FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story, characters and setting are copyright © 2011 Alflor Aalto.

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It feels weird to be back in Delport. All the new constructions I drive by remind me of just how long I've been gone. Other buildings, buildings that were around even before I was, assure me with their dated facades that nothing has changed.

The old high-school whizzes by on my right. I don't get a very good look, but it's still there, so that's something. Then again, that prison's been up since the nineteenth century; ten years isn't much of a dent in its lifetime.

Tony's house comes next; I wonder what the kid's been up to. Not watching Saturday morning cartoons in his pajamas anymore, I bet.

The street forks. I go right without even thinking about it; old habits die hard, I guess.

Another five minutes pass and I pull up in front of my... my parents' house. There's only one car in the tiny driveway; I must be early.

With a long sigh, I kill the engine and get out, adjusting my black tie. I wonder if this whole 'funeral' thing will be enough to draw people's attention away from me. We'll see.

As I walk up the cobblestone path towards the house, my knees get sore just from thinking about the number of times I've tripped over the uneven stones. In obedience to tradition, I catch my foot on one of the stones and topple over, sticking my paws out in front of me to break the fall. Murphy's Law says: I must land in a puddle; I do. My paws, the sleeves of my jacket, and my pants are instantly soaked in cold grainy water.

"Jerry?"

I lift my head. All I see are a set of black paws and a russet tail, but I know exactly whom they belong to.

"Hey Rick." I stand up, brushing myself off and trying to avoid eye-contact. Bring on the embarrassment.

Instead, I get a warm embrace, further flustering me. "God, I missed you, bro!"

I open my muzzle to tell that fox just how much I missed him, but my voice quivers and I only manage to force out a single word: "Ricky!"

I squeeze him as tight as I can, fighting back the tears and that damn lump in my throat.

His scent brings back so many memories that I'm physically overwhelmed. Playing in the back yard, staying up 'till three playing videogames, building snowmen. God, what the hell happened to us?

We stand in this embrace until my paws get numb from the cold. Ricky shivers slightly and lets go. "Come on, let's get inside."

I chuckle. "I don't know, I think I'll take frostbite over having to face all the relatives."

Ricky's large, black ears fold back. His tail droops, dragging its white tip through the puddle. "It's just you and me, bro."

"What?" I couldn't even count how many relatives swarmed our house every Christmas. "Jeez, were they all too busy or something?" Of all the foxes with a right to get mad, I'm probably the last on the list. I get mad anyway.

"Yeah, something like that." Ricky sighs. "Come on, let's get inside."

I want to ask him more, but it really is pretty cold out and my paws are so soaked that the slightest breeze makes them feel like they've frozen solid. "Alright."

He nods and we walk up the porch steps. It takes him a few tries to get the front door open. I guess Dad never did get it fixed after all. Finally, after several tackles, the door gives and Ricky tumbles inside, grabbing the banister for support. Clumsy as ever. I can't help a small chuckle.

His ears swivel back and he grins sheepishly. "You know how much I hate this door."

"I do." The last time I saw Ricky attempt to tackle the door open, he knocked over Mom's imitation-Ming vase and gashed his arm.

"Did that scar ever heal?" I walk in after him and slam the door shut.

Ricky rolls up his shirt-sleeve, turning his forearm towards me. "This is as much as it's gonna heal, I guess."

"That's not too bad." I massage his arm, gently parting the russet fur. The twenty-five stitches certainly did their job well. Aside from a thin, white line running from wrist to elbow, there are no other signs of injury.

I release Ricky's arm and follow him into the kitchen. "So, where's the coffin?"

"It's at the mortuary." Ricky puts the tea kettle on and sits down at the kitchen table. "I'd better fill you in, huh?"

"Yeah, actually, I'd like that." Whether on purpose or not, Ricky was extremely vague in his last email. All he said was that Dad had succumbed to the sickness and that the funeral was scheduled for Sunday. I sit down across from him, looking around the house for the first time in ten years. Nothing's changed; at all, in fact. Short of a fresh coat of paint, the place looks completely untouched.

Ricky sighs, tracing a crack in the table with one of his claws. He shoots several glances at me, each one shorter than the last. "Dad is... was." He sighs again. "Dad's gay."

"What?" The news is so surprising that I start to giggle. "Dude, you're kidding, right?"

Ricky frowns at first, but then breaks into a smile. His ears fold back again. "I wouldn't have believed it either, but it's true. After all this time, he finally came out. Everyone called him a hypocrite and disowned him."

I almost don't want to ask: "Did he say anything about me?"

