The Coil (3 page)

“Hey,” she said quietly and touched his arm briefly. “We all slip up. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re a good father.”

To an outsider, her touch may have looked flirtatious, but Sarah knew he was gay and was perhaps one of his closest friends. It was an unexpected friendship, one that, if it was not for Jamie, might not have otherwise formed at all, but nevertheless was genuine and important to him.

He glanced down at his son, who was hugging that damn cape around him, clinging to his leg. “I’ve disrupted his day. He was okay after the juice, but then… perhaps I shouldn’t leave him today?”

“Simon,” Sarah began as if gentling a startled animal. It took him a second to realize that he was that animal; he was a second away from taking his son home to where he’d feel safe. “I know how protective you are of him, but we’ve talked about this. You know how important it is to get him to interact with others while he’s still so young. We have to keep him engaged. It’s difficult, yes, but believe me, we’ve got to push him past his comfort zones, slowly but surely. Ultimately, it’ll make him more independent, self-sufficient. He’ll make more friends, eventually become curious about more than just numbers, and—”

Simon nodded. He understood; it was just so fucking
hard
. “You’re right, you’re right. Jamie?” He tried to carefully pull away from him to catch his son’s gaze, but Jamie stared at the ground. Simon glanced at Sarah and then pulled Jamie off of his leg, holding him gently by the shoulders and going down on his haunches to look him in the eye. “You’re going to be my brave boy today, all right? Daddy wants you to go learn lots of new things. I want you to go with Miss Protrakis.”

Big brown eyes that were sad and not a little bit betrayed looked up at him, and Simon fought against the urge to snap him up in his arms. “Can you do that for me?”

Simon felt his resolve begin to crumble as that little chin started to tremble again, but then Jamie was nodding.

“Okay, Dad.”

Pride, like a goddamn tidal wave, washed clean through him. Until then Jamie had always relied on his father to take him away from situations that unnerved him or made him unhappy. But here he was, doing as he was told first time around, even though it upset him. Simon smiled, glancing past Jamie to where Sarah stood, giving him an approving nod.

“That’s my boy. That’s my big, brave boy. You take Miss Protrakis’s hand, and I’ll be back before you know it. If things get bad, then you tell your teacher, and she’ll call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Jamie echoed.

“Come give me a big hug.”

Jamie tiptoed and wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, and Simon clenched his jaw tight. He completed the hug, gently cupping the back of Jamie’s head. “I love you, Jamie.”

No response came, and really, he knew better than to expect one, but it always hurt a little when he had to ask. “Do you love Daddy?”

Jamie nodded furiously, and Simon laughed softly. He gently pulled him back, aware that the bell signaling the start of registration had rung some minutes ago, the other children now in class and the playground empty. He kissed Jamie’s cheek, and then slowly picked up the Ninja Turtle backpack and threaded Jamie’s arms through the handles.

“You’re being a good boy, Jamie. Can I have your hand?” Sarah asked, holding out her own. Jamie nodded and slipped his hand into hers. “Wave to your dad.” She waved to show him.

Simon smiled and waved back, watching as Sarah led him up to the double doors that were the school’s entrance. Simon glanced up at the large sign above them.

“Golden Acres School
,
”
and below, in smaller writing,
“San Diego’s leading school for Asperger’s Syndrome and Autism.”

He let out a deep breath.

M
ATTIE
was running late. He rushed off of the bus and down the street to the diner he worked at, cursing himself for falling back asleep after turning off his alarm. Being late twice in the span of one week was a surefire way to go about getting your ass canned. And damn, he needed this job. Not that it was particularly interesting or anything, or even remotely gratifying, but it did have its advantages.

It was easy. Any fool could work the sandwich bar at a diner, even one such as himself who couldn’t read or write all that well. The people were nice. In fact, that’s where he’d met Tyler, a full-time employee who worked the cash register and took orders. He knew Mattie was gay, and didn’t care. He knew what Mattie did sometimes to supplement his bills, and didn’t care. He was funny and a general screw up, just like Mattie, and was probably the closest thing to a friend he had.

And then there was, of course, the clientele. In particular, the absolutely gorgeous, adorably quiet, and somewhat nerdy single dad that got him all worked up and hot under the collar every time he came into the diner.

