The Past Is a Grotesque Animal

[Josh Bernstein]

he past is a grotesque animal

And in it's eyes you see

How completely wrong you can be

-of Montreal

---

1991



"Junk. Junk, junk, junk. Bills." Josh muttered, tossing mail into separate piles in front of the couch. "Bills. Mother. Junk, junk, junk."





Simon rested his head in one hand, the other drumming against the armrest with undisguised irritation. "I thought this was supposed to be a date." He piped up after several minutes spent watching the other man sort mail without any indication he noticed he had company. But of course he did know he had company; he'd had to answer the door. And his welcome had been a disappointing invitation to sit on the couch while Josh went through his mail. No kiss, no hug, not even a glad to see you, and Simon's attempts to get attention, opening his arms and leaning for the other man, had been expressly ignored. "Do you even like me?"





"Junk. Oh, Talia sent me something, how about that. Bills, junk. Sure I like you." Josh didn't look up from his task, oblivious to the insecurities plaguing the other occupant of the couch. "Wouldn't be dating you otherwise. Junk, junk, bills. I swear, the junk mail is never ending."





"No, you don't. We never spend any time together anymore unless I ask. And you're always distracted! You can't even look at me while I'm talking to you."





Josh did look up at that. "We spend time together. We're together now." Defensive but unwilling to expand upon the obvious reasons why they couldn't spend all their time together. Again. Work was simply more important than boyfriends. He'd thought Simon had realized that when he'd agreed to date, but apparently not since it kept coming up. He didn't see what the problem was; they spent quite a good bit of time together in his estimate. They'd begun spending a great deal of time together before dating, time that had included both of them being distracted by studying and homework. It wasn't that he disliked his boyfriend, but he didn't see any reason that they needed to spend more time together than they already did. He liked the other man well enough; he was nice to spend time with (when he had the time) and he was fairly agreeable and extremely liberal and so when Simon had asked if he wanted to be more than friends he hadn't taken any time at all to respond with a shrug and a Sure.



More than friends did not mean spend every waking moment together. He'd tried that before and while it had been fun for awhile, ultimately he'd felt overwhelmed and smothered. He wasn't keen on attempting that again anytime soon.





"You're sorting your mail. That doesn't count. You couldn't even wait until after we have dinner to do this? Even your mail is more important to you than me." A pointed glare was sent toward the mail, a glare that said he would be shredding every last envelope if he could. "Why don't you just break up with me, if I'm so boring!"





Josh went slackjawed at Simon's unexpected outburst. He definitely didn't think Simon was boring, but he had an idea that an explanation to that affect would be missing the point. "Oh. Umm." He glanced from the mail to his boyfriend, then shrugged, "Okay, then."





"What do you mean okay, then??!" Simon demanded; this wasn't the direction he'd intended this conversation to take.





"You said you wanted to break up." Now the other man was just being confusing. First he'd called and insisted they have dinner together, then he said they should break up, and now....he was upset because of what again? Because Josh wasn't going to argue him out of it? He certainly didn't want to break up with Simon; he liked having someone to spend time with and Simon was nice. But he didn't want to plead for a relationship that wasn't working for his partner. That sounded like nothing short of a waste of energy.





"I didn't....! Ugh, I knew it, you don't like me."





"I do like you, but you said we should break up." Josh pointed out, dropping the remainder of the mail in a pile to be sorted through later; it was difficult to concentrate when his boyfriend was breaking up with him. "So I'm saying okay. If you don't want to stay, then don't. You won't be happy and we'll have this conversation again in two days."





Simon pushed himself off the couch, glaring accusingly at the other man. "Fine!" He spat, not bothering to hide the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He wanted this to work out; he didn't want to be the only one who cared that it didn't. "I can't believe I ever liked you. I'll just...I'll just leave then."





And as he slammed the door behind him Josh was left scratching his head in confusion. After a moment he sighed and reached for the phone, dialing the one person he knew would understand.





"Hey, Sean? I think I just broke up with Simon..."

[Josh Bernstein]

April 1978

---

Balto had guarded his section of Central Park since December of 1925, bearing witness to many romantic trysts. Rebekah Katzenberg and Joshua Bernstein were one of many ill-fated couples to meet at the foot of the statue, a half-way point between their homes before jaunting off on a planned date. In this case, prom. At least, prom had been the original plan.


"You're wearing jeans." Rebekah narrowed her eyes at her date, perfectly manicured fingers drumming against her hips. She was wearing a full-length pea-green gown, her mother's pearl necklace and had her hair done in the best imitation of Farrah Fawcett she could manage. She had expected her date to show up with a corsage, not a rumpled flyer. "and those aren't prom tickets."


Josh glanced down at himself in confusion. "Of course I'm wearing jeans...." He looked back up at her and then followed her glare down to the flyer in his hand, "This is directions." He informed her, smoothing out the wrinkled yellow page. "It shows us where to get off the subway."


"What do you mean directions?" Rebekah snatched the flyer from her date, reading the bold headline printed above a tiny, smudged grid she supposed was someone's idea of a map. "Ira's Deli is super smelly. Come join us in protesting Ira's Deli." She pressed one hand against her forehead before handing the paper back to Josh, "Our prom is not at Ira's Deli." She snapped, wishing she had insisted they meet at the school instead of agreeing to stop in Central Park.


"No. We're not going to prom. Donald was supposed to tell you. Don't you have homeroom with Donald? He said you had homeroom together."


"Donald wasn't in homeroom today."


"Oh. Well. We're protesting." Josh explained, folding up the flyer and tucking it in his pocket. "It was the same time as prom so I thought we'd go do something productive instead of being frivolous and ignoring the problems in our country."


