Eleven-and-a-half: A Fantasy Of Great Length by Ray Wilder Chapter 59: Reunion This is a work of fiction. All the characters, events and locations portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, events or locations is purely coincidental. Copyright © 1996. All rights, implicit or implied, except for distribution by this archive and personal use by the individual downloading the file, are reserved. Inquiries regarding publishing rights for this book should be directed to: raywild@aol.com ======================================== (This isn't funny. I'd better get ahold of myself or this is going to be a much more interesting evening than I thought. And that isn't necessarily good. Six-fifty. Twenty-four hours ago I was trying hard not to ram myself against the nearest available upright. Now I'm too nervous to even get an erection. What about the food? Stop worrying about the food. These are your friends, you're not opening up a restaurant. They're here to see me. I hope they are. God, I can feel myself slipping away here. I've got so much anxiety about this, I can't just let it happen. Just let it happen. It will just happen. Go for the now. Don't try to tell it what's going to happen. Six-fifty-two. Shit! Maybe I should make some more ice cubes. Was it Sam who took ice or Ed? Must have been Ed. I never knew what Sam took. Hours. That's how long we knew each other. Not days. Not years. Not centuries. It just seems that way. Cool it. Take it easy. Just like you tell everyone else: Don't forget to breathe. How do I look? Forget how you look. When have you ever worried about how you look? These people don't care what you look like. Or rather, they all ready know what you look like. Really look like. And what about them? Are they still wonderful? Do they still care? Are they still angry? Were they ever angry? Got to get that out of the way first thing. Whatever it is they think, I've got to know. Six-fifty-four. This is worse than yesterday. Yesterday I wanted to slam my way through the wall. Today I want to melt my way through the floor. I wonder who lives downstairs from me? Think they'll mind extra company dripping through their kitchen ceiling for dinner? And I'm not going to look out the window again to see if they're here. I don't even know which they would be driving. Maybe they're walking up the beach. Or down the beach. Which is which, anyway? Probably from the south. That's the way Ed headed yesterday after talking to Chris. And Chris. What about her? She seemed awfully distant on the phone when I called to invite her over. Maybe just the residual affect from her date last night. Was he that good? Lucky her. Lucky him. But she didn't seem like I thought she would. There I go, telling everyone what they should be feeling. She said she'd be over at nine with everyone else. That's enough, isn't it? Six-fifty-seven. How do I look? Stop it! The food. The drinks. The music. Music. Forgot to put the music on. . . The door. It's them. Never mind the music. They're here. I'm shaking. For God's sake, now I'm getting a hard-on. Great! The door's stuck. No, it's locked. No, the other way. Slow down. And breathe, for God's sake.) (Sam sure has been quiet. I hope she's all right with this. After all these years. I'm not even going to ask how she knew what building he lives in. But how did she know? Looks like we're going to be a bit early. I hope Arnie doesn't mind. Of course he doesn't. That 's the one thing I remember most about him. No rules. I feel like I'm about to get on some roller coaster or something. Did I bring the video tapes? Yeah. They're in my backpack. I wonder if he'll even remember all this stuff. So long ago. But Ivan made me swear to make sure he got them. Can't believe he even let me walk out the building with them. Never let anyone else. But that's our Arnie. And I can't believe all the people who still remember him, too. Not that our performance wasn't memorable; our record still stands. It's a good thing I learned so much of this "holding people inside me" stuff from him. Sure is crowded in here with all those memories everyone sent.) "How you doin', Sam?" "I'm okay. Just excited, that's all." (That's the third time Ed's asked me how I'm doing. Is it that obvious? Or is he just trying to cover up his own feelings? He really hasn't said much about this since Arnold called. I don't know if he's hiding something or just trying to stay out of my way, emotionally. I guess the fact that he hopped on the first plane and came home from Ivan's is a pretty good indication of how he feels. I just wish he would talk about it more; their time together. He was never real clear, either to me or himself, how he felt when Arnold left ten years ago. Of course, neither was I. Hell, I'm not sure if I'm real certain about how I feel about it now.) "Sixth floor, right?" "Yeah. That's what he said on the phone." "How was his voice?" "He sounded a little nervous; a little anxious." "Well, he's got nothing to worry about from me." (I hope.) "Or me." (I hope.) "Funky elevator." "It'd be weird to get stuck or something being this close, after all this time." "Yeah. All this time." (This is too weird. I feel like some kind of dam is about to break and I'm standing there with my thumb stuck in the hole, unable to pull it out. Like that little Dutch boy. What was his name? Has Brinker? Or was that the kid with the skates. Who was that cute guy who played him in the movie? Kurt Russell?) "We're here." "Huh? Oh yeah. Look at that. The door opened and everything. You sure it stopped at the right floor?" "Ed?" "Yeah, Sam?" "I love you very, very much." "That goes for me, as well. I love you, Sam." (Just needed to say that, I guess.) "I just needed to say that." "Me, too." (Mmmm. She kisses so good. Have I ever told her how much I love the way she kisses? She can probably guess. Ah, man! What a stupid time for an erection. After all these years and the first thing Arnie's gonna see is my big dick trying to make the great escape. I think she's doing this on purpose. Probably thinks I'm trying to keep my distance here so they can get re-aquainted.) "You doin' that on purpose?" "What?" "That. Making me look like some eighth grader staring at the boy's shower at gym." "You used to do that, too?" "Yeah, but only 'cuz I couldn't get the key to the girl's. We're looking for number six-oh-seven, right?" "Yes. This is it. Hold my hand please, Ed." "Sure." "He. . . ah. . . seems to be having a little trouble with the door knob." "Just moved in. Probably not used to it yet." "You don't suppose he's nervous or something, do you?" "Arnie? Nervous? Not Arn. There, see? It's opening." (Oh, my God, he's got a hard-on.) (Oh, my God, he's got a hard-on.) (Oh, my God, I've got a hard-on. They're both so beautiful. Someone say something. . . please. I can't. . . So beautiful. Sam. Ed.) (Arnie.) (Arnie.) (Maybe if I step aside, they'll be able to come in. Yup, that worked. Should I ask them if they want something to. . . Oh, God. Yes. Oh, so strong. So hot. I can't. . . I'm crying.) (I'm crying.) (They're both crying. Two grown men. And me, too. Why are we wearing clothes? Get these silly things off. I want these guys. Now. ) "Hey, big guy. Is that a swimming pool on your pantleg or are you just happy to see us?" "I ruin more clothes that way. Let me go change." "I've got a better idea. Allow us."