He didn’t talk much, seemed sometimes like he might be carrying the world on his shoulders, and he always sat in the same booth, hunched over his laptop and typing away for hours. Mattie couldn’t pinpoint why he was so head over heels for him, but he was. Oh
boy
did he carry a torch for this guy.

Tyler liked to tease him, tell him he had a crush on a geek, but he’d just shove the guy in the shoulder and tell him to shut up. Ty was only kidding, finding him and the gay thing in general to be weird, but with an indifferent attitude that made him kind of awesome.

No, he didn’t know exactly what drew him in, but he couldn’t help but blush a little every time the guy ordered himself a sandwich. In fact, when the guy glanced up at Mattie to say thanks before taking his lunch to the cash register to pay, it was probably one of the best parts of his day. He was slim, maybe a fraction taller than Mattie, and always wore a baggy sweatshirt or turtleneck. His hair was short and graying at the temples, and his glasses made him look somewhat distinguished and clever—
not
geeky. At a guess, Mattie would place him at around thirty-two, a whole six years older than himself, and then there was the whole single dad thing, which just made him want to melt.

He didn’t know what the guy’s deal was. There was no wedding ring, and he’d never seen a woman with him. It was always just him, or him and the cutest little kid you’d ever hope to see. But gay or straight, single or involved, he without a doubt revved Mattie’s engine.

He got the feeling that the kid was… special? He didn’t know the PC term for it. The kid was clearly not dumb. He’d seen him sitting across from his dad, always wearing that cute cape, running his fingers along the menu and slowly reading the lunch special (which was more than he could do, for damn sure). But the kid was… he didn’t know. It was more than shyness that stopped the little guy from even looking at anyone other than his dad. It was something in him that was born that way. Just watching this guy smile at his kid, watching him gently stroke his hair or hold his hand and take him to the bathroom, hit all of Mattie’s mush buttons, and he was man enough to admit he had such buttons.

So, yeah, the place had its advantages. It was just a shame that the pay was for shit. Renting a tiny apartment and sharing a bathroom with ten other people was quite costly, believe it or not. And then there was the cost of his canvases and paint supplies, but he got around that. Mattie shook his head and pushed the door to the diner open, the familiar bell ringing above his head.

“Hey, the boss around?” he asked Tyler as he ducked behind the sandwich bar and shoved his jacket under the counter.

“Nah, you lucked out.”

“Sorry to leave you hanging.” There was only Tyler and himself in the diner. Though undoubtedly the waitress, Daphne, was out back having a quick smoke, and Jules, the overweight, introverted chef who he occasionally helped out, was probably reading the paper in the kitchen.

“It’s not like they’re lining up around the corner, Matt, so no worries. Just don’t let Don catch you coming in late again.”

Tyler was counting the cash register, the black apron with the simple “Don’s Diner” logo hanging loose from his neck. Having finished counting, he closed the register and then pulled the strings of the apron around his body to tie at the front. He nodded toward the door. “Flip the sign, would you?”

“Sure.” Mattie looped an identical apron around his neck and flipped the sign to say “open.” “I’ll come in early tomorrow and help you set up, promise.”

“Cool.” Ty slapped him on the shoulder as he walked by with a couple of refilled napkin dispensers, and set them on the tables. “Hey.” Ty looked up, leaning against one of the tables. “There’s this band, ‘Residue’, playing at the Noisy Cricket tonight. You want to come check it out with me?”

Mattie shrugged. “Na, I can’t. Thanks, though.”

“Sure? I know you don’t like that bar but they’re supposed to be good, kind of a cross between Rage Against The Machine and the Chili Peppers.”

No, he didn’t like that bar, though he’d never enlightened Ty as to why. He breathed out heavily through his nose as he started to slice open the baguettes and butter them. He pictured the rope inside of him, or what he thought of as the coil. He always thought of the coil when his thoughts strayed into not-so-great memories. It was at the Noisy Cricket that he’d picked up his first… what? Customer? Client? He shook his head minutely. He didn’t want to give them a label, didn’t want to make it in any way official. All the same, he didn’t go there, to that bar, anymore.

“I can’t, got… stuff to do.”

