Sander's Courage Page 12

  be Sander. He wanted the family that Sander had. He

  admired his friend's manners—how people always came

  to him and borrowed his kind and gentle shoulder to cry

  on.

  He loved their first forays into sex, and how each

  time was better than the last. He wanted to be loyal like

  Sander was. He wanted the old ladies in front of the

  bakery to say Hi, Torben, just like they did to Sander. When

  they would pass by the bakery, or the little neighborhood

  bodega, the old folks never shouted Hi, boys! No, it was

  always Hi, Sander. Or There goes the Hansen boy. How's your

  mom? Is Ingrid going to nursing school?

  One day it became too much.

  He started by making up bad things to say about

  his friend, always relaying the rumors to the most

  obnoxious and meanest kids in the class. What he had

  really done was just retell stories from bad things he had

  done in his own past, and changed the names.

  Naturally, it took absolutely no time for the forest

  fire of lies to take hold. And Sander was burned.

  The worst of it came when Sander tried to join

  some kids at a lunch table. Torben was there. Sander

  walked happily across the lunchroom with his tray and a

  DVD he planned to loan to Torben. When he approached

  the table and tried to set down his tray, Torben looked at

  him with cruelty in his eyes and told him not to bother.

  At first Sander thought it was some kind of a joke.

  He didn't exactly get the joke, but he was sure it would

  make sense any minute now. But it was never funny.

  Torben told Sander that he hated homos, and that

  he'd appreciate it if he would just go get AIDS and die. In

  fact, Torben said, do us all a favor—AIDS takes too long. Just

  get it over with.

  Sander felt his blood drain from his face, a very real

  response. He tried to get up and leave but his legs felt

  funny. He felt like a trapped animal, and when he finally

  did get his lower extremities to cooperate, he spilled his

  milk and accidentally dropped his elbow into his lunch.

  Voracious gales of laughter quickly followed.

  Next he knew, he was walking home. He rounded

  the corner leading onto his street and found four boys and

  three girls from his class waiting for him. He didn't say a

  thing. He just tried to walk past them, but of course that

  wouldn't happen.

  The girls took his backpack and one of the smaller

  boys jumped up and grabbed his beanie. The girls emptied

  the backpack all over the road, and the smaller boy started

  kicking his belongings into the sewer drain.

  Torben appeared behind him and pushed Sander's

  head, which caused a kind of mild whiplash that made

  him cry. That's when the others joined in, pushing him to

  the ground, and spitting on him. They spat on a boy who

  had never once hurt them, insulted them, or caused them

  any pain whatsoever. And three of those kids had known

  Sander since preschool. No one stood up for him. No one

  said Stop.

  When they grew tired of destroying the one loyal

  friend they all had, they spat on him one last time, called

  him the Town Faggot, and took their leave in a cloud of

  cruel laughter.

  Sander got himself home and went to his room and

  wrote two farewell letters. One to his family. One to

  Torben Petersen. Then he climbed the stairs to his loft,

  pulled his belt off, made it into a loop through the buckle,

  tied it to a jump rope, tossed the whole affair over the

  oaken ceiling beam, stood on his little kindergarten chair,

  put the belt around his neck, and kicked the chair out from

  under him.

  The very instant that he kicked the chair he saw

  Jannik, terrified, screaming. Sander's eyesight was affected

  right away, flashing weird colors of yellow, red, strobe-like

  flashes, and then something felt very hot. So hot; scalding

  hot. He felt upside down. In fact, his mother and the

  neighbor across the street, Henrik Jacobsen, had put him

  back on the chair. Henrik held him while Magda untied

  the jump rope. The scalding heat that he imagined was

  actually cold water being poured over his head.

  He wasn't upside down; he was actually lying face

  up on the big mattress bed across the room. And all he

  could hear, besides the persistent pumping of blood in his

  temples and neck, were Jannik's hysterical screams.

  Chapter 18

  e drove up the long drive to our cobblestone

  parking pad alongside the house, eager to spill out

  W of the car, take turns pissing, and then commence

  tearing into the best pizzas made in all of Denmark.

  "Hello friendly cats! We're home!" Jannik

  announced, ducking under the top part of the Dutch door.

  "We have pizza! You get cat food!"

  We followed him into the great room, and to the

  kitchen where the pies were slid onto the French country

  table. "Where's your friend?" he asked Sander.

  "Don't know. Maybe he's out walking."

  "Maybe he's in the loft," I said, and took the service

  stairs from the kitchen to the open layout upstairs.

  "Torben? You up here?"

  We have a small bathroom and shower adjacent to

  the loft, and as soon as I stepped onto the varnished

  landing I could hear that Torben was sick. He sounded

  awful, and I knocked on the door to check on him.

  "Torben, it's Johnnie. Can I come in?"

  He pulled the door open just as another wave

  struck him. He was hurling. "I'll wait right out here if you

  need help. Just take your time. We're home now, and if

  you need anything, or need us to take you to the doctor we

  can."

