Sunflowers (Tournesols) II 22 страница

"Oh, yeah, I uh, was distracted," I said, feeling foolish in front of her. The sudden wave of feelings that had surprised me in the darkroom came back, and I wished that I had more time before she startled me. "What is with the snow? Why is the salt different colours?"

She rolled her eyes. I thought she was disregarding my interest in such a trivial matter, but I could see that it had also kept her busy as well. "I have no idea. I guess so the workers know what areas they've done? It's completely ridiculous."

I was about to cut in and say I thought it was actually kind of pretty; that it was nice to have a little colour guiding the way in the dead of winter, but her retort shut me up. "Think of the environmental toll for that. I doubt it's good for the soil come spring. But anyway, moving on..." She diverted her attention as quickly as it came up. "I have to go and gather my stuff from inside, and it's not quite five yet. Most people have left because, well, they're lazy and claim to be on an assignment, but come up with me and I'll show you around before we head out."

I walked up the front steps eagerly trailing behind Jasmine. The door that we went through was at the side of a music store, right next to a diner on the other side, called The Moveable Feast. "A Hemingway reference," Jasmine informed me. I smiled, not really knowing the author, but relieved that she was telling me more about books again. I waited for her to tell me the summary, and then wax poetic about the rest of his works, but instead she began to lament that even though the restaurant gave discounts to people who worked at the magazine, she would never eat there because the bulk of their menu involved meat, and the other bulk of it layered things with cheese. "And Hemingway was a hunter," she added, with a sigh. I was about to ask when the author's personal life became of any merit to the work itself, but she moved on. We kept walking up the twisting corridor and she told me that the second floor was mostly apartments, but they were all taken and probably would be for the next twenty years or so. She had tried to rent out one of them as soon as she realized she had the job, but in the end, was glad that there was no option.

"Too close to work. I mean, I like working here, but that was too much. As much as I enjoy being productive and getting things done, I need my home to be different from this place. Or else I'm always doing something and never just relaxing," she explained, and I nodded, not knowing what she meant personally, but remembering her from college. She used to always complain and then praise being an English major because it involved so little class time, but a ton of reading and writing. She would be able to stay at home most days and get her work done, wearing PJs, if she wanted to. But after about a month, it got old, and she realized she was getting up at 3am just to do essays. She began working at the cafe more then and doing her school work at the library and then seeing me in her spare time. She said I had kept her honest then, kept her mind focused on more important things. It had always been easier for Jasmine to have that strong divide.

"So where is your apartment, then?"

"Around the corner. Not much of a distance, but it's something. But don't get too ahead of me. I want to show you this place first." She held the door of the magazine open for me. It had a comical mouth painted on the upper half with full lips and two teeth sticking out. Although the lips looked feminine and plump, there was a moustache painted right above it, throwing off the whole perception. MOUTH was also painted in huge purple letters and there was a small submission guideline at the bottom that I couldn't read at all before Jasmine opened the door completely.

The entire third floor of this building was the magazine. Where apartments or shops would normally be, the walls had been expanded and doors had been taken down so that it could be turned into an office space area. On one side were the desks and computers that the regular contributors used, and on the other side was the press and Jasmine's office. The only place that was closed off by a door was the press room, and that was more of a safety issue in case someone fell backwards into the machine. All of their back stock of issues, along with paper supplies, were in there as well. Jasmine's office had no door like everyone else's, but it was slightly bigger. She said not having the door was strange, but she understood the idea behind it.

"Open communication. No privacies and they try to eliminate the hierarchy a little bit with me being the 'boss’. It was one of the reasons I liked this place over other magazines I went to interviews for. I liked how they didn't try to take themselves seriously and they were still able to get work done. Or at least, that's what I thought," she kind of rolled her eyes. She was sitting at her desk, going through some papers and trying to find what she needed.

