Chapter Twenty-Four Secrecy

As morning filtered in through the small cracks in the doorway, I lazily opened my eyes. Gerard wasn’t there. I could still feel him – it felt as if he had just left, the way his sheets still etched his body, and his warmth on me. My body was sticky and grimy, which is how I felt most mornings when I woke up with Gerard. There were some times when we would have numerous showers throughout the day; sweat and paint collected on our tenuous skin. My skin wasn’t as clammy as usual, probably because I had woken up without his body pressed into mine. It wasn’t too often where at least some part of us would be touching the other, grasping for something more. I pressed my sleep-laden eyes shut and my face into the pillow, his smell wafting up to me. It was a distinct odor, half the time scented with cigarettes, and the strong astringent smell of acrylic or other paint. Depending on how long ago he had devoured wine, or we had devoured each other, there would be a pungent odor to him. It smelled so good, despite the invasion each smell was on some days. I was pretty sure I only liked the odor because it reminded me of him. This smell was Gerard, and the moment it hit my nostrils, I was brought back to him. Scent triggers memory, I had always heard, and it was very true, even if the memories that were being triggered were only a few hours old. I had no idea what I smelled like. I couldn’t tell, and really, I was never supposed to.

Now that I was fully awake, frivolous topics gone from my mind, I began to over-think the situation. I panicked. I had been accustomed to waking up in his arms by this point in our relationship. Suddenly, his smell didn’t trigger good memories of the first time he had smoked in front of me, but of the first morning after. Had Gerard abandoned me? Where was he? He couldn’t have gone out to buy supplies; we didn’t need any more. He couldn’t have been going out for food either; there was always fresh bread and cheese in his house, and the wine bottles were still stocked. Even if he was out of food, he would have waited until I woke up to tell me. At least, I thought he would have. I didn’t know for sure; the issue had never come up. The déjà vu feeling hit hard, but there was no way in fucking hell he was leaving me again. Not after the night we had had last night. He had told me almost everything about himself, and his former lovers. We even talked about love, or consumption, as he put it. Whatever it was, we had talked about it.

Did it maybe scare Gerard off? I asked myself, but still not having a clue of the answer. My rushing and irrational thoughts were put at ease in a few moments when I heard the tap running in the bathroom close by. I was able to breathe again. He was still here, and things were still as good as they had ever been. My memories were put at ease, though my body felt stiff and rigid from our lack of movement to sudden thrusts of pleasure during the night, and from the way I had slept. I gingerly extended my arm behind my head, an idea collecting at the back of my mind. I flung the sheets off of me in a hurry, my limbs becoming suddenly healed, and running as quiet as I could out to the kitchen.

Gerard always had to eat the minute he was out of bed. He was constantly going without food for such long periods of time, completely engrossed with his art or me, that when he went to bed, his hunger was still there. It was always so pertinent that in the morning, before anything distracted him, he needed to fill that void. His breakfasts were always huge, involving pot after pot of coffee, some fresh fruit, the thick French bread we ate and the cheese, sometimes butter. Sometimes he had milk, too, but never cereal. It was too commercial for him, he told me. Too much sugar. I had been tempted a few times when I stayed over to bring my box of Frosted Flakes when I had gotten sick of having French bread all the time, but I never bothered. I wasn’t at his place to eat; I was there to consume him.

I knew Gerard would be coming into the kitchen right after whatever he was doing in the bathroom. I hoped he wasn’t showering because I wanted to come inside with him, though I knew we would probably have another chance. Even if we didn’t have sex under the running water, I missed having his fingers in my hair and the acerbic smell of his fancy shampoo. I passed the bathroom quickly, satisfied with only hearing a sink, as I went into the kitchen. Wearing only a devious smile, I hopped up on the table, after clearing away old newspapers and random dishes onto a chair and then lying down completely, my back hitting the cold ceramic. I was going to give Gerard a surprise when he came out of the bathroom. We had had sex on the table a few times before, during our phase of ‘having sex on anything and everything’ (which was still going on), but it was never as planned as this. Usually, we would just be in the kitchen, getting wine or some kind of nourishment, and Gerard would suddenly appear behind me, his hand up my chest and lips on my neck. Then one of us (usually me) was back up on the table, fucking and kissing from awkward angles.

I breathed in, feeling the warm morning light on my skin from the window. For once, we hadn’t slept until noon and Gerard could actually have his breakfast at the appropriate time. And I would be part of the main dish of this breakfast, literally offering myself on a platter to him. I had never felt so devious and seductive in my entire life. I loved it. And I knew Gerard would, too.

It was amazing how easily I could just do this, my legs wide open and ready for the artist in the bathroom. Only a couple weeks ago, I had fought so hard to keep my clothing on, wrapping myself in whatever material I could find. Now, I hated the constricting material just as much as Gerard did. The cool air from the apartment hit my skin, making my nipples perk and my skin tighten with goose bumps. I let my head rest back on the table, my neck too tired of supporting it as my eyelids dwindled as well.

A sudden movement jostled my attention as Gerard completely bypassed my display of affection and went to the kitchen counter to put on a mug of coffee. My head was by the counter he was at, my groin being the first thing he should have seen as he walked into the kitchen, but seemingly didn’t; he made no effort to touch any part of me as he worked, too. It was very unusual for him. Even more unusual was the thick black fabric that coated his legs and his dove blazer wrapped around his shoulders. He was wearing clothing, and when he turned around and took in an eyeful of my naked body and shocked face, he merely took a seat at the table. He placed his mug down and began to stir, the heat radiating into my side.

“Morning,” was all he said, his hand holding up part of his face. He looked at me sloppily, his eyelids half-down. I couldn’t tell whether it was in allure, or if he was still tired. What I did know was that he was acting as if every day a random teenage boy was naked on his kitchen table. And I certainly hoped that wasn’t true.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” I asked, turning on my side a little to meet his gaze. I did not bother to shelter myself at all; in fact, I opened my legs a little wider, just in case Gerard seemed to forget that I was indeed naked. I was being the tempter this time.

He mumbled something, as he put the mug to his face to drink, which sounded like, “I needed to.”

I slid a hand closer to him on the table, reaching over and touching his wrist with delicate fingers. I made my lips pout slightly, having my face furrow down into a puppy dog stare. I was going to toy with him, I had decided, like all the times he did with me. He was the one who had made the no clothing rule, after all, and I was damned if he wasn’t going to adhere to it. He looked so good that morning, too. He had just shaven (not something he did very often; his facial hair barely grew during the week) and his hair was gelled back slightly, his clothing nicely pressed and not wrinkled, almost as if he was going somewhere. It baffled me as to why he would put so much time into his appearance when he was just going to end up naked and panting on the floor in a matter of moments, if I had my way.

