(Chapter two) (quasi-gay) -- Carrots and Celery... AND MORE!

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Date Posted: 18:45:50 04/15/05 Fri
Author: Karla
Subject: (Chapter two) (quasi-gay)

Have I gone mad? Seriously. What happened? I posted chapter two of quasi-gay. I know I did, cause Megan's already read it, up here. So, what the hell? This is all very disconcerting. Is it a sign? Is this quality control? Am I being erased? I ask you.

It's freezing, this evening.

---

The first time I came home from the Vasskez’s and it felt more like leaving than coming was the first night Kyle and I spend mostly on our own, talking and channel surfing in his room. I don’t remember what we talked about or even what I was feeling most of the evening – I just remember that sharp jab of surprise like you get when you’re unexpectedly kicked in the gut followed by a lingering sense of loss that came when I had to leave him and again when I walked through the front door of my house and it didn’t go away. Carrots was mostly too busy with his and Celery’s latest drama, whatever it was, to notice me pulling away at the time, but I’m pretty sure Kyle did. He started calling me more, and inviting me out with him, at any rate.

That was months ago, and now when I go home, it more often then not has to do with a fight with Kyle and wanting to get away generally than wanting to be there specifically. That, or it’s out of necessity, sleep, or the need to be home enough not to upset the careful internal sensors my parents seem to have that go off whenever I’m getting too close to someone I’m romantically involved with. They’re real as hell, so sometimes I have to be there. I’m not quite ready for that particular confrontation with Kyle or my parents.

---

Kyle and I fight about who will walk the dog or pay the bills this month or take the kids to daycare and make their lunch and we laugh and applaud each others performance when the arguments lose steam. We yell and scream, threaten each other with horrible death and humiliation and take the occasional fake swing. We carry on in this way in public on a fairly regular basis and Carrots (when he’s in attendance) merely rolls his eyes and assures any strangers nearby that it’s just a bit of fun, and aren’t we clever? We tend to believe that we are.

The real trouble is when we’re quiet. When silence is hanging around us dark and bitter. It’s rare, because even if they’re ostensibly about changing diapers and who gets Bermuda when we take over the world, the stage fighting gets a lot of tension out. If you don’t randomly scream now and again already, I highly recommend you start. When such silence comes, with no help from primal yells, it can stay for days. Largely because we’re both stubborn and idiotic, but the fact remains. Kyle’s always the one who breaks these silences, he’s not as practiced at them as me, and is still too used to and fond of being a Man of Action. Kyle’s solutions invariably involve yelling for a bit and pacing. Then once he’s worked himself up enough, he can calm down, and he’ll turn big sorrowful eyes on me, and my throat will tighten up.

“I’m sorry,” I’ll say, as it’s nearly always because of me that one of the silences got started in the first place.

He’ll sigh like that’s not really what he wants to hear (which I suppose it’s not) but he’ll come to me anyway and we’ll sort of do a mutual barnacle impression for awhile and then he’ll finally let me know I’ve been forgiven by kissing my forehead or telling me he loves me or pressing his thumbs gently against my temples and looking adoringly into my eyes.

These are perhaps my favourite of all moments I spend with Kyle, which may be why I find them so hard to bear.

---

Jon and Dave have been fooling everyone but each other so long, they rarely do anything but look at me with dumbfounded blinking faces when I know something they haven’t told me or ask them something no one should see enough to wonder about. For all Carrots melodrama and the propensity Kyle’s blood has for boiling hot, they’re much darker than their older brothers; so used to talking only to each other about hurts. This is of course, often times far too much like talking to oneself. I know it more for what I’ve missed than experienced, but I understand nonetheless. What I can’t guess they share with me out of twin solidarity, and I suspect, a bit of getting back at their brothers. Blood matters at the strangest times.

---

Loving Carrots means loving his sarcasm, his dramatics that oftentimes comes hand in hand with hilarity, and his largely inward facing tunnel vision.

Loving Celery takes an acceptance of his tolerance for Carrots’ behavior in all things and an appreciation of the rare smiles that come just for YOU.