"He-" The kettle whistles and Ricky stands up. "Hold on." He walks over to the cupboard. "All we've got is Earl Grey, are you okay with that? I know you like green and all but-"

"Yeah, that's fine."

He pours the freshly-boiled water over the tea bags and brings the mugs over.

"So, what did Dad say about me?" I'm not sure if he forgot intentionally or not, but I'm just too damn curious. His bright green eyes remind me so much of Dad's that I can't help but wonder what the old fox's last words were.

"He said he was sorry." Ricky masks a sigh by blowing steam off his tea. "He says he's always been sorry."

"The hell he was!" I bang my fists on the table and try to stand, but the chair is too far back against the wall. I end up bumping the table with my thighs, spilling mine and Ricky's tea all over the place. "Shit!"

Ricky jumps out of the way of the hot water and runs to grab paper towels.

I help him dry the table and then proceed to dry myself, dabbing my soaked pants with the paper towel several times before giving up and sitting back down.

"Yes." Ricky picks up right where we left off, shooting occasional glances at me, as he wipes the last of the droplets off the table. "He said that it was the hardest decision of his life. He continued to hold up hope that you'd see things his way and come back-"

"With what?!" My voice comes out as something close to a bark, making Ricky twitch. "A nice vixen? God damn it! The man was gay and he still didn't get what I was going through? Jesus Christ!"

Ricky's ears fold back even more. He continues to wipe the table, rubbing each spot far more than he needs to. "I'm only repeating what he said," he mumbles.

I watch my little brother teeter on the brink of tears, doing his best to act stoic. I can't do this to him, it's not his fault. I walk over and put my arm around him. "I'm sorry, Ricky."

"It's alright, Jer." He touches my paw with his. "You have a right to be mad. What he did was horrible."

I'm reminded of a question I've been wanting to ask him for a very long time: "What would you have done?"

Ricky's ears had just started to come up; when I ask the question they fold down again and he looks away. "Me? Jer, I-"

"Listen, Ricky, I won't be mad." I put my paw under his muzzle and turn it towards me, catching his eyes. "I promise."

He backs away slightly. The minute gesture is enough to tell me that I won't like the answer.

"I would have told him it was a phase." He pulls me into the tightest, warmest embrace yet. "I know it's selfish, Jerry, but I missed you. Mom missed you."

I let the words slip out, thinking much less about them than probably I should have. "And I ruined the family."

Ricky gasps and lets me go. His eyes are wide as if I'd just decked him in the gut. "No, Jer, you-"

"But it's true, isn't it?" I'm not even talking to him anymore; I'm just figuring things out for myself. "I ruined our perfect little family." All these years I blamed Dad. All these years I conveniently disregarded the fact that, right or wrong, I had the final word. The weight, metaphoric as it may be, makes me slouch. It settles at the bottom of my stomach like a large rock.

Ricky says something, but I can barely hear him. I walk to the table and sit, not knowing how I'm supposed to feel.

Ricky's tail brushes mine gently, making me realize I'm daydreaming.

"Jer, don't do this to yourself." He takes my paw in both of his, squeezing it tightly until I look up. "You know damn well that, no matter what anyone else says, you did the right thing."

"I don't even know. Did I?" Somehow everything's been flipped around. On the drive over, I expected to be the one justifying myself in front of my accusatory relatives. I've come up with a rebuttal for every question. I've even booked a hotel, in case I snap and have no place to stay. All I've done so far is find holes in my own logic. "I mean, Christ, I don't even have a boyfriend. It's been ten years, Rick, and I've never even dated a guy!"

Ricky sits there, watching his paws and mine for a while before looking back at me. "Think back; why did you do it in the first place?"

"Oh come on, Rick, can we not get into your psychoanalysis right now? I'm tired." He squeezes my paw a little tighter. We both know I'm stalling.

I just don't know what to say. My reasons seemed so clear back then. Now I struggle to remember just which straw it was that broke the proverbial camel's back. "I just didn't want him to keep seeing me as someone I'm not." I look up at Ricky. He squeezes my paw again and nods, so I continue. "I remember Dad always asking me if there were any sexy vixens at school and if any of them were mate-material. Back then, I just told him that I had too much homework to think about that and he bought it. That was cool... but one day... one day I'd be forty-five; never dated, never married. What would I tell him then, that my sheath fell off?"

Ricky tilts his head slightly. "So, why didn't you feel that way about anyone else? You didn't say a word to any of your friends."

The kid's loved psychology ever since he could read; smart guy. I shrug. "They didn't need to know."

"Why not?"