Flicking the sleeve collar on the shirt that stuck out of the blazer, accompanied with my pouty face, I proceeded to try and seduce Gerard. “I was hoping we could have some fun on the table,” I whispered, barely above hushed tones. My voice came out smooth and ashy, making my skin constrict even more with goose bumps. Gerard looked at me, surprised by my forwardness and cocked an eyebrow. He began to drink his coffee again complacently and looked behind me at what I assumed to be the fridge, so I sweetened the deal.

“After breakfast, of course. But you can still be naked for that.”

I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth, and apparently, neither could Gerard. He kept looking at me with his skeptical glare, his eyebrows folded and twisted into an odd contortion.

“Well, okay,” he stated hesitantly. “But let’s do that after Vivian comes over.”

I nearly jumped off of the table. My hands leapt forward and covered what I had growing of an erection, now deflated with the mention of Gerard’s best friend’s name. “What?”

He let out a deep belly laugh, bringing his mug to his mouth again. He took his time answering me, savoring his coffee while I squirmed, trying to conceal myself like a fish out of water on his ceramic table.

“She usually comes over every Saturday for breakfast. It’s a tradition we have. She hasn’t been coming the past few times because she had to take Cassandra somewhere, and then her mother was sick. But she told me she was going to make up for it this weekend. Viv’s very good with surprises.” Gerard smiled a little, eyes running up and down my body. Apparently he was going to get two surprises today, and I was going to have a heart attack.

He paused for a minute, though I had a feeling he wanted to say more. His eyes drew away from my body, and he tilted his head to the side, just waiting. Within moments, there was a knock on the door and a smile was thrown on his face, growing wider with each cheery knock.

“That would be her.”

He got up from the table slowly, leaning over me and bringing his lips to mine. I didn’t kiss back, my fear, shock, and humiliation taking away any mobile abilities. Gerard was almost at the door by the time I managed to fling myself off the table.

“Gerard!” I called, my tone high and frantic. I was still cupping myself, using both hands, just in case he decided to open the door anyway. He looked over at me, his face normal as if this was an every day occurrence, but his feet still lead him to the door.

“Yes?” he called evenly.

“What do I do?” I asked, my eyes bulging in out of my head.

“Umm…” he said, biting and playing with his lips, over-exaggerating his features. I could see he was fighting back a smile, losing the battle at the end. “Say hi?” he suggested, looking me up and down. He paused, scrunching up his face a bit. “But wash your hands first.”

He started to laugh again, as I stayed in the same spot, in the entrance of the kitchen not knowing what the fuck to do. I heaved an aggravated sigh, knowing that he was fucking enjoying this torture. I gave up, letting my hands go off of myself at that point as I looked around everywhere to see where my clothes were. All I could spot were my socks balled up in the corner by Gerard’s art supplies. And a lot of good a sock would do me. My heart felt like it was going to explode in my ribcage it was pounding against it so hard, its thumps matching the rhythm of Gerard’s upcoming footsteps to the door. He was calling and talking to Vivian on the other side, none of the conversation saying that he had a fucking naked teenage boy in his living room.

I couldn’t believe Gerard was doing this to me. He was leaving me stranded and exposed, letting someone else into our world. It was his best friend he was letting in; she had seen me before, but that was when I had been wearing clothing. Was this some sort of twisted payback for seeing her naked? I didn’t want to find out. I shouldn’t have even been at Gerard’s place, in theory. If she walked in and put two and two together, then we were both screwed. She could tell people. She was his best friend and supported his lifestyle, but she didn’t know that would include a fucking minor in the mix. Did Gerard want to get caught? Was he really as stupid as he appeared to be just then? His hand was on the fucking doorknob by this point, and there was no stopping him.

But, I told myself for once thinking a rational thought, I could stop myself.

I finally managed to grab real guts to run and get my ass into his room, slamming the black door behind me. I found the lock and slid it over, pressing my back to the door and just breathing. I was safe, or so I thought.

I strained my ears far and wide to hear what the other two adults were talking about on the other side. I heard Vivian’s cheerful distinct throaty laugh as she stepped into the apartment, then a soft enveloping sound that probably meant the two were hugging. There was nothing but mindless banter for a while, asking about the weather, how each other were feeling, while I tried not to breathe too loudly. My lungs felt like they were going to cave in, but I figured I was safe. Maybe I could pretend that I wasn’t there. I could hide out in Gerard’s bedroom until she left, however long that would be. She may not have heard my screams and pleas of help from Gerard on the other side, and she may not see my clothing scattered around. Gerard was an odd one; that clothing and those screams could be for a number of reasons. It didn’t have to mean that a seventeen year old was in his bedroom, still very naked.

For a second, I had some hope that we would not get caught.

“We are eating for three this morning, correct?” I heard Vivian ask, her voice penetrating the door and reverberating inside of my eardrum. I felt my stomach start to rip itself from the walls of my body and just float in the center of the room. My body was killing itself before anything else did, and surely would.

“Yes, three people,” Gerard stated, his voice distinct.

Trying not to breathe and spontaneously combust at the same time, I still held onto some hope. I tried to tell myself that maybe Cassandra, Vivian’s daughter, was the third. My stomach officially sank to my feet when Gerard concluded his ill and vile words. “Frank is just getting ready in my room. He’ll be out in a minute.”

Fuck, was all I could think. Just a whole slew of fucks and Goddammits entered my head and spun like a merry-go-round. Not only did he give my name, but he told her I was in his bedroom. Vivian knew I was coming over to paint, fair enough. But what teenager would come to a man’s house in the morning to have these lessons, and then get ready in his bedroom? One that was fucking the artist. I let my head lean back against the door, slamming it slightly.

“Right, Frank?” Gerard’s voice boomed, shaking the door, or at least my skin on its bones. I thought it couldn’t have gotten worse, but I was wrong.

“Yeah,” I said weakly, my voice small and cracking. I should have just shut my mouth and sunk into the black abyss, but what was the point? She knew I was there. If I didn’t come out, Gerard would have just come in and got me himself. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I heard giggles and laughs of approval as I stepped away from the door, my actions hard and rigid from the menace flowing through me. I was determined that when I did see Gerard, and when we were alone (if we didn’t get taken away by police during the time at which Vivian was here, who knows – maybe she could have been a spy and this was all an elaborate set up) then Gerard was going to get a piece of my mind.

