Dreams and Clipped Wings - 7. Chapter 7

7:Bound with Wax, Bound with Thread
: edited by viv :

“Why him?” Brandon asked, all of his weight pressing down on Damon’s feet as Brandon gripped the boy’s ankles securely. The two of them were alone in the high school gymnasium having decided to stay, with the permission of their coach, and get some weight training in after wrestling practice was done for the day.

“Huh?” Damon asked, though the question sounded more like a grunt of exertion as Damon sat up again, before allowing his torso to fall back, and then crunching forward.

“Why this Cody guy?” Brandon repeated, trying, unsuccessfully, to understand the genesis of infatuation. Brandon reasoned that perhaps by understanding Damon’s, he could understand his own.

Damon crunched upward, resting his elbows on his knees as he appraised Brandon thoughtfully.

“He’s got a nice smile,” Damon answered, thinking that he found all of the smiles he had seen grace Cody’s face nice. “And a good laugh,” he concluded, his lips accentuating the light thought that waltzed across his mind.

“That all?” Brandon asked, a smile playing on his lips as he watched the small twist of his best friend’s mouth.

“He’s smart,” Damon added. “When he helps people at the rec center, he sticks around ‘til he is sure you understand, no matter how long it takes.”

Brandon smirked; he could read the next thought inching behind Damon’s eyes before Damon had a chance to suppress it. As a result, Damon’s cheeks flushed beyond the already rosy crimson of exertion.

“And he’s sexy…” Damon exhaled, averting his eyes from Brandon’s playful gawk momentarily. “God is he sexy.”

“Perv,” Brandon chided as he gave Damon’s calf a playful swat.

“What?” Damon laughed, defending his right to enjoy the view. “His looking good is a bonus!”

“Right,” Bandon said in a way that only spurred the growth of Damon’s blush before he pushed off Damon’s feet and stood up, offering his friend a hand up as he did.

“Haven’t you ever seen someone across the room, heard their laugh, and told yourself you were going to get to know them?” Damon asked as he accepted Brandon’s offered hand, using his friends leverage to pull himself up.

Brandon thought about the question for a moment. “Yeah…,” he muttered, not needing to speak any louder as close as he was standing to his best friend, “in the second grade.”

“You should tell me about her sometime,” Damon said, dropping Brandon’s helping hand, as well as his own eyes, missing the twinge of pain that flashed momentarily across Brandon’s features.

“Someday…,” Brandon said, recovering from the break in his composure, the crack in his well crafted mask. “Maybe.”

“I’d like that,” Damon grinned momentarily, stepping backwards before leading the way to the weight room which was off the gymnasium in a side room. Brandon, didn’t dutifully fall into step with Damon like he normally would, instead he stood glued to the same spot he had been standing in when he helped Damon up. “You coming?” Damon asked, noticing that Brandon hadn’t moved.

“Huh?” Brandon asked, more out of reflex, than having heard Damon’s simple question. “Yeah.” Shaken from a rambling inner monologue, Brandon moved forward, his gait transforming from a timid shuffle to his usual stride in just a few paces. “So this weekend, huh?” Brandon asked as he fell in step with his long time friend.

“Yeah,” Damon flashed a grin at Brandon.

“Better hope you kick ass,” Brandon smirked. “You don't want your ass dominated in front of your boyfriend,” he continued, finishing with a laugh.

“Never know,” Damon responded, pausing their trek to the weight equipment for effect. “He may be into that kind of thing…”

“Oh shit,” Brandon roared, amused that Damon even went there.

“Besides,” Damon continued, in a wistful voice. “He’s not my boyfriend, yet.”

“Bro,” Brandon stopped abruptly and grabbed Damon by the shoulder. “Bro,” he said spinning Damon to face him, as the tone of his voice morphed from jovial to serious in the span of a single word. “No worries.”

That was all the explanation that was necessary to Damon. “No worries,” he repeated with a self-assured nod.

Brandon didn’t believe him, and said as much with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “C’mere,” he commanded, not giving Damon the chance, or the choice, to object as he dragged him over to a mirror. Squaring Damon’s shoulders to the mirror Brandon said, “Look, you’re good looking, you’re caring, you’re fun… you’re the total package. If he says no, he’s out of his fucking mind!”

