Aquinas' Story - 4. Aquinas Questions

"Where are you taking me?" Fletcher Jones wondered what his tall friend, Tomás, had in mind.

In answer, Tomás just shook his head. "It's my turn. Something I want you to experience." He smiled as they walked along the street. To this moment, they had enjoyed a nearly perfect day together.

Water birds at dawn, followed by a detour to a woodland sanctuary, and then a more sedate stroll through a community park in a town closer to home; either Tomás was humoring Fletcher like a saint, or he had actually enjoyed pursuing birds all morning.

Fletcher especially delighted in showing Tomás how to spot birds effectively with the spare binoculars he brought. It was a good excuse to stand up really close behind the taller man – to show him how the focus mechanism worked, of course.

They'd seen all kinds of late migrants. Tomás had been enchanted by a close encounter with a ruby crowned kinglet. The tiny songbird had hopped about in a vine-choked shrub, inspecting his - boyfriend? Did men their ages have boyfriends? Why not? Boyfriend - not three feet from the tip of his nose.

And now, close enough that their hands brushed occasionally, with Tomás subtly leading, they walked down a side street in a moderately sized town. To a mystery destination. Fletcher hardly minded where Tomás was headed; he was more conscious of their brief, seemingly inadvertent touches. He wondered if his friend realized what he was doing.

"Thanks for lunch," Tomás was saying, "you really didn’t have to do that."

"Of course I did. You trekked with me all over the map this morning; it was the least I could do." Fletcher had been pleased to buy his friend lunch at a terrific little diner he knew.

They'd lingered over it, delighting in one another's company. There had been jokes, stories, and some pleasant silences, too.

"I liked the places you took me. And so romantic," Tomás laughed. "When I think about how beautiful that solids settling pond was, I don’t believe I'll look at a water treatment plant the same way ever again."

Fletcher grinned at that. He knew some weird places to spot unusual birds.

Tomás stopped in front of a church. Fletcher looked up: "Emmanuel Lutheran Church" read the stolid sign on the front lawn. A more rudimentary, hand-lettered sign read: "Rummage Sale Today!"

"You need some rummage?" Fletcher asked, eyebrow raised.

Tomás laughed. "No, no rummage for me. But come on," he urged, and they followed an arrow on the sign to a side entrance.

The pair entered the door and walked down a corridor. It opened up into a large room, crowded with tables piled high with old clothes, kitchen gear of indeterminate age, some well used electronics and so on. Here were the castoffs of the congregation unfit for eBay. Several grey-haired women pottered about, neatening tottering stacks of clutter. There were very few customers.

"Come on," Tomás smiled and led the way across the room through the maze of used and abused goods.

Fletcher's nose wrinkled at the musty smell of old clothing that had spent long months in boxes and plastic bags.

Nobody took much notice of the two men as they made their way through the sale tables. They ascended a set of stairs at the far end. Tomás opened a heavy wooden door at the landing, revealing the tall ceilinged sanctuary. Tomás walked in and beckoned his friend to follow. Fletcher hadn't been in a church for many years, not since he'd been to his grandmother's funeral. This place was plain, almost Spartan, painted a simple protestant white on the inside.

"Why don't you sit there?" Tomás suggested, pointing at the front pew.

Fletcher decided to go along, even though he had no idea what was going on. He sat. A little anxiously, he watched Tomás walk over to the left of the simple altar. An old fashioned pipe organ was built into wall. Apparently, Tomás knew where the key was kept, as he had the keyboard unlocked in a few seconds' time.

He seated himself there, smiled bashfully at Fletcher for a moment, lifted his hands to the keys, and started to play.

Bach. It had to be. Fletcher knew that much. The simple musical statement grew, sprouted branches, wound around itself in its astonishing variety, and blossomed into a shower of harmonic and melodic blooms, like a cherry tree in spring, like joy set to music. Fletcher watched Tomás playing, his eyes closed either in concentration or lost in the intertwining melodies. Or perhaps both. It was a revelation, a whole new unsuspected dimension to the man he'd become attached to.