I couldn’t believe the anger flowing through me; I hadn’t felt like this in such a long time, and it angered me even more because I didn’t want to feel this way, especially about Gerard. I had hated feeling this way when it was towards people who deserved it, or at least people I didn’t care about. I cared about Gerard, and I thought he cared about me. Our relationship possessed so much security before that I felt like I could be myself. I could be naked, I could do art – I could fucking display myself on his table and wait for him to do whatever he wanted to me. I didn’t know this is what he had wanted. It was as if he had sawed the table legs off that table, and I was left in a pile of wood. I had splinters all over my body. I hurt. And the only thing that hurt more, was that Gerard had done this, and if I went down for this, he would get it worse.

We had had such a good night last night. Why would he deliberately sabotage himself? I asked myself, not getting anywhere near a reply. This relationship was stressful; there were too many things to hide from too many people. And they were all getting smarter. Sam had actually shown up at my house to deflate my lies. Gerard had invited the a person over. He was just getting dumber, and I was getting fucking pissed off.

I couldn’t find my clothing in the abyss of Gerard’s dark room, so I ended up having to squeeze my way into a pair of his tight pants. They fit very awkwardly, since I was shorter and weighed a bit less than the artist, but it was clothing nonetheless. I had to wear no underwear in them, because I couldn’t find mine and it irked me a little knowing that he did the same. It was odd; I could have his cock up my ass, in my mouth, and in my hand, but the thought of wearing his pants without underwear gave me a squeamish feeling inside. Maybe it was because I was already in a bad mood.

I found one of Gerard’s black button up shirts located in the back of the closet and threw it on, the shoulders way too broad, before I stood in front of the door, working up the nerve to walk outside. I waited forever, trying to breathe in an even tone, and trying not to look as if I had just woken up from being fucked the night before. When I did finally crack open the door and sneak out, they were already conversing at the kitchen table, just like old times. They were sitting across from each other, coffee in both of their hands, a shopping bag next to Vivian’s legs. Her back was to me, but Gerard could see me come out of the room perfectly clear. We locked eyes, but I slowly turned away from his casual arrogant stare, just as I heard the woman’s voice enter my ears.

“Oh, Frank!” Vivian exclaimed.

I heard the screeching of a chair on the linoleum floor and felt her start to come over towards me, wrapping me in a hug once she reached her destination. I had just met this woman before only once, and she was already acting like we were good friends. I probably knew way more about her from last night’s conversation than she knew about me, considering the circumstances. That didn’t seem to matter as her dark strawberry hair (which smelled like the fruit it resembled) grazed my cheek as she tore herself away from the embrace, her blue-green eyes staring at me wide.

“It’s so good to see you again!” she gushed, taking my hand in hers and leading me to the table.

I gave a weak smile and let myself be led, but kept my horrified gaze on Gerard the whole time. He was still sitting, a distinguished smile on his face, which was held up by one of his palms. Vivian led me to the spare chair that she had set up right beside him. I reluctantly sat down, not wanting to draw any more suspicion to exactly what kind of relationship Gerard and I had. This concept of secrecy in our relationship seemed to mean nothing to Gerard, especially as he pulled my chair leg closer to him, taking me by surprise and fright as our knees touched under the table.

“Now that we’re all together,” Vivian started, taking her seat again and looking at the two of us before her. “We can get started on making breakfast. I brought pancakes!”

She donned a high toothed grin, the sides of her face stretching out instead of up to accommodate the expression, making it appear childlike in nature. There was a shrill excitable quality to her voice, adding to her childish ways.

It was so odd to me, seeing adults that still acted as if they were children. I was so used to being around the ones that were in school, at home, or at church, who took life so seriously. They were always serious, whether it was about the weather outside or what they did yesterday. It was always the straight cut and clear answer. There was no joking around. There was smiling, but it was within proper context. Gerard was in his late forties, Vivian in her late thirties, and they were still getting excited over pancakes on a Saturday morning. It boggled my mind, and gave me something to focus on other than the anger that coursed through my veins. I was no longer that angry as I saw Gerard smile and wave his hands in the air playfully at the mention of the breakfast food option. He loved food, he loved Vivian, and I really hoped he loved me. He was just merging all of them in one wholesome combination.

I was over reacting, I told myself. I was being like those adults who never wanted to dip into their youth. I was still in my youth; I might as well be a carefree idiot, right beside Gerard.

I let go of a breath I didn’t know I had been holding, and slipped down into my chair. Gerard looked over at me, and smiled, nodding his head.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered into my ear, getting dangerously close as Vivian began to route through her shopping bags, creating a crinkling noise so she could not hear what was going on between us. I found it hard not to worry, but my thoughts were relocated as I felt Gerard’s hand slip below the table and rest on my thigh. He rubbed it back and forth, his vivid eyes staring at me. I breathed out another jagged breath, wanting desperately for his hand to go further up, but fighting the impulse at the same time.

“Okay,” Vivian said, getting up and holding the box of pancake batter to her face. She arched her hand under the box, creating a Price Is Right pose as she donned another childlike smile. Gerard didn’t turn his face away from me, but I moved with quick stealth to take in an eyeful of Vivian acting like the woman on the box. I giggled louder than I should have, to distract everyone (including me) from the underlying scene at hand.

“Who is going to help me out with this?” she asked, putting the box down by her side and looking back and forth between Gerard and I innocently.

“Frank will,” Gerard answered quickly, leaning back in his chair and removing his hand from my thigh, leaving a chill in its presence. I jumped out of my skin hearing my name and looked back from Gerard to Vivian, unsure of my next move.

“You’re so lazy, Gerard,” the redhead teased, walking over and past Gerard, smacking him with the box lightly on his back.

The counter where the stove was placed was right next to the fridge, right behind where Gerard and I were seated. I was on the edge of my chair, my hands on my knees, alert and ready to move. The kitchen was small and cramped, and my nerves were out of whack, so Vivian directed me to the right position.

“C’mon, Frank,” she laughed, extending her words to exaggerate her point. She grabbed my shoulders from behind, rubbing them as if she were warming me up for a boxing match. “I don’t bite. I just need your help since Gerard is obviously too fancy to get his hands dirty.” She moved her hands over to Gerard, batting at him slightly and messing up his hair.

“Hey!” he called, grabbing her wrist gently and pulling her hand towards his face, nipping at her fingers jestingly.

