Fall 2008
Andrea was waiting on his porch on the first day of high school, smiling at Burt through the screen. "You ready?" she asked.
"Andrea, tell my son he looks fantastic," Burt called. "And to stop fiddling with his hair."
"I'm not much for hair, Mr. Hummel." She tightened her ponytail and gave it a flip over her shoulder. "Too much work. But Kurt, you do look fantastic."
Kurt clutched his brand-new messenger bag. "I'm just trying not to throw up."
"Aw, come on. It's no different than walking onto that stage. Just another performance, right? Except you get to be yourself, which is awesome." Andrea opened the door for him. "Bye, Mr. Hummel. I'll return him in one piece."
Kurt told her his schedule on their way to school. "I can't believe there's no drama class," he complained. "But I have Mrs. Wright for freshman English. And choir, with... um, Mr. Ryerson?"
Andrea made a face. "I don't know. He's kind of creepy. You might decide to stick with community theater in the summer."
It was reassuring to walk into the building for the first time and recognize so many students. They all gave him a smile, and some of them greeted him by name. Even though the surroundings were unfamiliar, Kurt already felt confident.
Andrea touched his sleeve as they reached an intersection in the hallway. "I have to head to Spanish. We have different lunches, but I'll meet you outside after school, and I'll look for you in the hall, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed. "Thank you."
She gave him an encouraging smile. "You'll be great."
Kurt followed the hallway signs toward Mrs. Wright's freshman English class. The first person he saw when he entered the room was Noah, sitting in the back row. Noah glanced at him briefly, then away.
Kurt had known to expect that kind of treatment from Noah, but it still hurt to see him doing it. He just found a seat in the front of the room and tried to ignore him.
Mrs. Wright smiled at him. "I don't have to ask if you're prepared, Kurt. Are you interested in tutoring again this year?"
"Maybe," he said, loud enough for Noah to hear him. "If certain people were willing to actually talk to me."
"He'll come around," said Mrs. Wright. "Even if I have to force the issue. The essay you got Noah to write was adequate, which was more than I expected from him."
"I didn't make Noah write anything," Kurt said. "That was all him. We did finish Ender's Game and start Where the Red Fern Grows."
She looked startled, but didn't pursue it. "Consider that your first independent reading book, then. I'll offer you extra credit for reading with him."
Kurt knew the penalty for texting in class was severe, so he waited until lunchtime to take his phone out and send Noah a message. I'll assume the brush-off this morning means we can't be friends at school.
The message came back quick enough. yeah. sorry.
Kurt tightened the corners of his mouth. Me, too. Do you want me to keep reading to you after school? Mrs. Wright's offering me extra credit.
He said that so Noah would know it wasn't just out of the goodness of his own heart that he was doing it. Yeah, he was a pushover, and he knew it, but he still had a little self-interest and pride.
You want to? came the text. Kurt sighed.
Yes, I want to.
Even if im a jerk?
That made him smile. Yes, even then. Consider it practice for summer theater, since we won't get to do a play at school this year.
Noah didn't text him again, and Kurt was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about him. He suffered through choir with Mr. Ryerson, who was indeed creepy, gathered up his books to start his homework (already, on the first day?), and went outside to meet Andrea.
Noah was there, waiting with her. He gave Kurt a nod. Kurt tried not to care, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't glad to see him. Even though you're a jerk, he thought.
"God, this year is going to be hell," Andrea sighed, hiking her backpack up higher. "I can already tell AP history is going to kick my butt."
"You were right about Ryerson," Kurt nodded sympathetically. "I'm trying to decide if I want to drop choir or not. It's not the kind of music I like anyway."
"Noah tells me you're going to keep tutoring him." Andrea gave him a meaningful look. Kurt wondered if that meant you're an idiot if you're nice to him when he's being a jerk, or you still think you're going to get into his pants, or something else entirely. He couldn't exactly ask.
"Yeah," Kurt agreed. "It would be silly to stop in the middle of the book."
Noah didn't look like he was planning to go anywhere without them. Andrea walked first, giving them a little space to talk. Kurt wasn't even sure what to say, what was okay and what was off limits. This school-Noah was still a puzzle to him.
"I hear you wrote something for Wright, after all?" he said.
"Yeah." Noah looked uncomfortable. "She told me to keep this journal all summer, writing anything I wanted to write, and I told her no way, but I did."
They ducked around the forsythia bush that framed the cut-through to Mr. Price's yard. "You... kept a journal?"
Noah scowled. "It wasn't anything. I just wrote about the play, and... stuff."
Kurt wondered, fleetingly, what he might have to do in order to get his hands on that journal. "Are you going to turn it in to her?"
"I don't know. It's kind of personal. But it got easier to write, and that was the point? When she told me to write an essay on Ender's Game, it wasn't so bad." He shrugged. "I guess she thought it was good enough, anyway. She passed me."
"I'm not surprised. You're smart. I'm just glad you did it."
Noah gave him a strange look. "You think I'm smart?"
"She thinks you're smart, too. Just not motivated." They came out on the other side of Mr. Wright's yard. Andrea was already several feet in front of them. She turned back to wave before crossing the street to her house. Noah, meanwhile, was absorbed in thought.
"Huh. I think I'd be more motivated if I thought I was actually learning anything. School just mostly seems like a waste of time."
Kurt dug in his bag for his house key. "You don't think you're learning anything at school?"
"Nothing useful. When am I ever going to need to factor trinomials or compare the exports of two different countries or titrate a solution? Never. Fucking stupid."
"What do you want to do?" Kurt asked. He watched Noah withdraw from the question, shaking his head.
"Never mind. You got any of those little olives today?"
