Chapter Two Something Concrete 7 page

“Your skin has more pores and they are more open, absorbing sunlight easier,” he explained as he continued to rub his finger down the length of my face. His fingers felt nice and warm on my skin, just cleaned from the shower and soft from whatever soap he had used, but I still tried to get away. Something was not right about this scene. Gerard was as old as my father. I could not be in this position with him.

“Your skin tans easier, giving you a more distinguished quality. Especially around your eyes,” Gerard continued, finishing with his finger touching the tip of my chin, and pulling me forward slightly so he could look into my eyes more. “Your eyes are deep and concerning and you’ve already got wrinkles forming around the outside.”

“Oh yay,” I uttered quietly trying to look away from Gerard but not being able to move. He was no longer looking at my eyes, but past them at the surrounding features. “Wrinkles always sound good,” I quipped.

“No, that’s not what I mean exactly,” Gerard tried to correct himself, still staring at my features. He was really close to me now, even if his voice sounded somewhat detached. He was standing right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat from his bare chest. It was warm and something I knew I should be afraid of. “The wrinkles you have aren’t from age, they’re from experience. Intelligence,” he corrected himself. He took his hand off my chin and touched some of my brown hair that fell over my forehead. He pushed it aside and let his hand rest behind my ear where the hair did. Still looking past me, he commented, “Something is on your mind, making the wrinkles deepen.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice coming out in a choked whisper. I could feel him breathing on me.

Gerard’s eyes shifted their attention to me again, looking deep into my eyes, begging for some kind of attention that I wasn’t sure I could give. “What’s on your mind, Frank?” he whispered leaning closer to me, though I thought he was close enough as it as.

We stared at each other for a few moments more, my lips parting and coming together again over and over, thinking of something to say. Gerard was content in the silence, simply reading my face. He was getting a good enough answer from that. I suddenly felt just as naked as he had been only moments earlier and had the sudden urge to jump out of my own skin and escape my body. Something inside me was shouting at me, screaming at me, and I couldn’t understand what it was saying. Gerard was too close and it prevented me from making sense of anything.

“I…I-I gotta go,” I finally uttered. Gerard looked at me skeptically for a moment, but when he saw me squirm under his gaze and position, he waved his arm away, pointing at the door. He leaned down on the table as I left, not saying good bye, his hand folded over his chest and head down. I practically bolted from the apartment. I didn’t say bye to him either; the only thought that kept occurring in my mind over and over again was that I shouldn’t be feeling the way I was feeling. And no amount of running away was going to fix it. I had broken the mugs before to get him to pay attention to me again. But when he did, it was too much for me to handle. I felt like those mugs I crashed down to the floor each day. Only this time, I wasn’t sure if I could be put back together and I certainly didn’t want to be thrown away.

Chapter Eight
Different Vices; Different Times

That night, when I got home, images of Gerard filtered through my mind no matter how hard I tried to stop them. It seemed the more I pushed on my conscious to stop it, the more my subconscious pushed right back – only ten times harder. Pictures of Gerard only wearing a towel kept appearing across my vision, when only moments earlier I had been strumming my guitar quietly, thinking happy non-gay thoughts.

I hated the fact that I no longer seemed able to control my own mind. I wanted to rip off my head and scoop out that fucking memory of Gerard just so everything would be okay. I knew however even if I had the sadistic powers to do that, it wouldn’t make everything better. The fact still stood strong; I had been attracted to Gerard that day. And in a sense, I had always been attracted to him, in one way or another. I admired his painting and drawing skills. I loved the way he talked, his thick French accent appearing when he wanted it too, his deep and sing-song voice coming out the other times. I loved his reasoning for things and his theories on understanding the world. I thought he was an awesome person. But it took that day, seeing him in that towel and having him so close to my face that made me realize the physical implications of everything. I was attracted to Gerard in more than just emotional ways now. I was no longer coming to him just to have a friend. A small part of me wanted it to be more, and that was something I could not understand.

Not only couldn’t I understand it, but I refused to. I just couldn’t entertain the idea of wanting Gerard in a sexual manner. It was not possible. First off, because he was a guy. In all my life I had never been attracted to a guy before. I thought some of my friends and acquaintances at school were really cool and fun to hang out with, but I had never wanted to fuck them at all. But then again, I thought Gerard was cool and fun to hang out with too. Maybe if I had seen those other friends in a towel, my outlook would have changed. I didn’t want to think about that though. I didn’t have time to reevaluate old feelings when I couldn’t handle the new ones that were being thrust at me.