I felt a wave of jealousy wash over me, a nice change from my normal fear emotion. The only consolation was that the action was far from sexual, like when Gerard did it with me. He was just trying to annoy Vivian by messing up her nails, her most prized piece of her body, just like she had done with Gerard’s most prized, his hair.

I got up from the table and chair and turned around, busying myself with the pan Viv had set out to distract myself from their display of affection.

“I spent all that time getting my hair ready for you,” Gerard teased, giving her back her hand.

“Yeah, right,” she called sarcastically, shuffling away from Gerard and standing beside me, her small body taking up a large amount of room with her attitude. “We all know that you did your hair like that for Frank,” she added, talking to Gerard, but looking at me.

My face went red and I nearly choked on the air I was breathing. Ever since she had stepped through the door, Vivian had not said a thing about the absurdness of the situation we were all in. She seemed to be completely oblivious to Gerard’s hand on my knee, the fact I came out of his room (wearing his clothing, too), and his too close whispering in my ear.

With this remark, she changed my thinking. Vivian joked a lot, but I could tell that this wasn’t one of them. There was a truth behind her words, one that I had always known, but hoped she was still an oblivious child to. The realization hit me hard to the chest, like her elbow jab to my side. I looked over at her, my eyes dark and serious, but only saw a smiling countenance back at me. If she knew something, then she didn’t appear to be upset about it. She was her normal, carefree self. Just with added knowledge that made me nervous. I couldn’t shake the feeling, even as I worked hard on preparing the batter, and I felt like she was staring at me the entire time.

“Frank,” she called, a few moments later after the first pancake was down and cooking. The sounds of the batter popping and fizzing and the heat of the pan cooking them was all I wanted to think about, and I felt the urge to break another glass. I swallowed hard and looked over at her as she leaned against the counter, contented smile on her face. Without warning or asking, she reached a small arm over, running her hand along the collar of Gerard’s apparel that I was suited in. She ran her finger over a crest logo and as I looked down and followed her finger, I realized it was the art school where Gerard and Vivian had attended.

No wonder the thing had been buried at the back of the closet, I told myself, mentally berating myself. It was so old. With this small piece of information that Vivian was running her fingers over, it sealed the fact that I was not in my own clothing. Vivian’s eyes traced back up to me, her smile deepening, another form of a happy understanding behind her aquamarine eyes. She scanned those jewel-like eyes over to Gerard, sharing a laugh with him, before finally returning to me, letting her lips part and words spill forward, making those electric volts of embarrassment render me almost useless.

“I like your shirt.”

The Dove Keeper
Chapter 24
Parts 2 & 3

***

Making the pancakes got my mind off everything that was happening. Once the batter started to hit the pan, and Vivian began to get creative with the shapes she was making, it roused Gerard up from his chair. He saw another opportunity to make art, and he was not going to pass that down, no matter how lazy he was. I even started to get into it a bit, straying from my normal circular pancakes to making a bear claw, while Vivian was determined to get a heart done. She had failed numerous times, because pancakes were not designed for sharp corners. Gerard laughed and teased her the entire time, egging her on and intentionally screwing her up by knocking into her arm as she went to pour in the batter. Even when she was so close to getting it right, and Gerard stuck his finger in the goo, burning himself, but being successful in his destruction mission, Vivian never got mad at him. She pouted and yelled, but you could see in her eyes that it was all good fun.

And that’s what we were having; good fun. It was like we were all friends that all went to that art school in New York whose crest I had adorned on my shirt. Once the red mark was pointed out to me, I noticed that it was of a paint brush and a pallet sewn in red threads on a black (now off-gray) thick collared shirt. When at first the shirt had felt awkward and bulky, it was now like a second skin. I had heard so many stories about art school and all of the amazing things there that when Vivian and Gerard cracked an inside joke, I found myself laughing along. It was still awkward as hell, especially as I felt Gerard’s hand on the small of my back as he leaned in between me and Vivian to watch the pancake batter bubble, but he touched Vivian just as much as he did me.

I knew she thought something was going on, but if we never confirmed it, then we couldn’t get in trouble. That was my philosophy, anyway. I figured it was about time to start making my own, especially since Gerard seemed to be getting stupider by the second. I supposed he thought he was being daring, but nuzzling me with his nose against my neck, rubbing his hands in my hair, and even sneaking a small kiss on my neck, was going to look suspicious, no matter who you were. I felt good when he touched me, especially when I loosened up, but each time I saw Vivian look over at me with that smile, I felt the knots start again. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she just looked for the sake of looking, but it was that smile that drove me up the wall. She was gazing with a purpose; I just hadn’t figured it out yet. The way she bared her teeth, and the light in her eyes, lids slid halfway down just said something else entirely. Vivian was always a person who wore her emotions on her sleeve; you knew what she was thinking. And the fact that I wasn’t sure just then drove me crazier by the second.

At one point, during Gerard and Vivian’s battle to make (or not make) the perfect heart pancake, a batter and flour fight had started. Gerard dipped his finger in the beige goo, coating a thick and goopy line down Vivian’s thin nose. Her mouth opened wide in shock and it was moments before she dipped her whole hand in the bowl. The liquid dripped from her fingers and spread in between them, making a webbing appear before she smacked it lightly over Gerard’s left cheek. The sound was so distinct, so unique; it snapped me right out of my worries. I just watched as they stared at each other for a while, throwing false insults back and forth before Gerard leaned forward and licked the batter of Vivian’s nose. She squealed delight and disbelief as my eyes popped out of my head in the latter of the two emotions. She then proceeded to do the same to Gerard, licking a big glob that had collected at the base of his chin, getting more batter on her face.

I realized that was too intimate for me, and though I knew of all the stories and inside jokes of art school, I could not compute with the relationship they had had back then. I felt jealous, but I knew Gerard was with me; this was just something I didn’t understand and didn’t want to at that moment, so I focused back onto the pancakes. The newest pancake was burning and I was about to flip it over before I felt the same wet mess collide with me as well. It was Vivian, her handprint making the same stain on my face just like Gerard. I stood there for a while looking at both of the adults, older than me by a few decades and didn’t know what to do. I almost felt like if I fought back I would be punished, sent to my room, or something like that. When Vivian insisted I continue, practically threatening to make a pancake out of me if I didn’t, I gingerly dipped my fingers into the cool goo. She closed her eyes and braced herself for retaliation, surprisingly calm and cool. She stretched her arms out, inviting the invasion but I walked past her to Gerard.