They read several chapters in Where the Red Fern Grows. It wasn't quite as engaging a book as Ender's Game, but Noah liked the idea of the boy saving up coins for two years to pay for his dogs. They were still reading on the couch when Burt got home from the garage.
He smiled when he saw Noah. "Hey, it's been a couple weeks. I wasn't sure if I was going to see you again after this summer."
"Yep, I'm still dumb," Noah said, grinning. "And Kurt still thinks he can get me to learn something in this English class."
"I'm guessing that's up to you," said Burt. "You want to stay for dinner? I brought home Chinese?"
Noah's grin slipped a little. "I - my sister's going to be home soon. I should really be there when she gets there. But another time, definitely. Thanks." Noah turned to Kurt. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Kurt followed him out onto the porch. "Are you saying you're actually going to talk to me tomorrow?"
Noah sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Yeah, about that..."
"Forget about it, Noah." Kurt crossed his arms. "I'm not going to stop helping you in English just because you treat me like a second-class citizen in front of your friends."
He winced. "Ouch. Yeah, I guess I deserved that. It's just... I'm on the football team, and I've never been good at anything before, and I think I might actually have a chance to do that now? I don't want to blow it because a bunch of homophobic assholes might blackball me if I'm..."
"Friends with the faggot?"
"Something like that." Noah didn't look too happy about the idea, either. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
"Like I said, forget it. Do you like this? Coming over to my house, hanging out, reading?"
He nodded, so earnestly. "I really do."
"Me too. I'm not going to jeopardize that by being overly sensitive." He gave Noah a wan smile. "Tomorrow after school, then?"
"Yeah," Noah agreed. "After school."
Kurt found himself with three distinct groups of friends. There were the guys he grew up with, smart kids like him, but a lot of them were starting to drift away. Mercedes and Tina were loners who liked to go to the mall and talk about fashion and sing R&B along to the radio, which suited Kurt fine most of the time. And there was Noah.
Noah continued to be an anomaly. He knew about some things that surprised Kurt, but sometimes they ran into surprising holes in his cultural knowledge. He knew almost nothing about politics or current events, other than what was happening in Israel. He liked to play football but didn't care for watching it much, or any other sports. He made fun of Kurt for liking Broadway musicals, but one day Kurt mentioned something about measuring his room for a bed, and Noah snickered, muttering, "Whatever, Figaro."
"Okay, wait." Kurt reached out and took the last feta-stuffed cherry tomato before Noah could swipe it, and pointed it at Noah. "Something just doesn't add up here. How do you know references to Mozart operas?"
Noah turned redder than the tomato. "It's nothing. My dad."
"Your dad likes opera?"
"My dad's the facilities manager of the Dayton Opera House. Basically a fancy name for a janitor and maintenance guy. He's been there since before I was born."
Kurt let the tomato drop to the table. "Wow."
"It's not that impressive. He makes shit money." Noah looked like he wanted to escape from Kurt's stare. Kurt glanced away. He didn't want to scare him away.
"Is he - I mean, was he a performer? An actor?"
"He was. A long time ago. He doesn't anymore."
"Is that how you learned to build things? From your dad? Was he a musician, too?"
"Yeah. Can we not...?" Noah gave him a reproachful look. "I really don't like to talk about my dad."
Kurt dropped it, but he couldn't stop thinking of questions he wanted to ask. They settled on the couch to read. Noah seemed distracted, too, and Kurt paused between chapters.
"Do you ever see him anymore?"
Noah nodded. "We get together every couple weeks. And my mom drives me to Dayton whenever there's a show I want to see. He gets free tickets to all the theater guild performances."
"That's why you know Shakespeare?"
He snorted. "I know Shakespeare because my dad's been reading it to me since I was in fucking diapers. He used to read to me all the time."
Kurt nodded slowly. "But your mom... she doesn't."
"She's never home." Kurt noticed Noah didn't answer the question, but he didn't push him. "My sister, she's missing out on hearing that language, you know? I try to read to her, but I can't, really. I can recite the scenes I know, but it's hard when you only know one part."
Kurt felt the pieces begin to fall into place about Noah Puckerman. "How long have your parents been divorced?"
"Five years. My dad... he has problems. My mom didn't want to deal with them. I don't blame her, really, but... she works second shift. So the house is a mess, and we eat a lot of ramen, and it's just..." He grimaced. "It's embarrassing."
"I hope you know I don't care about that," Kurt said. Noah smiled at him.
"I know you don't. I mean, you haven't seen it, but I bet you wouldn't. You're way too nice for that."
Kurt blushed, staring down at the book. "Shall I read some of the next chapter, or do you want to stop here?"
"You can stop here. I don't want to go too fast."
"Hey, there are always more books," Kurt said, smiling. "I don't think we're going to run out."
Noah grinned back. "And you're not getting sick of this?"
"No way," he promised. "But maybe next we should read a play."
"Oh." Noah hesitated, his smile disappearing. "Yeah, I guess."
"We could read one together," Kurt suggested. Noah looked like he might have a response to that, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he got up and shrugged on his coat.
"JV football practice tomorrow," he said. "So I won't see you then. But Thursday, I can. And, uh." He stopped again. "Never mind. See you."
Kurt told his dad about Noah's dad when he got home. "He said he'd been working at the opera house since before Noah was born. That's kind of a long way to drive for work."
"Especially with a little kid," he agreed. "I don't think I could have done it, even if your mom were still alive. I barely see you as it is."
"You do fine, dad." Kurt washed the lettuce for the salad, thinking. "Could we invite his mom and sister over for dinner some night?"
"Sure, kiddo. We could do that."
After dinner, Kurt visited the website for the Dayton Opera House and read the page about employees. He couldn't find a mention of Noah's dad there, but he did find an archive of pictures from old plays and operas, organized by performer. Puckerman, Aaron, he read, and clicked on the name.