  He gave me a thumbs up from behind his back just

  as another one hit. But he was slowing down. Now he was

  just spitting, and he managed to flush the toilet. And the

  good news was that he hadn't missed. It had all landed

  where it should. He rinsed his mouth and pressed a wet

  cloth against his face and forehead, and then joined me in

  the room.

  "It reminds me of a lot of Friday and Saturday

  nights I've had. And a few Sunday mornings," he smiled.

  "You're probably not gonna wanna hear this, but

  we brought pizzas home from Mamma's on Klaregade," I

  chuckled.

  "I think maybe some milk might do a little better."

  "I think so too. Why don't you stay up here? I'll

  send Jannik up with some milk and bread, and you can

  dip it in a bowl or something. It smells like a pizzeria

  down there, and I don't think you have anything left to

  come up," I said. "Lie down on the sofa there, we've got

  this."

  "Johnnie, I need to know something," Torben said,

  lowering himself onto the divan. "Just tell me the truth.

  Believe me, after this last year I can handle it."

  "What's on your mind?" I asked him.

  "Why in the hell are you guys being so nice to me?

  Especially you! You must hate me, and now you're

  bringing me milk a
nd bread like you're my mother or

  something." Torben said.

  "Okay. Honesty. I've hated you for nearly a year," I

  began. "There was a time—no lie, Torben—that if I'd seen

  you on the street, I would've hurt you badly, if not worse."

  "I get it."

  "Thing is, I'm not doing it for you. Not for me,

  either. I suppose I could make you feel pretty shitty if I

  wanted to. I could spit in your milk, and lick your bread,

  and then smile while I watch you eat it," I told him. "But

  here's the deal. That won't happen in this house because of

  that man downstairs; the one who invited you to stay with

  us as for long as you need to."

  "Yeah. I understand," he said.

  "No, you don't," I contradicted him. "And the

  reason for that is because I don't understand it myself. I'm

  not as good as he is. I would have sent you packing. That's

  what I would've done. And that makes me feel horrible.

  Like I'm covered in slime."

  Torben sat back on the sofa and nodded his head in

  agreement. "Did he ever tell you what I did to him? I

  mean, everything?"

  "I think so. Put it this way, I hope he did. Because

  what he did tell me was enough to make me blow chunks

  bigger than you just did." An awkward silence descended.

  Then: "The good thing, Torben, is that I can try to live up

  to what Sander is because you're here. And if I can be half

  that man, I've succeeded. And you have the same chance,

  however many days you've been given," I said. I think it

  did some good. I think he needed to hear something

  concrete, one way or the other, from the man who had

  assumed the role that he had so carelessly tossed away.

  "You're a good guy, Johnnie. Sander did well."

  "I know that I sure did well, anyway. So, bread and

  milk? Maybe some juice?"

  He smiled and thanked me. He was sincere. And

  anyway, I felt that he knew he would soon be leaving the

  world with a knapsack of regret. I promised myself that I

  would do nothing to resurrect the past while Torben was

  in our home. And I also knew that he was more than just a

  lodger. I knew Sander enough to know that Torben would

  always be a part of him, and I was okay with that. So from

  then on, I would do everything in my power to make

  Torben feel welcome and included, even if was just for

  Sander's sake. Because that was the only sake I cared

  about.

  "JANNIK, WILL YOU DO your other brother a very big

  favor?" I asked the boy with the mouthful of pizza.

  "What took you so long up there?" he smiled,

  taking a swig of orange soda to help wash it down. Orange

  soda. "...And sure, what ya need?"

  "Will you take a break and get the milk, put some

  bread in a bowl, and some juice, and take it up to Torben?

  He's resting in the loft."

  "Doesn't he want some pizza, Johnnie Rocket?"

  "I don't think so," I chuckled, "he won't be wanting

  pizza for a while. He was really sick," I told him.

  "What's wrong?" Pokey asked. "Flu or something?"

  "Meds. Total meds reaction I think. But I told him

  we'd drive him into town if he needs the doctor or

  whatever," I said. "Something soft and soothing's what he

  needs right now, I think."

  "Thanks."

  "For?" I replied. Next thing I knew there was this

  handsome Dane with pizza breath kissing me and

  touching my hand. He looked deep inside me with his ice

  blue eyes and just gave me a sweet, loving nod. And

  barely I heard a soft whisper from his beautiful lips.

  "Thanks."

  "You two are worse than the high schoolers,"

  Jannik quipped as he made for the service stairs, arms

  loaded to bursting.

  "There's no law that says you can't make two trips,"

  Sander needled him.

  "There's no law that says guys named Pokey can't

  shut up, either."

  "I'll eat your pizza. I will!"

  "Try it and die!"

  "Why do you guys do that?" I asked Sander.

  "Exercise."

  "SPECIAL DELIVERY FOR THE sick boy," Jannik said,

  carefully entering the room. "This will make you feel

  better, because Johnnie says so."

