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Truman's knee was burning and stinging when he dusted off his trousers, but he was sure he hadn't broken any bones. He pulled up his bike, readjusted the bell and looked at the front tire. It looked a little wonky. He looked around hoping nobody had seen his fall because that would've been embarrassing. He noticed people walking about but none of them seemed to pay him any attention, going about their businesses as usual, and he sighed with relief.
He walked the rest of the way to the school, steering the bike with his right hand and looking at the wobbly tire going left and right. He parked the bike next to a really nice looking red one he had never seen parked there before. It looked like the one he'd seen on a poster a while ago. He'd dreamt of getting one. Maybe he could ask his parents to get him a new bike now that his old one was broken, he thought to himself as he walked towards the classroom.
Annie saw him first and whispered something to Susan, who whispered something to James and then Frankie, and soon everyone was looking at him and whispering to each other, some of them pointing at his knee, and he could swear it began burning again just because they were looking at it.
He noticed that there was someone new in the classroom, a boy with really pretty hair sitting by the window, but he wasn't in on the whispers. He wasn't talking with anyone. He gave Truman a small smile like a hello, and Truman was about to walk to his desk that was right next to his when Mrs. Johnson rushed to him, flailing about and asking if he was fine. She told him that he should go and see the nurse immediately, and she would call his parents right away and let them know. It felt like an awful lot of trouble for something so little - the knee wasn't that bad, honestly - but before he could say anything she had already ushered him out of the classroom and towards the nurse's office, and all he could do was obey.
When he sat on the bench waiting for the nurse and looking at the posters - there were so many nasty diseases one could catch in big cities with all their factories and smoke, and all you had to do was walk down the streets and breathe - he wondered who the new boy with the pretty hair was and if the cool red bike was his and if he would let Truman ride it some day.
* * *
"But I don't want to dance," Truman groaned when his mother was fussing with the shirt she was ironing, looking at him like she was about to burst with pride. She kept telling him how much he reminded her of his dad when he was young, and how his dad would really want him to enjoy his first real dance with a girl. There was also a jacket, still on a hanger, and Truman looked at it with dread. There was a bowtie too, like the jacket wasn't enough. Soon he would have to put all of those things on and he didn't want to.
Dancing meant dancing with Beth and he didn't want to dance with Beth. They had already practised together during gym class and he had hated it, the way Beth looked at him and wanted to hold his hand all the time. Beth liked him and she kept telling him that she liked him, and that everyone would envy her because she got to go to the dance with Truman Burbank.
He didn't want to go to this stupid dance with Beth.
"Nonsense, Truman," his mother said, shoving the still warm shirt at him, expecting him to put it on right then and there. "You're going to have a fun night with Beth."
He took the shirt, groaned again, and marched to his room. He wasn't going to change clothes where his mother could see.
"Can we go do something else instead?" he asked Marlon when he got to his room and closed the door.
Marlon was sitting on Truman's bed, looking at some magazine he'd brought with him, holding it up in a funny way he sometimes did. Sometimes Truman made fun of him for it, but right now he was too busy feeling annoyed. He wished he could go and dance with Marlon instead. That would have been so much more fun.
But boys didn't dance with boys. Whoever had made that rule was dumb. If Truman ever became a headmaster he would allow anyone to dance with anyone they liked. Even with kids from other schools, from places Truman had never been to or even heard of.
"What do you want to do?" Marlon asked, putting the magazine aside. Truman could feel his eyes on him when he buttoned up his shirt, and suddenly he wished Marlon wouldn't look at him like that. He turned away, wondering if he was going to blush, of all things. As if everything else didn't already suck enough.
"I don't know," he mumbled, trying to put on his tie, but he could never do it right, and he wished his mother had bought one of those easy ones that were already tied. He'd seen a picture once. "We could sneak out and go to your house. Listen to music or something."
"My parents would hear us."
Yeah, Marlon was probably right, Truman thought and sighed.
"We could go out somewhere. To the beach. Or Old Mr. Hatton's house to see what he's put on the front lawn this time."
Last week Truman had seen a set of forest animals with toothy grins and wide unseeing eyes. They were probably supposed to look cute but they'd given him nightmares, the way their eyes followed you when you walked past them, like the things were haunted by actual dead animals. The week before it was three different sized tents and three sleeping bags spread out, ranging from a small one to a large one, like Old Mr. Hatton was excepting a camping Goldilocks to visit his yard and test them all out. He had the strangest things on his lawn and Truman could never figure out why.
"He's got gnomes now," Marlon said. "I saw them this morning. Really boring ones with flowers and tools and hats of all colours. Come on, Truman. The dance will be fun."