"Oh my god," he murmured. He raised his voice. "Dad? Come here. You have to see this."
Burt stuck his head in. "What? What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter. Just - look." He gestured to the screen. "Noah's father. Look at these roles. Lysander... Candide... Rodolfo... all the best tenor parts. And look... Macbeth? Ricky Roma? Willie Loman? Hamlet? Cyrano?" Kurt clicked through the archive, marveling. "He played everything."
"He was pretty young, there," Burt said, leaning over his shoulder. "Heh. Looks like Noah, too."
Kurt read the dates on the captions. "It doesn't look like he did anything after... 2001. I wonder what happened."
"Well, like you said, once you start having kids, it's hard to find time to do anything. Maybe he just quit?" Burt rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Don't stay up too late."
"I won't," Kurt said automatically. But he was already doing a search for Aaron Puckerman Dayton theater, looking for newspaper articles, community reports, anything that would point to a reason why he might have suddenly quit performing. Because he was clearly good at it, Kurt thought, gazing at one picture of Mr. Puckerman, his head raised in supplication to the heavens as King Lear. What would make a man stop a successful career, right at its peak?
Just as he was getting ready to climb into bed, Kurt's phone rang. He picked it up, his heart beating a little faster at Noah's name on the screen. "Hello?"
"Kurt. I... is this a bad time?"
"No, it's fine. I was just... no. It's fine." He closed his eyes, hearing his own voice come out so high and awkward. "Do you need something?"
"Yeah, actually, it's about this weekend. My dad's... he got me tickets to a performance in Dayton on Saturday. I usually go with him, but I thought, maybe, you might want to come."
"You want me to go with you to... the opera?" Kurt could barely get the words out, they sounded so improbable.
"A play, actually. Twelfth Night. You can totally say no, if you can't, or if you think it's lame."
"No. I mean - yes. I think so." Kurt bit his lip. "I have to ask my dad. But yes, I want to. Thank you."
"Cool." Noah sounded relieved. "It's just, I have to tell my dad if I'm coming or not, and I was thinking it would be fun to see it with you. Like, you'd get it."
"Maybe? I mean, I've never seen a Shakespeare play before, but..."
"Really?" Noah sounded incredulous. "Never? What about, like the movie version?"
"No, never. But I'd really like to." He knew he sounded absurd, fawning all over Noah like that, but he just felt so... surprised, and touched, that he wanted Kurt to go with him. That he'd even think about it. "Can I ask my dad and let you know tomorrow?"
"Well, he has to know tonight, if he's going to get comp tickets."
"Oh. Okay... just a minute." Kurt left the phone on the table by his bed, then changed his mind, raced back to pick it up, and pressed the mute button instead, keeping it with him. He wasn't going to lose this opportunity. He just couldn't.
"Dad!" he shouted. His dad was in front of the television, watching a show, but his head snapped up at Kurt's distress. "Dad... it's Noah. He wants me to go to a play with him on Saturday. Can I go?"
Burt looked completely confused. "A play? Like on the stage?"
"Yes. A play. His dad got him tickets." Kurt begged with his eyes. "Dad, please, say I can?"
"Well, I don't know..." He scratched his head, frowning. "You'd be going with his dad? And how are you going to get there? Noah's not old enough to drive, is he?"
"His mom's going to drive him, I think. He goes down to Dayton all the time." Kurt didn't mention that his dad wouldn't be going with them to the play. "It's Shakespeare. Twelfth Night."
Burt looked at Kurt, still uncertain. "Well... I guess so, if you really want to."
"I really want to!" Kurt flung his arms around his father's neck, prompting a mild protest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He pressed the mute button again. "Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"He said yes. I can go." He knew his face was shining, beyond all reason for this event, but he didn't care. Noah had asked him, and he was going.
"Cool." Noah sounded pleased, too. "I'll tell my dad. It's one of my favorite plays. Um, and we might have to crash down there afterwards. It's usually too late for my mom to come get me after the show is over."
"Sleep over? At your dad's?" Kurt watched his father's face turn doubtful again, and he mouthed please.
"Yeah. Is that okay?"
Burt gave a sigh, his face a picture of conflict, but he finally nodded. Kurt let out his breath. "Yes. It's okay."
"Thanks. It's nice to have a friend who doesn't think I'm a total loser for liking theater." Noah sounded genuinely thankful. "I'll tell my mom you're coming. See you tomorrow."
"Bye." Kurt disconnected the call and clutched the phone to his chest. "Dad..."
"I don't like this, Kurt," Burt told him. "You're too young to be going out of town on the weekend like this. And you barely know Noah."
Kurt shook his head. "I know he loves theater. Nobody understands that about him. His mom doesn't get it; she doesn't read to him like his dad did. He can't talk about it at school. I think he must be more alone than I am."
"That's another thing. Are you sure you're understanding Noah's intentions here?" Burt swallowed uncomfortably. "Does he think this is... a date?"
"Dad!" Kurt cried, feeling his own cheeks go crimson. "Noah doesn't like boys."
"Did he tell you that? Because I've heard how things are in the theater. I'm just trying to look out for you here, Kurt. You're young, you don't have any experience in this stuff."
"What, and you do?" Kurt glared at his father. "You're so sure he's out to take advantage of me. Maybe he just likes me. Maybe he needs a friend."
"Maybe," Burt allowed. "Maybe not. You said yourself he's not so nice to you at school. How do you know you can trust him?"
None of the answers Kurt could muster would make his father feel any better. "I just do," he said. "Can't you trust me to know?"
Burt sighed unhappily. "I guess I'll have to. But, Kurt, you call me if anything goes wrong. I don't care what time of night it is, you call me. Understand?"
