Sugar Heart Ch. 03

Bright sunlight filtered through the curtains that inadequately covered the window above my bed. I awoke confused and very groggy. I remembered last night slowly. I hadn't intended to fall asleep so quickly. I reached out and found only a lone expanse of mattress beside me.

"Buddy?" I mumbled, stretching. I rolled out of bed and groaned. My cock stood straight out in front of me, tenting my boxers absurdly.

"Shhh," I sighed, trying to will it away. I didn't want to scare my shy boy away with a boner the size of the Washington Monument.

Once Richard Jr. had settled down a little, I left my bedroom and glanced down the hall. The bathroom wasn't occupied. I walked into the living room; it was also empty.

"Buddy?" I called, and received no response. I returned to my front door. His shoes were gone. He was gone.

Had he been here at all? I shivered. It crossed my mind that I'd had some kind of mental breakdown and might have fabricated the kindest, snuggest love interest my imagination could conceive of in order to quell the unbearable chaos recent circumstances had stirred up in me, but when I finally stepped into the kitchenette, I knew my little Buddy had been real all along. Last evening's much-needed catharsis had been real, too, and so had the sweet sense of comfort he'd induced, the security, the hope, and the great big plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies that was now sitting on my kitchen counter neatly covered in plastic wrap.

I looked around the room in amazement. When Buddy had cleaned up, he hadn't just taken care of whatever mess he'd made with the cookies. He'd scrubbed and tidied the entire kitchen so thoroughly, I didn't think it had been this clean when I'd moved in. It was sparkling; it was spotless. And sitting on the stove was a clean plate, along with a fork and knife, next to a bottle of syrup, a cube of butter placed neatly on a saucer, and a large covered skillet. I lifted the lid and felt my insides melt utterly. Waiting for me were nearly a dozen fluffy pancakes, all made roughly in the shape of hearts. I had to snap a photo before I could even touch them.

The pancakes were cold by this point-I had no idea how long ago he'd left-but even hastily microwaved they were still delicious, and I ate every single one, slathered in butter and syrup. It was comfort food in the finest sense of the word. Those pancakes had been undeniably made with love. I felt almost like crying by the time I'd finished eating. I knew it was a lot to do with being worn to a thread by recent stressful events, but what really seemed to bring tears to my eyes was the sweetness, the overwhelming sum of all of the little romantic gestures from Buddy that made me feel insulated from the harshness of the outside world. At another time I would have had a good laugh at any guy who would cry over the sweetness of something. I had been broken for a reason-so that I could be rebuilt. New Richard was going to be a better Richard. New Richard would cry if he wanted to cry, and not be ashamed of it.

I spotted yesterday's coffee cup and picked it up, gazing at my name neatly printed in bold black Sharpie, with a little heart dotting the "i". I touched it with my fingertips. I didn't even want to throw this cup away. I didn't want to throw away any of the cups. I thought of the collection I'd amassed in the backseat of my car simply due to my own slovenliness. They were all mementos now. They were a chronicle of love letters that Buddy had been waiting ages for me to read.

I brought the cup into my bedroom and set it next to my bed. When I saw the pillow Buddy had slept on, I immediately dove down to breathe in the scent of it. I hadn't even realized I'd memorized the smell of him, but there he was. My hand found something else as I grabbed hold of the pillow-the t-shirt I'd given him to sleep in. He'd left it tucked under the pillow. I flopped down into my bed and pressed the shirt tightly against my face, inhaling deeply. When I finally exhaled, reluctant to even let this breath go, it came out as a shudder. The tears also broke loose then, and I knew at once just how far gone I was. I sobbed into the shirt and squeezed his pillow against my chest. It overwhelmed me in that moment, not just how perfectly wonderful Buddy had been to me, but how much I missed him now. Why had he left without saying anything? Why hadn't he woken me to say goodbye? Why hadn't he even left a note? Had this night been an anomaly? Would I be granted the pleasure of keeping Buddy in my life, or was he truly a guardian angel, one I would only possess in my greatest hours of need?

I didn't have his phone number. I didn't know where he lived. I didn't even know his last name. I didn't know Bernie's last name, or where his garage was located. I couldn't recall what towing company had taken my car away. I was unable to come up with a way of tracking him down. There was the coffee shop, of course-maybe he left in a rush because he had to work? But no, that didn't seem right. Buddy was always on the evening shift when I came in. If he worked the late shift, he wouldn't be starting for hours yet.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, I thought of at least one way I could find out his last name. I scrambled for my bookshelf and pulled down my last high school yearbook. I flipped to the Grade 11 students and searched for him. I didn't find his sweet face, but at the very end, I found his name.