Truman sighed. He didn't agree. And the tie was still fighting him.
"Let me," Marlon said with a chuckle and stood up. He walked to Truman and took the tie off his hands. He stood really close and his fingers were touching Truman and it tickled and it felt warm and nice. And his face was really close to Truman's. He was looking down at Truman's neck, working at the tie, and Truman looked at his mouth, the lower lip, biting his own.
"My dad made me do this like a thousand times until I got it right," Marlon said, looking up at Truman and giving him a quick flash of a smile. Truman could believe it. Somehow Marlon managed to make that limp fabric into a proper bowtie in only a few swift movements. Then he tugged at it and stepped away, and Truman felt disappointed.
Marlon's eyes were still on Truman's neck, assessing his handiwork. "Perfect."
Truman turned to look at himself in the mirror. Yeah, it was pretty perfect. It looked just like his dad's had looked when he was a kid and they were going to some big event.
"Thanks," he said, touching the bowtie and smiling at Marlon through the mirror.
"I bet Beth likes it too," Marlon said.
Truman's smile faded.
* * *
"So, how's everything? How's life?" Truman asked Marlon, grabbing Marlon's other bag from the trunk. It looked deceptively light due to its size but it was surprisingly heavy, like Marlon had hauled a ton of leaden bricks in it instead of clothes and toiletries. Truman had to carry it with two hands and close to the ground if he wanted to make it to the porch without breaking something.
"How's Rita?" he continued, grimacing, mostly due to the pain. Mostly.
He hadn't seen Marlon for three months now. First Marlon had attended some conference for Goodies employees. A national event for vending machines stockers, Marlon had said, and there was apparently some new next generation vending machine technology involved. Marlon hadn't been allowed to say more than that. Confidentiality, you see. Truman wasn't entirely sure what that was all about. Marlon had sounded excited on the surface but Truman was still skeptical. Something about it sounded off. Then, as if the conference hadn't been enough, Marlon had been invited to tour the country and train new people to use this highly confidential next generation vending machine technology. That one took forever.
Now, three months later, Marlon was finally back.
"She's great. We're great," Marlon said, and he looked like it. "We're engaged."
The bag slipped and fell to the ground, corner first, then fell onto its side. It made a sharp thud but somehow nothing broke.
"That's a sturdy bag," Marlon said, getting that odd wink and smile look on his face he sometimes did, then when that odd moment was gone he put down the bag he'd been carrying and knelt down to pick up the fallen one. "Here, let me help. You grab that one."
Truman took the other bag and stood there, in the middle of the street, looking at Marlon's back as he hauled the heavy bag to his front porch. He felt empty.
Then he remembered what Marlon had just told him. Putting on a wide grin, following it with a hearty laugh and all the warmth he could muster, he looked at Marlon.
"Engaged, you say? Congratulations! When's the happy day?"
It wasn't today. Nothing about this day was happy anymore. But he could fake it.
* * *
Truman was looking at five different sorts of canned tomatoes, whole and chopped and crushed and probably sliced, diced, shaken and stomped too. He couldn't possibly decide which one to buy. The ad standing next to them was of no help either because it just praised them all, saying they were all premium tomato preserves because Nonna's Tomatoes had been the best of the best since 1893. He resisted the urge to take one of each just to save him from the trouble of having to choose.
"That one's my favourite," came a voice from his right, and then he saw a finger pointing at the can with chopped tomatoes in tomato juice.
"Oh?" Truman said, looking at the source of the voice. A young man with sleek auburn hair and freckles, wearing a dark green cardigan and the same exact striped shirt that Truman had in his closet back home. What a pleasant looking man, he thought to himself, and put his hand out without even thinking. "Hi, I'm Truman."
"Danny," the man said, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly. It was a nice handshake, very nice. Shame it had to end so soon.
"So you're saying I should buy this one?" Truman asked, picking up the can and turning it around in his hand.
"That's what I'd buy," Danny said, and Truman looked at him. He expected Danny to get that same expression that Marlon used to get, but all Truman could see was an open, eager face of a young man who seemed happy about something. Truman almost wanted to ask him what it was that made him so happy, and was it because he liked chopped tomatoes so much.
"I guess I'll give it a try then," Truman said, taking two cans and putting them into his basket. "Thanks."
Danny turned to walk down the aisle, and even without invitation Truman followed him, and Danny didn't seem to mind at all. They chatted about various groceries they saw, compared the brands they'd tried, and after a while Truman tried to remember what it was that he was supposed to buy, but he couldn't remember anymore. All his focus was on Danny and the way he walked, the way he moved his hands and touched things, and the way he looked at Truman like they'd met before.