I was still slightly mad at him, and decided to show it by rubbing the batter on his shirt under the blazer instead of his face. I chuckled and smiled mischievously and his mouth opened in horror. I heard Vivian’s shrieks of laughter from behind me and felt the biggest grin spread on my face since I had gotten there. I closed my eyes from laughing right along with her, but opened them to find Gerard’s tongue on my face, tracing along my jaw line where the batter was and up to my ear. He flicked his tongue and breathed hard once he reached there, causing my knees to weaken slightly and place the still caked hand on his shoulder for balance.

It was all part of the tiny pancake war we were having, I told myself. Vivian shouldn’t get suspicious over this because Gerard had done it to her, even if it was in a distant ‘art school’ moment, working on past memories. I thought I had rationalized the situation when Gerard just had to make everything more intimate by slipping his hand around my waist, pulling me closer. I pulled away quickly and looked over my shoulder at the redhead to gauge her reaction. Vivian was blinded by the battle, and went after Gerard next.

She switched up her ammunition this time, placing a print of dried flour on his forehead, catching us both by surprise. Gerard found the bag she was working with, and started to blow it across to his former lover, the white particles getting stuck in her hair. There was another few bursts of off-white clouds, and coughing fits from awkward inhalation, and then it was over. We probably could have kept going, but we wanted to be relatively clean for breakfast, and still be able to have some food left to eat with. Vivian was probably the worst damaged out of all of us. She was covered in dust from head to toe, and it seemed like no matter how much she brushed herself off, or shook out her red hair, it just stayed. It didn’t clash so badly with the blue shirt and light pants she was wearing, at least, not as much as Gerard and I, who were mostly wearing black apparel. We had more of the pancake batter on us – Gerard especially, from when I had been mad and rubbed it on his shirt. His dove blazer was long gone, tossed across the room on the couch to prevent his favorite article of clothing from getting ruined. Most of the batter on both of our shirts had turned into a clay like substance in a neutral shade, and was drying quickly. We were able to brush most of it off easier than Viv, since ours chunked and flaked, and I was pleased to see that nothing – not even the flour – had touched the art school logo. It was like it was invincible, standing through the stains of time, and our flour battle.

I could hear my stomach start to growl after we had declared a truce among ourselves, and Gerard’s eyes lit up, his hunger pangs coming back to him and making him antsy to eat. We finished off what little bit of batter we had left quickly, and then took our seats at the table. The delicacy was stacked in an uneven pile with malformed shapes, teetering to the side and threatening to fall at any moment. Vivian rustled in her bag and emerged with butter and syrup, finishing the ensemble completely.

“Thank you, Vivian,” Gerard stated seriously.

He was sitting close to me again, but both hands were on the table, one reaching forward and stabbing a fork in the middle of the pile, sending them all to knock forward. Gerard giggled and took the ones he wanted onto his plate, pleased with his handy work.

“Gerard!” Vivian squealed, trying to reach forward and save the rest of the breakfast before it fell onto his floor. Her face was horrified, but as Gerard started to laugh again, she breathed out and calmed herself down. Her face was so expressive, and the more she moved it, her real age began to seep through. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. The lines around her eyes deepened, and parts of her hair, fell in front of her face, letting the visible silver highlights be seen. I was smiling and laughing along, especially as she threw a small pancake at Gerard, it bouncing off his shirt and landing on his plate to the side. It was so nice to just have fun with people, even if they were decades older than me. It certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Here’s your pancake, Frank,” Vivian dictated, scooping up the bear claw I had made onto my plate, along with a few other ones. I wasn’t too hungry, my nerves quelling any appetite I had in me, but even as I informed Vivian of this, she merely shook her head and gave me even more food.

“You’re a growing boy,” she insisted, giving me a wink that, for once, didn’t give me second thoughts as to what she was thinking. She was just being a mom then. And a very good one at that.

As we ate, Vivian filled our ears with mindless banter about her seemingly fun-filled life. Her daughter was at her mother’s place, the unofficial baby sitter for her. Vivian and Cassandra lived in a townhouse a few blocks over from Gerard, and her mother was just around the corner. Vivian spent a lot of time over there, her mother growing older and older by the second and her health failing fast. She was diabetic, and had broken a hip a few months ago, sending Vivian to find another baby-sitter for six intense weeks. Apparently, Gerard had taken over the duty for a while, reluctantly sucked into doing a favor for his best friend. It had lasted merely a day, Gerard screwing up and leaving his wine out and opened, Cassandra mistaking it for grape juice. She didn’t get drunk, but very, very sleepy and then complained to her mother each time they went to the store to buy the juice that ‘Uncle Gee’ has.

I found it so cute that Cassandra referred to Gerard as her uncle. I couldn’t help but grin like a fool and shoot Gerard glances anytime Vivian mentioned the name. Gerard gave me looks right back and slid his hand onto my thigh, batting me under the table to stop. He was just so composed and enlightened – not an uncle type of figure. If you called someone uncle outside your family, they were usually the happy-go-lucky guy, watching sports and goofing off all the time. My father’s best friend Randy had been my ‘uncle’ when I was around Cassandra’s age, and the only clear memories I have of him are the most unclear ones for him. He was drunk a lot of the time; coming over to my house when he was already plastered to drag my dad out for some fun. He was a mechanic like my father, but still worked with cars and was almost always covered with grease. It may have been his week off, but he would still have the small distinct hue (and odor) on his shirt, knuckles, or shoes. Randy was a good enough guy, but Gerard didn’t fit that model of uncle that had been set up. Then again, Gerard didn’t fit into anything much.

We had gone over the night before about the absence of his own children in his life, and the term uncle just threw me. It was a family term; Gerard was not a family man. He was solid and strong by himself, only choosing to allow some people into his life. But they were never his family. His best friends and lovers. He had a brother, but they were close; just like friends. And his parents were dead now. Gerard just did not fit the confines of the family nickname, and I could see his face cringe whenever I looked at him and Vivian used the term. I knew he only let her get away with it because she was one of those valued people he chose to keep around.

Vivian was back to having her mother as a baby sitter again, Cassandra had overcome her minor alcohol addiction, and things were pretty good for the late-thirties single mother. She had dated a few guys after the father of Cassandra had left, but it was nothing special. Gerard and Cassandra were apparently all she needed for companionship, she stated seriously as she slipped her hand over to rub Gerard’s free wrist. He smiled and nodded, but didn’t say much. Neither of us said much, which was a relief. Sometimes it was just nice to listen to someone else talk for a change.