And then, too soon, it was done, the piece finished, the cadence completed.

The room was silent again, but only for a moment. Tomás rose from the bench and walked back toward Fletcher. He gazed at his tall friend, stunned. "I hope you don’t mind. I just had to…I just had to show you…show you how what you did for me today made me feel."

For a moment, Fletcher hardly knew what to say in response. Nothing he had done could possibly have given Tomás that kind of happiness. He found his voice. "That was beautiful, Tomás, incredible," he managed to say. "I didn't know you could play."

Tomás smiled and flushed, pleased and embarrassed. "I just play a little," he admitted quietly. "I come here every once in a while to practice."

"But why here? We must be at least thirty miles from campus."

"I play lots of different places," Tomás said, still shy. "I just don't want everyone to know."

Fletcher gazed at his friend disbelievingly. "Wait. Let me see if I understand. You didn't worry about kissing me in the driveway last night, or holding my hand on the trail."

Fletcher marveled at his own words. Less than twenty four hours ago, he'd been tied up in knots about whether to come out to Tomás over dinner at a nice restaurant. What a difference a day could make. Today, he couldn't have cared less: he wouldn't mind if the whole world knew he was falling for the tall, stoop-shouldered man with the earnest eyes and captivating smile.

Tomás smiled shyly. "I was petrified."

Fletcher grinned, but pressed on. "But you went ahead anyway."

Tomás shrugged.

"But you don't want people to know you play Bach?" Fletcher inquired incredulously.

Tomás spread out his hands helplessly. "I learned to play in middle school…I couldn't tell anyone then…it just wasn't, you know, cool. No way was I going to tell anyone back then. And then, when you're trying to get to know people…trying to fit in…what do you tell them? Oh, I play Bach preludes and fugues for fun?"

"So why play for me?"

"Because…I thought maybe…you'd understand. And you wouldn't laugh at it."

Fletcher wondered for a moment at what must have happened in Tomás's life to make him embarrassed of his gift. How terrible it must have been, whatever it was. The fugue wasn't his usual kind of music, but he'd been enchanted, nevertheless.

"Tomás? Um, would you mind…playing me another one?"

"You're sure?" Tomás said uncertainly.

Fletcher beamed back at him. Of course he was sure. "Yes. Please."

So Tomás played again. And again. By the time they departed the church, afternoon was well on its way towards evening. The air was still warm, and the sun still shone, but the shadows were definitely getting a little longer.

They found Fletcher's Jeep where he'd parked it, and soon the little vehicle pointed its nose generally in the direction of the college. No plans were discussed.

"Where are you taking me?" Tomás asked, once they'd made it into the countryside.

Now it was Fletcher's turn to grin. "One more place I know. Not far."

It wasn't long before the road rose up a long, gentle hill – there weren't any very tall ones in this part of the world. Fletcher pulled over and parked at the crest.

"Come on," Fletcher called to Tomás, getting out.

The taller man scrambled out to follow. They crossed the road, then walked into a field that sloped further upwards in front of them. The climb wasn't very hard. Fletcher shivered a little when Tomás again slipped his bigger hand over his own.

Reaching the top of the rise, Fletcher turned them around. He scanned the sky to the north, shading his brow. Tomás didn't see anything, but the view into the distance was much broader and farther than he expected.

"There. That's one," Fletcher said suddenly, pointing.

"What? Where?" Poor Tomás felt a little lost.

"Golden Eagle. Here, take these," Fletcher handed Tomás the binoculars and then stepped up behind Tomás to guide his arms and eyes toward the large raptor gliding down the thermals.

Suddenly, Tomás felt Fletcher's closeness behind him. The rising ground meant Fletcher was a few inches taller, making their height more equal. He could feel Fletcher's breath on his neck. Eagle or no eagle, it was very, very hard to concentrate.

"There. See it?" Fletcher's soft voice was practically in his ear.

