Howard goes to bed early and I sit on the floor with my tea, idly flipping through the latest issue of 'Cheekbone'.
Old hat, this is. It's all about wild pink accents in moderation, and a 'new' electric green that I've already been wearing forever. Guess black is back again, too, though it really is such a staple in any well rounded wardrobe that I don't think it ever technically goes 'out'.
When I come to the end of the magazine I let the glossy pages flop closed.
Its getting late, but I can't bring myself to slink in to our room and crawl to bed quite yet. I feel right tosky after everything on the roof- I've got to do something to change it around, reversing of negative energies and the like.
"That's good, Vince." Naboo comments offhandedly.
"Practicing your telepathy again, yeah?" I ask.
Naboo smiles mysteriously. "Its easy to read your thoughts, Vince, you only have one at a time and you think them very loudly."
He and Bollo puff away comfortably on the hookah, filling the room with a gentle haze of smoke that drifts lazily, trailing itself towards the window, which is open just slightly.
"You know, you don't always have to be a mind reader to see what's going on with a person," Naboo says from beneath the twisting cloth of his deep blue turban. Bollo emerges out of the inner-most folds of his stoned state to grunt in agreement.
"What do you mean?" I ask. I can feel my eyebrows bunching up in dismay. Bad for the skin, this is. I reach up, trying to rub the potential lines away. Better prevention than a cure.
Naboo leans forward on the couch, crossing his arms at the wrist, elbows resting on his knees in a candid manner. From his mouth, a thin stream of deep purple smoke curls up and out.
He exhales and passes the mouth piece to Bollo.
"I'll just put it to you straight." He says. "Now, you know I love you, you're one of my best mates, but you're also a 32 year old man who sleeps in a bedroom with another man and wears women's clothing. I know you could have your pick of just about anyone, but maybe this time you ought to consider picking someone who'se worth picking."
He nods towards the closed door of my -our bedroom.
"You mean Howard?" I whisper in alarm, leaning forward. It's like a conspiracy! I can accept all the rest, there's no harm in the truth, but I was expecting something a bit more profound- 'Let Howard bum you' is terrible advice to give anyone!
"Naboo, you've gone wrong! What has gotten in to everyone?" I look back and fourth between the shaman and his familiar- my friends, my flat mates, my family.
"You've got to be kidding me," I decide. Naboo shrugs and sits back, taking the mouth-piece back from Bollo. "I didn't say you had to do anything." He counters coolly.
"Is that all!? That's not a very helpful suggestion, is it? Naboo, there's got to be something else. Don't you have a potion? Or a balm? Something?"
He considers for a time. "You could smoke some with us, it might clear your head."
"Let's see," I say despairingly, reaching for the mouth piece.
After a few deep pulls from the hookah, I feel the lines relax out of my forehead.
My limbs are warm and tingly like freshly laundered draperies danglin' out a window on a summer day, but my mind feels like a crusty orange bus-station urinal, pissed in by paunchy business men wearing tacky suits.
Though I would never admit it, in some lights I can see how Naboo is sort of right. Howard is my best mate, the moon to my sun, really. We've got an angle. But if it were going to happen with us, wouldn't it have already?
I have a sudden, horrible fear of drifting through the whole journey of my life, flitting about, in love with everyone and no one really and stuck with Howard in the end because I was never interested enough in any one thing or person, just contexts and fashion statements. It's a far stretch, but I still can't let anything of that sort happen.
I deserve more than that and Howard does as well. I feel a sympathetic twisting inside me when I think of all the times he's gotten the short end after he'd given his best.
He should be someone's first choice, not a last resort. But what someone, someone who? I hate watching him try to flirt with women. Me, then? Is he my first choice?
Have I chosen already, and am only just catching up with myself?
Maybe it would be easier to be with Howard, after all was said and done. I think most everyone already thinks that we're together- and I don't even bother correcting them anymore!
But there are also lots of things that don't appeal to me about being with Howard, least of all what a cramp he is on my style. All the jazz and pompous talk. How can anyone on the scene take me seriously if I'm ..dating Howard Moon? Though I am already living with him, and no one has seemed to mind so far.
However, going with Howard isn't something I can take on lightly- it's not the sort of thing that I could change my mind about. Once it's done, it'll be done, like a tattoo or a mobile phone contract or a personal loan agreement. I hear his voice echoing fuzzily in my mind; "It'll be forever, sir!"
It's all too much. I'm fine with confusing other people, but not confusing myself!
"Vince," someone says. I blink my dry, cotton-pom eyes. Naboo is sitting over me, shaking my shoulder and waving a hand in front of my face experimentally.
"Vince, its half past two. You've been sitting here like this for four hours, not speaking, just staring off like.. You alright?"
I look around, taking in my cold cup of tea, the neglected magazines- pink nail varnish chipping off my fingernails. Four hours, really?
"I've got to get some rest," I tell Naboo and Bollo, unzipping my boots and abandoning them beneath the table. With a nod goodnight, I head for the bathroom to brush my teeth and then I make for the oblivion of my bed.
"Think of what I've said," I hear Naboo say as I'm shutting the door behind me.
The room is dark and warm, closed in and a little claustrophobic feeling. Not too badly, but just enough for me to notice. I change out of my Space-Demon suit and slip in to my robe, pausing by the closet, hanger in hand.