Loving the twins means grasping their darkness, respecting their connection for the good and bad is causes them, and realizing that there’s very little anyone can do for them. Understanding that they do most things best for each other.

Loving Kara mostly means not forgetting she’s around. Unfortunately this small request is sometimes difficult to achieve.

Loving Kyle is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’d hate the cliché if it didn’t go hand in hand with being the stupidest. I’m afraid all the time he won’t be able to fix me as I know he so desperately craves. Carrots got most of the damsel in distress genes in the family (and for this he has my sympathy and companionship) and Kyle got most of the White Knight.

When I do give him what he wants, let him take care of me, wrap me close in endearments and soft, soft touches, I try to keep my shaking inside, but it escapes through my eyes, I think. I love him, so help me I do, and I want everything he would offer me. I’m just so afraid that once I’ve drained all the love and caring out of Kyle until there’s nothing left within him, there’ll still be vast caverns of darkness within me.

---

There are days we spend only laughing. Kyle is funny most often not when meaning to be, although he always takes credit for it afterwards when I fall out of chairs or go into coughing fits from laughing too hard, and is never himself unintentionally the butt of the joke. He wants only the best things for everyone he loves, and he loves just as intensely – but less selectively – than Carrots. This makes his laughter flow freely and always containing a welcoming sense of invitation. Carrots can thrive on shutting the world out with his laughter; Kyle wants everyone to laugh with him. But there are times when I know his laughter and antics are just for me, and that’s when I laugh hardest along with him.

---

You may ask yourself – who the fuck did those two think they were kidding? I mean, seriously now. We have this thing where we sort of kiss each other sometimes – and it’s about – wait for it – teasing his brothers? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard, and it was me who did it.

What’s worse is that whole fucking time that’s honestly all I thought it was about. Really. I had no idea what the fuck was going on. I was just wandering along, my head in the clouds, forgetting for maybe the first time in my life that life is anything but simple, and that things are rarely as they seem. I had no concept of what was in store. I didn’t even feel freaked about the levels of closeness Kyle and I were achieving, the way even all we had never seemed to be quite enough. I just thought, ‘well, this is what really having friends is like. Cool.’

Cause the thing is, no matter how inevitable it seems in retrospect, falling in love with Kyle was not a part of the plan. And I did have one. A good one. With, like, nuances and shit. Not included was the falling in love with male best friend who, like you, is not exactly what you’d call gay, nuance.

That had a way of shifting the momentum of the plan slightly.

---

No one understands about Paintball. Carrots joking put it down to sublimating sexual tension into aggressive behavior before we got together, but we love it as much as we ever did now. For me, and I think Kyle too, it’s about being little boys. Reckless, foolish little boys who run around shouting at each other and hunting prey, honestly believing they will never die. I never got to be such a boy, or certainly not for nearly long enough, and in some ways (the BEST ways) Kyle still is.

---

Harry Potter ripped off my first memory for his happiest in Prisoner of Azkaban. For me of course, it wasn’t just me in the crib. Emma, my beautiful golden haired twin, was wriggling and blinking up at them beside me, and it feels much more like it’s OUR memory then just mine.

My parents were used to each having a baby to cradle in their arms. When we came home from pre-school we’d race each other home to see who could get to leap into my mom’s arms first and all afternoon we’d chase each other around the house, up and down the stairs and all across our expansive country yard. The loss of a constant companion was no more jarring for me than it was for my parents, who were accustomed to the way two children at war or at play filled a house with noise. After Emma died I spend nearly a year hardly speaking at all and then only to my parents. Even when I started to have friends again, I rarely brought them home, and a great deal of the silence that followed Emma’s death never left our house.

Which is probably why I never brought Carrots or Celery over to my house, even once we got so close I was practically living in their pockets and even more so why I could never envision Kyle there, or even myself as I was with him. With the Vasskez family, silence is largely a foreign tongue.

---

Okay. The checking out girl’s thing. To be totally honest, even I don’t totally understand that one. I mean, it’s like paintball maybe. Something we just always did together, that never really involved anyone else, that we always had fun with. You could prescribe to what I suspect is Carrots’ theory – that it has something to do with confirming our intact masculinities to each other or whatever, but I don’t really think that’s it. I mean, believe me, I know Kyle’s a guy. A manly man even. And I may not have the broad shoulders and somewhat chiseled physique, but I’m pretty sure he knows the same about me.