Rebekah rolled her eyes. Usually she liked Josh. He wasn't like other boys in their class; he asked her opinion when they had projects together and he never looked at her cleavage instead of her face when they spoke. He was conscientous and smart and....and then he pulled things like this. Maybe she wouldn't mind if he was a little like the other boys. "Great. What did Ira's Deli do to deserve protesting?"


"Ira donated money to the RNC."


"That's the major problem in our country we have to solve instead of attending prom?"


"Well, yeah."


"Oh. My. God. This is my date." Rebekah rolled her eyes skyward. She wasn't the least bit concerned with which organizations Ira donated his money to. She was concerned about prom. She had been excited about looking pretty and dancing, not standing around outside a deli chanting slogans. "You invited me to prom. Not to a protest!" She reminded him, her voice rising in pitch. "If you didn't want to go to prom you shouldn't have asked me! No, don't explain!" She added as he opened his mouth, "Give me the tickets, I'm going to prom with or without you."

"....Umm." Josh scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I didn't think we'd need them. I gave them to Rich, he couldn't afford any and he wanted to....take....Rhonda....." His voice was almost inaudible at the end of this explanation, and he backed away from his date and her murderous, smokily outlined eyes. Not quickly enough; the pointy end of her shoes connected with his shins, and he yelped, leaning down to rub them as she stalked off without another word.


He watched until she was out of sight, beyond the bounds of Central Park. Well, drats. That hadn't gone well. He'd expected her to be pleased with this change of plans; he'd thought she was more than just the bimbo cheerleader most of the other boys claimed.


"Josh. Hey."

Josh looked up to see a short, sandy-haired boy approaching; his faded denims had holes in the knees and his t-shirt had seen better days. "Donald! I heard you weren't in homeroom today."


"What? Yeah. Mabel...distracted me."


"Where is Mabel?" Josh peered over the other boy's shoulder, straining to see Donald's date.


Donald shrugged. "She got kind of mad at me, man. Said she would rather go to prom than a protest."


"Really? Bekah said the same thing."


"Girls. Go figure."


"Yeah. Girls."


The two boys shook their heads in unison; They would never understand the opposite sex.


Josh stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets and jerked his head toward the street as if to say forget the girls, we have more important things to do.


"Well? Let's go set Ira straight."

[Josh Bernstein]

July 1976

---

Josh and Donald were standing on the streets of Manhattan, shivering in the rain. Neither had dressed appropriately for the weather, but they weren't about to go back to the warmth of their homes. Not until they'd registered their disagreement with the Supreme Court's ruling on Gregg vs Georgia. Registered and convinced all of Manhattan to join them with the stack of very soggy flyers they were handing out, flyers that explained the grave anarchist future that awaited a country that allowed the death penalty.


To say they had expected a bigger crowd would have been an understatement; they had expected a crowd. Any crowd. Not a woman with what looked like a bird's nest for hair, a person of indeterminate gender, a few aging hippies and a couple who were too stoned to be helpful. The small group were clustered outside City Hall, attempting to snare attention with little success. Most of the passers-by ignored them, heads down and umbrellas held high to avoid the rain. Most of the umbrellas were black, as drab as the grim-faced businessmen and women who carried them. A woman stopped long enough to jeer at them; her umbrella was neon green and decorated with little cartoon frogs. She was probably a tourist; at any rate she was very vocal about her dislike of hippies. Although he admired hippies, Josh was fairly certain that he wasn't one. Donald made a rude gesture in her direction. Josh merely looked sad.


"Is disliking murder just a hippie concept? I wish it was an everyone concept," he sighed, brushing damp hair out of his eyes before shooting a glare at the stoned couple; they looked like hippies, in T-shirts imprinted with giant Bob Marley heads and unwashed jeans, "I wish they would stop smoking and help us." He groused.


"Don't lie, you just want them to share," Donald grinned, elbowing his friend in the ribs.


Josh paused, allowing an older gentleman and his wife to pass without accosting them. "That too." He admitted after a moment, returning his attention to the passers-by. A little pot might make this whole exercises more bearable. As it was he was miserable: he was soaked to the skin, his feet were tired from standing on the streets all day, his voice was hoarse and he was discouraged by their lack of success. There had been no swell of supporters as the day wore on, there were no journalists or television crews to ensure their sacrifice of dry clothes in the name of justice lived on, there weren't even any police officers around to turn them into martyrs.


He scuffed his shoe against the cement in discouragement, glancing down at his watch. "It's almost dinner time." He sighed. His mother would be setting out her special mushroom pie; his father had invited a coworker over from dinner and had requested that along with a flourless chocolate cake. Kosher, because his coworker was religious. Josh's family weren't exactly the best at observing such trivialities. "Do you think mom will notice if I'm late?" The answer to that was that of course she would notice if he came home late and dripping wet and while she herself had complained loudly about the outcome of Gregg vs Georgia she wasn't likely to approve of being rude to their guests.


"Probably," Donald supplied, unfortunately confirming his thoughts and Josh kicked at the curb again.


"But it's in the name of justice," He rationalized, shoving a piece of paper at a young Asian woman; she ignored it and he sighed again, "Justice is more of a struggle than I was hoping it would be." When he'd envisioned participating in this demonstration he'd envisioned thousands of people rallying together to overturn a decision in favor of death, possibly in the face of terrible and violent opposition from the police or maybe even the National Guard. Violent opposition, of course, meant spraying people with hoses and maybe roughing a few of them up when arresting them, not running people over with tanks or shootings or beheadings or anything too barbaric. What he hadn't expected was apathy from almost the entire rest of the population. Didn't people read the news? Didn't they care? "I thought we were more civilized than this!" He complained, handing his flyer to a good looking man in a three-piece suit. The man took the paper, glancing over it just long enough for Josh's spirits to lift -- someone cared!, and then tossed it to the ground. "Hey!! That's littering!!!" The teen yelled after him as the paper was trampled into the wet pavement.


