Disclaimer: (see my profile please) Also, I am writing in a form patterned
slightly after Junot Diaz's in his collection of short stories "Drown". I
am also writing in response to a one story of the said collection, also
entitled "Drown". Thank you Junot for your ideas and your ways with words
(and potentially not suing me).
"I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts~" Julius Cesar
Marie says Remy is back and I say yeah I know and I do know. Saw him ride up on his motorcycle last night when I was leaning out the window watching my lighter burn the air away. Leaning out the window because Bobby says my lighter is like the night light from hell and it always keeps him awake. And I'm leaning out the window and I see Remy on his motorcycle- the muffler quiet for someone so loud once he gets bourbon and cheap cigarettes into him.
It seems like everyone has eyes for motorcycles- Scott Logan Remy all got 'em and Marie, she gets this look in her eyes when Logan asks her on, like she's gonna be dangerous, even under all that lace and pleather, eyeliner and gloves. Ororo says they can be harder than cars to lift. Hell, even Bobby says he's gonna get himself one, one day. Me I just want a car, a 67 Thunderbird with a fill in the blank, maybe a V8 engine and a paint job- hot red with white flames because red and black make you look like a Devils fan and I don't play sports or follow them, and red and yellow or red and orange look stupid and black and yellow make you look like a goddamn Bumblebee coming up the road. No power in that. Maybe I'll get one of those engines that sit on the top of the hood that look like they could melt your windshield or push you past 200 mph if you can still dare to look at the road and drive knowing you got all the power, all that possibility sitting at your disposal.
Marie wants to know if I've talked to Remy and I say no. And she wants to know if I will and I say I don't know. (She doesn't know I'm avoiding him.) Marie says we used to talk all the time and go everywhere together Remy and me. She said Remy and me would get in and out of the most trouble and I say I know already. And I do know, even though Logan's still got his whiskey in the back of the produce drawer behind 3 year old lettuce that someone really should get rid of, because if any one eats that then they might as well climb into the ground, cause that thing will fuck with your stomach so bad- poison you or give you the shits. And Logan doesn't bother to find a new hiding spot even though I didn't stop drinking his stash when Remy went away. Maybe he doesn't bother to hide it from me because I drink less on my own then Remy and I ever did together. Probably less than Remy by himself did. And it's not like he could tell the Professor on us or me because he's not supposed to have the liquor in the first, second or third place. Same with the smoking- he sees me once in a while, we'll be standing on the same section of the porch and maybe he knows Remy got me into it, more for watching the cigarette burn out but I don't tell anyone where the cigar butts come from and he returns the favor.
Remy could always find the heavy glass bottles- with out trying it seemed sometimes. Like some skill he kept secret- alcoholic bloodhound under the car jacking. He used to say, before he left, that he didn't think about cars anymore, not like he used to- said he used to fall asleep dreaming of fine leather under his fingers tips, said that's why he likes gloves so much. I think it's to hide the cigarette burns and scars on his hands where his old man used to take off his belt and smack him on his palms if Remy did something he didn't like. Remy said that once, about his dad getting drunk and beating him around. He didn't say things like that often though, say something and mean it. So when he did, when he said it only to you, you paid attention.
We'd grab glasses and go tit for tat, head for head. Big men with our drinks clinking and slamming on the table with the whiskey sloshing. Card games that Remy never seemed to get sloppy at though I did. The TV on in the background- horror movies or French films with the subtitles off- So Remy don get rusty, chere.
