Chapter Twenty-Five Solitude

When I was at Gerard’s place, I truly felt like I was at home. There were times with us where it really did feel like I had lived there all my life. I knew where things were. I knew he was weird and kept his knives in a separate drawer from the rest of his other cutlery, closer to the cutting block. I knew how to work his ancient gas stove; that you had to push the knob in before you turned it, and that the back burner never worked to begin with. I found his pots and pans and cooked with them, opened his fridge and took what I wanted from it without feeling guilty or asking for his permission first. I knew where his spare light bulbs were just in case one of the lamps burnt out and had to be replaced. I even knew what kind of dish soap he used and what scent he preferred and went to the store to buy more one day. It was just a basic knowledge with me and demonstrated it accordingly.

I felt so proud and strong when walking through his door. I felt like the place was mine, too. I started to lead without waiting for him to show me the way, because I already knew the way. And half the time, I didn’t even have to ask Gerard where we were going; I just knew that, too. Leading was something I had never done before, even in my friends’ houses. When Gerard and I weren’t together, talking or having sex, I would be able to find my way around. We didn’t have to talk all the time, or be together.

When I was with my friends, a lot of the time, I would strain my mind to think of something to say. I’d panic if we were quiet, because that just never happened and it would be my fault for not being interesting enough to keep up the flow of dialogue. Usually, Sam never closed his mouth, so I didn’t have to worry about that issue. Around new people, that was a different matter all together. I would struggle; a lot. I’d always feel inferior and boring because I couldn’t maintain a simple conversation. I wouldn’t be able to get past ‘how are you’ without feeling awkward in my own skin and most of the time, I’d revert to talking about the weather so I didn’t feel like I was a total mute. And honestly, if you had to revert to Jersey weather as the main force of conversation, then that was bad. The weather never changed. With Gerard though, if we weren’t talking, we weren’t struggling about it. We just weren’t talking; we were being with each other and appreciating the silence.

I had to admit - it unnerved me at first. I thought things had gotten boring and he was tired of me. Gerard generally talked a lot, but it wasn’t drivel like I was used to filling the air with. When he said something, he meant it. It was poignant and detailed, always mattering. When that first silence washed over us, especially after we started our relationship, I remember that panic returning to me. It had never been there before, when I was merely the kid cleaning his art supplies and getting lessons. It didn’t matter that we weren’t always talking because that was not the reason for our meetings. But now that we were fucking, it seemed like a very important aspect to have conversation. And I froze. My tongue had felt like a dead weight in my mouth; a cadaver ready to be cut up and out. In trying to cope and stay alive, something happened inside of me that was as if someone had attached a defibulator to my voice box.

I started talking again, and talking a lot. I spouted anything that came to my head. I started telling Gerard about one of the paintings I saw in a book when I was probably seven, and how I didn’t get it. How I hated the museum, because my mother had dragged me there to meet one of her friends – anything, really. I was pretty sure I told him about the weather on that fateful day too, but I couldn’t remember. I didn’t hear my own words coming out of my mouth, I was just talking. Spewing out random details. I told him I never liked museums, even when my mother wasn’t around, because I preferred field trips in school that went to zoos and farms and stuff because of the animals – and did he know I liked animals? Did he like them too? - I just kept going. It was kind of sad, looking back on it, especially since Gerard wasn’t responding all that much, making me even more nervous. I thought I was going to pass out from lack of air due to my breathless self-conversation before Gerard finally seemed to notice I was dying.

“What are you doing, Frank?” he asked, looking over at me from the bed we now shared. It had only been our second or third time having sex, well past noon of the day after the first act had been committed. I chastised myself inside my head for fucking this up – whatever it had been then – so soon.

“I’m talking…” I answered slowly, but my thoughts still spinning a mile a minute. I could feel my face flushing, and it wasn’t from the act we had just finished.

“I know,” he said, nodding his head. “But why are you talking?”

And that question, finally, stunned me silent.

“You don’t always need to talk, Frank,” he said after the color had been drained from my face. I felt like I was being rejected in some way, thrown aside, and discarded as a hole to fuck and not talk with. I almost expected him to tell me to get up and start to clean his paint brushes again. When he shifted closer to me in the bed, placing a hand on my shoulder, his words came into my ears, slowly, calmly and I should have realized that my aforementioned thoughts were not in his character at all.

“Sometimes silence is good. Sometimes it’s necessary,” he declared, looking me up and down. He extended his hand, running his fingers along my unmoving jaw, cupping my chin, but not bringing my face forward just yet. “Silence is louder than anything I’ve ever heard. It lets us get to know each other in different ways. It has its own message for us, if we shut up long enough to listen.”

He gazed into my face for a few moments, judging my reaction, but not letting me say a word, even if I had thought of something. He brought my face forward in his hands and kissed me softly, letting our tongues mingle together. I regained my composure and kissed back, and for the rest of the day, I don’t think I uttered a word. I was able to hear the silence’s message then, and it spoke loud and clear.

I belonged in Gerard’s apartment. But more importantly, I belonged with Gerard.

There was just something about the way we acted together. When I would come to see him every day after school or all the day on the weekends, like the one we were in the middle of then, he’d always be happy to see me. His eyes would light up as I stepped into the apartment, and we’d be in each other’s arms before my keys hit the table. He’d kiss me like he hadn’t seen me in years, his lips pressing hard against mine, or softly trailing away from me to make me follow him further into the apartment for more. We would talk briefly, about our day or something small before we went into his bedroom if we could wait that long to make the trip. We had sex a lot of other places than the confining four walls of his room. We liked to mix it up, taking it over to the floor by his art supplies, against the wall, or anyplace else we could muster.

The unwritten rule of no fucking on the balcony still applied, however. We didn’t want to risk getting caught by fucking there. It was too risky, and especially after the close call when we hadn’t been doing that, I didn’t want to push our luck anymore. We didn’t even venture outside all that often; the apartment was our safe haven, our art museum, and our home. It wasn’t just his home or my home. It was our home. I didn’t own anything there, I didn’t pay the bills, and Gerard and I weren’t bound by law or marriage, (or ever could be, for that fact) but I still knew I belong there.