But so what if he didn't remember what to buy? That was all right. Meryl would remind him when he got back home. She always did. He'd just have to come back here and get more groceries. He'd be happy to do that. More than happy. He might consider doing groceries every day and let Meryl stay home.
* * *
"This is me," Danny said when they got to a red sedan. The small car was surrounded by bigger ones, looking a little out of place, but it held its own with the bright colour. He opened the trunk and put his groceries in. Truman adjusted his own bag in his lap, much lighter than it should have been.
"You need a ride?" Danny asked, wrapping his cardigan tighter around him like he was getting chilly in the outer air, and Truman wanted to offer his own jacket for extra warmth. But of course he couldn't do that.
Truman wanted to say yes, but he knew he couldn't leave his car behind so he shook his head. He cleared his throat.
"This was fun," he said, trying to come up with things to say, ways to make this last longer. He wanted to know everything about Danny. Where he lived, where he worked, what he did when he wasn't working, what were his favourite things in the world,why he liked the chopped tomatoes the best of all. He wanted to ask him out for a date and he wanted the date to end with a dance and a kiss, even though he was married and even though men didn't kiss men. But everything inside him screamed that he wanted to know what it would be like, to kiss him and touch him and feel him and more, and the curiosity both scared him and made him giddy. He didn't want Danny to sit in that car and drive away. Not now. He didn't want any of this to end when it had barely begun.
"Yeah, it was," Danny said, nodding a little, looking Truman straight in the eye, and Truman was unable to look away. The intensity there made him feel like they were all alone, just the two of them. Like nothing else existed around them. What a frightening, thrilling thought, Truman thought to himself.
He offered a hand and without hesitation Danny took it. Truman had thought he'd shake it, thank him for a fun afternoon, then let go like he always did, but once he was holding Danny's hand he didn't want to let go, couldn't let go, so they simply stood there, hands clasped together between them. Then Danny took a step forward and leaned closer. He whispered into Truman's ear.
"I really wish I could ask you out right now, but I can't," he said, then he took a step back, hand still in Truman's hand.
Truman inhaled sharply. He looked at Danny's mouth, the edge curved into a small smile, then up into his eyes. They were green like the sea on a sunny day, when it looked safe and inviting and calm. Beautiful.
"Me too," he said, for the first time admitting such a thing out loud to another man, and the way Danny smiled back with his whole face punched him and he forgot how to breathe.
Then suddenly a heavily built man in a black suit appeared out of nowhere from between the rows of cars and pulled them apart. Truman heard the rustling and thump of his grocery bag as it fell and hit the ground. The man said something to Danny who froze. Danny looked at Truman with a desperate look, then nodded slowly. They had a conversation that Truman wasn't a part of, but whatever they were saying to each other, it was something that made Danny look terrified.
"I need to go," Danny said then, voice thin and strained, glancing at the large man who was holding him by his shoulder, keeping him in place.
This was all too familiar. Hadn't once been enough?
"I guess I'll see you around," Truman said, trying to sound casual.
Danny nodded, but he didn't say anything, just gave him a pleading look before leaving with the man.
Truman looked at the two of them retreating until they disappeared around the corner. He knelt down and began picking up his groceries, putting them in the bag, looking at the ripped edge. People walked past him, minding their own business, the half familiar faces of his neighbours and fellow townspeople and all the strangers he'd never met in person. None of them knew what had just happened. That Truman's world had been ripped apart.
This was like Sylvia all over again, Truman thought. Another person who was here one moment and gone the next, pulled away like Truman didn't deserve to have these people in his life. Except this time it all happened quicker. And this time he didn't know where Danny had gone or what his last name was. There was no Fiji, no name to tell the phone operator, no clues to follow. There was nothing but a first name and the memory of his hand in Truman's, his eyes looking into Truman's like he knew everything. The thought of a date somewhere, then maybe a kiss, and maybe something more. None of that would happen, would it?
Sylvia's disappearance had hurt. This time hurt even worse.
He walked to his car in a daze, threw the grocery bag on the other seat, then sat on the driver's seat and closed the door. He wanted to shout until his throat hurt, to cry until he'd run out of tears, but all he could do was stare silently out of the windshield and wonder where Danny was now and if he was all right.
Truman needed to find these disappearing people. He needed to know what was happening. He needed this all to start making sense.
* * *
Then one day his entire world collapsed, turned upside down and inside out, and suddenly everything made sense, and yet nothing did.