"What are you actually finding?" I asked. Other than her explanation of Food Not Bombs, this was the most Jasmine had been speaking recently. I pulled up a chair that was on the other side of her desk and wanted to give her my full attention.

"I'm finding that for a magazine called Mouth, they take it to the next level and don't know when to shut up. I mean, it's okay, they get work done eventually, but wow, I've never met people who talk this much in my entire life." She sighed and rolled her eyes. I was about to mention to her that she had clearly never spent much time with Gerard; all that man did was talk most of the time, even when it did feel like hot air and bullshit coming out of his mouth like today.

"I feel exhausted by the end of the day usually," she added.

I merely nodded. I was feeling pretty exhausted right then, and I mentioned to her about how I had been applying for jobs all day and the repetition of the same stock phrases had worn me out. Jasmine seemed surprised at first when I was mentioning jobs, but she leaned in and listened to me intently and then offered her sympathy.

"You mentioned the photos on the phone. You have them with you?"

I brought them out of my bag and showed them to her. "I have no idea if you wanted all of them, or if you wanted to pick and choose. And also..." I bit my lip, unsure with myself if I even wanted to mention the real reason I had called her up. "Do you have any leftovers? Gerard is going to Vivian's for dinner and we don't have any food right now."

Jasmine took her attention away from the photos and then looked back at me. She had known me long enough to know that I hated the position I was in right now, and that it was written all over my body language. She pursed her lips and then checked her watch. "Sure, but I'll tell you what. Let's bring the photos to my place. I know, I know, it's bringing work home, but I already started to write the story last night because it was fresh in my head. My work is there anyway. And honestly, maybe I'll just go in late tomorrow. Either way, it's time to go."

I got up with a smile, and felt lightheaded from not having eaten lunch, and had to sit back down again. I packed the photos together and placed them back in my bag. Jasmine appeared by the side of my chair and offered her hand. "You going to be okay to get there? I swear it's just around the corner."

I nodded, and I fought the impulse to take her hand. I didn't want her extending sympathy and affection for me because she thought I was in trouble. It was bad enough that I was pretty much begging for food right now. I wanted to keep some dignity. I braced myself against the arms of the chairs instead and was fine. I hugged the walls as he went down the flights of stairs to the streets, and by the time I saw the coloured salt again, I felt fine. We walked close to one another, not arm in arm, though I wanted to, more persistently than I had thought.

"Here we are. I'm the second floor," she told me opening the door and then holding it for me. We walked up another flight of stairs, this one narrower than before, and Jasmine opened her apartment. "I'm not giving you a tour of this place. I have much less pride about this space. I also just moved in, so there are boxes everywhere. Please ignore them."

It was hard to not see the boxes; Jasmine wasn't much for overstatement and they really were everywhere. Her living area was what I first saw: there was one small sofa there, a coffee table, and then boxes and boxes. Her bedroom was to the right of the living area and the door was closed so I could not see inside. I only knew it was her bedroom because the other rooms, the kitchen and the bathroom, made that an easy deduction. Her kitchen was the only room set up and only had one box in the corner. Her table and chair were to the side, next to a shelf that was full of pantry ingredients and her kitchen was full of her dishes, cutlery, and quite well stocked. A few aimless cookbooks were on the top of the fridge, lacking shelves, but probably because they were used so much. It was clear that this was Jasmine's favourite room and the one she had spent the most time on. Being vegan and depending on herself for most meals, I guess she had to be.

She told me to put my stuff on the kitchen table and we could discuss it as we ate. She pulled out several Tupperware containers from her fridge and set them on the counter. She told me their contents, and like a game, I got to pick which piece would be mine. I took pasta salad with corn and beets; she took collard greens with quinoa and broccoli. She popped them both into her microwave and then, we waited.