The way Gerard touched me after sex was like nothing I had ever experienced before. His hands ran over my body, like water flowing over contours and shapes, creating rapids. He wouldn’t just touch me sexually, he’d touch me sensually. Everything about Gerard was sensual. He wasn’t sexy in a ‘fuck me now’ type of way. He was forty-seven-years old, a little chubby, and was going bald. That wasn’t sexy by today’s standards, and not mine either. He exuded sex appeal, however, because everything he did was elegant and mysterious. You wanted to get to know him, you wanted him to be around, and most of all, you wanted to be wanted by him. He was sexy in that regard, wholly and completely separated from the physical appearance. It wasn’t that he was ugly – because he wasn’t. Despite his imperfections, he cleaned up quite nicely. He just wasn’t my type. He was…male and old. I had no idea that would be what I ended up being attracted to. I was not attracted to his body parts, though; not his dick, his hair, his skin, anything. I was attracted to everything as a whole; Gerard the person. Gerard the teacher. Gerard the artist. And even better, Gerard the lover.

And those lover’s touches were amazing. He may have exuded that sexual, lustful edge, but when things came down to where it counted, Gerard was far from a fucking maniac. He liked sex, but there was more to it. He was tender and caring. He wouldn’t just touch me to get me off; he’d touch me to let me know that he was still there, and that he still cared. He’d hold my hand whenever he could, interlocking our fingers and running his thumb over my skin. If we were close enough to do more touching, he’d leap (sometimes literally) at the opportunity for that, too. He’d link onto my waist, glide his hands over my shoulders and even play with my hair, petting the side of my face and then twisting his nubby fingers into my locks. It felt so good having someone else play with my hair and skin. I had forgotten how nice it was just to have someone touch me.

It was weird. I was never one to give out hugs, or get them from my friends, but once Gerard had started those actions with me when I was still his art student, it was as if a light had gone off inside my head. I liked to be touched. I wanted to be touched, and more often than not, I needed to be touched. The feel of someone else’s hand on my shoulders made everything seem so real. I was used to people being around me, talking at me, or near me, but the gap between us had never been bridged. When Gerard touched me, he was talking to me. He wanted to be with me.

Before him, I often drifted off into my own mind, my own worries and completely forgot about the surroundings around me. I wanted to forget about them. His touch made it so I couldn’t just wish amnesia upon myself. He brought me back into the moment, and he made me realize that reality wasn’t as bad, as long as you were connected to something, to someone. It was hard to explain, but I never needed to give reasoning for why I held on extra long in our hugs. Gerard just accepted it and let it happen naturally.

Most nights, I’d fall asleep with his constant and soothing actions, like his light fingertips going all over my back. It felt just as good when I did the same thing to him, though I was convinced I was never as good at it as he was. He seemed to just be capable of so much with his hands; I figured it was an artist thing. One day though, I thought my wish had come true, or one of them, at least. His head was positioned in my lap as I looked out the window, both of us just recuperating from a long day of sex and art. I was watching the colors of the sunset, and saw a particular nice shade of orange to show Gerard. (I was convinced his favorite color was orange, or something bright like it. He always seemed to have a zillion shades of it, and always used it in his work. I didn’t want to ask what his favorite color was, because honestly, that was really juvenile and stupid. He would probably laugh at me, and we’d start a paint fight and end up fucking in the center of the room. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but since we were probably going to do it anyway, I figured I would avoid my embarrassing question and just assume it was orange. Anytime I saw him use the shade, I would smile to myself, and I was pretty sure he caught onto what I was thinking). This particular shade in the sky reminded me of a piece he had been working on earlier that day, and I wanted to point it out to him. Only, when I returned my attention to my lap, all I could see and hear were his closed eyes, and light snores in my ear. He was dead asleep.

It was then I knew that I had finally done something good. Gerard was comfortable with me. It was one thing for him to just take off his clothing; that was a confidence issue for himself. Falling asleep and leaving himself vulnerable in my arms was another case all together. I remember planting a kiss on his forehead and wishing him good dreams before I too gave up myself, falling asleep with him. It was getting dark by that point, anyway.

These little nuances of actions seemed better than sex most days, although that was nothing to hide from. Our sex was more than sex. It was intimate, loving, and caring in every single way. We’d have our moments of really fast and random fucking, more often than not after I came over from spending a long and annoying day at school. It was a way of getting aggression out and expressing feelings of missing each other. Even after those fast fucks, we’d spend hours with our sweaty limbs interlocking and those special touches that I loved so fucking much.

It was also in the way Gerard talked, that made him more sensual than sexual. We had sex all the time it seemed, but it never once seemed dirty or pornographic. His voice was so eloquent and expressive; he never used slang or derogatory terms, for the most part. And when he did use them, they just seemed so much better coming from his mouth. I could analyze the way he would say ‘cock’, how it sounded so smooth and stylish, though in reality, it really wasn’t. His voice sounded like liquid - like the water his touches resembled as they rushed over my body. Even in the moment of passion and heat, he’d retain this ability to remain articulate. Instead of saying ‘you make me hot’ it was a simple ‘you’re so beautiful’. He’d ask me to touch him, instead of jerk him off. And he would never, ever ask for sex. He would just let it happen. If we started kissing and things just happened to steer in that direction, he was fine with it. But if they didn’t, and I just wanted to kiss him for a few good hours (something that happened a lot), then that was okay, too. Sex wasn’t something to be planned, in his mind, and he vocalized this view point quite often. It was when things weren’t planned, or weren’t expected, that they were the best.

“Kind of like you,” he joked, rubbing his hand through my hair. I had laughed then, leaning over to kiss him, and of course, it led into sex.

His opinion was true, too true, for the most part. We as a couple (even though he hated that word), had not been planned, by no means. Even when the idea of us was forming in both of our minds, we didn’t want it to happen. We knew it would be too much trouble, too much of a burden, and too dangerous. We didn’t even know if the other person felt the same way, but it didn’t matter, because it just couldn’t happen. When we both found out we were harboring the same answers to questions was when things started to get difficult, and much easier at the same time. Some things were just too good to pass up, and some things were too loud to ignore. Like the silence that was echoing all around us, telling me that this was one of the best things I had ever had in my life.

Nothing was ever expected or predicted in our relationship. But it was a stable instability. We would change forms constantly, with our moods and sexual habits, conversations and art progressions - but it would always be us. Together. There was a stability in each other that I had never felt before, even from my parents. It was known that my parents were supposed to be there for my entire life. They had chosen to have me, and they were expected to keep me. I knew that wasn’t always how it worked out, but my parents were fairly rigid about keeping me as theirs and would always be there. My father seemed like he hated me on some days, but he had stuck around all these years, with all the shit I had done – mostly because he had to. He didn’t know anything else.

