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About corvus

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    creative writing (fiction and poetry), music (composing and playing it), opera, yeats, dickinson, maria callas, harry potter, biomedical engineering

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  1. corvus

    annual hello's

    Happy new year to everyone too!
  2. corvus

    2011 Fitness Totals

    That's crazy!! As paya said, there are only 365 days in a year... On the other hand, you look pretty happy running. I've not gone to the gym nearly as frequently as you have, but I've been getting better returns than in the past after I started taking some protein powder. But then I'm building up vanity and not mileage.
  3. My last post here was Nov 30, 2010. That's more than a year ago. Two weeks ago, I got on a plane back home for the holidays. A week ago, I had the strange feeling of going backwards, and I realized that it was nostalgia bred by having time for myself to catch up to myself, or maybe by boredom. A few nights ago, I reread domluka's Desert Dropping. Now I'm here. It's funny how it's these internet stories, more than anything else, that have created a world that feels almost private to me. Domluka is one of them, and this fellow Jason Locke who wrote Searching for Christophe and Shadow People is another. I don't know how I'd feel about their stories if they were printed out and made into a book. It's precisely that these are internet texts that gives them this kind of feeling, for me. Unlike books which are tangible and printed, these words can blink on and out of existence quite easily. And their authors can disappear more thoroughly. I'm not quite sure how to explain it, or maybe, having explained it, explain the appeal. Maybe the appeal is incidental, and it's only because these stories were the ones I read when I was younger, and they happened to be in the internet. It's been ages since I wrote a story. I took a look at the ones I had on this site, and I feel very fondly for all of them, but didn't particularly want to reread any of them. I think the idea of writing a story is almost a fantasy in itself. It's like falling in love with love, to use the cliche. There *should* be a version of things, a world to exist, which reproduces the current one and yet is better -- but the tangibles of this imagined world are something else altogether. But maybe this is the subject I should be writing about, except that it's a bit too... metaphysical, I guess. Metaphysics are depressing inherently. But it's so nice to be on this site again! Of course, just typing that previous sentence feels a bit like Norma Desmond, but anyhow -- all you people in the dark, happy holidays, and many wishes towards more writing out of Domluka.
  4. I noticed you've adopted a Yeats name - very pleased to see that!

  5. This title interested me, because my guy is so anti-religious it's almost a religion: his parents - mother especially - are hardcore Catholics, and I honestly think he's been hurt by the experience. So I don't mind when he goes out of his way to be a bit iconoclastic. (I myself am not religious - I do find the stories and metaphors to be powerful and real.) I don't know on what terms the two of you take religion and each others' religion, but it might be helpful to relate it to one's personal history, for example, if one is used to certain traditions, if one had a powerful experience in a temple, etc. That works better than these isolated images and words and terms. I'm glad, also, that you've found a guy you like.
  6. Heya! you were in singapore last summer?

  7. I'm sure you know the Korean group The Wonder Girls? Their " " song was quiiiite a hit when I was in Singapore this summer. Can't help you with boybands - apologies - and I'm generally lost in my world of classical. But, I quite like the Swedish Laleh ( ) and the American indie Bon Iver ( ).
  8. ... Why is December plot writing month and November the writing month? It seems a bit like the case of Immaculate Conception being on Dec 8, and Christmas Dec 25 -- either they want us to have great hindsight, or a very long gestation. I've written 3 long (100,000+ words) fanfiction novels, 2 mid-length (~50,000) novellas, and many mini-novellas (~10,000). I of course still have no idea what the secret to plotting is! But I have managed to produce a lot of words with my own method, which is not nearly so systematic as what other people here have advocated. I generally have a feeling in mind that defines the opening and the end, and the middle is full of plot events that manipulate the feeling so that it changes. Falling in love, for example; or falling out of love. I tend to have ending firm when I set out, but I only plot a bare outline. I don't write every day, but I think every day. In my opinion, it's useless to write without having a grasp of the feeling from which the writing should come out of. I, in any case, am more interested in the emotional and philosophical universe of the story. If I've outlined an event, but writing up to it, the event seems out of place, the outline must change, not the organically growing story. (I guess I trust my writing too much!) On a more practical level, it helps to have a superstructure or pattern that helps the story have rhythm. The Harry Potter stories, for example, are defined by the school year, classes, tests, day-to-day events. A story with sports at its heart could be defined by practices, games, etc. Martial arts epics and tales of gallantry (Jin Yong, King Arthur) have a rhythm of fighting and duels. All these "events" are really a framework in which to manipulate the emotional world, but identifying the framework makes plotting much more practical. JK Rowling might have thrown in a few more detentions in order to have Harry get nervous about Snape; Tolkien might've tossed in some more orc encounters to give Gollum more time to be schizophrenic.
  9. Happy (belated) New Year to you too! :)

  10. Wow, congratulations! Good luck to everyone involved, including the 18 eggs. I appreciate your sharing your adventures with us. For me, it's an inspiration as well for what is possible in my future.
  11. corvus

    Chapter 8: Missing

    This poem starts with such great rhythm. The first four lines are all two-beat lines, describing the death of a relationship. The funneling into one beat with "Yes" provides great impact. The poem goes on with the same rhythm and the same sentiment, sealing what seems to be an inexorable end: "Eternal turns infernal. / Disbelief confronts relief." But a wonderful turn comes with the next line: "You are so beautiful" It succeeds because it's so disarming, it's something that even the bitterness of "infernal" and "disbelief" can't quench. And the long 'o' sounds ("so" and "beautiful") have echoes from before -- eternal, infernal. The next line is another one-beater, "I wish," and the wish is so modest after the Dickinsonian stretches to the "forever" and "eternal": "I wish / We shared a home." But where can this "imagined" wish go? It goes to the "muse" -- the inability of the speaker to drop the thoughts of "you" lead him seek recourse in the muse. But another wonderful turn happens here, in the characterization of the "muse" -- she is "a curse for now," and a "sound that pounds." I think this poet has great governance in the introduction of the suddenly erotic -- it's great. The final two lines wrap it up with an enjambment and caesura: "The second beat of two / Missing, my life thru." It's as though this poem has framed an entire life -- loss and love, beauty, eroticism -- and now it's "thru."
  12. corvus

