Page 9 of The Art of Dying

At the bottom of our bottles, I was surprised Alecia didn’t insist we have another. We gathered our things and waved goodbye to Dani and a few of the regulars—purposefully ignoring Melissa. I almost expected Kitsch to be standing at my car, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t waiting in my driveway, either, and I realized that Mason had programmed me to expect people to demand my time and attention, and I was still feeling the residual effects. Kitsch’s absence made me wonder if he wasn’t what I’d thought at all.

I sat in my car for a bit, the cold seeping inside while I stared ahead. My curiosity got the best of me, so I stepped out and slammed the door behind me, walking behind the house, across the back neighbor’s yard and the street to Kitsch’s house. Only one dim light was on, the shutter and window already repaired.

The wooden porch creaked beneath my tennis shoes, and as I lifted my fist to knock, the door swung open, startling me.

“Jesus!” I yelped, bending at the waist.

“Fuck me, I’m so sorry!” he said, reaching out. “You okay?” he asked, leaning over. The light touch of his hand on the middle of my back surely more obvious to me than it was to him.

I stood, covering my mouth as he stared at me, wide-eyed, and I stared back. A second later, we both burst into laughter. My entire body shook, a feeling I hadn’t had in so long I could only submit. Tears began to stream down my eyes, and Kitsch was wiping away his own.

As we grew silent, awkwardness set in.

“Wanna… wanna come in for a drink?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said before I could change my mind.

The screen door whined as he opened it and gestured for me to come inside.

“Have a seat anywhere,” he said as he walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

I chose the far-right side of his parents’ worn, taupe sofa, and he sat on the other, leaning in to hand me an opened bottle of Coors Light. I giggled once before shaking my head and taking a sip.

“Thanks for the beer,” I said, taking another. “And the one earlier.”

“Huh?” he said, playing dumb.

“I know it was you.”

He looked down with a grin. “Yeah… yeah, it was. I was shooting for an anonymous good deed… to thank you for last night. But then I didn’t want to freak you out, so decided to leave the note.”

“You’re welcome. Now we’re even,” I said, lifting my beer. Our bottles clinked and we took another drink. “You’ve been busy today.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, the house. It was time.”

“I’m sorry about your parents. I should’ve said that before. All the neighbors say they were good people.”

“Yeah, wish you could’ve known them,” he said, residual pain in his eyes.

“The neighbors also say they were always very proud of you, and you were a good son.”

Kitsch nodded. “Thanks for telling me that.”

It was quiet for a while, but comfortable. We drank our beers in silence, staring at the dark television, and it was the first time in a long time I’d just enjoyed a man’s company without wondering why he wasn’t talking or what he was thinking.

“When they found them, they were still holding hands,” Kitsch said finally.

I smiled. “What a great love story.”

He returned my expression. “It was. Everything they had together… I want that. They were great role models, great parents, and so good to each other. Even when they’d argue, it’d end up in a kiss and a pat on the backside. Man, he loved her.”

“Who wouldn’t want that?”

He sighed. “I’m, uh… I hate that you got mixed up with Mason. I won’t mention it again, but I heard some of what he did to you.”

I touched the glass rim against my lips, thinking of something to say. When nothing came, I just took a drink.

“If he ever bothers you again—if anyone bothers you, you tell me. I keep my circle small, but once someone has my back, I have theirs. For life. No strings. No matter where you go from here… you’ve always got me in your corner.”

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