---

Oh love. Love. I’d really like some small part of it.

The lead singer of The Organ looks eerily like the pictures of Kyle that I’ve seen of when he was about 14 before he bulked up and grew a manly jaw. I haven’t shared my observation with anyone, mostly because I’m not entirely done sorting out being okay with liking him better now, when he doesn’t look even remotely like a girl.

---

The first time Kyle and I ever spent a night together, actually in his bed as opposed to sitting up all night talking on his couch or the floor, was rather surreal. For about five seconds, we tried to be manly and lay on our backs a reasonable distance away from each other and talked in voices somewhat deeper and more hearty than our own about nonsense I can’t for the life of me remember. This might have gone on indefinitely if I hadn’t had a weird leg cramp that caused me to spasm slightly in his direction and accidentally connect my foot with his ankle region. After my recovery, my foot just kinda stayed there, and before long our feet were touching, rubbing, tentatively, and we kept talking like certainly nothing out of the ordinary was going on. As we talked, however, we slowly inched our way closer, until we were flush all the way up to our shoulders. Sometime later, though I don’t remember moving, I ended up plastered to his side, with his arms wrapped tightly around me and we just clung to each other, freaked out and just high on it, this wonderful, strange and wholly unexpected gift. Nothing else happened that night, we eventually feel asleep and woke up all the more tightly wound together, but it wasn’t about anything but being close. Being allowed to touch, even if we were mostly too scared to, and being able most of all to show the other one how much we wanted the closeness, and how deep our feelings went, is a kind of rightness, happiness, that I never thought I’d feel again.

---

“Do you ever miss Altona?”

“No.”

“Not your friends, anything?”

“I miss a time in my life that happened there, but it was gone long ago while Altona kept existing. I was happy to get out of there.”

In the silence that follows, I think we’re both rather awed by my honestly.

---

I’m home sick, except I’m not at home, and I don’t feel particularly sick. Kyle’s still sleeping body is wrapped around me, too good a blanket for this cold morning to have any really chance of greeting me anytime soon. He murmurs things against my neck. Nonsense, early morning Kyle things he says before he’s really awake that I make fun of him about after. Sometimes they’re about me, one morning he talked quite coherently for almost fifteen minutes about how he liked my hands (they’re delicate but manly!) but it’s just as likely for him to be talking about toast, class work, or nothing at all. At first I didn’t tell him about it because I was afraid he’d stop, but eventually I realized he really has no control over it, but was aware it happened, and I was forced to defend my own honor by teasing him before he could guess that I liked it.

Today, he’s repeating the phrase ‘consider the imperative’ a lot but not making much more sense. I nudge him a bit with my chin, looking forward to him waking up so I can razz him for dreaming of Kant. Kyle’s a big fan of Kant, and wants to get Kant 4 Life shirts and buttons made, so it’s possible he won’t be appropriately embarrassed, but it’ll still be fun.

After some unsuccessful nudging, I grow weary of waiting and shout whisper KYLE into his ear. He wakes with a comical jump and shout of surprise and then glares at me.

“Bad form.”

I smile unrepentantly and swoop in for a brief hello kiss. He’s smiling when our eyes meet again. We readjust ourselves so we’re both lying comfortably and I find myself less interested in making fun of him than I am in being held. With a contented sigh, I snuggle against him and close my eyes.

---

Kyle understands that talking on the phone doesn’t always necessarily need to involve a lot of talking. I’ve always hated talking on the phone, racing people to get thoughts out, cramming every minute with words, often desperately and long after there’s anything important to say. The beauty of talking with Kyle, on the phone or otherwise is that he understands the worth of a good thinking silence. He gets how good that can be to share. We can sit beside each other, or away from each other in our own houses, and enjoy each others company without having to talk or do much at all. It’s this lack of rushing, of needing to be constantly entertaining each other that makes being with Kyle so seductive and irresistible. With Kyle like with no one else in my entire life, I can just BE. We do of course, talk from time to time, and phone conversations rarely BEGIN with silence, but it can be welcomed when it comes.