But Gerard – he knew everything else. He had done so much, seen so many things, and been with so many other people. He didn’t have to stay with me. But each time he said he was there for me, I began to believe it more and more, and it extended on through my years. Gerard would always be there, even in years to come and even if technically, our relationship was doomed to begin with, I just knew that somehow, someway, he wasn’t lying about that. In the present time, which is what we decided to be concerned with, he was always going to be there, too. Our souls were bound now, and he had told me that. And with no hesitation, I believed him.

There was a sincerity in Gerard’s voice that made me believe every word he said. His voice was sweet, but not cliché or drenched in sugar. It was honest. When he told me that first day there, that we were a lot alike, he fucking meant it. It had just taken me longer than average to see it; my teenage naivety and my denial to it all had helped, and when we had finally started our relationship, my lack of confidence blinded me, too. When the belonging started to feel real, I got my vision back. We were a lot alike. And we belonged together; I didn’t care what anyone else would say.

The secrecy of everything had to be maintained, however. Despite the fact that most days I just couldn’t get over how fucking perfect all of this seemed, no one would understand. No one beyond the confines of Gerard’s small inner circle. Vivian understood us and Vivian loved us. She supported us and wouldn’t tell a single soul. Vivian was one in a million, Gerard joked to me one day, and he was right. I didn’t know where we could find more people like her, but I was sure there had to be another in the state of Jersey. We had a population of eight million, or something around that, so it was entirely plausible. There were at least seven other people like Vivian in this state, and maybe, just maybe, we could luck out and there would be one in this town. Even luckier if they were my age, so I could at least have someone to share with.

There was one other person who supported this union, but she wasn’t even of the same specifics. It was the dove that flew all around the apartment, her beige wings with undercoating of white fluttering majestically. She would come and visit us, as we lay down on his bed, kissing the remainders of the day from each other’s skin and just watch. She would coo and bob her head, and I knew she was nodding yes. She supported us, too. She knew what it was like to feel confined in a cage and room, even if it was a nice room to begin with. She understood our feelings of restraint for something that was not wrong in our eyes, but wrong in many others. Gerard and I needed each other, and doves needed to fly. They just couldn’t always get what they wanted. People saw doves as a majestic creature, and they wanted to capture them, in a vain attempt to hold the beauty in their hands for a little while longer. It was the opposite with Gerard and I – they only saw the ugly in the matter, but in the end, both us and the bird’s face would end in destruction. Because of that fact, I loved the dove more and more with each passing day, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we were both ever going to break free.

In spite of the secrecy that we knew we had to keep, Gerard and I found ourselves becoming more confident (as if that were possible for him). Seeing Vivian’s bright shining smile that morning gave us the courage to do something we never thought possible.

We sat on the balcony.

We bypassed our own unwritten rule and set foot outside the place together. We didn’t even have to communicate it. I had been standing by the window, just looking out at the way the clouds were shape-shifting when Gerard had appeared by my side. We had both been off in the apartment, doing our own thing. We didn’t have to spend all of our time in the same room together, just like we didn’t have to talk all the time. I had been playing guitar, strumming the chords defiantly only moments earlier, while he had been in his room, writing something down or sketching ideas for a new painting he wanted to do. Now, he stood next to me and began to look at the clouds as well, his hand sliding beneath my arm and on my waist. I leaned into him more, my fingers lightly tracing down the side of his legs as we stood and watched.

“Beautiful day,” he mused, and wasn’t just commenting on the weather to make conversation. I could tell in the way he looked at me after, and the way his hand was gripping my side that it was an invitation. We were going to go outside.

We had to put clothes on first, because though we weren’t going to be afraid to step into the warm spring air, we weren’t going to be entirely stupid. We wouldn’t be fucking on the balcony. We were just going to go there to sit. It was proving a point that, though we were still afraid and knew better to be seen in public, we could still defy the laws we placed on ourselves and sit on the two stray chairs on the small ledge. It was a free country. You could do whatever you wanted in your house, and the balcony was a part of that. Just because him and I were on the balcony together, didn’t mean we were together. No proof, no problem.

We stepped outside, and as the air hit my skin, I felt liberated. I took a deep breath. I clenched and unclenched my fist, rolling my fingers out into the open air. I moved to the edge of the balcony, where the barrier was that blocked everything off and looked over the edge. I saw what Gerard must have seen the first day we technically met as he threw off the bucket of blue paint. I looked down on everything; on the sidewalk where teenagers walked by, on the liquor store where I used to stand, on Jersey itself. The buildings and small stores were on a hill, and so we really could look down and see everything. It was a bird’s eye view. I felt Gerard’s presence beside me and we looked down together, when suddenly, I could feel the deeper meaning in our action. We really were looking down on everything; we were better than them.

He slipped his hand over mine on the railing as we both came to that realization. I let him, and I wasn’t afraid to. I felt his face draw closer to mine, his nose pressing into the side of my face, nuzzling me. And I let him do that, too. We were testing the boundaries and as I turned my face towards his own and pressed our lips together, the world didn’t cave in around me. No police showed up at his door and no one shouted names at us.

The world didn’t end.

The embrace lasted mere seconds, and was mostly us pressing our lips together than anything else, but it was still there. Still taking up space in the air we weren’t allowed to breathe. After our faces had pulled away from each other, we went back over to the skeleton of chairs and filled up the bones with ourselves. Gerard got out his cigarettes and lit one up, passing it off to me as he inhaled the first breath. We sat there, sharing a cigarette between both our lips, consuming the same air with our hands interlocked. It was almost disappointing that the world didn’t end, all of our fear surmounting into nothing, but it was calming nonetheless. We could blend into the background, into the smoke we breathed, and everything actually would be okay.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” Gerard stated, taking a large drag off of the cigarette before passing it to me again. I didn’t take as big of a drag, only smoking to be that much closer to him. I didn’t really see the need to smoke anymore, considering its major purpose when I first started was to calm my unnecessary thoughts about Gerard down. I wasn’t as frantic anymore in trying to control what went on in my head, concerning Gerard, at least. There was really nothing to fix; I only smoked now to be that much closer to him. And to make art, of course. I was getting better at making the pictures dance in front of me as I blew out the substance, but I was still a minor compared to Gerard.

