Brian Larney: Amethyst

The picture of two boys in a swimming hole hung crooked. Lying in bed flat on his back, Brian didn't feel like getting up to straighten it. He'd do it later. Right now he was remembering Red. Six months ago he'd kicked Red out and God only knew where he now lived. Hopefully Timbuktu or somewhere completely remote. Brian just hoped he stayed there and didn't curse him by returning. The affair had lasted nearly two years, but when he caught Red in his third-floor bedroom, naked with the maintenance man Noel thrusting inside him -- the same Noel who'd made Mrs. O'Toole crazy by, among other things, pooping in her back yard and leaving it there -- he had no choice but to kick Red out.

He'd given everything to the relationship. He gave up Thomas, his best friend and mentor, who'd warned him that Red was nothing but bad news. He gave up piano students, so his income fell. He spent a lot more money on food and alcohol because Red couldn't seem to get enough. He cleaned the apartment, he did laundry, he did all the shopping because Red liked to have a perfect home but usually didn't feel motivated enough to do those things himself. Red preferred lying in bed all day reading glamour books. He bought him flowers weekly, he took him on trips to Manhattan, and with the small inheritance he got from his mother, he bought him jewels -- an emerald, a sapphire, and an amethyst. But Brian sure did like having sex with Red. It was the best it'd ever been in his life. Why, given the two years and their weekly Saturday afternoon romps, he figured they must've had sex at least 110 times. Given the money he'd spent on Red, that came to about $35.00 per encounter. A lot of money, especially one year after the stock market crashed.

Brian felt sick. He felt miserable and sick. He never had energy any more. It was all Brian could do to get himself out of bed, walk downstairs mornings, and teach his few remaining piano students. The lumps on his neck wouldn't go away. He could feel his glands, tender and swollen, now three months bothering him and no change. He'd been to the doctor and he'd said it was all in Brian's head. Brian wished Martin Limerick were still living -- the wise doctor would've known what ailed him. And he could've told Martin about Red. His old friend would've understood. Now there was no one he could tell -- no one would understand, nor would anyone sympathize. Because Brian knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the lumps under his neck and his constant fatigue came from one of the last encounters he'd had with Red. God was punishing him for loving that man.