    Chapter 1

    THE REST STOP corvus The Ragdens always went to a horseback-riding ranch in Strawberry for their summer vacation, and Paul Ragden always drove. It was a four-hour trip that began in farmland, and quickly became wide stretches of dust and dried grass, brittle beneath the California sky. Sally Ragden, eleven and restless, was scanninga travel brochure in the front seat. Her mother sat behind her, keeping a large straw hat angled against the midday sun. "How do you spell ‘mesmerizing?'" Sally peered at the page through large, Minnie-mouse sunglasses. "Mom? Josh? Dad? Anyone?" "M," Paul began, "E-S-M-E-R-I-Z-" "Okay, that's too easy. What about... ‘Petaluna?'" Paul grinned. "Place names don't count." "They do too. Mom? Josh?" Josh Ragden was staring out the window. Slowly, he turned to give the back of his sister's chair a stony look, and then resumed his vigil. "Mom?" "It's P-E-T-A-" "I said Mom, not you, Dad," Sally interrupted. Eileen Ragden stirred. "Paul, when are we going to be there?" "Oh, just two more hours, hon. We're halfway there already." "Didn't you say that an hour ago?" "No, I didn't. I probably said an hour ago that we had three hours left, and we were only one-fourth way there." "I think you said two more hours one hour ago. I'm quite sure of it." "Well," said Paul, and he shrugged, smiled at the window. "Maybe I did." Sally closed the travel brochure. "Does anyone need to use the toilet?" she announced. "Because I do. Reading in the car makes me feel sick." "Don't even think about barfing on me, Sally!" Josh barked, pulling his legs in. "Sally--" Eileen began. "Rest stop!" Paul shouted, and their car, a battered Chevrolet with a noticeable dent in the front right door, veered onto an exit. The parking lot shimmered with heat. The building, brown and wood-paneled, stood at the edge of the grass. The sky curved over it, down to a flat horizon. A picnic table stood on white concrete. Next to it, a sweltering green trash can. Paul Ragden opened the back of the Chevrolet and hauled out the icebox. It was tricky keeping the icebox balanced on his hip while his other hand reached up to shut the trunk door, but he managed it, barely. On the way to the picnic table, he glanced at the only other car in the parking lot--a shiny new convertible, its edges looking strangely hard in the sunlight. He wondered, briefly, who would be traveling through nowhere in such a car. "Want some food, Josh?" he asked after reaching the table. "Sandwiches. They're ham and lettuce and tomatoes." Josh shrugged. "I'll take that as a yes," said Paul, reaching into the icebox. Josh glanced up, face baleful even while squinting at the sun, and shook his head. "Guess not then," Paul muttered. He looked around. Sally had gone straight to the bathroom; Eileen was still in the car, enshrouded by her large straw hat. He tossed the sandwich lightly in his hand, and then, after a false start, walked over to the car. "Eileen?" He knocked on the window. His wife slowly turned her head, as though she were deep underwater, and glanced at him through the tinted glass. She must be able to hear him, he thought, but he gestured instead, pointing at the sandwich, then at her, and then at his mouth. She shook her head. "They're good," he said loudly. "Ham and lettuce and tomatoes." Eileen tilted the straw hat over her eyes, and shrunk deeper into the chair. By the time Paul had returned to the picnic table, Sally had gotten back. "It stinks in there," she declared, rubbing her nose. "There were flies everywhere, and someone had forgotten to flush the toilet. Are those sandwiches? Mm, I'm hungry." Paul watched her struggle with the saran wrap before finally biting into the sandwich. She frowned, swallowed. "Dad, there're onions in here! I don't like onions." "Oh, right," said Paul, flipping open the icebox and digging deeper. "I remembered that this time, and I made sandwiches both with onions and without. Let's see, maybe I can find one without onions--" "No thanks, Dad," Sally said, wrapping up the sandwich and setting it on the table. "It's okay. I'm not hungry anymore." "Not hungry anymore? Just after one bite?" Sally shook her head. Paul shrugged, worked his face into a smile, and squinted at the sky. It was wide and featureless. He looked out at the grass, the highway, and realized with a mixture of sadness and elation that they were quite alone. "I'm going to use the bathroom," he said, and left the table. He told himself that the little things didn't matter. The sandwiches, Eileen's unresponsiveness. He was still telling himself that when he entered the darkness, the sharp scent of urine, and saw a man leaning against the counter. For a split-second, Paul stopped in surprise. A fashionable pink polo shirt, jeans that rode a bit too low. Hands jammed in the pockets, the thumbs sticking out. Forearms that revealed sinew and muscle. Eyes--he only caught a glimpse of blue. Then he was standing in front of the urinal, jerking down his zipper and pretending to be nonchalant. He waited--a tinge of embarrassment, his mind going forth on the momentum of his thoughts, still blankly considering sandwiches and his wife--but finally, release. It felt good; he could forget that he was being watched. Was he being watched? The thought that this was absurd crossed his mind. He had to control himself; he was not alone; his family was outside. The stream dwindled. A sort of calmness slipped over him, and he tucked himself in with practiced movements, a mechanized sleepwalker, then moved to the counter to wash his hands without looking at anything in particular. The stink stung his nostrils. He twisted the rusted knob and wrung his hands under the water, simultaneously glancing up into the mirror. The other man was staring at him in the glass. Paul held the gaze only for a moment, then dropped it casually, with an automatic smile. "Hey," he said, in as friendly a tone as he could. "Hi." The voice had been low, a bit rough. Paul felt his heart thrumming in his chest. "Traveling?" He twisted the knobs and turned to the wall. "Yeah." "Same here." There were no paper towels, only an air-drying machine. He pushed it and held his hands, as wet with sweat as they were with water, in the current. Hot air rushed over his wrists. He wished suddenly that there were a mirror in front of him with which he could see the other man, who must be standing just behind him, maybe a step, two steps away. He was still staggering under this yearning when the current stopped, and he was obliged to step to the doorway, into the blinding sun and brutal clarity of the air. "Are we ready to go?" he asked, voice somewhat raspy. "Dad, Josh said I was a dyke again," Sally said accusingly. "What's a dyke?" "I didn't say that!" Josh hissed. "Stop lying." "I'm not lying," said Sally, pitching her voice upward and inflecting it with an aggravating lilt. "You called me a dyke, you did. Right after Dad went into the bathroom." "Did not!" "Did too!" Sitting as he did, the wood burning the seat of his pants, Paul felt a sudden loathing towards the world, particularly his family, his car, himself. He hated that his parents had bought him this car against his will more than ten years ago, and that he hadn't managed to replace it. He hated that Eileen didn't feel a shred of affection for him, that he felt even less for her. "Oh for God's sake, I don't want to celebrate our anniversary!" she'd snapped he'd suggested it last month. "Not even if you made enough money to take us to a proper restaurant." He knew she had married him because there was no one else who would have her, because there was something involving her job as a teacher and a high school student and things he tried hard not to know. He hated that she pretended to her friends that she was quite happy, and that the small flaw in her happiness was entirely his fault. "If only Paul were a bit more... sensitive..." He wanted to rip off her big straw hat and those tawdry glasses and crush them under his feet, and sometimes he imagined himself doing so, even though he had never laid a hand on her. Those glasses and that hat were the only things she had cared about that morning, while he packed and Sally and Josh fought. "Why can't you dress more like a girl? Why do you have to wear boy's clothes and do boy's things? Why can't you play with Barbie like girls are supposed to?" "Because I don't want to, that's why!" "Then you're a dyke!" "I'm not!" "You are!" "Josh, Sally--" he'd said, but it was ineffectual. Eileen had stood to the side, the sunglasses already on her face and a smile on her lips that seemed to say, "Yes, this is what will happen; your children will grow to despise you because you are a pathetic father and pitiful man." And on the car, he had known that none of them wanted to go, he knew it more than any of them, but he had tried, with games and jokes, to entertain them during the ride, but all of it had met with silence. "Dad," Josh had muttered, his only words that day so far. "Stop trying." He hated his son because he was like his mother, and he hated his daughter, too, because she was like himself. He got up unsteadily. The sun beat down like a drum's heavy rumble. Sally and Josh had lapsed into silence, or perhaps they were still bickering, but he was barely aware of them. He said something, an excuse of sorts; it made no difference as he walked into the darkness again. The man was not standing as he had before, leaning against the counter. Paul scanned the room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness. Then he saw it: under the space of one of the cubicles, he noticed feet, ankles, legs. The same fashionable jeans, the expensive shoes. The pants, he noticed with a quickening of his heart, were not bunched around the ankles. Paul hesitated; he had never done this, only thought about this with wistful misery while lying alone in bed, while cleaning away the dishes by himself, while staring at the ceiling from the cold grave of the bathtub. His hands were trembling. He knew he was moving like a puppet in the hands of an apprentice, as clumsily as broken clockwork, but he didn't care. He pushed open the adjacent stall and slipped in, shut the door behind him, locked it, sat. He swallowed. Waited. The stench of urine seemed to cover his skin, from the sides of his neck to his chest. He glanced at the walls; predictably there were words written there, all sorts of lewd messages and nonsense--"I LOVE TIGHT PUSSY" "HORNY 8:00 TONIGHT"--that he hardly registered. The edges of the door, he saw, were splintered. The toilet paper dispenser was empty. The floor was slick under his feet, and dirt from unknown shoes seemed to have formed symbols on the tiles. It was utterly quiet. He heard a stir. The man in the next stall had moved, was moving. There was the sound of the door being unlocked. Paul stared at the shoes, shiny even in the dimness, and watched them step outside the stall towards the doorway and vanish into the sunlight. The silence seemed to buzz a little. He gripped his knees with his hands and stared at the door in front of him, the blank beige door scribbled with pencil marks, ink streaks. He waited for the shoes to come back, but the silence stretched on, so thick it seemed to fill his head like the hair gel he'd used that morning. His insides felt like lead. Presently footsteps came again, but he had barely managed to muster hope when he heard Josh's voice, a disinterested drawl. "Dad?" Paul cleared his throat. "I'll be out soon." Josh left, his shoes scraping heavily across the ground. Paul Ragden drew a deep breath and stood, his knees a little shaky. What had he been thinking? he thought suddenly, sharply. Reality slammed into him. If he had ended up doing something with that stranger (a stranger whom he'd just happened to meet at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere!), Josh surely would have walked in, and- It was too terrible to ponder. It was good that the man had stepped out, he thought, instead of... And anyway, it was probably just his stupid fancies. His mind could get carried away sometimes, spinning the most impossible threads. Paul washed his hands, his face, and walked out without drying either. Sally had resumed eating her sandwich. "Look, Dad," she said in a conspiratorial voice. She pointed at the lavatory complex. Towards the back, in the shade, were two men, standing so closely that their faces were almost touching. "What are they...? Are they...? Josh said..." "They're, well, different," said Paul. He fixed the lid onto the icebox. "Come on, back to the road again." "Are they--gay?" Sally asked, almost in an awed whisper, trailing her father through the parking lot. "They're fairies," said Josh in a tone of disgust. "I expect they are gay," Paul said. He glanced back casually, following Sally's engrossed gaze. "Josh, could you open the trunk for me?" The icebox returned to the trunk, Paul slipped back into the driver's seat. The Chevrolet swung back onto the highway, rumbling down the sun-leeched concrete. Paul had to frown with concentration; the shimmer of heat made him wonder if the road was truly there or not. "So were they really... gay?" Sally asked. "I guess so," Paul said. "I don't think normal men do that sort of thing." "They're fags," said Josh. "Josh..." "So is it a bad thing, to be gay?" Sally interrupted. She turned in her seat to glance back at the rest stop, now a speck in the wilderness of dry gold. "It is," Eileen said. She shifted her large straw hat and lifted a hand to adjust her glasses. "It's a horrible thing. Disgusting. Isn't it, Paul?" "Yes," said Paul, glancing into the rear view mirror. "It is."
  13. corvus

