California
James saw him from across the street in his customary tight white t-shirt and rugged jeans with a hand swipe of axel grease across the back. He had a new haircut which was tight and short, the way the boy had always told James that a man should look. James’ shoulder length curls that started black and subtly peppered into grey made the pair look like some hippy father and his rebelling straight edge son who had found God.
James tried to look casual as Harry, or Harold as he introduced himself to strangers, waited for the light to turn.
“Harry.”
“James.”
“It was nice of you to call. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah. Funny me calling you this time. Where do you think we should go?”
James steadied himself on a handrail before answering, “I know a place nearby.”
“Well, it better be nice because I have some news to tell you.”
“Only the best for the little prince.”
Harry blushed and picked up the paper bag of wine bottles. James poorly concealed a half-empty bottle of shiraz in his tweed sports coat.
“How are the wife and kid,” Harry asked, easing James into conversation.
“They’re fine. One always loves me, and the other always hates me. It's as if they have an agreement about switching off so that I never get too high or low.”
A silence passed in which James assumed Harry expected him to continue talking about his family.
“Do you want the news now or should I wait? Build it up a little.”
James didn’t seem to hear him, “I hate the fucking useless open bottle laws here. Maybe I should go to Europe and teach.”
He retrieved the open bottle from his jacket and stole a quick sip before handing it over to Harry.
“That would be amazing and really good for you.”
“You know the first time I saw Notre Dame was with a beer in my hand. Walking down the Quai Saint-Michel along the river, gliding gracefully through the stands selling all the tourist kitsch. I felt like a ballerina, avoiding falling boulders. And then suddenly, boom, there it was in front of me. Immense and gorgeous.”
“And you had a drink to celebrate the moment with.”
“Now look at me. I feel like I'm selling stolen jewelry or flashing old women walking their dogs. I can’t believe I’m an adult hiding this thing in my coat.”
Harry drank from the bottle, careful not to dribble red wine on his shirt.
“And there isn't any Notre Dame,” Harry said, as he handed back the bottle.
“It's funny, I always think I'm going to know what places look like. You see so many pictures and hear stories, then in that first moment it’s in front of you, you realize that you had no idea. Not fully at least, until you saw it.”
He paused to drink and refasten the screw cap before continuing, “And a partial idea of something is almost worse than no idea at all.”
“That can’t be true. Nobody can ever fully know anything. And having some idea has got to be moving you closer to some kind of understanding. Besides just seeing something doesn't mean you understand or know it either.”
“It feels like as soon as I get an idea of something, however small, I make my mind up on the matter and everything after is just evidence to prove whatever point I think I know. Nothing new grows, just my justification for my beliefs.”
Walking briskly, they took a succession of quick turns down small lanes and alleys, ending up in a simple park with well-tended flower beds. Bordering the park was a small church with a simple brick spire. They sat together on a wooden park bench facing the church.
“It's nice here. Quiet. But not too private,” observed Harry.
James finished off the bottle in his jacket while Harry unscrewed a fresh one.
“We're not here for that. I'm too sad and drunk for that.”
“I thought you had to be drunk.”
“If I was just drunk it would be fun. Or even just sad it would be desperate and gentle, something memorable and moving. But the combination just makes me tired.”
He took a gulp of wine before handing the bottle to Harry.
James continued in a forced tone, “So. Before telling your news, I think it's best I get the awkward stuff out of the way.”
“James. It's alright. You don't have to say anything, let's just let it be the past.”
“No,” James stated firmly. “I was unfair to you, and you need to know that.”
“This stuff happens. People get caught up in things and we never talked about it. You knew it was happening, but seeing it is another thing. You were drunk and it was a surprise.”
“I just want you to know that you didn't do anything wrong. It's important that you understand that. All that shit is on me. It's about me.”
There was a pause where neither of them drank, instead just staring emptily at the church and warm light around it.
“I'm alright,” the boy finally said. “You don't have to worry. I'm not carrying around your extra shit as well.”
