Sparkler
you remember the way, right?
whenever you drive i spend the entire time staring out the window so i've gotten it all down.
is there much to stare at, even?
i could look at you instead. but i know what you look like.
it is a strange feeling to be in the back seat. like eating with a plate instead of a bowl, wearing a shirt without any sleeves. he, like everyone who's driving for the first time in his life, goes about it nervously, carefully, so careful it's to the point of sloppiness, hands being forced to move in ways they never have. i see his feet feel around for the pedals - the feet were the hardest part for me. i picked it up quick regardless, he has a few more problems easing into it. but coordinating your feet alongside your hands is a difficult ordeal. i see cords of muscle running along his arm rhythmically tensing, untensing, see his eyes so steely focused like he could pinpoint individual atoms in the asphalt, what for? all this effort? it's a straight road.
you don't have to focus so hard, you know. you can take it a little easy. you seem like you're about to pop.
i just gotta, man. i just gotta.
the window is fixed, finally. who ever knows where he got the replacement pane. some tucked-away deals-in-handshakes market only him and two other people in the entire city know of, the same place he gets all the gas, sandbags, black powders of all sorts, the same place he disappears to before i wake up in the mornings and see the empty depression his body's left in the mattress. i watched him take apart the door two days ago, slide the new piece in. just stood there holding the light.
i remember it clear, that day in the carpark. just us. he has a white plastic tray to hold the screws, he'd set it on the floor. he would take the screwdriver, move his hand along the surface of the door feeling for a little divot, scanning - there's one. take the screwdriver, twist the screw out. feel again, there's two - go again. he does this a few more times, then lifts the entire panel off the side and sets it off the ground.
do you still need the light?
not for a while, no.
hmm. i wanna make myself useful somehow.
useful? i got an idea maybe. i've always thought it would be nice to decorate the car a little.
decorate the car? you mean like, decals? stickers?
i mean the inside, put some stuff around, see if we can fit a poster somewhere, hang cute little air fresheners from the roof. make it more lived in.
oh, interesting. sure. why not?
i leave him by the car and head back up 40 floors into my, our, apartment, pick up some old photos and pictures and posters, tape, superglue, spare stuffed animals, head back down. i put a bear in the backseat. stick some polaroid pictures to the interior as he slots the new window in and puts the screws back into the panel. he takes a picture, cuts a circular hole through the top to loop some string around, and hangs it from the ceiling. it falls limp in the stale carpark air.
what are we going for here actually? you want it to be all cutesy?
doesn't have to be cute. we can make it a little edgier maybe.
you wanna spray paint one of the doors?
yeah.. yeah. shit. yeah. we gotta do that.
do you wanna get some?
he does. i pass him a twenty and watch him vanish down the stairs, and i head back up with a cardboard box sifting through all the knickknacks in dusty unopened drawers, scissors, i pick up a coke from the fridge because i figure we'll be down there a while working on this and he'll want one. i carry the box down the elevator, walk back into the carpark, set the box down. he'll be back in ten minutes or so. i feel alone in here. the carpark's seven storeys tall and could fit maybe two hundred cars per storey, chipped white lines on chipped white lines, square cutouts of concrete through which you can look at more concrete. in the distance i hear the sound of a car door shutting, driving off downwards. there is this constant background hum, this radiation sticking through the air and making it heavy, like a dull tinnitic ringing. it comes from the earth, from the walls, from the ceilings. it makes me feel small. i sit crosslegged and alone. minutes pass and i hear him again.
right. so i got black and red. and lime too obviously. i got a few air fresheners and i got paint for the inside. paper too i'm thinking i stick some shit to the back of the seats, you know.
for the stuffed animals to look at?
for exactly that, yes.
slung from his arms are two big bags of stuff, plastic threatening to rip.
you got all of that for a twenty?
i have my ways.
christ. you gotta stop just doing that for like, miscellaneous objects we can definitely afford.
what's the harm?