"Okay, dad. I will." He hugged his dad again. "Thank you."
His dad pulled away to look up at him again, still frowning. "This is a big deal for you."
"Big," said Kurt, nodding emphatically. "Really big."
"Can you... tell me why?"
Kurt thought he understood what his dad was asking, without using the words. He shook his head silently, and Burt nodded, just as silently.
It wasn't that his dad wouldn't understand. Kurt thought he might, and even if it would be weird, he could probably tell him. It was that he couldn't bear hearing his dad's judgment that he was being an idiot for wanting to spend time with Noah, knowing full well Noah would never be able to return Kurt's affections in the same way.
Maybe I am an idiot, he thought, climbing back into bed. But I can't stop wanting to be with him, just because he doesn't - can't - feel the same way about me. And I'm not going to give up this chance to share something meaningful with him.
Noah didn't talk to him at school the next day, but it didn't bother Kurt in the same way. He felt like he was carrying something precious inside him, something that nobody could touch or see. It stayed with him throughout the day. When he caught glimpses of Noah in the hallway and at lunch, the feeling increased, and he smiled to himself, thinking, I know him. No one else knows him like I do.
It was strange, now, when he saw Noah and his friends together at school, being rowdy and cursing and acting like such boys. He wondered if that was the pretend Noah, the one he had to try to put on, or if, when he was with Kurt, he was just reigning it all in to be polite? Noah talked back to teachers and swore in class and didn't seem to care when they gave him in-school suspensions. But at Kurt's house, Noah was thoughtful and introspective. He was willing to let Kurt lead the discussions about the book they were reading, but he offered plenty of ideas of his own. His language might be coarse, but he was clearly no dummy.
And Kurt got glimpses of his sensitive side, too. At the end of Where the Red Fern Grows, Kurt had to pause several times in the reading of Old Dan and Little Ann's deaths to compose himself before he could go on. Each time, Noah took his hand and held it tightly, watching Kurt's face with concern. He didn't cry, but the book had clearly moved him.
"Do you think it's possible to die of a broken heart, like that?" Noah asked, when Kurt was done.
"I don't think so," Kurt answered. "My mother died when I was eight. I think, if I could have died of a broken heart, I would have. But here I am, and I can - I'm still okay." He almost said I can still love, but he didn't think Noah needed to hear that from him. He felt fortunate that Noah knew who he was and liked him anyway, without making it more complicated.
Noah nodded. "I think my mom might have broken my dad's heart," he said quietly. "He's still kind of a mess, and he's been gone a long time. But I guess he was a mess before she told him to leave, too, so... I don't know." He leaned back on the couch, silent with his thoughts.
Kurt reached out and tentatively touched his hand. Noah looked surprised, but he took Kurt's hand and squeezed it, like he had during the story when Kurt had cried.
"Love seems way too fucking complicated," Noah said. "I'd just as soon forget about it. Who needs it, anyway?"
"I do," said Kurt. "I've always been in love with love. The romance, the drama. It's what drives every story that's ever been told."
"Well, that's fine," said Noah, frowning. "In stories. But in real life it's just... too much work. Who wants to get their heart broken?"
"If the rewards are great enough, maybe it's worth it?" Kurt handed the book to Noah. "You think it would have been better for Billy to live his whole life without knowing and loving his dogs, just because they broke his heart by dying at the end? I mean, doesn't every story end some time?"
Noah held the book, gazing at the cover, but not really looking at it. "There's an ending, sure. It's what's after the ending that's so hard. It's the part where you're all by yourself and there's nothing to make it better."
"Then you tell another story," Kurt said, more bravely than he felt. Noah looked up at him, and laughed, shaking his head.
"You're really something else, Kurt."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, feeling the words pulsing inside him, like his own heartbeat. You're really something else, Kurt.
Noah's mother brought Noah's sister Sarah along on their drive down to Dayton. Her only comment when she met Kurt was, "I thought you were a girl."
"I sound like one," said Kurt, smiling, "but I'm not. I'm still a boy."
"Okay," she said, shrugging. "Can I have some of your gum, Noah?"
Kurt thought she might get obnoxious on that long drive, but she was perfectly content to watch out the window and play the alphabet game and I Spy with them. Mrs. Puckerman, on the other hand, spoke sharply to both of her children, but neither one seemed bothered by her tone. Kurt, sitting in the front, tried hard not to draw attention to himself. He read the copy of Twelfth Night he'd downloaded to his iPhone, trying to make sense of the arcane language.
"You don't bother your father, understand?" she told Noah when they reached the opera house. "You'll be in a world of trouble if I find out you were messing with him when he was trying to work."
"It'll be fine, Ma," Noah said calmly. "I'll call you tomorrow when we get up."
She smiled vaguely at Kurt. "Enjoy the play," she said. "You'd better call your dad and tell him you made it safe."
Noah bumped fists with his sister. She grinned, waving. "I'm going to eat your dessert tonight."
"Why doesn't she come to visit your dad, too?" Kurt asked, as they drove away.
"She doesn't really remember him. I guess she cares that he's her dad, but she's never really known him, except through visits. That doesn't count for much." He beckoned Kurt to come around the back. "Let me show you something."
The building was easily a hundred years old. Kurt followed him carefully around to the back, where there were steps that led down to the basement on the exterior of the building. At the bottom, a door was latched from the outside. Noah twirled the combination and removed the lock, pocketing it and leaving the door ajar. "Come on."
Kurt looked around a little nervously at the dusty, cobwebby cellar entrance, but he stepped through the door and followed Noah into the darkness. "Is there a light - oh."
