helping me to see just how misguided my actions have been lately. He’s my savior.” I remember his laugh when he uttered this last part, but I knew he believed it.
He had, for the first time in his life, fallen in love. “He’s my guardian angel, my soulmate—the one,” he gushed. “You’re gonna see. You’ll be so proud.”
I knew nothing more about Josh other than the attention he paid to my brother. And much of what Reggie said was true—Josh urged him to go to AA and NA meetings, to attend his church, the Center for Spiritual Living, to make plans to return to school by the next semester. Everything I heard about Josh as their relationship developed seemed positive.
So why could I never accept this wonderful gift? This savior? Why did something, almost psychic, nag at me?
It was all smoke and mirrors. Even though I had nothing definitive to pin it on, I simply knew. My gut, my heart, my intuition told me.
And those things were seldom wrong.
After they’d been together for several months and my brother had moved in with Josh, I made plans to come out to Chicago to visit. I had hoped to bring our mother as well, but she’d just gotten bad news—a diagnosis of breast cancer. This certainly put a crimp in my plans, a crimp that replaced anticipation with guilt. But Mom assured me she’d be fine. I was only going for a long weekend and none of that time overlapped with her beginning chemo and radiation treatments.
So I headed out to Chicago. My first red flag was a text I got when we landed and I took my phone out of airplane mode. The plan was Reggie was going to pick me up at Midway, using his new boyfriend’s car. He’d been excited and told me he’d meet me outside baggage claim.
But the new text told a different story. It turned out Josh needed his car, after all. Would I mind taking the L in from theairport? It was right at the station and all I needed to do was switch trains downtown for the Red Line and then ride it up to the Granville stop. Easy.
I’m a small-town guy—Newell doesn’t even have a bus line, cabs, or Uber—but I tried not to be daunted and made what turned out to be a surprisingly easy trek to Granville Avenue.
Outside the L in the Edgewater neighborhood, there was a swarm of people, traffic, lots of noise.
But with all these people swarming around me, not one of them was Reggie. Great. What would I do now? A city like Chicago was daunting, even if I knew my brother only lived a block or two away from the L stop. But which block? North? South? East? West? I had the address, but venturing out into this chaotic urban landscape at that time was terrifying for this small-town guy.
I texted him, a little put off, and he said he was on his way.
He arrived, with Josh in tow, about ten minutes later.
Two things immediately struck me.
One, Josh was too good-looking for his own good. Dark wavy hair, pale green eyes, a lean body with broad shoulders. He was the kind of man you’d expect to find on the cover of a fashion magazine or strutting down a runway in Milan or Paris. He wore a pair of pressed khaki shorts, a button-down blue shirt, and a pair of leather sandals. He was all smiles as he approached and, yet, I felt suspicious. The smile seemed fake. It didn’t reach up to his eyes.
I told myself I was just an over-protective brother and that I shouldn’t make snap judgments.
The other thing that struck, or maybebotheredis the better word, is how my brother appeared. It was like he’d shrunk—physically and emotionally. His joy, his zest, his sense of humor were all missing. He’d shaved his head close to his skull. He was much thinner than the last time I’d seen him. This wasweird, because Reggie always veered toward carrying a few extra pounds on his frame. That boy loved his sweets! I almost didn’t recognize him. His clothes, jeans and a faded red T-shirt, were rumpled and looked none too clean. They hung on him, like castoffs on a scarecrow.
When I hugged Reggie, I could feel his bones. I could smell his stink.
What was going on? I automatically would have thought drugs, but he’d assured me he’d been clean now for a good couple of months. But a thought pestered me—what addict hadn’t made those assurances? One of the symptoms of addiction was lying. Even I knew that, and I wasn’t all that familiar with the landscape.
The weekend now is a blur. I had thought we’d do the usual tourist stuff—shop at Water Tower Place along the Magnificent Mile, take in a comedy show at Second City, maybe do one of those architecture boat tours, visit Millennium Park and Navy Pier. Have Chicago’s famous pizza.
But we ended up staying in all weekend. Reggie and Josh argued in the bedroom while I tried to read in the living room. I overheard snippets and the one that stood out the most cut me to my heart. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”
Reggie said something that sounded like, “If I had, would you have allowed it?”
Allowed it?I was flabbergasted. This was supposedly two grown men with the ability to make independent choices.Right?
I couldn’t make out Josh’s response.
Allowed? Seriously?
I longed for the chance to get my brother alone, so I could make sure he hadn’t landed himself in a controlling and perhaps even abusive relationship. But the opportunity never arose. I didn’t see my brother even for a minute without Josh by his side,which was convenient because Josh did most of Reggie’s talking for him.
