Trousers feel weird and uncomfortable against my skin. I squirm a little and realize that I it’s almost like I’m back in school, only that my insecurities are dimmed a bit.
The radio is buzzing in the background and my ears pick up the tune involuntarily. Something familiar. “Hey” by the Pixies. It’s all coming back, isn’t it?
I actually smile, shaking my head and the landscape of pastures tilts like water in the glass. My car swivels to the curb a bit and I’m suddenly serious again, tightening the grip on the wheel. I still hold on to it as if it my first drive, I notice, and I wonder why.
I pass the familiar sign with “Welcome to…” and feel my head fill up with blood. Liquid, runny blood that evaporates like alcohol once you pour it out. I shake my head again.
How old is he now?
I’m quite sure I’m 31 at the moment, which means he is in his late 20s. It’s weird how once you grow older, the age difference seems to rub out.
I struggle to imagine what he looks like. Surely he is not that angular boy anymore; more confident, maybe, experienced. I wonder what his hands look like. If he kept up with his guitar playing they are probably well developed and deft, flexible, calloused and cold. His hands are always cold and mine are always warm for some reason. I remember taking his white narrow palms into my hands to warm them up in the winter. It was strange, since even at that time his hands were larger than mine.
The radio plays something modern and I switch back to reality, drumming my fingers on the wheel lightly. My mobile starts ringing and squirming on the passenger seat and I pick it up, opening it with my hand and chin.
“Hello?”
“Thom! Hey, it’s Colin. Where are you?”
“Erm…” I glance at the watch, “About half an hour away from you.”
“That’s good. Do you remember the address? Do you need the directions?”
“Nope,” I smile awkwardly even though he doesn’t see me. It’s weird how people tend to think that I’m a stranger in my hometown.
“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”
“Yup, cheers, mate.”
I click-close the mobile and bounce it on the seat next to me. Somewhere between the phrases I heard a familiar chuckle in the background.
…::…
This is it.
I park my car outside the restaurant and buy myself more time by checking if my suit is sitting right and my hair is not messy.
How do I act?
There is a huge gap between Thom-the-insecure-youngster and Thom-the-metropolitan-grownup. For example, the first Thom would never check his suit or hair before meeting his mates. However, the second Thom would never be insecure about his acting.
I see a group of people chatting on the street, dressed to the nines, and I wonder if they have the same purpose to be here as me. There’s a lovely brunette girl among them, a cigarette in her mouth, and I remember Colin stating that his fiancé has the finest darkest hair he’s ever seen. I ignored the instant image of the possible runner-up in my head and said that I’ve been a fool for brunettes myself. How delightfully cunning and in the fashion of Thom #2.
I step in and my whole illusion of this being just a minor flick on the horizon shatters as our eyes lock during the first second. He is in the back, talking to someone, his form leaned across the table a bit, a smile on his red lips; from the first look I get every detail of his posture, of his clothes, of his hairstyle, of the position of his hands, of the twinkle in his eyes. I swear I can almost hear his calm heartbeat and feel his breathing.
His eyes sweep down my body quickly and I know that he is thinking the same.
“Thom,” I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder and turn around to see Phil grinning at me. He too is wearing a suit. There’s an honest delight in his eyes and I wonder how much time passed since I’ve seen that friendly gaze.
“Phil.”
We embrace tightly and he pats me on the back. I think there are tears in my eyes when we pull back. My mind is working over-time, trying to determine if it’s appropriate or not.
Somebody is clinking glasses and I see the group from the outside come in. Soon Phil tugs on my sleeve a bit and I’m smothered by Ed and Colin.
He is at the opposite side of the table, two people away from me. I have a clear view of his hand and his fingers tapping something that seems vaguely familiar. I imagine that it’s the Morse code and that he is sending secret messages to me.
…::…
“Ten years, eh?” his fingers brush the fabric on my shoulder lightly and his hand slides down my arm as he moves to sit opposite me at the small table I spied in the corner.
“Hello, Jonny,” I watch him sit down until our eyes are on the same level. He looks at me for a minute before smiling and answering back.
“Hello, Thom.”