He darted forward, snatching the now destroyed flyer off the street and crumpling it up dejectedly. "Maybe we should ask if they'll share..." He began, scanning to find a trashcan. The trashcan was nearby; their supposed help was nowhere to be found.


"Must have got the munchies." Donald observed sagely.


Josh could feel his own stomach rumbling and thought of dinner and chocolate cake and a warm house and dry clothes. "....do you think if we waited a day it would make a difference?" He asked after a moment.


Donald shook his head. "We can come back tomorrow. Maybe we'll even have rain jackets."


"Sure," Josh agreed, shuffling his flyers, "Tomorrow. People will listen to us tomorrow. Maybe I'll even get mom to pack us lunch. People listen to demonstrators who bring their own lunch."


"Good idea. It's hard to be persuasive on an empty stomach." Donald nodded.


"Exactly. We need food to think properly." He gave a casual nod to the pitiful remainders of their group. "My mom's expecting me back for dinner," He explained, "We'll be back tomorrow." And he turned to Donald, "So we're having guests over anyway, I'll bet there's enough dinner to Fed an army. Do you want to stay over?"


"I don't know..." Donald began doubtfully, but Josh cut in quickly with "There'll be cake!"


"Yeah, okay. Maybe I'll come. For cake. Do you think she'll bake us a cake for tomorrow?"


"Sure. Cake is persuasive, right? Cake for justice. I suppose that's a fair trade. Mom likes justice."


"I meant for us, Josh."


"Oh. Maybe."


The two boys hurried toward the subway station, rushing not because of the rain (it was much too late to care about that) but because of the promise of food.

Josh taped a few of his flyers to the walls of the station while they waited. Maybe they hadn't accomplished much tonight, but tomorrow they would. Tomorrow people would listen to them. Tomorrow society would be unable to sanction the death penalty because two sixteen year olds and a group of aging hippies said they shouldn't. The Supreme Court might not feel pressure to change their ruling that night; perhaps one day alone wasn't quite enough time to spread information.

They still had tomorrow.

[Josh Bernstein]

April 1973

---

Josh drew his knees up to his chest, frowning at his older brother. "So he can stretch out his arms really long. That seems kind of harmless" He opined, scowling at the floor. Mitchell had been their next door neighbor for all 13 years of his life. They had practically grown up together, from play-dates as toddlers to Junior High. Mitchell had gone to his Bar Mitzvah just last weekend, even, and now he was gone. It seemed wrong, somehow, that Mitchell wasn't going to attend High School with him and Donald. All he'd done was rescue Dawn Jodorowsky's cat, which had escaped her apartment and run up the tree on the front sidewalk. That didn't seem like the sort of thing a person ought to be taken away from his home for, especially since he hadn't even been allowed to say goodbye to his friends. No, instead his parents had whisked him away before Josh or Donald or Bekah or Mabel or Frank even heard he was leaving. At least Dawn had been there, been able to squeak out a hurried farewell to him before running to phone the rest of their little group.


Matt shrugged, not looking up from the Biology assignment he was aimlessly doodling on, "I don't decide these things."


"I know you don't!" Josh jerked his gaze from the floor to his brother's sneakers, which were dangling beside his head from the bed, "But it's stupid. I don't see why they had to take him away."


"Josh..."


"It's like with Mrs. Schwartz. One minute everyone loves her and now she's a pariah. All she does is make plants grow." At least his mother still talked to her; she'd invited her over for coffee cake just yesterday. But his mother didn't mind things like unusual abilities. The rest of the congregation had a different opinion of them all together. "She's not like that guy on the news who burned down that church in Alabama." The arsonist had been meta and he was lucky the police had arrested him before the civilians found him; there was a regular lynch mob rallied against him. Josh was a bit torn on that subject, because while he was fairly certain that it had been on purpose what with the giant flaming cross the arsonist had burnt into the lawn, he was also pretty sure that more people had been outraged that a meta-human had burned down a building than that the building had been burned down as a racist statement. He also thought being a racist meta-human was kind of a dumb thing; oppressed minorities ought to help one another, not encourage the oppression.


"Josh....." Matt sighed again. Unlike his younger brother he wasn't all that interested in being outraged over the news; he would rather read mysteries and draw all over his schoolwork. And he already had to listen to his mother rant about the state of the world; he certainly didn't want to listen to Josh parroting her.


Josh, however, talked right over his brother's objections. "Or that attorney who worked for the Department of Justice. I'll bet he doesn't even read minds that much." He didn't think reading minds would actually effect his work, anyway; it might even be useful. Not that he blamed people for not wanting their minds read, but Mrs. Schwartz didn't go around making plants grow all the time, so probably the same could be said for the martyred attorney. Probably.


"Josh, I know."


The exasperation in Matt's voice made Josh hug his knees tighter, shooting his brother a disappointed look for being unwilling to join him in outrage. He chewed his lower lip a moment before responding with his own sigh. Apparently Matt didn't care that Mitchell had been taken away. Mitchell wasn't his friend, just his annoying little brother's. That sort of attitude was why this was still allowed to happen, but he didn't feel like arguing with his brother. He felt like being upset that Mitchell was gone.

"Yeah." He mumbled after a moment, pushing himself to his feet and heading to the door, which lead to the living room and his mother and a more sympathetic ear for his distress, "It just bothers me, that's all."

[Josh Bernstein]

1965

---

The smell of yellow American cheese sizzling on the stove top drifted into the living room. Thirteen year old Shulamit Kunkel had left her two charges there, Matt busy with a coloring book and Josh asleep on the couch. She was relieved that the youngest Bernstein was napping; Matt was easy to handle but Josh tended to bounce off the walls. If her mother hadn't been friends with Mrs. Bernstein she would have begun charging more money to watch the boys. Mrs. Bernstein was now seven months pregnant; Shulamit sincerely hoped the newest addition to the Bernstein household would share Matt's temperament.

