Date: Tue, 04 Feb 2003 14:57:00 +1100 From: Mark Sullivan Subject: hazel-and-brown-6 I'm back. Nice to see you all again :-). ## ## It's Monday and I haven't heard from Micah. My paranoia is always a bit overactive -- but maybe he is annoyed with me -- so I go through it all logically. He would have only gone up there on Saturday, and yesterday would have been settling in. So there wouldn't have been that much chance to call me anyway. So I concentrate on getting work done. Cleaning the apartment is good busy work, but since the place is so small it isn't much distraction. I guess the next thing to do is homework. An essay on the evolution of the early Gothic novel -- it's kind of funny switching between my maths-brain and my lit-brain, but I like both -- the essay's supposed to be focussing on either wealth and social standing or sex. I bet everyone will do sex; I'm going to. Probably use "The Castle of Otranto" and "The Monk". Discuss debauchery. "The Monk" is a bit gruesome, but I imagine a sanitised version with Micah as a monk, wearing one of those round hats like in a photo I saw in a Benetton ad, of a priest kissing a nun. I find my thoughts wandering a bit towards story-telling rather than essay-writing, Micah in a black robe standing in front of a ruined chapel, backlit by lightning although there's no rain, looking angelic and demonic all at once. I wonder what it would have been like if I'd been to a Catholic school. ## It's Wednesday and he still hasn't called. I guess he did say he'd give me a call "or something". There's no reason he should call me. Are we actually going out? I just realised I don't know. Or I thought I did, but maybe I was wrong. It's not reasonable of me to push anyway. Time for exercise. I want to go in to uni anyway to get some books from the library, and also do a Google search. I want to find a movie I heard about, about a gay priest; maybe it'll give me some inspiration about the essay. It's coming along OK, but now that I have a video player, I might as well use it. At the uni I just go and practice some squash, mostly along the wall shots and boasts, and then plan to go for a run. On the way out of the gym, I see Jack again. "Running still on tomorrow?" That'll be something good to do. "It's not officially on during the break, but I still go running at the same time, so you could come with if you like." "Cool. I'll bring my fast legs tomorrow." "That's OK. I'll just stop every so often. Get an ice cream or a back rub, do some homework, something like that." He grins. "Prick." He makes me smile. "See you at noon then." "Yep." Back rub, heh? Maybe I was wrong with my first impression. That would fit my universe conspiracy theory. Probably just joking though. I go to the library and then head home. So the movie's called "Priest". Should have guessed. ## It's Friday, and it's time for going out with Jared, Karen and Kyle. "I was thinking a movie," I say. "So, is Micah coming?" asks Karen. "Jared's told me about the two of you. I'm really happy." "Nah, it's not that serious. Just hanging around, you know." Jared flashes me a 'what's the story?' look. I ignore him and the sharp feeling in my stomach. "So I really want to see this martial arts movie. Shaolin classic." I'd like something mindless. "Humour me, OK." Karen snorts. I can rely on Kyle to be in: "Excellent! Any foxy ghost chicks in this one?" Jared doesn't argue, uncharacteristically; I appreciate that he knows how to handle things when I'm like this. We leave my apartment with Kyle demonstrating his martial arts non-skills. ## It's Sunday, and I go into uni again for work, this time a programming assignment. A half-hour in the sun reading the specs, then a run to think about it, then on to designing and writing it, that's the plan. I go to the gym to put my clothes in a locker -- no Jack today -- and then head out to the Ecology Park. I make a short-cut through the bush, partly because it's a quicker way to the running track, partly because I'll go past the place where Micah and I first touched, and even though he didn't call I'm feeling pleasantly wistful about it. That's shattered when I get close, and I see he's actually there. With a girl. Who's kissing him. And whose hands are in his pockets. >From the way he's slowly pushing his hips against her, I'd guess she's giving him a hand job through the pockets. Convenient pockets for it they are, too, big pockets in loose pants. One of the new pairs he'd bought, some of the ones his mum mentioned. I back slowly away. Did he not hear me? How could he have