Brick inhaled deeply. "I'm afraid," he began as his voice caught, "I'm afraid that if I tell you about me, you won't want to be with me. And I'm afraid if I don't, you won't want to either."
Michael held Brick's hands gently but firmly. He was nervous about what he might hear—but realized that opening up was really hard for Brick and he felt honored and special he got to receive his story.
"Brick, I'm here. I'm going to listen. I'm not going anywhere," Michael responded, gripping Brick's hands tighter.
Brick sighed. Ironic how the younger, smaller man made him feel... safe?
"My mom and dad were high school sweethearts. But when my mom found out she was pregnant their senior year, my dad bolted. He just couldn't handle the idea of being a dad at 17. He joined the Marines and I was told he died in a helicopter crash. I never met him."
Michael kept his eyes locked into Brick's, listening as if his life depended on it.
Brick continued. "My momma was kicked out of her house by her parents—they wanted nothing to do with a bastard grandbaby. I never met them. My momma had me at 17, found work as a housekeeper in a big red brick mansion. It was good work and she could have me with her. They gave her a small servant house to live in behind the mansion. They call it an in-law apartment or something. It was tiny, but we lived there while I was growing up. The story goes that I would count the bricks on the house and the woman who owned the place called me, "Little Brick." It was just me and my momma. She was kind and told me all sorts of stories and would bring me clothes from the kids in the main house when they outgrew them. I got teased at school a bit for wearing hand-me-downs, but given my size, people mostly let me be."
Brick swallowed hard.
"I was a good student. Kept to myself. Didn't really make friends. I was too shy. But I loved to read, got straight As, and never caused any trouble. Never did drugs or got drunk. I drink a little beer and enjoy some scotch and a cigar. But nothing more than that.
"When I was 15, my mom convinced the folks she worked for to let me take care of the lawn. We needed the money. And, she wanted me to go to college.
"I loved doing the yard work. I guess I just like working with my hands. Soon I was fixing stuff and they were paying me decently for being a handyman around the property.
"I went to college and was doing great. I loved being with the professors and reading books. I swear, if I could live on books, I would." Brick smiled. Michael smiled in return.
"I came home for Thanksgiving break my senior year. My momma wasn't home; she was in the big house. I found her on the floor..." Brick's voice caught and he took a measured breath.
"She was bleeding from her mouth and her lip was swollen and her eye was puffy. She was moaning. Just then the family son—an asshole named Robert who was a drunk and a loser—came out of his bedroom, zipping up his pants. 'Lady, get me a beer!' he yelled. Then he saw me. I realized what he'd done and I hit him. Hard. I'm a big guy and he was smaller than me. I just started pounding." Brick's voice was full of emotion but he kept going. Michael listened, his eyes glistening.
"My momma stood up and yelled at me to stop. I did. I'd beaten the bastard unconscious... I didn't kill him, Michael. But I wanted to. With my bare hands. He hurt the only person in my whole life I ever loved." A tear dropped from Brick's eye and rolled onto his beard. Michael tenderly held his hand, holding back his own tears.
"I got my momma to the hospital. The police got involved. They charged me with assault. The charges were dropped after it was proven that Robert had hurt my momma. She was hurt real bad. She was in the hospital for a few weeks and they discovered she had cancer throughout her body. I didn't go back to school. I used all the savings I had and took the next seven months to take care of her. She died on the first day of summer. Part of me died then, too, Michael." Tears flowed from Brick's eyes.
"In the last 15 years, I've slept with a few girls and a few guys. No one more than once. It was just sex. I went through the motions. I realized awhile back that it's really only guys I'm into... but I guess I've been too afraid to do much about it. I'm fucked up when it comes to relationships. And if you want to go now, I get it. I wouldn't want to be with a mess like me."
They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Michael pulled Brick towards him. Brick started to resist, but realized that Michael was guiding his head to his chest; Michael was a smaller guy, but Brick's head nested nicely on Michael's shoulder. Michael stroked Brick's hair tenderly, gently playing with the mop of ringlets atop his head. Brick—starved for affection and human contact—started to weep. As sobs racked his body, Michael held him tightly—gently, but with assurance. And he kissed the top of Brick's head.
As the sobs subsided, Michael took Brick's face into his hands.
"I've never really had a boyfriend, Brick. So I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. But what I see is a man who is brilliant, who is a great cook, who cares deeply about his family and his neighbors, who has a lot of integrity, who wants to do what's right, who defends the people he loves, who had his heart broken, and is as scared shitless as I am to be vulnerable and to trust." Michael was surprisingly confident.
"The truth is, Brick, I'll go as slow as you want. But after what you just shared with me, I have all the information I need," Michael continued, sounding almost as if he were finishing a report for business school. But that's how Michael processed information: He listened carefully, synthesized what he heard and felt, and put it all together.
"What do you mean?" Brick asked before he blew the snot from his nose.
Michael smiled. "Brick, you have this story about yourself that you're not good with words. That's nonsense!" Michael was rather animated. "You just poured out your heart and shared your soul with me. I'm... I don't have a word for it. I guess I feel blessed."
Brick's eyes widened.
"And," Michael continued, "you like to work with your hands, right?"
Brick nodded.
Michael smiled. "You're just like my best friend, Nora. She has to do stuff in order to understand it. It's just how she's wired. It's how the world makes sense to her. I think you're the same way. You've got to do it and then it makes sense to you."
Brick closed his eyes again and smiled brightly. He felt... understood? Whatever it was, it was an amazing feeling. "That makes a lot of sense to me, Michael."
