Big Dump

The cigarette was dangling loosely between Colin’s fingers, and it might have indicated that he was tipsy, or unfocussed, except his sharp eyes noticed everything and his biting mouth was forming precisely accentuated sentences. Jonny was hanging on to each word, mute with respect, and Thom was fidgeting with no idea how to break into their conversation, or rather Colin’s monologue, at least to say his goodbyes.

Finally he reached out a cold hand and laid it briefly on Jonny’s shoulder, figuring that his physical stimulation would interrupt Colin’s conversational for just a needed second. It worked – Jonny turned to look at Thom, his dark eyes blank and sad at the same time.

“I am going to go,” said Thom with a warm smile, because he hated to be a bad loser. He wasn’t sure what Jonny said to him, but Colin cast a sidelong glance at nothing at particular and said his goodbye with an even voice as Thom was already walking on. There were some steps in front of him and he overtook them in just two strides, free at last from the various constraints that were thrown on him by Colin’s and Jonny’s presence.

The dream came to him while he was dozing in the early morning and the dream was rebelliously filled with sunshine. He was stretched on his side on the floor rearranging some wires while Jonathan was laughing on the sofa, and Jonathan’s coarse-clothed knee was so close that he could touch it with his lips, which he did. Jonny’s long limbs were concealed with layers of clothing, and the cold sunshine filtered through his hair and made his skin look pale. Thom kissed his cheek, traced the lines on his palm with his finger, and pressed his hand – the things he thought of doing for months, and Jonathan received them with caresses of his own, humble, localized, light.

“‘…a spirt of my own seminal wet,’” Colin was saying, cigarette between his fingers, leaning against the building to escape the rain, “There was a discourse between the artistic queers at that time, they were figuring out how they were to proceed with their lifestyle.”

Jonathan was looking at Thom’s chest when Thom turned to him, and yet the younger man did not blush or avert his eyes, for he had been caught numerous times before and knew that there would be no confrontation. Thom’s breath hitched from his own impotency to say anything and he almost reached over to grab Jonny’s cold fingers and rub them till they were prickly with heat. Nothing happened, though, except a lame walk they shared together as Thom delivered Jonny into Colin’s hands, and imagined that the latter looked at his receding back for a short second with disapproval.

Thom thought that Colin knew everything and refused to participate in the charade, preferring to continue with his lascivious descriptions enunciated with just a hint of boredom, punctuated by languid gestures. Thom wanted to stuff his fists in his pockets and tell Jonny that he had somewhere else to be; and yet, when Jonathan half-mumbled the tired and tortured invitation for coffee Thom agreed in a beat.

On the park bench they slowly melted against each other as Thom pulled Jonny into the neutral topics and Jonny’s thoughts poured out of him without restraint, and yet, once they were walking back, Jonathan’s speed increased and Thom had to play constant catch-up. It was impossible to know what Jonny was thinking, and Thom did not start a conversation lest it would distract him from walking. Thom was also unsure if Jonny would listen to him. And so, as the younger man missed their turn, he stood at the intersection not knowing what to do for a desperate second.

“Jonathan!” he shouted finally, and waited for Jonny to turn around, to look back at him.