"Because-" That damn lump's in my throat again. "Because they're just friends. Mom and Dad, they were my parents! I..." I didn't think I'd ever say it, but the reality of it forces the words out of my muzzle: "I loved them." I try to hold back the tears but, screw it, he's my brother. I bury my muzzle in his shoulder and let all the tears out.

Ricky holds me tight, resting his muzzle between my ears. He doesn't as me a single question. He just holds me.

When I finish crying, I wipe my eyes and look back at him. "Thanks for helping me figure things out, Rick. Not like any of it matters, though." There are more tears on the way, I can feel it. "I mean, who cares how much I loved them, right? They couldn't even love me back enough to accept me."

Ricky shrugs. "Maybe they loved you too much."

Again with his damn psychology. "What'd you mean?"

"They wanted what was best for you-"

I open my muzzle to rebut, but he holds up his paw.

"Hear me out. Dad's lived his whole life in the closet. He knew how it feels to be trapped, to be married to someone you didn't fall in love with. I guess he just continued to hope that it was all a phase - that you'd grow out of it and have a normal life." The words 'normal life' are barely audible. "They were from a different time."

"I know." I give him a wan smile. "I just don't think, 'You're no son of mine', are words to convey love."

Ricky stands up. He takes my paw again, squeezing it gently. "Let me show you something."

We walk in the direction of the front door and then up the carpeted staircase.

As I plant my weight on each successive step, more memories come back. Every step looks, feels and creaks exactly as I remember it. I don't ever remember having paid attention to such minute details, but I recall each one as if I'd spent years examining it.

The second floor comes into view; by complete instinct, I head right for my old room.

I'm already turning the doorknob, when Ricky stops me. "Not yet."

He leads the way down the corridor to my father's study. The door is ajar and I pick up the faint hum of Dad's old CRT monitor.

Ricky pushes the door open. "In here." He follows me into the room and sits down at the computer. "I discovered this when I was going through Dad's computer. He didn't leave a will." He grabs the mouse and moves it back and forth several times to exit out of the screensaver.

"Oh my God." The words escape my muzzle before I can even process what I'm seeing. Several windows are open, but I can still see the wallpaper. It's a picture of me and Dad on our first fishing trip.

"Nice try." I hold the tears back with some dry laughter. "I know you set that wallpaper yourself. I mean, Jeez, Ricky, do you think I'm that stupid?"

Ricky smiles knowingly. "I thought you'd say that." He goes into the settings menu and opens up the screen preferences. "Take a look." He shifts over, allowing me to get closer.

I read over the options, stopping on 'wallpaper'. "'Changed: August fifteenth two thousand.' So he changed it-"

"A year after you left." Ricky finishes my sentence and shuts off the monitor.

I watch the image fade, still staring at the date long after it's gone.

With every action he took after I came out, my father had me absolutely convinced that he wanted to erase me from his life. "Why would he have that picture?"

"I guess he didn't want to forget about you, after all." He gives me another warm smile. "I know it's tough to understand, it certainly took me a while, but he loved you. I guess he just couldn't see any way for you to be gay and happy at the same time."

"Alright then, why couldn't he have called me himself?" I fold my arms and try to act tough. The tears aren't far behind.

Ricky's smile fades slightly. "Would you have picked up?"

"I-" I want to say yes. I want to prove him wrong; but even after all the years of separation, Ricky knows me too well. "No. No I wouldn't have."

Ricky's not smiling anymore. He nods. "Exactly. There's something else you need to see."

He walks out of the office and down the hall, not waiting for me to follow.

I join him by my bedroom door. We both stand and stare at the patterns on the faded wood, before Ricky breaks the silence.

"Go on, open it."

I place my paw on the doorknob and turn it.

Ricky pats me on the back, giving me an encouraging nod. "Go on."

I push open the door and switch on the lights.

It's as if the past ten years just melted away. Everything in my room is exactly as I'd left it. All the pictures, trophies, even my computer. I step into the room, trailing my paw across the surface of my desk as I walk by. Not a single thing has changed. Why would the man who wanted so much to forget me keep my room perfectly intact?

I rub my pawpads together feeling the... there's no dust.

Curious, I walk back to my desk and run a paw across it again. The wood is freshly polished and clean.

Ricky sits down in my computer chair, watching me with a thin smile across his muzzle. "Dad thought that Mom and I wouldn't notice." He smiles, staring at a point somewhere far back in time. "He cleaned your room once a week, every week since you left. He always thought you'd come back."

"I guess I'm just more stubborn than he is." I walk over to the bed and sit down. The old four-poster also feels exactly as I remember it.