“Where would we go?” I asked, considering his question. It was one thing to sit on the balcony, it was another thing to go into a public place together. I knew we would act accordingly, but it was still challenging something we had only gotten our hands on that very day. But then again, if the world hadn’t collapsed with our presence outside, then maybe we could take it over instead.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told me, breathing out smoke through his nose. “I just want to go outside with you.” He looked over at me, the light from the liquor store dancing across his face. The sun was going down fast in the background, and night would be around soon enough to block us out and make us the shadows that we were used to being.

I nodded my head. He smiled, breaking the mellow mood he had conjured up as we were breaking down boundaries. Now that his recent challenge had been accepted, his unruly smile spread across his face and made my heart skip a beat. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, sucking back hard to finish it, and brought his untamed lips to mine, breathing the smoke into my mouth and sealing the deal. I remembered why I started to smoke in the first place.

“I was getting sick of French bread, anyway,” I told him after the kiss was over, nicotine and adrenaline running through my veins.

He laughed, smiling as he said his next statement. “Go get some nicer clothes on. I want to take you someplace special.”

Dove Keeper
Chapter Twenty-Five - Other Parts

After searching through Gerard’s closet for so-called nicer clothing, I decided to just wear the art shirt that I had borrowed from him before. He tried to talk me out of it, showing me a stain on the sleeve and the missing buttons, but I still insisted upon wearing it. It made me feel more at home, if that was possible. I ran my fingers over the red crest of the school I had never been to, but felt at ease with. And when I explained to Gerard that I wanted to wear the shirt for the very same reason that he kept it for years, even though it was dirty and missing buttons, he smiled and let me.

His idea of nicer clothing was tight black pants, a button up collared shirt, and his dove blazer. Though this was all his normal attire, he managed to look ten times better in it. The only changes he made to his ensemble was a small scarf, despite the lack of cold in the air, and some sunglasses, which he combed through his hair to have rest at the top of his head. He kissed me before we left the apartment, knowing that we would not be able to on the outside. I followed him down the stairwell, holding back a little while so people didn’t think we were completely together. It felt odd, not being right beside him when I had the chance to be, and it reminded of me of just how far we had come. The first meeting with him in the darkened stairwell, I had felt odd and vulnerable. I didn’t like the idea of being left alone with a forty-something man. And now, I was fucking that man and loving it. I felt a smile creep onto my face and shook my head. Everything was so different and it amazed me how, despite those differences, everything around us remained the same. We were evolving, while everyone else was stuck in the past.

When we stepped outside, I was surprised to see Gerard heading for the small parking lot at the back of the building. He extracted keys I didn’t know he had from his pockets and looked back at me standing in one place unsure of where to go, and motioned to follow.

“You have a car?” I asked, my eyebrows cocked. I had never even thought of him having any kind of vehicle. He didn’t seem to leave his apartment all that much, and if he did, I assumed that he didn’t go very far. He told me he had gone for a walk that one morning, and I just assumed he walked everywhere.

He merely nodded at me, still sauntering his normal pace, up ahead of me. I had to jog to catch up to him as he started to shove his key into an old silver van.

“Wow,” I stated when he opened the door for me, beginning to walk around to the other side. “You have a van.”

Again, though I had never pictured Gerard with any kind of vehicle, a van just didn’t fit at all. I pictured soccer moms and families with truckloads of kids needing a van. Not Gerard, who never went anywhere. When I set foot inside, the whole concept starting to become clearer. Canvasses were piled up in the back, along with buckets of paint. He noticed me staring as he sat down in the driver’s seat, and nodded his head.

“I’m just full of surprises,” he grinned nonchalantly before turning his key in the ignition. I nodded my head right back at him, knowing that was true beyond anything I had ever heard before.

He adjusted his mirror, which had a pine air freshener hanging off of it, the scent long gone. He put his arm on the seat to brace himself as he turned around, glancing to see if he was okay to back up. He did each act with such precision and ease, that I couldn’t help but be transfixed by it. He probably hadn’t driven anywhere in a long time, but his movements were done with such elegant dexterity that it seemed like something he did daily. Everything came so easy to Gerard, or at least, it felt that way when he was compared to me.

He pulled out of the lot, and began to drive down the street, leaning back into the seat with only one hand on the wheel. The other one branched over to me, resting on my thigh again. I had been looking out the window, hoping and praying that Travis and Sam weren’t waiting outside the liquor store. They weren’t, and the hand on my thigh quelled anymore nerves I had inside me from the new task we were completing. He gave me a wink as I met eyes with him, before continuing on the road. I watched the muscles in his neck contract as he steered the car coolly, making being so focused look so easy.

“Do you know how to drive, Frank?” he asked, knocking me out of my thoughts.

I felt my face flush. I hated this question. I didn’t know how to drive, nor had I ever bothered to learn. Even though it was completely my decision and I was perfectly fine with it in my mind, I always felt so inferior, being almost eighteen and still not knowing how to drive a fucking car, while some people got their licenses the day they hit sixteen.

“No...” I said causally, hoping Gerard didn’t beat me down like most people did when I said my answer.

“Do you want to learn? I’d be happy to teach you,” Gerard answered, throwing me off guard. I had always known that Gerard was encouraging, but that was for different topics other than learning how to drive a car. I expected him to be like other people and insult me for not knowing, because it had happened so many times before. The only other people who didn’t flat out call me stupid for not knowing would always tell me to go off and do it, but they would never give me options on how to; not that I would have taken them. I had never really wanted to learn all that much since I could walk to most places. But seeing the way he drove with such elegance made me want to change my mind.

“Sure,” I said, a bit too enthusiastically. I saw Gerard smile smugly out of the corner of my eye, and brought my enthusiasm down a notch. “But don’t I need an instructor for that kind of thing?”

“You don’t need an instructor. You have me,” he stated, his pride resonating in his voice. He glanced over at me, his grip on my thigh tightening. “And that’s all you need.”