“Oh.”

Mattie looked up and saw the brief look of comprehension on his friend’s face. There was no judgment, but perhaps a hint of pity, which in a way was worse, but Ty would never be unkind to him. Mattie bit the inside of his cheek as Ty walked over to lean against the sandwich bar, glancing at the diner entrance to check that no customers were about to walk in. His voice was quiet, understanding.

“You need to borrow some cash, Mattie?”

The coil inside him pulled tighter, the thick rope with its frayed ends creaking and burning around what he supposed was him in the middle. His jaw clenched, but he glanced at Ty when his hand touched his shoulder.

“It’s okay. Tips have been good this week. What do you need?”

He forced a smile. This was Ty after all, and it wouldn’t do to snap at the one good friend he had.

He made minimum wage shifting boxes, cleaning the bathrooms, and making sandwiches, and obviously, the cash didn’t stretch too far. It
always
came back to money. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have any higher aspirations. He’d love to be doing something else, something better paid, but seeing as he couldn’t fucking read or write like a normal twenty-six-year-old, he was staying put for the foreseeable future. But he was working on changing his circumstances, attending night classes for illiterate adults at the central library at 820 E Street, only a bus ride away. But those classes were not free, and neither were his paint supplies. And he had to paint; sometimes it was the only thing that would let the rope go slack. All of these things, the vital and his one indulgence, cost more than what minimum wage provided. So, he made money another way while juggling the low self-esteem and self-hatred that came along with it.

He’d had a rough upbringing—he hadn’t been beaten or abandoned, but he’d grown up invisible to a drunken father, dropped out of school at an early age, and ended up sleeping on different couches until he was eighteen. He’d simply slipped, unnoticed, through the cracks of all child service and educational authorities. His father was gone now, and he was trying to make his life better, but if he had to occasionally hook to do it, to get by? Fuck anyone that wanted to look down on him for it.

“I’d only have to pay you back, Ty,” he said quietly, slicing open another baguette. He cut Ty a quick glance, and it was obvious he was struggling to come up with another solution. “Hey,” he said quietly, glancing around the room to ascertain they were still alone for the moment. “Thanks, but it’s okay. You know it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

It was a lie; it made him feel dirty and unlovable. And judging by the look Ty was giving him, he wasn’t a very persuasive liar. He sighed and put the knife down. “Actually, tonight this guy I….”
This guy I’m blowing for money.
“This guy I’m seeing has a spare ticket to the Voice 1156 Gallery show tomorrow night.” He shrugged. “I gotta go see him to pick up my ticket, so I can’t hang, sorry.”

Ty contemplated him for a second, then smiled, convinced. “You love that art stuff, don’t you? You still sending shit off?”

Mattie laughed. “Yeah, I’m still sending parts of my portfolio off, though printing and shipping is killing me. It’d be easier if the Art Institute of New York wasn’t in fucking New York, but what are you gonna do, huh?” He shrugged, kidding.

“Well, why not somewhere else? Somewhere local? That’s gotta be cheaper, right?”

Mattie sighed. How to explain? He shook his head. “It sounds stupid,” he began quietly, “but I’ve always wanted to go to New York.” He shrugged, glancing up at Ty. “Everyone has goals and aspirations, right?”

Ty nodded.

“Well, I’ve got just the one. New York.” Licking his bottom lip quickly. “I remember this one New Year’s Eve, I was sleeping on someone’s couch, and they were having this party.” He shook his head briefly. “I think I was seventeen, and life had pretty much gone to shit round about that point. I didn’t want to be at the party, so I snuck down into their basement to hide out.” He grinned and shrugged. “Happy people pissed me off, for some reason.”

Ty smiled, nodded. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“Anyhoozles,” he sighed. “They had this old TV set, and I decided to watch the ball drop and….” He bit his lip. “You know what?”

“What?” Ty asked quietly.

“It looked so great there. So…
big
. Like it wouldn’t matter if you’re a screwup there.”

“You’re not a—”

“Ty.” He shook his head. “It looked like a place to start a life, to
make
one. Just… so big, with so many opportunities to start again.”

Ty was quiet. “Jesus, just about everything you tell me depresses me. Asshole.”