I want to tell him that his boyfriend is vacuous, dull, and too good-natured.
He hasn’t changed much. Of course his hair is a bit shorter and there’s something in his eyes that tells me that he is capable of being independent from me, but he is still long and chiseled and interested in me.
“I’ve heard your last album,” he lowers his head a bit, drawing designs with his fingers on the table.
“I’ve heard yours,” I answer through the gray smoke.
Silence again. There are lots of things at the tips of our tongues, but each one of them is unnecessary. I hate this. Suddenly it is easier to talk only of the unimportant stuff.
“Remember we made a pact that whatever happens to us, whatever happens to the world, we would meet 10 years after?” he looks at me and the 10 years evaporate suddenly.
“Yes, I do,” I smile and it’s my turn to duck my head down and finger the table uneasily.
“I don’t think it’s the right place.”
When we walk out his arm wraps around my shoulders and it’s weird to be like that with him. Being like that means that it’s okay for my to put an arm around his waist and that it’s okay for me to go on and on about stuff that doesn’t really matters. It’s okay for him to stop and place a gentle kiss on my lips, slide his hands down my chest and lull his forehead against mine. We look each other in the eye while Thom #2 commits suicide inside my mind quietly and humbly.
“Why did we brake up? How did it come to this? Why was it better for us to separate?” his eyes close halfway when he leans in again and again, pressing his mouth against mine.
“I don’t know, Jonny. I guess there were reasons…only when I think of it now, I don’t find even one of them being reasonable.”
“Me neither.”
He rubs his cheek, sighing.
Wretches. We are fucking wretches.
“I still love you.”
“I love you too.”
We say it to make it official – it’s sort of like a paper document that supports the general truth.
“Your boyfriend is vacuous, dull, and too good-natured.”
“Whatever,” he smiles, “And I don’t like your…suit.”
“That’s probably worse.”
We both chuckle and he takes my hand, kissing it gently, following every bone.
His hands are cold.
“I guess I’ll pack up today and say goodbye to him and tomorrow morning I’ll be ready.”
“Mm-hm,” I nod, “I’ll pick you up at 9, how’s that?”
“Perfect.”
The radio is buzzing in the background and my ears pick up the tune involuntarily. Something familiar. “Hey” by the Pixies. It’s all coming back, isn’t it?
I actually smile, shaking my head and the landscape of pastures tilts like water in the glass. My car swivels to the curb a bit and I’m suddenly serious again, tightening the grip on the wheel. I still hold on to it as if it my first drive, I notice, and I wonder why.
I pass the familiar sign with “Welcome to…” and feel my head fill up with blood. Liquid, runny blood that evaporates like alcohol once you pour it out. I shake my head again.
How old is he now?
I’m quite sure I’m 31 at the moment, which means he is in his late 20s. It’s weird how once you grow older, the age difference seems to rub out.
I struggle to imagine what he looks like. Surely he is not that angular boy anymore; more confident, maybe, experienced. I wonder what his hands look like. If he kept up with his guitar playing they are probably well developed and deft, flexible, calloused and cold. His hands are always cold and mine are always warm for some reason. I remember taking his white narrow palms into my hands to warm them up in the winter. It was strange, since even at that time his hands were larger than mine.
The radio plays something modern and I switch back to reality, drumming my fingers on the wheel lightly. My mobile starts ringing and squirming on the passenger seat and I pick it up, opening it with my hand and chin.
“Hello?”
“Thom! Hey, it’s Colin. Where are you?”
“Erm…” I glance at the watch, “About half an hour away from you.”
“That’s good. Do you remember the address? Do you need the directions?”
“Nope,” I smile awkwardly even though he doesn’t see me. It’s weird how people tend to think that I’m a stranger in my hometown.
“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”
“Yup, cheers, mate.”
I click-close the mobile and bounce it on the seat next to me. Somewhere between the phrases I heard a familiar chuckle in the background.
This is it.
I park my car outside the restaurant and buy myself more time by checking if my suit is sitting right and my hair is not messy.
How do I act?