    Dismantle the Sun

    "Old wounds have a way of opening when they should have healed. Nick Raimondi isn’t too fond of his mother’s love life, and even less fond of some of his more stuck-up classmates, particularly one Darius Wigglesworth. He feels a lot more warmer about Alec, a junior he rescued from a rabid cheerleader in the school parking lot. Life, though, has a way of dealing the most unexpected cards."
  14. corvus

    Chapter 5

    5. Up until that moment on the couch, I'd known that I liked Alec. I'd be the world's densest bloke not to. But while kissing him and feeling my whole body singing with hot sparks, my feelings definitely moved up a notch. I can sort of imagine it: a yellow sticky with the word "NICK" detaching from a shelf with the word "LIKE," and fluttering up to a higher shelf, emblazoned with the words: "IN LOVE." I wasn't really aware of it then, of course. I wasn't aware of anything at all, except that I was completely happy as I'd never been before. We must've been making out for half an hour or so before I felt Alec kind of nudge me off. "What time is it?" he asked. It might've been noon for all I cared. I'd dropped my watch at about the same time that our trousers came off, and it took a bit of rooting to find it. "Ten thirty." "Ten thirty," Alec repeated. "D'you need to go back now?" He nodded. I kissed him. "Okay." Really, it'd have taken only ten minutes at most to drive him home, but somehow, I didn't mind. In fact, it was probably a good thing, as it gave us twenty minutes of lingering kisses, interspersed with some brief crotch-grinding. It was, in fact, almost ten fifty when we stepped out of the garage and into the hallway. "Well," I said, tugging at my shirt, "That was..." I trailed off and glanced at Alec. He was smiling and kind of looking down shyly when he spoke. "That was great." My heart could've stopped right then. The air outside was cool and the stars drowned by the street lights, and I wanted to sing. We didn't say a word in the car. I mean, what more could you say? A bouncy Simon and Garfunkel song was running through my head: Cecilia! She loves me again! I'm down on the floor and I'm laughing! Wrong gender and all, I thought, but who gives? It was when we'd passed the first stop sign and the elementary school that I thought of something to say. "You walk to school, right? Do you want a ride in the mornings?" Alec hesitated. "Don't you live on the other side from where I live?" "Yeah." I shrugged. "So?" He smiled, I think, but I couldn't really tell in the shifting lights of the street lights. In any case, he was quiet as we passed another block. Maybe he doesn't want me to hang around so much, I thought. Maybe... Ah, of course. He's afraid that, if anyone were watching, they might think it was weird that Alec was suddenly taking rides from Nick Raimondi. I'd learned that most people usually don't jump to the right conclusion, but if you're afraid of it, it's what you think everyone else is thinking. "If you don't feel like it, it's fine," I said. "Yeah," he said. And then: "It's not that I mind, it's just... I mean..." He was looking at me. "Yeah, I understand," I said quickly. I pulled up the driveway and killed the engine. I was glad that Alec hadn't started unbuckling while we were still moving. Still, neither of us said anything, and we just sat there, looking at the drawn curtains and wood paneling of Alec's house. "I've got stuff to do tomorrow, but I'm free on Monday," Alec said, at last. "Cool," I said, grinning. "Me too." It wasn't true, technically -- I had to work at Pinnochio's in the afternoon, but I could do it on Sunday instead. Giuletta was cool like that. "See you, then," Alec said. "See you." For a moment, after he'd unbuckled his seatbelt, I was wondering if he was going to lean over and kiss me. But he didn't. He opened the door, shut it, turned with a smile, and went up the path to his door. I started the engine and pulled out, wishing that he'd at least touched my leg or something before he left, but still too happy to care. Melina was going to get an earful tonight. -- As it turned out, Melina didn't pick up when I called her that night. She didn't pick up Sunday morning either -- she had church, I remembered -- so it was one in the afternoon when she finally did. "Did you call me twice today?" "Once this morning, and once last night," I corrected. "Is everything all right?" I laughed. "Why do you ask?" "I mean, you hardly ever call me, I figure something enormous must've happened..." I laughed again. "Well, I guess nobody died," Melina said dryly. "No, nobody died." "And I suppose nobody got diagnosed with cancer." "God, Melina, you're so morbid!" I laughed again -- I couldn't help it. I was in a very good mood. Even my mom, who'd come home late last night, had noticed, and asked in a careful voice, as though she were afraid of my answer. "Well, what is it?" "Guess." "Nick!" "I'll give you a hint. It has to do with Alec." There was a pause. "You didn't!" she squealed. "Wait, wait, wait. Did you... you did...!" It was a good thing I was alone in my room with the door shut, because anyone seeing me then would've called up the nearest mental institute. She loves me again! I'm down on the floor and I'm laughing! Well, maybe not the floor, but the bed, certainly. "All right, Nick Raimondi, I want details," Melina said in a stern voice. "Come on! So what'd you do?" "What do you think we did? Wait, never mind. I don't think I want to know that." "Nick!" I laughed again. In the end, I told her everything. Well, not everything, but it sure felt like everything, what with her asking me just how I made the omelet ("Did you do the flip-thingie?" "Flip-thingie?") to the movie we watched ("What's Kung Fu Hustle?" "Never mind"). She was delicate enough to not ask about what exactly we did on my dad's ugly green sofa, but she basically made me recite our conversation afterwards -- not that it had been extensive. "So Monday, hmm?" "Yes, Monday." "Don't forget the performance Monday night." I snorted. "Would you let me forget?" "No." "There we go." -- Giuletta gave me such a withering look when I told her I was moving Monday's shift to today that I almost felt guilty. Actually I did, and resolved to work till half past seven, thirty minutes after my shift usually ended; she deserved that much. I spent most of my shift thinking of yesterday. In fact, I'd been thinking about it pretty much constantly since last night: while lying in bed, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, watching the milk arc from its carton into my bowl of cereal. I'd never felt this way before. If I had to describe it, it'd say it was a sense of completeness. It was as though there was nothing I couldn't do, nothing I couldn't tackle. I was finally, in the strange way that comes with love, a man. Plus, there was the undeniable heat that leapt from the pit of my guts to my throat every time I remembered how fucking good it felt to grind myself against him. Yup, I thought. I was definitely, happily, head-over-heels in love with Alec. I was grinning, too; grinning like a loon that had just wriggled out of the madhouse and was as pleased as punch to be free. I was grinning even after I looked up and noticed Kate Landauer standing outside the window, tossing her hair as if she were in a Superbowl ad. The grin finally died when she came in. "Hello, Nick!" I gave her a magnanimous nod. "Hi," I said, with about a twentienth of her enthusiasm. She giggled. It was annoying, but I was in far too good a mood to get upset. I glanced at the time. It was twenty past seven. I sighed. Karma had a special way of biting you in the ass. "So," Landauer crooned, leaning against the counter with her arms bunched under her breasts. I supposed she was either trying to shove her cleavage into my face or the ceiling lights. She was probably doing a better job of the latter than the former, given that I was looking out the window and praying for an actual customer. "What's up?" "Nothing, really," I said. "Feel like some pizza?" She giggled -- again. "No," she said coyly, "but I might feel like