The Good Life

Thank you to everyone who left comments on The Good Life Ch. 01, your encouragement really made all the difference. I hope you enjoy the finale.

Days turned to weeks, and I didn't hear from Evan. After I found out what Jason had done to him I realized just how bad I had hurt him, how I had ignored the walls he put up and just pushed right along like an animal in rut. The situation was so fucked up I couldn't see any possible way to fix it. From my end it was almost poetic. My own cruel and thoughtless behavior had come full circle to bite me in the ass, denying me the love of my life. For Evan it was downright tragic. I hurt him no matter whether I loved him or hated him. There was no way around it.

No matter how bad I wanted to reach out to him I knew it was best to wait for Evan to make the first move. I didn't see any way a romantic relationship could ever work between us now. That selfish delusion had been shattered the night he left. But I missed his friendship, and still held out hope it could be salvaged. But time turned to months, and still nothing.

I thought I was doing a good job hiding my suffering. My grades never fell and I still spent time with my friends. I even joined some intramural sports to replace the activities I used to do with Evan. It was all a show of course.

Then one night when I was visiting home my parents sat me down after my sisters had gone to bed and asked me if I was sick.

"What are your talking about? I feel fine."

"Don't lie to your mother. Sweetie, you look awful. You're dull, there are bags under your eyes, you're skinny as a rail. You're so sad all the time."

"Mom..."

"We want you to see a doctor, please son," said my dad, as usual making it sound more like an order than a suggestion.

"It's just a big course load this semester, that's all."

"Don't you think we can tell when something's seriously wrong?" My mother reached across the table and grasped my hand. "You know baby, whatever it is, anything at all, you can tell us."

Her eyes were so tender, so concerned, that for about ten seconds I very seriously considered having out with the whole thing. Then I remembered growing up learning the words "fag" and "fairy" from my dad, listening to his derisive comments on gay marriage, on the lesbian couple on the next block, how "those people" shouldn't be allowed to have children. I pulled my hand away.

"If you want me to see a doctor I'll see a doctor, but I'm telling you there's nothing wrong."

I went home less often after that.

Gradually I entered a new normal, and friends and family started to accept that I just wasn't the same guy I used to be. The concerned looks became less frequent, and my friends stopped trying quite so hard to drag me away from my studies to go have some fun.

I tried, I really did. I had never been the type to wallow in self pity. But no matter what I did I couldn't make myself snap out of it.

I graduated and got a job at my top-pick firm. I threw myself into the work and slowly the pain started to ease. I was sure that Evan had moved on, probably already found someone who was actually worthy of him. Who didn't come with so much ugly baggage, and could make him feel as good about himself as he deserved. I had such a high opinion of him I couldn't think it would be any different. That thought gave me a lot of comfort.

Five years passed. I was even starting to think that maybe, in another few years, I might be able to resurrect my plans for a normal life. I had realized by then that I would never stop loving Evan, that he would always be under my skin, but I wanted a family and was beginning to think being unhappily married wasn't too high a price to pay to get one. I was kidding myself of course.

Sometimes in moments of weakness I still thought about contacting Evan, seeing if the friendship that had meant so much to both of us could still be saved. But after what had happened I couldn't trust myself to be the friend he deserved. And I would just be torturing myself while I was at it. I was beginning to think it would take a miracle (or a disaster) to ever get Evan back in my life again. I had no idea how right I was.

********

Even after five years I still watched the local news every night, just in case. Every high speed chase and police raid had me on edge. Three years ago they had aired a cell phone video of Evan and another cop tackling a drunk redneck brandishing a giant hunting knife. It had scared the living shit out of me.

One Saturday night I was working on some design details at home, only half listening to the television when I heard, "

Our top story tonight, an officer involved shooting on the 300 block of Hannover.

"

I was instantly in front of the T.V.

"An hour ago two officers responded to a domestic disturbance here at 319 Hannover Street. Details are still forthcoming, but at least one of the officers was shot by a male suspect, who was taken into custody. No news yet on the condition or name of the officer. More on this as it develops."