Noah had pulled the string on the bare bulb to illuminate a vast storage room, full of stage props from the last several decades. Kurt thought they might easily be fifty or sixty years old, or even older than that. There were wigs and costumes and birdcages and old radios and pretend food and umbrellas and all manner of things to be used on the stage. Kurt was enchanted, walking around touching everything with a curious hand.
"Doesn't anybody come down here anymore?" Kurt said in awe.
"My dad does sometimes, but he has plenty to keep him busy. This building is falling apart around him." Noah smiled as Kurt picked up a black velvet half-cape and brushed off the dust. "I used to play down here when I was a little kid, opening trunks and making my own productions. It was pretty awesome."
"Lonely, I'd think," Kurt said, watching him. He shrugged.
"Hard to be lonely with all this stuff around. And I had a good imagination." Noah took a stuffed parrot from a perch and fixed it to his shoulder. He got a crafty gleam in his eye, and dropped his voice to a loud whisper: "I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb, yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter."
Kurt laughed, feeling delighted. Noah grinned back at him as he set the parrot down again.
"You might as well see this before you meet my dad," he said. "I know I didn't tell you very much about him, but he's kind of... weird. And he's not always easy to understand."
"Okay," said Kurt uncertainly. They walked to the interior staircase leading to the upstairs, and Noah turned off the light before they walked the stairs. The door he opened led into a grand hallway, carpeted in red, finished in dark wood and lit subtly from above with chandeliers.
"Noah," he breathed, looking around them with wide eyes. "This is beautiful."
Noah pointed up the steps, touching Kurt lightly on the shoulder. "I remember standing on the staircase, right there, looking down on the people coming to the theater in their fancy clothes."
He smiled at the image. "How old were you?"
"Younger than Sarah, for sure. I'm pretty sure my mom wasn't with me." They ascended the broad carpeted staircase in the silent hall, looking at the framed photographs of scenes from previous shows. Kurt paused by one he recognized.
"That's your father," he said. Noah nodded, surprised.
"How'd you know? He's all made up; he doesn't look anything like himself."
"Sure, he does." Kurt touched the enlarged photo, reading the caption to himself: Aaron Puckerman as Polonius. "See, the way his mouth is, and his jaw. He looks so much like you."
Noah gazed at the photo, his face unreadable. "Well... we'd better get this over with."
He led Kurt back down the stairs to a side hallway with several doors. Noah knocked softly on the middle one and opened it without waiting for an answer. "Hey, Dad. We're here."
Inside was a small office, walls papered with old playbills for shows. The desk was piled high with yellow duplicate forms and tools. The man who sat at the desk looked up as they entered. He smiled, but only one side of his mouth went up. The rest of his face drooped, unresponsive. His left hand was drawn in against his body; Kurt couldn't tell if it was functional or not. He tried to smile back.
"You're Kurt," said the man, his voice slow and indistinct. "Noah told me about you."
"I'm... glad to meet you," said Kurt, holding out his hand. The man met it with his own. It shook a little, but there was strength in his grip. Kurt could see Aaron Puckerman's face inside the man before him, though it was obscured by the changes in his body.
"I suppose Noah didn't tell you about me," he said, sounding a little wry. "I had a stroke six years ago. I get along all right now, but it's been a long road."
Kurt nodded. "I saw pictures of you from performances on the opera house website. You... look so much like Noah. Or, rather, he looks like you."
"Used to," said Mr. Puckerman. "Not so much these days."
Kurt looked over and saw the hard, blank expression on Noah's face, the one he saw in school when Noah was doing something that would get him in trouble. I don't care, the look said, or, possibly, I care too much.
"Thank you for - the tickets," said Kurt. Mr. Puckerman gave him that lopsided smile again.
"Never seen Shakespeare before, I hear? Did Noah tell you how he played Duke Orsino in Twelfth Night last summer?" Mr. Puckerman turned to Noah, still grinning.
"Kurt doesn't want to hear about camp, Dad," Noah muttered.
Mr. Puckerman chuckled. "Hey, if I brought my boyfriend home to meet my dad, I'd want him to hear all the great stuff about me."
Noah's eyes snapped up to his father's, his eyes full of panic. He opened his mouth to respond. Kurt saw the expression with a descending sense of futility. He knew precisely what it meant.
He laughed brightly, covering his dismay. "Mr. Puckerman," he said, "I'm not Noah's boyfriend. He's straight."
"Oh," said Mr. Puckerman, looking between the two of them. "But Noah -"
"Kurt's right," Noah interrupted. "We're just friends. Sorry to disappoint you."
"No, no, my mistake." Mr. Puckerman stood with some effort, moving out from behind his desk. "Forgive me. I'm glad you came down to visit, Kurt. Enjoy the show."
When they returned to the grand hallway, there were other people there, dressed for a night out and speaking in hushed tones. Kurt's excitement, however, had been crushed. He followed Noah down the hall to the box office, feeling numb.
He's really never going to love me, he thought. I don't know what I was thinking.
"Hey, Noah," said the woman behind the counter, smiling at them. She handed him two ticket stubs. "Nice to see you. How's high school?"
"Kind of sucks," Noah shrugged. She nodded, unperturbed.
"It kind of does," she agreed. "But it gets better. Hang in there, and hope you guys enjoy the show. Felix is playing Malvolio."
Noah brightened at that. "He's hilarious," he murmured to Kurt. "You want something to eat before the show? There'll be food afterwards, but we've got time to grab something first, if you want."
"No," said Kurt. He couldn't imagine eating. This is all completely pointless. I shouldn't have come.
Noah just nodded, looking just as unhappy as Kurt imagined he did, and led them back down the hall to the theater. It was grand, painted with gilt and extravagant detail, rising to a ceiling high above them. They took programs and the usher helped them find their seats.
"This is really very nice, Noah," Kurt told him. "I'm sorry your dad got the wrong idea."