not heard me, when he heard that woman when we were here? Though she did have a dog, so she was noisier. Unless he didn't care if anyone saw. What if he expected me, and wanted me to know? But how could he? Why did he do it in our place? I get to the road and start sprinting. The asphalt hits my feet, but I want the pain. More pain. Where should I go? The initial clarity of shock is still there, but I know it will go soon. I look to see where I am. Out past all the houses, but not in the Ecology Park. I think for a few seconds, then take the street on the right, then the left. When I get to the bottleshop, I compose myself -- recite 'I'm just going to get something for tonight', hoping I project that -- and I buy a bottle of vodka. I can't go back to the uni, so I head for the nearby mental hospital. It's weird running with a bottle in my hand, really throws out the balance. The mental hospital's a good place -- lots of land, lots of nooks and crannies, no walls, a place that's meant to be tranquil for the patients, although the grounds have been pretty empty when I've been past before. They go down to the river, and that's where I head. I sit down and have my first swig. God I hate the taste. Now, to sort things out before I'm incapable. He's probably uncertain, it's all confusing for him. He needs to reassert his straightness. There's not anything surprising about it. Swig. I wonder if it's his ex-girlfriend. If it's just some random slut ... no, that's not fair, I don't think of the women that Jared picks up as sluts, just women who can't help being attracted to him. Same with Micah. Swig. I wonder if anyone will come down here? If they do, I'll just offer them some, as long as they don't talk to me. Swig. Swig. I almost spit out the second one, but I don't, because that wouldn't hurt enough. I don't experience enough of the numbness before I pass out. ## It's dusk when I wake up. I feel shit, but not as bad as I thought I might. Maybe it will all hit me later. Although some of it hits me now, when I throw up into a nearby bush. Home seems so far away, thinking about how to get there makes me wince. But I have to. At least get back to the uni, get my apartment keys from the locker, then see about it. So I do -- the thudding on the asphalt doesn't do my head too much good -- and decide I'll take a taxi home. I've never been in a taxi before, but I'm betting it'll be expensive. That's good. At the gym I rinse my mouth once -- throw up again, this time in a toilet -- rinse again, and go outside to the taxi rank. The taxi driver looks at me a bit strangely when I give him my address. I try to look like I'm the sort of person who doesn't think twice about taking a taxi. When I run my hand through my hair I discover there are some leaves in it. Ech, who cares what he thinks anyway. I just slump in the back seat and tune out the radio and its irritating smooth-voiced announcer. It turns out to be $45. That pain's good too. I fall asleep again when I get inside. ## When I wake in the morning I don't have much of a hangover -- the throwing up probably helped -- just a general lethargy. That might not be related to the vodka at all. I'm not really sure what to do with myself. I look at the TV and video, and want to throw them through the window. But I can't, of course, they're not mine. I'm not really in the mood for homework, but I might as well do it. Just get back on again. I've been staring at one single maths problem for about twenty minutes when the phone rings. I think about not answering it, but I do. "Gid?" "Yep." "I'm back." "Hi." He's a bit hesitant. "Want to come in to uni? I haven't seen you for a week." "OK. I'm just expecting my mum to call right about now" -- a lie -- "so how about I see you there in two hours." "Sure. Why don't --" "Gotta go. See you then." I hang up, then take the phone off the hook. ## Two hours later I'm at the uni. We meet at the same place. Sunglasses again. "Hey," he half-smiles. He goes to touch my arm, but I don't respond. "Sorry I didn't call last week." "That's OK. Byron's so hippy it's probably not possible to use a phone anyway." He takes a breath. "I just needed a bit of time to think. It's all been sudden" -- Was I sudden? I didn't think so -- "and I just don't know ... Maybe I do like sex with, you know, guys --" "Yeah, maybe." "But the whole gay thing ... I'm not --" If I were completely fair, I'd give him a chance to say his piece. But I can't stand listening anymore. "It's OK. You don't owe me anything. I don't need any more of an explanation." "Don't be