NOT PICTURED: Buddy Bantree.

I touched his name. I kissed the page. Buddy Bantree-it seemed like a perfect name. The alliteration made him sound like a character from a comic book. I pulled out a few more yearbooks-in every single one, he was listed as "NOT PICTURED". He hadn't been kidding about making himself invisible.

I grabbed for my phone, first checking for missed calls or texts, and then I Googled his name. I couldn't find a trace of him on the Internet. I sighed and sniffled, cuddled the t-shirt he'd slept in, and let my tears fall. Bernie had my contact information, and that meant Buddy did too. I would have to resign myself to waiting.

In the dual interests of clearing my head and toning my body, I decided to go for a long jog. It felt good to move, though I had to push myself pretty hard. I was fighting a sense of sluggishness and exhaustion borne of tremendous stress. When I finally made it back to my building just before noon, I felt that I had accomplished at least a little something.

My heart rate didn't even have a chance to slow to normal-my phone rang just as I was getting off the elevator. I fumbled to pull it out of my pocket and saw an unfamiliar number.

"Please be Buddy, please be Buddy, please be Buddy," I whispered as I hurried to my door. I unlocked with one hand and answered the call with the other. "Huh-hello?" I panted.

"Yeah, this Richard Callahan?" a brusque, gravelly voice asked.

My heart dropped, but I guessed at once that the voice belonged to Bernie the mechanic. I fought to calm my breathing. "Yes-Richard speaking."

"Bernie here. Gotchyer car up on the jacks. Been having starter issues for a while?"

I swallowed hard, getting the sense I was about to be lectured. "Yeah, actually... it's been reluctant to start here and there over the last couple weeks, but last night was the first time the engine wouldn't crank at all." I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the kitchen.

"Yeh," Bernie rasped. He breathed heavily as he plodded around his shop, and I could hear a bit of rattling and clanking in the background. "Shoulda' had that looked at before the bastard bit it completely, kiddo. Checked yer battery, checked yer starter. Buddy called it-solenoid's fucked. I got replacements here, so should be no prob. I can change it out later this afternoon. Parts n' labour'll run ya about one-eighty, plus tax, but I had a li'l inspection and yer girl could use some TLC all 'round-yer oil's overdue for a changing, for one. I can top up a few fluids no charge, but hell, you're seriously gunked up after the way y' been abusing this girl. These shitty drive-through oil change outfits'll tell you to get yer engine flushed, but dontcha do that-a vehicle with a mileage like this 'un especially shouldn't be put through that treatment. I'd like to drain the whole works, dismantle yer engine, and give 'er a thorough cleaning by hand, maybe change out some belts, plugs, hoses, but that'll cost ya, and I can't do it today."

I paced through my kitchen, munching on a cookie as he spoke. When he finished I cringed and felt my cheeks warming. He wasn't wrong-I'd been inexcusably remiss in getting my oil changed regularly, and I'd never had a tuneup. It was all coming back to bite me now. "Uh, well I really appreciate the advice. I know I need to... take better care of my ride. I'd like to say, go ahead and do whatever you think needs doing, but I mean... I just lost my job, and money's gonna be tight till I can find a new one. If we could just, uh... do the bare minimum to get it running, I think that's all I can manage right now."

He continued to breathe heavily into the phone. "Right then. I'll get that solenoid replaced and that'll be that. You'll hear from me later this afternoon, maybe evening. I'll let y' know the final cost, and you can swing right on by whenever. The 130 bus comes right by my place."

"That's fantastic-thank you. Thank you, sir!"

"Sir!" he exclaimed, and barked noisily with laughter. "Don't get much 'sir' from yer generation, that's for sure. Bernie's just fine."

I let out a breath and smiled a little. I wasn't generally in the habit of calling older people "sir" or "ma'am", but I realized I was unconsciously putting on my best behaviour, as if trying to make a good impression on my sweetheart's father. Remembering how Buddy had spoken of Bernie, in a way, I supposed I was doing just that. I took another cookie and gazed down at it, my smile widening. "Bernie-great," I replied, and paused a moment, drumming up a little courage. "Uh, by the way... do you know where Buddy is right now?"