She was on one side of the counter and I was on the other. A cutting board, unused, was in between us and the room was quiet except for the hum of the microwave. I watched as time folded backwards behind us, and I felt a deep feeling in my stomach begin to activate itself again. I thought of the last time I had been alone with Jasmine, when we had shared a meal, and what had happened. I thought of all the past winters where I had spent time in her old apartment and we had been so carefree. Even when she was bogged down with working at the cafe and with school, she would invite me over. Sometimes I'd just sit and wait for her to be done her novel for that week, and then she would tell me about the plot, the characters, and symbolism, as we got into her bed and kept each other warm during the winter months. I wanted so badly for her to be a part of my life right now. I wondered if she was reading any books and if she could tell me their stories and I wondered if she would let me stay the night. I looked at what she was wearing, and I tried to see if I could see the gold necklace under the high neckline of her pale blue sweater. Would she let me take it off of her again? Would I be the person to keep her honest? Gerard was with Vivian right then, probably laughing and enjoying old times from art school, and I wanted to do the same with Jasmine.

But the silence between us grew and grew. We made eye contact and smiled a few times, but nothing else was really said. Her hands were poised on the counter, and finally biting the bullet for myself, I began to reach out to them and run my fingers over hers. The microwave dinged, and the moment was gone before it had ever really begun. She turned around and got our containers and utensils, and we went to sit at the table.

"I can get plates if you want, but it seems foolish to me to use a dish and waste the water washing it," she explained.

"No, no, this is fine. Thanks Jasmine."

Silent again. We were both waiting for our food to cool. She broke the wall of silence between us, seeing an easy way to talk again. "This is one of the reasons I like being vegan."

"The food?"

"Yes, but this food. This free and not wasted food. So many people do veganism for health or for some type of cool new thing to try, but that seems to be missing the point."

"What is the point?" I took a bite of my dinner, but it was still too hot.

"The point is, we don't own animals. It's not our place to say whether or not something lives or die, and we have no right to anyone's life for purpose or food. It's because we think this about animals that I think the world is so shitty. These feelings of ownership transfer onto others and people eventually think that they can manipulate people however they want. It just doesn't make sense."

I thought about what she had said. These feelings of ownership and manipulation were not new to me, and I didn't have to not eat meat in order to understand that. But not everyone was like Gerard or myself; not everyone else had thought through this process of ownership in relationships and what was all right for one of us to do to one another. Most people took people for granted. And most people ate meat. An image of my father cutting his streak ripped through me, and I remembered my exact sentiments then: I had wanted to be a vegetarian.

I told Jasmine my revelation after having dinner with my father. Her eyes lit up. I guess she was used to explaining this type of thing, but not getting any response.

"Exactly. Your dad is the perfect example." She paused, debating her next question. "How did they both take Gerard? Were they good about it?"

I laughed. It was enough for Jasmine to see what I was getting at. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I know how much he means to you. How did he take it?"

"He was really good, actually. He always is at keeping his cool. But he thought it was sort of funny, because he had forgotten about homophobia."

Jasmine furrowed her brows. "How can you just forget that something like that exists?"

"I know! That was my response. But he does art instead of worrying and picks his friends carefully. So he lets the real world slip his mind a lot of the time." I sighed, remembering his bank card and his inability to buy food today. I wanted to vent about it with Jasmine, but I also didn't want to pollute Gerard's image. Today was just a really bad fucking day. It was probably one of the worst I had had with him, and it was mostly on my shoulders why it had been so bad. It had been my reaction, my perception; even Gerard had told me that. I could have just accepted what had happened as inevitable and something to be fixed later. But instead I had to freak out because it struck a nerve. I knew it wasn't that big of a deal, and I almost didn't want to give anyone leverage to discredit Gerard. He was already discredited enough. I knew he was wonderful most of the time, and that was all that mattered. In spite of all the shit that had happened today. My feelings would go away. I just needed time, time I was getting right then.

Jasmine nodded sympathetically and continued eating. "I still don't understand how you can forget something like that. Even when I read a book now or watch a movie, homophobia or some kind of evidence of the -isms of the world pervade me. I see it everywhere."

"-isms?"

