Soul Stares

Jake stared at the wall. There were no pictures on it, no television in front of it. Just a wall. It didn't really matter. He didn't even see the wall. He didn't see anything in the room. He was lost in his thoughts, lost in his memories.

It was a common occurrence for Jake these days, to stare at walls. If he wasn't staring at the wall, he was staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he would find himself staring at the floor, but that wasn't very often. One time he had done that, and ended up with a terrible cramp in his neck that had stayed for days.

Jake would be in the grocery store, and he'd find himself staring at the meat. People would walk by and look at him strangely, sometimes even whisper to their companions. Jake never noticed. He didn't notice much of anything anymore.

Even when he drove, he'd just stare at the cars in front of him. It was amazing he hadn't slammed into the back of someone, but his body seemed to realize his mind wasn't completely working, and it always took over for him. He would find himself back at his house, and not even remember driving there.

Sometimes, while Jake was staring at the wall, the phone would ring. He never answered it. There wasn't really a point. He didn't want to talk to anybody. He didn't have the energy to make excuses, or to even be polite. So he just let it ring. Once people realized he wasn't going to answer, and he wasn't going to call them back, most of them stopped calling. That made it easier for Jake. He was tired of hearing the phone ring.

Jake didn't go to work anymore. He had enough money, and he just didn't want to bother. They had called him from work a few times, but finally gave up. Jake knew he was easy to replace, so they didn't really need him. Nobody really needed him.

Jake was alone, and he didn't mind. He didn't want anybody around. He had tried to be around people. He had given all of himself, and it had been thrown back into his face. Jake knew he couldn't do that again. He would never open himself up like that twice.

Jake hadn't always been alone. He didn't used to stare at walls. There was a time when he came home to laughter and love. Music had played in these rooms. Jake had danced with Max here. This had been a home, not just a house. Now, it was just a place to keep the rain off of Jake.

When Jake slept, he dreamed. Those were the worst times. Sometimes he would dream of Max, and Max would be in his arms, and they were happy. But Jake always woke up from those dreams, and he was always alone. Max was never there. It was just Jake.

Other times, he would dream awful, terrible nightmares. Those were the times when he would try to force himself awake, and he couldn't. He would finally wake up, screaming. He hated those dreams. He wished there was a way to just stay awake and stare at the wall all the time. Sometimes he would fall asleep in his chair, exhausted, not wanting to go to bed and risk the dreams.

Jake knew he wasn't living anymore. He was barely existing. He didn't know what else to do. His heart was broken, his spirit was gone. If he had the courage, he would have killed himself long ago. For some reason, he couldn't do that. That just didn't seem right.

Jake still cooked his food, mainly because he didn't have the energy to sit in a restaurant and be polite. He could get all his groceries for a month in one trip, and only have to grunt at the cashier as he stared behind her head. Jake would eat his meals silently, staring down at his plate as he ate.

Jake never watched TV, and he didn't read. He just sat. All day long, every day, he thought. Jake thought about his choices, thought about his mistakes. He knew he had made the wrong choices, made plenty of mistakes. It didn't matter how much he thought about them though, he couldn't change them. He couldn't go back.

Jake took care of his yard, because it was something to do. He cut his grass, and he raked his leaves. He would rake the leaves, then look at the pile. Max used to pull him down into the piles of leaves, and make love to him. Now the leaves just sat there, cold and dry. It was hard for Jake to remember what it felt like to make love in those leaves.

Jake checked his mail, mainly because it was right outside his door. If his box had been across the street, he wasn't sure he would have made the effort. He always flipped through the magazines, then threw them away without reading them. He should cancel the subscriptions, but he never bothered. When the bills came, he would glance at them, then throw them away. Max had set everything up on automatic withdrawal before...well, before he had left Jake.

One day, Jakechecked the mail, and there was an envelope with the address handwritten on it. Jake looked closer, and saw it was addressed to Max. There was no return address, and Jake didn't recognize the handwriting. The postmark was smudged, so Jake couldn't tell where it had come from.

Jake stared at the letter, trying to decide what he should do. It wasn't his, so he probably shouldn't read it. Then again, it wasn't like he could just hand it over to Max. Max was gone. Maybe this letter would explain why Max was gone. Jake had wanted an explanation for so long, and he had never gotten one. Max had just left.

Jake sat the letter down on the coffee table and stared at it. Maybe if he looked at it long enough, he would be able to see right through it. Then again, he had been staring at walls for months, and he still couldn't see through those. He was pretty sure Superman didn't just acquire his x-ray vision. It was something either you could do or you couldn't. Jake couldn't.

Jake picked the letter back up, and looked at the handwriting on the outside. He was trying to decide if he had ever seen the handwriting before. It didn't look familiar. Jake sighed. He would just open the damn thing.

He reached over to the table and picked up his letter opener. Sliding it under the flap, he slowly opened it, and pulled the letter out. It was just one page, and he unfolded it and read it slowly.

Dear Max,

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope you don't mind that I am sending you this, but I had a few things that I wanted to say to you, and this was really the only way I could do it.

