Big Dump

Ha!

El Greco
Part 9

I was knackered and sleep came to me in a rush, dampening my senses and making me fall into an endless pit. It seemed that the two hours I was out were longer than eternity, and when I awoke with a start, the sudden ascent back to reality made my head swim and I felt a cold film of sweat covering my body. What made me open my eyes widely in the dark was a creak of the floorboard on the ground level, an unmistakable movement at the front door, a little creak, and a sickening feeling of somebody’s presence in our little house.

I listened to the footsteps carefully, trying to decipher if they belonged to someone I knew. Yet, I could not quite make a connection; they were definitely alien, and that made my heart freeze. Turning around carefully I saw that Stanley was out, and only sheer curtain was floating ghostly in the room, bunching against the night’s air.

Thieves, I thought, they are going for the register probably, but shouldn’t they know that Colin always locks up the cash before closing up for the day? And how did they get in so easily, without noise?

Or, perhaps, I was being foolish. Perhaps it was one of the workers, he’d forgotten something and now he was trying to be careful so as not to wake us up. Yes, that was it. But then, I would have to gather up my wits and go downstairs, and I thought instantly that the whole of the house was laughing at me, at my cowardice, and reluctance to leave this moonlight-filled room.

I made my way carefully downstairs, my bare feet burning from the cold floor, until I saw a light in the kitchen. If it was an employee, when why the hell was he in there? I let out a silent breath and forced myself to clear my head and relax.

Walking carefully into the kitchen I felt relieved as much as ashamed as I saw Jonathan, his suit still unchanged, his back to me as he was fishing through the cabinets. In the short moment while he still didn’t notice me, I contemplated escaping quietly into the sanctuary of my room and staying there as if nothing had happened. Seeing him in the middle of the night, when no third-party would join us, seemed like a thoroughly nerve-wracking experience. And, on top of all, I was not wearing my shirt.

But I was frozen to the spot, my eyes unblinking as I followed the movement of his fingers and the lines of his stretched torso. He seemed large in the small space; maybe because I’ve usually seen Stan, or Colin occupying it (Ed wasn’t a frequent visitor, since Tobias was usually around), but his delicate form did not intimidate the shabby table and chairs, it fitted perfectly. I felt warm all over, although the night was chilly, and as my eyes finally adjusted to the light and the kitchen was bathed in the soft yellows, the picture pierced my heart and I thought, somewhere deep down, that even twenty years from now I would love to stand in this doorframe and watch him go about his business, and if I could not – when why was I even planning on being anywhere at that time.

My moment, however, was over, as Jonathan turned around and, upon noticing me, dropped the jar with tea, a soft “Oh” escaping his lips.
I’ve rushed over and kneeled down to get it, as he was doing the same thing, and we worked silently for a minute, gathering and crushing tea leaves in our fingers.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Jonathan whispered after some time, as if formality was finding its way back to his consciousness, “I just couldn’t sleep and I wanted to come here.”

“It’s alright,” I answered, whispering as well, and concentrating at the task at hand. The space we shared was comfortably intimate and I regretted getting up when we finished. We did, however, and when I looked at his face I saw that he was looking away with a smile in his eyes and I remembered quickly that I was still not wearing a shirt.

“Perhaps I should…” I began and he nodded, eyes resting on the kettle. I thought maybe that he wanted to be alone, however as I was turning I saw him taking out a second cup and placing it next to his.

***

Two minutes, I thought, as I was making my way upstairs. Two minutes were enough for a normal person to put on a shirt and some shoes and come back downstairs, no fuss. But in those two minutes I also wanted to brush my hair and change my trousers; it would be smashing if I could also splash some water in my face and oh – I thought I had forgotten to wash that button-down, the one that fitted me perfectly. I moaned slightly under my breath, annoyed, and happy for some idiotic reason.

I decided that wearing a formal button down for a night’s cup of tea would be ludicrous, so I settled for a t-shirt. Understanding that I was taking far more than expected, and that Jonathan would be a little taken aback, I tried to arrange my hair somehow, however it refused to obey me and in the end I grew weak with anger. Damn it. And who the fuck I thought I was? In the mirror I looked pale, my skin dull as an eggshell. Blue veins, sunken eyes – a grade-A junkie, an alcoholic, perhaps, a failure. I felt the same thing that I felt when I was on the train from Oxford, blood smeared on my cheek and not daring to look up at the people I considered adapted, proper, normal.