"Classism, racism, sexism, cissexism, ableism, specism. There just so much shit in the world and I don't know how people can function once they know it's there. It's like... when you find Waldo for the first time. Do you know what I mean? Now every time you go back to that page, he's staring right at you, almost accusing you."

Her comparison, although she didn't want it to be, was humorous. She was infiltrating a children's book with activism. It was great. Even though I didn't know what half of those -isms were, I knew what she meant by suddenly being aware of something, and then noticing it's everywhere. It was like that for me with homophobia and now, with the idea of family that had been introduced. It wouldn't leave me alone.

"This can happen with good things as well as bad things. Maybe Gerard is focusing on the good things in his life instead of the bad?" I offered, wanting to get my own mind away from the negative. "Like with doves. I know I saw them everywhere for a long period of time, as if they had never existed before I met him."

Jasmine smiled. "Oh, I remember that. You would tell me every day about a dove spotting. It was awesome." She took a bite. "The same thing happened to me too. I saw doves everywhere after you started talking about them. Like they hadn't existed before I met you."

I smiled, a warm feeling permeating my body. I was feeling so much better. The combination of food and Jasmine made my negative thoughts calm down, and I could feel myself relaxing. I never wanted to leave her apartment.

"Do you still read books, now?" I asked.

She gave me a funny look. "Of course. Why?"

"You should tell me about them like you used to. Maybe I can tell you about some art. We can have fun again."

"I think we should look at our own art and our own writing," she commented. She picked up the folder that I was keeping the photos in. She began to take them out and kept them at a safe distance from our food. I gave no response and instead kept eating as I watched her go through each one. She began to make some piles, not telling me what was going where. The ones of the Food Not Bombs logo, the two bandanas kissing, and some of the couple who ran the chapter were in one pile, and figured that was good enough for printing. The other pile contained somewhat blurry photos which I guessed were rejects, but then a third pile emerged, and it contained the one of Braden and herself.

"Are you two together?" I asked, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer.

She laughed. "No, no, most definitely not. He captivated me at first, but I realized his politics were a little off awhile ago. He just makes me smile, that's all."

I wasn't sure how to read her response. "Are you with anyone right now?"

She looked up at me from the photographs. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just making conversation," I said, looking down into my food. "I just want to know about you again."

"Frank, you know about all there is to know. I'm pretty sure it's one of the only reasons I keep you around, you just simply know too much."

I knew she was teasing me, but I wasn't into it. It had been too long of a day to play games like this. I just wanted to know whether or not I had a place in her life right now, if I still was that safe space for her. The conversation we had had when I first got back would replay in my mind at the most inconvenient times. Things changed, people changed, and I knew this, but it made me feel so unstable around her. I knew I had Gerard and nothing would change that; we had simply waited too long to not be around one another. But did that mean I had to sacrifice Jasmine? I didn't want to. Being in this kitchen right now, I couldn't imagine her not in my life. I didn't want anything to jeopardize it, and even worse, I didn't want to choose because it was an impossible choice.

"Do you know what these photos remind me of?" she asked, then went on: "Do you remember that night we had to stay up until five in the morning getting that art installation ready?"

I grinned harder than I expected, and I couldn't believe the memory came to me so easily. The installation had been for a feminist workshop Jasmine was getting together for one of her courses. It contained prints by these local female artists, and Jasmine had gotten the youth space on the university campus where we were supposed to arrange all of these photos. It had been around Valentine's Day, something that the university renamed as Self-Love week, and all of these photos stuck to that theme. There were shots of lesbian love affairs contrasted with modern day and historical depictions, drag pairings, butch and femmes together at a ball, and a lot of self-portraits. I had never seen so many vulvas in my life; it was utterly surreal. There was also one sculpture and a few paintings too, but the majority of the work had been photographs and it had all been given to Jasmine to organize. The other person that was supposed to help her got called away because of a family death, so it left Jasmine and I strapped at the last minute to get all of this together. We had ordered pizza and made pot after pot of coffee. It felt like it took forever. We were so lucky that we had the keys to the place because of Vivian or else it would have never been done.