i dunno, you could get caught, and then they'd put you in the back room and call your mom or something,
they only do that if you're seven or eight.
if you tried your hardest you could pass as seven or eight.
no i could not.
i could pretend to be your dad. give you a stern talking to. say i am very disappointed in you son. i raised you to be better.
hmm. don't say that.
this is not how we go about things son. this behaviour is unacceptable.
i'm gonna start.
i could like, get those insoles that make you taller. mascara a beard on.
it doesn't look like he appreciates the joke. he reaches into those big bags of stuff and pulls out a hefty cylinder of spraypaint, rattles it just for the sound, walks to the doors on the opposite side and starts. he bought some watercolors and a stack of cardstock, i take that out of the bag, sit down on the carpark floor and make myself busy. i was never good at this, but i'm good enough at it to get by. there's that phwish of spray paint fizzing from the back, hissing like a snake.
what are you gonna make back there?
hmm. i dunno. a mountain. maybe.
have you done this before?
look at me and ask me again if i've done this before.
ah.
i finish what i am doing - a simple landscape, trees by a river, sun in the corner like how a child would draw it. messy splotches of water. yellow grass. i tape it to the back of the headrest and angle the stuffed bear by my side so he can get a good look at it. all the while there's that phwish-phwishing again, on and off, black paint particles sparkling up past the window. i get out of the car and take a look.
hey man.
hey.
shit dude. this is pretty good.
yeah? thanks. i'm glad.
it's the same fire he drew on my arm. bigger, but with the same delicateness, gentleness he afforded the lines. it looks great. i stand there and just look for a while as he works. the strokes come alive, bleeding in that controlled way spray paint does, dripping slow before it hits cold steel and dries. he controls it in a way i've never seen before, uses that drip to make tongues of flame, embers.
that's. that's really good.
you think so?
yeah. i'm proud of y-
fuck. FUCK!
hey hey it's alright. hey. no problems. it was your first time.
ah god. shit. shit.
no problem, okay. don't worry about it. i figured some shit like this was gonna happen.
okay. okay.
the car's veered off the road. one tire's stuck in mud. won't move.
i don't drive much when i'm not with you but i've learned basic emergency stuff, right?
god. yeah. okay. how do we fix this?
okay. see if you can find some rocks around. then put them near the tire. then we use the traction to drive it out.
alright.
time to fix this. he goes off to pick up some pebbles off the ground. i take my shirt off and put it by the stuck tire, try to slide it underneath the rubber. sticky, wet mud. i try to work it around, yank it through as best as i can. he comes back with sand, dry soil, rocks, puts it by the wheel. it's too cold to not have a shirt on right now. he heads back behind the steering wheel as we set it all up and i stand in front of the car hands on the lights trying to give it an extra push.
okay. i'll. reverse it.
yeah?
the tire catches underneath my shirt, the sand, the rocks. it grips and spins, angry, frenetic, until we see it catch the grit and slam backwards onto the black road, tire lifting and crushing my shirt into the mud. i see him exhale long, slow.
god. fuck. thank god. jesus.
see. that wasn't a big deal.
your shirt.
hmm. it's okay. i've got many shirts.
you sure?
mm. i'll sit in the back with the animals.
i think we should head back. i've had enough of driving. and you'll be cold.
okay, if that's what you want. do you want me to drive back?
yeah, honestly.
the light's going out. we swap places and i pick up my destroyed, unsalvageable shirt from the ground and stuff it into my pocket. hands on the wheel again, reverse, make our way back. he lies down in the passenger's cuddling a stuffed animal but in a vanishing moment before he passes out i look in the mirror and see him staring dead at me, eyes fixed on my chest.
and.. cheers.
cheers!
to the nights.
to them.
clink. he downs it uncertainly, takes a few gulps. i let it all down in one fluid motion, wash it through without letting it linger on my tongue. it's a careful, practiced dance. you need to coordinate yourself carefully to make it slide down easily, and it's not a motion you'd be used to if you'd never done it before. it's clear that he hasn't, alex. in crude terms he's a virgin. i see his face shift, unprepared, tongue shriveling into itself, fuck that's bitter, fuck! he reaches for the plastic bottle of water as soon as he can. wash it all down. he shudders at the taste.