I tried to calm myself down. The odds it was Evan were twenty to one. I called the station, but the line was busy. I called again three times and finally got through. I recognized the voice of the receptionist. I asked for the name of the officer that was shot.

"Look, sir, I'll tell you what I'm telling everyone else. I can't release that information until next of kin is notified. I'm sorry." She was going to hang up.

Christ, what was her name? "Donna, wait!"

"Do I know you?"

"I'm a friend of Evan Chamberlain."

There was a long pause that made my heart sink. "Look, it's policy, it's really not up to me. I'm sorry." She hung up. I grabbed my car keys. There was only one major hospital in town.

Fifteen minutes later I ran into the emergency waiting room of St. Luke's and right into a mob of cops. Many of them I recognized, but Evan wasn't there. I saw Henry Dyson seated against the wall, white as a sheet with blood covering the front of his uniform. He was bent over with his head in his hands, while the cops seated next to him tried to comfort him. He looked up and saw me, took a moment to remember who I was, and burst into tears. I felt for a second like I was going to throw up. Instead I went to stand in front of him. "Dyson..."

He looked up at me, at first unable to say anything. "I am so sorry," he finally choked out, It's...it's all my fault..." He couldn't say any more.

I looked desperately to one of the cops sitting next to him.

"You're a friend of Officer Chamberlain?" the cop asked. I recognized him as a rookie five years ago who used to refer to Evan as "Officer Faggot" whenever he thought we couldn't hear him. He didn't recognize me, but he looked almost as guilt ridden as Dyson. A lot of the cops did.

I could only nod.

"He's in surgery. Touch and go. We still don't know all the details of what happened," he motioned to Dyson, who was clearly too distraught to make a statement. "Even if he makes it...they're going to take his leg."

"Jesus," I moaned. My mind was reeling. I turned to go sit in the corner away from the crowd, but Dyson caught my arm.

"He saved my life. The guy opened the door and pointed a shotgun right in my face. Evan grabbed it. It should have been me." He deteriorated into sobs again. All the hate I ever felt for the man vanished in an instant.

I sat with Henry Dyson for hours. I couldn't help but notice that I was the only civilian there: no friends, no family. Evan was still alone. Eventually Dyson recovered himself enough to go change his shirt and get us both some coffee. We didn't talk much at first, but from what he did say I gathered that nothing had changed in the last five years for Evan, that everyone still treated him like he was diseased.

Well, not anymore.

In one act of bravery and sacrifice Evan had won the respect and admiration of every cop on the force. It was what he had wanted most in the world, but it would probably be pretty cold comfort when he found out it had cost him his leg.

Eventually Henry was able to recount what had happened. He gave his statement, then looking drained, came back and repeated the whole thing for me.

"About eight o'clock Officer and Chamberlain and I are called in on a domestic disturbance. We were at the door when we heard a gunshot from inside the residence." He closed his eyes painfully, and the cop speak slipped away. "I'm about to kick in the door when it swings open, and some out-of-his-fucking-skull meth head sticks a shotgun right in my face. And I'm just standing there frozen, and the only thing I can do is wonder if I'll hear the shot or not. Then Evan...Evan who I called a fairy at least five times a fucking day...he grabs the gun and tries to wrestle it away. But the meth head won't give it up. The first shot goes into the ground next to my foot. The second one goes into Evan's leg above the knee. The gun's empty now and I grab it and cuff the meth head. Oh God, it was such a mess. I tied a tourniquet and called it in. There was blood all over, he was so torn up. I thought he was going to die right then and there. Thank God the ambulance was already on the way."

He sighed miserably and rubbed his red rimmed eyes. "Evan risked his life for a big intolerant dumb ass who was embarrassed to be his partner. But he's a better cop than I am and I'm not afraid to tell that to anyone in the world now."

I caught myself wondering what Evan would think of the changed Henry Dyson, and prayed I would get to find out.

Near dawn the surgeon finally appeared and announced that Evan was out of danger. Everyone gave a sigh of relief, but none more than me and Henry.

I hadn't lost him.

