Summer, 1973
I remember the dingy jade carpets and the maroon corduroy couch couch with many miscellaneous stains on it.
I remembered the fish tank, void of fish and filled to the brim with fresh water, and the way Francis would sit on the far side of the couch with his arm flung over the arm rest, smoking a cigarette, and how every thing was the same every day I decided to stop by the house. I also remember the fact that Francis was twenty, and most twenty year men had friends. This particular French man, sporting flowery semi braided hair had exactly one. His name was Arthur, he was bitter and had shaggy blond hair, snake bites, a tongue piercing, an eyebrow piercing (unusually bushy brows), and gauges. The look was almost the complete opposite of Francis's, but the disheveled look of desperation was there all the same. The bickered constantly.
It was not until mid July that I realized that I had fallen in love with him.
I was 15
I supposed that I knew...I had to know, that nothing would ever come between us, how laughable it is that I used to play scenarios in my head of how he would gaze into my eyes and um...well you get the picture.
The worst part was I could tell how inseparable they were.
Which is why I was very confused when I found a familiar voice saying my name, something that I had never experienced, as I sat on the floor of Francis's apartment.
I was sure that I'd miss heard, I looked up, searching for any sign of Francis, he was gone.
In his place, sprawled out on the couch, laying side ways, was Arthur. "Alfred, love, would you mind coming here for a moment?". I nodded dumbly before making my way to the couch. He sat up, and I sat cross legged across from him.
"Would it be okay...if I vented to you?, I just have no one else right now, the person I usually do this with is the one I need to talk about".
Francis. Oh.
"Yeah" I responded lamely.
So I listened to him talk about his frustration with the French man and I folded my glasses and I set them on the coffee table, and he talked and talked, and the more that he did so, the more I realized how in love with Francis he was, and how in love with him I was.
"I'm...I'm sorry that you had to hear all that, gosh, and you're only 15" he said at the end of the vent. I sent him a quizzical look, because I didn't mind, I actually liked it more than I'd admit, just hearing his voice made me heart flutter...I sound like a princess but it's true...it all true.
He stared at me and I gave him a crooked smile and rested my hand on his shoulder. Suddenly the mood changed. He didn't say much, which was new, but the few choice words were all I needed. " Ah forget him". He stared at me and smiled sweetly. I felt my cheeks heat up. He stood up and beckoned me to follow him.
I was taller than him.
Such irrelevant things that I notice now.
Anyways, I remember that we had sex. And that he was gentle, and I felt wanted...needed. And how beautiful he was. I also remember how his smile faded as reality came weighing down on him. And how he sat in the mattress with his feet on the rug, and the sheet wrapped around mid section.
"Shit kid, shit" he mumbled through the side of his mouth as a spliff lay at the other. I watched the tears roll down his cheek and I new nothing that just happened mattered. At least not to him. I laughed in my head at myself as I walked out of the room, my eyes stinging, but no tears falling. I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. And how stupid I was. And how stupid I still am. Because I am still stupid and I am still in love with Arthur Kirkland.