"Oh, you're both stubborn," Ricky says. "You for not coming back and him for not apologizing."

Again, I feel all those doubts clawing at my conscience. Should I have just made peace and come back?

I would never have given it thought before; I would never have allowed my father to win. Back then, the thought of going back into the closet made me physically sick.

Now, though... now is a wholly different matter. "I wish I could have seen him before he died. Even if just for closure."

Ricky sits down next to me, curling his tail around his legs. "What would you have said to him?"

"I would have said: 'Dad, I forgive you. I know you thought that what you were doing was right.'" Did I really forgive my father after what he'd done? I didn't think I ever could, but I understand now how, in his misguided eyes, he was only trying to help. I could never forget what he did, but how could I not forgive the man that taught me how to fish, how to read, how to swim? The man who spent the last of his money, when times were tough, to get me that RC car I've always wanted.

Unlike most children who don't want to grow up to be like their parents, I wanted to be just like my Dad. I guess, though, my Dad didn't want me to be just like him.

"Let's go say good-bye." I stand up and brush the dry dirt from my pants and jacket-sleeves.

Ricky stands up and nuzzles me. "Let's get you changed first."

"It's fine." I brush more of the caked mud off my pants.

"Jerry." He stands just a few inches away form me, his muzzle tilted down slightly to be level with mine. "You look like crap. Let's get you changed."

After all the arguments I've lost today, I'm not up for losing anymore. "Fine."

We cross the hall into Ricky's room.

He digs through his closet, producing a black suit and a shirt. "Here, these are a bit small on me, but you should be fine."

I try the pants on. "Wow, fits perfectly. Heh, never thought I'd be wearing your hand-me-downs."

Ricky shrugs, smiling demurely. "Told you I'd be taller than you one day."

"Oh please." I zip up the pants and stand up coming muzzle to muzzle with him. "I'm at least as tall as you, maybe taller."

"Jerry." His smile broadens. "Not even with Mom's gigantic ears, you're not."

I size him up, resisting the urge to stand on my tip-toes. Yeah he's taller. "Whatever."

"Don't worry." He scratches me between the ears, making my tail wag. "You're still the big brother... even if you are tiny."

I chase him down the stairs and gently tackle him to the ground, tickling him mercilessly.

"Stop it, stop it!" he squeals between bouts of laughter.

"Who's taller?" I keep tickling him. "Say It!"

"Ha ha ha, you're taller, you're taller!" He tries to wiggle free, tears of laugher flowing form his eyes. "Cut it out, Jer, you know I'm ticklish!"

"I know." I stand up and extend my paw. "Our first tickle-fight in ten years."

Ricky's smile fades slightly. "Yeah. I'm so happy you're back, Jer."

"Me too." We both know I have a return flight to Westwood tomorrow. Why mention it if we both know it, right?

Once Ricky's had a chance to recover from his laughing fit, he wrestles the front door open and we go outside.

I unlock my crap rental car. "I'll drive."

"Nah, it's alright." Ricky opens his car door and climbs in. "I know the way better."

I open my muzzle to tell him about my car's built-in GPS, but he's already started the engine.

I open the passenger door, climb in, and we pull out of the driveway.

The car smells strongly of Ricky, but there are a few scents layered underneath his which I can't quite identify. One of them is extremely familiar, too.

"So, which mortuary is he in?" I give up trying to sniff out the elusive scent and settle back in my seat, watching houses fly by outside the window.

Ricky stays focused on the road. "The one on the Tellyson border," he says, signaling right and merging into another lane. His ears are twitching so much that I get nervous as well.

"You okay, Rick?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine." His ears stop twitching, but I can tell that it's taking a great deal of focus for him to keep them that way.

I haven't got any other pressing questions, and making small talk on the way to a mortuary seems in bad taste, so we both stay quiet.

The high-school flies by, on the left this time.

"Wait a minute." I furrow my eyebrows, trying to place our direction. "The high-school is in the opposite direction from Tellyson."

Ricky stays silent.

"Ricky." I prod him on the shoulder. "Dude, where are you taking me?"

He makes another turn, answering my question without saying a word.

The whitewashed building that looms ahead of us makes my heart sink.

"He's still alive, isn't he?"

Ricky nods.

A fresh wave of confusion washes over me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He parks in an empty space, a few yards away from the front door. "Would you have come?"

"I..." I shrug. "Yeah, I guess."

"What would you have said?"

"I-" I try to think back to how I felt. "Probably nothing."

Ricky nods. "Exactly."