Damon spent several moments appraising himself. The sight wasn’t anything new to him. He had seen the same face and body every time he happened to glance in a mirror. Sure, it may have filled out and matured over time, but to him he still looked the same.

“I need a haircut,” he finally settled on saying, not liking the way Brandon’s reflection was staring at him intently.

“Nah,” Brandon said taking the chance to ruffle the dark mop of locks on top of Damon’s head. “I like the shaggy look on you.” If all that Brandon had said so far wasn’t enough, he again lowered his hand to Damon’s bare shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “For a guy, you’re perfect. Anybody that doesn’t see that is just blind, or plain out stupid.”

There was something in the touch, the gentle squeeze of Brandon’s hands and the way they radiated confidence that fed his strength into Damon. He had the strangest urge to sigh, to release all the self-doubt he had, and lean backwards into Brandon. If only he could, but some things were more important than others.

“You’re the greatest,” Damon announced as he purged the thoughts that Brandon knew he had been harboring. Brandon found the compliment bittersweet, but accepted it with a boastful, almost cocky, grin that puffed his chest.

“I know.”

Damon rolled his eyes at the simple response, and laughed as he playfully jabbed his friend in the ribs with an elbow. “Hey,” Brandon laughed catching the arm and holding it as he scooped a surprised Damon into a poorly executed half-nelson.

“Okay, okay,” Damon said tapping the forearm that held him loosely.

“That’s right,” Brandon said, as he released his grip on the back of Damon’s neck and slipped his arm from under Damon’s releasing the hold he had. “C’mon we need to finish up,” he said turning away, intent on getting to the weight machines.

Damon was smiling with the new thoughts racing through his head. He waited for Brandon to take a few steps towards the weight room before he acted. He covered the few feet Brandon had cleared between them in relative silence and ease. In fact the only sound he made was the grunt that escaped his chest as he grabbed on to Brandon’s shoulders and hefted himself up so he could wrap his legs around Brandon’s waist from behind.

Brandon’s knees buckled with the addition of the unexpected weight, as the two of them fell towards the ground. Not one to let his friend best him so easily, Brandon hooked his arms under Damon’s legs and used Damon’s weight to his advantage, rolling the two of them sideways as they fell, before landing on their sides with a thud.

The two rolled around on the ground, each trying and failing, in their own way, to get the upper hand in the situation. Their game ended in a call of victorious laughter from Brandon. Damon shared in the laughter, not because he had won, but because he honestly enjoyed the rough-housing and Brandon’s excitement over his triumph. Brandon had Damon pinned on the ground, holding his wrists firmly as he rested on Damon’s legs.

Their laughter slowly ebbed into silence as they watched each other. Their senses became acute in the void left behind as mirth dissolved into something neither expected. Damon could feel the moisture build on Brandon’s palms and the slight thrust of his pelvis. Brandon could feel Damon’s heartbeat through his grip on both wrists. He was even aware of the slow, inviting way Damon’s leg rubbed against his own. That was all it took for Brandon’s mouth to dry. An audible gulp accentuated the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as his already thundering heart to double its effort.

“Ready?” Brandon asked moistening his lips. By way of an answer, Damon offered a weak nod. Brandon’s hand slid along Damon’s forearm as he released his grip and set his palm on the floor. Brandon pushed himself back on his haunches, before offering Damon a hand up.

Two aspirin and a large glass of water preceded a very hot shower where Julie tried to scrub the last vestiges of the night away. No matter how hot the water, or how hard she scrubbed, broken memories still presented themselves—a flash of skin here, the tickle of hairs there. Julie wanted nothing more than to crawl into her dorm room and sleep it all away, sure that when she woke up next it would all be more distant than it felt right now.

She didn’t have that choice, the guy on the motorcycle, Jacob, had deposited her at Valerie’s off-campus apartment, and not the dormitory she thought she was going to. Julie gave thought to protest, in the end however, she accepted the offer of lent clothes and a shower before hanging out for the day.

“You guys are a couple?” Julie asked taking a seat on the patio, her hair still damp from the shower.