And then one night we're watching another movie Le Pacte des loups, or The Brotherhood of the Wolf and Remy's shifting. I'm about to tell him to stop moving or go take a leak already because even though I don't understand what's going on I know there's going to be a fight soon and if he doesn't stop moving- then I feel Remy's hand in my jeans and part of me thinks maybe cause we're drunk but I'm not looking at Remy and I'm sure as hell not watching the movie. And I'm still not saying anything and when I'm done he slides his hand out and shifts again so his head is almost on my shoulder, his back resting, curling against my arm that's gripping the seat cushion. And his feet with those big boots that would clunk on anyone else, but they're silent on him, are draped over the arm of the couch. And I make a noise like I'm going to puke so I run to the bathroom. I retch up Jack Daniels and chips and stomach acid and what must be French because it burns real bad in my throat and I fall asleep on the cool tile floor with my head next to the sink because I'm not sure if he's still sitting there and if I should leave or what.
I spent the next day skipping class, watching flame make shapes and burn those letters I never sent home. Not really thinking just filling up my time. Avoided dinner and lay down early, wait to hear everyone else sleeping before I roll over and stop staring at my pillow and start staring at the ceiling instead. Part of me thinks, murmurs real loud this is how Remy and me got close cause neither of us can sleep normal time but I try to stop thinking instead.
Skipped classes again the next day. When Marie came to find me and asked me where I was, I said I didn't feel good. She said go to the medical wing. I said I didn't feel like it so she said to drink lots of fluids and I didn't feel hot. I wanted to say how could you feel through those lace gloves of yours but I didn't. I reminded her how I was the pyro and I was always burning up, close to exploding- just like any of us since we're all unstable under the messy seams. She granted me a smile and left.
That night I headed down to the kitchen in my old sweat pants with the bleach stains that look like I had maybe left a price tag or size tag on them, and they melted into the fabric when they got thrown into the dryer. Grabbed a Tupperware of whatever was left over and a fork and headed into the TV room to see what was on cable. And Remy was there lounging- 'From Dusk Till Dawn', which we've both seen over 10 times cause it's good, was playing- and there's a bottle and two glasses out. Part of me whispered son of a bitch he knew I was coming but I sat down anyway, next to him but not too close.
And then right at the part where Jacob says I won't be Jacob anymore I'll be a lapdog of Satan Remy's holding on to me and kissing me and I know we haven't had much to drink because I saw the bottle. It's still mostly full like our glasses and I'm kissing him back. His tongue is like wax, like birthday candles I used to suck on and still do, just stick them into my mouth hot from fire. The trick is to not breathe and they won't go out, just stay as embers. And then you can breathe fire or chew on the wax like gum only it's harder to get out from between your teeth.
And with Remy I'm not breathing I'm just doing and somehow I'm straddling him and his mon ami mon amis. And my hand is under his shirt, the other on his face and neck, running my fingers across his skin that's soft enough to almost be called feminine, but where you feel bone and angles underneath. His skin is warm and smooth except where my hand is hitting small scars but he's so beautiful anyway, I can't help thinking he's beautiful. Then his shirt is on the floor and so is mine. Remy's necklaces are tracing my skin like if I ran out side in a snowstorm and laid down letting the flakes fall on my face, like soft wet kisses, like junk jewelry. My pants are on the ground and I hear the screams of the vampires dying, bursting into ash. Part of me wonders if its day light yet, here or in the movie but then I hear kill me Kate so I know there's a while to go. And Remy's hands are everywhere, touching parts that generally don't get out and he's asking, telling me Remy can stop if John wants chere. But I don't say anything. He's slipping off his pants too, those jeans that are cut low so when he raises his hand in class for the participation grade you can see the cut of his stomach; he's not wearing boxers. He's just bracing pushing himself against the couch as daylight is coming and they're on their final bullets and then we're watching the credits and his head is resting on my leg, my thigh and we're both warm hot sweaty and a little sore and the couch is sticking to me in what feels like all the wrong places but I don't mind anything at all that much.