some other things." I lifted an eyebrow. "Really?" Then I stepped to the side, because a real customer had just come in. "She's done with her order," I said, when the guy who'd just stepped in seemed to think Landauer was there for an actual reason. "That's not very nice, assuming that I was done with my order," Landauer pouted, after I'd put a slice of Sicilian into the oven. I gave her an expressionless glance, still in too good of a mood to be annoyed. "Do you want something, then?" "Not a pizza, no. But..." She hesitated and leaned forward again. Her voice dropped, too, until it sounded like a mothball was caught in her throat. "There is something behind the counter that I want." "Ah, the cash register. I see. Sorry, not up for grabs." Ten more minutes, I thought. Then I'm out of here, guilt or no guilt. It took Landauer a full moment to process what I said. She responded with a shriek of laughter, as though that were the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "No! Silly. It's you." "Sorry," I said. "Also not up for grabs." "Ooh," Landauer drawled. "So, tell me about her." "There is no her," I said flatly, and added, before she could open her fat, lipsticked mouth again, "What about Wigglesworth? Aren't you his boyfriend?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, puh-lease. Give me a break! Darius?" She made a scoffing noise that was so scornful I almost felt sorry for Wigglesworth. But not quite. "Why, is he double-timing on you?" Her eyes got big. "Him? No, of course not." "He seems like a nice guy. Rich." I tried to think up a few more adjective, but I didn't bother trying very hard. Not bad looking, I thought, but didn't really want to say it. "He bores me," Landauer said with another roll of her eyes, another squish of her arms. "I want a guy who doesn't wear ties to school." I laughed -- involuntarily, of course, and felt strangely irritated at myself. Maybe it was because Landauer started smiling as though she'd just made a small triumph. "I want someone a bit more interesting," she cooed. "Someone... like you." I snorted. "Sorry," I said. "Not interested." Either Landauer was deaf, or had a hard time understanding English, because it was seven twenty-five, and she was still standing at my counter, grinning with a maddeningly smug look on her face. "Oh come on," she said. "I mean, you can totally do better than the people you're hanging out with." The good mood was slipping away. "Look, I don't know what more you want, and I think I've been pretty clear in telling you that I'm not interested." I paused, reminding myself to keep cool. "So I don't know why you're still here." Landauer rolled her eyes. "Would it really kill you to go on a date with me?" She lowered her voice. "I'll make it worth your while." I was really getting irritated now. "I'm not interested, okay?" "What'd you rather do? Hang out with Melina or Alec?" The way she pronounced Melina's name made me tense, but it was the way she pasted a sneer over Alec's that made me clench my fists. Relax, I thought, relax. Don't let this stupid bitch bother you. Think of Alec. I forced my fists to unclench and thought of kissing him on the couch, of grinding into him... That heat shot up through my chest again, and suddenly the anger was gone, as if it'd been consumed in a blast of fire. I love him, and I'm going to see him tomorrow, I thought. Landauer was still gazing at him with half-lidded eyes and squashed cleavage. How pathetic, I thought abruptly, feeling suddenly no ill-will at all -- just pity, and some amusement, because the situation was kind of funny: one of the school's most desirable girls, pushing her breasts into the face of someone who didn't appreciate it at all. "I'm sorry," I said, in a more generous tone. "I'm just not interested." "You know, you really shouldn't hang out with those two." "Look, if all you're going to do is hang around and insult my friends, you'd better leave. You are obstructing this place of business." "That Melina girl's always doing drama shit, and everyone knows that the drama department is stuffed full of gays. And Alec..." I froze. The calm I'd gained a moment earlier was smashed. I finally got my mouth working after a moment. "Look, I don't want to hear this, you can just go..." "Ah," Landauer cut in with a twist of victory, "so you don't know." "And I don't want to. You can -- " "There was that thing back in ninth grade -- only a few people know about it, it was very hushed up -- " "Look -- " "There was something about a kid getting beaten up, and something about Alec setting it up with his father, about the kid being a fag -- " "Shut the fuck up," I hissed. "Do you think I care about the shit that's fucking coming out of your mouth? Fuck! Go stick your breasts in some homeless guy's face if you want to get fucked!" There was a silence. From the corner of my eye, I could see the sole customer in the room look away. Behind me, I heard something that sounded like a plate being dropped. Giuletta. I wonder if I was going to get fired. Landauer leaned back. "I was just saying," she said coldly. "I don't see why you want to hang around a person like Alecander, unless you're... abnormal." It was as though someone had a hand clamped around my throat. My mouth must've opened, but it was like the useless flapping of a bird that'd been shot to the ground. I could have come out and said it -- there was nothing I was afraid of. None of the stupid social cliques mattered to me, and if someone wanted to pick a fight, I was more than willing to smash his head in. But the words couldn't come. Instead, I swallowed and growled in a choked voice, "Get. Out." This time, without pausing to flip her hair or waggle her butt, Landauer obeyed. I should've felt happy to see her go. But I only felt tired, as though I'd just come out of a fight. A fight that I hadn't won. Someone made a throat-clearing sound behind me, and I turned to face the full battery of Giuletta's stare. This was going to take a while, I thought, heart sinking. -- Monday did not begin well, but I wasn't sure if it was because I was expecting something to be changed, or if things had, indeed, changed. In any case, if anything had shifted, it had to have been the little things, because nothing big happened. No fights, no insults, not even taunts. Just the shadow of a glance here, a greeting that was a shade colder than normal, a catch of gazes that didn't quite happen... In short: nothing. But it was enough to make me blunt my appetite by lunch. It didn't help that Melina was sitting with Greg. "Hello," I said. Both Melina and Greg lit up like jack-o-lanterns. "Soo," Greg whispered, leaning annoyingly close, "Melina here says you've some good news." I grunted. "Well? Spill!" I turned pointedly to Melina. "Kate Landauer came after me yesterday." "Oh." "Wait, what's that got to do with Alec...?" Magnanimously, I refrained from giving Greg a nasty look. "So what happened?" I shrugged. "She kept trying to get me to go out with her. Then she started getting insulting. And then I called her a few things, and..." I took a deep breath. "I think she's outed me." "What!" "I don't know, but it's just a feeling..." I trailed off, partially because I had nothing left to say, and partially because Melina reached forward and applied her standard response to emotional problems: a hug. "Did anyone...?" "No, but -- " I shrugged. "I dunno, maybe it's nothing." "Wow," Greg whispered. "I can't believe she did that," Melina muttered. "She's such a -- " "Bitch," I finished for her. "Well, look on the bright side," Greg said, smiling. "It's great to be out!" This time, I didn't bother refraining from the nasty look. I don't know if Greg even noticed, but I kind of wished he did. I also kind of wished that I could tell him it was only great for him because he was such a stereotypical gay. I didn't want to be gay -- not in the sense that Greg was, with coy phrasings and those idiotic glasses with thick black frames. I wanted to be a guy, a normal guy who happened to be in love with another guy. The kind of guy Alec would like. "Have you seen Alec?" I swallowed. "No," I