He looked at his lap and sighed. "No... I should have expected it. I mean... yeah, two guys like this... I know what it looks like. I just wanted..." He stopped, helplessly looking over at Kurt, who felt himself relenting.
I'm such a sucker, he thought viciously. I deserve whatever I get.
"No, really," Kurt said again. "It's okay. This... it can just be... what it is. It's just us, right?"
Noah nodded, still looking troubled. Kurt put a tentative hand on his shoulder.
"Please," he begged. "Don't worry about it. Can't we just enjoy the show? You're going to have to tell me what's going on, because I could barely understand what I was reading on the way down."
Noah gave him a reluctant smile. "Shakespeare's not like that, when you see it on the stage. It all makes sense. You'll see."
Kurt was rather surprised to discover Noah was right. From the moment the lights went down and Duke Orsino strode onto the stage, singing, "If music be the food of love / Play on...", he was enthralled. It took just a few sentences for him to catch the flow of the language, and by the way the words were spoken, the body language, he did understand.
The audience did, too; they sighed and laughed at all the right spots. Kurt found himself watching Noah's animated face as often as he watched the stage, tracking the actors and sometimes murmuring lines along with them. At one scene change, he leaned in closer to Kurt.
"You getting it?" he whispered.
"Yes," Kurt assured him. He smiled, and felt the familiar twist in his stomach as Noah smiled back.
It wasn't a short play, but Kurt felt like time passed quickly as the love story unfolded. Viola, disguised as Cesario, professed her love for Duke Orsino. The pompous Malvolio was indeed hilarious without being ridiculous. Kurt was caught several times by unexpected laughter as Malvolio attempted to woo Olivia wearing yellow stockings. When intermission came, he was feeling more like himself.
"Oh, I feel bad for him," Kurt said, pointing to the picture of Malvolio in the program. "And it doesn't look from the summary that things get any better, either. He doesn't get a happy ending, does he?"
"No," agreed Noah. "He's kind of tragic like that. But, really, at least he's sure about who he is and what he wants. Even later, when they lock him up in a dark room overnight, he hangs on to that. I guess I admire that about him."
He looked at the woman playing Viola. "She's not a very convincing man."
Noah laughed. "Yeah, I guess Olivia and Orsino and everybody, they're pretty stupid to think she's a guy. But... people see what they want to see, right?"
Kurt was silent for a moment. "Is that why you didn't want to tell me about your dad? Because you thought I would see what I wanted to see?"
"No." He clenched his jaw. "I know what I see when I look at him."
"It's not his fault he had a stroke, Noah."
He glared at Kurt. "You think so? What if I told you he was high on cocaine? Wouldn't that be his own fucking fault? Yeah. He OD'd, and had a stroke. That's what I see. My loser father who couldn't even clean up long enough to take care of his family, because all he could do was lose himself in his work, and run away from his responsibilities."
Kurt flinched away from his vitriol. "Okay, that sucks," he said. "I can see why you'd be mad at him for that. But - god, he's human, right? He gets to make mistakes."
"Not like that. Not with your family." Noah was shaking his head, his hands tense on the armrests. "My mom told him never again, and he did it anyway. And she said, fuck you, I'm taking the kids and we're done with you."
Kurt brushed Noah's hand with his, and Noah clutched at it, crushing it in his grip. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Yeah." Noah closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "Me, too. And now every time I look at him, that's all I can see. He sees it, too, in the mirror. I just keep waiting for him to discover that life isn't going to get any better, and take off. Or worse."
Kurt thought about his mother. "You'd survive, if he did. You could go on. You wouldn't die of a broken heart."
"I might," Noah insisted. His eyes were wild and desperate. "I don't know, but I think... I think I might."
"You wouldn't," said Kurt. "I'd be there."
"Oh." Noah laughed in surprise. He looked absolutely astounded by this idea. "You - really?"
"Yeah. I promise."
The lights dimmed for a moment, and people started to shuffle back to their seats. Noah and Kurt stood to make room for them as they went by, and Kurt's shoulder brushed against Noah's. He turned to see him, still staring at Kurt.
"How can you promise that?" Noah asked, in clear confusion.
"Because - you're my friend, and I - I will be." Kurt shook away the unspoken words. "Can't you just trust me?"
"I'll try?" he said. He sounded dubious, but Kurt touched his hand again, just briefly, and Noah looked somewhat reassured. He leaned closer as the lights went down. "Thank you." The words were whispered into Kurt's ear, and Kurt tried not to shiver.
The rest of the play was as crazy as the first half. Viola's twin brother Sebastian returned, and Olivia decided he was close enough to a substitute for Cesario to marry him instead. It was somewhat heartbreaking to see Viola's ruse come to an end, and to see Olivia's affections transferred so easily to another. Kurt wasn't sure why it bothered him so much until afterwards, when Noah turned to him and asked anxiously, "What did you think?"
"It was amazing," Kurt said honestly, and Noah gave him a huge, satisfied smile.
"I knew you'd get it," he said. Kurt wasn't sure he actually did get it, at least not the way Noah thought he did, but he didn't know how to say that without sounding like he wasn't enjoying it. Because he was, so much.
They moved quickly up the aisle to the lobby, then down a side door and out the back to the gardens. It was dark outside now, but still warm enough to be comfortable. Noah guided him down a path to a bench, where they could sit and watch the adults with their cocktails through the windows.
Noah stretched his legs. "That's the third time I've seen it performed, but we did it last summer, at theater camp. It's different when you know the whole thing by heart."
"Yes, watching Grease is definitely different now," Kurt agreed. "I liked Twelfth Night, but I think I would like it more if I knew the story better. I think I understood it, or most of it. It was kind of sad, though."
"Why sad? It was supposed to be a comedy."