I smiled and nodded, not seeing any fault in his argument.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, Gerard finally pulled into a small parking lot, outside an even smaller restaurant. I had seen the place before in passing by it with my parents as they went to the grocery store, but I never paid much attention. It didn’t appear to be that big of a deal on the outside. It was small, and the only color outside other than the gray and dreary walls was the sign for the place in a deep olive hue. Its name was written in cursive writing, high above the small entrance on that sign, but it looked worn down. I could still see the letters, but I couldn’t read it to save my life. It was French; Le Petite Bijoux – I had barely gotten the comme le soliel interminable and there hadn’t been an x in that word. I gave up on even pronouncing this one, but I couldn’t escape hearing it come out of Gerard’s sly lips. As we pulled in, he told me that it meant The Small Jewel, and that it would own up to its name. He said he went there all the time when he first moved to Jersey and didn’t know how to cook. He still didn’t know how to cook; he just got better at stomaching his own food. As he talked in the car, the night sky quickly darkening into a black sheen, his eyes seemed to glow. This was an important place to him, and I felt excitement welling up inside of me that he had taken me to this place, of all people.

He held the door open for me as we went inside, but that was where his friendly behavior stopped. As we were greeted by the hostess at the front, I was surprised when Gerard said we would be needing separate tables.

“What?” I nearly coughed, the dim lighting of the front hall making me squint as I looked over to Gerard.

“We need to eat alone,” Gerard said, as if it should have been as clear as day. He smiled at me, and moved over so the other people behind us could talk to the hostess who was laughing and smiling as she marked them down. We still had to wait for her to find tables for us to eat at, since it was so hard to find a table for just one. Let alone two separate ones.

“Why?” I asked, not being able to hide the disappointment in my voice.

I thought Gerard had wanted to share something special with me. I thought we were testing the boundaries of our relationship again. If we were going to be so brave, why the fuck were we eating alone? There wouldn’t even be that much of a danger; most people may just think we were father and son and he was being a good dad. The thought almost made me shudder, considering what we had just done before we had gone out, but those people didn’t know that. Only we did; but the fact that we were still hiding made my stomach churn anyway. I felt like I was being rejected, and I felt the layers of the confidence I had built up fall away in shards.

“Because being alone is like silence,” he said, his chin high in the air as he talked. He didn’t get to say much more before the hostess came over to us again, directing us to our new tables. She took Gerard first as he waved me a small goodbye, descending to his table, complacent smile on his face.

“Wait – Gerard!” I tried to call after him.

I knew I had probably just blown the father/son act by calling him by his first name, but I didn’t give a fuck. If he was going to leave me alone in this (probably expensive; anything with a French name was expensive) restaurant, then there was one thing that still needed to get cleared up. “I need money!”

“Check your pocket,” was all he said and all I managed to hear against the steady roar of the people already at their seats. Shaking my head with confusion, I reached into the pocket of my pants. Lo and behold, there was a wad of bills wrapped up with an elastic around them. I didn’t have time to count, but I knew there would be enough for dinner.

He planned this, I told myself, my thoughts collecting together fast. This was about more than just a cover story. Gerard was trying to teach me something. Again. And if he had put this much planning into it, then it must me worth my while.

The chair squeaked as I sat down in it, making me almost jump out of my skin. The dirty-blonde haired hostess was long gone, back at her podium to greet other people, and lead them to their small, dark brown tables. People already surrounded me, their wine glasses clinking together and their conversation murmuring into my ears. I could hear business meetings going on, discussion of a wedding, and a couple talking about bills together. I looked around and saw suits with ties, with brand names I had no idea now to pronounce. Suits that probably cost more than Gerard’s van outside. I looked down at myself, at the art shirt for a school I never went to, and my black pants with a tear in the knee, and sighed. I felt so out of place. The white table cloth that draped the small circular table I was placed at looked to be more money, or at least better fabric, than all the things I was wearing combined.

“Good evening, sir,” the waitress said, coming over to me. Though her nose was twisted up as she glared, she still had to address me properly. Everything about this place was proper, and I felt like I was breathing wrong. It was too loud, or I was doing it too often. She tossed the menu down at me, clearly disapproving of my presence in such a high class place. Normally, I would have been mad, and challenged her right back, demanding that I had the right to be there, just like everyone else. My voice was lodged in my throat though, and I could feel my skin crawling away from my body out to the van, out to Gerard’s apartment, anywhere but here.

“What can I get for you?” she spat out, her tone defiant. It was clear she thought I didn’t have any money, even if the wad of bills felt like they were burning a hole in my already damaged fabric. Ignoring her bitter countenance, I glanced at the menu, its leather binding throwing me off and making my shaking fingers visible.

“I don’t know…” I said, locking eyes with the first page. I felt her sigh and shift her weight, clearly not pleased with what was going on. I finally just picked out the first thing I saw, some kind of weird French soup and just told her so she could leave me the fuck alone. She left willingly and quickly, taking the menu with her even though what I had ordered was just an appetizer. I didn’t feel that hungry anymore anyway, and I honestly wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Once gone, I set my sights to find Gerard in the crowded room. Scanning past the heads of gray and fake hair, I was finally able to spot him at a corner table, right by the window (I felt myself smile in spite of myself, mostly because I knew how much Gerard liked window seats, and I knew he would be having fun watching the outside scenery). He was sitting quietly, his elbows on the table, hands folded in front of his face. He glanced to the side, looking at the street and gave a contented sigh. He looked so peaceful then, just absorbing the ambiance of the restaurant. When the waitress came over to him, a girl slightly younger than the one I had been given, and definitely less bitchy, he gave her a warm smile and they talked for a few moments, as she gave him the menu. He didn’t even have to look - he stated his order right away and then cracked a joke I couldn’t hear, but was apparently pretty funny. When the girl left, Gerard extended his arm to the bread basket in front of him, taking out a thick wedge and starting to butter it. He looked up momentarily, and we locked eyes. He merely smiled at me, nodding his head, and heaving another contented sigh before taking a bite out of the food, tearing it into more manageable chunks. There was no other interaction between us, and Gerard carried on like I wasn’t in the restaurant.

Even as he looked away from me, back out to the window, I couldn’t stop staring. I had no idea what was going on. Why did we need to eat apart? He was having so much fun by himself it seemed, doing relatively nothing. It didn’t make sense, and I felt too awkward or and uncomfortable to have it ever make sense. I gave up and began to eat my cold soup.