said. "But I don't usually see him at school." Melina made more clucking noises and reassurances. I didn't really hear them, because, at that moment, Darius Wigglesworth was crossing the courtyard. Our eyes met, and I went rigid, waiting for his face to twist with disgust. It never happened. Kate Landauer's words suddenly flashed through my head -- I want a guy who doesn't wear ties to school. Then the contact ended, and I frowned. In that instant, I had felt contemptuous, even condescending, of Wigglesworth. Even knowing that I owed him nothing, the feeling made me uncomfortable, almost dirty. It made me feel almost sorry for him. Damn Landauer, I thought. "Nick?" "Huh?" "You'll be at the performance tonight, right?" "Uh, yeah. Sure." -- I lingered in the parking lot for a while longer than I usually did, just in case Alec was going to pass this way. He didn't. He didn't normally come this way either, so it wasn't as though I was concerned or anything. I waited a couple of minutes after I got home before calling. Just so he'd have time to get home as well, and everything. It was exactly 2:46 when I called. It's funny, being in love: I'd have thought I'd get all impatient and stupid. Instead, things felt spaced out and calmer, and it was as though I'd grown an extra set of eyes that let me see things more clearly. Maybe that's how I got the feeling when the first call went unanswered. The bad feeling. He might still be walking, I told myself. Or taking a shower. Or taking a shit. Lots of reasons why he wouldn't answer the phone. I made myself a sandwich, ate it with milk, turned on and off the television, and took a piss before calling again. It was 3:10. I waited through the first ring, the second, third... "Hello?" "Hey, Alec?" I could hear him breathing: once, twice. "Alec?" Then he hung up. I stared at the receiver for a good moment before I slowly put it into its cradle. Stared, and looked at the clock. 3:11. I wasn't angry -- not yet. I was simply determined. There was a song running through my head, pushing out all thoughts: Cecilia! She loves me again! I'm down on the floor and I'm laughing... Within five minutes, I'd already pulled into Alec's street, with its center island of olive trees, the pavement pressed black with fallen olives. A few seconds later, I'd parked in his empty driveway, and I was staring at the same house I'd come to just two night ago. I hesitated only a moment before getting out of the car and going up to his door. I rang and waited. No response. I glanced at my watch. 3:25. I rang again, stepped back, waited; when nothing happened, I jogged back to the bottom o the driveway and looked at the windows, each one covered with lowered blinds. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It was as though the house itself was against me. I went back into my car and sat there. I wondered if Alec was at one of the windows, like leftmost one upstairs. Watching me. Or was he somewhere else entirely -- on his bed, waiting for me to be gone? I had to plan, I thought. He couldn't stay in there forever. Of course, I couldn't stay on his driveway forever, either... But he'd get over the rumor sooner or later. It was, after all, just a stupid rumor that'd been spread by the queen of stupidity herself. I gritted my teeth, wishing all sorts of horrible things to happen to Landauer, and pulled out of the driveway. I quickly phased into a sort of numb anger. It was useful for honing my movements until they were normal and precise, as though I hadn't just gone from the top of the world to the trenches of Mariana in the space of twenty-four hours. It was also useful for keeping my mind blank, blank as the walls of my house -- a house that had no father, no mother. Nothing. It was half past six when I got another call. I jumped at the phone, and I must've sounded pathetically breathless on the first hello. "Nick?" Melina said, sounding annoyed. "Are you coming?" "Coming?" Then, I remembered. "Fuck. Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes." "The show starts in fifteen." "I know -- I know. Sorry." I swallowed. "See you soon." -- Maybe it was the mood I was in, or maybe the performers were just less committed on Monday nights. But, I was antsy and annoyed rather than moved when the same melodies kept drilling themselves into my brain. Like that idiot tune that kept playing when they marched about, singing about hearing "the people sing." I kept wanting to tell them, We get it already -- put some fucking variation to it, will you? But I didn't, and manned the audio in brooding silence. "Thanks so much, Nick," Melina said, after the thing had ended. "There's no party tonight, but look." She handed me a package of aluminum foil. "I baked a few brownies for you." "They're still warm," I said, surprised. "Don't tell, but there's a kitchen in the back." She smiled and took me in a hug. I returned it awkwardly, as I still had a bulky stash of brownies in one hand, but it felt good to be hugged. I deserve one now, I thought, a bit petulantly. "What're you doing tonight?" "Dunno," I said. "Probably homework." Melina's eyes got annoyingly wide. "You haven't finished it yet? But don't you usually do it first thing?" "Couldn't concentrate," I said, and moved aside when I noticed Greg approaching. That was the last thing I needed now -- except maybe another dose of Landauer, though more because that'd probably end up in some sort of violence. "See you tomorrow!" My mom still wasn't back when I pulled into the driveway. Geez, I thought; that latest boyfriend of hers, Steve, must be really engrossing. I killed the engine with an angry twist of my wrist. Even my mom was getting laid. This was ridiculous. The silence had never bothered me this much before. It was like a flock of birds, dive-bombing me with thoughts. One moment it was Landauer's sneer, the sweaty-palmed fear I'd felt as she'd walked out of the shop. Another it was the front of Alec's house, as tightly sealed as the face of a sarcophagus, overlooking the street of crushed olives. Then it was the silence itself, bearing down on me with the faint buzz of electric lights. And finally it was the remembrance of the night itself, the heat of it, my body on his, the weightless happiness... I groaned and put my head in my hands. This wasn't supposed to happen, was it? Or at least, not this fast. Not this confusingly... The phone rang. I stared at it for a moment before reaching over and picking it up. "Hello?" "Nick?" I let a pause slip through. "Nelson." "Yo, what's up, man?" I snorted. "Nothing, really." "Cool, dude..." The silence trickled in again, and I let it. It wasn't hostile. I was letting it be still, be almost congenial, as though we were merely old friends who hadn't talked in a long while. "So, uh, wanna hang out tonight?" "It's nearly midnight," I pointed out. "And it's Monday." "So? You never want to hang out with me anymore. Too goody-goody for me, aren't you, Raimondi?" "It's not like that." "Fuck you. Where'd my best friend go, huh? Best friends forever, remember?" I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell him that he was stoned or drunk -- or both -- and that I had class tomorrow, that I really wasn't in a mood to go out and get smashed. But the truth was, I was. For the first time in a long while, I was. And part of the vision that'd opened to me with the happiness I no longer felt also let me see the truth in Nelson's words, the truth that I had managed to hide from myself since I'd decided I needed to "take a break" from him. I was no better than my father, who'd decided to take a very extended "break" from his family. I swallowed. "I can hang out tonight." "What?" "I said, I can hang out tonight." "You're fucking joking." "I'm not." "Dude." He paused, and repeated. "Dude, that's fucking awesome. So is it all right if I pick you up?" "Maybe I'd better drive myself, you sound a little -- " "Nah-ah. You just sit tight. Nelson's coming over." He hung up, and it was very slowly that I put the receiver back in its cradle. The moon hung in the sky. I flicked the switch, and the light went out.
  15. corvus

