This story includes Peter Greenaway's character, Jerome from his movie, "The Pillow Book." I've taken liberties to imagine what the character was like as a boy.
Thomas Wolfe Blue
The round, fat belly of the clock ticks away, its pattern mimics the dense drops of rain rapping against the window. The grey slate of late afternoon is kept at bay by the solid ring of yellow light streaming from the lamp set on the edge of the table. My attention wants to disengage from the calculous book underneath my arm, and my tired eyes go rouge. They madly dart from the swatch of long, blonde hair concealing one side of Jerome's face to his flawless pale skin made translucent by the combination of shadows and light. Finally, my glance lingers on the cherry red lips silently pronouncing the words Jerome's mind delivers backwards. The pouting is an affect of the extra effort his brain makes to rearrange the letters into the order the rest of the world sees.
"What?" Jerome raises his head. His choir boy eyes bore into me. "Hello? Stephen, what's the matter?"
At this moment I of think of the American writer that Jerome recently introduced me to; Thomas Wolfe; it wasn't so much of an introduction as an imperative to read. Jerome was right as usual. He could spy words strung together to shine as bright as fairy lights. This Southerner, Wolfe was a master at illumination. Jerome told me of Wolf's passion for adjectives.
"'Pink is never just pink,'" Jerome had excitedly quoted Wolfe. "'It's a thousand other different things all profoundly important.' "Do you understand?"
Of course I didn't. Jerome was the one who went berserk for words. I saw pink as pink, end of story. But, now, caught in Jerome's inquisitive gaze I'm meditating on the word blue. There has to be an adjective to capture the exact blueness of Jerome's eyes. They are a blue beyond blue, I imagine Wolfe writing. A blue like the ocean, the blue of a proud Heron's wings...
"You're staring at me, why?" Jerome persists. "Do I have a booger?"
He slides a delicate finger under his nostrils. This paranoid gesture forces a cackle from my throat.
"You're such a stooge, Jer!"
"I'm not the one with the glazed look of a corpse."
He slides his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
I hear talk in the gent's locker room after every tennis practice. There seems to be a general consensus as to what is a turn on for a guy; none of it very imaginative. Big tits, long legs, small but shapely arse; there is a little room for debate on hair length and color, as well as variances in preferred height and eye shade. I look on and nod at the idiotic comments. It amazes me that the lads still think me one of them.
Jerome with that injured, yet slightly proud frown, his back arched against the chair, dorky, black frames over his bluest of blue eyes…I'm most certainly not one of those locker room toadies!
"Hey, Jer?"
"Yeah?"
He keeps his head down. His tongue circles his lips while he labors over more words on the page. Is he trying to seduce me?
"How do ya think Thomas Wolfe would describe the color blue?"
"Pardon?"
The glasses come off and his attention is all for me, or, well, probably more for Thomas Wolfe. Whatever! I'll take it.
"You heard me."
I lean back with my arms crossed like I've seen dad do when he wants to make a point with mum.
"I heard you. I just don't believe you would be asking such a question."
"Why not?"
He's wounded my sudden superiority in all things literary.
"Stephen, I'm not as think as you dumb I am!"
"Jerome!" Now I'm getting pissed. "I'm serious. I want to know."
"Alright,"
Jesus! His smile could light up a grave yard.
"How would Wolfe describe blue?" A hand settles under his chin. "Well, that would depend."
"On?"
"On what particular blue object he was describing."
"No."
He bats his eyes.
"No?"
"That doesn't make sense. You said, Wolfe said, pink isn't just pink. He didn't say, lips aren't just pink, or the inside of a clam shell isn't just pink-"
"The inside of a clam? Stephen, are you on something?"
He doesn't bother to contain his giggle.
"Forget it!" I toss a pencil in my adolescent, sexual frustration. "In case ya didn't get the note, I was making an effort to understand how you see the world."
"You asked about Thomas Wolf."
"It's the same thing, Jer!" Shit, if my parents hear me shouting, we'll be sent to our separate corners like a couple of five year olds. "Writers, I'm trying to comprehend how you, a writer sees the world."
His lips curl seductively into a smile.
"You mean it? You really see me as a writer? But, not like, Thomas Wolf, I know, he's-"
"How would you describe blue?"
"Me? Gosh,"
He blushes.
Jerome is the only fifteen- year old dude who says, gosh out loud. I want to hug him.
"I guess I'd have to pick my favorite something blue and think about it."
Our eyes lock. I'm one move away from cupping his chin in my hand to kiss him, deeply!
"Jerome, my bonnie fair, boy!"
As if having an implant with the only instruction being to eradicate my libido, Gemma, my little sister rushes into the kitchen and onto Jerome's lap.
"Gemma, my bright and sparkly, girl!"
Gem receives the coveted Jerome kiss, albeit on the head.
"Do you two want some alone time?"
"Stephen!"
Jerome snaps.
"Stephen is an elephant fart!"
Gemma points her stubby kid finger at me.
"Good one, Gem."
The two love birds high five.
"Nice, encourage her, Jer. Just what she needs."
"Gemma," Jerome keeps his attention on the child from Hades as I like to call her. "Name something blue?"
"Why?"
"Go on," Jerome juggles her on his lap which brings her eager arms around his neck. "'Cos I asked, O.K.?"
That's good enough for Gemma! She scrunches up her face like's she's just sucked on a lemon.
"Hum…" She twirls a string of brown hair around her finger. "Oh, I know!"
"Go on, then."
Jerome is genuinely anticipating her response, as he does all things Gemma.
"Your eyes, silly!"
She points to Jerome's face, quite proud of herself too.
"They are the most beautiful blue in the whole, wide, world!"
And now his face is as red as a beat.
"You're so sweet, Gem. But, I wasn't fishing for a complement."
"Well, it's the truth!" She jumps down onto the floor, her black, patent leather shoes clicking on the linoleum. "Right, Stephen?"
My face flushes. "Huh?" I feign deafness.
"I've heard you say how pretty you think Jerome's eyes are."
"What?" Am I being busted by an eight-year old? "When? You never heard me say such a thing, Gemma!"
"Did to! You said they were like a sapphire sky."
Jerome is positively beaming.
"You did?"
"No!" I wave a hand at the gnat-like Gemma, "Well, I mean, I might have been writing a poem for school, or something like that."
"Oh, I see."
He squelches another smile.
"Stephen loves Jerome!"
Gemma taunts me with her sing- song voice.
"Get out of here, or I'll call mum!"
The throw down of every big brother world-wide, and like every ill-mannered little sister, Gemma has the last word as she runs away still singing.
"Stephen loves Jerome!"
I'm in the midst of calming my shredded nerves when the question is put to me.
"Do you?"
Jerome releases the smile he's saved only for me.
"You know I do."
"Sapphire sky is Thomas Wolfe-worthy blue."
"I wasn't…my God, I can't believe I'm gonna agree with that little urchin Gemma, but, I meant, you should know that I do love you."
"Blue like first love," Jerome reaches for my hand. "Blue like a boy loves a boy, blue."
*Author's Note: I hope to be re-posting the other "Stephen and Jerome" stories I had published in the past, and perhaps some additional new ones such as this. Also, I don't know if Thomas Wolfe ever described colors in the way he is credited to here, but, in the 2016 movie about his life, "Genius", (which I highly recommend!) Jude Law playing Thomas Wolfe did make such statements. It doesn't seem too far-fetched that Wolfe would have something close to what Law's words in the movie, which are recorded here. Hope you enjoyed it!