Whatever Shulamit wanted the smell was enough to entice the youngest Bernstein to wakefulness, rolling off the couch and rubbing his eyes. "Maaaaaatt." He padded over to where the eight year old was giving careful attention to making Jiminy Cricket an appropriate shade of green. "What're you doing?"

"Coloring," Matt responded, failing to look up.

"Play with me!" Josh demanded, trying to yank the coloring book out of his brother's hand.

Matt shoved the younger boy away from his precious coloring. "Stoppit! I don't wanna!" He cried, looking down with dismay at his coloring book, which now sported a giant green streak across Jiminy and Pinocchio. "Shulamiiiiiiiiiiit! Josh messed up my coloriiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!!"

"Did not!!!" Josh objected, stamping one foot. "I just asked you to play!! Come on, Matt, play with meeee!" He begged, clasping his brother's arm and tugging him determinedly.

"I'm coloring! Leave me alone!!" Matt attempted to shake Josh off, with little success. "Josh, let go!!" He shoved his brother again, causing the younger boy to fall over with a cry. "Shulamit! Tell Josh to leave me alone!!"

The whining keen caused the girl to snap her head around the corner of the kitchen, brown curls bouncing around her head. "Boys! No fighting!"

The five year old jutted out his lower lip defiantly. "Matt pushed me!!"

"You tried to steal my book!"

"I just wanna plaaaay!"

Shulamit sighed in frustration; she was pretty sure she never wanted children. "Please stop fighting or --- " She began before Josh had latched onto her legs. "Play with me!! I wanna play!!!!"

She attempted to scrape him off. "Not right now, Josh, I'm trying to make your dinner."

"I don't want dinner! I wanna play!"

"Maybe after dinner."

"I wanna play now!" Patience was perhaps not his best virtue, but then he was only five. Shulamit could only hope he would learn with time.

"We'll play after I finish these grilled cheese sandwiches," She promised, wishing Josh had stayed asleep. He always wore her out. She was pretty sure she was too old for this.

Josh didn't look entirely convinced, but the mention of grilled cheese gave him pause. "With American cheese?"

A nod.

"Yellow?"

Another nod.

"You promise you'll play with me?"

"Yes!"

"Okay." He agreed, looking over at Matt, who was clutching his coloring book protectively before wandering over to the box of Lego's in the corner. Sometimes he knew when to quit.

Shulamit gave a sigh of relief and returned to the kitchen to finish grilling dinner. And when Mrs. and Mr. Bernstein returned home and asked if the boys had behaved she smiled.

[Josh Bernstein]

August 1978

---

The first week of the semester was barely over and already Josh was loaded down with homework, essays and reading assignments and projects. His dorm had proved too crowded and distracting -- he sincerely hoped his roommate wasn't planning on inviting his girlfriend over every night for the rest of the school year -- so he'd taken himself and his work over to Central Park, wandering the pathways until he found himself among the brilliant flowers of Shakespeare Garden. There were fewer people here, making the spot seem a serene fairytale secret hidden away from the prying eyes of mortals. It was definitely a less distracting place to study.

He perched himself on a bench, shoving his book-bag beneath his feet in case any stray pedestrians felt the need to share the bench with him, and propped his Biology textbook open with his knees. Biology wasn't his favorite class, but it had to be passed. He wished he could just skip from Science straight into Law, but for some reason the school administration frowned on that attitude.

He had just started on the first chapter when a young girl, no more than five (he wasn't very good at guessing children's ages), wandered into view.

She saw him looking and marched straight over to him with all the boldness of childhood, hauling himself onto the bench beside him. "Have you seen my mommy?"

Josh glanced up, scanning the flowerbeds and hedges for any sign of an adult woman, but non sprung immediately to view. He looked back down at the girl beside him, brown eyes regarding him seriously. "What does she look like?" He asked after a moment but her answer was vague and unhelpful.

He snapped his book shut, depositing it on top of his bag. "I'll help you look for her, come on." He stood, nudging his bag further under the bench. "I'll give you a piggyback ride and you tell me if you see her." He bent down, hiking the girl onto his back.

"Horsey!" She giggled, petting his hair. Okay, he was a horse. He could deal with that. Her mother was probably somewhere nearby, anyway, so he wouldn't have to be a horse for very long. He could deposit her with her family and go back to being a studious college student.



Several hours and a long scouring of Central Park later and he was still no closer to locating the little girl's mother. He had, however, learned a great deal about the girl: Her name was Nicole and she had two older sisters and she wanted a pony and she was going to be an astronaut when she grew up and could they please stop for a lemonade because she was thirsty.

Josh put her down at the Hot Dog stand, glad for a break as hauling around small children was more difficult than he'd imagined and his back was getting sore. He was glad he kept his wallet in his jean pockets instead of his book-bag; he was just as thirsty as Nicole, if not more so. He had just paid for two lemonades when he heard a shriek.

"Mama!"

He turned in time to see Nicole streaking across the path toward a tall, slim woman with brown hair cut short. The woman looked haggard, her face creased with worry that dissipated the moment she caught sight of Nicole. "Nicole! Oh my god!"

Josh leaned across the Hot Dog stand to whisper instructions to the vendor. He didn't need his lemonade after all, Nicole's mother could have it.

As he rounded the corner and slipped out of sight he could hear the girl telling her mother how a nice young boy had helped her. But he wasn't going to stick around; Nicole had been reunited with her mother and that was nice but his evening wasn't done yet.

After all, he still had Biology homework.