    Chapter 4

    4. Melina called after I'd got back from my morning run, but before I'd made much of a start on breakfast. "Are you busy right now?" "Well, I just broke open two eggs." "Oh, pancakes? Can I come over?" "Eh... Just scrambled eggs, actually, but if you're making pancakes, you can come over." "Great! I'll be over in ten minutes. Um, that's okay, isn't it? Your mom won't mind?" "My mom's not here. See you in a bit." We hung up, and I put the bowl with the eggs in the fridge as I went to take my shower. When I got back, Melina was at the stove, and two pancakes were already in the plate. It'd taken a few months after we got to know each other for me to convince her that she could just let herself in if I wasn't there to get the door, but it was worth it. Melina's pancakes are to die for. "So I guess you dropped Alec off after us? Where does he live, anyway?" I grunted. "Next to the plaza." "Oh, that's not far then." She poured some batter on the pan. "What did he think of the party?" I shrugged. "He..." I trailed off and listened to Melina flipping a pancake. Then I sighed and sat back, my appetite completely shot. "Melina, I fucked up." "What?" I dropped my head in my hands and nearly sloshed milk out of my cup as my elbows hit the table. "I did something stupid." "What did you do?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" I sighed. I hadn't tried to kiss him, I hadn't tried to stick my hands into his pants or anything. Not that I didn't want to. I hadn't. I'd only suggested it instead in two accidental touches, and either Alec wasn't as gay as I thought, or he was a serious closet case. One way or the other, he was probably going to avoid me for the rest of his life. "It can't have been that bad?" "Yeah." I shifted in my seat and decided that this subject had gone on for long enough. It wasn't helping my appetite, at any rate. "So what're you going to do this weekend?" "Nick-" "Are you gonna do a big bake-a-thon?" Melina sighed. "Greg and I are going to watch all of The Sopranos in one go. And there's a performance tonight, of course." "Yeah. So how's Greg?" "Greg?" Melina gave me an innocent look, which obviously meant she was hiding something. "He's fine. Why?" I crossed my arms. "You haven't been talking to him about-me, have you?" Me and Alec, I meant, but I remembered that there wasn't even remotely an "and" between us. Melina flushed. "Only a bit. Do you mind it?" "It's not that I mind. It's just not gonna happen." "I'm sure it wasn't that bad." I grunted. "So what're you doing today?" "Uh... Sopranos and the show?" "Right, you said," I muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Oh yeah. So d'you find out whose house that was?" "No. Whose?" "Darius Wigglesworth." "Darius Wigglesworth! Who told you?" "Uh..." I realized, suddenly, that I somehow didn't want Melina to know I'd been having a conversation with Darius Wigglesworth. "He did, kind of. It's his second house. His first house has the indoor swimming pool, I bet." "Indoor swimming pool?" I frowned. "Yeah, indoor swimming pool." "Oh! The indoor swimming pool, right." I felt a bit annoyed, but Melina thankfully decided to start remarking on how pleased she was with the opening show yesterday, but how irritated she'd been that the piccolos were sharp in the second act. In the middle of that and my absent-minded "hmm"s, she said, "I was kind of surprised by how much pot was at that party-you used to smoke it, didn't you?" "Yeah." Melina nodded and went on about piccolos. I'd found that Melina was matter-of-fact about a lot of things that people would normally get hung up about. Like the fact that I was gay. Or the fact that I'd been a delinquent when we met. It's funny, the thing about friends. You don't miss or need them until after you have then. Nelson had just decided to play hooky on a permanent basis; his dad had ended up in jail for the last time; and I'd just started to shut myself away from the guy who'd been my best friend and only friend. Then Melina had come up, in overalls and with fuzzy pigtails, and asked me if I could please help her record Bluebeard's Castle, if it wasn't too much of a bother. She'd bake me brownies if I did. "Do you want to watch The Sopranos with us?" I shook my head. "I've got work today." "Oh, that's right. When do you get off?" "Seven." "Do you want to come over for dinner?" I hesitated. Melina's mom made superb dinners. I swear I gained five pounds every time I went to her house. I'd make that ten pounds if my stomach could fit it. But I didn't really feel like it, not when the last time I'd talked to my mom had been her birthday, three days ago. "I dunno. I'll call you if I do." Melina smiled. "Great. Greg'll be there too." "Yeah." I stacked the dishes and took them to the sink. "He is gay, isn't he ?" There was a pause before Melina responded. "Um, he says he is." "Yeah," I said. "Just so you don't have a crush on him, or anything." Melina giggled. "Me? Have a crush on Greg?" I shrugged. "I'm just making sure. I mean, it's my job to beat up everyone who tries to, uh..." "Endanger my-virtue?" "Yeah. Sounds about right. It's my job." I gave the last plate an extra hard scrub and held it to the light coming through the garden window. "Ma-ee duty," I said to my reflection, with my best fake Italian accent. Melina giggled again. "I already have a dad to do that." "Yeah, well." I paused. "You do, I guess." --- Unlike some restaurants, Pinocchio's didn't suddenly get much busier on the weekends. I guess the people who ate there on weekdays finally had time to cook on the weekends, and people who usually cooked chose Saturdays to be lazy. Anyway, I guess it balances out. Today, though, it just had to happen that someone who could have stayed home decided to come during my shift. It wasn't Alec. I'll be lying if I said I hadn't been hoping-even though I knew it was a pretty stupid thing to hope for-that he'd show up. No, it was Darius Wigglesworth. I sighed. "Did you overcook?" "No, no," I said, going up to the counter and thinking that there was no way in hell Giuletta was as deaf as she claimed. "Can I help you, sir?" I said, when Wigglesworth had finished inching his way to the counter. At least he hadn't come with Landauer, his girlfriend. Otherwise, I might have to change jobs. "Cheese." "Regular or Sicilian?" "Regular." At least he'd come with a script in mind. "That'll be one sixty, sir." He paid. I tossed a slice into the oven and glanced at the time. Six fifty-five. Maybe I'd take up Melina's offer after all. I'd gotten pretty used to Melina's mom and dad, and I think they were pretty used to me, too, but eating at someone else's house feels weird, no matter how many times you do it. I took out the pizza after a minute had passed. "Here you go, sir," I said, but Wigglesworth didn't seem to have noticed. He was frowning at someone who'd just come in. I followed his stare, and nearly dropped the pizza. It was Alec, hesitating half in the doorway, looking ready to back out. "Alec!" I slid the pizza at Wigglesworth and jogged out from behind the counter. "Hey, what's up, man?" Alec's eyes seemed determined to focus on anything except at me. But he was there, right in front of me, right after I'd spent the whole day resigning myself to the fact that there was no way in hell I was going to see him again. I wasn't about to ask why. I was probably scaring away Giuletta's business with the way I was grinning, and my heart was pounding like a goldfish that had flopped out of its bowl, and part of me was downright terrified that Alec would step back and mutter that he'd come to the wrong shop. But he didn't. He was here. "Hi Nick," he said. "Hey," I said. We kind of stood there for a good while before I realized that people might be wondering why there was a mad grinning loon blocking the doorway. I turned and gestured at the counter. "Want some pizza?" "Yeah," Alec said, sounding nervous. I went back behind the stand, and that's why I noticed Wigglesworth sitting at the table farthest away, glaring with his pizza untouched. I had the urge to cheerfully flick him off, but figured that might not be such a good idea in the long run. "We've got Sicilian and regular if