In the evening I brush my teeth, strum the guitar, have the last cup of tea, take off my trousers and socks and slip under the blankets. Lying on my back I look at the ceiling and listen to the passing cars outside the open window – listen to the water sloshed by the tires and a rare, almost-scared sound of high heels against the pavement.
I fall asleep for less than an hour a couple of times, each time waking up and staring, unable to close my eyes.
At some point I hear my neighbor grumbling behind the thin wall, then shuffling to and fro, then door opening and hissing. I get up then and walk through a couple of rooms to the front door, undo the chain and turn the lock, then open it to be met with surgical light of the hallway.
Thom is leaning against the railing, eyes closed and a dazed half-smile on his lips. Hearing me, he raises his head and opens his eyes. I can see a large stain on his blue shirt, stretching from his chest to his belly, and I can smell alcohol. His upper lip is beaded with cold sweat, the damp hair clings to his temples, his pale arms are covered in goose bumps.
“There was somebody there, you see, and he tried to pick me up,” Thom says as I usher him inside and lock the door before my neighbor can send a shoe flying at Thom’s head, “And I was saying that I was in love, I was talking about you, and you know what he said? He said I didn’t look like I was in love. And then I wanted to see you.”
I sit him down on the sofa and got to the bathroom to a get a towel. When I return he is in the kitchen. He pours three fingers of whiskey into the glass, sets it on the table and sticks his hand in the freezer, taking out a few ice cubes. He pops one into his mouth, the other one he squeezes in his fist until it melts, leaving him numb. The rest goes into his drink.
I take him by the shoulder and start wiping his hair and shirt, neck – everything, and he continues talking, the ice cubes clinking in his glass.
“He said he’d take me anywhere and I told him I’ve been everywhere. He described these places, you see…he said he could take me to the Antarctic, but first he wanted to get a cab.”
I stroke his eyebrow with my thumb and he smiles up at me.
“He wanted to get a cab and drive to the hotel, he said, because it was just built and very fancy, he wanted to show me the ves-ti-bule,” he says the word with a bad French accent. I brush my hand down his chest, along the buttons, slipping my fingers inside to run down his childish chest.
He looks down, watching my fingers sliding beneath the material, stroking his skin slightly.
“He ripped off a couple of my buttons,” Thom says, smiling down, “Did not turn out to be a gentleman after all.”
“And I told him that I’ve got you, I even gave him your full name for a good measure, along with a description. And then I wanted to see you.”
I kiss him, licking off the bead of perspiration from his lip, pushing our foreheads together. Outside the damp dawn is of the color of milk mixed with water. I shiver against his shirt and he shivers against me.
“So then he was pissed and knocked down the glass, ruined my shirt,” Thom says, lolling his forehead against mine, brushing our lips together, “And I felt tired and out of place and as if I was drifting up with the smoke. And then I wanted to see you.”
_____
Influenced by Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises"
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