[Josh Bernstein]

1978

---

"Of course I have!" Josh lied, peering suspiciously into the plastic cup full of alcohol. He'd turned 18 in April, but he had yet to avail himself of any of his new privileges with the exception of voting. He'd not yet begun to drink, though that had little to do with concerns for either staying sober or following the law as he'd been perfectly happy to consume marijuana all throughout high school. He just hadn't had easy access to beer. Well, that was going to change now, apparently. His new friends drank at parties, and he wanted desperately to fit in with them: They were conscientious and intelligent and willing to work to make the world a better place. They were also, by and large, several years older than he was and....

Well, he didn't exactly want to admit it, but they were friends with Sean. He really wanted to impress Sean.

And impressing Sean (and his friends. but mostly Sean) had somehow translated into his mind to mean pretend to have experience with alcohol, which was why he'd just had his plastic cup refilled for the fourth time. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to continue drinking, which was why he was staring at the liquid instead of imbibing. Greg's jab that he'd never had beer before tonight, however, was enough to make him screw up his face and tilt the cup back.

Unfortunately, drinking yet another round did nothing to stop the world from spinning. In fact, he was pretty sure it only made the spinning worse.

He squinted over in the direction of Sean. He was busily involved in conversation with Daphne, which meant he was probably not properly impressed. That was a little vexing, because Josh was fairly certain that if he drank anymore he was going to throw up; throwing up wasn't on his list of things to do in front of cute guys.

"Agh! The Frosh exploded!"

There went impressive.

Josh had just enough time to look in dismay at the vomit on his shoes and down the front of his shirt before passing out.



He woke the next morning with a splitting headache, on someone else's couch and in someone else's shirt. He had to admit, it was nice of them not to leave him in the clothes he'd been wearing the night before. But as nice as the older Peacies were about the fiasco he was still bummed out.

He'd definitely blown his chances.

[Josh Bernstein]

April 24th 1975

---

"Did you see Ford's speech last night?" Donald leaned across the lunch room table, half-eaten turkey sandwich in hand.

Josh nodded cautiously, "Yeah. He was --"

"Brilliant." Rich offered from beside Josh, admiration in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence while Donald and Josh took in this information.

Josh was the first one to break the silence. "It's about time. I thought it would go on forever." That was the closest to praise he was willing to give President Ford; after all, he might have announced the ending to the war, but that was far from a bold move considering public sentiment.

"It wouldn't have gone on for[/i]ever[/i]," Donald disagreed, "We signed the Paris Peace Accords."

"And Kissinger got the peace prize," Josh pointed out, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the thought, "The Accords didn't mean anything, we still have troops over there."

"It was a start!" Rich snagged a handful of french fries from Josh's lunch tray. "This peace thing doesn't happen over night, you know."

Josh swatted his friend's hand away from his meal. "It should, it shouldn't be that hard."

"Give the guy a break!" Rich protested, mouth full of stolen fries, "He's not a bad president. I wouldn't mind having him again."

Josh nearly choked on his hot dog. "EW! Rich!" He spluttered, wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve, "If Ford gets elected again I'm moving to Canada."

"No, you're not," Donald snickered, "You'll just complain."

"You don't know that! Maybe I will move! Maybe I'll go to college in Canada. They have colleges and stuff there."

Rich grabbed another fry, a small grin on his face, "Really? I thought they only had stoned draft dodgers."

"Shut up, Rich," Donald and Josh ordered in unison.

"Since when were you a Republican, anyway?" Donald wondered, finally remembering that he was still holding his sandwich and taking a bite.

"I'm not, I vote for the candidate, not the party," Rich informed his friends, lifting his chin a bit.

Josh squinted at him, "Ford wasn't voted in." He said at the same time Donald laughed, "You're not old enough to vote, Rich."

"I would have voted for him if I could've." Rich shrugged and Josh rolled his eyes.

"That's the dumbest thing ever." Josh decided, scooting his tray away from Rich. "You vote for your party cause politicians are on a team, they can't do much without team support."

Rich raised an eyebrow at him. "See, that makes politics sound like a sport. Maybe you should just take up football, then when your team doesn't win you'll only be depressed until the next game instead of four years."

Josh glowered at him, slouching down in his chair. "Shut up, Rich, it's more important than a sport. And Ford is an awful president already."

"But his speech was brilliant and he ended the war."

Josh rolled his eyes again while Donald piped up with a mouth full of sandwich, "He didn't end the war...."

Rich shrugged and pushed away from the table. "Whatever you say. I would still have voted for him."

Josh watched him leave and then hurriedly shoveled the remainder of his fries into his mouth. "He'd better not win," He told Donald between scarfing down his fries, "I really don't want to move to Canada."

[Josh Bernstein]

1997

---

The apartment felt lonely.

Sean had suggested he find a boyfriend. He was pretty sure that was meant as a joke. Even if he found a boyfriend he wasn't going to invite him to move in, but he wouldn't exactly describe himself as looking. Maybe looking in the other direction and hoping nobody noticed him. It wasn't that boyfriends were a terrible idea; there were some nice aspects to the whole relationship thing. Like, well, not being alone. And he'd liked living with Sean right up until they couldn't do anything individually, including studying. That was the big problem with boyfriends: he really, really didn't want to be joined at the hip with anyone. There needed to be an option to spend a lot of time together while still maintaining a separate life.

Boyfriends were obviously out of the question.

That was why he was standing in Anita Lamprey's backyard, hovering over the hutches filled with Holland Lop Rabbits. A friend had a rabbit once, when he was very young. It had nibbled on some wires and electrocuted itself and his mother had shortly after put the kibosh on his own inquiries. He hadn't had the time to care for one during college (and he wasn't about to suggest one when he was living with Sean, anyway, not knowing his friend was weird about animals) but now seemed the perfect time to rectify this situation.

Anita held out one of the small bundles of fur. "This breed has a sweet disposition," She explained lovingly as Josh hesitantly reached out to stroke behind floppy ears. "They make good pets, especially if you have children."

