Sunflowers (Tournesols) II 9 страница

Of course, I never got to do my political stunt, and most of these arguments only got to exist in my head, because Vivian was dead-set on her decision, and seemed to anticipate most of the resistance she would get.

"It sucks, I know. It feels like lying. But lying is a creative act..." and she went off on another tangent as she drove. Gerard was sitting in the front seat as well, so I couldn't even really try to communicate my distress with him. He was looking out the window a lot, as if he was trying to remember and reassemble the city and the other parts of it we had not seen on the prior day. I slouched into the backseat of the car, my arms crossed over my chest, and listened as I let some of my anger melt away when I finally realized where she had been driving us.

"Savers?" I asked. "We're going to get interview and dressy clothing at a thrift store?"

Vivian made eye contact with me through the rear-view mirror. "Mmmhmm. It makes the most sense as far as money goes, and besides, it will be a treasure hunt. Maybe if you consider that you're just playing dress up for work, it may be easier."

I was sold, in spite of my scepticism and resistance. I loved thrift stores, and when Vivian put the clothing hunt in perspective and linked it with finding treasure, and then, playing make-believe, I realized she was brilliant. She had won me over, and I kicked myself internally for ever having doubted her. She was difficult and so extremely practical that I wanted to scream sometimes, but she made up for it in the best ways possible. Just when I thought I had lost her allegiance, she did something like this. I remembered the years and years that Jasmine and I had come here, especially around Halloween, to get our costumes, or around Christmas to get really ridiculous sweaters and interesting gifts. In the backseat I was animated and already browsing down aisles in my mind. When the car was parked, and all three of us began to walk towards the stores, my excitement clearly visible, and I actually thought my mind had somehow fractured and I was now blurring reality and fantasy. I saw Jasmine walking down the street on the opposite side of the store and I almost didn't think she was there. I didn't say anything at first, not until Vivian saw her as well.

"Jasmine is wearing the same clothing as well!" she exclaimed, putting her hand to her head in a mock dramatic fashion. So I was not dreaming, I told myself. I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, as Viv continued in an exasperated tone, "Does anyone here have a little variety in day to day life?"

Jasmine wasn't wearing exactly the same thing. She had the same purple dress from before, but over a gray shirt underneath, and she was wearing jeans and not tights. She looked a bit funny, hiding it all under a parka that was unzipped. It seemed like she had mashed all the seasonal clothing she had into one outfit, but it was becoming. She looked really good. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail, and it was stuffed inside the hood of the parka. I had no idea her hair had gotten so long; if she had taken it out of the hair tie, it would have probably stretched past her breasts. I wondered where she was going at this time of day, and what she was doing.

"Hey, Jasmine!" I called over to her and not waiting for a response before I crossed the street. She seemed bewildered by my call, and it took her forever to locate me as the one who had made it.

"Oh, Frank," she finally said as I stood beside her. She furrowed her eyebrows, as if this had been the first time she had seen me in months, when it was really the second. "What are you doing here?"

"Viv is taking Gerard and I clothing shopping. We kind of need it..." I said, motioning to my t-shirt underneath my very thin jacket. I began to feel the December wind whip through me. "You should come with us. If you're not busy, that is? What are you doing out here? How are you?"

She laughed at my sudden round of questions. "I just came back from the magazine. I'm a little tired, so I don't think I'll go."

"No, come on, you need to learn the art of clothing as well. You can't keep wearing the same dress over and over again," I said, taking on a tone that mimicked Viv's from this morning. I wasn't sure if Jasmine picked up on it or not, because her eyes immediately went to her dress.

"I like it...."

"And I like my t-shirts. Come on, before Viv gets mad at me for wasting time." I took her arm and began to drag her with me. She went with me mutely, but as we got inside the doors, her eyes lit up and she seemed just as excited as I was.

"Vivian says to look at it like dress-up. You down for that?"