you don't like it?
this fucking.. dude. this is fucking terrible. how do you do this?
you get used to it!
if i ever get used to this shit just take me out back and shoot me.
don't be such a crybaby alex, you gotta be an adult... this is what adults do.
i dunno. my dad never drank. not in front of me at least.
it is 1am in the abandoned quarter and everything beyond the rooftop we sit on is a faint whisper, it is just us alone in this little universe 100 stories high. he holds a sparkler idle in his hands and the light flickers and spreads, collects on his eyes and hair, an electrical rod waiting to burst. the tower we saw burning the other day is next to us, blackened at the tops like a gallon of ink was spilt on it. my body feels warm, blood vessels dilating, eyes jittery. we sit across each other crosslegged with only bottles and shot glasses to separate us on the concrete, and i feel it, i feel it, i do. warmth, warmth. dizziness. eyes unfocused. his black pupils reflect the sparkler's light. his lone red streak of hair swimming softly in my eyes. he looks beautiful tonight. he is alone in my center of vision and i feel something, i do, and i'm not sure what but he is so beautiful tonight, alex, my roommate, the way his hair settles on his brow, the muscle tensing up and down his arm, his one lime jacket he has five copies of. he is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. god. fuck my life. shit. i feel it.
euuuuuuuuugh. god. how could you ever find this fun?
most adults do. truly, and i'm being honest with you, you loosen up after a while. the taste matters less. do you feel it at least?
hmm. let me have another?
you wanna have another?
if this is what adults do then so be it.
okay, i guess - pour him some more. then pour me some more. some music is playing on his phone, some music his father used to listen to. he picks up the glass with his index and thumb, all uncertain, then goes for it - i see his body shudder, his face contort into sourness, his muscles relax, his cheeks start to redden. he sets it down with a thud and i drink mine shortly after, just pacing myself with my boy, my roommate. he drops the sparkler on the concrete and the fuse at the end continues bursting, coming alive, dies out a minute later.
ughhhhhhhhhh.
how you feelin?
still bad. still tastes like shit. it tastes like burnt wood. but i like how this feels. light. i'm like light.
you're like light?
i feel warm... swimmy. a little easy.
that's what people do this for! the feeling. not the taste. some sickos do it for the taste but not us.
not us. this tastes like shit. i'm gonna light another.
he pulls out a match and lights another sparkler and sets it in the crook of his ear. it's like his head is exploding.
you just gotta let yourself go along with it. and i'm here, right? i'm here with you.
i trust you.
you trust me?
i trust you. now one more.
you animal. i grab his glass and pour him another, holding the bottle by its neck, glug glug glug. the sparkler falls onto the ground. he downs it and i see his face twist again, the same rhythmic shudder like he's a penguin who needs to huddle for warmth, and i wish i could. fuck. i never wanted to touch him the way i do now. what's wrong with me. what's wrong with me? whatever. drink it. go. another. music from his phone. bowls of food uneaten by the wayside. there's another bottle we haven't opened yet. 1.13am. it will be a good night. it's with us. sometimes when i was outside, and this was way before i'd met him, i would hear this rhythmic buzzing from the concrete walls, as if they had speakers inside, or if the concrete could just talk and i was cursed with listening. they wouldn't stop talking. i'd walk down streets and they'd whisper these little nothings into my ear, whisper things about my parents i'd never known, about my aunt that i knew a little bit about, about myself that i knew less of. this incessant agonal humming. and whenever i'm with him it vanishes. the radio turns to a dead channel and the whispers fall flat. and all i can see is him. the impossibility of him in front of me on the rooftop together. but another, give me another. another, another, go, go, go!
where the hell did you even get this from?
i have my ways.
you fucking.. did you actually?
you do the same!
i know! what i'm pissed about is you didn't tell me. we could've done it together!