In all of my life, I had always hated to be alone in public. I could be alone in my house all I wanted, but that was because no one saw me like that. There was always such a stigma when I left the house, and especially entered my school area, that if you were alone, you were a loser. A loner and a freak. That ideology had been ingrained in me since elementary school, when kids would buddy up like there was no tomorrow. I had learned very quickly to seek social solace, even if it was with people I wasn’t too keen on. I didn’t have to talk much; I just had to stand with them, so I wouldn’t look like I was by myself.

I could remember coming back from having lunch at home in elementary school, timing it just right so I could find my friends and even avoid walking alone. When I was off on my timing on those rare days, or my friends were sick, I would almost refuse to go to school. Or I would walk around, pretending to look for them, and ask people if they had seen so-and-so, to make it look like I was talking. And not alone. I just hated the feeling; I always felt like people were staring at me. And for the most part, in elementary school when popularity was as big as the new toy craze, people were. But even in high school, when being a loner was preferred by most people, I still couldn’t stand it. That was probably why I stuck around with Sam and Travis for so long. Even if we weren’t the best of friends, didn’t talk anymore, and they were complete dicks to me, I wasn’t alone. I had someone to identify with, even if that identification was merely sharing the same space.

Out of all the things to do alone, the worst in my mind was eating. When you ate alone in the cafeteria at school, it felt like you were surrounded by people who didn’t give a fuck about you and were staring and laughing as they ate their own lunch with their friends. I hated that feeling. When I was eating too, I could do nothing else but focus on the fact that I was alone. When I would be waiting to go to class by myself, I could listen to music or read something outside the class. If it was just me in a class itself, I could work on my homework. If I was walking somewhere solitarily, it was presumed that I was going to meet someone else, and not be by myself anymore. There would always be something to distract me when I was alone in other situations, so I didn’t look and feel like that much of a loser.

When eating, that safety net of distraction was completely removed, leaving me exposed. The action I was doing alone was eating, but it was supposed to be the distraction itself, when it only made me feel like an idiot. Not to mention I was always afraid that I would do something stupid as I ate; spill something or get something caught in my teeth. And there would be no one around to tell me about it.

I was dying in that moment. I literally felt like crawling out of my skin, just to stop the people from looking at me and at least some part of me getting away. It was probably worse this time around, because I knew that people were looking down on me as I ate. The businessmen and housewives with their doctor husbands had no pity for a lone teenager, especially in a place that he should not be in, at least without a guardian. My guardian was halfway across the fucking restaurant, and acting like I wasn’t there. It was clear that I didn’t belong. The waitress had made her point very well. I wasn’t high class enough to be here, or old enough. And worse off, I was alone in everything.

I had no appetite, and spent most of the time breaking off the bread from the basket into small chunks, dipping it into the liquid they called soup, watching the pores of the bread absorb everything, then discarding it to the side. I kept my eyes down for the most part, because if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me, and in theory no one was staring at me. I could still feel their eyes on me, but at least if I couldn’t see their condescending glares, I could pretend they didn’t exist. The few times I did look up, I kept my focus on Gerard. Each time I saw him, I wanted to be over there with him. He was having so much fun, even if he was just sitting by himself and absorbing everything. There was a smile on his face, and anytime the waitress came over to him, he grinned more and said something I couldn’t hear, but I could tell it was pleasant. I wished I could be next to him. We didn’t have to talk, I just wanted to be around him. Maybe then, people would treat me better.

“Finished, sir?” the bitchy waitress articulated, taking my bowl and giving me the check before I could answer. I threw down some money instead of dwelling on my anger and thanked God that my ordeal was over. I bee-lined it over to Gerard, weaving in and out of the tables, blocking my peripheral vision from seeing their sneers. As I approached the artist’s side, I saw that he too was just finishing his entrée, remnants of tomato sauce and a foreign kind of noodle clinging to the china plates.

“Let’s go now,” I said, my voice rushed and choppy. My eyes darted around nervously, and I was on the balls of my feet, ready to make a quick getaway.

“So soon?” he asked, his face forming a frown. “I just ordered dessert.”

“You what?” My voice hitched in my throat, and my face dropped. I had been so close to freedom, and now he was adding another course to things.

“It’s devil’s food cake,” he stated, his eyes growing wide. He licked his lips comically, and made nibbling noises with his mouth.

“Ugh, fine,” I grunted, looking around me for a spare chair. I found one in a recently vacated table and pulled it over to the side. “I’ll just sit with you until you finish.”

“No,” Gerard articulated, his voice clear and concise. I looked up at him, my eyebrows furrowed tightly.

“But…Gerard…” I uttered, my desperation shining through. I fingered the end of the table cloth nervously, trying to pull away loose threads and starting more. The material was strong, and it was hard to get a good start; they’d probably make me pay for the table cloth if I did anymore damage, so I stopped. I lowered my gaze down to my lap, feeling my face flush with shame.

Fuck, I couldn’t take much more of this.

“Go and get yourself a drink,” Gerard insisted, sliding his hand over the table. I looked up, hoping he was going to hold my hand, give me some kind of encouragement, but I only saw the off-green color of money on the table.

“I don’t want a drink,” I spat out, anger filling my shame. I threw the money back at him. “I just want to leave.”

Not waiting for him to answer, and for once not caring about what he said, I got up from the table, almost crashing into the waitress that brought Gerard his cake. I could hear him utter something, but I wasn’t sure if it was at his dessert or me, and I didn’t care anymore. I was going to go outside and wait for him and if he didn’t come within five minutes, then I was going to leave. I’d walk back to the apartment. I was mad at him, but I didn’t want to go back home. I’d rather stay with Gerard and be pissed at his antics, then go back home and face my mom and father. I’d just spite him by walking home, not accepting his ride. Just like he didn’t accept me in that restaurant.

The cool night air hit my skin, and the darkness around me swallowed me whole. It felt so good to be in darkness right then. I felt invisible, and it was a good feeling. I felt too real and solid in the restaurant, all eyes focusing on me, slowly breaking me down. The dark night around me was the glue for the pieces that had fallen away. I headed to the parking lot, and leaned up against the van. I was feeling better, but I was still cracked and broken from Gerard’s actions. And after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only fifteen minutes, I started to walk back to the apartment. Gerard still hadn’t shown up, and I was sick and tired of fucking waiting for him.

I jammed my hands deep in my pocket and started to walk, but it was only five or so minutes before I heard the familiar trudge of footsteps behind me.