Josh shook his head, "No children. Just me. It's adorable." He added as the rabbit lifted it's head to nose at his hand.

"She," Anita smiled, "Her name is Cotton Tail."

Josh returned the smile, allowing Cotton Tail to sniff at his finger tips. "She is adorable, then," He corrected himself, "Pardon me for calling you an it, Ms. Cotton Tail. I hope you'll forgive me."

The rabbit twitched her nose at him.

"I think that's a yes," Anita laughed.

Josh straightened, giving Cotton Tail one last pat on the head. "And I think I'll take her."

A rabbit wasn't a boyfriend or even a friend. A rabbit couldn't hold a conversation on the economy or Israel. And a rabbit needed to be fed and watered and have its hutch cleaned.

But a rabbit also made the apartment a little less lonely and that was what mattered.

[Josh Bernstein]

2002

---

Josh squinted at the menu, barely able to make out the tiny words scrawled across it.

The man across from him casually slid his own menu toward the table's edge. "You really ought to think about getting your eyes checked." He offered in a tone of voice that suggested they'd had this conversation before.

"I don't need glasses," Josh snapped irritably, bringing the menu closer so that it almost touched his nose. "I can read just fine."

His companion shrugged, grinning. "No, you can't. Face it, Joshua, you can't see."

"I can see! This menu is just written in a tiny font. And the lighting is dim, if the lighting were better I'd be able to read the menu."

"You're such a terrible liar."

"....I'm not lying, I can see. It's the light. It's definitely the light. And anyway, I don't see you rushing out to get your eyes examined and you nearly ran over that family in the crosswalk on the way over."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I drive a cab. We're required to almost run people over, it's part of our exam."

"....Now who's lying?"



Two weeks later, Josh had ditched the boyfriend.

And three weeks later?

He had a new pair of glasses.

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh stared down at the paper clutched in his hand, giant red fifty scrawled across the top. It had gradually been getting worse and worse and the young man who had once been proud of his A and B average was barely scraping by. The grades were merely a symptom of how horribly wrong everything had gone; that was the catalyst for barging into Matt's apartment uninvited, but not the topic of interest.

"It just hurts so much," He announced with a sigh, not even thinking of giving Matt an explanation.

The older boy quirked an eyebrow at him from his seat on the other side of the room. "I think you'll survive one bad test score."

Josh continued to twist his paper anxiously. "It's not that," he began, and then lapsed into silence, frowning down at his lap. After a moment he sighed again. "Matt, have you ever loved someone so much it hurt?"

The wide-eyed look on Matt's face stated clearly that this was an unexpected conversational direction. "No." He replied after a moment, "if it hurts it isn't love."

"But what else could it be? What if you just need the other person, and you can't live without them? Then every time you're spent apart hurts so much and...and..." and because you could barely stand to be apart for even the time it took to do homework you failed all your classes.

"Need isn't love, Josh." Matt warned, expression changing from shock to caution while his younger brother spilled forth his worries. "If you can't live without her you're not in love, you're a parasite."


Josh's head snapped up, a look of horror crossing his face. "No." He couldn't be a parasite, they were in love. And it hurt. A lot. He'd always imagined love would be closer to what his parents had, laughter and smiles. And it was. Sometimes. But most of the time it was a jumble of conflicting negative emotions: pain at being apart warred with suffocation, desire for praise and affection warred with a desire for autonomy, for Sean to stop ruffling his hair like he was a pet and to stop all the time speaking to him in imperatives. They were politely worded imperatives, but imperatives nonetheless. And he wanted Sean's attention even when he just wanted to be left alone.

But he didn't know how to say any of that and so instead he balled his test up in his fist, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "I just don't know what to do. I can't flunk out, mom'll kill me."

Grades were an easy shield to hide behind, a way to avoid discussing any of the actual issues at hand.

"Josh." Matt moved to stand beside Josh, placing one hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't know this girl, but nobody is worth losing your identity in. No matter how much you think you're in love with her, you can get over it. Just dump her."

Josh dropped his eyes downward once again. He didn't like that solution. "Dump her?" He repeated. Even the thought made him feel sick. "I can't do that! You don't understand, we're in love, Matt. In love. And sometimes love hurts, mom and dad's relationship isn't perfect."

"Mom and dad aren't gonna die without one another." Matt pointed out.

"Maybe they are! You don't know! I'll bet they need one another. Our relationship isn't that bad. Sea.....she's the only reason I have friends. And she's taught me a lot. Come on, Matt, just because I want to be with her all the time isn't a bad thing. That's what love is supposed to be like, right?"

"No, of course it isn't! Not all the time. That's not healthy. Have you been watching too many Disney movies or what? If you don't have a life outside your girlfriend then something is wrong."

"I haven't watched any Disney movies lately. That's not the kind of movies she likes to watch."

"Case in point."

Could he break up with Sean and still keep the older boy in his life? Maybe if they were friends but not dating then all the twisted up gut feelings would go away. They could have the laughter and the smiles and the protests and enjoy one another's company without the desperate need and longing and suffocation. And without the poor grades.

Because he couldn't cut him out completely. He needed Sean. Matt didn't seem to get that. But Matt didn't know that he was with Sean, seemed to think he was talking about some girl he just hadn't bothered to bring around to meet the family. If he knew it was Sean maybe he would understand. At least, if he could get over the fact that Sean was a boy maybe he would understand.

The big problem was, could he get Sean to understand that? Breaking up sounded like a permanent end rather than just an attempt to repair what had gone wrong.

"I don't know why I'm asking you." He pushed himself off the couch, face grim. Asking Matt for advice had been a terrible idea; how could he even consider breaking up with Sean? He felt guilty for even toying with Matt's suggestion. Matt's awful suggestion. "When you get a girlfriend maybe you'll understand. It's not that easy."