There is a huge gap between Thom-the-insecure-youngster and Thom-the-metropolitan-grownup. For example, the first Thom would never check his suit or hair before meeting his mates. However, the second Thom would never be insecure about his acting.
I see a group of people chatting on the street, dressed to the nines, and I wonder if they have the same purpose to be here as me. There’s a lovely brunette girl among them, a cigarette in her mouth, and I remember Colin stating that his fiancé has the finest darkest hair he’s ever seen. I ignored the instant image of the possible runner-up in my head and said that I’ve been a fool for brunettes myself. How delightfully cunning and in the fashion of Thom #2.
I step in and my whole illusion of this being just a minor flick on the horizon shatters as our eyes lock during the first second. He is in the back, talking to someone, his form leaned across the table a bit, a smile on his red lips; from the first look I get every detail of his posture, of his clothes, of his hairstyle, of the position of his hands, of the twinkle in his eyes. I swear I can almost hear his calm heartbeat and feel his breathing.
His eyes sweep down my body quickly and I know that he is thinking the same.
“Thom,” I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder and turn around to see Phil grinning at me. He too is wearing a suit. There’s an honest delight in his eyes and I wonder how much time passed since I’ve seen that friendly gaze.
“Phil.”
We embrace tightly and he pats me on the back. I think there are tears in my eyes when we pull back. My mind is working over-time, trying to determine if it’s appropriate or not.
Somebody is clinking glasses and I see the group from the outside come in. Soon Phil tugs on my sleeve a bit and I’m smothered by Ed and Colin.
He is at the opposite side of the table, two people away from me. I have a clear view of his hand and his fingers tapping something that seems vaguely familiar. I imagine that it’s the Morse code and that he is sending secret messages to me.
“Ten years, eh?” his fingers brush the fabric on my shoulder lightly and his hand slides down my arm as he moves to sit opposite me at the small table I spied in the corner.
“Hello, Jonny,” I watch him sit down until our eyes are on the same level. He looks at me for a minute before smiling and answering back.
“Hello, Thom.”
I want to tell him that his boyfriend is vacuous, dull, and too good-natured.
He hasn’t changed much. Of course his hair is a bit shorter and there’s something in his eyes that tells me that he is capable of being independent from me, but he is still long and chiseled and interested in me.
“I’ve heard your last album,” he lowers his head a bit, drawing designs with his fingers on the table.
“I’ve heard yours,” I answer through the gray smoke.
Silence again. There are lots of things at the tips of our tongues, but each one of them is unnecessary. I hate this. Suddenly it is easier to talk only of the unimportant stuff.
“Remember we made a pact that whatever happens to us, whatever happens to the world, we would meet 10 years after?” he looks at me and the 10 years evaporate suddenly.
“Yes, I do,” I smile and it’s my turn to duck my head down and finger the table uneasily.
“I don’t think it’s the right place.”
When we walk out his arm wraps around my shoulders and it’s weird to be like that with him. Being like that means that it’s okay for my to put an arm around his waist and that it’s okay for me to go on and on about stuff that doesn’t really matters. It’s okay for him to stop and place a gentle kiss on my lips, slide his hands down my chest and lull his forehead against mine. We look each other in the eye while Thom #2 commits suicide inside my mind quietly and humbly.
“Why did we brake up? How did it come to this? Why was it better for us to separate?” his eyes close halfway when he leans in again and again, pressing his mouth against mine.
“I don’t know, Jonny. I guess there were reasons…only when I think of it now, I don’t find even one of them being reasonable.”
“Me neither.”
He rubs his cheek, sighing.
Wretches. We are fucking wretches.
“I still love you.”
“I love you too.”
We say it to make it official – it’s sort of like a paper document that supports the general truth.
“Your boyfriend is vacuous, dull, and too good-natured.”
“Whatever,” he smiles, “And I don’t like your…suit.”
“That’s probably worse.”
We both chuckle and he takes my hand, kissing it gently, following every bone.
His hands are cold.
“I guess I’ll pack up today and say goodbye to him and tomorrow morning I’ll be ready.”
“Mm-hm,” I nod, “I’ll pick you up at 9, how’s that?”
“Perfect.”
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