Getting on
Robert Phelps did not yet consider himself an “old” man. True he was no longer a “young” man either, in fact he was a Vietnam War veteran and typically they were all thought of as old now were they not?
But he kept himself in good shape. He managed quite capably on his own and was still an active member of the Gardening club and the community board and played golf.
He liked things to be done in a certain manner, he liked order, and he liked to know what was going on all the time.
He’d known that the property next door had been put up for sale and as he knew the Turner family quite well he knew that it had been sold when young Barnaby mentioned it in passing the day he came to clear out the last of his mother’s things. He assured him they weren’t rowdy but had mentioned something about them being young.
It hadn’t worried Robert too much in fact he all but forgot about it, until, during his mid-morning coffee one Tuesday, he heard the sounds of activity going on outside his house. Presuming it to be the new neighbours finally moving in, he went to take a peak.
The house was alive with people running in and out carrying boxes and bags and bits of furniture.
Goodness, they couldn’t all be moving in there! It only had three bedrooms! Robert thought to himself.
An African American woman was standing quite near his fence. She was clearly in the midst of a light conversation with a short man with curly hair. They were drinking tea and watching the traffic of people run in and out of the front door. Their voices carried through the open window.
“It really is…” the woman was saying.
“I know, Thanks for giving us a hand today Cedes, you really shouldn’t have come all this way just to help us lug a few chairs around”
The woman snorted derisively.
“Like hell! It’s way more important than that! This is a big deal for you guys! Your first house and all” she beamed at him “Besides, someone has to keep Kurt sane”
They both laughed.
“Talking of which, don't look now, but I think Finn just picked up something breakable.”
The curly haired man span around and ran towards the big van, just as a very high pitched voice screeched-
“Finn, No! Don't take that one! It has the good china in it!”
He heard the black woman laugh again and she too walked out of sight.
Well this was all very intriguing, Cleary she was not to be one of the occupants of the house however it seemed the curly haired man was. That was good, he had had a good posture, Robert thought, you could always tell a good man by his posture.
*
The kafuffle caused by the moving party had died down entirely by the evening, the van had gone leaving nothing but a smart looking, black navigator in the driveway. Robert took that as another good sign. The car was either new or very well maintained and since the modal was at least five years old he suspected the latter. Tidiness was a sign of respect.
At seven fifteen there was a knock on the door. Robert didn’t get many visitors, he had no family to speak of and though on good terms with most of the estate none of them made personal calls. So he concluded it was most probably a nuisance call trying to sell him furniture or gas or some other product for which he had no need.
Still he went to answer it. His leg had been playing up since around noon so it wasn't with the best of moods he opened the door.
He was mildly surprised to find the curly haired boy from earlier standing before hi, he was with another boy, a few inches taller, but that might have been the hair…
“Good evening sir” said curly hair. The other just boy smiled politely and raised a hand in a half wave.
Well that was refreshing, the lad had manners.
“Good evening” Robert replied gruffly.
“I'm Blaine and this is Kurt, we just moved in next door” he continued “we just thought we’d come introduce ourselves and apologise for the madness today, I hope we didn’t disturb you too much”
“I swear we aren’t generally that noisy” The taller boy chipped in, his voice was strangely high, kind of girly Robert thought to himself but they seemed pleasant enough.
“Thank you, I wasn't disturbed though” said Robert “I'm Robert Phelps” He extended a hand which both the boys shook.
“Pleasure to meet you Mr Phelps” said Blaine. He decided he could like them. They were indeed very respectful, as he’d suspected, and that Blaine one especially, had a very calming presence about him.
“Would you boys like to come in for some tea?” he said before really thinking, but then, why not? “I just put the kettle on”
They exchanged a look then smiled and nodded
“That’s very kind of you” said Kurt.
It turned out though he was glad to have invited them they were wonderful company. Far better than Mrs Turner, who was crotchety and took every opportunity to complain.
Boy, they were ambitious though, big dreams, enthusiastic, creative but clever as well.
He wasn't so sure about Kurt at first. Him and his new-fangled, fancy shirt and his high voice and his drama collage degree but it turned out he was much more than he appeared.
He talked openly about the military when Robert mentioned Vietnam. Apparently Kurt had a brother who was working his way up the ranks.
Then it turned out, the car on the drive was his too. His “pride and joy” he called it, spanning from a father who owned a garage and a whole childhood sent under the hood of some vehicle or another. Robert couldn’t imagine him covered in oil They fell into a deep discussion about engines and carburettors and the pros and cons of old verses new in motor technology during which Blaine sat and listened quiet pleasantly, contributing where he could but admitting he had next to no experience save a failed attempt at fixing up an old Chevy 69 with his dad.