“Yeah,” Matt answered, his voice strained with curiosity as he appraised her. She hadn’t seemed too drunk the night before, but if she had forgotten that part of the conversation they’d had, perhaps she was. “That’s not a problem right?” Valerie asked, casting a glance at Matt and Jacob. She smiled as Matt grasped Jacob’s hand, yet noticing the way Jacob stiffened slightly.

“No,” Julie stumbled. “I mean this is the Bay Area after all, kinda can’t get away from it can you?”

“I guess not,” Jacob answered shortly, deciding he liked her better when she didn’t speak.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Julie said, trying to wash the strained nature of the conversation away. “My boyfriend’s roommate is gay. Nice guy really, but nothing like you two.”

Valerie, Matt, and Jacob just stared at Julie. None of them could add anything to the conversation, not with how it was left hanging at ‘nothing like you two.’ Valerie was seriously hoping that Julie’s inconsiderate air was caused by the dregs of alcohol in her system, but there had been a change over the summer, one that she didn’t know how to approach, or rebuff.

“Nothing like us?” Matt asked after a prolonged silence.

“Well, yeah,” Julie said, slightly annoyed that nothing she was attempting to say was coming out right. “Sorry, I know I’m sounding stupid…” Julie paused looking for the right words to what she was trying to say. “I had a long night. What I meant to say is, I guess you guys have a committed relationship and all, but the roommate,” she paused for a moment, “I dunno, he has this on again off again thing with another guy. Just doesn’t seem really healthy to me.”

“Some people are lucky,” Jacob smiled. “Right, Kid?” he said giving Matt’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Then he’s always making eyes at my boyfriend or being all… suggestive,” Julie offered, receiving another round of silence for her revelation.

“Anyone hungry?” Val chimed in, desperate to take the focus off Julie and to stop her friend from sounding anymore like an ass than she already was.

“Oh my God,” Julie said clutching her stomach. “Don’t even mention food!”

“I was thinking we could pack up a few sandwiches and head out to a park, do the picnic thing.”

“We can go hang out at the Palace again,” Matt said referring to the Palace of Fine Arts, and the few unfinished studies of the edifice he had in his sketchbook.

“He’s a bit of an architecture geek,” Jacob smiled, leaning towards Julie as if he was baring some secret.

Julie laughed, both from Jacob’s remark, and Matt’s subsequent playful poke to Jacob’s ribs. The joke dispelled some of the tension that had hung in the air, making her no longer feel like the asinine outsider that she was sure had been Matt and Jacob’s initial impression of her.

It always looked bigger on TV, not the large rotunda and flanking colonnades, rather the grounds the structure sat in. On TV, Cody had always assumed San Francisco’s Palace of Fine Arts was in some large urban park with lush gardens, wide grassy fields, and tree shaded alcoves. In reality, the park is dominated by a large lagoon on the west bank which the iconic, terra-cotta hued, rotunda stands sentinel. On the east bank is a strip of grass wide enough for a decent game of touch football, or a good game of Frisbee, but little else.

In spite of the palace’s lack of useable park space, it still provided a feeling of sanctuary. Whether it was the water, the dominating, airy nature of the architecture, the swans milling around in the lagoon looking for the next handout of stale bread, or the sublime way in which all the parts drew together to make a calming whole, Cody didn’t know for certain. Today though, he wasn’t focused on his surroundings. He paid no attention to the swans dunking their heads into the dark waters of the lagoon, after something that looked tasty, nor did he pay attention to the bride wrapped in a lavish Saree in the hue of robin’s egg blue, her upper arms adorned in gold cuffs, her hands stained with intricate henna.

Instead his attention was focused on his cell phone and the entry entitled ‘home’. There was an urge to hit send, like there usually was on trying days, and the mornings events had made this one particularly trying. He never did actually press send; he knew it would be for naught. As much as he longed for the understanding such a call promised everyone else in the world, the call for him would hold no such promise.

Cody dropped the phone into his lap, trying not to wonder why he even still had the entry labeled ‘home’. After all, it had been some forty odd months since that place truly was his home. With a sigh, Cody fell backwards onto the patch of grass where he had been sitting.