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "I think I may be a little too old for dress-up. But the books here are always nice. I'll be there," she said, and just as quickly as I had spotted her, she disappeared into the depths of the store. Feeling a little bit dejected, I scanned to see if I could find Gerard and Vivian. They were in the far back corner, by the dressing rooms, and already engaged in something. Vivian was taking care of Gerard, and he seemed to be relieved - and happy? It was hard to tell from the entrance of the store, but I could understand, at least a little, where Gerard was coming from. He had known Vivian far longer than I had, and he had been gone a lot longer as well. The night of the dinner he had been focused on his brother and catching up with him and his family life. Now it was Vivian's turn. He needed to be alone with her, even if under the premise of buying new clothing. It may have been the only way that Viv would let down her guard a bit and be vulnerable with him. I secretly hoped she was playing dress-up too, and that Gerard could convince her with matching costumes, or something equally ridiculous, so they could both retain some childlike innocence for the day.

Meanwhile, I was on my own. Jasmine had disappeared, but not for long, I knew. She had the same look of amazement that I had had as well, and I knew that was not going anywhere. Her exit was not a ruse to get out of the store, but to acquire more time for exploration. I was happy for her, but this meant that I now needed to find formal clothing on my own. I turned the opposite way Jasmine had, and began my descent into the aisles.

The store took on a new sadness to me then, one I was not wholly familiar or comfortable with. I walked past the shelves of toys and games, boxes spilling open, and passageways full of unattended children. My alarm took me by surprise; I slowed my pace and looked around to see if I could find an adult close by. The closest I got was a woman in the baby clothing section, cart heaped, and casually looking over. Considering the stories I heard about child napping on a daily basis in Jersey, I thought parents would be more vigilant. Walking past that, I was now in the winter section full of hats and scarves and even ties. I pulled at a few of them, and found one with a snowman on it, which made me smile. I doubted that Viv would approve, so I grabbed a light blue one with small yellow triangles on it and hoped that one out of the four of us knew how to tie it.

As I waded through the collared dress shirts and suit jackets, everything felt stiff. My hands seized up, dried out from the recycled air, the fluorescent lights, and lack of sleep. The skin on my face felt tight; I had not shaved that morning, and I ran my hand on the underside of my jaw, feeling scratchy stubble and the beginnings of some acne. I shuddered at how I was still getting acne, and lamented Vivian's words about my age. Maybe I was still a teenager, in a lot of ways. I passed over a couple of wool suits, not bothering to try them on, because I knew they would make me itch even more. Their antiquity scared me, and I began to wonder who had died in this clothing, or who it belonged to before they had died. Before today, I was used to coming here and finding treasures and toys; things that I didn't believe had a history. Now holding a large suit which seemed to possess the weight of the world, I was not so sure. Everything had a history. These items were all used, and it was their second time around, or maybe even third or fourth. The toys that I had played with before were now amusing those unattended kids. I had never considered their transition from one place to another, from one time period and childhood to another. Death loomed all around me, like the coat hangers on the suits. Had those previous kids died? Maybe they had, but not in the same way that the man wearing the wool suit had. Something did die, it had to, in order for these items to end up here. Maybe it was innocence, the end of childhood, the end of a household, or something more sinister. Everything in this place had experience a death, and since it was material that could not biodegrade or become buried, it ended up here. Now, in limbo, transported from history, waiting for something else. Where did the clothes and the other items go that weren't sold? Was it shipped to a new store? A new country? How many lives were left unlived, how many people had touched what I was touching? It sent a chill up my spine, and I wanted to discard all I held onto, but I didn't. I knew I needed it for Vivian's sake, and I held onto it, but I knew I was done with the clothing portion of my shopping that day. I had a shirt, tie, jacket, and pants and I hoped they all fit. I didn't even want to try them on, at least, not before washing away anything that still clung to the fibres. I moved away from here, and tried to find the others. I weaved in and out of the aisles, feeling as if I could not escape, and seeing no one familiar. Vivian and Gerard were no longer at the booths and from the one side of the bookshelf that I could see, there was no Jasmine. Finally, from a corner mirror that was supposed to catch shoplifters, I saw Jasmine's parka hood and a bundle of blond hair sticking around from the other side of the shelf. I made my way there in a hurry.

