Agridulce e Amargo
"I mean, because sex made your whole life start, and if you think about life as like a circle or something, then sex and death are the same -- look, I'm not, I'm not saying that they're the same, I mean, I've thought about having sex with you, and, and, God, I've, I've never seriously thought of killing you ..." - Angela Chase, My So-Called Life
i
The first thing Colin senses when he wakes is his skin against the hospital sheets. It feels tight, stretched too thin over bones and muscles. For a moment he fears it might rupture, tearing open like a water balloon dragged across rough asphalt. Sweat beads on his forehead. His mouth is dry. He shifts in bed and clenches his teeth at the itchy cloth scratching his legs.
In a chair next to the bed, Amy wakes from a dream about a woman who reminded her of Laynie, before she'd cut her hair. The woman had told her something -- no, warned her about something -- but Amy can't remember what it was.
ii
Ephram keeps his eyes open when he first kisses Wendell so that he can make sure he's not dreaming. The kiss is wetter than he'd imagined it would be, and Wendell's lips are somehow harder than Laynie's, but Ephram thinks he likes it all the same. Thinks, before breaking the kiss to take a breath, that Wendell actually tastes kind of good, a mixture of the Coke they drank at dinner and the cinnamon Altoids Wendell keeps in his pants pocket. Thinks he could even get used to kissing Wendell.
Ephram pushes the comics scattered over Wendell's bed onto the floor. He grabs a fistful of Wendell's shirt, lays back on Wendell's forest-green pillow, and pulls Wendell's unresisting mouth back down to his.
iii
Amy's hair reminds Colin of wheat, rustling and shifting in the wind. He wonders, briefly, what would happen if she shaved her head and learned to spin. Amy notices that he's opened his eyes and her cool hand covers his. The soft skin of her palm is soothing.
"Hey," she says, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a murmur. He hears the tightness in the back of her throat, watches her blink more than necessary.
The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly; the effort is exhausting. He wants to tell her that he loves her. He wants to warn her to stay away from spinning wheels and short men with long names. He wants to thank her for not having warm hands, for not leaving him alone.
His mind is overwhelmed, but his tongue is thick and heavy, and he's so tired. His lips form Amy and he exhales. He knows she will hear him and understand that this single word is his greatest accomplishment. His magnum opus.
Colin closes his eyes. He is gone before Amy realizes that he's left.
iv
Ephram bites Wendell's lip, tastes coppery liquid on his tongue, and comes with a low moan into Wendell's hand. Thirty seconds or so later, Wendell sinks his teeth into the skin above Ephram's collarbone, sucks some of the blood into his mouth, and silently follows suit.
They both know enough to recognize the importance of the occasional spilling of blood, and hold no grudges. Wendell wipes them off with a damp washcloth, changes the sheets, and puts a bandage on Ephram's shoulder. His hands are steady, but the crinkles between his eyebrows betray his concern. He asks Ephram four times if he's sure he's okay before turning out the light.
Ephram leans over and holds a gentle finger against Wendell's lips, saying Yes a final time. He drops apologetic kisses in random places -- cheekbone, eyelid, neck, chest, wrist, finger, forehead -- then, blushing, gets up and crawls inside his sleeping bag on the floor.
Wendell's mother hands him the phone the next morning during breakfast. It's Amy. Her words do not surprise him. He cradles the phone with his uninjured shoulder. His right hand puts his orange juice down, and he allows his left to seek Wendell's under the table.
"I mean, because sex made your whole life start, and if you think about life as like a circle or something, then sex and death are the same -- look, I'm not, I'm not saying that they're the same, I mean, I've thought about having sex with you, and, and, God, I've, I've never seriously thought of killing you ..." - Angela Chase, My So-Called Life
i
The first thing Colin senses when he wakes is his skin against the hospital sheets. It feels tight, stretched too thin over bones and muscles. For a moment he fears it might rupture, tearing open like a water balloon dragged across rough asphalt. Sweat beads on his forehead. His mouth is dry. He shifts in bed and clenches his teeth at the itchy cloth scratching his legs.
In a chair next to the bed, Amy wakes from a dream about a woman who reminded her of Laynie, before she'd cut her hair. The woman had told her something -- no, warned her about something -- but Amy can't remember what it was.
ii
Ephram keeps his eyes open when he first kisses Wendell so that he can make sure he's not dreaming. The kiss is wetter than he'd imagined it would be, and Wendell's lips are somehow harder than Laynie's, but Ephram thinks he likes it all the same. Thinks, before breaking the kiss to take a breath, that Wendell actually tastes kind of good, a mixture of the Coke they drank at dinner and the cinnamon Altoids Wendell keeps in his pants pocket. Thinks he could even get used to kissing Wendell.
Ephram pushes the comics scattered over Wendell's bed onto the floor. He grabs a fistful of Wendell's shirt, lays back on Wendell's forest-green pillow, and pulls Wendell's unresisting mouth back down to his.
iii
Amy's hair reminds Colin of wheat, rustling and shifting in the wind. He wonders, briefly, what would happen if she shaved her head and learned to spin. Amy notices that he's opened his eyes and her cool hand covers his. The soft skin of her palm is soothing.
"Hey," she says, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a murmur. He hears the tightness in the back of her throat, watches her blink more than necessary.
The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly; the effort is exhausting. He wants to tell her that he loves her. He wants to warn her to stay away from spinning wheels and short men with long names. He wants to thank her for not having warm hands, for not leaving him alone.
His mind is overwhelmed, but his tongue is thick and heavy, and he's so tired. His lips form Amy and he exhales. He knows she will hear him and understand that this single word is his greatest accomplishment. His magnum opus.
Colin closes his eyes. He is gone before Amy realizes that he's left.
iv
Ephram bites Wendell's lip, tastes coppery liquid on his tongue, and comes with a low moan into Wendell's hand. Thirty seconds or so later, Wendell sinks his teeth into the skin above Ephram's collarbone, sucks some of the blood into his mouth, and silently follows suit.
They both know enough to recognize the importance of the occasional spilling of blood, and hold no grudges. Wendell wipes them off with a damp washcloth, changes the sheets, and puts a bandage on Ephram's shoulder. His hands are steady, but the crinkles between his eyebrows betray his concern. He asks Ephram four times if he's sure he's okay before turning out the light.
Ephram leans over and holds a gentle finger against Wendell's lips, saying Yes a final time. He drops apologetic kisses in random places -- cheekbone, eyelid, neck, chest, wrist, finger, forehead -- then, blushing, gets up and crawls inside his sleeping bag on the floor.
Wendell's mother hands him the phone the next morning during breakfast. It's Amy. Her words do not surprise him. He cradles the phone with his uninjured shoulder. His right hand puts his orange juice down, and he allows his left to seek Wendell's under the table.