"Because..." Kurt wasn't sure he could explain to Noah why it was sad. Because Viola, disguised as someone else, was still Viola, still loved Orsino - but Orsino didn't even consider her to be a possible partner until it was revealed that she was a girl.
"I guess I didn't like all the lying," Kurt said finally. "I think people should just say who they are and be done with it."
"Yeah?" Noah gazed at him levelly across the bench. "Like you're so honest about who you are?"
"I told you," Kurt said, stung. "And Andrea."
"Yeah, but what do you think would happen if the whole school knew? You'd be totally screwed."
"I don't care what anybody else thinks," Kurt retorted. "They can believe whatever they want. I'm not going to change their minds, anyway, but at least I can be honest about who I am."
Noah snorted. "Who the fuck cares, if nobody wants to hang out with you and you get slushied every day?"
Kurt shook his head. "Seriously, Noah? Why would I want to hang out with anyone who didn't like me just because I'm gay?"
He stared across the yard. "I don't hang out with you. Not at school. And you like me anyway."
"That's because I -" Kurt captured the words on his tongue before they could escape. "I don't have very many friends," he concluded weakly. He tried to laugh. "And really, Noah, who could look at me and not know I'm gay?"
"I didn't know, until you told me." Noah still wasn't looking at him. "I guess I wasn't really thinking about it. I just thought you were a regular guy."
"I've never been just a regular guy," Kurt said bitterly. Noah shifted, dangling his legs next to Kurt's, so their thighs touched.
"No," said Noah. He was very close to Kurt now. "You're really not."
Kurt held his breath for about five seconds before he realized that was stupid, and let it out in a little nervous laugh. "And you like me anyway."
"Yeah. I do. I... I like you a lot, Kurt."
Kurt was intensely aware of the warmth of Noah's body next to his, the closeness of his lips, his hand on his own knee. It would be easy to take his hand, and pretend, for just a moment, that there might be more between them than just this. But Kurt wasn't going to fool himself anymore. He'd seen the look on Noah's face when his father said your boyfriend.
"I'm glad," said Kurt. "I'm really glad."
The wind had begun to pick up, but Kurt didn't really notice the weather until fat raindrops started to patter around them into the garden. Noah swore, rising to his feet. "Come on. I have to lock the cellar anyway."
They hurried back down the steps to the door, which Noah held open for him. "I have to lock it from the outside," he said. "You go inside, and I'll come around and meet you in the prop room."
Kurt didn't really want to be alone in the dark basement, but it was better than getting drenched by the rain, so he went inside. Immediately he bumped into a table, scattering things on the cement floor. "Shit," he hissed, grabbing his bruised shin. He knew there was a lightbulb around here somewhere. He felt around for the string for several long minutes, but couldn't locate it.
He thought he heard quiet footsteps on the stairs. "Noah?" he called out, embarrassed by how frightened he sounded.
"Here," he said. "Where are you?"
"I'll come to you," said Kurt. "Just keep talking."
There was a pause, then as Kurt crept through the room, Noah began to speak words that were vaguely familiar:
"O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch so e'er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is -"
Kurt exclaimed as he bumped full into Noah, and felt his arms go around him, holding him steady against his broad chest.
"- high fantastical," he murmured.
"That was Duke Orsino," said Kurt. His heart beat, loud and heavy. He could feel Noah's, his hand trapped between the two of them.
"Yeah." Noah stepped back, then preceded him up the stairs. "He was kind of a jerk, really. I don't know what Viola saw in him."
"Don't they say love is blind?" said Kurt, feeling out of breath. "I doubt she was thinking much about his noble virtues when she had her hands on his ass."
Noah burst into a fit of laughter. When they emerged into the light at the top of the stairs, he was still grinning. Then he hugged Kurt, quick and tight and sudden, like a pounce. It made Kurt squeak a little, which embarrassed him to no end, but Noah didn't seem to notice.
"Thanks for coming with me," he whispered. Just as suddenly, he let him go again. "We should find my dad before he starts to wonder where we are."
Kurt learned that adults after a performance weren't so different from kids after a performance. The actors were high on the energy and enjoying their alcohol for some time before calling it a night. Luckily there were plenty of snacks, and somebody had ordered sandwiches. They managed to scavenge enough food to satisfy their hunger.
"Who would have known that Shakespearian actors could be so crass?" Kurt murmured, from their vantage point on the staircase. Noah grinned at Kurt over his cup of dubious mixed liquids.
"Actors are actors, right? These guys would do Grease, too, if they had the right paycheck. At least they'd do the real version, not the stupid cleaned up high school version."
Kurt thought their version of Grease had managed to stay plenty sexual, even after being cleaned up, but he imagined Noah had a wider experience in that field than he did. He leaned against the banister, watching the conversation below.
"So you think you want this?" asked Kurt. Noah looked uncomfortable.
"What?
"This. You want to be an actor someday? Live like your dad did?"
"I'm not going to live like my dad," Noah said sharply. "He was a fucking screw-up. I'm not going to be anything like him."
"Okay." Kurt put a hand on Noah's ankle, and heard him sigh. "That's not what I meant."
"I think about it sometimes." Noah squinted across the hall at the opposite wall, where photos were hung along the staircase. "Those pictures of my dad on the stage... they're the best thing he ever did. And it was in Dayton. Don't you think he could have gone someplace, done something with his life? He could have performed in London... New York... but instead he stayed here. For what?"
"Noah," Kurt said, smiling. "I've known him for one evening, and I can tell he loves you. I don't think he thinks those performances were the best thing he ever did. Otherwise he would have left you and your mom years ago."
"Yeah, maybe. But he couldn't stay away from the coke." Noah's lip twisted. "I think the drive down here every day got to him. Young parents, they don't get much sleep. Maybe he needed it to keep going."