“Frank,” I heard his voice call, concerned and stern at the same time. I froze, my back arching and my breath hitching in my throat. I paused for a moment, listening to see if he’d say anything more or do anything more, but when nothing sounded, I continued to walk. I was relieved to hear him again, but I had to keep reminding myself I was still mad.

“What?” I asked, my footsteps hitting the cold concrete of the sidewalk hard.

“Frank, come here,” he commanded, his voice soothing. I could hear him so close behind me and it made my heart pump faster and faster.

“Why?” I inquired sharply, bitterness resonating. “I thought we had to be alone.”

“We did,” he stated, no sign of the sympathy that used to be there before. I didn’t know why, but hearing his sudden apathy towards his actions made me even madder than the actions themselves. I could deal with him doing something stupid – I was sure I did that all the time. But not caring if he hurt me? That fucking hurt more than anything.

I turned around to face him, startling him slightly with my sudden movement.

“But why, Gerard?” I asked him, my jaw locked and neck pulsing. I held my arms out to the side, opening them up to catch his answer. When he didn’t reply right away, I could feel all of my anger welling up inside of me, the memories tainting them, and just everything turning into hurt. I couldn’t be mad at Gerard; I could only be upset.

“I don’t like to be alone…” I whispered, almost inaudible.

Gerard must have heard something, because he began to walk forward, closing in the short distance we had between us. He wrapped me up in a hug, neither of us being afraid of getting caught. The night sky held us close in comfort and there were just some things worth getting caught over. This was one of them. I didn’t have to be angry or hurt anymore, and I let those emotions melt into his skin as he gripped me tight. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. He reached up and patted my hair, breathing sharply.

“I didn’t know you would get so upset,” he finally uttered. He had no real intention for the statement, other than to let it hit the air and mingle in our ears.

“Why did you do it, then?” I inquired, feeling my emotions start to churn again.

I hated feeling so many emotions in that very moment. I wished I was back to my old life, where the only things I could grasp were anger and fear. I drank all of the others away, and sometimes anger and fear were so blurred with the alcohol in my system, that they were null. Gerard made me feel things again, feel things I had forgotten how to feel, forgotten existed, or never even had to begin with. Though I loved the sense of belonging and caring that rushed through me each day I was around him, I hated how crushed I got by a single action that didn’t match anything I was used to. It tore my insides apart, and at the exact same time, it built everything up again.

He pulled away from the hug, but slinked an arm around my waist instead. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” he cordially invited. He looked down at me, raising his eyebrows at the option. “We can walk and talk,” he concluded, sealing the deal. I nodded my head and let him lead, my trust in him always there.

“I wanted to teach you something tonight,” he stated as if he had never tried to do that before. “I wanted to teach you how to be alone.”

The clicking sounds of his shoes on the pavement, seemed to match the intonations of his voice. He really did seem like a teacher then, the way he held his head up high as he talked, his back straight and leading me along. He motioned with his free hand, a finger poised like a pointer. I had no idea where we were going, but that was the least of my concerns right then.

“But why?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing. “Why would I need to be alone when I could have you with me?”

“That’s exactly my point,” he informed me, looking down and nodding his head. “You can only truly appreciate someone or something when you learn to appreciate being alone first.”

I nodded my head, trying to process the information exactly how he wanted me to. There were so many double (or triple) meanings in every single little action he did, that I wanted to understand everything fully. I tried to remove myself from the situation, and look back down on it, subjectively. I saw a boy in a restaurant, too fancy and important for him, shifting nervously in his seat because he hated to be alone. And why did he hate to be alone? I asked myself before Gerard could.

Because he had done it his entire life, I concluded almost instantaneously. And then I felt more foreign feelings rise within me, and the only one I could recognize from some prior use was bitterness. I already knew what it was like to be alone. I didn’t need to have it inflicted upon me again.

“I already am alone,” I told him, my voice gaining resilience. “I’ve been alone my entire life, Gerard. I’m an only child. I don’t have many friends. And the ones I do have, I don’t like very much. I don’t need you to teach me about being alone.” I felt defiant right then, being able to prove one of his points wrong.

I should have learned from before however, that no matter what Gerard said, he was never wrong. Nothing was ever wrong, as long as you could back it up.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding his head along. “But in those time when you were alone, what were you trying to do?”

I thought about it for a while, thinking back on the memories. “I was reading. Listening to music. Waiting for my friends…”

“Exactly,” he said, cutting me off literally with speech and action, making me look directly at his wide eyes. He motioned with the one hand that wasn’t on my waist, talking furiously to get his point across. “You were trying to find ways not to be alone.”

“So?” I said, getting defensive.

I was normally okay when he was trying to get one of his philosophies across, but I just felt like I was under attack here. I knew that was not what he meant, that was never what Gerard meant with anything, but I couldn’t help it.

“I was still alone. And I still hated it. I hate the fact that you just left me there…”

The words flew out of my mouth, some of my spittle even flecking off in small drops. I turned my head away from Gerard, not wanting to see his countenance after my outburst. He’d probably just try to prove yet another point, and I was not in the mood for that.

Instead, he stopped walking and moving completely, drawing me forward again, into his warm body and wrapping me in his arms. Despite my dislike for his actions, I was able to separate those from his personality. I cared for Gerard, and I wanted him to hold me then, so I let him, burying my face in his shoulder like before. I felt like such a baby, but I didn’t care. If I was being a baby, Gerard didn’t mind and was going to take care of me.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, something very rare for him. My arms tried to squeeze him tighter when hearing him utter those rare words, but I was already as close as I could get. “I didn’t know it would do this to you.”

“No, Gerard,” I insisted, his next words resonating in my mind and making me feel guilty. I pulled away slightly so I could see his face. It was dark, but the street lamps cast a glow on him, allowing me to see his green eyes, deep with concern. “It’s okay. I don’t know what came over me.”

He shook his head again, but didn’t say anything else. We weren’t going to argue over who was more sorry. That was pointless. I had always hated it when I saw couples doing that. It was so trivial and annoying. Like arguing over who loved the other more. Gerard and I had made recognition that we were both wrong. We were sorry. We were forgiven. It was over now. We had had our first fight, in a way. Gerard had always said fights were important. They made you realize how much you could take of the other person, and if you still wanted to go back to them. As Gerard gently curled a hair behind my ear, I was pretty sure that we both wanted to stay with each other. I felt a warm smile creep onto my face, his touch cascading down as he softly pressed his lips against mine. It was dark out, and getting late. No one was around and could see us. We were safe from stares, at that point.