---

“So, break any hearts this week boys?” I cross my arms over my chest and glare down at them over my imaginary glasses. Jon and Dave scoff in return.

Kyle is suffering through his math course at the moment (“they expect me to do advanced calculus! Me! Calculus!”) and Carrots is MIA. So I’m hanging out with the twins. In their native habitat, so to speak.

“Dave managed to convince Nicole that you don’t have to LIKE like someone to kiss them a bit, but as it turns out, it didn’t work out so well in this case.”

“Heartbreak?” I ask with a genuine wince. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing. But Dave shakes his head.

“Highly disappointing results. Too much friend in the equation. We detached with love.”

I nod. “Back into the friend column?” Their kiss the girls and make them smile strategy has worked surprisingly well.

Two nods. Jon grins. “And she’s got a cousin.”

I laugh. “Next weeks challenge?”

They look at each other and raise their eyebrows comically in unison.

“Who will win?”

---

Kyle is something dangerously close to a very determined terrier with an especially offensive old shoe when it comes to my quote ‘intimacy issue thingies’. Which, I’m sure you can imagine, makes for some interesting after dinner conversation.

“What are you thinking about?!”

He asks me this all the time, often times just after coming round a corner or entering a room unexpectedly, as if he hopes that by catching me unawares I’ll be startled into making some deep, emotionally significant confession. Usually I’m just thinking about the book he’d recently distracted me from reading, or there’s an annoying song stuck in my head. Not that this has in any way discouraged Kyle concerning the obvious genius of his plan.

Tonight, especially unsurprised because I heard him coming, I lie blandly, “Death. And dying. And also about my soul’s dark darkness. It’s pretty serious stuff.” Mentally, I mutter, ‘I’ve been hanging around Carrots Vasskez too much’.

“Nice one.” He says cheerfully, plunking down beside me on his couch where I’ve been waiting for him to come home from a party I didn’t feel like attending.

I accept the kiss he offers eagerly. Truth be told, I’d been thinking about him, for quite awhile, and mainly that I loved and missed him, and wished I’d gone to the party with him or tried to convince him to stay home with me.

He’s smiling strangely at me when our mouths part company and I sigh and tuck my face into the nape of his neck, because I know my game is totally spent, and I’m tired and wish we didn’t have to do this tonight. He strokes my back soothingly and I try to puzzle out which secret will lead most quickly to us lying together in bed with him kissing my eyelids and murmuring me to sleep.

“Ask me any one question you want and I promise I’ll try my best to answer fully and honestly.”

His eyes fill with sadness, but not pity, and I remember one of the biggest reasons I love Kyle. For all he worries about me, and wants to fix me, he doesn’t treat me like glass, and is indeed all the more relentless and often tactless with me than anyone else, no matter what Carrots will tell you about how this title should belong to him.

“Well?” I demand tensely after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m trying to frame it as broadly as possible.” I hit him, and we both laugh, but Kyle’s face rapidly goes serious again. “I want to know you.”

My own face grows uncomfortably hot and I look away.

“You do.”

He shakes his head. “The whole you – that means the other stuff too – the parts you think I’ll lose interest or just pity you if I knew.”

I don’t know how to tell him that his ability to make such a pronouncement already means Kyle knows me better than anyone ever has.

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Replies:

Hurrah! Me likey, karly. And you still owe me email! (NT) -- Edward, 18:51:43 04/15/05 Fri
Sweet (as in touching) ending. And I saw chapter 2 as well. I thught I was going delusional. (NT) -- Blue C., 16:33:14 04/16/05 Sat
And now everything's centered right? Right? WHY?! (NT) -- Karla, 16:35:27 04/16/05 Sat