I am sure by now you have had yourself tested, and I will assume your test was negative. You have probably thanked God each time you have had the test, and continued to be tested every six months. That is the responsible thing to do when you have been exposed to HIV, and I am sure that has been your course of action.

Max, I never had HIV. There is no easy way to put this, and there is no way I can apologize for everything I have put you through. I was a bitter and angry young man. I wanted to get back at you when you told me you were choosing Jake over me. It hurt me when you said he was the one you loved, and that you had only been using me for sex. I was in love with you, and I wanted to hurt you like you were hurting me. That's why I called you that day and told you I was HIV positive.

I knew you would have to tell Jake about our affair at that point. I knew you wouldn't be able to hide it, that you would tell him out of sheer guilt. I even hoped he would turn you away, and you would come running back to me.

Yes, I realize now how bad all this sounds, but I was younger, and thought I could manipulate the world into doing what I wanted.

Max, when I didn't hear from you, I knew that my plan was futile, and that all I had done was cause you needless worry and pain. At first, I thought that would make me happy, that I would feel satisfaction at my revenge. Instead, I only felt guilt and remorse.

I tried to call and tell you the truth, and apologize, but I never seem to get an answer. I never left messages on the machine, because I didn't know what to say. There is nothing I can say. I apologize for my games and mindplay. I hope you and Jake are very happy together, and still very much in love. I will always regret what I did, and I will always regret the loss of you....

Love always,

Joshua Hyatt

Jake let the letter fall to the floor. He stared straight ahead, as always, but this time it was different. This time he couldn't push the memories out of his head. He couldn't keep out what he had been spending years trying to forget.

Two and a half years ago,Jake had come home from work late. He had been tired, and just wanted to snuggle up beside Max and get some sleep. He had walked into the bedroom, but Max hadn't been in bed, even though it was late. He had looked over to the bathroom, and saw the light on under the door. Max had probably fallen asleep in the tub, he did that sometimes.Jake would have to wake him up and then help him into bed.

Jake walked over to the bathroom door, and pushed it open gently. As he stepped in, the sight that met his eyes horrified him. Since that day, he had tried and tried to forget it. He hadn't and he knew he never would.

Max was in the bathtub, his arm over the edge. Jake could see where his fingers had wrinkled from being in there so long. His head had been leaned up against the wall. Jake cried, for he could no longer see Max's beautiful face. There was only blood. Max had shot himself in the head, through his mouth. All over the bathroom walls, Max's brains were scattered. Blood and brains floated in the water alongside Max's shriveled fingers.

Jake ran to Max, screaming. He wanted to cradle his head, but he was scared to touch it. He was scared the little that was left would fall apart if he touched it. There was nothing left of the Max he had loved. Max was gone.

The police had came, the paramedics had came. Max's mom came, and she held Jake as they both cried. She asked Jake why, why had Max done this? Jake only shook his head. He had no answer. He didn't understand.

Jake started to die inside after that. Max's mom tried to help him, but she was hurting too. Seeing Jake was more of a painful reminder than anything else. Jake wondered sometimes if she blamed him. He didn't have an answer for why her baby boy had shot himself. Maybe he was to blame.

Jake had searched their house for reasons. He had looked through everything he could, trying to find out why Max had done what he did. He realized Max had been planning it for at least a little over a week. He had switched everything to Jake's name without telling him, and he had set all the bills up to automatic withdrawal. He had known that the financial details would be of no interest to Jake after he was gone. Max had made sure to take care of Jake, even in death.

Now, all these years later, Jake understood. Max had killed himself based on a lie. Jake wasn't sure which had scared Max more, telling Jake he had cheated on him, or facing HIV. Jake knew he should be angry at Maxfor cheating on him, but he had been so angry at Max for so long. He had hated Max for leaving him all alone. He had screamed at the walls, cursed Max. Now he was glad to at least know why. It didn't make it any better, but at least he knew.

Jake felt even emptier than he had before. Now there was nothing for him. When he stared at the wall, he always wondered why. Now he knew why. He still didn't want to go out, still didn't want to live. What was he going to do with himself?

Jake knew. Now it was the right time. He walked into the bedroom, and opened the bureau drawer. The police had thought he was morbid for wanting the gun back, but he had insisted on it. When he had been looking for answers, he had found the receipt for when Max had bought the gun. Jake had never wanted a gun in his house, but he felt like he had to have this one. This one was part of Max now. Jake pulled the gun out.

Jake walked into the bathroom, and leaned over and ran water into the bathtub. As he waited for it to fill up, he took off his clothes. As he did, he stared at the wall behind the tub. It had been scrubbed off, but he imagined he could still see the blood. He remembered exactly what Max had looked like when he had walked in. Jake would never forget that. His only regret was that someone would have to see him like that. He had no idea who it would be. The neighbors would probably call the police if he didn't cut his lawn next week.

Once the tub was full, Jake turned off the faucets. He stepped into the water, and felt the warmth creep over him. Sliding down, he imagined it was like this for Max that night. Knowing this would be where he died. Jake took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Leaning his head back, he lifted the gun. I love you Max, he thought. Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling...and pulled the trigger.