guy. Handsome, funny, sweet. He used to bring me flowers sometimes—how corny is that? And he’s smart and nice and honest and… all the Boy Scout virtues. He’s practically a saint. I even used to call him that sometimes—Saint Jason.”
He gave up on the closet and instead crossed the room and started shoving underwear and socks into a warped dresser drawer that wouldn’t close all the way. When he turned around, Jack was right behind him.
“What happened to Saint Jason?” Jack asked.
“Nothing. He has a new boyfriend and they’re happy as clams, far as I know.”
“What’s the punch line, Tag?”
Nobody had ever before been this persistent at dragging information out of Tag. When Tag didn’t want to talk about something, Jason used to shrug good-naturedly and change the subject. Jack’s approach was annoying… but also kind of nice, as if someone cared enough about his answers to badger them out of him.
“Jason and I went out to dinner at this nice restaurant. It was Valentine’s Day, although honestly that didn’t register with me until later. And in between the salad and the main course, he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring. Everyone in the place oohed and aahed and clapped.”
“He proposed to you?”
“Yep. He had this whole little speech and everything. God, he’d probably been practicing it for weeks.” The words hadn’t registered much at the time; Tag had been too shocked. But he could easily recall the expression on Jason’s handsome, open face: hope and love and adoration. That expression had changed very quickly when Tag muttered something incoherent and bolted from the table.
“What happened?” Jack asked quietly.
“That night I moved all my stuff out of the apartment we shared and into a motel. I found a new place of my own a few days later. He tried to talk me into getting back together, told me we didn’t have to hurry things, but I said no.”
“Why? Didn’t you love him?”
“I… I don’t know.” Tag dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure I’m capable of it. And I knew for certain I’d never be good enough for him. He has this great life, and I just fuck things up.” He grabbed a handful of T-shirts and stuck them in the lower drawer, then buckled the suitcase closed and looked around for a space to store it. There was a platform under the bed, so no luck there, and it was too big for the closet. He ended up wedging it between the love seat and one of the chairs.
Jack sat on the love seat and traced a finger over the suitcase handle. “How long ago was this?”
“Six months, more or less.” Actually, five months and seventeen days, but who was counting?
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing. We went our separate ways. But a couple weeks ago, I ran into him and his new boyfriend at the grocery store—it’s not that big a town—and everyone was polite and everything. But then I went home and had a meltdown. I realized… I don’t know. That I am always going to be too big of a screwup to be happy. No matter how many chances I get, I’ll ruin them with bad decisions. Next day I quit my job, packed up my stuff, and hit the road. Didn’t even give two weeks’ notice.” It had been a decent job too, by far the best he’d ever had. He’d helped run the tech end of the classrooms at the university. The pay was good, the hours decent, and he got great benefits.
“What are you doing on the road, Tag?”
“Finding myself.” Losing himself. Hard to tell the difference.
Jack didn’t look convinced, but he stopped the interrogation. Tag slowly put away the rest of his things, wondering if Jack missed his time-lost belongings. Maybe ghosts weren’t very tied to material goods. Strangely, Tag felt slightly buoyed by his conversation with Jack, as if sharing the tale of his failures relieved a little of the pressure in his soul.
To the extent that a plan existed in Tag’s brain, the
He gave up on the closet and instead crossed the room and started shoving underwear and socks into a warped dresser drawer that wouldn’t close all the way. When he turned around, Jack was right behind him.
“What happened to Saint Jason?” Jack asked.
“Nothing. He has a new boyfriend and they’re happy as clams, far as I know.”
“What’s the punch line, Tag?”
Nobody had ever before been this persistent at dragging information out of Tag. When Tag didn’t want to talk about something, Jason used to shrug good-naturedly and change the subject. Jack’s approach was annoying… but also kind of nice, as if someone cared enough about his answers to badger them out of him.
“Jason and I went out to dinner at this nice restaurant. It was Valentine’s Day, although honestly that didn’t register with me until later. And in between the salad and the main course, he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring. Everyone in the place oohed and aahed and clapped.”
“He proposed to you?”
“Yep. He had this whole little speech and everything. God, he’d probably been practicing it for weeks.” The words hadn’t registered much at the time; Tag had been too shocked. But he could easily recall the expression on Jason’s handsome, open face: hope and love and adoration. That expression had changed very quickly when Tag muttered something incoherent and bolted from the table.
“What happened?” Jack asked quietly.
“That night I moved all my stuff out of the apartment we shared and into a motel. I found a new place of my own a few days later. He tried to talk me into getting back together, told me we didn’t have to hurry things, but I said no.”
“Why? Didn’t you love him?”
“I… I don’t know.” Tag dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure I’m capable of it. And I knew for certain I’d never be good enough for him. He has this great life, and I just fuck things up.” He grabbed a handful of T-shirts and stuck them in the lower drawer, then buckled the suitcase closed and looked around for a space to store it. There was a platform under the bed, so no luck there, and it was too big for the closet. He ended up wedging it between the love seat and one of the chairs.
Jack sat on the love seat and traced a finger over the suitcase handle. “How long ago was this?”
“Six months, more or less.” Actually, five months and seventeen days, but who was counting?
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing. We went our separate ways. But a couple weeks ago, I ran into him and his new boyfriend at the grocery store—it’s not that big a town—and everyone was polite and everything. But then I went home and had a meltdown. I realized… I don’t know. That I am always going to be too big of a screwup to be happy. No matter how many chances I get, I’ll ruin them with bad decisions. Next day I quit my job, packed up my stuff, and hit the road. Didn’t even give two weeks’ notice.” It had been a decent job too, by far the best he’d ever had. He’d helped run the tech end of the classrooms at the university. The pay was good, the hours decent, and he got great benefits.
“What are you doing on the road, Tag?”
“Finding myself.” Losing himself. Hard to tell the difference.
Jack didn’t look convinced, but he stopped the interrogation. Tag slowly put away the rest of his things, wondering if Jack missed his time-lost belongings. Maybe ghosts weren’t very tied to material goods. Strangely, Tag felt slightly buoyed by his conversation with Jack, as if sharing the tale of his failures relieved a little of the pressure in his soul.
To the extent that a plan existed in Tag’s brain, the
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