I don't think I really mind we're watching infomercials now but I hear something loud, a roar right outside the window. I jump up and knock Remy's head off and away and pull on my sweatpants almost putting my two feet in the same leg, forgetting the boxers that are lying in a lump on the floor, before Remy stops looking shocked and scared and starts to laugh and say it was just Logan's bike chere. So I sit back down for another hair removal demonstration before I get up again and say I'm tired and I'm going to bed. And I walk out even though I know Remy is watching me. I forget to grab my boxers. I can hear him start to play with his deck of cards, and I know he's burning them up with the lighter he stole off me so only parts of them- the faces of the jacks, the ace of spades remain. And he used to ask me to light his cigarettes when we first started running into each other when we were wandering in the same places, before we started talking horror movies and watching things burn together.
And I spend the next night outside roaming like I used to before I ever saw Psycho with someone else. I see that the light in the TV room is on, like the night after that but I still don't go in though I know Remy's my friend and that should mean something to me. And then he's leaving and he finds me late at night before he's supposed to go; where, when I'm sitting in the grass staring at nothing but my silver lighter case and hands me a deck of cards and kisses my cheek and I let him. Let him slowly touch my lips with one gloved finger even though part of me wants to bite on the leather, bite on the finger underneath. Bite on his love of leather steering wheels and Canadian beer. And when I'm done biting him, I want to kiss him and just not breathe anymore, just blow fire into his mouth and have him blow it back, maybe make him breathe for both of us.
That night I'm leaning out the window watching him go and I'm burning the cards and keep relighting the embers and the ash. Even the suicidal king who was always my favorite, cause I always thought his castle would be the one to be at, his queen must be cheating. I'm burning that card too and watching the flames so I won't ever be able to play with those cards or read what was written there, what might have been written there cause I think Remy would write something in French. Cause John shood learn de speak chere.
And Marie asks me what happened between us cause before he left we weren't talking, we weren't doing much of anything, either of us and now that he's back we're not talking either. I say it was nothing. Just nothing. And she shrugs and says whatever. Goes off to play her Nine Inch Nails or Beck if she's feeling happy. And I just keep sitting there not really moving just watching it get dark and turn to midnight. The moon coming out and maybe vampires too and then I see that the light in the TV room is on. I see a shadow there. I think maybe there's two glasses out but maybe not. And maybe not then I can drink from the bottle or I could get a glass and then I'm not sitting down under the moon anymore but I'm getting up and putting my lighter away.
"I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts~" Julius Cesar
Marie says Remy is back and I say yeah I know and I do know. Saw him ride up on his motorcycle last night when I was leaning out the window watching my lighter burn the air away. Leaning out the window because Bobby says my lighter is like the night light from hell and it always keeps him awake. And I'm leaning out the window and I see Remy on his motorcycle- the muffler quiet for someone so loud once he gets bourbon and cheap cigarettes into him.
It seems like everyone has eyes for motorcycles- Scott Logan Remy all got 'em and Marie, she gets this look in her eyes when Logan asks her on, like she's gonna be dangerous, even under all that lace and pleather, eyeliner and gloves. Ororo says they can be harder than cars to lift. Hell, even Bobby says he's gonna get himself one, one day. Me I just want a car, a 67 Thunderbird with a fill in the blank, maybe a V8 engine and a paint job- hot red with white flames because red and black make you look like a Devils fan and I don't play sports or follow them, and red and yellow or red and orange look stupid and black and yellow make you look like a goddamn Bumblebee coming up the road. No power in that. Maybe I'll get one of those engines that sit on the top of the hood that look like they could melt your windshield or push you past 200 mph if you can still dare to look at the road and drive knowing you got all the power, all that possibility sitting at your disposal.
Marie wants to know if I've talked to Remy and I say no. And she wants to know if I will and I say I don't know. (She doesn't know I'm avoiding him.) Marie says we used to talk all the time and go everywhere together Remy and me. She said Remy and me would get in and out of the most trouble and I say I know already. And I do know, even though Logan's still got his whiskey in the back of the produce drawer behind 3 year old lettuce that someone really should get rid of, because if any one eats that then they might as well climb into the ground, cause that thing will fuck with your stomach so bad- poison you or give you the shits. And Logan doesn't bother to find a new hiding spot even though I didn't stop drinking his stash when Remy went away. Maybe he doesn't bother to hide it from me because I drink less on my own then Remy and I ever did together. Probably less than Remy by himself did. And it's not like he could tell the Professor on us or me because he's not supposed to have the liquor in the first, second or third place. Same with the smoking- he sees me once in a while, we'll be standing on the same section of the porch and maybe he knows Remy got me into it, more for watching the cigarette burn out but I don't tell anyone where the cigar butts come from and he returns the favor.