She worked as an art teacher still, at a local gallery, and was hired out to places, hosting shows and functions in the art community. Jersey actually had an art community, which surprised me to no end. I thought Gerard had been one of a kind with his fruity fascination, but apparently there were more just like him. None quite as eccentric, Vivian assured me when my face dropped at the shocking news, but many that could relate to the artistic field. Vivian was actually getting ready to host an upcoming show, but she was struggling to find new vendors. It was for new artists only, and the newspaper ad wasn’t getting as much hype as she had hoped. Since it was for newer artists, it meant a majority of them were too shy to have people view their work. And in the already existing art field, the ones who thought they were distinguished enough to voice their opinion usually talked down on the beginners, forgetting that they too were once in their very own shoes.

“They’re complete assholes sometimes,” Vivian uttered, her face twisted in disgust.

It was the first time I had heard her talk with such a negative emotion that it surprised me. She had finished her breakfast, crumbs lathered in sticky syrup lining the edge of her plate and her fork. Gerard was still eating, working away on his pile ever-so slowly. He was only eating with one hand, the remaining one still placed on my thigh beneath the table, so it was slowing him down considerably. Gerard had been carelessly and continuously flirting with me, even being daring enough to lick syrup off the side of my face with his pointy tongue in a quick flash, but Vivian either hadn’t noticed or didn’t say anything. It was confusing me to no end, but I was beginning to relax. These people were my friends. I barely finished the mountain of food Vivian had given me, because I felt full with other things.

“I mean,” Vivian continued, grabbing her mug of coffee and holding it tightly, her knuckles showing through her light skin. “We need artists in order to grow as a community. Who cares if they aren’t very good? They need this so they can get critiqued. Critiqued. Not insulted.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes in disgust as she swallowed her coffee. “And really, there is some amazing talent out there. I’ve just gone to Cassandra’s elementary school and seen some of the stuff the little fourth graders do. It’s better than half the shit the pompous assholes produce, and the little kids don’t want any money for it. They thrust the picture at you, and want a hug in return. At most.”

Gerard gave Vivian a look, tipping his head down and narrowing his eyes. Vivian snapped out of her serious banter and shook her head.

“Of course you’re not one of the pompous artists, Gerard,” she insisted, too dramatically so it came off as sarcastic. Gerard gave her a fake scowl and dug his fork into a piece of pancake, chucking the small syrup-covered piece over the table at his best friend. She let out a little yelp, catching it halfway with her hand, and placed it on her plate. Her only retaliation was a snide smile and her tongue pushed past between her peach lips.

“As I was saying,” she began again, drawing her attention away from the so-called pompous artist. “There is a lot of talent out there. Undiscovered talent, too. To make great discoveries, you have to do some not-so-great things, and go to some not-so-great means. If you have to dig under a rock, you do it.” She smiled contentedly, leaning back on her chair, satisfied. There was a small silence to pass, which the only sounds were the clanking of silverware as Gerard finished the rest of his food, and stole a bite off my plate, giving me a quick wink. Vivian seemed to be distracted as she looked around the kitchen, then the back and to Gerard’s art supplies.

“Do you remember your first show, Gerard?” she asked suddenly, a smile draped across her face. Gerard placed down his fork with a slight clang and put his palm to his face, shaking his head in embarrassment.

“I want to forget.”

“Too bad,” Vivian perked up, leaning her chair back into position. “I remember. Might as well tell Frank yourself rather than me sully your name.”

She winked, and Gerard caved.

“It was horrible. I didn’t get the times right and I showed up late,” he breathed out, grunting at his immature attempt. He continued on with his story, even though it was embarrassing him, to tell of no one being able to pronounce his name right, one of the frames breaking, his brother (being the only person from his entire family to actually show up) breaking out in a rash from the food or someone’s paint and having to leave halfway through, and finally, as if the worst had not come yet, someone accusing him of copying another person’s work.

“And I didn’t sell a single thing,” Gerard concluded the story, shaking his head and then looking around the room with a slight bittersweet edge. “Not much has changed.”

We all exchanged a small chuckle, my mind creating vivid images of a much younger, and more awkward Gerard stuffed into a suit that didn’t fit, thrown into a room of strangers and told to dazzle them. He was always so put together that it didn’t make sense. Maybe it was from his experience where he learned to handle himself. Maybe this was a lesson he had taught himself. I wondered if I would be able to possess the self-teaching skills he had.

“But they were good paintings,” Vivian added, bringing the coffee to her peach lips. She paused for a second, a wholesome expression on her face. “Not much has changed there either.”

“Quiet,” Gerard insisted modestly, batting his hand at Vivian and telling her to stop. She merely laughed and took her drink, while Gerard turned towards me. He nuzzled his head against my ear, making shivers go up my spine. I never returned the gestures when he acted on them, unsure of what I really could do. This time was different and I felt my eyes close and my body lean into him slightly, just before he pulled away. I turned and looked at him, a fire in his green eyes.

“I have an idea, Viv,” he said, looking at me as the fire raged, but talking to the other person at the table. I heard Vivian lean back into the counter, an ‘oh no’ type of sigh emitting from her mouth. I cocked my eyebrow at Gerard, wanting to know, and yet fearing where his train of thought was going. If Vivian – his best friend for years – had breathed out a reluctant sigh, this must not have been something good. She knew him better than I ever would. What I knew now was that he was already acting like an idiot today. Things couldn’t get much worse, could they?

They could.

“Frank can be in your show,” Gerard breathed, his smile reaching the tops of his ears. I felt my mouth fall open and my heart lurch in my chest, my mind reeling a mile a minute. No way. He did not just suggest that. My breathing started to quicken, especially as he turned his gaze back to his partner in crime and they began to plan my demise.

“Oh, yes!” Vivian squealed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I remember you telling me about painting lessons. How is he progressing?”

“Very nicely,” Gerard said, a sly smile on his face. I was stiff and unmoving next to him, his hand still on my thigh, but I felt like I wasn’t in the room. They sure as hell were talking about me that way. “I’ll show you his work.”