"Sure, he's right here at the house."

"Oh!" My heart pounded. I paused again. "Could I possibly... speak with him?"

Bernie huffed and puffed. A tool rattled loudly. "Nope, he won't wanna talk."

I stopped breathing, and my heart squeezed right up into my throat. He won't want to talk? The cookie slipped from my hand and shattered into several pieces on the floor. I looked down at it, wide-eyed. "Oh... well... would you be able to give me his cell number?"

"Ain't my info to give out, kiddo! Listen-I got a lot on my plate today. We good?"

"O-okay, yeah," I replied, tugging at the collar of my t-shirt. "We're good. Talk to you soon, Bernie."

"Yeh!" He hung up abruptly.

I sank down onto the floor next to the broken heart cookie. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. What had gone wrong? I went over last night's events in my mind as I picked up the crumbled bits of cookie off the floor and ate them. I'd scared him, perhaps, when we'd been kissing, and I'd gotten overexcited. But hadn't he been happy to cuddle after that? Had he just been making sure I felt better before fleeing? He'd told me so many personal things-that meant something, didn't it? And the pancakes! The pancakes were definitely something. A love letter in the form of a delicious breakfast. I loaded the photos on my phone so that I could check the picture I'd taken this morning. Those were undeniably heart-shaped pancakes. That was romance in a pan.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" I whispered, baffled.

My stomach growled, giving me a timely distraction. I needed more than cookies for lunch. I made myself a sandwich and watched some TV, but my mind kept drifting back to Buddy. I was alternately excited and deeply concerned.

At last I simply went back to bed, too tired and confused to remain conscious.

* * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know how long I might have slept if I hadn't been woken by my phone a few hours later.

"Hullo?" I grunted.

"Richard! Bernie! Yer car's operational-come on by and pick 'er up whenever."

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, forcing myself awake. After collecting the address and final cost for the service, I climbed out of bed, got dressed, and shambled off to the bus stop. The long nap had dulled my concerns a little; I mostly felt dazed. I stared out the window during the journey in a moony state, pining and daydreaming about Buddy. Innumerable heart shapes were burned into my vision. I thought about how it had felt to kiss him, about the soft touch of his tongue. Delicious tingles travelled all over my body, and I had to force my mind quickly to other things in order to avoid getting too aroused and looking like some kind of bus pervert.

Bernie's place was located on a tiny, dead-end street in a largely industrial area. There were only a few houses on the street, and Bernie's was the only one that looked in decent repair, with a well-tended lawn. There were several cars parked out front. Following the instructions Bernie had given me over the phone, I walked around the side of the house and into an enormous rear yard, where his garage was located. There were several more cars back here, including my own. The man seemed to do very good business considering he worked out of his own backyard in an obscure area. Buddy had assured me he was great at what he did-word-of-mouth business probably kept him busy.

"Hello?" I called.

Bernie stepped out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked to be in his late 40s and was completely bald, of average height, and huskily built, with broad shoulders and thick arms. I smiled at how unlike Buddy he was.

He did not smile. He stalked up to me and gave me a thorough look-over. "So, this is the famous Richie Callahan."

"I'm famous around here, am I?" I joked weakly. I stuck a hand out. "Nice to meet you."

He shoved his grease-stained rag partly into a pocket, grasped my hand, clamping down almost painfully firmly, and gave it two hard pumps before letting go. "Ya got money for me?"

"Uh, yeah!" I pulled out my wallet to pay him, and in short order he wrote me out a receipt and handed over my keys. I was beginning to fret again. I didn't know Bernie well enough to guess whether this brusqueness was normal for him, or borne of a particular dislike for me. Buddy was probably like a son to him, and had been pining over a guy who was unemployed, took lousy care of his car, and was, just lately, sort of mentally unstable. If I were Bernie, I'd probably hate me.

"By the way," he added, "I went ahead and changed yer oil. It was driving me crazy, is all. Swapped out yer timing belt too-cheap part, quick job, and it'll save y' another breakdown later on. On the house."

"Oh-that's really generous of you!" I exclaimed, impressed by the superlative and reasonably-priced service. "I can't even tell you how much I appreciate it." I glanced at my wallet. "Uh, do you take tips?"

"Not 'less you've got any solid premonitions about this year's Stanley Cup!" he laughed heartily, giving me a little punch. "Got a hockey pool going with some buddies, yunno. Nah, I mean it-keep yer spare nickels."