There were somethings that were just facts of life. One day Matt would realize that he was wrong.

Love wasn't love if it didn't hurt.

[Josh Bernstein]

December, 1995

---

The entire office laughed at him when he'd made his intentions known.

"It isn't that funny," he snapped in annoyance.

"But this is Josh," Karen attempted to hide her snickering behind one hand.

"He just doesn't seem your type," Blake offered diplomatically.

"Don't you think he's waiting for that doctor friend of his to be single again? He doesn't shut up about him." Jackson was more direct.

Nick scowled at all of them. "Just because he has a crush doesn't mean anything," he had protested. "Lots of people have crushes and nothing comes of them."

Blake looked pained at this. "It is your decision, of course."

"I'll bet you a hundred dollars he talks about Sean the whole time." Jackson grinned.

"If he agrees to go on a date I'll buy you dinner for a week," Karen added. "I'm pretty sure he's been single forever because he's holding out, not because nobody's asked."

Nick jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. "I'm going to ask him right now. Right now. I'll take those bets."

He sauntered over towards Josh's office, where his crush was busily filling out paperwork. "Hey."

Josh glanced up, an expression of delight crossing his face at seeing another person there to talk to. Nick told himself that the other attorney was particularly happy to see him; they'd spent a lot of time taking during breaks and he was sure he could count on some affection now. He just hoped that this could translate into something more.

Sure, Josh could be a little oblivious, but he was kind and he was cute and anyway he could probably be taught to be a little better and maybe he would be more attentive to a date than he was otherwise.

"Nick!" Josh set his paperwork to one side, gesturing for the smaller man to join him in his office. "I was just working on the Saunders case. What a headache that is." A grimace accompanies this remark, replaced quickly by a smile of appreciation. "It's nice of you to come rescue me from my work."

Nick leaned up against the door frame, trying for casual despite the rapid drumbeat inside his chest. Josh was happy to see him. That was encouraging; that was exciting.

"Yeah?" Nick asked, none of his nerves showing. "You know, I was thinking...there's this new Thai place that just opened up down the corner from me. We should have dinner some time. Then we could, I don't know, head back to my place after."

That didn't sound as confident as he'd intended, but Josh didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he was just being polite by not reacting to it. Either way, the smile and excited "I would love to!" made asking worth it.


When the day of The Date came Nick found himself full of butterflies. Although he had spent time with Josh outside of work, it had still been in a work context: parties with coworkers and drinks after office hours. This was the first time they would see one another in any more intimate capacity.

He glanced down at his watch, one foot tapping nervously as he waited for his date to show up.

And waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes after they were supposed to meet his phone rang, an apologetic Josh on the other end. "I'm running a little behind. I got on the wrong subway..."

Another twenty minutes and, to his relief, Josh stumbled through the door. Nick waved him over to the booth he had snagged, standing and offering to take the other man's jacket.

Josh waved him away. "There's no need to make such a fuss." He said, sliding into the booth. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting! I got a call from Sean while I was waiting for the subway, and I was so distracted that I boarded the first one to pull into the station."

"Oh." He replied, a sense of foreboding settling upon him. "And how's he doing?"

It only seemed polite to ask, even if he felt that the mention of Sean so early into the date spelled doom for his efforts.

"Oh, he's doing great."

Josh didn't sound very happy that his best friend was doing great. Nick was afraid to follow up, but he didn't have to; Josh continued unbidden.

"He was getting ready for some yearly town holiday party. It's nice that they say holiday, even if the timing is obvious." That seemed to be an aside, as he quickly returned to the topic of Sean. "He's going with Sam"

Nick replied hesitantly. "I hope they have a good time."

Josh scowled at his menu. "I'm sure they will. The town had better hope she keeps out of everyone else's business. She's so meddlesome, and she acts like she knows everything. But she absolutely doesn't!"

This was declared with a vehemence that caused Nick to suspect there was a story there, but he really didn't want to talk about this on what was supposed to be a date. He decided to attempt a subject change. "I hear the pad Thai here is excellent. Maybe we could share a plate...?"

Josh looked surprised at the suggestion. "Share...? I don't usually share with anyone but Sean. Wouldn't that be weird?'

That sense of foreboding clawed it's way back up his throat as Nick asked, "no, why?"

"If you don't think it would be too weird then I don't mind."

But now that Josh had said it, it did feel weird. And the entire date felt uncomfortably as if they were having two different outings. Nick tried to push this aside and enjoy himself, but it was difficult when Sean kept coming up in conversation and nothing was as cozy as he'd anticipated.

"I'll pay." Nick covered the bill with one hand when the waiter dropped it off. "After all, I asked you."

Josh scoffed at this. "Don't be absurd! What is this, a date? I make enough money to pay for a meal, you know that."

Nick felt his heart drop. "Yeah. I guess you're right. We can split it."

[Josh Bernstein]

1990

---

69. Avocado


Josh fingered the stem of his glass lightly, rubbing up and down the cactus that held up his margarita. Salt still rimmed the edge of the glass in places, though he had worn most of it off over the course of the night and several refills.

The pitcher in the middle of the table was almost empty, as was the basket of chips that had been filled and refilled throughout the night.

The attorney dipped his one remaining, broken chip into the remains of the guacamole, too inebriated to care that green stuck to his hands and fingers, instead licking it off with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Mmm, guacamole."

The blonde on the other side of the table leaned forward, sticking his elbows in salsa that had been dripped carelessly across the table during the night.

"Guacamole is delicious." He agreed, his face flushed from the tequila (and whatever else the bartender had dumped into their margarita; it was a rare thing indeed for a restaurant not to dump in the remains of whatever other alcohols they needed to get rid of.)

Neither man cared particularly much, so long as nobody got sick from it; one of the perks of living in the City was that they didn't have to drive home, so a higher alcohol content than expected wouldn't damage anything but their liver too badly.

