The Ends of Rossford

“So you’re an artist?”

“I paint,” Kenny said. “I don’t think I’m an artist. Well, I mean, I guess I am. I can’t do much else. But, I do paintings and I teach over at the college. It’s enough to keep me going, you know?”

“Can I see your stuff?” Jonathan asked him.

“I guess. It’s really nothing special.”

“Sure it is,” Ruthven bounced onto the couch. Ruthven was tall and virile. Jonathan watched the way his jeans fit his thighs, even how he unselfconsciously crunched on the Doritos he was eating. There was a masculine confidence in him that, like the sun, shone on them all but at the same time made something in Jonathan shrink in on itself.

“I’ve been hanging with this boy for three years now, and the stuff he’s put out… Man!”

“So are the two of you… together?”

Ruthven and Kenny looked at each other. Ruthven grinned.

“We’re not apart,” he said. “We hang.”

“He wants to know if you’re fucking each other,” Jonah said, turning away from his conversation with Layla.

“I don’t,” Jonathan protested, but Jonah murmured, “He does.”

Kenny cleared his throat and said, “I thought we were talking about art.”

“We were,” Jonathan declared, happy to switch the subject. “I’m a very failed artists and a moderately failed painter. It comes from having money, I think. So now I just try to promote people.”

“Once you see what Kenny’s done, you’ll want to promote him,” Ruthven shook Kenny’s shoulder.

“You could show him now,” Jonah said from over his shoulder.

“Or whenever—” Jonathan said.

“No,” Jonah differed, firmly. “Now is a good time, I think.”

“Cool,” Ruthven hopped off the couch. “I’ll go with you.”

“Actually,” Jonah said, “Logan told me he needed your help upstairs.”

Layla looked at Jonah. Jonah’s face was expressionless.

“Alright, I guess,” Ruthven sat up and put a hand to his sandy hair. “I can go up and do that. You kids have a nice time back at the house,” he told Kenny and Jonathan.

“What are you doing?” Layla whispered to Jonah.

Jonah confessed, “I’m not entirely sure.”

---

 “Kenny! What are you up to?”

“I’m on Facebook,” Kenny told him. He swung around in his chair and said, “I like to go on there and track people from high school and college that I’m not really close to. Especially the ones who moved to the big city wherever the big city is. They’ve always got bright smiles and maybe a baby or two. The best thing is if you track them long enough and pay attention you can figure out just where the shit parts of their lives are.”

“Really?” Jonathan said.

Kenny nodded.

“There was this one guy I was seeing for a bit while me and my ex were split up. He disappeared before anything could happen. And then I got a wedding invitation from this chick who turned out to be the good Baptist girl he was getting married to. This was all very cute, and then they had a webpage on Facebook with their wedding preparations. After that there were some pictures of them together, and then there were pictures of him apart. She wasn’t friended to him anymore. They weren’t linked. It took a while to realize he’d been divorced. Then there was a picture of him with a guy for a while and now, look—” Kenny clicked a few keys. “Look, here he is again with a girl. He’s all smiley and shit.”

“Kind of cute in a serious way,” Jonathan said. “And that look on his face! He’s like, hey, I’m straight again!”

Kenny burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what it’s like.

“And I like to look between the lines.”

“Is that what you do when you paint?”

Kenny shrugged.

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because your stuff is beautiful. I mean, I’ve seen some stuff and I’m like… that’s the real deal. I was prepared to be nice and say it was good no matter what. But…”

“I just paint what I’m seeing,” Kenny said.

“Yeah, but the things you see!”

 “I think I’m just seeing things other people can’t. For a long time I didn’t trust myself.”

“You are the second really good artist I’ve met in the last few weeks.”

“Really?” Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Who was the first?”

“This writer. He was at Chay and Casey’s when Logan took me there. He’s got a baby. Well actually a three year old. His name is Brendan.”

“Brendan Miller?”

“Is he famous?”

Kenny laughed.

“He’s my ex.”

“What?”

“It’s sort of hard to say,” Kenny reflected. “Even after all this he doesn’t feel like an ex. And we were together so long. It’s like saying ex exes it out. We were together eighteen years.”

“Seriously?”

Kenny nodded.

“I wish sometimes we had a kid or something. Something that lasted between us.”

“But you were both artists.”

“When we were together neither one of us was really doing much of anything. I was starting to paint, and Brendan was just an attorney.”

Kenny looked very serious for a moment.

“I don’t understand it. I loved him so much. I think he loved me. But we didn’t grow up until we left each other. I’m happy for him, but sometimes thinking about it hurts me.”

“What about Ruthven.”

“Ruthven is a good friend.”

Jonathan nodded.

“Ruthven’s been around a while now, and he had a serious love, but that didn’t work out. We help each other. It’s nice to have a friend to wake up with if you can’t wake up with your love.”

“Is—” and then Jonathan stopped.

“What?” Kenny said.

“It isn’t my business. I was just going to say: is Brendan still your… is he the love of your life?”

“No,” Kenneth said after a moment of reflection. “Things were over with us. He has Sheridan. That makes me a little miffed, that he found someone so quickly. I’m jealous of his happiness. I’m not jealous of Sheridan. Brendan was the only man I was ever in love with, and I have waited for another to come along. No one has. And that makes me sad.”

---

“This is my friend, Milo Affren,” Kenny said. “Jonathan came up here with Chay and Logan.”

Milo shook Jonathan’s hand in his loose, casual way.

“Can I get you a beer in this fucked up time, my friend?” Kenny asked.