I don’t think it wasn’t really that I wanted to fuck Gerard. It was something more than that. He had already exposed himself so much to me. He showed me his art, he let me come into his house everyday, he gave me a key to his place and he was going to show me how to paint soon. I wasn’t even done knowing this man entirely and I already felt so close to him. And when I had seen his white flesh, naked and exposed in the physical sense, it triggered something in me. I suddenly became more aware of alternate ways to express fondness for other people. With my friends, I had only been used to the occasional high five, shoulder pat and maybe, if I was lucky or really sad, a short and quick hug. It was the same with my family as well. My mother was the most affectionate out of my two parents (not a hard feet considering my father’s tough exterior), but even she didn’t offer as many hugs anymore. The awkwardness of a growing son shied her away from touching me anymore. For that, I was grateful. I didn’t really want to be seen hugging my mother in front of the school. However, by ceasing that lack of physical contact, I began to forget about the therapeutic factor of a simple touch. Gerard had hugged me within our first few days of meeting; he was already showing his fondness towards me. Friends did that kind of thing. They touched each other. There were other ways of expressing genuine feeling, not using the hands though, but other ideas filled my mind. I began to remember that you could be exposed in more ways than one. You could show and display your emotions, wearing them on your sleeve and feel like you were naked. Or you could actually be naked with someone and find out just as much about them by using their body to tell that story. But the whole idea of sharing my feelings (especially the fucked up ones I was having then) and especially of being naked around anyone but myself made me shiver.

No one had seen me naked in ages, not since I was a baby and that had only been my family. When I went swimming or anywhere where I had to change, I’d hide in bathroom stall, cowering in the corner as I slipped my navy trunks over my bowlegged knees. I didn’t want people to see my weak and awkward body. It was ugly – and still was ugly then (though my knees weren’t as bowlegged). However, that was my own opinion of myself. Gerard had said those opinions were invalid. Maybe my body wasn’t ugly to other people. Maybe my body wasn’t ugly to him…

I stopped myself mid-sentence. I couldn’t think like that. I just couldn’t. If not for the homosexuality factor, then for the age reason. Gerard was as old as my fucking father. There was no way I could be attracted to someone that age. There was no way I should want to be attracted to someone of that age. My thoughts began to pool and go into very dangerous territory as I sat on the bed balling my fists into my jeans. I thought of my father in Gerard’s place and nearly vomited. I could feel my stomach walls cave in and then try to rip away from my body. There was no way I wanted to think of my father – or any family member in that light. Gerard was old. Gerard was a guy. And Gerard wasn’t something I would go for.

But I couldn’t ignore the sensations that were building in me, budding up and causing blood to relocate. When Gerard had been standing close to me, his hands on my face and looking deep into my eyes, I didn’t know what was happening or what I wanted to happen in that moment. However, looking back as I sat on my bed, I saw the situation for what it really was. In all of the cliché romantic movies, we would have been kissing there. Gerard would have pressed his lips against mine and I would have done the same to him. And we would have liked it. We would have fallen on the bed together after hours of kissing against the moonlight and not woken up until the next morning in each other’s arms. But this was not a movie. This was real life and the kiss hadn’t happened. The kiss shouldn’t happen.

That didn’t stop my mind from wandering to it every five seconds though.

I didn’t even know why the sole thought of kissing was plaguing me. I had thought about it so much at that point, that I began to think that by pressing our lips together, we would be able to share something. We would understand each other more and I could spill my soul to him that way. Kissing Gerard, bringing our lips together, would be bringing together so much more than the physical. But in contrast, it seemed like the only way for us to physically understand each other as well. Before he was always talkative, arrogant and just plain confident while I stood in the corner, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to evade his eyes. If we kissed, maybe we would both calm down and find a happy medium of emotions.

Shut up, Frank, I told myself internally. There are other ways to spill your soul, I told myself. There are other ways for you to connect with someone. You’ll be painting soon. And then you can forget about this stupid inkling to kiss a fucking forty-seven year old. I nodded to myself, agreeing with the little persistent nagging tune in my head. I was flopped down on my bed, my eyes crushed shut and my hands over my forehead. I flung my arms down in aggravation and hit a foreign object in my pocket.
The cigarettes, I remembered suddenly, my eyes opening wide and a smile spreading across my face. I had totally forgotten I had taken them. And I was so grateful I had them right then. I needed to shift focus in my head away from Gerard. I needed to get some creative force out of me and since painting lessons were still awhile away, I could still start something with this pack I held in my hands. I clutched it tightly, hearing the cardboard crunched under my knuckles. I needed a smoke right then in more ways than one.

