#fictionoftheday

[wordsbydorothy]

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.”

-          Stanza 24: You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

Morning Silence

Chris’ parent’s CRV had that distinct old car scent. It was a mix of Wendy’s fries that rolled under the seat, spilled drinks and sports bags that had accumulated over the years. I leaned the chair back, pulling my feet up to my chest. It was too late for us to be sitting on the Western Esplanade. Two other cars were in the lot, but too far for us to be concerned. In the distance, the light thud of bass from Arawak Cay whispered in my eardrums. I could taste the salt in the ear, but my eyes were focused on the way the ocean battered the shoreline. The waves were rough, hitting the sand over and over.

Three weeks ago I flew back from Atlanta to visit my family. For my own mental health’s sake, I made the decision to stay at a hotel. I loved my family but being alone taught me that the way my family interacted with me only stressed me out. My first night, I ate at hotel’s ramen restaurant, too afraid to walk onto the streets, mostly out of fear that I’d see someone I knew. It was too early. I needed to get settled first. The restaurant was mostly quiet. I saw in a corner, watching stray tourists walking past – aware that I too could now be considered a tourist.

“You straight?” The waiters voice pulled me out of my stare.

I nodded. “Yeah I straight.”

“Une been home in a minute, I could tell,” he laughed.

“That obvious?”

He raised one eyebrow as he poured more sake into my glass and walked away. Pulling out my notepad, I doodled for a moment, biting into an eggroll when I remembered I needed to eat. I was deep in sketching when an all too familiar voice echoed down the hall. I paused, knowing it was too late to pay my bill and escape, so I sat still, hoping I’d blend in with the wall.

The waiter seated Chris and his family directly across from me, but on the opposite side of the restaurant. His sister’s laugh sounded the same as I remembered. I sketched for a moment, letting my hair fall into my face - an attempt to hide it but curiosity got the best of me. I looked. He looked back.

“You sure you good.” The waiter was next to me suddenly. He looked at me, then looked at them, then back at me.

“You know what, this een my business,” he said, leaving the bill on the table. I placed my card on top of it. It was my escape ticket, but I was too afraid to leave. So I sat. The waiter came and took my card but said nothing.  When he brought it back, I stopped him.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

He looked curious for a moment. His eyes seemed to be in search of a story, but it was clear he wasn’t going to ask.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You have a good night ma’am, don’t do nothing too crazy ya hear.”

Closing my sketchbook, I took a deep breath and stood up, making my way towards the exit. As the gap between myself and his table started to close, I looked up once more. His eyes met mine and smiled this time.

“Alyssa,” he waved. His parents and siblings turned. Out the corner of my eye I saw the waiter pour himself a drink.

“Hi,” I whispered. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I said it. He got up, walking towards me and embraced me, but I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. He pulled back, looking at me for a moment then took my hand and pulled me towards his parents. When we got close enough he let go, my hand flying into my back pocket.

“Good evening,” I half smiled.

“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Alyssa,” he said. I knew them already, but they didn’t know me. His brother and sister stared in awe.

“Nice to meet you,” his mom said. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Church,” his sister coughed. He ignored her.

“We used to work together at a firm in Atlanta,” he said.

“So we lying now,” his brother mumbled. He ignored that too.

Chris’ brother and sister knew the full story. For the most part, they took my side. His sister called him out when we were younger for not letting me meet their parents. His brother ignored him when he ghosted me. To some extent, I knew they liked me, but sibling loyalty was a boundary I refused to get in between.

“So you’re visiting,” his dad asked.

“No sir,” I answered. “I’m from here.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well it was nice to meet you.”

I nodded. In the corner the waiter was watching, shaking his head.

“You all have a good night,” I said, backing away. His father had gone back to eating, but his mom looked at me like she saw everything I was feeling. I turned quickly, walking towards the exit when I heard footsteps behind me and a hand grab my wrist.

“Wait,” Chris said.

“For what,” I mumbled.

“I- do you want to get drinks tonight? After I drop them home?”

“Don’t fucking do it,” the voice of the waiter called out.

I stared at him for a moment, about to turn away.

“Room 1172” I mumbled.

“Well Muddafuck,” I heard the waiter say as I turned the corner to walk back to my room.

------

Last winter at the bar, we both agreed we would stay friends for a while. We went out and got drinks, we shopped together, ran the Beltline together in the mornings. Our friendship felt like it was growing into something real. But suddenly, he stopped answering texts. The silence came back and once again, it was just me, my cat and the Atlanta Winter.