I made it downstairs after about five minutes, when Jonathan was already seated, one hand wrapped around his cup. I saw that mine was set out for me, vapor rising sinuously, and I felt some warmth returning to my body. He looked at me directly for the second time that night and this time he smiled, invitingly, and I thanked God for his good manners.

“I took the freedom to make your tea as I like it,” he said as I was sitting down and I grinned.

“That’s alright, I’d drink anything,” I said, and cringed inside. How very thick.

Jonathan wasn’t bothered, however, and his tone did not lose its lightness.
“This place has changed,” he said, “I remember it before Colin had any audience, before Stanley was only unraveling. They had different thoughts back then, I suppose…and now there’s also music.”

He looked at me, but I couldn’t find what to say and continued studying the contents of my cup.

“I’m very clumsy at making conversations,” Jon said and I raised my head to look at him. It was a completely wrong epithet to describe him, but I kept quiet about that.

“I think a lot of here is influenced by Toby, now.”

“You think so?” Jon frowned, “Toby seems completely out of tune with the shop. He is,” he fumbled carefully for a word, “Too much of a nihilist to influence a craft. Am I being rude?”

“No,” I laughed, “You should hear what Ed says about him. He hates the man.”

Jonny beamed, if a bit guiltily, “And Colin! Christ, I would never imagine anybody else for my brother. He’d only do with someone as arrogant as Tobias.”

“You know him then?”

“Yes, I introduced him to Colin, a while ago. We share a few common friends. Despite being harsh, he’s quite resourceful, I met him through some of my music mates.”

“Colin told me you were a musician…”

“Colin told me the same about yourself,” Jonathan grinned, “Shall we skip to the professional talk?”

I laughed, “I’m not a professional, not at all.”

“Yes,” Jon nodded, without accusation, “Your music is a bit…unstructured. But that’s – well, that’s all right. It doesn’t make any less interesting. It sort of floats unrestrained.”

My cheeks were burning at his critique and I was feeling bold, “What sort of music do you play, then? Colin said you were touring…”

“Colin likes a good story,” Jon smiled, “Well, he was half-truthful. I’m in a small unintended orchestra…I’ve been in it since my graduation. After college I found myself among the students who did not seek a coherent career…we were all musicians without a purpose, and so we decided to form a small group for the sake of playing to make some kind of living. We played the pieces we loved and sometimes we developed the music written by one of us. Rather obscure, really. Small commissions, small audiences, but – quite blissful, because at times we went through creating, rehearsing and performing. And that is all. We would play in a private club one day because some music snob found us exquisite enough, and the next evening we were almost on the street.”

Jonathan fell silent for a bit and I broke his reverie.

“And why are you back home?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “Sometimes I need to get back. Visit this place. I always feel that I miss something when I’m not here,” he looked at me, smiling, “Who knows, if I were to stay away longer this time, I might’ve missed my brother opening a recording studio.”

His eyes sparkled teasingly and I laughed, scratching my head. We finished our tea soon after, and Jonny said he would sneak back to Colin’s, and as we parted at the staircase I scrambled to think of a proper farewell, but Jonathan sensed my hesitation.

“Since we started like this,” he said, taking my hand in his and holding it gently, “We might as well continue this peculiar habit of yours.”

But it wasn’t a handshake, it was just him holding my hand in the two of his for a short second, then smiling and saying a “Good morning” instead of a “Goodbye” and slipping outside.

And, I thought, going up the stairs – we could be friends.
________

Note:
after reading bits and pieces of the story to (sort of) reconstruct the whole thing in my head, I’ve noticed numerous anachronisms and other flaws (not to mention my lack of a timeline, if ye ask me – I’ve no idea what month or time of the year the story is at now), and absolutely no development of Thom’s character. This, of course, points to my inability to organize and plan…well, and a lack of a rough draft. But writing this sordid thing turns out to be quite fun, I’ve never gone past “Part 7” in my stories before (and if I have, in those cases I had probably exhausted the plot by the fourth chapter), and despite some ridiculous details (quite ashamed of the branding technique used by Tobias and Thomas), and considering the fact that the story’s development is probably interesting only to my person, I would like to continue, with unannounced revisions popping here and there.

(I think that’s what I wanted to say), Good day to you.