It was late then and easy to sneak past my parents slightly open door. I walked down the stairs, being careful of where each of the individual creaks were until I got to the front entrance. I grabbed a pack of matches that we kept in the closet where our spare candles and emergency supplies were for a black out before I snuck out the door, remembering my keys this time. I went all the way to the backyard, leaning against the wooden divider fence as I whipped out the half deflated pack. I picked out a stick and pressed it to my lips, getting ready to light it, but none of my actions seeming to be as elegant as Gerard’s. I fumbled with the matches, nearly burning my fingers a few times and dropping the cigarette out of my mouth once. It had some dirt on it where my lips had been, but I brushed it off and tried again, finally getting the fucking thing to ignite. I held the stick on the tip of my lips for awhile, proud of myself that I had got a glow going. I let the white stick dangle in my mouth for awhile, trying to be as cool as Gerard was when he smoked. I immediately lectured myself internally for comparing myself to the man I was trying to forget, but calmed down realizing that at least I was thinking of him with his clothes on. Finally, when I did breathe in, I got the shock of a lifetime.

The smoke fucking stung and it was too thick for me to inhale all at once. I could taste the ugly chemicals that were packed into such a small object as they invaded my mouth, touching my tongue before they fell into my throat. They collected in my lungs for only a brief minute before I rejected them, coughing and sputtering so loud, I was surprised I didn’t wake the neighbors. As I coughed, I spit up phlegm that I swore was gray already from the smoke I had just inhaled. It was so fucking nasty. I couldn’t understand how Gerard did this every day and enjoyed it. And looked good doing it. I was far from the picture of attractiveness. My face was red from coughing and my eyes were watering from the exertions of it all. And no matter how much I spit, I could still taste the bitter taste in my mouth. It was stale and astringent and I wanted it to go away as soon as fucking possible.

This is what it must be like to kiss Gerard, I found myself thinking moments after the first lung was coughed up on the grass. I caught myself off guard with my own thoughts, unsure if they were good or bad. If I was coughing like this and hated it so much, then maybe I would hate kissing Gerard. That was a very, very good thing in my mind. But the fact that I was still thinking about kissing this older man was bad. I cut my loses and tried to move on.

I looked back down at the cigarette that was semi-crushed in my hand. It still glowed at the end, its strength dwindling down. I looked at the filter and realized that Gerard put his lips on the very same place every day. This act in itself was like kissing him, but without the dangerous aspect of our bodies actually touching. Smoking would be a way of being close to Gerard without actually being close to him. I could place my lips on the same spot where his always went, and we could bond that way. I could spill my soul and show my fondness that way too. I could kiss the cigarette that represented the man that manifested fascination and fear within me and no one would have to know that that’s what I was doing. I could blend in again, like I always did. It was a perfect plan. And though I didn’t enjoy the smoking itself whatsoever, it made me feel good inside; secure almost.

I had only taken one puff of the cigarette that I held in my hand, but my mouth tasted like I had smoked a whole carton. I felt the stick start to burn down more and more, quickly reaching a close. I brought it to my lips once more, trying to breathe it in and being slightly more successful, probably because I was prepared for the harshness. It wasn’t the best thing in the world I had ever done, but there had been many other things that could be worse, I told myself. Like actually kissing him.

As I stamped out the prematurely done smoke, I decided I would keep the pack. I may need it down the road, I told myself. With the way my head had been acting the past few days, it looked like a major possibility. I could get used to smoking; anything was possible, especially being in the position I was in. I placed the pack in the top of my shirt pocket, patting it lightly. I would keep it all; good and bad.

Just in case.

*

My throat ached the next morning when I got up. And I already had a bad cough. I figured that most of it was from nearly hacking up my spleen from the night before or it was just my upcoming lung cancer from my new habit. Rubbing my neck with a tired hand, I raided the medicine cabinet for throat lozenges before school, only to come up with nothing. I suffered through the day though, only having the occasional coughing fit. No one really noticed; they all wrote it off as a cold. The weather was changing from the winter chill to initial spring warmth and the fluctuations were wreaking havoc on people’s systems. But that and my first cigarette aftertaste still clinging to me wasn’t the only thing wreaking havoc on my system.