If they had cared then perhaps they wouldn't have spent so many of their dates out at Mexican restaurants, ordering pitchers of margaritas and eating enough guacamole to feed a family.

"Avocado should be in more foods." Simon decided as the chip disappeared into his mouth. No more chips, and the restaurant was crowded now. Too crowded to flag down their waiter for more. He eyed the guacamole, then shrugged and snatched up his spoon.



"You smell like Mexican food," Simon breathed as they lay tangled on the sofa.

"Prob'ly cause that's what we ate," Josh mumbled back, "Is that a problem?"

"No," The blonde shook his head in denial. "I like the smell of avocado."



Josh had never paid attention to the scents of his soap before, but the next time he was at the store he spotted a box of soap that claimed to be avocado scented.

He picked it up and dropped it into his basket. He could smell like avocado all the time, now.

Simon would like that.

this entry was originally for the 2012 150 prompts challenge

[Josh Bernstein]

Christmas 1996

---

101. Bagel


Christmas in the City always meant crowds of tourists roaming the streets. Some were in packs, others solitary, but they all made his normal commute difficult, what with swarming the sidewalks and the subway, and even spilling out into the street with little regard for traffic.

He typically didn't take off for Christmas, because he didn't celebrate and he saw no reason to cease work just because some of the City wanted to be festive. There were still trials to attend, people whose rights shouldn't have to wait simply because it was a holiday.

This year he had taken off for Christmas.

He had taken off for Christmas because Saul had taken off for Christmas, and he wanted to spend time with the other man. If he were completely honest he would rather spend time with Sean, but his best friend had other plans, and he certainly couldn't begrudge the telepath when he had someone else to spend time with.

And anyway, he thought this relationship with Saul could work. Just because Simon didn't think he was affectionate enough didn't mean that everyone felt that way; so far Saul hadn't seemed to mind too much, and perhaps once he met Sean he would understand.

For the moment, however, Sean wasn't there. It was just him and Saul and the rest of the City lit up in red and green lights. As they shoved their way through the crowd, fingers twined together, Saul tilted his head toward the other attorney slightly.

"I'm suddenly hungry."

Josh wasn't particularly hungry, but finding a place to eat would give them something to do. Perhaps they could find a booth at some diner, something out of the way so they could nudge one another's feet and talk over coffee and pie. That sounded pleasant enough and so Josh smiled. "Then let's get something to eat. Did you have anything in mind?"

"I was thinking perhaps a bagel."

Josh liked bagels; he had practically grown up on them, and as an adult they were simple and easy, no cooking required. As such he said, "Then let's find a bagel shop."

The first bagel shop they found was too crowded for the two men to even make it through the door. The second one was just closing as they made their way up the steps.

They were beginning to get discouraged when they finally found a shop that was both open and had few enough customers for them to go in.

They stepped into line, scanning the large menu behind the counter while they waited. Shortly they found themselves stepping up to the front of the line, gloved hands still clasped.

Four bagels and two cups of coffee later and they sat ensconced in a tiny table by the window, watching people hurry past. Josh smiled across the table at Saul. "This was a good idea." He remarked, dipping his knife into the tub of butter between them. "I'm glad you thought of this."

Saul bit into his bagel, returning the smile. "I didn't think of anything." He denied with a shake of his head. "I just really like bagels."

this entry was originally for the 2012 150 prompt challenge

[Josh Bernstein]

April 2012

---

30. Lucid


When Josh saw the note stuck to the door, scrawled in barely legible cursive, he was concerned.

Just popped out to the salon. Be back soon. There's rugelach in the fridge, help yourself.

The rugelach he would abscond with; not all of it, but enough to share with Sean when he returned home. But the realization that his mother was out on the road, macular degeneration and all, was a terrifying thought. He really should take her keys from her and hire a driver, but he couldn't bring himself to take away what independence she had left.

If he were honest, he couldn't bring himself to confront her about it. He would deny it with his dying breath, but he was well and truly under his mother's thumb.

He sighed and peeled the note away from the door, pocketing it as he pushed his way inside, peering cautiously around the corner to see if his father was out of bed yet. To his surprise, the older Bernstein was settled in the armchair in the corner of the living room, covered from lap to shoulders in a pile of blankets.

He offered his father a nod as he gently shut the door behind him.

"Good afternoon."

He didn't expect his father to remember him; it was so rare these days. He certainly didn't expect his father to respond with a whispered, "Hello, Joshua."

Lucid bouts were so few and far between these days, and each and every one caused his heart to soar. It was an all too brief gift, being able to talk to his father instead of the disease.

"I see mom is out." Although his father appeared lucid, he made sure not to turn his back on the older man as he made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa. "I haven't visited in awhile so I thought I would see how the two of you are doing."

Bobby smiled and nodded, his head slowly bobbing up and down. "Good, good." Blue eyes twinkled with that tell-tale brightness that said he was resident in his own mind again. "It's always nice to see you. I see you left Sean at home today."

Josh's forehead creased into a perplexed frown; had his mother told him about Sean? She hadn't even told him that his father had a lucid bout since he'd come out to her.

"Ah, no, I'm sorry. That was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

The frustration on his father's face was apparent, and Josh felt guilty. Apparently his mother hadn't said anything at all, and Bobby was merely confusing the present and the past. "We're still friends. He had to stay late for work so it's just me."

"Oh, you made up with him, have you?" Bobby smiled in pleasure at this news. "I always thought I would be proud to have him as a son-in-law."

Josh wasn't sure what to say to that. He frequently wasn't sure what to say to his father; he wished sometimes that he had Sean's medical training and thus knew how to deal with Alzheimer's. He scooted down the sofa until he could lean over and pat his father's hand gently.

"I'll bring him with me next time."

this was originally for the 2012 150 prompt challenge