oh?
nathan we could've done it together you asshole. ugh. and it would've been fun.
maybe.
one more.
pace yourself! how many have you had?
maybe like 3 or 4?
down they go again, we synchronize it this time, touch our glasses together. i hold a stick out and point the fuse at him, wave it around like a magic wand. he's gotten used to taking shots, the motion of it - he shivers less as it absorbs into the walls of into his stomach, feels the taste less.
you're shorter than me and i'm already feeling it hard.
so?
brown liquid settles into the shot glasses like poison and he drinks it with so little hesitation, he's addicted to the feeling, to the feeling of his blood vessels loosening into his skin, to his brain detaching itself from his body, i see it happening in real time, here, as it happens to me, like simultaneous experiments, like yellow fluid swirling in erlenmeyer flasks, like the moon and the sun locked in orbit. his cheeks are bright rosy red, heat travelling upwards from his lungs to his chest and spreading like cancer, his heart's gone fast, breathing unsteadied. i see this all. i wave the sparkler around a little too hard and the wind snuffs it out.
nathan.
yes?
one more.
you have to be feeling it worse. and you never do this so your tolerance is like, floor-level.
no matter. just gimme one more.
mmm. i'm not sure.
christ. the floor is moving. i stare into his eyes - i never can stare into his eyes - and they're soft pearls in the beach, they're black circles on white spheres, the red streak in his brown hair shining strong and brave, he stares back - he never can stare back - and we sit here, crosslegged all the same, faces 10 inches apart, eyes locked, he takes the bottle by the neck and drinks straight from it, he sets it down and i can see his adam's apple shift up and down as he swallows it down i can see the goosebumps form in real time on his arms the moonlight is so soft overhead, he shudders loud and coughs hard,
shit are you okay?
yeah. yeah i'm okay.
maybe you've had enough for tonight.
maybe. who knows. who........
alex?
who...
alex.
yeah. yeah man don't. don't worry.
before i can stop him he goes to get some more, he gets close to drinking it but i snap his wrist and stop him, hey, that's enough, let's put it down, okay, and he puts it down and his face and neck are bright burning red, he can barely sit still, undulating back and forth, palms laid flat on the floor behind him,
heyyyy.
hmm. i think we should probably stop for the night.
nathan.
he leans forward in front of me, unsure and awkward, with hands he can't control, on his knees he crawls forward until our faces are inches apart and i can almost hear his heartbeat go a hundred times a second like a hummingbird, his face is flushed to death and his eyes can't see straight and he whispers my name
nathan..
yeah?
and there now he takes my wrist in his hand and then my other wrist in his hand and pushes me hard, fuck fuck fuck, pushes me down on my back and crawls on top of me and i'm down flat on the concrete staring at him bent over me legs overlapped between mine like cards and the sparkler on the ground next to me is blinding and his hands crunch so tight around my wrist and i'm too weak from the drinks to move and what is going on and alex, alex,
alex, what, what are you
nathan. nathan. look.
i look, pupils like swimming voids, everything is so beautiful but i want him to let go i don't want this i don't want this he's so beautiful but i don't want this what is going on alex your hands please
alex what are you trying to
nathan. nathan. please.
