"I can't explain the state that I'm in
The state of my heart, he was my best friend."
-Sufjan Stevens, "The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out To Get Us!"
~*~
Deep in the August of their ninth year, Franz and Albert played beneath a canopy of sweet-scented green. Covered in a shimmer of summer sweat, Franz paused in chasing his friend. For one long moment, it was like a view from under water. Albert's arms reached out to him slowly before slamming down hard on either shoulder. Franz's mouth went suddenly dry.
His back hit the soft green carpet of ground. Albert laughed and pinned him. "Say uncle!"
Franz tried to speak, but couldn't get any words out. Albert peered in his face, almost nose-to-nose-with him, trying to understand why his friend wasn't struggling. His eyes echoed the loudly painted sky, so blue they were almost painful. "Say. Uncle."
"I'm really thirsty," Franz said. "May I have a glass of water, please?"
Franz tilted his chin up just a little, so he was breathing Albert's words for a moment. He thought maybe Albert's breath tasted a little bit like mint tea. The moment was over way too quickly, though, because Albert slackened his grip and then was gone all at once, on his feet and cuffing barefoot at the grass.
"Hey. Hey. If I wanted to play with a cold fish, I'd just play with Eugenie."
There were a lot of things Franz didn't understand in the world. He didn't understand why his father had to die or why his mother always tried to hide the fact she'd been crying. He didn't understand why his nurse and the rest of the black-and-white people except Cooky and Mr. Butler. But he understood in one long and terrible moment that it just might be better if Albert played with Eugenie instead. It might be. It just might be.
His heart was overtaken with an incredibly mean and selfish thought. He didn't want Albert to favor Eugenie over him. He wanted to have more of those slow underwater moments with Albert, even if it meant getting clobbered five seconds afterward.
Franz laid on the ground for a moment. Albert shrugged his shoulders and started heading back to the mansion. The moment his back was turned, Franz sprung like a panther and tackled Albert to the ground. He grabbed handfuls of grass and dirt and rubbed it in Albert's hair, shouting nonsense threats and laughing. The sharp and cascading sounds of their play-fighting drifted toward the unbelievable sky and got caught in the branches. As the years went by, sometimes the wind would rustle the leaves just so, and a bit of childish laughter would be dislodged, sounding out loud over the grounds of the Morcerf household. Their voices would linger and hover like a clutch of bright birthday balloons, vivid then deflated.
Franz and Albert took their post-playtime snack on the shaded, screened veranda behind the mansion. There were three varities of ices, mint tea, and cool, sliced peaches. Franz had to ask for his water specifically, and was presented with it in a crystal goblet with a little sliver of lemon. He almost felt bad gulping it down. The ice clanked against his teeth.
Albert was tucking into his strawberry ice like strawberries were going extinct tomorrow. He paused only when the cold headache claimed him. He flinched, rubbed his temples and whined. "Owww."
Albert's lips were surrounded by an abstract ring of sticky magenta sweetness. Franz wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be appalled
He dipped the corner of his napkin in his water and daubed away the mess. He didn't want Albert to get a in trouble so soon after Franz made an effort to render him presentable, picked all of the grass and dirt out of his hair and rubbed away the grass stains with spit-slick fingers as best he could. Albert never seemed to fear retribution for his naughtiness, but Franz's bum throbbed with a million sympathy spankings. Stained clothes usually meant the hairbrush for him.
Albert shook himself like a wet pigeon and affixed Franz with a most determined glower. "What are you, my nanny?"
Franz wisely stayed quiet on the subject. Maybe his mother was right about Albert, and his parents indulged him too much. It would explain his lack of care for things like eating like a civilized human being. He was more annoying than attractive now, but when Albert paused, mid-bite, to look across the table at his friend, Franz's heart squeezed. He looked away, pushing his spoon into his lemon ice over and over again, watching the little indentation in the slush fill up with citrus syrup.
A single wasp was clever enough to have made its way past the veranda screens and now hovered lazily over the melting mess of sugary desert. It was a large insect, casting a shadow on the white table cloth. Franz, not afraid of such things, searched for a rolled up newspaper, a fly-swatter or at at least a servant with which to dispatch the thing. Albert continued to eat (pausing for cold headache breaks) with reckless abandon for several moments. Then the wasp landed on his arm, undoubtedly lured by the river of pink stickiness Franz failed to clean up there.
Albert panicked and started swatting before Franz could warn him otherwise, and before either of them quite knew what was going on, the boy was stung several times and the wasp was trapped under a bowl. Albert stared at the swelling spots on his arms. He was rapidly losing the battle with himself not to cry, and Franz was not sure what to do. He didn't want to embarrass his friend by sticking around while he did something unmanly.