It was almost five o’clock left but they did so with a suggestion they visit again.
Robert Phelps was not what he considered old, no. He could take care of himself. He didn’t need pity. He never had. Not when he came home from war. Not when his Isabelle had…
No, he wasn’t that person! He wasn’t the gerriatric that lived down the road.
But that visit had made him realise something.
Old he was not.
Incapable he was not.
Fragile? No.
Weak? Never.
But Lonely…
Yes well… Maybe he knew something about that.
*
On Saturday he found himself chatting amicably to Blaine over the fence that separated their front lawns like they had been neighbours for years, when suddenly the topic of their move to New York came up.
He knew both of them had come from Ohio. But after learning they had both gone to college in the City as well, he’d never really wondered why two young lads had moved to suburbia.
“Yeah well” Blaine was saying “We have our career plans of course, but we have other plans too, plans that require us to maybe be a little more settled and as soon as we saw the house, man, we had to have it!”
Robert nodded. It was a nice area, quiet and all.
He was about to comment something to that effect when an idea flashed across his mind, so quick he almost disregarded it but then instead it caught and began to push its way to the front of his thought process.
When it had sat there a few moments he wondered why he hadn’t realised before.
The fancy shirt should have been a clue.
The high pitched voice – the same one that had squealed over the yard on the first day about china...
The way they talked about each other, the way they smiled at each other…
He was living next to a gay couple.
He was talking to a gay man.
Blaine was Gay.
Kurt was Gay.
They lived together, in that house, next door.
Oh.
He realised the measured look he’d been giving the boy over the fence had turned to outright staring.
“Mr Phelps?” Blaine’s tone, always so polite…
He cleared his throat.
“Yes. Sorry, blanked out for a moment there, old age and all that”
He didn’t think he’d ever said that before. If you’d asked him yesterday, he would have told you he’d never say it. Blaine opened his mouth and closed it several times looking at Robert with quite some concern.
Robert straightened himself up.
“So how long have you and Kurt been together?”
Blaine gaped at him and for one horrible moment Robert thought he’d got it all wrong but then the lad looked down a pink tint rising to his cheek and he grinned sheepishly.
“Nearly ten years. Since high school actually” He looked so anxious, like he was afraid Robert was going to throw the heavy gardening rake on the floor by his feet at him for the confession.
“I met my Isabella in high school” Robert said quietly, then chucked “her daddy hated me”
Robert didn’t know much about homosexuality, he didn’t care much, like he hadn’t cared much for politics or history at school and like he didn’t care much for classical music or tennis, it had never really come into his life so he’d never really thought about it.
But he knew what someone’s face looked like when they couldn’t believe they had been accepted, it was the look he’d had on his face when he got married, it was the look on Blaine Anderson’s face right then.
“Oh yeah, I was a good for nothing lay about back then, no sense of direction in my life. Army changed that of course. It changed my mind about a lot of things actually... But not about her.” He smiled dreamily, lost for a moment in memory, the way she smiled, the way she tossed her hair, the way she always huffed a little before shouting at him, the way she cocked her head when she cried… the way she cried about him when her dad told her she should never see him again…
“And he never changed his mind about me. But in time, I guess that didn’t matter so much.”
“How did she die?” Blaine asked. His expression was soft, neither pitying nor uncomfortable, just that strange calmness.
“We were going to have a baby” he said kind of stiffly “but there were… complications and she didn’t make it, neither did the child”
Oh, it had been an awful night thirty-five years ago when excitement and joy had turned to despair and fury in a heartbeat.
“I'm sorry”
“I'm not” he said, his own response taking him by surprise, Blaine looked at him quizzically, “I mean, I'm sad that she died of course, after all these years some part of me still thinks she’s going to walk in the door any minute and tell me off for not ironing my shirts.” He laughed, even Blaine chuckled a little “But I'm not sorry, because I'm glad we had the time we did. I'm glad I met her, I'm glad I loved her.”
Blaine seemed to think about that for a moment then he made a small noise of agreement.
“I think I get that”
They made a little more small talk after that and somehow it felt like Robert had let go of some big breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding in.
*
That night in bed Robert turned to look at the little photograph on his night stand, a pretty girl and a soldier in uniform smiled back at him.
Their grins had faded with time, kind of like him, he supposed, as much as he liked to deny it. But not so far away there was another couple just like them and they were in full colour.
Young, foolish, high school sweethearts who didn’t expect anyone to accept their love was real but loved anyway because it was.
They didn’t fear growing old, just like he hadn’t once upon a time, because right then in that moment they were doing it together. And that is never something to fear.
“I'm getting old Bella” he whispered. The pretty girl just looked at him.
She didn't care a bit.