you want pizza, and subs if you want subs. We've got a ton of toppings, too-cheese, pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, peppers, tomato basil, spinach-you name it." "Uh..." I chuckled, and he did too. Alec had been looking pretty overwhelmed for a moment. "Well, I dunno. What would you recommend?" "Sicilian tomato basil. It's great. And if I think it's great-it is." Alec chuckled again. I did too. It was as though I'd just won the world. "I mean, I do this fifteen hours a week, and if I'm not sick of it now, then it's gotta be, you know. Pretty damn good." "Yeah," Alec said. He'd pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket. "So, I guess, a slice of tomato basil?" "One tomato basil!" I announced, like one of those guys on ESPN. "For here or to go?" "Uh-" He paused. I kicked myself. I should've just planted him at table next to the counter without asking. Then, after noticing that his gaze kept sliding off to one side, I realized why he hesitating so much. Wigglesworth was still glaring at us. I wondered if he thought we were gossiping about him, or something, because he was looking pretty baleful. Then I guess he noticed that I was staring at him, because his eyes flickered up and he picked up his pizza to take a bite. He really hadn't eaten much of it yet. "I dunno..." "Here," I blurted out. "I mean, if you're not in a hurry, you can just, like, eat here..." Alec nodded. "Yeah. I guess that's okay." "Cool. Uh, do you want to drink anything? There's drinks there, and water's free." "Uh, water's fine." "Sure." There was a pause. "So, uh... How's your weekend so far?" "Pretty good." "Yeah." Another pause. "D'you have any plans for tonight?" "Plans? No, not really." I was distracted for a moment. Wigglesworth had stood up and was wiping his hands with his napkin. "Do you wanna watch a movie or something?" "Uh..." Alec smiled. "Yeah, I guess... why not?" "Cool, I get off-now, actually." I pointed at the clock, noticing that Wigglesworth had dumped his pizza, which he'd hardly touched, and stalked out the door. From the direction Alec was looking, he'd noticed it too. The day was certainly turning up. "We can go to the plaza theatre and watch something." "Now?" "Yeah," I said, pulling off my work apron. "Unless you're busy tonight? I heard they're playing something good." "Oh, yeah." We sat down at one of the tables close to the counter. Giuletta was well in the back, and the restaurant was empty. Just the two of us. "So what do you say?" Alec shrugged. "Yeah, I mean... I'll give my dad a call, I think he'll be okay with it." "Awesome." The grin was still on my face. I swear I must've looked as happy as a piece of cheese, for all I was smiling. I had no idea what had happened between last night and today, but I wasn't about to question it. Here was Alec, eating a tomato basil Sicilian and glancing up between bites with a smile that was real. The door opened. I was halfway out of my seat before I remembered that my shift was over. Giuletta began taking orders with her thick Italian accent, and I watched the newcomers pick out a regular and a spinach. Alec was nearly done. He'd stopped glancing up at me, but that was okay. I could pretend that we were only two normal guys at a pizzeria. For now, at least. --- We ended up watching one of those cheesy kung-fu comedies. I think Alec enjoyed it, which was good, but I'd been hoping that the theatre wouldn't be so packed. I'd have liked us to be somewhat alone, but I guess you can't have everything. It hit me, after the first big action piece passed, that this was my first date ever. I spent a whole minute wondering how big of a deal it was. I mean, I guess it's like the first time you get high, or the first time you get drunk. But the fact that it was with Alec made it seem important. I couldn't tell if he was thinking anything along those lines. Unlike me, I think he was actually paying attention to the movie. It was dark when we got out. Cold, too. I had to rub my arms to keep from shivering. "How'd you like it?" Alec shrugged. "It was pretty funny. I liked that stunt in the end." "Yeah, that was cool," I said, vaguely remembering something involving a four-storey drop. "Uh, d'you want to go do something?" He hesitated, again. But it didn't seem to take as long this time. "It's kind of late, but I can call my dad." "If it's okay, we can hang out at my house." Hang out, watch some TV, make food. I hoped Alec wouldn't mind if I cooked. I hadn't had anything since lunch, and I was really starting to feel it. "Yeah, I'd better ask my dad first." "Yeah, sure." I drifted towards my car. Alec followed, cell phone at his ear. "Hello, Dad? Yeah, it's me. We watched a movie. Um... Rush Hour, I think? It was an action comedy. An action comedy. Yeah. Dad, can I hang out at Nick's house for a while?" A pause, and then he turned to me. "How long, d'you think?" I shrugged. The whole night, but I decided not to suggest that. "Till eleven? Twelve? And I can give you a ride back." "Um, till eleven o'clock? And Nick says-Nick says he can give me a ride back." We waited. "Yeah, okay. I know, Dad. I know. Bye." Alec looked up. "He said yeah." "Great," I said. We got into my car, and it was almost like last night. There was the same darkness outside, the same quietness between us. But it was different, too, in the way he glanced at me with a smile that I had to make sure, during the stop signs and pauses in traffic, wasn't just the street lights. It was half past nine when we pulled up in my driveway, which I'd noticed was empty even before we turned down the block. "Hmm. I guess my mom isn't home yet." "Does she usually work this late?" I shook my head and turned the key in the lock. "She's probably at her boyfriend's place." I switched on the lights. We'd reached the kitchen before I added, "I don't think she'll be back tonight. Did you have dinner before the movie?" "Yeah." "Mind if I make something really quick?" "Oh, go ahead," said Alec. "I didn't know you haven't had dinner yet." He added, a moment later, "Can I watch?" "Yeah, of course." I was making sure I was cracking open my eggs over the bowl and not the floor, but I could see Alec from the corner of my eyes. I didn't need to look up to know that he was watching me. "I'm just making a few omelets," I said, snapping on the stove. "D'you want one?" "No, I'm good." His voice almost made me pause. It wasn't only quieter than it usually was. It also sounded softer. The eggs were getting really nicely even now, and the only noise between us was the sound of the egg whisk. I tried to think of something to say, but my brain seemed to have stopped functioning a while ago. I heard Alec get up. When I looked, he was peering at the cabinets, moving down the counter, closer to where I was standing. "So," I said, "uh... Do you cook at home, Alec?" He kind of smiled at the question, which I guess was pretty silly. "Cook? The only thing I've ever cooked are TV dinners." "Serious! Aw, that doesn't count." He shrugged. There was about two feet's distance between us now. One foot. "My dad doesn't think it's something guys should do, I guess." "Oh-so your mom doesn't cook?" "My mom's actually... not divorced, but they're separated, my parents. She lives on the other side of town. I see her every so often." "Oh." I felt my face go a bit red. There was no way of killing a mood like asking an awkward question. I shifted where I stood, but I noticed, suddenly, that Alec hadn't moved away. He'd gotten, if anything, even closer. I turned. Then I had to turn again and step as quickly as I could to the stove. I'd probably have dropped the eggs all over Alec's feet if I hadn't. He was so close I could count each eyelash. I felt like I'd swallowed a hot pepper that'd gone straight to the pit of my stomach. It didn't help that Alec was still standing there, only inches away, and I could smell the soap he used, feel- The thought hit me just as I let the eggs splash, sizzling, over the pan. Was Alec coming on to me? Suddenly, everything and nothing was making perfect sense and nonsense all at once. Wasn't he the one who'd balked last night, who'd brushed me off? Wasn't he the one who scurried out of my car