like that. I thought we could still have a special kind of friendship, like we did before. I still think you're really attractive ..." "I'm not interested in that kind of friendship." "We can still be friends, though, right?" "No." There's a pause. I don't think he knows what to say. "I saw you here yesterday. With her. I'd thought I was more than just an experiment" -- that's a more emotive way of saying it than I meant, and Micah goes to say something, but I keep going -- "I'm sure it's difficult, and it's always hard to get things sorted out. But I thought it was more than that, and the misunderstanding is my mistake, but I'd just be acting trying to be friendly, it's just the way things are. I won't avoid you at squash or anything, but I don't feel like hanging around together." He takes off his glasses. "I'm sorry." I don't want to look at him, so I turn and leave. ## Monday night I get a knock at my door. I'm sitting at my table with the same maths problem from earlier. I ignore the door, just like I ignored the phone for the last day. "It's Jared. Open up." I open the door, and Jared comes in, backpack on his back. "OK, give." "I don't want to do some big long production, but here's the summary: he's uncertain, I'm dumped. That's it." Jared opens his backpack. "So this should be just the thing then." He pulls out a video. "Shaolin 17, or something like that." A bottle. "Red wine." A bag. "Popcorn." Popcorn. Memory. "Not the popcorn. It'll stop the wine going straight to my head." He goes to put the video in the player. While he's bent over the machine he says, "Do you want a hug?" "Thanks, but no. I'll just cry." "Maybe you should." "Maybe I shouldn't." "OK, on the bed then." I raise my eyebrows at him in a suggestive way. He laughs. "Just get ready for the movie." I don't follow the movie too closely -- it's not really necessary, just watching the fight scenes is good -- but I do get interested in the main monk character. His life, where he's discarded attachment to Samsara, the illusion of the world, is seeming pretty attractive at the moment. While I'm thinking about what it would be like to have my head totally shaved and devoting myself to study, and maybe to channelling my chi into devastating punches that can knock down a tree, Jared puts his arm around me. I don't cry; it's a close thing, but the habit of a lifetime is strong enough to stop it happening. But I don't think I'm very good at detachment. ## Friday night, and the week's been a bit useless. I've done a lot of work, but it's all shit. There's none of the spark that I have when I do good work, so I can tell the grades won't be great. But at least most of the work's done. I'm getting ready to go out -- maybe Jared and the others are overdoing it a bit, all their suggestions for doing stuff, but I appreciate their kindness -- when there's a knock at the door. I open it, and it's Micah. I stand in the doorway and look at him. His button-up shirt is totally open at the front, and his hair is messed. He's swaying a bit, really drunk. "I want you to fuck me." His voice is loud, so I look up and down the stairs to see if anyone's around. "I don't care if anyone hears. I want you to fuck me." I could hurt him. If I did it, it'd more than dent the self-image he's built. "No." "Why?" "You're drunk. And I'm going out." He focuses on me. "You know, you're really cold -- unfeeling. I thought there was something special between us, but you just shut me out without a -- without anything. It's difficult for me --" I'm cold? I snap. "It's difficult for you? You, with your fucking pampered life, where you're given everything, fucking golden boy, where you can get shit-faced and demand to get what you want, where you can fall apart and there are no consequences --" I want to punch the wall, but I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said any of that. And I do have to go out. I'll call you a taxi if you want." "No. Thanks." The wind's gone out of him. I don't know what to do, so I leave him sitting on the steps outside my door, and I go out. ## Saturday I go in to uni again. Tomorrow is work, so this is my last day for getting assignments done. Keep slogging away. I want to go for a run first -- I'll probably spend more time running now, and less playing squash -- so I go to get a locker key from the desk. It's Jack there. "Excellent. I was just about to go for a run too." I think about saying I don't want company, but that seems rude. I sort of smile in his direction, or maybe it's a grimace. "Sure." When I come back he's already