“Should have grabbed that damn book,” he muttered as he shielded his eyes from the sun high in the clear sky. “Fuck it,” he decided, reaching for his phone even though part of his mind was still screaming no. A quick click of the menu button cleared the screen saver and brought back the phonebook. Pressing send before his annoying inner monologue could talk him out of it, Cody raised the phone to his ear. The phone barely registered a ring before it was answered.

“Benjamin?” a frantic female voice asked, one which he immediately recognized as his mother. His reaction to the sound of her voice was more knee-jerk than anything else. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he hit end. It was only after he had terminated the call did he wonder why his mother sounded panicked.

The extended walk around the block did little to quell Joe’s anxiety. It was supposed to clear his mind, in reality, the solitude gave him time to reflect on the past eighteen months. Everything had started so perfect, nineteen and free. He had a girlfriend, his own place, a job, and all the promise the endless golden skies of the Pacific offered. Somewhere though, the warm skies began to cloud over, their bright orange morphing into a startling fiery pink, before settling into a brooding violet as the months ebbed away.

That was the only way Joe could describe his relationship with Julie and its current state. He didn’t like to admit it, but it seemed the sunlit afternoons had been left in Oregon, and they were now slipping slowly into the oppressive dark of night.

It was the inky darkness that worried Joe most of all. Everything was harder to see, especially truth, reality. He didn’t like the other that lurked there in the void, or the feelings that stalked the shadows, threatening to pounce given the right opportunity. It had happened once already; the other had seized the moment and spilled out onto his bed in a fit of heat and exhaustion. It was great and liberating, and perfect in the darkness. In the soft light of morning, however, the memory was paralyzing. He just couldn’t remember if it was anticipation or fear that caused the queasy feeling in the gentle light of dawn.

That was something to ponder later, Joe decided. Later came sooner than Joe anticipated. Returning to the apartment found it just as empty as before. His cell phone was still sitting on the couch. A quick check of the missed calls list revealed there were none. Disgruntled, and possibly madder than he was before his walk, Joe tossed the useless device back on the couch and snatched the keys to the car off the coffee table.

It wasn’t the greatest car in the world, Joe thought of his faded black two-door Honda Civic as he climbed in. It was certainly not the GMC he would rather own, but other things came first, and as long as the Japanese coupe got him from point A to point B with minimal intrusion it was all good as far as he was concerned. Besides, he only really used it to drive to job sites and his uncle’s house every other week. Other than that, the street he lived on was lined with small stores ranging from markets to produce stands; there was even a meat market on one corner and a liquor store opposite.

Finding nothing good on the radio, Joe abandoned thought of it as he pulled into traffic. His mind eased back to thoughts of night and the frightening, fascinating things that could be found there, as he drove through the cumbersome city traffic.

The first time with Julie happened in the dark, it, too, was equally as frightening, mired with the all the expectations and bravado of a teenage boy. The experience ultimately was unsure fumbling in the dark, hot things exposed to the frigid December air, ending in a spastic rush as soon as her warm hand encircled him.

He remembered the purr of her voice telling him it was okay as he nervously apologized. The giggle that escaped as, embarrassed, he stuffed the parts which had betrayed his ambition back into his pants. Things had evolved since that first experience. More firsts in the cover of night, some of which were more memorable than others, and some of the more recent encounters which had not been firsts at all.

Joe had still been awake the other night when his bed sagged with Cody’s added weight. That hadn’t been the first time Cody had snuck into his bed under the veil of darkness, just the most recent. The first time was back in Oregon. There had been a party, Cody had ended up sleeping on Joe’s floor and somewhere in the night he had crawled into Joe’s bed.

Joe had always been a light sleeper, he spent his childhood waking up to the odd noises of the house settling in the dark, or the cat jumping on and off his bed, so when Cody crawled from the floor into the bed that night, Joe had woken up immediately. He remembered how his body tensed, how he had expected Cody to try something sneaky thinking he was asleep. How he laid awake for a seeming eternity waiting for wandering fingers to do something he could object to. Nothing happened however, as Joe lay there tense and Cody drifted back to sleep.

Was that the night it started, Joe wondered, as he pulled onto PCH, heading north to his uncle’s house in Inverness. Was that the night Cody not only crawled into his bed for the first time, but also crawled into the shadows of his mind? Would he have minded if Cody had tried anything that night, was the fear of laying in bed with Cody just a glimpse at a truth he wanted to deny? Joe didn’t know the answers to the questions that rolled through his mind as the coast line meandered to his left. The salty waves crashing into its shores, just as the thoughts crashed in his mind.