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>Have I gone mad? Seriously. What happened? I posted >chapter two of quasi-gay. I know I did, cause Megan's >already read it, up here. So, what the hell? This is >all very disconcerting. Is it a sign? Is this >quality control? Am I being erased? I ask you. > >It's freezing, this evening. > >--- > >The first time I came home from the Vasskez’s and it >felt more like leaving than coming was the first night >Kyle and I spend mostly on our own, talking and >channel surfing in his room. I don’t remember what we >talked about or even what I was feeling most of the >evening – I just remember that sharp jab of surprise >like you get when you’re unexpectedly kicked in the >gut followed by a lingering sense of loss that came >when I had to leave him and again when I walked >through the front door of my house and it didn’t go >away. Carrots was mostly too busy with his and >Celery’s latest drama, whatever it was, to notice me >pulling away at the time, but I’m pretty sure Kyle >did. He started calling me more, and inviting me out >with him, at any rate. > >That was months ago, and now when I go home, it more >often then not has to do with a fight with Kyle and >wanting to get away generally than wanting to be there >specifically. That, or it’s out of necessity, sleep, >or the need to be home enough not to upset the careful >internal sensors my parents seem to have that go off >whenever I’m getting too close to someone I’m >romantically involved with. They’re real as hell, so >sometimes I have to be there. I’m not quite ready for >that particular confrontation with Kyle or my parents. > >--- > >Kyle and I fight about who will walk the dog or pay >the bills this month or take the kids to daycare and >make their lunch and we laugh and applaud each others >performance when the arguments lose steam. We yell >and scream, threaten each other with horrible death >and humiliation and take the occasional fake swing. >We carry on in this way in public on a fairly regular >basis and Carrots (when he’s in attendance) merely >rolls his eyes and assures any strangers nearby that >it’s just a bit of fun, and aren’t we clever? We tend >to believe that we are. > >The real trouble is when we’re quiet. When silence is >hanging around us dark and bitter. It’s rare, because >even if they’re ostensibly about changing diapers and >who gets Bermuda when we take over the world, the >stage fighting gets a lot of tension out. If you >don’t randomly scream now and again already, I highly >recommend you start. When such silence comes, with no >help from primal yells, it can stay for days. Largely >because we’re both stubborn and idiotic, but the fact >remains. Kyle’s always the one who breaks these >silences, he’s not as practiced at them as me, and is >still too used to and fond of being a Man of Action. >Kyle’s solutions invariably involve yelling for a bit >and pacing. Then once he’s worked himself up enough, >he can calm down, and he’ll turn big sorrowful eyes on >me, and my throat will tighten up. > >“I’m sorry,” I’ll say, as it’s nearly always because >of me that one of the silences got started in the >first place. > >He’ll sigh like that’s not really what he wants to >hear (which I suppose it’s not) but he’ll come to me >anyway and we’ll sort of do a mutual barnacle >impression for awhile and then he’ll finally let me >know I’ve been forgiven by kissing my forehead or >telling me he loves me or pressing his thumbs gently >against my temples and looking adoringly into my eyes. > > >These are perhaps my favourite of all moments I spend >with Kyle, which may be why I find them so hard to >bear. > >--- > >Jon and Dave have been fooling everyone but each other >so long, they rarely do anything but look at me with >dumbfounded blinking faces when I know something they >haven’t told me or ask them something no one should >see enough to wonder about. For all Carrots melodrama >and the propensity Kyle’s blood has for boiling hot, >they’re much darker than their older brothers; so used >to talking only to each other about hurts. This is of >course, often times far too much like talking to >oneself. I know it more for what I’ve missed than >experienced, but I understand nonetheless. What I >can’t guess they share with me out of twin solidarity, >and I suspect, a bit of getting back at their >brothers. Blood matters at the strangest times. > >--- > >Loving Carrots means loving his sarcasm, his dramatics >that oftentimes comes hand in hand with hilarity, and >his largely inward facing tunnel vision. > >Loving Celery takes an acceptance of his tolerance for >Carrots’ behavior in all things and an appreciation of >the rare smiles that come just for YOU. > >Loving the twins means grasping their darkness, >respecting their