We get out of the car and walk to the front door. Ricky walks several paces ahead of me, avoiding my gaze.

I've visited St. Mathias General Hospital on many occasions, but always as a patient. It seemed like, at least once every ski season, I'd break something. Dad would speed all the way to the hospital, yell at anyone who tried to push ahead of us in line... I pick the most opportune moment to start crying: right in front of a huge crowd of people.

Ricky's ears swivel back. He slows his walk, letting me catch up and puts his arm around me. "Come on, Jer."

The orderly on duty gives him a knowing nod and waves us through.

We get on the elevator, holding the doors open for an elderly fox couple.

"Third floor," Ricky says, pointing to a keypad.

I press the button and wait. Wherever I look, I can see my reflection. My eyes are red and I look like I'd spent a lot more time crying than I actually have.

I tear my eyes from the reflection and focus on the floor counter.

Soon enough, the elevator doors open and we disembark.

The fox couple head to the left, while Ricky and I go to the right. He leads the way down the corridor, stopping in front of room 306. Rather than opening the door right away, Ricky stands off to the side. "Whenever you're ready."

I grab the doorknob and twist, before my brain has a chance to kick in and make me overthink things.

The door opens to reveal a small, sterile room. It's sparsely furnished, with a large hospital bed taking up most of the real estate. A small group of foxes is gathered around the bed. They all turn around when we come in. I recognize all of them: Aunts, uncles and even my grandparents.

Some smile as I approach the bed, while others stand and stare.

I realize, then, exactly whom the faint scent in Ricky's car belonged to, although I hardly recognize him.

The fox I see before me looks old and tired. He's hooked up to several IVs, and I can see from his bare arms just how much weight he's lost. When I saw him last, his fur was sleek and shiny, the russet tones mingling with gold like a blazing camp fire. The fire died at some point in the last ten years. All that's left now are the ashes, thin and gray. His claws are brittle now, chipping away like flint. His tired eyes are dark and bruised. They open and widen at what they see.

"Jerry," he croaks. His muzzle breaks into a smile. "Son, I'm so sorry."

His breathing is labored and every word seems to take a Herculean effort.

I speak in a whisper to match his. If I speak any louder, the tears will return. "Dad."

He takes me in his arms, embracing me with what must be the last of his strength.

"Dad, I forgive you." The tears come back anyway. They stain his scrubs as I bury my muzzle in his shoulder and inhale the long-forgotten scent. "I love you, Dad."

He inhales deeply, taking in my scent as well. "I'm so proud of you, Jerry. You've done what I never could. I was so busy trying to protect you, I didn't realize when I'd gone too far." He takes my paws in his, fresh tears glistening in his beautiful, green eyes. "So, tell me what happened. What has your life been like, son?"

I pull up a chair and tell him my story. He lets go of one of my paws but continues to hold the other, listening carefully to every word.

As I near the end of my story, I feel his grip loosen slightly. "Dad?"

He looks up at me and tries to speak, but he can't seem to gather the strength for words.

At one point he stops trying to speak and smiles instead.

"Dad." I stand up. "Hold on, I'm gonna go get the nurse. Dad!"

He clutches my paw just a little bit tighter, moving his head left and right just enough to say no.

I wipe away the tears so I can look him in the eyes one last time. "Good-bye, Dad."

His bright green eyes close and his paw goes limp, but the smile remains broad across his muzzle.

Time goes by at its own pace. I continue to hold the frail paw, feeling the gentle warmth that still emanates from my father's body.

Ricky's scent brings me back.

"You've made him very happy," he says, wrapping his paw around mine and Dad's. "All he's been asking for these past few weeks was to see you. I knew you wouldn't want to do it on your own, so I had to slip a few lies in. I'm sorry."

My eyes are so wet, I don't even know if I'm crying anymore. "Thank you, Ricky." I release Dad's paw and stand up to embrace my brother. "Thank you."

We stop by in the hallway and say hello to the relatives. Even after all these years, I'm not particularly keen to stay and chat. My grandparents give me a card with a hundred-dollar bill folded inside, while everyone else settles for a quick pawshake or a hug.

After a few more awkward Moments pass, I bid them all good-bye and follow Ricky outside.

***

For the first time since I came home, the clouds have cleared up. The sun is slowly setting over our little town as Ricky and I get back into the car.

"So." He starts the engine and looks over at me. "Going back to Westwood tomorrow?"

"Nah, I think I'll stick around for a little while yet. We've got a lot of catching up to do, you and I."

His smile broadens and his tail thumps happily against the back of the seat. "That we do. Welcome home, Jer."

THE END