As soon as it was complete, I remembered just collapsing onto the floor and claiming to be dead and that she would have to turn me into a sculpture for tomorrow. She fell on top of me afterwards and since the building was empty, it was five in the morning, and we had the keys... Well, we participated in our own Self-Love demonstration as well. By the time we were done, fixed the last of the displays, and walked outside the sun was rising. Jasmine ended up skipping her classes for that day and we both went back to her place where we slept until the afternoon, ordered more pizza, and then went to the show. We kept grinning at each other the entire time anytime someone walked by the place where we had made our display.

I looked at Jasmine now and wondered why she had been reminded of this night all of a sudden. I felt my heart begin to beat in the centre of my chest and wondered if it was a sign of some kind. I pulled my chair in closer and waited to see if she was going to add anything to her off-the-cuff remark. She smiled as she went through the remaining photos and tidied her three piles.

"It's good to work together again," she told me. "We need to do it more often."

I nodded, and kept my gaze with her. I placed my hands on the table again and tried to reach for hers like I had done at the counter earlier. She noticed the change in my demeanour and didn't move away this time. I took my hands in hers and for awhile, and we seemed to squeeze out a rhythm without words. When I leaned into her, she leaned as well, and we kissed across the table. Her mouth moved quickly at first, very chastely meeting mine. Then she placed her hand on my forearm, and our lips locked a bit longer, opening and closing our mouths. As soon as I tried to add tongue, though, she broke it up. She smiled at me and then took the dishes in front of both of us ad began to wash them.

"I can send you a copy of the magazine when the story has been printed with your photos. You'll get full credit and I'll be sure to promote you. Unfortunately, there isn't much pay involved right now, but I can run a free add for you offering your services? You still do weddings and formal events, right?"

"Yeah, I guess, that would be good," I hadn't really thought much about getting that up and running again, but it was a good start. I walked over to where Jasmine was doing the dishes and waited behind her with a dish cloth. I touched the small of her back as she worked, and then placed my hand on her hip. I wanted her to kiss me again, I wanted to run my hands through her hair, and work on art again until five in the morning and then have sex until the sun came up. I was about to touch her hair, to sweep it past her neck, and see if she was wearing her necklace, but she moved suddenly, stepping to the side.

"I don't think we'll need until the early morning hours to get this done again, but thank you for being so quick with these. I really appreciate it."

She handed me the last dish and we stared at one another while I dried it. "Is this it?" I asked her, and she knew I wasn't talking about dishes.

"Yeah, I think so, Frank. You've been super helpful. Will you be able to find your way home?"

I nodded, not hiding my disappointment. "Thanks for feeding me tonight."

"Not a problem," Jasmine said. The dishes were done now; we waited to see who would make the next move. It was clear by her body language and her inability (or refusal) to read my questions that she wanted the night to be over with. She wanted to be by herself in her apartment, and she didn't want to be with me tonight. She wasn't telling me to get out of her life; it was the opposite. She had been offering it up, she even said we should work together again and that it had been so much fun. But it wasn't the same type of working together we had had during the feminist art installation. It was different now, older, and more mature. Jasmine had a job and I had someone waiting at home for me. I didn't want to have that make a difference, but I knew it did. Jasmine and I were good friends and there was no way we would ever own one another. Maybe we would kiss again like we had before, but I couldn't ask for more, or try to demand more. I was just as bad as my father or the people who slaughtered animals if I thought I could control the world and especially her. I knew that, I really did, but it didn't stop my chest from hurting as I made the first move out of the kitchen and went to grab my coat.

"I'm sure Gerard is waiting to see you," she told me. She was trying to be helpful by giving me a reason to go home and not spend any more time with her, but it didn't feel like that. "Have a good night, Frank."