My thoughts about Gerard weren’t as bad as the day before; I was getting better at blocking out mental images. When I finally managed to close my eyes last night, sleep had helped to calm down my irrational thoughts significantly. Right after the awkward moment with Gerard, my mind had been a slue and mess of emotions that I couldn’t make sense of. I still couldn’t make sense of them the next day, but at least sleeping had made me forget some of them in my subconscious. And the smoking helped, ironically. I was taking on another addiction, since I didn’t drink as much as I had before. The drinking I did now, however, was totally different. I had consumed beer and liquor with Sam and Travis because we were bored. We had nothing else to do and we didn’t want to stay inside our own heads. I drank then to drown my feelings of being stuck in this horrid town and place. But now, I didn’t feel so stuck. Gerard was showing me that Jersey wasn’t as dark as I thought it was. There was colour on the inside of his apartment. And it was on that inside, where I traded my drink of choice as well as my ideals.

I now drank wine, but it wasn’t to forget this time; it was to remember. When I went over to see Gerard, we drank to have fun; to create memories. I could still remember vividly the first conversation we had over wine in tall glasses at his table. And I could remember a few other ones too. The wine was a vice, but it wasn’t making me numb. It was making me feel things again. It was making me feel things a little too well, however. And that’s where smoking came in. I could smoke to ease my nerves; to calm my head and mind and to dull some of the sensations I was feeling. The feelings were overwhelming, but I didn’t want to give them all up. I wanted to keep seeing Gerard after school. I wanted to keep learning from him. I just wanted my urge to meet our lips to cease existence. So I smoke those away. Or tried to, at least.

I had attempted to have another cigarette on my spare period, right before going over to Gerard’s place. There was no question that I was still going over. I had to go; I wanted to learn and I was not spoiling the good friendship we had going by my fucking over-reacting feelings. But I needed a smoke to calm me down before I went. I managed to smoke the whole stick this time, with only minor coughing. I made myself walk really far away from the school though, because there was no way I was smoking it in the designated smoking area with other people around. I didn’t need them to laugh at me as I coughed in between every in take. Despite the fact that I was getting better, not coughing like I was going to die and feeling the nicotine take an addiction in my bloodstream, I still couldn’t manage to make the smoke around me look as beautiful as Gerard did. The smoke I possessed just looked like smoke. It was dirty and fulfilling at the same time, only because it hid me in a cloak. I wondered how Gerard could make something so dirty so artistic while I failed miserably. I just chalked it up to something I couldn’t understand just yet and I added it to the pile of unanswered questions. It was growing everyday.

I remembered my key this time as I walked to Gerard’s apartment, up the stairs and down the hall. I hummed to myself slightly, my mind wandering with my constant ramblings. Over the past few days, I realized how much shit I had dealt with. I was finding out so many secrets and surprises that I never knew existed before. I shook my head as I walked, thinking of how stupid I had acted during all of it. At least I had some way to cope now, some vice to get me through it. I figured the worse was over and I even felt a smile creep over my face as I touched Gerard’s brass doorknob, sticking my key into the lock swiftly. I had gathered up all my nerves from the last cigarette I had smoked, and I was confident that I could get through this meeting today, with little or no problems.

Then I opened the door.

I was washed over by the bright hues of Gerard’s apartment, but that wasn’t what caught my eye. I saw naked flesh. Only it wasn’t the same that I had seen the day prior. It wasn’t Gerard’s pasty white skin covered by a towel. It wasn’t even Gerard’s skin. It was someone else’s entirely. And the most shocking part of everything and the worse in my mind was that not only was it naked flesh, but it was naked female flesh. There was a naked woman in the middle of Gerard’s apartment, sprawled out on the couch.

“What…what…what’s going on here?” I stuttered, my eyes wide and engulfing the figure on the couch. All I could see was this mystery woman’s flesh; I didn’t even see Gerard. Even as he appeared to the side, sitting on the loveseat next to the couch the naked woman was laying on, I could still only see her. Her and her dark red hair and a smile on her face. And her naked body over and over again. I couldn’t believe what the fuck was going on. Wasn’t Gerard gay? Why was this woman here? Why was she naked? And who the fuck was she? This was my time with Gerard in his apartment; how the fuck could someone infringe on that?

When thoughts finally subsided enough to focus on the situation at hand, I brought my eyes up from the woman who I had never seen before, to meet with Gerard’s. He sat on his chair relaxed, feet poised on the coffee table, propping up his sketch book in his lap.

“Oh, hey Frank,” he greeted casually, a sly smile spreading across his face as chills spread throughout my body. “Meet Vivian.”

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 584