I grinned widely, deciding I liked Bernie. I hesitated, not wanting to leave, and glanced toward the house, wondering if Buddy was in there.

"Buddy's at work," he offered.

"Oh...!" I flushed a little, not expecting him to follow my train of thought with such accuracy.

Bernie's eyes bored into me. "He's a sweet kid, hey?"

I was unprepared for this statement, too, and blushed even deeper, smiling foolishly. "Yeah... man...!" I huffed, a little overcome. "He made me fucking pancakes." My cheeks blazed even hotter, regretting this admission. Why had I said that? Surely he'd be making assumptions as to what might have gone on between us last night.

"Yeh?" Bernie chuckled. Surprisingly, he looked perfectly amused and lightly punched my shoulder again. "He's never made me pancakes, slugger."

I grinned. My face would combust soon. I fidgeted with my keys, wanting to ask if Buddy had been talking about me, but not really knowing how to ask without sounding pathetic. "Is, uh... is he okay?" I finally ventured.

Bernie furrowed his brow. "In what sense do you mean?"

"I mean... just today. He kinda... disappeared first thing, without saying anything. I didn't know what to make of it."

"Ah, that's just his way!" Bernie said flippantly. "He's skittish. Like a li'l squirrel. Don't think much of it. He'll come around, long as you take things easy, let him go at his own pace, yunno? Gonna head on by the coffee shop?"

My eyes widened. "You think he'll want to see me?"

Bernie laughed again, a boisterous bark. "You some kinda idiot, kiddo?"

I bit my lip. "Yeah... unfortunately, I seem to be," I sighed, rubbing my eyes.

He continued laughing. "Listen-that boy's as deep into you as a jackass is in clover. O'course he'll want to see you! I'll be damned if I know what aboutcha's got him so head-over-heels, but Richie... there's not much I want outta life more than seeing Buddy get what he wants for once. Go get 'im, slugger."

I felt a great flood of tension seep out of me finally, and I grinned uncontrollably. "All right-thanks, Bernie. Thank you so much!" I reached out a hand to him and felt his viselike grip enclose mine tightly. When I tried to end the shake to step into my car, he gripped me tighter, pulling me back.

"Hey," he said firmly, all trace of laughter very suddenly gone from his face. "The kinda man I'd like to see Buddy with is one who'll take a lot better care of him than you take care of this car. You break his heart, kiddo, I break yer face. Fair?"

I looked back at him evenly and replied with a sober nod. "Show me no mercy. Buddy's simply... the nicest person I've ever known," I said softly. "I'd die before hurting him."

"Then we understand each other." He let go of my hand and gave my shoulder a brief squeeze. "Off y' go."

My car started without a hitch, and I gave Bernie a great big smile and wave as I drove off of his lot. Afternoon had turned to evening and I hadn't yet had any supper, but I wasn't sure I could eat anything-I was far too keyed up over Buddy. I felt as if I had a giant helium balloon trapped inside my chest.

I arrived at the coffee shop a few hours before closing time. It didn't matter to me-I could have waited for him all night. After parking my car, I walked up and stood outside the big front window for a minute or two, peering inside. There were several employees bustling around behind the counter; Buddy was easily the smallest among them. Lord, was he ever cute. What an idiot I was for overlooking him all this time. Bernie had been absolutely right. Some kinda idiot-that was me. An ignorant idiot for many years, and now a smitten, besotted idiot. I felt only a touch away from completely melting right there on the sidewalk. I would lie there helplessly drowning in a cloud of tiny hearts while moaning his name.

At last I pushed through the door, barely aware of my legs moving as I floated up to the counter. When he turned and finally spotted me, he stopped short and lit up like Christmas morning. I beamed back at him, watching his thin chest inflate. He hurried up to the cash register, wringing his hands.

"Hi," I whispered, leaning on the counter.

He mouthed the word "hi", but no sound came out. I wanted to leap over the counter and gather him up in my arms, kissing him from the top of his head down to every last little toe. He took an extra-large cup and a Sharpie, grinned playfully at me for a few moments, and then started writing. I slid three dollars and ten cents in change across the counter. His hand settled over mine for a moment, our fingers tangling together as he received the coins. I could feel my own thudding heartbeat in the tips of each of my fingers. We made eye contact as we touched, and the electricity was so strong I wouldn't have been surprised if the bulbs in every one of the light fixtures above us had flared up and shattered.