ready, so we don't spend any time chatting. Out the door, along the uni road, then past housing. I've been getting slower, and Jack turns around to hassle me, when I just stop. I can't stand it any more, and I start crying. The shame makes it worse -- not just crying, but in front of someone I hardly know. I haven't cried since I was a kid, despite everything. Why this? Or maybe it's everything plus this. But why is Micah such a big deal? There's how I felt when I was with him, but why did I? I could come up with all sorts of reasons, psychological or hormonal or whatever, but you never really know the reason why it's someone in particular. It just is. Jack jogs back. "Hey, wanna talk about it?" He puts his hand on my arm. "Not really. Got dumped. Nothing special. Just a bit mixed-up at the moment." "Anything else I can do then?" He pulls on my arm, and we sit down in the gutter. The occasional car goes past. "No, thanks." I look at him. He's a bit blurry. "I don't want to take advantage of you." "Hey, use me and abuse me." I look down at his hand, still on my arm, then at him. He grins a bit. "Take that however you want." "I'm not really up for much." "That's cool. Although it's a bit of a shame. I was sort of hoping you'd be up for something that first time I saw you bending over doing your stretches." I smile at him. He's totally playing up to my ego, a completely over-the-top flirt. It's really kind. I rub my palms into my eyes. "How about we go get a drink? You look like you've lost a lot of water." I laugh. Maybe Jack could think about becoming a counsellor or something. He just seems to know what to say. "And then I could give you a massage. Help relieve the tension. It'd be totally non-sexual, I promise. Well, mostly non-sexual anyway." "We'll see." ## Jack's the youngest of three kids, still living near the uni with his parents. He's out to pretty much everyone but them, although he's thinking about sorting that out soon too. He's not really into relationships, just having fun. He just has a few subjects left to finish, in chiro, then he'll find a job. It's nice listening to his life. Lets me ignore mine for the moment. We're drinking Staminades in the gym office, him in the office chair, me on the bench. "So how about that massage?" I think about it. "OK." "Take off your shirt." I do, then lie on my stomach. He straddles me, one knee either side of my hips, and gets to work. It is relaxing -- he has talented hands. He could combine massage with a counsellor job when he finishes, maybe. It goes on for a while, and I get more relaxed. I'm not feeling aroused, just like the energy's left me. I wonder how he's managing to leave the front desk unattended for so long, but shortly I don't care. He adjusts his position. I guess his legs are probably getting a bit tired, but then I feel a prod in my left arse cheek, and I think that that's maybe not the only reason. So while he settling again I turn over onto my back. Sometime he'd taken off his shirt as well, so I notice his chest, which is pretty nice. But I more notice his dick, which seems to have escaped from the leg of his shorts. He looks a bit flushed. "Err, don't know how that happened." I don't say anything, just reach for it. But he pushes my hand away, gentle, and then tucks it back in, upwards under the elastic of his shorts. It angles to the left, almost past the waistband near his hip. "It has a mind of its own. But I did mean that this was supposed to be non-sexual. I don't want to take advantage of you because you're upset. I'd rather you don't feel badly about me afterwards." I think about arguing -- maybe it'd be good to just get off with him -- but inside, I don't really feel like sex. I wonder when I will. "Thanks. You're really cute, you know. I bet you don't find yourself in dumb situations like this too often." "Well, a change is as good as a holiday, as they say." ## Back at my place, I think about it. Jack's nice, although it's too early to get seriously involved with him. He's nice, and a good guy, but there isn't the spark I had with Micah. Why am I hung up on Micah? Maybe there's just no spark because I'm unhappy, and on the rebound. Jack did say he's not into relationships, but maybe he'd be open to one sometime if we were ... I stop. When will I learn? You can't go out with someone hoping to change the way they are. It'll be good to have Jack as a friend though. My first gay friend. Weird. ## ## One more part to go, maybe. Surprised or unsurprised, outraged or pleased comments to mark_410@hotmail.com are welcome.