connection for the good and bad is >causes them, and realizing that there’s very little >anyone can do for them. Understanding that they do >most things best for each other. > >Loving Kara mostly means not forgetting she’s around. >Unfortunately this small request is sometimes >difficult to achieve. > >Loving Kyle is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’d >hate the cliché if it didn’t go hand in hand with >being the stupidest. I’m afraid all the time he won’t >be able to fix me as I know he so desperately craves. >Carrots got most of the damsel in distress genes in >the family (and for this he has my sympathy and >companionship) and Kyle got most of the White Knight. > >When I do give him what he wants, let him take care of >me, wrap me close in endearments and soft, soft >touches, I try to keep my shaking inside, but it >escapes through my eyes, I think. I love him, so help >me I do, and I want everything he would offer me. I’m >just so afraid that once I’ve drained all the love and >caring out of Kyle until there’s nothing left within >him, there’ll still be vast caverns of darkness within >me. > >--- > >There are days we spend only laughing. Kyle is funny >most often not when meaning to be, although he always >takes credit for it afterwards when I fall out of >chairs or go into coughing fits from laughing too >hard, and is never himself unintentionally the butt of >the joke. He wants only the best things for everyone >he loves, and he loves just as intensely – but less >selectively – than Carrots. This makes his laughter >flow freely and always containing a welcoming sense of >invitation. Carrots can thrive on shutting the world >out with his laughter; Kyle wants everyone to laugh >with him. But there are times when I know his >laughter and antics are just for me, and that’s when I >laugh hardest along with him. > >--- > >You may ask yourself – who the fuck did those two >think they were kidding? I mean, seriously now. We >have this thing where we sort of kiss each other >sometimes – and it’s about – wait for it – teasing his >brothers? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard, >and it was me who did it. > >What’s worse is that whole fucking time that’s >honestly all I thought it was about. Really. I had >no idea what the fuck was going on. I was just >wandering along, my head in the clouds, forgetting for >maybe the first time in my life that life is anything >but simple, and that things are rarely as they seem. >I had no concept of what was in store. I didn’t even >feel freaked about the levels of closeness Kyle and I >were achieving, the way even all we had never seemed >to be quite enough. I just thought, ‘well, this is >what really having friends is like. Cool.’ > >Cause the thing is, no matter how inevitable it seems >in retrospect, falling in love with Kyle was not a >part of the plan. And I did have one. A good one. >With, like, nuances and shit. Not included was the >falling in love with male best friend who, like you, >is not exactly what you’d call gay, nuance. > >That had a way of shifting the momentum of the plan >slightly. > >--- > >No one understands about Paintball. Carrots joking >put it down to sublimating sexual tension into >aggressive behavior before we got together, but we >love it as much as we ever did now. For me, and I >think Kyle too, it’s about being little boys. >Reckless, foolish little boys who run around shouting >at each other and hunting prey, honestly believing >they will never die. I never got to be such a boy, or >certainly not for nearly long enough, and in some ways >(the BEST ways) Kyle still is. > >--- > >Harry Potter ripped off my first memory for his >happiest in Prisoner of Azkaban. For me of course, it >wasn’t just me in the crib. Emma, my beautiful golden >haired twin, was wriggling and blinking up at them >beside me, and it feels much more like it’s OUR memory >then just mine. > >My parents were used to each having a baby to cradle >in their arms. When we came home from pre-school we’d >race each other home to see who could get to leap into >my mom’s arms first and all afternoon we’d chase each >other around the house, up and down the stairs and all >across our expansive country yard. The loss of a >constant companion was no more jarring for me than it >was for my parents, who were accustomed to the way two >children at war or at play filled a house with noise. >After Emma died I spend nearly a year hardly speaking >at all and then only to my parents. Even when I >started to have friends again, I rarely brought them >home, and a great deal of the silence that followed >Emma’s death never left our house. > >Which is probably why I never brought Carrots or >Celery over to my house, even once we got so close I >was practically living in their