Remy could always find the heavy glass bottles- with out trying it seemed sometimes. Like some skill he kept secret- alcoholic bloodhound under the car jacking. He used to say, before he left, that he didn't think about cars anymore, not like he used to- said he used to fall asleep dreaming of fine leather under his fingers tips, said that's why he likes gloves so much. I think it's to hide the cigarette burns and scars on his hands where his old man used to take off his belt and smack him on his palms if Remy did something he didn't like. Remy said that once, about his dad getting drunk and beating him around. He didn't say things like that often though, say something and mean it. So when he did, when he said it only to you, you paid attention.
We'd grab glasses and go tit for tat, head for head. Big men with our drinks clinking and slamming on the table with the whiskey sloshing. Card games that Remy never seemed to get sloppy at though I did. The TV on in the background- horror movies or French films with the subtitles off- So Remy don get rusty, chere.
And then one night we're watching another movie Le Pacte des loups, or The Brotherhood of the Wolf and Remy's shifting. I'm about to tell him to stop moving or go take a leak already because even though I don't understand what's going on I know there's going to be a fight soon and if he doesn't stop moving- then I feel Remy's hand in my jeans and part of me thinks maybe cause we're drunk but I'm not looking at Remy and I'm sure as hell not watching the movie. And I'm still not saying anything and when I'm done he slides his hand out and shifts again so his head is almost on my shoulder, his back resting, curling against my arm that's gripping the seat cushion. And his feet with those big boots that would clunk on anyone else, but they're silent on him, are draped over the arm of the couch. And I make a noise like I'm going to puke so I run to the bathroom. I retch up Jack Daniels and chips and stomach acid and what must be French because it burns real bad in my throat and I fall asleep on the cool tile floor with my head next to the sink because I'm not sure if he's still sitting there and if I should leave or what.
I spent the next day skipping class, watching flame make shapes and burn those letters I never sent home. Not really thinking just filling up my time. Avoided dinner and lay down early, wait to hear everyone else sleeping before I roll over and stop staring at my pillow and start staring at the ceiling instead. Part of me thinks, murmurs real loud this is how Remy and me got close cause neither of us can sleep normal time but I try to stop thinking instead.
Skipped classes again the next day. When Marie came to find me and asked me where I was, I said I didn't feel good. She said go to the medical wing. I said I didn't feel like it so she said to drink lots of fluids and I didn't feel hot. I wanted to say how could you feel through those lace gloves of yours but I didn't. I reminded her how I was the pyro and I was always burning up, close to exploding- just like any of us since we're all unstable under the messy seams. She granted me a smile and left.
That night I headed down to the kitchen in my old sweat pants with the bleach stains that look like I had maybe left a price tag or size tag on them, and they melted into the fabric when they got thrown into the dryer. Grabbed a Tupperware of whatever was left over and a fork and headed into the TV room to see what was on cable. And Remy was there lounging- 'From Dusk Till Dawn', which we've both seen over 10 times cause it's good, was playing- and there's a bottle and two glasses out. Part of me whispered son of a bitch he knew I was coming but I sat down anyway, next to him but not too close.
And then right at the part where Jacob says I won't be Jacob anymore I'll be a lapdog of Satan Remy's holding on to me and kissing me and I know we haven't had much to drink because I saw the bottle. It's still mostly full like our glasses and I'm kissing him back. His tongue is like wax, like birthday candles I used to suck on and still do, just stick them into my mouth hot from fire. The trick is to not breathe and they won't go out, just stay as embers. And then you can breathe fire or chew on the wax like gum only it's harder to get out from between your teeth.