“I'm so sorry. I felt these feelings for you, and I know it’s childish. Just, you opened me up to so many things, beautiful things and when I saw you in the bar, the bar where we had met, with that nasty old Queen.”
James looked down, holding back tears. He searched for the bottle, finding it with his eyes in Harry's hands. Instead of asking him for it he opened and closed his hands.
“It was just hard is all. And I hate myself for being jealous and I hate even more the scene I made. Those awful things I said.”
“It's alright James. I know you didn't intend for any of it to happen.”
Drinking had turned Harry's cheeks pink, making him look even fresher and younger than usual.
“I still haven't gone back there. Which is sad because it always reminded me of when we first met.”
James took a moment to deflate, exhaling all the feelings crawling around his chest.
“I can’t help but get sentimental about it.”
“That's alright. Sentimental is nice. It's harder to be sentimental than cold. It's braver to be gentle.”
There was a drinkers’ pause and the mood lightened. James' awareness broadened, and he heard birds chirping in the trees and could smell fresh cut grass hanging in the warm breeze. Dusk was beginning to hover over them, giving a soft dull glow to everything. His hand dropped to Harry's knee, making a loud slapping sound.
“Now that is over. Let's hear your news.”
“Well,' Harry started, 'I'm moving to LA. A friend of mine is starting his own garage out there and asked me if I wanted a job.”
“California?”
“Yeah, I know. I've never been but summer is coming to an end, and I can’t imagine another winter in this fucking place. I've never even seen the ocean before. Can you believe that? I'm 24 and haven't even gotten to the edge of this country in all that time.”
James felt drunk and was self-conscious with his words.
“That's great,” he finally managed, but it sounded fake and sarcastic.
“Honestly,' he tried again. “That sounds really good for you. And don't worry, you're still young, you have your whole life to get bored of the ocean.”
“That sounds like something jaded professors say to appear like they really understand the world.”
“Experience has to entitle a person to something, even if it is only cynicism.”
They sat quietly in the gathering dusk. They alternated drinks from the bottom half of the bottle. James felt ugly, he could feel his saggy body underneath the layers of semi-formal attire. Out of his peripheral he admired the taut triceps and forearms of Harry as he brought the bottle to his lips and drank.
“It was nice of you to call and say goodbye,” James mentioned.
Harry smiled sheepishly at him. His teeth had turned grey from the red wine.
“For old times’ sake,” he responded. “For both of us.”
James caught himself drunkenly starring and spoke with more pace to keep himself from falling into thought.
“What about this new job? It has to pay better than that scumbag who pays you under the table now. Cheap ass won’t even properly employee you.”
“Yep. My friend even said if I start now, I can be a part owner. Only like 5% or something to start with but all aboveboard.”
“Maybe you will be able to quit your side work?”
“Yeah.”
Harry's voice trailed off as he dwelled on this last remark. James wondered if it was the first time he had considered stopping.
“If I save a little money, I can get a place of my own. They say LA just keeps going and going so there is a lot of room if you don’t mind driving. All my life I've only been getting by and never beginning anything real. It would be nice you know, to have something like you have.”
James smiled, “Yeah, it is nice. The only trouble with starting something is it becomes hard to stop or change. But I guess that's no reason to do nothing. We all have to make choices eventually. California seems like the perfect place for a beginning. The end of the country. You will do great things out there.”
Harry scooted closer to James and put his arm around him, “I'll miss you, too.”
He rested his head on James' shoulder. The smell of his shampoo reached James' nose, it reminded him of a sea breeze. He coughed, spluttering as he tried holding it in, interrupting the moment.
“No need to get sentimental,” he joked, wiping moisture away from the corner of his eyes.
Harry sat up smiling and they both instinctively looked around to make sure nobody had seen them.
“And you, old man?” Harry asked. “What will you do?”
James contemplated the question solemnly.
“Who knows. Probably just wish for spring in winter and then dread winter for the rest of the year. Then keep repeating that cycle until I'm senile.”
“Oh, come on. You're not that old. There must be something you want to do.”