pockets and even more >so why I could never envision Kyle there, or even >myself as I was with him. With the Vasskez family, >silence is largely a foreign tongue. > >--- > >Okay. The checking out girl’s thing. To be totally >honest, even I don’t totally understand that one. I >mean, it’s like paintball maybe. Something we just >always did together, that never really involved anyone >else, that we always had fun with. You could >prescribe to what I suspect is Carrots’ theory – that >it has something to do with confirming our intact >masculinities to each other or whatever, but I don’t >really think that’s it. I mean, believe me, I know >Kyle’s a guy. A manly man even. And I may not have >the broad shoulders and somewhat chiseled physique, >but I’m pretty sure he knows the same about me. > >--- > >Oh love. Love. I’d really like some small part of it. > >The lead singer of The Organ looks eerily like the >pictures of Kyle that I’ve seen of when he was about >14 before he bulked up and grew a manly jaw. I >haven’t shared my observation with anyone, mostly >because I’m not entirely done sorting out being okay >with liking him better now, when he doesn’t look even >remotely like a girl. > >--- > >The first time Kyle and I ever spent a night together, >actually in his bed as opposed to sitting up all night >talking on his couch or the floor, was rather surreal. > For about five seconds, we tried to be manly and lay >on our backs a reasonable distance away from each >other and talked in voices somewhat deeper and more >hearty than our own about nonsense I can’t for the >life of me remember. This might have gone on >indefinitely if I hadn’t had a weird leg cramp that >caused me to spasm slightly in his direction and >accidentally connect my foot with his ankle region. >After my recovery, my foot just kinda stayed there, >and before long our feet were touching, rubbing, >tentatively, and we kept talking like certainly >nothing out of the ordinary was going on. As we >talked, however, we slowly inched our way closer, >until we were flush all the way up to our shoulders. >Sometime later, though I don’t remember moving, I >ended up plastered to his side, with his arms wrapped >tightly around me and we just clung to each other, >freaked out and just high on it, this wonderful, >strange and wholly unexpected gift. Nothing else >happened that night, we eventually feel asleep and >woke up all the more tightly wound together, but it >wasn’t about anything but being close. Being allowed >to touch, even if we were mostly too scared to, and >being able most of all to show the other one how much >we wanted the closeness, and how deep our feelings >went, is a kind of rightness, happiness, that I never >thought I’d feel again. > >--- > >“Do you ever miss Altona?” > >“No.” > >“Not your friends, anything?” > >“I miss a time in my life that happened there, but it >was gone long ago while Altona kept existing. I was >happy to get out of there.” > >In the silence that follows, I think we’re both rather >awed by my honestly. > >--- > >I’m home sick, except I’m not at home, and I don’t >feel particularly sick. Kyle’s still sleeping body is >wrapped around me, too good a blanket for this cold >morning to have any really chance of greeting me >anytime soon. He murmurs things against my neck. >Nonsense, early morning Kyle things he says before >he’s really awake that I make fun of him about after. >Sometimes they’re about me, one morning he talked >quite coherently for almost fifteen minutes about how >he liked my hands (they’re delicate but manly!) but >it’s just as likely for him to be talking about toast, >class work, or nothing at all. At first I didn’t tell >him about it because I was afraid he’d stop, but >eventually I realized he really has no control over >it, but was aware it happened, and I was forced to >defend my own honor by teasing him before he could >guess that I liked it. > >Today, he’s repeating the phrase ‘consider the >imperative’ a lot but not making much more sense. I >nudge him a bit with my chin, looking forward to him >waking up so I can razz him for dreaming of Kant. >Kyle’s a big fan of Kant, and wants to get Kant 4 Life >shirts and buttons made, so it’s possible he won’t be >appropriately embarrassed, but it’ll still be fun. > >After some unsuccessful nudging, I grow weary of >waiting and shout whisper KYLE into his ear. He wakes >with a comical jump and shout of surprise and then >glares at me. > >“Bad form.” > >I smile unrepentantly and swoop in for a brief hello >kiss. He’s smiling when our eyes meet again. We >readjust ourselves so we’re both lying comfortably and >I find myself less interested in making fun of him >than I am in being held. With a contented sigh, I >snuggle against him and close my eyes. > >--- > >Kyle understands