  "Thanks, Jannik," Torben said.

  "You're welcome. Here, we have a folding table to

  put it on. Should make it easier." Jannik grabbed the table

  and held it against his body. "Watch this!" He pressed a

  lever that caused all four legs to snap open at once. "Pretty

  cool, right?"

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Yeah," Jannik replied, as he set the pitchers,

  glasses, and bread basket on the table.

  "You really like Johnnie, don't you?"

  "Yeah, sure. Very much," Jannik said.

  "Does he treat your brother really well?"

  Jannik nodded, not quite knowing where this was

  leading. Torben held his hand out. "Can I shake your hand,

  Jannik?"

  "Yeah... But why?"

  "Because I want to apologize to you for what I did

  to your brother. And I want to say thanks for saving him.

  I'm really sorry, Jannik. I really am."

  Jannik took his hand and responded with a firm,

  grown-up handshake. "Okay, Torben Petersen, I'll shake

  your hand. But you better never do anything to make my

  brother sad ever again, cuz I won't be nice about it."

  "I believe you. And I promise I'll be good to him,"

  Torben said.

  "...And to Johnnie."

  "And to Johnnie."

  "Okay, then. We're good." And Jannik re-turned to

  the kitchen to down some more pizza.

  Chapter 19

  ext morning brought a soft tap on our back door. A

  glance outside the window revealed Ingrid and

  N another guy standing behind her that I didn't

  recognize.

  "Hey, sexy thang, what brings you out to the

  sticks?" I teased. "And who's this tall drink of Nordic water

  you have here?" I asked, giving the handsome Viking the

  once-over.

  "Bjorn, this is my brother's boyfriend, Johnnie. He's

  American," she laughed, "so you can blame him for

  everything

  if

  you

  want.

  Including

  my

  eternal

  unhappiness."

  "Hey, Bjorn," I said, shaking his hand. "What'd I

  ever do to you, brat?" I smiled at Ingrid, inviting them into

  the kitchen.

  "It's what you didn't do," she said, giving me a

  disgusted push on my shoulder. "We should be married

  and on our second kid by now.

  "You have Bjorn, here. How about it, Bjorn?" I

  joked.

  "Well... we... uh..."

  "He's fucking gay, just like the rest of you!" Ingrid

  playfully fumed. "I've tried to tell him I'm gay

  too, but he doesn't buy it."

  "I prefer my guys to have flatter chests, and, well...

  You understand, Johnnie," Bjorn explained.

  "So we're here on business," Ingrid said.

  "Apparently you have one of my clients stashed away

  here, and I'm supposed to check on him t
hree times a

  week. Since when are you guys running a hospice?"

  "Uhmm..."

  "Where's Sander?"

  "He's out with Jannik. The bakery, I think," I said.

  "Hello, Ingrid," Torben said. "It's me that you're

  here to see, I guess." Ingrid was shocked, and appeared

  very confused. She absent mindedly placed her bag and

  clipboard on the counter and stared at him blankly.

  "So you are the T.J. Petersen?"

  "That's me. I guess you weren't expecting to see me

  here. Or ever. Sorry for that, I didn't know..."

  "Johnnie, what the fuck is going on?" Ingrid asked

  plaintively. She was upset, but her logical side soon

  grabbed hold enough for me to coax everyone into the den,

  where hopefully I could offer up a little reason. I hadn't

  even had my breakfast yet, and I was worried that the

  boys would get home before I'd had the chance to diffuse

  whatever might be fusing up!

  "Last week Torben came to the house and asked

  your brother to forgive him for... Well, anyway, he was

  sincere, and he wanted to apologize, and, well, we all

  know Sander."

  "I didn't have anywhere else to go, Ingrid, and I

  knew your brother would--"

  "Okay, yeah, I don't need to hear any more. I can't

  fucking believe this!" Ingrid hissed. Then turning to me she

  added, "And when were you two gonna tell the rest of us?

  I assume Jannik knows already?"

  "Yeah, he knows. He's who answered the door

  when Torben came," I told her.

  "So you've got my kid brother keeping secrets

  now? Am I not supposed to say anything either?"

  Torben interjected: "Look here, Ingrid, It's not their

  fault. I know Sander enough to—"

  Ingrid was having none of it. She cut him off and

  announced she was leaving. Bjorn must have felt like he

  was watching a bad, hysterical reality show on television.

  He took the cue and stood up, going to the kitchen to fetch

  the nursing bag. Anything to leave this confrontational

  scene.

  "Tell Sander to call me when he gets back,"

  Ingrid demanded.

  "I'll let him know," I promised. "But please don't

  shit down his throat about this, okay? He doesn't need to

  worry about how you guys will take the news, and

  anyway, we were gonna tell you at the weekend."

  She expelled an angry, guttural sound—couldn't

  describe it here if I tried—but she'd made her point crystal