No, Joe concluded, he wouldn’t have minded any wandering touch on Cody’s part. He even realized that some part of him was looking forward to it, had been looking forward to it. The part of him that was best left in the dark. The same part that he somehow knew was looking forward to the dawn, looking forward to its own day in the sun.

Greg would have the answers, or at least Joe hoped he would. His uncle always had the answers Joe sought. Sure most of the time they were mundane things like; ‘Change your oil every 3,000 miles’, or ‘Save a little money from every paycheck”. Yes, the words were mundane, but coming from his Uncle Greg, the simple advice always held more resonance.

Perhaps it was some visual cue in the rolling hills, or some other landmark that had Joe slowing and turning a corner without the slightest bit of conscious thought. He passed a weathered mailbox that looked more like a small doghouse perched on the top of a post. The mailbox, one of his earliest memories of the wooden house with its silver patina and low slung roof line, acted as a gateway to the ten acres of rolling hills that had at one time been the homestead of his grandfather.

Greg stopped running the plane along the keel of the skeletal boat that had been in the work shed for more than a decade as he noticed the faded black coupe pull up.

“What brings you up here?” Greg asked leaning against one of the timber ribs of his future boat, as Joe got out of the car.

“Just thinking,” Joe muttered with a shrug as he crossed the distance between his car and where his uncle stood, propped up by the super structure of his hobby. “Figured I go for a drive…”

His uncle arched a brow as he appraised Joe. “Kinda a long drive don’t you think?” Greg challenged knowing that his nephew had been on the road for at least an hour in his trip up from San Francisco.

“Maybe,” Joe admitted with a reserved chuckle, “but I needed it, I had… have a lot to think about.”

Greg pushed himself off the timber frame of the boat and began to run the plane along the wood again, sending curled shavings of wood fall to the ground. “Did it work?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

“Yes, and no,” Joe answered without hesitation as he picked splinters of wood from a rough spot and flung them absently to the ground. “Plus I may have heard Rosa was making Grandma’s gnocchi, so…”

“Rosa!” Greg yelled cupping one hand to the side of his mouth. “Damn little birdie got loose again.” Joe laughed, and relished in the joy of his uncles antics, even as his poor aunt came storming out of the house wiping her hands in a towel.

“What?” she called from the porch. Still smiling, Greg waved her off after pointing to Joe. “Staying for dinner, Joe?” she asked, to which Joe nodded eagerly. “Should be done in about an hour,” she called before turning and entering the house again.

“So,” Greg asked, “besides your grand mum’s gnocchi, what brings you all the way up here?”

“How long and have you and Rosa been married?” Joe took the opportunity to ask as he ignored the rough spot he’d been picking at to give his uncle his full attention.

Greg thought for a moment before replying. “Twenty years, I guess,” he answered, though something about the way Joe was standing told him that it was not the question he really wanted to ask. “Twenty-five if you want to count how long we dated before getting married.”

“Did you,” he started, but began to rethink the question. “Did you guys ever have rough patches?” Joe decided on just asking the simplest question that was on his mind.

“Sure,” Greg answered, his features darkening slightly. “Anyone who tells you any relationship is all wine and roses is lying.”

Joe nodded, accepting the answer, but it wasn’t why he was trying to ask. “Did it ever feel like it wasn’t going to last?”

“Is this about Julie?” Greg asked, taking the unusual tactic of pulling information out of Joe.

“She’s always busy,” Joe admitted in a bitter, dejected voice that was laced with sadness. “Anytime I call her, or whatever, she’s always studying, or has a test in the morning.”

“Well college does keep people busy, Joe.” Greg said, as he began running the plane along the portion of wood Joe had been picking at.

“I know,” Joe replied, as he watched the sharp tool do its work and smooth over the splintered wood. “It’s different though, she used to study while I was watching TV or napping. She hardly comes over anymore, and when she does, there is usually some comment or something. It’s just… different,” he continued, wondering if there was any way the tool in his uncles hand could smooth out his problem, no matter how selfish he felt in admitting to it.