“Absofuckinglutely,” Milo said, following them into the kitchen where Kenny opened the refrigerator, took out a beer and cracked it open before handing it to his friend.

“You’re related to the woman who passed?” Jonathan inquired.

“She was my grandma,” Milo said.

“I’m very sorry,” Jonathan told him. “We brought Chay up because of a friend, Meredith. Is she your sister?”

“Meredith is my cousin,” Milo said, as they returned to the couch. “She’s a ballsy bitch, but all the ladies in the family are. Especially Grandma. I actually thought she was too ballsy to die.”

“Meredith is also his sister-in-law,” Kenny interjected.

“What?”

Milo explained. “Meredith’s dad is my dad’s baby brother. While I was dating my wife, he came to town and started seeing her mother. And then when he got divorced he married Nell, my mother-in-law. So by the time Dena and I finally got married, Nell was already my aunt, and so my uncle is also my father-in-law, or at least my stepfather-in-law, and it’s all real weird except for Dena’s actual father was a crazy bastard.”

“To make it more fun,” Kenny went on, “Meredith got married to this guy who already had three children, and so one of Meredith’s stepchildren is pretty much engaged to Milo’s oldest daughter.”

“Oldest daughter. She can’t be more than ten.”

Milo made a flip of the hand and a courteous bow before taking another sip of beer. He was one of those sexy straight men you might be game for anything, and a flash of heat went through Jonathan. Milo seemed like the kind of guy who might sleep with a man, rob a bank or snort cocaine now and again.

“Bless you my son,” Milo drawled, “but Maggie is eighteen years old and almost nineteen.”

“He had her young,” Kenny plugged in.

“I guess,” Jonathan said.

“So tell me,” Milo continued, “because I cannot tell these things for myself, Jonathan.”

“Yes?”

“Are you or are you not a homosexual?”

Jonathan almost choked over the question and then he said, “I am. I mean, I am a homosexual.”

“Oh, good,” Milo said. “You like my friend over here? He’s a very good artist.”

“He’s a brilliant artist,” Jonathan declared.

“And an all around good guy?”

“Yes.”

“Milo, what the hell are you doing?” Kenny demanded.

Milo kept talking to Jonathan: “Well, he’s good looking and smart and talented, and you are into art and he’s an artist and I mean, look at this guy! He’s fucking gorgeous. I mean, half the time I want to bang him myself.”

“Ignore him,” Kenny said.

“I mean, I love you man, and you are great. You’re hot as hell. I mean, you are hot, and you should have someone. And Jonathan: You’re good looking too. You’ve got the emo hair, chocolate colored. Like me. Soulful eyes, and I noticed when you bent over, not a bad ass. And Kenny loves a nice ass. I mean, I’ve known this guy for twenty years, He’ll look at an ass all night.”

“Oh, God.”

“So I’m saying you two need to go out and see how things work. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Milo!”

Milo put up a hand and took a long swig of beer.

“That’s all I’m saying,” he said. 

ONG time for a statue of Ganesh to transform into Shri Ganesh. He had come to this for Krishna, and a few well done kirtans and then, gradually, the whole boat began to make sense to him. That time a few months ago, when Tom had suggested that he and Tara and Bryant all go up to Chicago, he and Tara had gone to the temple up in Aurora. That was the first time the elephant man, with such roundness, such voluptuous luxury, and such a grave look of pleasure in his face had meant something to Fenn, the first time he’d recognized in the playful deity what Hindus called shri.

Now he remembered that it was that trip to Chicago which had revealed to Fenn what had been going on. How long had it been going on? Was it going on still? Who cared?          

So he sat here now, not speaking, not singing, scarcely aware of his own breathing, his hands palms up on his lap.

“Fenn,” he heard someone whisper. “Fenn.”

Fenn placed his hands together and made a small nod of departure to Ganesh, and then turned to see Dan.

“Father Malloy,” he whispered, “What are you doing in a heathenish place like this?”

Dan frowned.

“I’ve come to bring you home, Fenn.”

“You think I’ve run away, but I did what I always wanted,” Fenn said. “You’re not the only one that wanted to go off to God.”

They were sitting on the porch of the monastery, looking over a broad vale that ended in distant hills rising into the trees.

“I don’t know that I wanted to go off to God at all,” Dan admitted. “I think I just wanted to know that I was alright.”

“Well, of course you’re alright,” Fenn said.

“And when you went off to God did you meet him?” Dan asked.

“My God,” Fenn told him. “Maybe I met me. Maybe that was more important. I left Rossford. I needed to get away from all of it.” He wanted to say all of you. “I was neck deep in the drama, and I needed to get rid of it all. And Tara living with Tom...”

“She is his friend.”

“She was supposed to be mine too.”

“He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“You’re defending him?”

“Defending her. Defending mercy, Fenn.”

“Fuck mercy. If Tom can fuck Bryant and Tara can fuck me over, then I can certainly say fuck to all of them.”

“There is still one good reason for you to come back,” Dan said.

“Because you want me back?”

“I wouldn’t even be in the damn city if it wasn’t for you.”

Fenn touched Dan’s hand.

“I will come back. For you.”

“We’ll even have a little party,” Dan said.

Fenn was about to say that he didn’t know if it was a good idea. But then there was another part of him, the largest part, that really didn’t care.

Bhaja mana hū rebhaja mana hū reśrī-nanda-nandanaabhaya-caranāravinda re Bhaja mana hū rebhaja mana hū reśrī-nanda-nandana

abhaya-caran āravinda re

The chanting of the devotees came out of the monastery onto the porch.

“I will pack my things,” Fenn told Dan. “I will leave this place. Let’s go home.”