"Hey, how's it going?" I asked, and startled her so much that she ended up dropping the pile of books she was holding.

"Oh, Frank. Fuck! Don't sneak up like that!" she said angrily, and then in a moment, began to laugh as she looked at her pile on the ground. "I guess I was going a little bit overboard here, but there are so many great titles."

We both crouched and began to pick up what was spilled. I felt my heart began to beat faster, remembering all our conversations about merging art with books. I looked at the titles each time before I handed them back to her. I saw Germinal among them, and as I gave it back to her, I gushed: "I know this book. Gerard told me about it yesterday. It's part of French lit."

She smiled as held it under her arm. "A professor years ago told me to read it. I didn't have time then, and I don't know why I think I have time now." She shrugged and began to pick up more. Then, taking advantage of my eager attitude towards books, once we stood up again, she began to pick up more that hadn't appealed to her first time around. "Have you heard of this? Or this? It's a must read," she went on, and pointed to books. The majority of my responses were no, I hadn't read or even heard of that, and yes, of course, I would buy them when I had a job and money and come and discuss them with her when I was done.

"I don't think Viv would be too impressed if I started to pile my basket or cart with something other than clothing right now," I told Jasmine, and she nodded, but didn't stop telling me titles. I didn't want her to.

"How much do you know about myth?" she asked me. "There's a lot here, but not everything is good. I like this."

She held out a copy of Dante's The Divine Comedy. It was huge, but she explained to me that it was broken up into many different parts. "It's about a guy that has to go through hell - literally - to get back the person he loves. Beatrice. He goes through all the seven layers, limbo, purgatory, what have you, just to be with someone."

I smiled as she told me this, making connections to my own life. I had definitely waded through seven layers of hell - in years - in order to get where I wanted to go. I wanted to buy the book, but I wasn't too keen on the hell imagery and the idea of limbo and purgatory, especially given where we were right then. I saw each item of clothing as something else I needed to wade through to get where I needed to. Hopefully, holding what I did have in my hand, would be sufficient enough for everyone.

When I looked back to Jasmine, she was still smiling, but put the book back on the shelf. "Yes," she said, talking in a more direct and forward tone, "There is a lot of myth here. Edith Hamilton, Ovid, and about a million Bibles. Good stuff, so long as you remember it's all just stories. There are some good novels, here, too." She looked down at the few books remaining in her hands and then put them all back, lingering a little longer on Germinal than the rest. "I suppose I could just borrow this from you if I ever wanted to read it. I shouldn't be buying things right now. I have what I need."

She turned away from me, and began to walk away towards the front of the store. I followed her. I wasn't done yet, something didn't feel quite right. I enjoyed what we had at the bookshelf. That had been the only part that felt like the treasure hunt that I had come in for, something spectacular and magical, even when we did talk about hell and purgatory. I remembered all the Halloweens, the Christmases, and the summer vacations that she and I had come in here and found something great or hilarious. I wanted to do it again, but we were running out of time. I was running after her, in the long aisles, weaving in and out.

"Well, Frank," she stated, turning around. She was at the door, now, but was still lingering. "I should go back to the magazine. My lunch break is pretty much done. I guess I'll see you..." She stopped for a second, and it took me awhile to realize that her dialogue was not waiting for a response; she had paused because her eyes had caught something in the distance. I turned my gaze to follow hers, and saw the sweater rack lined up with ugly item after ugly item. It was December, and most of the ones occupying space were Christmas ones with gaudy reindeers and bells for buttons. But mismatched among the yuletide ruins was a white cardigan with a purple insignia in the corner. Jasmine, being attuned to such things, must have realized it formed a flower from her position all the way at the entrance. I could tell that something about the sweater had struck her, something about it made her want it. Maybe it was cold in her office and she knew that it would be a practical thing to have. Or maybe she just desired something so useless and to some, ugly, and wanted it anyway.

