Stray Ashes

The life of the party was in how long it took one to drift into that alcoholic state of nothing and everything feeling. For no one was truly beautiful or honestly interesting before that veil of unspecific euphoria cast itself across our vision. Christian had arrived in this feeling so all was vivacious, alive, and tinged with a melancholy that would taste of sweetness if restrained for individual imbibing. The boys were beautiful and the girls were lovely; every body did to him what he intended as pleasure and as a result handshakes were orgasmic and every hug was truly heart-warming. Oh, how lovely he looked, they all said, had he enjoyed his break and was it glorious to be back in London? All was affirmative in that nothing and everything feeling.

Marcus walked in search of a ghost. He found not the eerie netherworldliness he desired but instead a feeling of absolute loneliness. It drenched him in that cold London air, seeped through his nostrils into waiting lungs and built a commune in his aching heart. It was only love he wanted when the confession was made and yet more alone now he was than before he spoke those words, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’ It always came out the same, tinged with uncertainty which, if truth be told, is all that the feeling is. There is no love because there is nothing, simply a curiosity of feeling - a desire to know if ravenous emotion could live within ones heart for the other. Christian had been shocked and had then been angry. ‘What signals could you possibly have misread?, I made clear the boundaries of this relationship?’ Then floundering in his desire to do justice to an emotion he could not capture, he had become dramatic and stormed out of the room to go to the party alone. Marcus had sat there in the ensuing silence for over thirty minutes wondering what he should be feeling.

He made a right turn on Charing-Cross Road and made the long maneuvering walk through Soho toward the British Museum. Couples everywhere and unconsciously avoiding them, he turned into Gower street. He was almost at the end of the block when he realized he was crying. The wind swept the tears clean from his face like some benevolent goddess watching him intently and bidding him into good feeling. He was confused and alone and the bench ahead came just in time. There was a beat before he hunched over, as if deciding on his action, and there in the plaza between the College Internet Cafe, and the coed party two blocks away, he cried as if for a death. He mourned a dead friendship, he mourned his lack of tact, he mourned those dreadful meaningless words ‘I think I’m in love with you.’ There was not an iota of confidence in them, nothing definite, how could he expect reciprocation for such a nothing and everything feeling.

Christian retired to the window because the party was boring as he sobered and also because Erika did not allow smoking ‘inside.’ Since these London flats provided by the University were too small, the ‘balcony’ was allocated as the small area directly underneath the side windows. Erika enjoyed allocating, whether for lack of any true structure in her family life, she took it upon herself to ensure that everything was not only in place, but in the proper place at the proper time. She reached Christian just as he was about to put out his first cigarette on the window sill, and slid an ashtray underneath his hand just in time with a smile.

“Where’s Marcus?” She asked in passing, as one would ask Jesus perhaps for Judas and then look to see if he was following close behind. This being the evening of the confession however, Christian saw this as a chance to ‘clear the air’ of any misconceptions, define all boundaries as they should exist.

“I am not my brother’s keeper, as a matter of fact I’m an only child.” He lit another cigarette. To the indignant tone in his voice Erika raised only an eyebrow and ploughed along attempting to rescue the flailing conversation.

“Did you see RJ?”

“No, why?”

“Well, let’s just say he was dressed appropriately for someone in his state of mind.” Just then the devil of topic stumbled into their view on the allocated ‘dance floor.’ An all-American blonde haired, blue eyed boy wonder wearing the British Flag for a cape and the American flag for boxers.

“God save the queen,” Christian remarked and put his cigarette out on the window sill consciously avoiding the ashtray.

“Hey!” Erika called after him as, in mind and in deed, she struggled between a chase and allocating the stray ashes back into the waiting tray.

It felt like dying. Marcus had left his bench, walking headlong into the street and wiping his eyes. A black cab collided with the rigid-from-fear caps of his knees and he fell to the floor immediately. He tried to pass out, but unfortunately the darkness would not come. In between echoes of his fight with Christian he wove in the cockney accent of the hysterical cab driver.

Someone said ‘Call the Police,’ and a woman was crying. She clung to a strapping man with a camera and repeated ‘Henry’ several times like a somber chant beckoning an apparition. The lights flashed false colors in Marcus’ eyes and there was a deafening ring in his left ear. A cell phone rang in his pocket and the man with the camera answered it pushing his wife away. Through the haze of other people’s caring fingers and encroaching shadows he heard the man say ‘Christian?’ Like a long question with no answer. He tried to speak but blood stained his shirt and he worried he would never get it out, and just as he reached for the cell-phone, unconsciousness found him and befell him in a shroud of complete darkness.
The guilt found Christian at Picadilly Circus, just underneath the fountain of running horses. It made a bee line through the hordes of college students and nostalgic British Punksters toward his staggering figure. He had to stop for confusion. The man on Marcus’ cell-phone had been nothing if not vague, there was some sort of accident and Marcus was hurt. He wouldn’t hurt himself, or would he? It would fit perfectly into the strange evening.

Suddenly he was cold and alone and he felt selfish and frustrated. He could offer Marcus only the brotherly love that required simple companionship and the occasional good joke, anything beyond that was impossible. Not because he could not imagine himself in an intimate state with a man but more because he felt any entanglement of such a nature would involve too much responsibility. Christian was not one for responsibility, hence he could not spend more than two consecutive days with his parents or anyone he considered family. With time the sincerity of his love faded and he was left choking in a mist of awkward silence and clock watching; ticking off the minutes before he was back on the bus and amongst the strangers he could not help loving so dearly.

They were going to the St. Nicholas Hospital the man on Marcus’ phone had said. Christian raised his hand for a taxi and as if to punish him God, or god, sent Sebastian De Batiste around the corner instead.