The warmth from his hand was suddenly removed as he and the red-haired temptress were now descending from the kitchen into the rest of the apartment, Gerard heading for where I had the very limited amount of canvases I had done. Most of my ‘portfolio,’ as Gerard called it, was from the exercises we had done that week or two before we finally were in a relationship. They were nothing special, most of them turning out horribly wrong in my mind, but Gerard had insisted on keeping all of them. I agreed, because there was still that shred of hope that they could be something good. I couldn’t destroy anything, even if I didn’t love it. I had also agreed to make Gerard happy, but never once did I tell him that I wanted other people, strangers in a gallery, to fucking judge them. Vivian had already said that those people were assholes, and Gerard had told me of the horrors of his first show. This was not encouraging. This was not something I had agreed to. It didn’t seem to matter as Gerard pulled them out and began to show Vivian each piece, one by one. She had a grin on her face, her eyes wide as she glanced over my misuse of color and awfully poised brush strokes, but she never said a bad word. Even as she got to my very first portrait of a person that looked like a fire hydrant, she smiled and nodded, mentioning something about Picasso to Gerard. I had walked over to them, being somewhat masochistic in my actions, wanting to know what they were saying. Their backs were to me, shoulders touching and faces close together, chuckling and smiling as they talked about my art like I wasn’t in the fucking room. I felt myself seething, just a little bit, but not enough have myself raise my voice and object to any of this. After all, they were saying nice things. I couldn’t yell at them for complimenting me, even if it felt like an insult.

“I could definitely see this one in the gallery,” Vivian stated, as I walked past the two of them, hopefully reminding them that I wasn’t invisible. Her voice was clear and even as she held up one of my nature pictures, smiling at me as I past. I returned it weakly, knowing she was only being nice. Nature was easier to paint and therefore, the best picture I had done. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I turned away and kept walking, their chatter in the background.

I saw a random flutter of wings over by the window, and continued my journey over there. The dove was on the off-yellow seat cushions of the bench, pecking and cleaning her wings. She looked so beautiful right then, bending her head and neck back to tuck itself away in her wings. She even cooed as she cleaned, her head bobbing between her feathers elegantly. They were spread wide and graceful, white patches contrasting themselves from the faint taupe of her body, just visible underneath the feathers closest to her skin. As she cleaned and this pristine color became visible, it almost looked as if she was going to shed the brown tinge to herself, and fully become the mythical creature that everyone loved. She ceased movement for a moment, looking out of the window, still spreading her wings as if to show people on the other side that she could be the beauty that they saw. That she was this beauty.

I shook my head as the thoughts entered my mind, knowing that I was really hanging out with Gerard too much. He was beginning to make me dissect the most mundane of things, like a bird cleaning itself. I breathed out a feeble sigh, and sat down gingerly on the couch, trying not to disturb the dove. She fluttered a bit, her shock evident, but as she realized her pursuer was a familiar face and hand, she cooed. Bobbing her head, she extended her claw-like feet to sit in my lap.

“She’s so gorgeous,” I heard Vivian gush, a lot closer than she was before. I looked up from petting the soft creature in front of me and saw that both she and Gerard had moved up, standing a few feet in front of me now, proud smiles on their faces. “So what’s her name this week?”

“Umm,” I uttered, struggling to remember the last known artist that Gerard had named her after. I had been taking care of the dove for a while now, during this past week when Gerard had been painting and I wanted something to do, but I never called her by her name. It never registered since Gerard changed it so much.

“Frank,” Gerard answered quickly, getting a startling reaction out of Vivian.

“Really?” she uttered, making large eyes at Gerard.

“Yes. Same as last week. And the week before that.” Gerard looked up from the painting he was holding, giving me an innocuous smile. The memories all came rushing back as a warm sensation formed in the pit of my stomach. I was an artist, and therefore, I could be a dove. I was just really surprised – I had no idea that Gerard had kept the name for so long. And apparently, so was Vivian.

“I never got to be a dove!” she disputed, throwing her arms over her chest like a pouting child.

“You’re not an artist,” Gerard disputed right back. His eyes wandered back over to me again, his voice warm and whole. “Frank is.”

I felt my cheeks grow hot, and the warm sensation in my stomach filtered through me.

“True,” Vivian concurred with Gerard. She flipped her dark curls over her shoulder, placing her hands on her hips. She was feeling more cocky than usual as she uttered her next line. “But I’m a work of art.”

“Or just a piece of work,” Gerard snickered, causing her to bat at him playfully.

We all laughed at bit, myself more so at them than with them. They were just so humorous to watch sometimes. And for once, I wasn’t jealous when they acted like a married couple. I had no reason to be; I was in Gerard’s bed every night I could manage. Not her. No one needed to know it for it to be true.

“I’m proud of you, Frank,” Vivian said, after there had been silence for a little while.

I was caught off guard by her statement, only managing to utter a confused, “Why?”

“Anyone who can get Gerard to not change his mind for weeks is really someone special,” she stated sincerely, nodding her head with an earnest gaze.

I could feel the blood surging in my cheeks. It wasn’t in embarrassment this time – it was pride. My conclusions last night – about me being one of the best relationships Gerard had ever had - were right, or at least, they were at that moment. I was sure the dove was significant in some way. I just couldn’t figure it out at that moment.

I pulled my gaze over to Gerard, red still flirting with the color of my skin on my cheeks. Gerard was looking back down at the painting in his hands, his hair falling over his face, but I could still see his expressive countenance.

“I know,” was all the man in front of me answered. His voice was warm and rich, like the butter we had placed on our pancakes only moments before. There was a silent pause in his breathing, his head cocking to the side slightly as he thought of another thing to add. “He plays guitar, too.”

I crushed my eyes closed, my pride and happiness disappearing and being replaced by nervous energy in my veins again. Vivian’s squeals could be heard once more, and she discarded the artwork that had once held her interest into Gerard’s waiting arms.

“Let me hear!” Vivian insisted, coming over to me. She stood in front of me, her eyes bright and filled with determination. She waved her hands around while bouncing on the soles of her feet, her excitement clearly evident.

“Umm…” I trailed off, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin.

I hated this. I felt like I was being paraded around, like a one-man talent show. Only I didn’t have talent. At least, I didn’t think so. Gerard always kept insisting upon it, even when I told him to stop, but I had learned to live with it - when we were alone. I was getting better at showing him what I was good at, but Vivian was a new spectator. Someone I had to be careful of, be fearful of. She was friendly and lovable, but she was also scary with how excited she was. What if I let her down? She’d never show it, but I still didn’t want to look like a moron. And she wanted to put some of my art on display. I didn’t want to be on display, even when there were only two people in the room. I was hiding away in this apartment, in this secret relationship, for a reason. I didn’t want the outside world to see me because, not only would they not understand Gerard and my relationship, but they wouldn’t understand me. Hell, I didn’t understand myself half the time. I wasn’t going to let anyone else figure me out before I did. It felt like things were falling down around me, just when they got built back up the night before.

I shot Gerard a look and he merely shrugged his shoulders. If he was going to be parading me around like a trophy, then I thought he would at least have more worldly advice other than that.