“Well school does stress people out. It did that to me, and after two years I couldn’t take it anymore,” Greg offered, as he quit running the plane to stare at Joe. He didn’t fully understand what Joe was getting at, but he was still willing to dole out the advice Joe sought.

Joe shook off the last bit. “I could understand stress. This isn’t stress. It’s like she’s moved on, but can’t or won’t let me follow,” Joe said pushing off the wooden skeleton of Greg’s boat.

“Have you talked to her about all this?” Greg asked.

“She won’t,” Joe answered, sounding bitter. “Hell she doesn’t even answer her cell anymore when I call, because she is so busy.”

“Do you want to work it out?” Greg asked, noticing the fight a man has for the woman he loves, the fight Joe used to have when he talked about Julie, was missing. “Is she worth fighting for?”

Joe looked down at the boat, before he looked back up at his uncle. “There may be someone else, but that situation is confusing, too.”

“Confusing how?” Greg asked.

“Well,” Joe said, as he made the conscious decision to keep only one gender involved in the conversation. “She flirts with me, but sometimes it’s like a game, because she knows about Julie. Then at other times, she seems serious. No matter what though, when it happens I always end up with that nervous-good feeling.” The words all came out in a rush, as Joe could clearly picture Cody sitting on the couch and smiling just so, enough to make the breath catch in Joe’s throat and his heart beat just that much faster. “And his eyes… She has wonderful eyes, which are dark and brooding, but in so many ways full of life.”

Neither noticed the slip. Greg was too immersed in the emotion playing loudly across Joe’s face as he spoke to pay much attention to specifics of the words.

“She sounds like she’s worth fighting for,” Greg answered with some finality. He didn’t need to know the ins and outs of this girl. All he needed to know was that Joe really liked her by the look of excitement his eyes took on as he spoke of her. His words, however, didn’t have the effect he thought they would as the smile on Joe’s face melted away and his expressive eyes took on a dark cast.

“What if the she, is a he?” Joe questioned, regretting the sound of the words as they drifted to his own ears. He hated the sting the words caused free from his mind, the way saying them made him break in to a cold sweat, or the way the made him feel like retching.

Greg’s jaw set as he thought about the question and its clear implications. “You know,” he said after a long pause that only increased the level of panic Joe was feeling. “I was watching the Discovery channel the other week, or was it the Science channel?” Greg mused to himself. “Anyhow, they had this special on about the monarch butterfly, and its yearly migration. Did you know those little bugs only live for a few weeks?”

“No,” Joe stammered, unsure of how this was related to anything at all.

“It’s true,” Greg affirmed. “But, if they only live for a few weeks, how do they know when it's time to migrate?” Joe shook his head. “Well, there’s talk of circadian rhythms, but that's just science mumbo-jumbo for feeling it in here,” Greg said as he pointed to Joe’s heart. “They do it cause they feel that it's right. They do it cause they can’t not.”

Joe still looked like a lost child drifting away in a sea of his uncle’s allegory. “I… I don’t understand. Are you talking about instinct, or…?”

Greg shook his head, warding off any false notions of attraction and love as an instinct. Self preservation was an instinct. Breathing was an instinct. Attraction and affairs of the heart were not. If they had been instincts there wouldn’t be any fear related with them, a person would naturally go where those feelings took them. However, when it came to attraction and the heart, fear and uncertainty seemed to rule the day.

“If that is what your heart is telling you, no matter which way it urges you, listen to it. Not all of those butterflies take the same path to get where they know they must go, but in the end they all make it there. Male, female; right, wrong… I’m too old to get mixed up in all that mumbo-jumbo. I just want a party with an open bar at the end.”

Joe smiled. The bulk of his uncle’s words of Monarch butterflies, and circadian rhythms had been lost on him, but he could readily agree with the man’s advice to follow what he felt. The smile stayed, as he watched his uncle place the plane back on the work bench, then dust his hands off needlessly with a shop towel.

“Cmon’, supper should be on,” Greg said as he walked out of the work shop. “Oh,” Greg said pausing in his trek to the house and turning around to face Joe again. “How is Cody doing?” he asked with a sly little smile.