I don't believe in prophetic dreams. But even if I did, I knew Seith hadn't had one. He appeared somewhat shaken but something about him didn't sit right. It was as though he was trying to appear rattled. Like an actor who digs his nails into his flesh to make himself cry.
"Well, if you're so concerned that your grandfather is sick, maybe you should call your Dad and find out."
"It's my Mom's Dad. My Dad is dead, remember."
"Oh, yea, right. Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking."
Mike and Gina come in behind me and ask what's wrong. Byron/Seith goes into the story about his grandfather who helped raise him, and how he dreamed he was sick, and yadda yadda yadda. Basically, he's creating a whole new story that conflicts a bit with the story he gave me. If his Grandfather was so heavily involved with his life, where was he when Wicked and Stepbrother were raping him? Supposedly his grandfather lived next door. If that's true, why didn't Seith spend more time over there? Maybe he and Poor Boy could have hung out over there to get away from Poor Boy's Dad.
Mike started asking him loads of questions. The next morning when I got up, Mike was downstairs brewing coffee in my oft-neglected Mr. Coffee.
"I think your boyfriend is a liar."
"I know Seith is a liar. When you and Gina go home, I'm moving him into the guest room. I'll give him a month to find another place to live and then he's ass to curb. Out of curiousity, why do you think he's a liar?"
"Were you paying attention to the story he told last night?" I hadn't been. "I kept asking him questions and his answers would often contradict each other."
"I'm not surprised."
Talk turned to other things: old friends, the play, Big Gay Tom, work. After about a half hour, Gina woke up and the two of them went out to sightsee.
Byron/Seith woke up around noon. I reminded him to call his family regarding his grandfather. He took the cordless outside. I could see him crying out the window. I think the crying wasn't for my benefit, but for the benefit of his mother on the other end. I think Seith knew he was wearing on me, and he wanted to go home.
"He's in the hospital."
"Is it serious?"
"If it wasn't serious, do you think he'd be in the fucken hospital?"
I picked up the coffee mug Mike had been drinking from and began to dry it with a towel. "Do you know how long he'll be in there for?"
"They think he might die."
"Oh. Are you going to go down and visit him then?"
"Well, yea. He practically raised me. What kind of grandson would I be if I didn't go down and visit him?"
"When are you leaving?"
"How are you getting back?"
"You're going to have to buy me a plane ticket. One way, though, since I don't know how long I'll be down there for."
At this point I'm not just drying the mug, but nearly sanding it. "Well, gosh, Seith, I can't afford to fly you down to Southern State on such short notice. I don't have any money in my checking account, and I don't get another paycheck for almost two weeks."
"So --- what am I supposed to do?"
"Call your Mom back. If they really think your grandfather is going to die, I don't think she'd have a problem flying you home to be with him."
"But you flew me up here. We had a deal."
"A deal? What sort of deal did we have?"
"I mean, if you flew me up here, shouldn't you have saved up some money to fly me home."
"Seith, call your Mom. I can't help you."
While he went to cry to mom, I went upstairs to avoid throwing the mug at his head. I uncalmly checked my e-mail and yelled at the Chinchillas who were either fucking or fighting, I couldn't decide.