And then he did see it, the magnificent bird captured in his field of vision. He'd never seen one before, not like this. He held it in his view for a few long moments.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

He felt Fletcher stir behind him. "Look to your right, about two o'clock."

He swung the binoculars in that direction, searching for whatever marvel Fletcher had found in the skies.

"Osprey, I think."

How did Fletcher know? Eventually, he found the bird, a ghostly greyish-white form in the glasses. It was exhilarating.

Tomás let the glasses down and turned to Fletcher. "How did you know these birds would be here?" he asked.

"Fall migration time. These are the late ones. A lot of them follow the mountains south; these ones are kind of following the coast. This place is good because of the view to the north."

"This is incredible. Amazing." Tomás smiled.

Fletcher returned the smile, but it didn't last. "Another eagle, further over," Fletcher said, abruptly pointing again into the sky. He couldn't help himself.

Tomás turned to look for it but couldn't find it in the darkening field of blue with the binoculars. But then, a moment later, it hardly mattered. He felt a pair of arms slide around him, Fletcher embracing him from behind.

He dropped his arms and grasped Fletcher's, tightening the hold.

"I've wanted to do this all day," Fletcher murmured into his jacket.

"Me too," Tomás said simply.

And then he turned, and they kissed; gently, happily, under the open sky in the lengthening shadows of the late autumn afternoon. This was not as torrid as the kiss the night before, but extremely satisfying. And Tomás felt no panic anywhere in his mind.

When they broke, Fletcher smiled shyly. "It's getting a little late. Maybe we should think about dinner."

Dinner. What time was it?

They descended to the car, still holding hands. The perfect day now definitely headed toward dusk. Days ended early in late autumn. Neither spoke as they got into the car. Neither wanted to break the spell.

As they drove through their own familiar surroundings, Fletcher finally asked, "Why don't you come over to my house for supper? I'm sure I've got something in the fridge we can eat."

At least, he thought there was something.

Tomás didn't hesitate to answer. "Sure, I'd like that. Can you stop at the grocery for a second, though? I could pick up a few things to contribute."

Fletcher paused for a moment longer than necessary at a stop light, considering. "Right. Fine," he answered.

They both got out at the grocery store, Fletcher pleading the need to get something, too.

They met back at the car and were soon letting themselves into Fletcher's darkened house through the back door. Fletcher reflected that it hadn't been twenty four hours since they'd kissed right in front of that same door.

But unlike the night before, Fletcher was perfectly relaxed. Tomás was there with him, and everything was right – more than right – between them. Inside, Fletcher excused himself hurriedly. He wanted to drop his small shopping bag upstairs, and leave his jacket in the bedroom closet.

Back in the kitchen, Tomás draped his coat over a chair. From his shopping bag, he fished out some eggs and vegetables and some spices he'd purchased. In minutes, Fletcher's kitchen smelled of sautéing vegetables.

"What are you making? It smells incredible," Fletcher spoke as he returned.

"Mama's secret emergency dinner," Tomás smiled back over his shoulder.

Moments later a bottle of red wine appeared, and portly glasses shining ruby in the light were emptied slowly over gentle banter, a happy recounting of the day – and maybe a kiss. Or two.

They ate what Tomás called 'Filipino Omelets' for supper, with a green salad.

They laughed over dinner, told more stories, and reveled in each other's company. And every now and then, one would take the hand of the other for a moment, and smile.

But eventually, they rose from the table. Tomás began carrying dishes to the sink.

"It's been a wonderful day. I can't remember a day when I enjoyed every minute of it," he said. "Thank you."

Fletcher followed, frowning a little. "Yeah. This has been one of the best days I can remember." He set his handful of dishes down by the sink. He turned to Tomás, and took both his hands, and appeared to study them carefully. "I, um, don't want it to be…you, know, over."

He looked up at Tomás, whose brow furrowed adorably in confusion. He loved that face. That look. He made a decision.

"Come on," he said with a grin, pulling Tomás gently through the dining area.

Tomás followed as they passed through the book-lined living room and headed toward the stairs. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.