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- 12/23/2023
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
A Room with a View (of the Brooklyn Navy Yard) - 9. Epilogue
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Epilogue.
A Shaft Grows in Brooklyn
Shouldering our sails to the winds of change once more, we find ourselves carried to a Sunday in the near future. We’re set down again amid the sound of classic bossa nova, and the timeless good smells of feijoada and esfihas, empanadas and pastels, and quindim, golden flan, and bolo de rolo . . . and on and on.
The Brooklyn branch of the Força tribe is awash with the gaiety of meeting the boyfriend for the first time, for just as Patrick had predicted, a ‘simple’ family meal in the open-window freshness of a late afternoon dinner turned into a Tri-State event!
However, now stuffed and talked out, the boys are hardly missed as they excuse themselves from the rest of the family in front of the television and make their way to the author’s bedroom.
Door open, they simply glide in, with Ted – hands in pockets – making a beeline for the uplifted casement above Patrick’s desk.
He bends at the hips, casting his glance down on the street. Sure enough, the old Main Gate of the Brooklyn Navy Yard is directly across the way. Now, a few people are out strolling, enjoying the day – and wondering where all the delightful food smells are coming from.
Ted senses Patrick’s presence come up to his side.
The writer asks, “So how does it feel to be the querido of Patrick Forsa?”
Ted stands fully upright with a radiant smile. “Great, Puma. Really wonderful to meet your people.”
“All of them?” Patrick chuckles.
“Well, your Aunt Antonieta – she can go a little easier on the cachaça—”
“Funny, but not what I meant. I mean I almost died when João greeted you at the door: ‘Iowa, huh? I thought they only raised the corn there, not the actual fruit loops.’”
Ted bursts into laughter. “What? I thought it was cute – cut the tension right away.”
“Well, I’m glad you were cool with it.”
“Oh, Patrick, this has been great, although a tad overwhelming.”
“I know; I know. I tried to warn you about this particular Brazilian freight train.”
Ted grows serious, picking up Patrick’s little finger to hold with his own.
“I love it. Really, I love it. Today makes me realize how much this has been missing from my life for all these years. All the years since I lost Monroe – family.”
Nearly speechless, Patrick stands there and drinks it in. He too can barely believe his good luck, and here and now, in his lonely boyhood bedroom, stands a man who truly loves him as he is.
Ted brushes a few of the items on Patrick’s desk with his free hand. Gesturing down to the closed laptop – and out the window – he asks, “So this is where the magic happens, is it?”
Patrick hugs him from behind. “In my mind, yes, formerly. But now there’s a new place the magic happens too.”
“Oh, yes? Where?”
“Let me show you.”
Pulling his man by the pinkie, Patrick leads Ted over to his bed, the Brooklyn breeze flapping at his curtains.
Face to face, the writer has Ted sit on the edge of his mattress. Suddenly, the raucous sounds of the continuing party intrude on their intimacy.
“Wait here,” the standing young man says – and says seductively.
He goes over, checks to confirm the coast’s clear, then closes and locks his door.
He slow-walks it back to his boyfriend. “Now, that’s better.” He lifts off Ted’s shirt, and then his own.
Grinning and kicking his hands back on the bed, Ted playfully exclaims, “Why, Patricio! What’s come over you?”
“You. Or, at least I hope so soon.”
Needing a moment to absorb how dirty his partner’s just been, the sexy actor very seriously raises his arms and earnestly embraces the bare skin of Patrick’s lower back. He slowly draws the boy into his own flesh. And was ever, noble listeners, such direct contact more sincere or more whole-hearted?
Sustaining this swaying intimacy for a long, tender moment, Ted moves his hands farther up Patrick’s back. He then tightens his hold and allows himself to gradually fall backwards.
Bringing his belovèd with him, the pair tumble – locked together – onto Patrick’s childhood bed. And as they do so, the room fills with the laughter of love.
Fills right there, gentle audience, within view of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
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[The germ of this tale was loosely inspired by Episode 70 of The Adventures of Maisie radio program from 1951. That and Judy Holliday’s incredible performance in Born Yesterday as the sagacious-but-underlearnt Brooklynite Billie Dawn.]
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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