We hugged. She moved in for it, not me, and I kicked myself for putting on my jacket because there was an unneeded barrier between us. But I hugged her, probably too long, and then it was over as quickly as it started. She held the door open for me and I stepped outside. I stared at the off-white door forever before I finally turned and walked down the stairs. I didn't know what to make of my feelings. As soon as I turned away and headed back towards my apartment, I got excited because I could see Gerard. My anger from before had subsided, and I was looking forward to seeing him again. But I felt as if I had dropped something off at Jasmine's, as if there was a piece of it still attached to me, and a pull, a tension, was now being strung out. I felt so in love with her when I was with her, but then I thought about Gerard. I felt so in love with Gerard when I was with him, but then I thought about Jasmine. I hated this. I wished that one of them would exhibit themselves more clearly in my mind, but it wasn't happening. And I realized that my fight with Gerard and my wishing that Jasmine would fight with me were really responses to my own confusion. If I couldn't make up my mind, I wanted them to do it for me. If one of them was excluded through their own will, then I could just be with the other one and be happy. Right? No, it wasn't that simple, because, in spite of the way I had been acting, they both seemed to love me just as much as I loved them.

The sidewalk was dark as I tried to walk home, and I could no longer follow the colours. When I got to the apartment, Gerard was already back. He was in bed, but he roused himself as soon as he heard the door. He said hello, but I didn't respond right away: I went to the fridge, and there was food again. I could no longer be mad. As I slipped into bed with him, he whispered to me in my ear that he had found his wallet. And that everything was okay again. I started to sob, my undirected and confused feelings coming out in frustrated tears. My perception had finally changed. I told him I loved him and that I was so sorry.

"I am too, Frank, I'm really sorry, too." He sighed. After a while, he uttered, "This isn't exactly how we imagined it."

"No," I agreed, pulling his lips towards mine again. "It's better."

Chapter Four

I fell into a large depression after that. So large and acute, I didn't leave the house for nearly a week. Luckily, it coincided with a large drop in the temperature and a huge snowfall, so my hermit-like behaviour went unnoticed for the most part. It almost seemed practical. Since I had already gotten the job hunting out of the way, there was no reason to continue looking beyond our door. I was left in a large limbo; a long period of waiting for answers about whether or not this daily ennui, as Gerard referred to it, would be mine forever or I would divide my time from nine-to-five soon enough. Gerard joined me indoors and his own solitude made mine feel normal. But while his ennui came out through black paint and charcoal shadows, I kept mine inside, fermenting and decaying. I sat on the bench near the balcony window and just stared out at the city layered with ice. I had always expressed my depressions this way, with quiet and almost serene moments that clumped together and formed what felt like an eternity. Anyone not knowing me would think I just had a penchant for winter scenery and an appreciation for the outdoors. But this unnamed dread kept me there, and I could not move that self inside.

I read books on photography instead of actually taking pictures. Gerard had brought me back some from Vivian's when he went over to get some food. I was never too sure if Gerard could tell how deep I had gone into myself. He was tender with me, in the morning especially, and was touching my head and neck a lot. He would whisper my name, "Frank, oh Frank," and then kiss my forehead before he gave me a small smile, and then return to his own work. He wouldn't say very much through the day, and I knew that since he had suffered from his own extended depressions throughout his life, he knew better than to call me out on my own sadness. But I was sure he knew that I was sad; he had to have known that I was folding in on myself, because he had known me when I was my happiest. I had always been my happiest when I was with him, and because of that, part of me wondered why he didn't tell me to feel better, to get up and get dressed, to do something, to be anything. I was not used to having this invisible dread around him; without him around, sure, this dread was practically my imaginary friend and would go everywhere with me. But Gerard had been like my own anti-depressant. I panicked internally not understanding why he wasn't working anymore and why he didn't just demand that I get happy again. I wondered if I would have listened to him if he had. I swallowed hard, not wanting to answer that echoing question in my mind.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14