She didn't move, though. Vivian's practically had rubbed off on her - or maybe she really did have to get back to the magazine. But in an instant, almost as quickly as her attention had been distracted, she was back on track. "Anyway, Frank. I'll see you around."

"When?" I asked, not wanting to watch her walk away.

She was taken aback, used to the stock phrase not being questioned. She answered the only way she was used to now, using work as a masking element: "You should submit something to the magazine."

"I don't know if I want to sell out that way, just because I can and just because I need the money."

"Fine. Suit yourself. I'll see you around some other time, then."

I was stunned. I had expected an argument out of her like I had with Vivian and Gerard in the morning. I purposely answered with a bit of an exaggerated statement in order to prompt an argument. I wanted to hear her defend herself and her magazine, to ask me to submit again. I wanted her to fight for me, because I would have fought for her. She let me go, though, knowing that she didn't need to change my mind, or that she didn't feel the need to, I could not tell. We waved to one another through the pane of glass in the exit, and her small smile gave me a flicker of hope.

I turned around from the exit after she was gone. It was getting cold and the automatic open kept ushering in December air. I saw Gerard and Vivian at the cashier looking at the jewellery case, purely to pass time. Vivian locked eyes with me and insisted I come over, but I wasn't done yet. I walked over to the sweater display, and put my hands on the white cardigan. It was a flower in the left corner of it, and on the back, there were more, nestled together at the base. The garment walked a fine line between garish and cute. I couldn't tell what direction it was going in more, and it didn't matter. I had seen the way Jasmine's eyes lit up and that was all I needed. I put the sweater under my arm and joined the other two at the register.

"You find something good? Tried it on?" Vivian narrowed her eyes, testing me. I swallowed and said yes, I had. I was sure they all fit anyway, and if not, Vivian could alter it.

"Great," she took my pile of clothing from me, her eyes grazing over the cardigan and smiling. "I guess this is for Jasmine? The flower, I mean?"

I nodded, not sure what else to say. I figured that was what had caught her attention in the first place; it was almost like having one of those pencils when you were younger that displayed your ownership just in case anyone forgot. This was slightly more covert, but it said Jasmine nonetheless to me. By this time, Gerard's attention was caught, and he furrowed his brow as he looked at the article of clothing. I expected him to say something about how art could be found in the least likely of places, but he zoned in on our assumptions instead.

"Jasmine flowers are white. This looks like..." He traced his finger around the bumps and ridges of the petals, all piled up on top of one another, and forming this massive bud. He struggled to remember flower names.

"Lavender?" I suggested, and he shook his head. Giving up and relinquishing the item to Vivian, he let out a disappointed breath. "It'll come back to me."

"Frank," Vivian commented, getting us all back on track. "Can you do me a favour?"

I agreed immediately, knowing that in the end, I really had no choice. I also felt like I owed her something, a lot, especially given the way she was handling our stuff, I knew she was paying.

"Great. I was talking to the manager when Gerard was trying on clothing, and he wants you to fill out an application, and come in for an interview tomorrow morning." She motioned to the man behind the jewellery counter, who had been holding a watch out to Gerard to see before I came along. The mere thought of a professional interview made me panic, but I knew there was no way out of this hell but forward. I nodded to Viv, and she uttered another "Great!" and introduced me to Mr. Bradshaw, Terry for short, as Gerard went outside to smoke.

