It's Saturday. The driveway leaks
dirty melting snow into the street. Jason steps through it; turns left.
He walks a crisp, straight, imaginary line. He ducks his head and curls
his fists into frigid balls inside his coat pockets. Wind rips a
Classified section, an empty beer can, a tissue past him. For the first
Saturday in nineteen months, he has nowhere to go. No one to see.
Nothing to lose.
The sky rumbles. He keeps walking.
---
It's
Friday, and the drops of rain freezing to his window outside are warmer
than Antoine. The heat works sporadically at best and the landlord
still won't return his calls. Numb fingers flip the pages of a
magazine. He stares through the pictures, ignores the articles. He has
nowhere to put his books so he doesn't unpack them. They wait in tired
boxes; next to them, a CD, three rolls of tape and a wrinkled green
shirt are stacked neatly by the door. An impromptu lost and found he
wishes he could lose.
His phone doesn't ring. He wouldn't
answer if it did. But he'd like the option, all the same.
---
It's
Thursday; the clock just ticked past twelve noon. Jason's grip on the
receiver is hurting his fingers but he can't let go. Antoine sighs at
the other end and asks him once more to stop calling. Jason tells him
again, patiently, calmly, that he can't.
"You don't really care. You don't
even sound like you care." Antoine sounds so tired.
Jason lacks words to tell the truth
-- a trend that
should alarm him -- so he agrees that he doesn't and
hangs up the phone.
---
It's
Wednesday. Antoine is crying in the middle of a supermarket and people
are beginning to stare. If anyone asks he'll tell them that he needs to
buy coffee but he doesn't even have a kitchen table and he doesn't want
to shop because he doesn't want coffee because he's pretty sure the
smell would make him vomit. He's never been a liar.
No one asks. The tears dry in tight
sticky streaks on his face. He buys tea and goes home.
---
It's
Tuesday, it's cloudy, it's 7:12 in the morning. A woman wearing bright
blue eyeshadow on channel forty-six is selling Jason a combination
microwave and toaster. Jason can't imagine microwaving toast but the
woman repeats that it's just what he needs. He did give away his
toaster yesterday, after all, and he may never sleep again so he should
probably at least eat something. A microwave/toaster would help. After
two tries his fingers hit the right numbers and he obediently holds the
line for the next available sales agent.
---
It's
Monday, and the last plastic bag full of forgottens leaves for
Antoine's new place. Antoine stands in the doorway, hand paused on the
frame like he has something to say. Jason stands in the hallway with so
much to say he doesn't know how to start. They stare at each other in
silence.
"I just wish," Antoine says
finally, as if that's a full meaningful thought.
"What do you wish?"
"Why." His eyes so full and so
barren, Jason looks away. "I wish I knew why."
Jason doesn't answer.
Antoine
nods and breathes deep and the door clicks shut behind him. Jason
watches the space where he'd been. "Me too," he tells it quietly.
---
It's
Sunday -- Jason remembers because Antoine said he had three
appointments and he'd be gone all day and to rent movies and instead he
is standing in the living room watching a thin girl whose name might be
Laura watching Jason pull on his pants and search for words to explain
and who for once has nothing, less than nothing to say, because he had
almost prepared for this moment but not for the slow way Antoine would
disintegrate in front of him, crumbling in his beautiful way until
nothing remained but hollow eyes in a hollow shell.
---
It's
Saturday. The sun nudges the room awake and Jason blinks lazily,
joining it. Antoine is already up; coffee is brewing and toast is
toasting and he walks in holding a folded section of newspaper.
"I
think we should check this place out," he says to start the day. Jason
sits up to see the blue circled advertisement for a small house for
sale. A small library for Antoine, a game room for Jason, a fireplace
for both of them and huge windows to let in the light. Permanence.
Unity. Everything they want.
"Later," Jason agrees and tugs the
smiling boy closer until he melts into Jason. The coffee finishes and
the toast burns before going cold. They'll have it later anyway; for
now they don't care. There's no reason to care. They have forever.