"Maybe. He made those choices five years ago. I'm guessing he'd make different ones now, if he had them to do over again."
Noah looked at the floor between his knees, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands clasped in front of him. "He had an affair."
"What?"
"Just before my Ma got pregnant with Sarah. Some waitress down here. He had this all-night diner he used to take me to..." Noah's face got hard again. "I don't think he knows I knew about it. But I did."
Kurt nodded slowly. "People make stupid mistakes sometimes. Especially about sex."
"Yeah. I just don't want to turn out the same way. Everybody tells me I'm just like my dad. This theater camp, he went to it when he was a kid, and they all think I'm, like, the Messiah or something." Noah scoffed. "What a fucking joke. If they only knew, right? There I can be a big deal, the star. And at home, I'm the screw-up, the bad kid. And here..."
Kurt watched his eyes travel back to the pictures on the wall. "Here, you're your dad's son," he said. Noah nodded.
"It's like he needs me to do it for him, to do the things he can't do anymore." Noah twisted his fingers together in frustration. "I don't want to let him down."
"I bet he would be happy with whatever you wanted to be," said Kurt. "Even if you didn't want to be on the stage."
"Yeah, maybe. And my mom, I think she would rather I do anything other than theater. She's always pushed me into sports, made a big deal about that. She never came to one of my performances over the summer. Always blamed it on her schedule, but I knew what was really going on." He shook his head. "It's so fucked up."
"I think all families are. My dad was a big mess after my mom died. I guess I was, too. I mean, I was eight; I don't know how much of a big mess anybody can be when they're eight."
Noah gave him a small smile. "Did you guys do therapy? After your mom died?" Kurt shook his head. "You're lucky. We had family therapy, after my dad OD'd. It fucking sucked, to watch them sitting there, trying to talk about all the things that were wrong with their marriage, in front of me. I just wanted to disappear."
"I can't imagine my dad in therapy," Kurt admitted. "I think he would try to talk football and play with his hat a lot. He's a great dad, don't get me wrong, but he's not so big with the talking."
"You're not so big with the talking, either, Kurt," Noah said, nudging him with his knee.
"You noticed that, huh?" Kurt smiled. "But not with you."
"No." Noah grinned back. "Or me, either, with you. I guess I must trust you."
"That's just about the best thing I've ever heard." Kurt looked away before it could start to feel awkward, but Noah was still watching him as he stood and moved down the staircase. "I'm going to get my coat."
There were still plenty of people hanging around in the dressing rooms and in the lobby, but Mr. Puckerman didn't look disappointed to leave. Everyone waved and said goodbye to Noah. Most of them asked about theater camp, and Noah just said, "I did a show in Lima over the summer instead."
"Does your dad know about why you were in Lima?" Kurt asked in a low voice. Noah shook his head, watching his dad in the front seat of his car.
"I just told him I didn't get a scholarship, and my mom couldn't afford to send me."
Kurt wondered again what Noah had done to deserve an entire summer of detention, but he figured it wasn't polite to ask.
He dozed there in the back seat until they reached Mr. Puckerman's apartment. He was already half-asleep by the time they made it up to the third floor.
"You can have the couch," Noah said, digging in the closet. He handed Kurt a pillow and some blankets, and unrolled a sleeping bag onto the floor.
Kurt had seldom slept in another room with a boy. He'd had sleepovers before, but not recently, and it had almost always been with girls. He lay awake on the couch, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the apartment and the street outside, and tried not to be aware of Noah there beside him.
"Your dad's nice," Kurt said. He heard Noah's soft sigh.
"Yeah, if you don't see all the ways he screws up. Did I tell you he forgot my birthday this summer? I just have to not care if he's there or not, and sometimes that's hard."
"That's your answer? Stop caring about him?" Kurt rolled onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow. "How's that working for you?"
"Fuck you," Noah said. "Of course I care about him. I just can't... you know, be invested. Like, if he doesn't come to performances, I have to remember it's not because he doesn't want to."
"Why wouldn't he come, then?"
"Because I took away everything he had. He was this big prodigy on the stage. But me - I wasn't in the plan. I was the mistake. My Ma wanted to keep me; my dad wanted to keep performing, to keep doing what he was doing. Then they started fighting, and his drug use got worse, and..."
"Noah." Kurt sat up. "You are not telling me you think it's your fault that he overdosed and had that stroke?"
"Well, why else would he have kept using?" Noah said. He sounded miserable. "If he hadn't been a dad, everything would have been different."
"Yeah. He wouldn't have had you. And you're amazing."
There was silence. Noah sighed. "I don't feel all that amazing, Kurt."
"I know. But let me keep telling you you are, okay? Maybe it'll stick one of these days."
"Maybe," said Noah softly. "Thank you."
"It's my pleasure," he replied, and he meant it.
www. youtube watch?v=-qX-EHUIwQ4
The sun is filling up the room
And I can hear you dreaming
Do you feel the way I do right now?
I wish we would just give up
Cause the best part is falling
Call it anything but love
And I will make sure to keep my distance
Say "I love you" when you're not listening
How long can we keep this up, up, up?
And please don't stand so close to me
I'm having trouble breathing
I'm afraid of what you'll see right now
I give you everything I am
All my broken heart beats
Until I know you understand
And I will make sure to keep my distance
Say "I love you" when you're not listening
How long can we keep this up, up, up?
And I keep waiting
For you to take me
You keep waiting
To save what we have
So I'll make sure to keep my distance
Say "I love you" when you're not listening
How long can we keep this up, up, up?
Make sure to keep my distance
Say "I love you" when you're not listening
How long til we call this love, love, love?
- Christina Perri, "Distance"