Page 79 of Beneath the Stain
I’m scrubbing up my heart and soul
And getting rid of what’s mostly black
Because I know when I look at you
You’ll look at me right back.
Because that time when I was gonna try
To disappear
Has come and gone and gone away
When you see me
I’m still here.
Trav’s throat was thick, and he touched his fingers to the deep grooves etched on the paper by the ballpoint pen Mackey used. It was all so precise, he thought. No strike-throughs, no scratched-out places. Every word, both in the letters and the lyrics, had been chosen long before it was ever written down. Edited, yes, but edited in Mackey’s head. Trav wondered if there were rough drafts on napkins, program paper, brochures, and if the cheap notebooks only saw the purest things Mackey wrote down.
Or maybe just this one.
Trav wasn’t sure.
He closed his eyes tight, because it didn’t matter. “That’s my song?” he asked, voice shaking.
“Yeah,” Mackey said. “Is it okay that I wrote that?”
“It’s in your heart, Mackey. I’m not going to say it’s wrong.”
“But what do you think about it?”
Trav reached out and touched the letters again. His finger was shaking.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice thick. God. This kid. This man. Trav could hardly speak. “The things in your heart, Mackey. They’re beautiful.” He was undone. All Mackey’s words about being friends, and this was about the most poetic thing Trav had ever seen. It wasn’t platonic. It was the song of lovers who hadn’t touched.
“Thanks, Trav,” Mackey whispered. Trav realized Mackey was crying, soundlessly, helplessly, and that this day with the chocolate cake and the catalogs and the family was probably a titanic undertaking for him.
“Are you going to send those to your family?” Trav asked, his chest suddenly aching.Oh please, Mackey. Please come out to your family so this part of who you are can stop causing you so much pain.
“Yeah,” Mackey said. “Next week. Will you….” Trav heard him swallow. “Will you be there for my brothers when they get them?”
“I’ll be there for you too,” Trav promised.
Blake brought everybody back right then, and Mackey couldn’t seem to stop crying. He hugged everyone distractedly, not saying a lot, barely able to wipe his face on his shoulder. Trav walked him back to Dr. Cambridge, worried, sad, and hopeful all at once.
“It’s okay,” Cambridge reassured them, looking at Mackey with that exasperated combination of pride and sadness and pain that Trav knew from his own heart. “If you’re doing this right, it’s going to be like an open wound for a while. Don’t worry, Mackey. Let’s go back to your room and lie down for a while, and we’ll have a talk.”
“Bye, Trav,” Mackey said, and Trav folded him up, held him so damned tight he wasn’t sure if Mackey could breathe. But Mackey hugged him back, his arms wiry, strong, and reassuring.
“You’ll get better,” Trav whispered. “You’ll have to. I need to hear you sing that song.”
Mackey popped back from his hug and grinned. “That’s right!” he said, seeming to snap out of the tears for a minute. “You don’t have the music in your head like I do. That’s a deal!”
Cambridge led Mackey away, the battered spiral notebook still clutched in his hand. Trav walked back to the group thoughtfully.
Next week, he thought, was going to beveryinteresting.
ONTHEway home, the brothers were… well, thoughtful as well.
