Part One – Names

All through Monday at school, I felt like there was something trapped in my chest. There was a constant gnashing and fluttering of something trying to escape. It felt like Gerard’s dove was there, wings rustling and hitting my tender organs, trying to break free and actually fly. I felt so restricted in the classroom. The teacher droned on and on about some math principle, and it took all of my being to not get on top of the desk and yell at the top of my lungs that math was useless, and we should be more concerned with the cubist period of Picasso than how to find the area of a cube itself. Numbers couldn’t help me, numbers couldn’t set me free – unless it were the numbers on the hands of the clock, slowly counting down until I could finally unleash the bird in my chest.

At first the feeling inside of me was a mixture of happy anxiety. Soon enough and my shackles would break and I could go to the artist’s house and see the real dove. I wondered if she was still flying out of her cage, and how far she had explored the apartment. I knew there were places that she had probably never seen before. There were places that Gerard probably hadn’t seen before, and I wondered if he was learning with her. If he was wearing clothing or not…I couldn’t believe it when I first had a sexual fantasy of Gerard in class. It took me completely by surprise. My mind had slipped, and so had my thoughts into his apartment on the night where it all happened. I swore I could feel the sensations all over again, him entering me. Thankfully I couldn’t feel everything, or I would have had a problem explaining my boner in the middle of computer science class. The fantasy only lasted a few minutes at most, but it still left me smiling, my chest swelling with something I had never experienced before. I reveled in it all.

Until lunch, however, and I met up with Sam and Travis again. That was when the nervous energy turned into desperation. The first words out of Sam’s mouth were ‘where the fuck have you been all weekend?’ Apparently, he and Travis had been ‘constantly’ calling my house. I felt my blood run cold when he mentioned this, images of the lies I had only just started to tell crashing in front of me and my dove being shoved with choking hands back into a confining cage. I didn’t say or do anything – I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to cover my tracks because I had not thought this far ahead.

Thankfully, Travis brought me back down to reality informing me that every time they called, my father had picked up and they didn’t want to deal with him. No one ever wanted to deal with my father, really. Even some of his business colleagues avoided calling the house and opted for coming over instead. I couldn’t blame them. My father was loud in real life, but on the phone everything was maximized. He didn’t have a concept of volume, or how close he should hold the device to his lips. Most of the time when I called home for a ride, I would hold it out a foot from my face, waiting to hear the tell-tale bark. Even with it that far away, I could still hear him and his harsh breathing distinctly. I was positive this was the reason my mother usually handled phone calls, but for whatever reason, she had been busy this weekend and had not bothered to pick up. Thank God.

Travis, always being highly sensitive to noises and sounds and lights (a side effect from being high most of the time), had nearly thrown the phone across the room when my dad had answered. That had been the end of that call. Sam had taken over the duties later on, but when my dad kept answering the phone, Sam never bothered to say a word. He hated authority figures, especially my father, and wanted to avoid them as much as piss them off. My father wasn’t worth pissing off, and he gave up calling after three tries. That was the definition of ‘constant’ for Sam with the attention span of a fruit fly. I felt like blessing every little fault all of my friends and my father had right then because they had just saved my ass. I was pretty sure I had never loved my dad so much in that very moment. I used to curse that loud and obstructive voice, but it had saved me from damnation.

I couldn’t imagine what would have happened if my lies had unfolded already. My mother would be crushed; she was already so worn out and tired, and that had been when she thought I was spending time with my friends. And my father, well, I knew he would kill me. I had been saved for now, for whatever reason. I still had time to keep weaving the lies that nearly choked me.

Sam, Travis, and I sat down for lunch, but barely exchanged any words. Travis was off in his own world, and Sam kept sending me snide looks from across the table. I had been looking down at my sandwich, when I told myself to hold my head up high instead. I saw over Sam, over Travis, over everything in the cafeteria and I felt a million times better. The dove inside my chest started flying again.