"Here," he said, taking Albert's arm and holding it, inspecting each darkly marked little sting. "Let me kiss it better."
Albert didn't protest, so Franz laid his lips lightly and warmly over each wound. "Better?"
"I-I think so."
Franz lit up like Christmas morning. A servant appeared with a small med kit and a fly swatter, and asked Albert if he wanted to see his mother to receive comfort for the wound.
"Nah, it's okay. I already got that." Albert paused a moment to think. "Can I have some more strawberry ice, though?"
~*~
In the beginning of July of their eleventh year, Albert and Franz left a wake of unfinished puzzled and forfeited board games in a house that suddenly seemed too small for them. The angry gray heavens spilled their guts in a wretched soup of rain and thunder that threw itself at the windows without relent. Albert was hopelessly bored, screwing his face up at his latest hand of cards. He looked at Franz, laying about a foot away from him on the floor, belly-down, his feet kicked up behind him. The heel and toe of one stockinged foot bobbed in an uneven rhythm, and Albert found himself spacing out a moment as he tried to determined the code his friend could possibly be sending to alien planets.
"Albert? It's your turn." Franz always looked at him like he knew something Albert didn't. Sadly, that was usually true. Franz did much better in his lessons and often peppered his conversations with interesting things he read in encyclopedias. When he first met Franz, Albert thought he might be related to Eugenie because of their shiny, pale hair and postures stiff a steel poles. Now he knew better, of course. Franz's eyes were brown, and the shine in them was so much warmer. Instead of frowns and sourness, Franz's eyes offered calmness and understanding. He rarely acted on his amusement with outright mockery, unlike Eugenie. If Albert didn't know better, he might also have guessed Franz was older than the two of them.
Any time Albert had a whim, Franz followed along, even if he had protests. Which is why when Albert threw his cards down and announced, "I'm bored!" Franz just shook his head and started putting the deck back together.
"Let's play a game," Albert said, standing and shaking the sleep out of one foot.
"I think we've thoroughly exhausted our options," Franz said, following his actions and stretching the stiffness from his arms.
"Hmm." Albert shifted from foot to foot, looking over his bedroom. He hopped over the space between the carpets on the floor and opened the huge steamer trunk at the end of his bed. He was considering the trunk's use as a magician's prop when he found something even better. It was a carved wooden sword, some consolation gift from his soldier father after being away several months. Albert picked it up and brandished it. "A-ha! I'm the great Knight Morcerf, and I've come for the princess!"
Franz took a step back, giving him a look that could only be described as painfully practical. "Is Eugenie here or something?"
"Shut up! She doesn't wanna be my princess! I asked her one time and she pinched me. Even though it's just pretend, she pinched me for real!" Albert rubbed his bicep, now aching with the phantom pain of an old battle wound.
"Well, I'm not battling you for Eugenie or any other princess," Franz said, looking like he'd just taken a swig of sour milk. "Why can't we do something quiet, like reading in the library?"
"You're no fun." Albert was hopping from foot to foot again, tossing his sword from hand to hand. "I guess we can't play if you won't fight me... unless... I have an idea!" He balanced the sword on the edge of the trunk and threw the dressings off his bed, pulling one of the long, fine linen sheets from beneath the blankets. He motioned for Franz to come nearer, and wrapped the sheet around him like a long and flowing skirt. "Here. Now you're the princess."
"Albert," Franz said in that tone that usually meant he was going to give Albert a numbered list of why this was a bad idea, "I can't be a princess, I'm not even a--" He paused, and then grinned like he did when he figured out the loose brick in the wall of the Danglars estate. "...You know. I guess I could play princess just once. But you gotta kiss me when you rescue me, or you're not a real knight."
"Sure, whatever," Albert said. "I'm going to fight the enemy army now! You'd better be impressed!"
Franz sat on the pillows of Albert's bed smoothing his long, makeshift skirt as his friend attacked (and defeated) a hundred and one Eastern Raiders, Bug People, Robot People, and Werewolves. Invisibility seemed to have granted them a greater range of movement even in a small bedroom, and there were times Albert fell to the floor, screaming out, "Augh! A fatal blow!" only to stand up again, moments later, saying, "I'm healed! Back, you blaggard!"
He was red-faced and mussed by the time he made it to the 'tower.'
"Milady." Albert gave a deep bow and tried to ignore Franz's snickering. Setting his jaw, he climbed up onto the bed. "You're free now."