I don't want to wake Howard, so I move especially slowly, really creeping along. However, despite my attempts to be silent, Howard rustles in his bed and turns over. I grimace, hearing the creaky bed-frame protest his movement.
"Vince," He whispers.
"Yeh?" I answer reluctantly, frozen where I am just for a second. Like a mistrustful lizard, I make a skittering dash for my side of the room.
"I can actually hear you trying to be quiet," Howard says sharply, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness I think I see a trace of a smile there. "Cut it out," he murmurs. "I'm not asleep yet."
"Sorry, how was I to know?" I sit down on the edge of my bed, sinking in to the softness of the blankets and pillows.
"Howard," I say.
I can hear his breath stir, filling up the silence and the stillness that separates our whispers.
"I don't want to talk about it any more," He says quietly. "Clearly, it doesn't matter as much to you as it does to me."
"Course it does!" I say instantly. "But that doesn't have anything to do with what I was going to say! I was going to say something completely unrelated. It's a separate issue I want to talk about."
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"The man corset," I say. "Do you still have it? From Lester? The brown one, you know?"
"What?" He asks, sitting up. Ah, bless him. Howard's hair is all stuck up on one side, and the street light outside, combined with the mighty, shining power of the moon casts him in a kind of silvery glow, all contrasting yellow and blue shadows. I can see perfectly the shape of his silly little man nipples through the faded paisley pattern of his cotton pajamas. They make me grin like a fool- I want to take them on holiday, get trashed and drive around with them in a tiny foreign car.
"You know, the man corset! Can I borrow it? I've got this idea for a new look, this kind of modern primitive thing, lots of fringe. The man corset would be perfect."
"Sure, whatever you want," He says flatly. He looks at me then, fluffs his pillow, and turns over deliberately, lying back down.
"Howard," I say again. I don't want him to go to bed angry, I hear it's terrible for you. Plus, I do rather love to pester him.
"What?!" He asks, shoulders bunching up beneath his blanket. "What is it?"
"I was thinking about what you said earlier, on the roof. You'd said that it wasn't the first time I'd brushed you off, but if you're talking about that time in the tundra when you told me you loved me, I did tell you that I loved you back. I did."
"Was that before or after you laughed at me?" He asks.
"I was caught off guard, is all. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Even thinking about it now makes me want to have a giggle. It made me happy." I pause, thoughts leaping.
"Well, it didn't make me happy! And I won't be baited by you! I said I didn't want to talk about it!"
"But Howard! We've got to talk about it. I can't get to sleep with all this hanging over my head. 'Cheekbone' says that stress is one of the biggest contributing factors of premature wrinkle development."
Howard sits up again with a resigned sigh and clicks on the little lamp next to his bed. This time, the hair on the other side of his head is rebelling, jutting up and out in a wild display of personal protest.
Howard rubs his eyes, acting as though he'll never get to sleep now, but I don't feel badly because he wasn't asleep to begin with!
"What else is there to say?" He asks.
"Knowing you, plenty!" He makes it so easy!
For a second I forget what it is we're supposed to be talking about- Howard's hair is well distracting. If only that one little piece was pushed back, It's driving me mad!
Lookit him, trying to be grumpy, maybe to remind me that he's still hurt. I can't take him seriously while his hair is doing that, but I want to. I'm trying to.
It doesn't matter anyway, how much he pouts, I know he'll stay up all hours with me. Suddenly, I'm excited. I love these kinds of nights! Passing out in a wreckage of sweet wrappers and papers and coffee cups at 6 AM with the sun coming through the window, fucking genius.
"I Think I see a wrinkle forming, Vince, just there,' Howard says after a minute, pointing with his finger. This gets my attention, filthy lies. He's got a tiny little smile ghosting around his face.
"Don't be cruel," I tell him, moving to sit with him on the edge of his bed. I tie off my flowery bath robe (got it for free! can you believe that?) and Howard pulls his legs up to make room for me.
"You know I don't look a day over twenty."
I lean against the wall and peer at him through my deflated fringe. I'm trying to see him the way a stranger would see him, finding things I like about him without seeing the same old things I've always liked.
"C'mere," I motion with a nod of my head. He cocks his head questioningly and I motion again, a flicker of movement, encouraging him with my eyebrows.
He leans forward and bravely, I reach out and tuck back the offending strand of hair, smiling. That's so much better.
His eyes are curious, searching me. I let my arm drop. My fingertips brush his wrist, but only the tiniest little bit.
"Your hair's a mess," I tell him softly.
He's quiet and I'm quiet and it feels different. We're sitting very close. I poke his knee with my finger, picking at tear in the old quilting.
"What're we doing?" he asks me softly. I'm pretty sure he means this rhetorically, but..
"I'm not sure," I breathe out.
"You've got hippie breath. Vince," he says, "Are you high?" He sits back and peers at me with new scrutiny.
"A bit?" My smile gives me away so I try to hide it behind my hand. "I think I'm more hungry, now, than anything else."
The little spell is broken. He yawns and nods.
"You want something?" I ask after a bit.
Howard considers. "I could do with something," he says.
"Great! While you're up will you grab me some crisps and the rest of that chocolate bar?"
Howard glares at me, but he's playing. "Oh, I'll get you for that one," he promises, pushing the covers back and swinging his legs out of bed. "When you least expect it, my retribution will come sweeping down upon you, oh, yes sir."
When he goes, I call out after him. "And a banana, too!"