“Come on,” he said after his soft kiss was gone. He unwrapped our bodies from one another, taking his hand in mine and leading us forward. “I have an idea.”

He smiled, showing me just what a good idea it was. I followed him, giggling as the skip in his step returned.

After five minutes of awkward running, our hands still fused together, we wound up at the park where we had our first actual meeting. It had been the day after the paint throwing fiasco, and where he had come to conjure some inspiration. It was where he had drawn the boy Billy and I had first learned about his people reading skill.

The park looked odd at night, the twists and turns of metal play structures taking on an almost menacing quality to them. The night air was cold on our skin, the metal structures even colder, but our running and hands clasped kept us warm. I was surprised to find the park vacated, especially since it was a Saturday night. Most teens or people in the drug scene would hang out there and make deals. I thought it was always so odd that drugs deals would be going on at one of the most innocent places there were in Jersey, but it almost fit in an ironic sort of way. They were selling away their innocence; why not do it at a local park?

Gerard dragged me over to be bench where we had both sat that day, and plopped us both down on its wooden frame. He let go of my hand, but still brought me close to him, so our legs touched and intertwined slightly.

“Why are we here?” I asked, a smile on my face from our run and the memories this place brought back.

“When you were in the restaurant, did you notice anything?” he asked back, completely ignoring my question for one of his own. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the play area, scoping out for other people, and then analyzing its contents.

“Um, not really,” I said, not wanting to remember back to the dreaded affair from before. “Should I have?”

“Yes,” he stated honestly, turning his attention back to me. “You should have noticed everything.”

I screwed up my face at his comment, and seemingly excited countenance.

“You should have noticed the people around you,” he continued, trying to clarify things. As he gazed back out onto the playground, he motioned with his arms, as if the metal poles twisted in the artificial night light were the people that I should have been watching. “It’s when you’re really alone, that you can appreciate things. Like the people around you. I saw this man in front of me. He couldn’t have been much older than myself, as sad as that sounds, but his hair was gray. Almost bone white. His face was tired and he was covered with wrinkles. I couldn’t figure it out at first. Why was this man, healthy and not that old, so aged? There is a difference between being old and aged. I am aged. The numbers I have accumulated say so, though I don’t like to believe them most days. But I don’t like to think I’m old. I like to think I’m still as young as I was when I was in art school.” He paused, looking down at me and giving me a lopsided grin. “I like to think that you keep me young.”

I smiled and blushed, not wanting the attention to be on myself much longer. “What happened to the man?”

“Ah, yes,” Gerard uttered, going back onto his train of thought. “His wife. I saw his wife and I realized everything. The way she talked down to him and harped on him. It aged the poor man significantly. And it was then that I realized I was so happy to be alone right then, watching all of this.”

“Why?”

“Because it is in those moments of alone time, those moments of solitude that you begin to see the answers to the questions other people have asked. You begin to see reflections of something that could be you. It is by observing other people, that we hold the keys to ourselves,” he stated, pursing his lips together, failing to add anything else to his theory.

I breathed out a sigh, knowing that he was right. I still hated the idea of being alone with a fucking fiery passion, though. I had people watched before. When we were in the park that we were just then, we had people watched and he had been sitting right beside me.

“I don’t really want to talk about being alone anymore, Gerard,” I told him honestly, even if I was being a big baby.

“This isn’t all about being alone anymore,” he informed me, looking over at me as I looked away. He ran his hand down over my jaw line and tipped my face to his own.

“What is it about then?” I asked, sarcasm seeping through.

“It’s about being together when we’re still apart.”

“What?” I exclaimed, my voice harsh and just fed up. I began to consider the fact that maybe Gerard had lost his mind. We went on the balcony today, he took me out into public, and now… this. Maybe he was senile…

“Frank,” he started slowly, placing the hand that was on my face to my knee and shifting even closer to me. “You’re not going to be able to spend every waking moment with me. You can’t skip school like you have been. As much as I love having you over, it won’t always work. You have to be on your own at some point. And when the day comes that we’re split apart, I want you to be okay.”

I heard his words, and though they made sense, I refused to let them compute. The more they echoed in my mind though, the more I began to realize just how afraid I was about being alone. It wasn’t just the whole stupid childhood popularity thing anymore. I had grown past that; I had been able to ditch my so-called friends in order to hang out with Gerard. The idea of being alone now was not just about them anymore. I associated being alone, subconsciously, as being without Gerard. He had taught me so much, I had changed so much, and it was all because of him. I had done everything with him for so long, even if we were just sitting in his apartment. I couldn’t take not doing that without him.

“If that day comes…” I tried to argue, knowing it was useless. The idea of being alone was there now. It was solid and in the air. It was going to happen, and what scared me the most, is that I had no idea when. It could surprise us in the very moments of weakness. Or it could come on when we thought we were invincible.

Like right then in that park.

I suddenly snapped my neck, surveying the area for people. My chest started to constrict at one point when I thought a mangled tree was a person coming to tear us apart, but I was brought out of that delusion.

“It will come, Frank,” he corrected me and I could feel the pain in his voice. He was always clear and concise when giving his theories, but when he was an example, it was hard to remove emotion. “It will come. I don’t want it to, but it will. And for now,” he said, drawing his arms around me and bringing me to almost sit in his lap. ”Let’s just learn how to be alone together.”

I could feel my stomach dropping, and my heart exploding inside my chest at the mention of the word alone. We had said it so much that night, I would have thought I’d be desensitized by this point. I wasn’t. I hated it; hated it with a fucking passion. The fact that he was going to teach me how to deal with it, how to cope and more importantly, how to do it together, made some of my emotional blood loss a little easier to handle.

I shifted my weight into him more, wrapping my legs around his waist and pressing my lips against his hard, our teeth clicking and the skin mashing together. The pain from the action was small physically, but mentally hurt us ten times more, making us want to kiss forever. Our lips became more reverent, moving across each other. I darted my tongue out, and traced it along his mouth until he opened in a gasp and let me inside. His hands traced around the fabric of my shirt and his fingers began to weave their way down unde

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 496