without saying goodbye? But right now, he was standing so close that the hairs on my arm were standing on end. Normal guy friends don't stand this close. Or this quietly, this long. I grabbed the cheese from the fridge. "This one's almost done," I announced, and slid a plate on the counter. "Yeah." I'd planned on making at least two omelets, or three, but I wasn't so hungry anymore. And I kind of wanted to just swallow the omelet I had in one gulp so that we could get out of the kitchen and to whatever it was that we were going to do. I shivered. "Are you sure you don't want any?" "Yeah, I'm fine." I sat at the counter. Alec sat next to me. I fumbled with my fork on the first mouthful. I swear, I wasn't usually this clumsy. "So, uh... Do you have any hobbies, stuff you do for fun?" "Hobbies?" Alec shrugged. He did that a lot, I noticed. "Warcraft, basically. I should go out more and do more sports and stuff, but..." Another shrug. "I never got into that." "That's cool. Warcraft, I mean. I've played only one computer game in my life." "What's that?" "Mother Goose." "What?" I snorted. "It was this game my dad got for me. It was really stupid. You had all these nursery rhyme characters who lost nursery rhyme items, and you had to help get them find it. You got a big hug from Mother Goose if you won." "Wow." "That's why I know every single nursery rhyme that's ever existed. Totally useless shit." "Yeah..." "Well, I thought it was great when I played it." I finished scraping the last bits of egg and cheese from my plate, and stood. "My dad liked me to sing along with the nursery rhymes when they played. He was weird like that." "Yeah." I sponged the plate twice and washed off the soap suds, then put it on the plate rack to dry. I could see Alec looking at me in the reflection in the garden window. He looked pale and thin, the way you'd look if you turned into a ghost. I turned and went back to the seat next to him. His shoulders were hunched and he was frowning, as if he was trying to get something out, but was afraid of it. "Do you miss him, kind of?" I shrugged. "I did, when I was little. Now I'm used to it." What I said wasn't untrue-I was used to it now, and, really, I didn't miss my dad all that much. But I'd never talked about this to anyone, and doing so was making it come back. The day he left, the times when he was still here, his presence in this kitchen, under the same uneven light. I shifted in my seat. "Don't you miss your mom?" I asked. "Yeah, kind of." He paused, considering. "I still see her a bit, though, and I was never really close to her. I was much closer to my dad." "Yeah." Was closer. I nodded, and stared at the wall for a moment. "Do you wanna... check out my room?" "Yeah." A smile crept back to Alec's face. "Sure." I slid off the chair and led the way down the hall. I don't know why I did it, but I kept the lights off. I also don't know why I stopped at the end of the hall and pointed, not at my door, but the one opposite. "My dad left a whole bunch of stuff in the garage when he left. That's why we don't park in there anymore." I paused. "It's still there, all of it." "Yeah." I wanted to ask him if he wanted to see it. I wanted him to say that he wanted to see it. Only, there was no reason why he would. "There's a lot of stuff in there," I said. "Old stuff. My dad liked to collect things." "That's cool." "Yeah. We could... take a look, if you want." "Yeah," Alec said, "Sure." The garage was cooler than the rest of the house. I turned the switch, and the long line of light bulbs, dangling from the ceiling, flickered on at once. "Wow." "Cool, isn't it?" I led him to the couch at the back. It was ugly and green and the most comfortable thing in the world. According to my dad, he'd slept in it more than anywhere else, though he'd never said why. I wonder if that'd changed now. "Is this a record player?" "Yeah. Ancient, I know." I pointed at the bookcase next to it. "That's where the records are." "Wow." Alec peered at the labels. "Opera?" I nodded. "My dad is Italian, you know. Raimondi." "Yeah, but opera?" "Some of it's good, actually." I got up and stood next to him at the bookshelf. The hairs on my arms were starting to stand up again. "This one's good." "Norma?" "Yeah. It's about this druid priestess who gets betrayed by her Roman lover. She wants to kill her children, but decides not to, and in the end kills herself with good-fashioned immolation." I took the record out of its cover, which had a large picture of big-nosed soprano on it, and then slipped off the white paper lining. "I don't listen to it a lot anymore. I used to, for a while. Opera, I mean." "Yeah," said Alec, as I set the spindle at the right point and waited. We got up and sat on the couch. The flute solo started, and that became the only sound in the room, except the strings, which were going up and down like someone's breathing. You could hear the crackle from the record, a bit like the crinkling of wrapping paper. It'd been a while since I'd last been here. A week and a half. Not quite two. When I'd shown this place to Nelson, he'd been pretty impressed with the records, but I hadn't played him any. I wondered if Melina would like them, since she was into theatre, but Melina didn't know this place existed. Only Nelson, and now, Alec. "So what do you do?" "Uh..." I trailed off. Alec's voice had gotten soft again. "What?" "Like, in your spare time. Since you don't do any of the sports teams anymore." "How do you know I don't do the sports teams?" He'd gotten even closer. "My dad talks to Mr. Burns, the coach. They play pool every Saturday night." "Oh, really? I didn't know." Burns was a fiercely bearded man who wore sunglasses all the time. The only time I'd seen him without them was when he'd called me to his office, demanding why I wasn't on the track team. I'd said I had to work. He'd asked to see my dad, to get him to talk to sense into me. I had to tell him I hadn't seen my dad in five years. "I guess I spend a lot of time working at Pinocchio's." "Yeah. Mr. Burns is pretty bummed you aren't doing any of the athletic stuff." "Yeah, well..." I shrugged. "My dad approves of you." Alec paused. I looked at him. "He likes boys who do sports and can fix things. I've never fixed anything in my life. I told him that you did the sound recording." "Yeah? What else did you tell your dad about me?" Alec shrugged. "Nothing." He was turned halfway towards me, his eyes lowered and hands cupped in the space between us. I'd stopped wondering by now if it was only my imagination. Normal friends don't stare at each other for extended periods of time. Friends who wanted to be more than friends did. And I was sure, now, that Alec was waiting for me to lean forward and put my lips against his. But being sure of something and actually doing it were two very different things. Another few bars of music passed. Alec shifted, moving even closer. Damn it! If this wasn't my chance, then what was? I bent forward a bit, jerkily. It happened almost too quickly. One moment, I was still staring at Alec's lips, and the next, they were against mine, while the music in the background was slipping through the chromatic passages-my father's favorite part. I drew back slightly to get air, and Alec leaned forward, following. "Wow," I whispered. I was trembling. "Have you done this before?" I shook my head. Alec frowned and sat back. "Are you okay?" I tried to answer, but my voice caught in my throat. I was shaking, my entire body quivering like a leaf. "Yeah..." I managed at last. "It's just-" My voice sounded choked, small, as though I was scared to death of something. "Shh." Alec was stroking me, touching my shoulder and tracing a finger down my arm. "It's okay." I know, I tried to whisper, but my voice was caught in my throat. I tried to muster a grin, because Alec was starting to look a bit worried. I probably looked more like I was snarling, but after a moment, I did manage a quiet, "I'm okay." "You sure?" I nodded. And then lurched forward with a noise somewhere between a bark of laughter and a yell, and started kissing Alec in earnest on the ugly green couch my dad had left behind.
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