I was really shocked that they had been inviting me places that weekend in the first place. They hadn’t last week, or the one before that. I wondered what was so special about now, but when I asked Travis, he was half-asleep from the night before and gave little explanation. Sam was just so pissed at me for not answering the phone and ‘disappearing’ on them that he was of no use for an explanation. I found it ironic that they accused me of disappearing, when they had been becoming transparent to me for a long time now. But of course, it was all my fault, according to Sam. Even if we had known each other since we were five, he could still be mad at me without a problem. Maybe it was because we had known each other so long. We were sick of each other. We had each seen the other grow up (or not, in Sam’s case), we had each seen the other’s faults, and now we were realizing we didn’t like the other person all that much. We had been forced together from school, but school was almost over. We were both realizing that we had other options. Better options, even if we couldn’t fill them entirely just yet. Therefore, anger sparked quicker. We were way past that stage of being nice because we were still getting to know each other. We knew each other. And now, we didn’t like each other.

He and I would have our moments, however, when he laughed and joked around with me like old times. He would still invite me with him to places – but only when he wanted to and, probably, mostly out of the history we had shared. It was impossible to rip out our history together from the text we had made; there would always be frayed edges to pages of the time we shared together. At the moment, I was just the back-up friend, dragged along with when it was okay to have a third wheel. Travis was Sam’s best friend now. Normally, I would have been mad and hot-headed over it, but I was still riding on the afterthoughts of the night before. Gerard was my best friend now – he was more than they ever were or could be if they did want me back. And I realized that they would want me back. They needed me. They needed me to be there when they couldn’t take each other anymore. When Travis got to be too weird for Sam and Sam too angry for Travis, I was sent to be placed in the center. I remembered when that used to be Travis’ job. I wondered when the exact switch had taken place, and when it would happen again, only with someone else. Sam went through friends really fast, but I knew I was never going to get thrown too far back in the mix again. I would hang around during the day, but then I would be gone, free from my shackles.

I never did find out what was so important about this weekend, but I assumed it was drug related. They invited me out again to do something with them after school that day. I said no almost immediately, thinking of the time I was planning on having with Gerard again. And honestly, I had the confidence in myself to say no regardless of Gerard’s presence now. I didn’t want to hang out with them anymore beyond the confines of school. They never treated me that well anyway. I was beginning to realize, slowly and surely, that my friends were not who they said they were. Apparently, I was not who they said I was. At least, not anymore.

“You’ve changed, man,” Sam spat at me tiredly, after hearing my decline. He twisted his already odd face up into a sneer and stepped up from the lunch table, leaving his garbage behind. He slung his backpack over his shoulder abruptly and signaled for Travis to follow. Travis merely shook his head at me, zipping up his coat all the way before he followed after Sam down the hall.

That used to be me, I thought to myself, watching the lanky boy follow closely behind. I was glad it wasn’t anymore.

My two friends didn’t speak to me the rest of the day, but it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe I had changed, but it wasn’t my fault. It was the dead and dull life that I had been surrounded in that changed me, and their apathy towards its all. It wasn’t my fault I had changed, when they hadn’t. Their disapproval of it for sure wasn’t going to stop me.

 

***

 

When I finally was able to make that trek to Gerard’s place, I wasted no time in removing my clothing. I had knocked on the door to let him know that I had arrived, but jabbed my key in at the same time, so fast I nearly broke it off. I was so excited and eager to see him, especially after the day I had experienced. It wasn’t necessarily a bad day, it was just different. Not something I wanted.

When I finally entered the paint clad home, the one place I wanted to be, I saw Gerard walking over to me from a small piece he had been working on for days now. He had the biggest smile on his face, a gesture not out of the ordinary for him. I kicked the door closed behind me as I leaped over to him. He wrapped me up in a large hug, pulling me close like he had the night before when I had left to go home.

“I missed you,” he said into my neck.

I felt my insides warm and jump around, like there were kids playing on the trampoline in my stomach. I hugged him tighter, jumping up a little and wrapping my legs around him. He was surprisingly strong, and was able hold me easily.

“It’s only been a day,” I teased him, even though I felt the exact same way. There were so many intense feelings in our relationship that it needed to be contrasted with sheer joy to make a perfect balance.

“Sometimes a day is too long, and sometimes a night is never enough,” he informed me gallantly, squeezing me right back. “And we shouldn’t have to wait. You know how I feel about time.”

He laughed into my neck, the hot bursts of air tickling me along with his vocal vibrations. We parted from the hug slightly, only enough for my feet to touch the ground again, and our lips to meet in a passionate kiss. We were acting like old couples in fifties films that had just gotten back from the war and hadn’t seen each other in years. It would have been comical, if it hadn’t been so beautiful at the same time.