I didn't technically have him to lose, but the thought stuck in my mind anyway.

"He's out of surgery. He won't come out from under the anesthesia for several hours but it is okay for immediate family to visit now." The doctor's eyes came to rest on me, the only one not in a uniform. "Are you a family member?"

"Brother," said Dyson before I could respond. The other cops, who over the last few hours had all gathered (in a general sort of way) who I was, nodded in agreement.

"Come with me please."

I gave the cops a grateful backward glance then followed her to the recovery ward.

I was by Evan's bed when he woke up six hours later. He smiled at me sleepily. It was almost more than I could take. He came to so slowly that it took him twenty minutes to realize that I shouldn't be there.

"Charlie?" he looked at me frowning, as though seeing me for the first time. "What happened? What's going on?"

"You were shot. You're in the hospital."

He squeezed his eyes closed groggily, trying to remember.

Suddenly they shot open. "Dyson."

"He wasn't hurt."

Just like Evan.

His first thoughts were for the guy who had spent the last years tormenting him.

"What?" he said with a small smile. "He may be an ass, but he was still my partner." Even five years later and barely conscious he was able to read me like a book.

For half an hour we talked about nothing in particular while Evan struggled to get his head on straight. He was glad to see me, which made me unreasonably happy. I had been kind of expecting to be kicked out the second he came to.

I could tell the moment I had been dreading was coming when he started looking over his arms and chest, searching for the wound. That's when he noticed there was a screen shielding his view from the waist down.

"Is it my leg?"

"Yeah." Here it comes.

He wiggled the toes on his remaining foot. And turned white.

I told him. "I'm so, so sorry Evan. There was too much damage. The doctors had to remove your leg."

He bit his lip, looking ill. "How much of it?" he managed to ask.

"Six inches above the knee. I'm sorry." He swallowed hard. I saw his mind racing with the news. For a moment I thought I saw panic rising up, but he forced it down. He was doing what he always did, what he had always had to do. Be brave. I guess I was expecting a dramatic reaction. Tears, rage, physical illness, anything. Instead he went silent, his expression unreadable. I wanted to say something, to let him know that I would be here for him every moment. Instead I stayed quiet, afraid he would make me leave if I reminded him I was there.

********

"Charlie, why did you come back?" The sound of his voice breaking the dead silence made me jump. I looked at the clock. It had been nearly two hours since he found out his leg was gone.

"You're my friend, Evan. I still care about you. No amount of time will change that."

"Yeah? You say that you love me, I have sex with you, then don't so much as call for five years. What kind of friend does that make me?"

"What? You can't really think that was your fault. It was selfish of me to think you would just get over what happened. I knew it was all wrong but went ahead anyway. After I read your note...I don't know how you could even stand to look at me."

"Oh, please, don't give me that shit. You're not Jason.

You

saved my life five years ago. You were the best friend I ever had. I was going through a rough time trying to deal with what Jason did to me, and you and me, it was just...really,

really

bad timing. It was way too soon and I should have known better. Then after all that time, after I walked out on you, I find you waiting by my bedside like nothing's changed. And anyway, as I remember, I pretty much jumped you. You don't owe me anything."

But this was long past who owed who. I still loved him. I would always love him. I wished I could tell him that, but I remembered what had happened the last time I had done it and kept my mouth shut. What he needed was a friend, not some poor fool hopelessly mooning after him. And

this time

I was damned sure going to remember it.

********

Time passed, and I kept waiting for an explosion that never came. Day after day, then week after week, Evan did his best to act normally. He never cried, never cursed, never got angry. When he was supposed to talk, he talked. When he was supposed to eat, he ate. He did his physical therapy. He even smiled and talked about how it wouldn't be that bad living with a prosthetic leg, that he would still be able to do most of the things he used to. He was friendly with the endless stream of cops that came by during visiting hours. Henry Dyson was there for at least an hour every day, smuggling Evan milkshakes and beer. Evan acted grateful.