* * *
Truman looked around the cafeteria, and he could feel that people there had noticed him. He saw their stares from the corner of his eye, their sudden movements when they turned their heads away as if they hadn't been staring. But they had, and as much as Truman disliked it, he had told himself he would need to get used to it. That's why he'd made the request to meet here, in the middle of a crowd, where everyone was looking.
"How are you?" Marlon asked. No, Marlon was Louis here. He didn't look like a Louis at all though. He was Marlon. He would always be Marlon.
Truman held his coffee mug with both hands, looking at the little bubbles at the edge of it, the way they popped, then up at his friend. Strange how everything around him could change in the blink of an eye, but this one thing remained and survived it all. This one person who'd been there almost since the beginning and would very likely be there to see how it all ends.
"You know me, every day's an opportunity," Truman said, his grin a reflex, but he could feel just how fake it was and let it die down.
"No, I mean how are you really?" Marlon asked, and he grabbed Truman's wrist with his other hand, to ground him. Truman looked at the hand, then up at Marlon.
"Some days are worse than others," he admitted. "How's Rita?"
Another reflex before he remembered that there was no Rita here. Louis wasn't married. It turned out Louis didn't even date women. Boy was that one a fun revelation.
"Sorry. Old habits," he said apologetically.
"No, I get it," Marlon said. "Anthony's well. Working out and working hard as usual." He chuckled a little.
Anthony. Truman had met him twice now, at Marlon's house. A very friendly man despite his looks. Truman had never seen a person with tattoos before, never mind one with so many of them. All those strange pictures on Anthony's skin, and they were covering such noticeable arms and neck too, and probably even more if he'd taken his shirt off. How was this man even real, had been Truman's first thought, but at least he had kept the thought to himself. What did he know about real anyway?
No, Anthony was a good man.
"That's good," Truman said, smiling, and this was a genuine smile. He was happy to hear Marlon was doing well. It didn't bother him that Marlon had someone. It didn't even bother him that Marlon had someone who was a guy. It would have once, but that was years ago. It was nice, actually, to learn something new about his friend. To learn who he really was and what he was doing when he wasn't in Seahaven. What those conferences really were.
Then he cleared his throat, looking around, and again he saw the way people shifted in their seats and chatted in lowered voices, pretending not to know that he was there, the world famous Truman Burbank, the one who got fooled by the entire universe. But at least they weren't getting instructions into their ear pieces here. At least none of this was choreographed. This was all organic, all them. And none of this was getting recorded and viewed by billions of people.
He leaned forward, and Marlon instinctively mirrored his gesture.
"You said you'd found something?" Truman asked.
He'd asked Marlon to help him. To make inquiries, to contact people who knew people who might know the right people, but without making it into a big public event. There were definite upsides to knowing someone who was a part of the production, knew who did casting, knew who to ask.
"I think so," Marlon nodded, then glanced around. "I've made some arrangements. I wrote the address down. A cab will take you there."
Marlon put a little card on the table and Truman slid it against the surface, picked it up and looked at it. Read it. He straightened up and looked at Marlon.
This was it. This had to be it.
"Thank you," he said.
* * *
There was a row of doors, all of them identical at first glance, and for a moment Truman panicked, unsure of which one to pick and afraid he'd pick the wrong one and then he'd have to deal with yet another overexcited fan. Then he noticed the little number plaques and began walking. 13, 14, 15. Here. The name on the door was Weller. He took a deep breath, then let it out.
He pressed the doorbell twice, one hand hovering over the doorbell, the other behind his back. He could hear the chime through the door, and then the sound of the lock being unfastened. He pulled his hand away from the doorbell.
When the door finally opened, the first thing he saw was a familiar looking cardigan, and he let out a relieved laugh. This was definitely the right place.
"Good afternoon," he said in a chipper voice, trying to shake off the jitters of excitement, and he offered his gift he'd been hiding behind his back. "I really hope you weren't lying when you said you liked these."
Danny took the can of chopped tomatoes he was holding, then looked up. He had the warmest smile and daylight made his auburn hair glint in shades of orange. Truman hadn't forgotten his sea green eyes, couldn't have even if he'd tried to, but he was still startled to see the way Danny was looking at him. Like he saw Truman and didn't look past him but into him and knew everything.
"No, I wasn't lying," Danny said, then chuckled. "They really are my favourite. Hi. Come on in."
Danny held the door open, wide enough to show a hallway leading to a cozy, pleasant looking apartment. Truman stepped inside, let Danny close the door behind them, and then it was just the two of them alone in the world, and nobody else.