that talking on the phone doesn’t >always necessarily need to involve a lot of talking. >I’ve always hated talking on the phone, racing people >to get thoughts out, cramming every minute with words, >often desperately and long after there’s anything >important to say. The beauty of talking with Kyle, on >the phone or otherwise is that he understands the >worth of a good thinking silence. He gets how good >that can be to share. We can sit beside each other, >or away from each other in our own houses, and enjoy >each others company without having to talk or do much >at all. It’s this lack of rushing, of needing to be >constantly entertaining each other that makes being >with Kyle so seductive and irresistible. With Kyle >like with no one else in my entire life, I can just >BE. We do of course, talk from time to time, and >phone conversations rarely BEGIN with silence, but it >can be welcomed when it comes. > >--- > >“So, break any hearts this week boys?” I cross my >arms over my chest and glare down at them over my >imaginary glasses. Jon and Dave scoff in return. > >Kyle is suffering through his math course at the >moment (“they expect me to do advanced calculus! Me! >Calculus!”) and Carrots is MIA. So I’m hanging out >with the twins. In their native habitat, so to speak. > >“Dave managed to convince Nicole that you don’t have >to LIKE like someone to kiss them a bit, but as it >turns out, it didn’t work out so well in this case.” > >“Heartbreak?” I ask with a genuine wince. It’s a >dangerous game they’re playing. But Dave shakes his >head. > >“Highly disappointing results. Too much friend in the >equation. We detached with love.” > >I nod. “Back into the friend column?” Their kiss the >girls and make them smile strategy has worked >surprisingly well. > >Two nods. Jon grins. “And she’s got a cousin.” > >I laugh. “Next weeks challenge?” > >They look at each other and raise their eyebrows >comically in unison. > >“Who will win?” > >--- > >Kyle is something dangerously close to a very >determined terrier with an especially offensive old >shoe when it comes to my quote ‘intimacy issue >thingies’. Which, I’m sure you can imagine, makes for >some interesting after dinner conversation. > >“What are you thinking about?!” > >He asks me this all the time, often times just after >coming round a corner or entering a room unexpectedly, >as if he hopes that by catching me unawares I’ll be >startled into making some deep, emotionally >significant confession. Usually I’m just thinking >about the book he’d recently distracted me from >reading, or there’s an annoying song stuck in my head. > Not that this has in any way discouraged Kyle >concerning the obvious genius of his plan. > >Tonight, especially unsurprised because I heard him >coming, I lie blandly, “Death. And dying. And also >about my soul’s dark darkness. It’s pretty serious >stuff.” Mentally, I mutter, ‘I’ve been hanging around >Carrots Vasskez too much’. > >“Nice one.” He says cheerfully, plunking down beside >me on his couch where I’ve been waiting for him to >come home from a party I didn’t feel like attending. > >I accept the kiss he offers eagerly. Truth be told, >I’d been thinking about him, for quite awhile, and >mainly that I loved and missed him, and wished I’d >gone to the party with him or tried to convince him to >stay home with me. > >He’s smiling strangely at me when our mouths part >company and I sigh and tuck my face into the nape of >his neck, because I know my game is totally spent, and >I’m tired and wish we didn’t have to do this tonight. >He strokes my back soothingly and I try to puzzle out >which secret will lead most quickly to us lying >together in bed with him kissing my eyelids and >murmuring me to sleep. > >“Ask me any one question you want and I promise I’ll >try my best to answer fully and honestly.” > >His eyes fill with sadness, but not pity, and I >remember one of the biggest reasons I love Kyle. For >all he worries about me, and wants to fix me, he >doesn’t treat me like glass, and is indeed all the >more relentless and often tactless with me than anyone >else, no matter what Carrots will tell you about how >this title should belong to him. > >“Well?” I demand tensely after a few minutes of >silence. > >“I’m trying to frame it as broadly as possible.” I >hit him, and we both laugh, but Kyle’s face rapidly >goes serious again. “I want to know you.” > >My own face grows uncomfortably hot and I look away. > >“You do.” > >He shakes his head. “The whole you – that means the >other stuff too – the parts you think I’ll lose >interest or just pity you if I knew.” > >I don’t know how to tell him that his ability to make >such a pronouncement already means Kyle knows me >better than anyone ever has.
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