He was wearing clothing surprisingly, but as we moved away even more we began to shed them bit by bit. Before long, we were naked and in each other arms, kissing any region of bare skin we saw. He was lying on his back on the floor, murmuring as I began to trace my way down his body with my mouth and teasing his entrance with my fingers. I was straddling him, but my position changed constantly while his hands remained strong and stationary on my sides.

It amazed me how much more confidence I had than the night before. The task didn’t seem so scary anymore, Gerard’s body no longer a mysterious landscape, but still so new I could explore and find new places we both liked. And that was what we did for the first little while. We didn’t have sex right away, though we were both naked, and the lube was in and on our hands. He had brought the warming one out from his room, and I took time to rub it on his chest like he had done with me on Saturday. His eyes were closed for most of the act, but when they did open, they were half-lidded and desire-filled. I eventually found my way to his opening, spreading the lube copiously, and entering as slowly as I could. Gerard dragged some of the couch cushions for himself to prop himself up on, the hardwood floor being too awkward for our sensitive skin. I fucked him this time, like the night before, but he was much more responsive. He was able to come, just shortly after I had, both of our hands bringing him to the final spot.

I lay on top of him after, too tired to move and not really wanting to. It was hard to stay inside of him too long after sex, both for comfort factor and because of the conditions changing. I tried to savor the feeling that I didn’t get to have the night before as long as possible before I finally needed to pull out. It was a security issue wanting to be inside of him, I figured, just to be that much closer. We kissed with slower darting tongues once freed, this action of sex the fastest yet we had participated in. Gerard moved and went to his bedroom, but instead of pulling us in there, he tore the contents away, dragging blankets back to our spot instead.

“What are we?” I found my lips forming a question that I was still knocking around inside my head. We were still basking in the afterglow of sex, both of our bodies naked, but half-hidden under the sheet. He had me tucked under his arm like a precious package, my eye level right with his neck and chest. I had been tracing my fingers over his skin, curling his hair, and mapping out an alternate route when the question had come to me, and I now drew my eyes to his own.

“We’re living,” he answered, his eyes staring up at the ceiling and his fingers dancing over hair.

It was not quite the response I had wanted, though I wasn’t sure what I was even asking. I knew we were in a relationship – we had to be - but I had no idea what to call each other. Boyfriend was too young and immature, though I couldn’t think of anything else to put in its place. If I didn’t have a name for our status, then I had no idea what we were doing every day, day in and day out.

“I mean,” I continued, trying to clarify my thoughts for him and myself. “What are we, together? What do I call you?”

I looked up at him unsure, while he was still staring at the ceiling, seeing some beauty I couldn’t quite fathom yet.
“You call me Gerard,” he said seriously. “And I call you Frank.”

I sighed. He was toying with me again and I wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Yeah, but what does that mean, Gerard?” I emphasized his own name, to almost spite him in his previous point. He smiled, realizing what I had done, very proud.

“It means whatever you want it to mean, Frank,” he countered, the tease in his voice balancing out the seriousness. I smiled in spite of myself as I let the information process. I lowered my eyes back down to his smooth chest and started to rotate my thumb around while I thought hard.

“What does it mean to you?” I finally asked, not meeting his eyes. He took a deep breath and stopped rubbing my hair. He placed his hand down my bare back instead.

“It means a lot of things to me,” he began, thinking hard and still looking up. He furrowed his brow, searching for something deep inside his mind. “We gave ourselves to each other in more than just bodies. I showed you my art, and you showed me yours. It’s deeper than what we just did right here. And honestly, I don’t think there is a word for that.”

He paused, rubbing a hand to his chin as he thought. “I suppose you could call us lovers. Artists use that term a lot. And they had many lovers, sometimes at the same time.”

I had been listening intently to what he was saying, enjoying and agreeing with everything he said. Until he came to that last part. What did he mean when he said they had many? Did he have anyone else other than me? I had merely assumed that I was the only one he got naked with every day. I never thought there was a need to ask him.

I shot my head and looked up at him, my brows wrought with concern. He saw me, his face falling as he leaned down to place a small kiss on my still twisted lips.

“But I only have one lover,” he stated after, rubbing my hair again to soothe me. “I’ve never needed anything more. You’re quite the handful.”

He smiled, trying to ease my tension. I was still a little afraid, but not because of him anymore. It had been my reaction to the simple honest statement. My stomach had dropped out and a wave of panic had washed over me. It scared me how intense my feelings were, and how much jealousy and fear seeped into my system when there was just the thought, the mere implication of someone else. And it had just been a weekend.