he crawls closer and his legs touch mine in a way they've never done before and i swear for a few moments i see his eyes turn into six red dots but they snap back into focus and it's just him and next to my ears is the sparkler catching its last breath dying by my side and i struggle against his hands he always has been stronger than me past his head is the quiet moon falling into my eyes and past his one red lock of hair like knives his legs are so close to mine his everything is so close to my everything alex what are you doing please stop
nathan listen to me
he lets one arm free to take another drink while my right hand is still pinned down by his hand but the feeling of his now-free hand around my wrist is so cold and hot and warm and numb and violating i can't move i can't move and he finishes the bottle there was a few shot glasses worth of it still left and he puts it back down on the concrete all uncertain and flimsy it topples down as soon as he sets it down remnant liquid spilling soaking into the ground but he puts his hand back down on my wrist and his lime jacket shines cold in the moonlight in a way i've never seen before and he stares at me so hungry and ashamed what do you want please alex let me go
alex let me go please
i can't do that
please
i can't
his head dips down into the crook between my head and my neck and he nestles his face deep into my neck like he's needed this for so long i feel his lips move against me like he's muttering something cold and unknowable but i can't feel it i never do i can't hear what he's trying to say and his hands loosen from my wrist and work their way down from my arms to my shoulder to my sides to my torso and they settle there gripping my waist with his legs straddled above mine and his head in my neck and i feel wetness suddenly in my neck like soft streams of a river like the sun burning out and he pinches my waist so tight i almost jump and my hands are the same place they were when he pinned me down because i can't move i can't move and he keeps crying into my neck like
father
i can't move i can't move i can't move
you still have your fingers
alex
you still have your fingers
his head is dipped down staring at my right hand i feel his breath collect warm on my wrist he grips my fingers tighter says
your fingers
he reaches for a sparkler bites the end with his teeth and lights the fuse takes my wrists back in my hands and i see him straddling me his face is completely covered by the flashing lights by the embers jumping off the stick like ants he looks like a monster some seraph sent from god to kill me i can barely see his eyes through the sparkler fuse this great big ball of fiery light i can't move he dips down with his head made of fire and forces the burning end of the sparkler against my cheek feel the white hot wire against my face
alex alex fuck that hurts alex god
his grip loosens on my wrists as he hears me cry out and i take the leverage and swing his body back i catch him off guard as he falters in my hands i turn him around i push him and i grab his wrist and i pin him down alex alex alex his back is pressed against the floor and the sparkler falls from his mouth to the side of his face i press a palm flat to the burning end and extinguish it in my hand so quick i don't recognize how much it hurts now and i stand over him like prey over wounded predator staring with eyes i don't know how to stare with
i have his wrist in my hand now bent over him like a lover he lies on the ground reddened eyes from crying into my now-wet shoulder pupils like holes boring through my skull and his mouth is contorted into a face i don't ever want to see anymore and he's still so fucking beautiful why does he do this to me why why why and for once i stop seeing the fire in his head it's just him and his soft brown hair and his pale wrists and arms pinned to the ground by my hand and he keeps crying like there's something wrong with him
alex alex what alex what was that
he frees himself from my grip takes his left hand in his and wraps his fingers around mine and says
you still, you still have your fingers
alex what is going on please
everything is mutilating before me the patterns on the mattress covers shift in my eyes i can't see straight i can't think straight i have this beautiful boy's wrist in my hand and i can only think to finally let go, finally stop, finally,
alex are you there
yeah i'm, yeah
my body arched over him like a house of cards it finally meets its gust of wind it collapses and folds all over him my joints and my elbows all a mess of wires on top of his beautiful body with the artificial LED sun overhead he takes his arms around my waist and cries some more in that way i never want to see or feel again moistness seeping into my t-shirt like blood through capillaries
nathan.
yeah, alex?
fuck. fuck. fuck.
it's okay. it's okay. it's okay. hey. we don't need to talk about this. right?
nathan.
you just drank too much. and so did i. and we did something we didn't mean. right?
i... yeah.
right. okay. are we okay?
fuck. fuck. yeah. okay. we're okay.
okay. let's go to bed.
nathan.
yeah?
can we stay like this?
i... yeah. we can.
please.
yeah. let's. let's stay like this.
we lay down chest to chest on the rooftop floor with dead sparklers scattered around us like ash, i feel him breathing, as best as he can, these little jittery bursts, and i match his breaths, in out out in, when his breath catches i catch mine too. i hold him because that's the only thing i know how to do. my body runs warm and hot and he is blazing to the touch but we lie together on the roof with our legs intertwined helical and he cries a little more after but that's okay, we just had a little too much, that's okay. i feel his tears run down my face and it's like i cried too. eventually his breaths slow. and mine too.