Free Brutal by Michael Harmon Page A

my own image to maintain.”
    I laughed. “Chicken.”
    “Cluck cluck. See ya later.”

Chapter Nine
    After Theo left, I told my dad I forgot something at school and double-timed it back, hoping I wasn't too late. Mrs. Baird sat at her desk flipping through papers, and a girl, one I hadn't seen around campus, filed more papers into a cabinet near the stage. I knocked on the doorjamb, and Mrs. Baird looked up. “Oh, hello, Poe.”
    I stepped in, swallowing a big hunk of pride. “Hi. Do you have a minute?”
    She stood, coming around her desk. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
    I glanced at the girl filing papers, then walked further in. “Well, I've been thinking about what you said the other day. About singing.”
    She nodded. “Yes?”
    Anna Conrad flashed through my mind, and I smiled. “I'll take the soloist position.”

Chapter Ten
    Chapter six of David's new self-help book, untitled as of yet, was about following through with ongoing issues. It basically means it's unhealthy to let something slide, because it will just fester and get worse. The road to recovery and understanding is communication, my father wrote. I sat on the front porch thinking about it. Pretty good, actually.
    I heard the front screen open and looked to the side. He walked out with two cups of coffee in his hands. Still as the painting I'd imagined when I first arrived, the neighborhood was dark and silent. Not even a wisp of breeze. He held a cup out to me. “I put creamer in it.”
    I took it, tucking my feet under me and inhaling the scent of the hot liquid. “Thanks.”
    “Mind if I sit with you?”
    I sipped. “Go ahead.”
    He did, and, as usual, was silent. You'd think that as a counselor, he would yap his head off all the time, but he never did. We talked, sure, but it wasn't the constant jabbering like with my mom. He crossed his leg over his knee. “Nice night. Sometimes you can almost smell the grapes.”
    I wondered how many nights he'd spent here in silence. Did he have a girlfriend? Friends? Was he truly a hermit? I breathed. “I thought you were gay when I first got here.”
    He cleared his throat. “Hmm. Why?”
    “The house, and the other pair of sandals by the door.”
    He nodded. “Ah. I can see how you would wonder.”
    “Are you?”
    He took a moment. “No.”
    A cricket sounded in the distance, followed by another. We watched a neighbor's car slide by slowly, the headlights piercing the darkness. “Why don't you ever answer anything?”
    “I did answer, Poe.”
    “Not really. Not like real.”
    “I'm not a homosexual.”
    My voice came soft, silken with the night. “What are you, though? Before I got here, I mean? What did you do?”
    “You mean my schedule? I would mostly come home and write.”
    “Do you have friends?”
    He nodded. “I do. And I occasionally have them over.”
    “Women?”
    “Occasionally.”
    “Girlfriend?”
    “Not at the moment. I dated a nice woman from Northburg recently, though. You remember Northburg? We purchased your iPod there.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Clara.”
    “How'd you meet?”
    “She's an elementary school teacher. We met at a seminar.”
    “Was she nice?”
    “Yes, she was.” He looked at me. “Poe, is everything all right?”
    I looked out into the darkness, hearing the crickets, feeling the coolness of the night. “Why did you leave?”
    Moments passed. He didn't move, just sat staring out at the same thing I stared at. “Your mother and I found our selves following different paths, and…”
    “Please don't say that,” I said into the stillness.
    “What would you like to know, Poe?”
    “Why you left
me.
“
    “I didn't leave you…. I left….” He stopped then, and the most uncomfortable silence I've ever felt followed.
    “Did you just not love me?”
    “No. Yes. I loved you. I've always loved you.”
    “Then why?”
    He cleared his throat. Another car passed. “Poe, sometimes in this world, things just happen. Two people think