It was 2:30am when he knocked on the door. I curled up on the chair unable to sleep when the sharp sound startled me.

“It’s me.” The text lit up my phone. I wanted to text back something snarky, something that said how annoyed I was with him disappearing on me. But there was something about the morning silence that advised against it.

The bright light from the hall felt blinding as I opened the door. He looked at me, his locs in a bun on top of his head, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“You’ll see,” he answered.

I didn’t change. Walking through the hotel in a sports bra and some shorts felt strange, but at the same time it didn’t. His car was parked in front. The valet guys didn’t question or charge him, but I felt their eyes on me. I pulled my hair out of my bun to hide my face again, to avoid their boring eyes.

“Dis gyal can’t be serious,” I heard as the hotel doors opened again. Turning, I looked into the eyes of the waiter and burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls. It was a strange sound to hear early in the morning. He waved at me dismissively and I got in the car, thinking to myself that I really couldn’t be serious at all.

“What was that about,” Chris asked.

“Inside joke,” I said. He stared at me for a moment, then put the car in drive. Nassau at night was peaceful, atleast to the untrained eye. If you listened closely you’d hear sirens in the distant, the late night cruise ship pulling out of the dock, the honk from a driver upset at a pedestrian walking in the road or the steady thud of the night joggers. We passed Go Slow Bend and I stared out to sea. It had always been one of my favorite spots. There was something about the way it was beautiful but could be so deadly that attracted me to it time after time.

He pulled into Western Esplanade and rolled down the windows. He got out the car and I watched him, unsure of what he was doing. Pulling open the trunk I heard the sound of ice clink against a metal cup. When he came back, he passed me a cup that said Calvary Bible on it. I listened as the ice clinked against it, thinking back to memories I had of the place. It almost felt sacrilegious drinking whiskey from it. Then I thought of the way the youth leaders called me a whore. The way the people I called friends turned against me. The way church leaders told me I was ruining the men of the church. But by men they meant Chris.

“Do you not… drink whiskey anymore?”

“No, I do,” I said. “I’m just … thinking.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Calvary Bible,” I answered.

“Oh,” his voice was light then, like he was tiptoeing into a room he knew he wasn’t supposed to be in.

We sat there in silence for a long while, staring at the ocean, the stars, anything but each other. The two cars in the lot left and then it was just us.

“You have a habit of ruining me,” I said. The whiskey had found a home in my veins, and I found strength in it.

“I- what?”

“At Calvary. You knew the power you had, and you let people say what they wanted. You made me the bad guy, and never once corrected your friends,”

“Im so-“ he started but I cut it.

“I’m not done,” I said. “You took so much from me and couldn’t stand up for me. Your parents don’t know me but all your girlfriends before and after me met them. Your best friend made my life a living hell. Then you disappeared. Not once, not twice, but three times. You promised me you wouldn’t leave this time.”

He was quiet then.

“You promised,” I whispered.

I chugged the rest of the whiskey then and got out the car, tossing the cup into the ocean. The waves pushed it against the sea wall and it clanged. Against the nights silence it was loud, echoing down the beach. I felt it in my bones, that echo. It felt like dragging nails down a chalkboard. So I screamed. I screamed against the waves crashing the shore. I screamed because I was in pain and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Then I turned, tears in my eyes and sat down in the car.

We were quiet then. Everything was. The ocean went still. The light thud from Arawak Cay had stopped. The sound of the windows going up startled me. Then his hand was on my knee. I stared at it, not sure what to think. So the whiskey thought for me. I pulled myself over the passenger seat and sat in his lap. Pulling his cup out of his hand and placing it in the cup holder, I looked at him. I looked at the man I knew I loved but shouldn’t. Reaching over, I cracked the window slightly then put my hand against his heart.

“I don’t want you to feel the way I feel, it would ruin you” I said. “This pain, it would kill you.”

Pressing my lips against his, I didn’t let myself think, I just let it happen. It was the only way he could understand what I felt. This was the only way to express the anguish that had made a home in my heart. First kisses turned to last kisses. I was present in my skin but watching myself simultaneously. For a moment it seemed there was no end, just a means for us to explain the way the words we could no longer say. When we finished he was in tears. They fell down his face like a torrential rain. He reached to cup my face, but I pulled away, shifting back to the passenger seat.

He does not move. He lies where he has fallen, and I stare at the orange light creeping up along the horizon.

- to love a church boy is to break your heart