"Oh, Great Knight Morcerf, thank you for rescuing me." Franz whispered, and to Albert's surprise, he didn't roll his eyes even once. "I now bestow upon you true love's first kiss."
"Wait, wait, true love's first -- you're getting it mixed up with Sleeping Beau--"
Albert was cut off by Franz's hands closing around his ears and yanking him forward. He couldn't talk because then Franz's mouth was on his. He tasted like cucumber sandwiches and tea. It was awkward and warm and a lot slicker than he thought it would be. Albert scrambled away, red blossoming up the back of his neck to the tip of his ears. "Ew, gross! I didn't wanna do ithat/i kinda kiss! Blech. I can't believe you did that. Ewew ew!"
Tripping over his own feet, Albert ran to the bathroom to wash his mouth out. Franz followed him a few moments later, sheets bunched up in his fists so his bed sheet train wouldn't drag too much on the floor. Albert licked a bar of soap, not anywhere near through with his symphony of boyish disgust.
He wasn't about to admit that the soap actually tasted a lot worse than the traces of afternoon tea. There were appearances to keep up, after all. Franz just leaned in the doorway and sighed.
"I don't know how you would have managed this game with Eugenie anyway. They'd probably have to send you to the emergency room afterward."
"For emergency cootie shots, or even intensive life-saving cootie surgery!" Albert was attempting to get the taste of soap out of his mouth by chewing on a hand towel. It wasn't working.
Franz had outgrown the concept of cooties at least a year ago, and frequently told Albert his concerns about the fairer sex were unfounded and ridiculous. At least he hadn't graduated to writing soppy notes to girls like some of their contemporaries. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "No. For soap poisoning."
Years later, in retelling this story to their friends, Albert would mistakenly say Franz played the queen instead of the princess. All of them would laugh at his mix-up, including Franz, but their friend Lucien in particular found it hilarious. He laughed so long and hard tears formed in his eyes. Franz, in a somewhat uncharacteristic show of violence, punched him in the shoulder firmly enough to break his hysterics.
"I'm done with this game!" Albert announced after thoroughly rinsing out his mouth. While he was distracted, Franz had pulled off his skirt and was now twisting and folding it in his hands.
"That's not really fair, Albert," Franz said, "I think it's your turn to be the princess."
He wrapped the sheet all around Albert, making a sort of sari out of it. It was a lot more effective than Albert's technique.
Albert rolled his eyes heavenward and fidgeted, finally groaning, "Fine. I guess that's fair." Franz so rarely argued with him that he always felt kind of guilty telling him no when he did. Plus, he was always so reasonable. "But don't expect me to kiss you like that! I'm not sending you to the cootiemergency room!"
"We're both boys," Franz pointed out, "So even if cooties were real - which they are not - it wouldn't be an issue."
"I'm still not kissing you on the mouth, that's disgusting!"
"Fine," Franz said a little quickly. "Just on the cheek, then."
Albert shrugged. He kissed his mother on the cheek all the time. He knew how to do that. In a way, Franz was kind of like his mom - or a brother or cousin or something - so it wasn't half as weird as what just transpired a few minutes ago. "Just on the cheek is okay. But you gotta have an epic battle first!"
"I understand," said Franz. He smoothed out Albert's hair a little. "I think you should practice first, though. Just to make sure you know what you're doing."
Franz made his mouth into a straight, inarguable line. Already feeling ridiculous, Albert softly said, "Okay."
He planted a kiss in the center of Franz's cheek. His friend smelled like a sweet soap, a flower he didn't recognize. His cheek was soft and warm.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Guess not," said Albert grudgingly. He marched back into his bedroom and perched on the top of the pillows on his bed. "Help me, Prince Franz," he called out unenthusiastic monotone. "Save me."
Franz picked up Albert's sword and took a battle stance as he faced on a hundred and one hundred and one scaly, scary and imaginary minions of evil. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll save you, Albert. Don't worry."
~*~
During a night in August in their sixteenth year, Franz and Albert lay side-by-side in sleeping bags in their dusty little hideout. Albert was passed out cold, but Franz was awake and wide-eyed in the heavy darkness, staring at the ceiling. In the distance, a church bell sounded three times. The duel was in two hours, and Franz needed to get ready. His whole body felt heavy, as if he too had taken the drug. His limbs dragged as he forced himself to sit up. Franz swallowed a painful lump in his throat and hugged his knees to his chest, suddenly feeling dizzy. His eyes were burning. He pressed his face into his trousers. His muffled sobs escaped by crawling down the seams of his pants and trickling into the cracks in the floor. They retreated into the inky corners of the room, ugly and terrified and indelible.