“Christian!” He called in that pretentious accent that was more a statement against the English language than any genuine individual personal perspective on annunciating words. There was a girl on his arm, a frail Indian looking girl who was either named Mena or Menu, Christian was not listening. She was devoid of expression, obviously high on something and could not let go of Sebastian’s arm lest she fall to the pavement.
“I’m actually in a hurry Sebastian.”

“Always in a hurry Christian, no time to stop and chat, the night is young as they say.” He did that often in his speech, ‘as they say,’ who ‘they’ was, was always vague.

“Marcus was in an accident.” And now Sebastian gasped dramatically and turned his gasp to his girl for her benefit of its intensity. She giggled inappropriately and Sebastian turned seriously to Christian.

“I’m sorry I can’t keep you now, where are you going?”

“St. Nicholas”

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know,” Christian’s hand was already in the air and a black cab halted inches away.

“Let me know what happened!” Sebastian screamed this as the cab drove off and Mena, or Menu, waved excitedly. The last thing Christian saw was Sebastian admonishing her by taking down her waving hand.

Sebastian had dated Marcus for three months last winter, it had been the worst relationship of Marcus’ life. He complained constantly to Christian but refused to end it with any urgency. Now Christian assumed he was afraid of the loneliness, he never understood that about their symbiotic relationship. It seemed he got more than Marcus always, plainly content with being best buddies. A color of doubt poured into his mind and he wondered if the friendship was as real as he had portrayed it to himself all these four years; whenever he was emotionally unstable Marcus was there to pick up the slack, was this the crush all the while? He felt more content with Marcus than he ever did with Erika, was that love?

Marcus awoke to a blurred image of fluorescent lights and hospital green figures hovering above him. His contacts had obviously been taken out. A huge light fixture with several bulbs shone brightly above him and he felt probed by hands and cold instruments. Then someone’s loud voice said something that sounded like a rushing stream more than words and presently a hissing sound began to his right and soon he was sinking into darkness again.

The next time he woke up, he was in an empty room, alone in the dark, and the television was on. Someone was in the room, but he could not see them, they were sitting beside him. He ached too much to move so he did not try, but he hoped it was Christian, it would only be him. Marcus began to cry. First because never did one feel more forlorn than when injured in a foreign country and then because this night was not being fair to him. It had led him down all the wrong streets. He felt like a stray animal in search of a home and finding nothing but harsh reality at every turn.

Christian sat there watching Marcus cry and he could not move. He hoped Marcus had not sensed him wake up. This was an intrusion of privacy and again Marcus was the one left vulnerable; first declaring love and now hurting without comfort. Christian shut his eyes. That was the best he could do, there was no comfort he could offer his friend now, not tonight, at least he could let him cry in peace.

When morning came, it painted wonderful and ironic colors on the cloudy windows of Marcus’ hospital room. Christian awoke to find the room empty. He was seconds from thinking the worst when he heard the toilet flush and turned in time to see Marcus stumbling out of the bathroom. Christian rushed to his side.
“You shouldn’t be walking around so soon, careful.”

“My right leg is perfectly fine, I’ll hop my way around.” Christian wrapped Marcus around him and the injured patient sighed sadly. Christian led him to his bed and now began to fuss over him.

Marcus grabbed his hands to steady his frenzy and as their eyes met, he let go.

“This is not your fault.”

“I know” Christian replied, moving backwards quickly, shields up.

Marcus snickered wickedly, “don’t bolt too quickly, you’ll hurt yourself, then we’ll both be laid up with no escape.” Christian crumbled into his chair with a defeated look on his face.

“That was not nice.”

“No, it wasn’t”

“What do you want me to say?”

Marcus went quiet and soon realized he had no answer.

“Did you?” The words stalled on edge of his mind and Christian looked away. Marcus observed critically and tried read signs.

“Did I what?”

“Were you trying to...” Marcus caught his meaning.

“Oh go fuck yourself!” He turned away, and soon turned back realizing Christian was still earnestly waiting for an answer.

“What if I did?”

Christian got up and determinedly made his way to the bed, he sat close to Marcus and leaned in, he placed his hands around Marcus’ head.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked without resisting. Christian moved in and passionately kissed Marcus, deeply and intensely.
As he pulled back, Marcus offered him a confused expression.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m trying to show you I’m not a bastard.” Marcus stared unsure. “If I thought for one second, i could give you what you wanted, I would never say know...I need you to know that.”

Marcus sighed and looked away "I'm not your personal experiment"
.
Christian turned his face back and spoke intently.“I can’t. You need to know it’s not based on anything other than, I’m a fuck up, I wouldn’t make you happy...trust me.”

There was a long silence as each realized and happily reconciled himself with the fact that this was not the end.

“I didn’t try to kill myself...I’m not crazy.”

“Good.” Christian laughed with tears in his eyes and wiped them before they fell. “This relationship can only handle one crazy at a time.”

The nurse brought runny breakfast eggs and Jello which Christian ate, and soon the room was filled with everyone from the University. Erika cleaned things and arranged balloons and cards by sender, while Sebastian told story-lies loudly for entertainment.

Several weeks later Christian and Marcus walked into Charing-Cross station, very late for lecturers and trying to grab the Central line on time. A tall, brown skinned, distinguished looking man bumped into Marcus, causing him to miss the train. Like some broadly drawn cliche, they both bent to pick up the contents of Marcus’ bag and as Christian drove away on the train he saw the beginning of Michael and Marcus...he looked on with a longing, and subconsciously vowed sabotage, but that is another story.