Terry was a large man, over six feet tall, and I felt like I was back in grade school and the teacher was towering over me. To give him and Vivian credit, he was a nice man. His handshake was firm and his voice was booming, but he treated me with respect as he explained some boxes on the application and we worked out a time for ten am the next morning. I smiled and did everything I was supposed to do, but it felt hollow. I couldn't even pretend I was playing dress up, because I was still in my old clothing. I was not hiding anything, and yet, I was so completely fake. I tried to ignore the feeling and not mention anything to Vivian.

After she cashed out, and my mini-interview was over, we walked outside to join Gerard. He was just butting out his cigarette. We all got back into the car and drove back mostly in silence. Vivian also stopped off at a grocery store and took us both around like children, giving us different parts of the list to follow and get for our apartment. We obliged, and when we took it all back, we put it away tidily. Vivian reminded me again about my interview and I nodded, feeling exhausted all ready.

"Okay, you two. I think we've done enough for today, and I appreciate your cooperation," she said casually, just as she was leaving. Gerard gave her a quick kiss, and a small thank you, but even he was too tired to do much more than that. Vivian was the best friend that he and I had ever had. But one thing was for certain; I couldn't underestimate her. In one day, I felt as if I had aged ten years and done so much. I was used to our days in Paris being languidly stretched out from hour to hour. Never bored or slow, just there and preset. This was a chaotic frenzy and it took me awhile to sort out the assault of images that I had been given. I flopped down on our mattress, and wished that I had bought a book on myth, just to have an easy escape. Gerard flopped down next to me, and he seemed to sink the mattress down even farther with all the weight of years between us. I grabbed his hand, and he began to kiss my face, and we began to undress ourselves and take the stress with it.

As he kissed my face, he stayed around my neck and ears, sending chills down my spine as he did. I took off most of my clothing myself, wanting to be rid of the markers of adulthood - albeit threadbare and worn markers at that. I was in my underwear as I leaned over him, placing myself in between his legs and returning the neck and ear embraces that he had just given me. I ran my fingers through his long and somewhat dirty hair and began to unbutton his shirt as I made my way down. His jacket he had already discarded before we laid down, and now there was quite an impressive pile of clothing next to our bed. His chest was bare now, and I ran my hands up and down his skin, which was now much looser and more transparent than I had ever remembered it being. I made a mental note to make him eat more Count Chocula, and to feed him peanut butter right from the jar that we had just gotten to help him fill out his body again and to give me something to hold. But until then, I loved what I had in front of me.

I kissed my way from his clavicle down to his waist, and then we both broke the mood and let out a laugh when I got to the cord. "I guess this is pretty useless now, huh?" he joked and then helped me to take off his pants and throw the cord to the other side of the bed. We both slipped off our boxers now, and I lay on top of him, naked. He dug his nails into my back as our hips moved together, and his hands went to my shoulders as I slid down. I used my mouth as I traced my hands beneath him, touching the delicate part of skin between his balls and his ass while my tongue flicked his tip. He let out a guttural moan, and his hands dug harder into my shoulders. I kissed his thighs, his cock, and then back again as my hand helped me out now that he had some lubrication. Just as I was getting him to maintain his erection, he pulled me closer so our faces were touching and he began tracing me with his hands. He entered me with his wetted fingers, and I collapsed on his chest and tried to kiss his neck when I was composed enough.

We had been having sex like this a lot recently, in Paris and the few times we had been alone in Jersey. This was one point where Gerard's age was becoming more visible; he was able to get and usually maintain an erection, but it was rare that he could penetrate with it. He used his fingers a lot of the time, which was just as fantastic for me. I spasmed on top of him, completely forgetting my objective of his neck, but I always wondered how he was doing, and if he was still getting some pleasure out of things when our sex took on this form.

"Sex does not have to be about penetration, Frank," he told me the first time I asked about it, what seemed like ages ago. "To fuck, we don't have to put our dicks in one another. We don't even have to touch our penises at all. Or orgasm."