A decade later, Albert would dislodge the anguish in an attempt to clear the room of cobwebs. It would shake the walls and cause spider cracks in the glass, tiny and creeping and hang in the air like poison gas, before dissipating in the smell of blood and steel.
Franz composed himself after a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. One leg after another, he withdrew himself from his bedclothes then crawled over to Albert. His friend laid in peaceful repose, one arm thrown over the sheets, palm flattened over his belly. Franz sucked in a breath through his teeth, loud and harsh like he'd been punched in the stomach. The limbs that were cold and weighted before suddenly snapped to life, and he found himself grasping Albert's wrist, kissing the back of his hand, his fingertips, before he even knew what he was doing.
"I'm sorry."
This would be the last time he ever saw Albert. Reverently, Franz laid Albert's hand down and leaned over to look him in the face. Like this, it was easy to see the angelic, unguarded young man he fell in love with so long ago. None of the grief and resentment that had set into his features stayed with him as he slept.
A tear streaked down Franz's cheek and dripped off his chin. It was caught in the faint light from the window for a single moment, before splashing over Albert's lips like a droplet of diamond.
"I'm so sorry." Franz brushed away the saltwater with his thumb, like wiping his cheek with a napkin, like straightening his messy hair from his face.
Albert was soft. Franz bit down on his lower lip hard for a moment, and then closed the space between them so they breathed the same air.
His breath tasted of red wine and a little chemical wine. Franz lowered a tiny fraction of an inch. Albert might awaken. They'd bump foreheads and what a laugh they would have over this night. He suddenly wanted to shake his friend and ask him if he remembered the wasp stings. If he remembered being a princess. If he remembered...
Franz was so close now that his light hair brushed over Albert's dusky cheek. Almost covered the mole beneath his eye.
They were adults now, or very nearly. It wouldn't be fair to do that to Albert, steal a kiss when so many things were already stolen. Instead, Franz pressed his lip to one inky brow, and backed away.
The tears were flowing unstoppably now. Franz hurdled down the stairs and ran to the Morcerf estate. He wanted so badly to outrun his tears, his emotions, his destiny. He knew it was impossible.
For both of them.
~*~
In the middle of August of his twenty-fifth year, Albert went to visit Franz's grave as he did so many birthdays before. It was an impossibly hot afternoon, the kind that they wasted in swimming pools, beneath trees with books or board games, or just chasing one another for the fun of it. Albert laid the bouquet of roses on the monument. While she lived, Franz's visited frequently and the grave always had flowers and looked pristine. Now, even with the donations Franz's friends made to the cemetery, it was showing a little age, not gleaming eye-aching white like it once did. The groundskeeper had plenty to look after. Places like this would never stop filling up with young men gone too soon.
It was difficult to separate the grave in front of him from the one in his memories, when the gold and white and minimal design of the headstone and grave covering brought none of the peace they were meant to.
"Hi. Sorry it's been such a long time again." A pause. "Valentine and Max are naming their son after you. I'm the godfather. I think you'd be happy with how well everyone's growing up. Even me."
The trees rustled somewhere distantly. Albert listened to them and could not decide if they sounded happy or sad.
"A few months ago, I was reading a letter from Lucien and he said something off-hand that made me realize something I missed before. I don't know why. I guess I'm an idiot. You can laugh at you want. I'm really so clueless. Especially back then, I was so oblivious to everything but..."
Albert pushed his glasses out of his face long enough to rub his eyes, sniffing. "God, there I go, talking about myself again." It took a moment for him to gather himself, but when he replaced his glasses, he spoke quietly, but not brokenly.
"I wish you didn't have to go back then. There were a lot of things I wish we had a chance to talk about. I think you had a few things you still needed to tell me. I'm sorry it took me this long to hear it."
He edged between the graves and pressed his lips to the sun-warmed stone of Franz's gravestone. It was not unlike the soft, warm, smooth cheek of a boy. At least, not with his eyes closed.
Albert kept his eyes shut and listened for something, a message or a sound caught and frozen in time, an emotional transfer from some place in the clouds. He smelled nothing but the earthy-but-dead scent of stone and erosion. After what felt like several moments, he pulled away, brushing fingertips over his friend's name carved in the stone.
Brushing a shimmer of sweat from his brow, Albert walked away. With slow but even and determined steps, he departed the cemetery for a waiting car that sped away fast and far.
~End~