James finished the final drink of the last bottle, which usually meant it was time to leave.
“I have my family. It would be nice to travel again, especially when my son is a little older. I like the idea of revisiting places I saw when I was younger. Matching my memories against real things.”
“That sounds nice. Like something people are supposed to do. The finishing of a circle.”
It was becoming chilly in the fading light. Harry put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked as if he was searching for more to say. He always tries so hard to comfort me, thought James. A great welling of emotions rushed into James' chest. He focused his eyes on the steeple of the church, counting the bricks to calm himself. A loud dong echoed from the bell marking the passing of another hour of everyone's time.
“Maybe I will just focus on having really excellent breakfasts,” said James.
“What?”
“I've wasted many a breakfast in my day and perhaps I will dedicate the rest of my time to righting that wrong.”
Harry smiled but didn't laugh.
“Well, it’s probably about that time,” announced James. “I want to give you something. Just a little money.”
James started looking through his wallet.
“But where do you want to go?”
“No. Not for anything like that. Just something to help you start your new life.”
“You don't have to do that James. Really. We can go somewhere, or you can just keep your money.”
“Please, just let me be your friend.”
Harry straightened himself. His face hardened and he clarified his speech which had started to become drowsy.
“I don't know if I'm going to stop. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. But you're not going to spend your money to buy me. I don’t want to owe anyone anything.”
James stopped looking for more bills in his wallet and fought the stinging tears he felt forming in his eyes.
“I'm sorry. It's not that you are leaving. Or what you do. Slowly I'm realizing that all of life I just keep letting people go. And every moment of happiness is suffocated by the volume of loneliness and sadness it births. I love you in my way and that already haunts me. And I don't know how to ever stop because I need these feelings to keep living. But it makes me feel like I am living just for this tiny break from all the loneliness. As if I stumbled onto an oasis which I know I must shortly leave. I'm just so tired.”
Harry softened, putting his arm around James, and holding him like they were high school sweethearts.
“It's going to be ok. You know it is. For both of us. That's why you’re sad. Because time will show you weren't so dependent on me, and it scares you that those feelings can disappear.”
James stifled his tears by sniffing several times. He responded with a curt laugh.
“You probably tell all your boys that.”
Harry smiled and squeezed him.
“Ok, here,” James said. “I don't care what you say or why I shouldn't give it to you.”
The boy took the wad of bills from James willingly, quickly stuffing them in his pocket. Then he kissed James on the lips. Lingering for a moment, just long enough to allow moisture to pass between them, before pulling slowly away.
“I guess I should probably go. You aren't supposed to linger. Even though it’s our instinct,” Harry said.
“Our instincts always seem to be wrong regarding love. I think I'll stay here for a bit and think.”
“OK, James.” Harry stood and rested his hand on James' shoulder. James reached up and gave it some light pressure.
“Goodbye.”
The next thing he knew, he was watching Harry walk away. The boy didn't turn back. James began to lightly tremble. Darkness began to settle over the park, squeezing the light out of the sky. Everything became bleaker, the church, flowers, even the children’s’ seesaws and jungle gyms lost their genuineness.
Hopelessness filled James and tightness gripped his chest. Suddenly, out of the darkness little bulbs of glowing light flashed into existence. Dozens of them wafted in and out of the night. They vibrated between lightness and darkness, creating a kaleidoscope of metamorphosing designs all around him. The lightning bugs had been summoned by the darkness and marked this occasion in his life, this new lost love, with their scattered dance. He watched for a short while, listening to passing cars, the blowing wind, a dog barking somewhere, a porch door slamming shut, all the subtle signs of life from the surrounding neighborhood. Finally, he stood and walked unsteadily in the direction of home, not entirely sure he didn't want to get sidetracked on the way.
Michael Harper is a MFA candidate at the University of Idaho. Previously he taught kindergarten in Vienna. His most recent work has appeared in Hobart, Manzano Mountain Review, Litro Journal, Grey Sparrow Journal, and Decomp Journal.