“Not right now,” I said, my voice coming out blunter than I had meant it to. I didn’t bother to apologize though, because I didn’t feel sorry. I was done with these people for the day. I felt pecking on my pants (actually, Gerard’s pants) and the loose grip of claws working their way over to my arms. The only thing that I felt I could count on was myself and the dove, which were now the same person. Or at least, we had the same name. I knew I could never be as elegant or beautiful as the creature I had on my lap. And I knew I could never be on display.

“Okay,” Vivian said, stopping her frantic movements, but her voice still remaining chipper. She watched me as I stroked the bird, getting up from my seat and walking over to her perch, now outside the cage. I carried the dove in my hand; the other one over top of its smooth outer shell of feathers, making sure it didn’t get away.

“Maybe I should get you a bird, too,” Vivian stated calmly. “Teach you about freedom.”

I looked over at her, the small animal still in my hands, her heart beating fast. That was the thing about small animals; their heart beat ten times as fast as humans. They say it was why they have a shorter life, because your heart can only take so many beats. If it was true, then I would probably die right along side the dove, because my heart always beat fast between my ribcage, that morning particularly bad. Finally though, Vivian had managed to say something that calmed down my heart, prolonging my life by a few extra beats. A few that I would definitely need in the future.

I liked the idea of a dove of my own. I was having fun taking care of Gerard’s, and I was getting used to cleaning her cage. I had gotten bird shit in my hair a few times, but it was worth it hearing her coo in delight when I gave her more food and put a fresh liner down. And I just got into the shower after to get it out with Gerard anyway. It was a win-win situation.

“I already taught him that lesson, Viv,” Gerard cut in, boasting proudly.

“Good,” she declared, looking back at Gerard, then me again. She leaned into me, petting the small bird on her bobbing head. Viv’s lips parted coyly, baring her teeth as her aqua eyes remained on the bird. “I still think he should have one of his own soon. When he doesn’t get to be around yours as much. Freedom is such a hard lesson to learn. Sometimes you need reminders.”

“Tell me about it,” Gerard scoffed, running his hand through his hair, exposing his prominent forehead.

My head twitched to the side, something perking my interest. “When did you have to learn about freedom?” I asked Gerard candidly.

Just like when Vivian had called him uncle, and I had found out the details to his first show, I couldn’t see this other side of Gerard. He was always so put together. He was kind and enlightened. And most of all, he was free. He had taught me that lesson on freedom ages ago now. We had the freedom in our lives to choose what we wanted to do, and he had done that. He wanted to be an artist, and he went for it. Even through the hardships, he was still an artist, and he was still making brilliant pieces. He had made that choice, and he had freedom. I couldn’t see it any other way. He could never have not been any of those character traits. They were already ingrained into who he was, standing right before me. What had he been before? What was he like when he was my age? Didn’t these things stay with you all the time?

“We all have to learn about freedom, Frank,” he sighed, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. I could see a tiredness in his eyes as he began to look around the room, at the buckets of paint and memories written all over the wall, at the dove, and the two most important people in his life, thinking about everything. “But I needed to keep learning about freedom. I seemed to forget the concept after I heard of Raymond’s death. I was happy, but I was confined. Bound. I kept those shackles on that I thought I had shed years ago. I kept thinking of all the things I missed, all the things I hadn’t done. Paris. Being famous. Loving. I kept these things, these unfilled things with me, buried deep inside me. But they didn’t have to be there. I needed to set them free. They needed to fly away.”

He stopped moving, stopped the little bit of pacing he had started, his gaze moving towards Vivian. Her countenance had grown in melancholy, but a smile was still there, proving that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

“And that’s where the dove came in,” Vivian said, barely above a whisper. She continued to pet the bird, letting Gerard pace and continue.

“I needed the bird to show me that I could fly,” Gerard breathed, his voice carrying no emotional bags like his previous statements. “She needed to show me how to fly, and that flying was even possible to someone as old as me. I could be free from everything. My art. My life. My dreams. And more importantly, myself.”

When he stopped this time, he brought his gaze to me from the center of the floor. He placed his arms at his side with a dull thud, from the poised and dignified motioning they had been doing before. “It was a chain of events, a chain of people that set me free. You cannot be free on your own, as ridiculous as that sounds. The whole idea of autonomy is the auto – alone – part. But you need someone to teach you how to be alone, how to be independent, and everything else there is to know. You need someone else there to teach you these things, because without them, nothing would ever happen. You would be lost.”

My heart fluttered. That was exactly what he was doing with me.

“Then how are you ever free?” I probed, feeling like I was cutting into something I wasn’t even a part of. Gerard looked at me quickly, snapped his neck from his first viewpoint, but met me with whole, caring eyes. I was a part of this conversation and this process, as far as he was concerned.

“Ah, that’s the tricky part, the part I was lacking. Or am still lacking…” he trailed off, but didn’t dwell on things as he went right back to his speech. “Once you realize you’re done learning, you cut off all ties. You go into the middle of the woods and never come out again, at least not for a long time. You do something extreme, to prove your freedom. And if you won’t do it, then someone has to for you. Either way, you are free.”

I nodded my head, seeing the correlation with his own life. He secluded himself in his apartment after he realized he could. He did something extreme; never coming out again, only for the essentials. He trapped himself with his art, with his bird, and that in turn set him free.

“And so you got the dove?” I questioned, though it was more so a statement. I looked down at her on my lap, petting her gently. I smiled, thinking of the beauty in the tiny bird holding so much power.

“Yes, I did. And I let go of my past dreams and hopes,” he nodded, brushing his hands down the front of his shirt rather quickly, and finishing up the talking just as fast. “I could really live again.”

The next few moments were only penetrated by the soft coos of the bird that had saved the man’s life before me and Vivian. We all shuffled in our places, hearing the words again and again, appreciating their importance. I thought I had gone deaf it was so quiet, the white noise from the hum of the lamps and the cars outside hurting my ears. The silence was rejuvenating from the mindless banter from before. Gerard had released intelligence and theory into the air, and now we were sponges, soaking it all up unlike the interludes of conversation prior where everything was so light and airy that it rolled off our backs. Nothing was that serious before; just pancakes and mock fighting. Now, we spoke of grave matters, and lives saved from entrapment. I had led the dove back to her perch, her clawed feet scraping as she got on, bobbing her head. She sat high like the regal Queen she was while the rest of us just waited.

“Give me your hands,” Vivian suddenly said, breaking the cool ripple of silent waves.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14