And with Remy I'm not breathing I'm just doing and somehow I'm straddling him and his mon ami mon amis. And my hand is under his shirt, the other on his face and neck, running my fingers across his skin that's soft enough to almost be called feminine, but where you feel bone and angles underneath. His skin is warm and smooth except where my hand is hitting small scars but he's so beautiful anyway, I can't help thinking he's beautiful. Then his shirt is on the floor and so is mine. Remy's necklaces are tracing my skin like if I ran out side in a snowstorm and laid down letting the flakes fall on my face, like soft wet kisses, like junk jewelry. My pants are on the ground and I hear the screams of the vampires dying, bursting into ash. Part of me wonders if its day light yet, here or in the movie but then I hear kill me Kate so I know there's a while to go. And Remy's hands are everywhere, touching parts that generally don't get out and he's asking, telling me Remy can stop if John wants chere. But I don't say anything. He's slipping off his pants too, those jeans that are cut low so when he raises his hand in class for the participation grade you can see the cut of his stomach; he's not wearing boxers. He's just bracing pushing himself against the couch as daylight is coming and they're on their final bullets and then we're watching the credits and his head is resting on my leg, my thigh and we're both warm hot sweaty and a little sore and the couch is sticking to me in what feels like all the wrong places but I don't mind anything at all that much.
I don't think I really mind we're watching infomercials now but I hear something loud, a roar right outside the window. I jump up and knock Remy's head off and away and pull on my sweatpants almost putting my two feet in the same leg, forgetting the boxers that are lying in a lump on the floor, before Remy stops looking shocked and scared and starts to laugh and say it was just Logan's bike chere. So I sit back down for another hair removal demonstration before I get up again and say I'm tired and I'm going to bed. And I walk out even though I know Remy is watching me. I forget to grab my boxers. I can hear him start to play with his deck of cards, and I know he's burning them up with the lighter he stole off me so only parts of them- the faces of the jacks, the ace of spades remain. And he used to ask me to light his cigarettes when we first started running into each other when we were wandering in the same places, before we started talking horror movies and watching things burn together.
And I spend the next night outside roaming like I used to before I ever saw Psycho with someone else. I see that the light in the TV room is on, like the night after that but I still don't go in though I know Remy's my friend and that should mean something to me. And then he's leaving and he finds me late at night before he's supposed to go; where, when I'm sitting in the grass staring at nothing but my silver lighter case and hands me a deck of cards and kisses my cheek and I let him. Let him slowly touch my lips with one gloved finger even though part of me wants to bite on the leather, bite on the finger underneath. Bite on his love of leather steering wheels and Canadian beer. And when I'm done biting him, I want to kiss him and just not breathe anymore, just blow fire into his mouth and have him blow it back, maybe make him breathe for both of us.
That night I'm leaning out the window watching him go and I'm burning the cards and keep relighting the embers and the ash. Even the suicidal king who was always my favorite, cause I always thought his castle would be the one to be at, his queen must be cheating. I'm burning that card too and watching the flames so I won't ever be able to play with those cards or read what was written there, what might have been written there cause I think Remy would write something in French. Cause John shood learn de speak chere.
And Marie asks me what happened between us cause before he left we weren't talking, we weren't doing much of anything, either of us and now that he's back we're not talking either. I say it was nothing. Just nothing. And she shrugs and says whatever. Goes off to play her Nine Inch Nails or Beck if she's feeling happy. And I just keep sitting there not really moving just watching it get dark and turn to midnight. The moon coming out and maybe vampires too and then I see that the light in the TV room is on. I see a shadow there. I think maybe there's two glasses out but maybe not. And maybe not then I can drink from the bottle or I could get a glass and then I'm not sitting down under the moon anymore but I'm getting up and putting my lighter away.