With Gerard passion and intensity were praised, never feared. I had to get used to this. He tipped my chin up from where it rested against my chest, and kissed me hard. I was more than willing to try.

“What about you, Frank?” he asked, when the embrace was done. “What does it mean to you?”

“Umm…” I said, thinking hard and trying to process my scattered thoughts. The memories of all the times we had had together came back to me, even before we had started having sex. I thought of meeting in the park, him throwing paint on me, and then teaching me with that very bucket of paint. And then my mouth just opened and I started to talk, pouring the feelings on like the cool liquid.

“You’re my mentor, I guess. My artist. My teacher. My friend. And now, I guess my lover, too.”

I sort of shrugged my shoulders, trying to get the attention off of me. It felt a little weird using the term lover. I felt like I was in a bad eighties romance novel when I used it; it felt weird against my tongue. Maybe it was one of those things I had to get used to. The wine had felt bitter at first, too.

“That’s a lot,” Gerard said, cutting me off from rambling. He was smiling, beaming with the praise he was getting. “But that’s not what this means to you. It’s what I mean. What does us together mean to you, Frank? What would you call that?”

I bit my lip thinking, feeling inadequate because of my answer. Then, as my brain riffled through even more memories, one leaped to the forefront.

“Everything.” My voice enlightened, my emotions riveting. I looked up and Gerard and smiled, and I saw his eyes flash, recalling the same thing I was. “We’re everything. Just like the night we first fucked -”

“We don’t fuck, Frank,” Gerard cut me off, spoiling the mood. He crushed his eyes closed and shook his head slightly, confusing me.

“What do we do then?” I asked a little harshly, the tone to which he ignored.

“We for sure don’t fuck,” he repeated, making the word flick violently off his tongue. He raised his eyebrows high to emphasize his point. “Fucking is the raw natural animal urge to just fuck. To enter and thrust and come all in one go. To obtain pleasure and to get off. Our relationship is definitely focused on pleasure,” he added with a coy smile, his hand massaging my body even more. “But we obtain pleasure in other ways than just getting off. Like touching and kissing.”

As Gerard stated the last line slowly and seductively, he began to bring our mouths closer together, opening and sliding his tongue into my own, deepening the kiss. I smiled and laughed as he did, pulling him closer. The act didn’t last long, only there to prove a point in a fun manner.

“You could say we’re having sex,” he continued, motioning with his one free hand that wasn’t wrapped around my shoulder. “But that is too technical. Having sex is the biological term. You have sex to procreate and to bind marriage. I somehow don’t even think we’re going to be able to make babies.” He smiled down at me before he added with a slightly somber tone, “Or get married.”

I found and squeezed his large hand in my own, making him smile again. It was silent for awhile, before I realized he hadn’t even answered my question.

“What do we do then?”

He nodded, as if he had been waiting for me. “We don’t fuck or have sex. We make –“

“Love?” I finished for him, hoping and praying that was the answer he wanted. It was cliché, and I had heard it on all the televisions shows, and again, more eighties romance novels. But if the term lovers worked, why not this?

“No!” Gerard scoffed, almost immediately and sending my heart sinking to the bottom of my chest.

“Oh…” I uttered, looking down and away, ashamed I had even suggested it. I suddenly felt his free hand on me again, his finger running down my jaw line and bringing my face up to meet his own.

“We don’t make love,” he emphasized and repeated. “We make art. ”

In one quick and swift motion, before I could make any utterance, he brought our lips together in a kiss. He turned me slightly, pressing my back into the sheet in order for him to mount me. Our hips and areas connected, and though his words, gestures, and devious smile radiated sex, we were far from it. He leaned down and kissed me lightly, and we made art again.

We continued in this pose, this position, this piece, for the rest of the night, his words echoing through my head. He always found the right words for everything. He always knew how to describe things and what they meant. Of course we made art, I told myself harshly. We made art every day with our bodies, with our minds, and with everything else, even if we hadn’t touch the paint cans in awhile. I should have already known this.

As I looked up at Gerard and his crafty smile, I envied him. He possessed something I never imagined, never thought possible. He had a talent for discovering the blatantly beautiful, and I was still so far behind, though already given the materials to work with. I took some satisfaction in the fact that at least I could see the picture we were painting.