It was weird to me, hearing him use the word penis, but I let the terminology rest and tried to really wrap my head around what he was saying. I could see us not penetrating one another and still having fun, because that was what we had been doing for a lot of the time in Paris. But no orgasm? Wasn't that the point of sex?

"The point of sex is connection. Orgasms are just a by - product, and not a necessary one at that."

I nodded and didn't argue. This felt like something he had already told me - my intimacy lesson years ago - but my youth had partly blinded me to its actual physicality. I had been so young then, and well, Gerard had been younger, so we had almost always had sex until orgasm. When he was gone, I still continued to do so because my partners were young. But now, when orgasms were in the minority rather than majority, it gave me a new level of comprehending.

"But how do you know when to stop having sex?" I had asked, and Gerard had laughed. And then climbed on top of me. There was no real answer for that. You could have sex until the world ended if you I wanted to, if you could keep up with it.

"Do you know what the French call an orgasm?" he had asked me instead of answering.

"What?"

" Le petit mort. The little death. We die each time we come, Frank, and by not doing so, we live a little longer with each other each time."

I thought of this conversation then, as he and I had sex on the mattress in the middle of the room. His hands roamed all over my body, in and outside of me. On top of him and giving into the thrust of his fingers, our hips would knock together occasionally, and in one stroke, I realized he was hard against me. Steadying myself on one hand, I took us both together and using our precome as lubricant, began to rock back and forth and give enough friction to fuel our world. He was hitting my prostate and I would have to stop every once in awhile as pleasure rolled through me. But we were both so focused, so determined. We wanted the stress of the day gone, expelled from us, and we worked with dedication. My breathing became more and more rapid and then, hearing his moan, I lost it inside my hand and next to him. I cried out, as if I was dying, and then felt him moan and come as well. We both stopped but kept our hands in place, waiting to see if breath returned to our lungs. It did, and we panicked as we breathed, we touched as we held pressure in place, and I tried not to think about the old conversation we had had in Paris, a place that felt like years ago. I wanted this to last forever, and not be closer to my death, and even more, closer to adulthood and the real world. I lay on top of him for a while, and then I rolled beside him. We pulled the blankets up and waited. But no death came. We were lucky.

I wished we could rewrite all the myths of the world so there was no hell, no limbo, and we were Adam and Adam, and we could repopulate the world with our own progeny, and that that art could be permanent.

I woke up in the middle of the night again, this time, not from a dream. I heard a noise; crunching, footsteps, pottering around. It was dark outside, but there was a small light emitting in front of me, in the kitchen. I gradually started to wake my body up, and that was when I noticed the other attribute: the smell. I could smell toast and peanut butter strongly with coffee and a whole slew of other things. My stomach grumbled, though it was the middle of the night, and I felt as if I was being pulled from one strange consciousness to another. I sat up in bed, rubbed my eyes, and realized it was Gerard in the kitchen. The small light was from a candle he had lit and he was making toast, among other things. I saw the peanut butter, margarine, and jam jar out on the counter, along with the carton of milk and Count Chocula with Boo Berry and the other, healthier cereal that Vivian had made us buy. There was a loaf of bread out, half gone, and toast being piled up beside it on a plate. There was also the container that Vivian's casserole had come in, on the table and the contents served up on a plate. Gerard moved suddenly to the fridge; the new sensation of light startled me, and the glass jars in the door jiggled. He lifted his gaze up above it and smiled when he saw I was awake.

"Hi, Frank. Hungry?"

"I am now," I declared. I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to shake the sleep off of me. I was just wearing boxers, so I grabbed a t-shirt and put it on as I got up. I walked over to the kitchen, and saw that Gerard had opened up some of the canned fruit we had gotten, along with the fresh fruit as well. There was a salad in the corner with some dressings and black olives. He had covered all the major food groups, and some more invented ones, I was sure.

"Why did you do this?" I asked. I checked the clock on the microwave and realized it was three in the morning. "Were you really this hungry in the middle of the night?"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14