In short, Evan did what he did best – put on a brave face and act like every blow that life threw at him was just water off a duck's back. I knew that old act well and wasn't falling for it. But try as I might I couldn't get him to open up to me. I knew he was suffering, but I still got the same fake smile and small talk as everyone else.

I spent every moment I wasn't sleeping or working with him, but we hadn't had a meaningful conversation since just after he woke up. Crushed by pain and grief and still swimming from the anesthesia he had talked to me like the old Evan, without reservation. But then he had closed up. I was beginning to think that those days were gone forever, that the close friendship we once had was irretrievably broken.

But still I kept at it. If he ever needed a friend to open up to, I would always be there. If he wanted someone to play cards or talk baseball, well, I would still be there.

Tentatively, Evan formed a plan. He would take his disability and go to school to study social work. It would be a distant second to being a police officer, but he would still be able to help people. He said it would be okay so many times that he was really starting to force himself to believe it. He had been teetering on the edge for a while, even though nobody knew it but me and him, but slowly, painfully, he was starting to inch his way back. Then something happened that threw him right over.

********

The day before he was going to be discharged, the two of us and a couple cops were playing penny ante poker while a local news program droned on the radio. It was an interview with the town council's chairwoman, boring political stuff that was the only alternative to country music until the baseball game came on. The only thing I knew about the woman was that she was "the kind of good old fashioned social conservative this country desperately needs", whatever that means. None of us were paying any attention until a familiar name made us all snap up.

...

Evan Chamberlain, is that the name? Anyway, this whole shooting incident really illustrates what I'm saying about the moral decay of America. Everyone is going around acting like this guy's a hero for getting shot. What they should be asking, what I certainly asked myself when I heard that there was an openly homosexual police officer in our town was, where is the concern for our security? Where is the God blessed outrage? Now, I don't have anything against homosexuals, I have friends who are homosexuals, but is that really the type of person we want to trust to protect us? Our children? Someone who has spit in the face of God's law, if you ask me, wouldn't have a lick of respect for man's law. Studies have shown that homosexuals are far more likely to take drugs, to commit violent sex, to have sex with minors

...

Which is when I finally unfroze myself and switched off the radio.

The two cops made almost identical cries of outrage, then got out the cell phones and dialed what I assumed was city hall by the red faced ranting that ensued. My only thought was for Evan.

Evan had been called worse things before (I should know, I had historically been one of the people shouting them at him), but never like this. An authority figure the whole town knew and trusted had just essentially called him a criminal and child molester on the public airways.

He hadn't moved a muscle, but I could see in his eyes that he was losing it. It wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him by a long shot. It was simply one too many, and in the precarious state he was in it had shoved him right over the edge. Well, I had wanted the walls down, and now they were. Now I was seeing the monster face to face.

His first reaction was bewilderment. "

Why

? Why would she say those things? She doesn't even know me." He was barely whispering, but I could sense it building. "Why the fuck would she say that?" He ran his hands through his hair in anguished confusion. "Like this wasn't fucking enough? Huh? Like it wasn't all fucking enough?"

He suddenly wanted to hit something, and the only thing in reach was the bedside table, which he threw clattering to the floor. Cards and eating utensils scattered. The two cops stopped yelling at their cell phones and watched, wide eyed. Evan had spent his whole life holding everything in, but this was the last straw and he was now exploding spectacularly.

His vengeful eyes fell on the two cops. "You. Why the hell are you even here? I'll tell you. You feel guilty about being so shitty to me, and now you're making friends to make yourselves feel better." They tried to object, but Evan cut them off. "Urich, you didn't even bother to lower your voice when you called me a faggot all those times. Yeah, I heard! You stupid bastard, you think I can't hear you from your desk fifteen feet away? I'm gay, not deaf. And Cooper, you think I didn't notice how you never brought your kids to the station during my shift? Afraid I can't keep my pervert hands to myself? You and the chairwoman would have a lot to talk about, wouldn't you?"

They didn't know whether to be ashamed or scared and ended up expressing an odd combination of both. They made a break for the door just as Henry Dyson had the misfortune to enter.

He took a quick look around. "I guess you've heard."