Refracted Light
III. Rising Moon
Matthew gazed out the dormitory windows, arms folded over his chest, and shivered as he contemplated the cold just beyond the glass. There was little down there now, the quad deserted, only the odd students on the footpaths that hugged the red-bricked buildings. He watched a group of three pass under the bare, thick limbs of the oaks and make their way towards the science building standing opposite of Martin Hall. He squinted and shaded his eyes. The sun, weak as it was on this late February afternoon, was all painful and bright in his eyes.
He drew the blinds, let the cascading plastic blot out the light. He turned towards the dim room behind him, towards the walls and bed covered in half-shadow. His eyes were drawn to the mess of pages on his desk, to the crude sketches and drawings that had been distracting him from his studies. Try as he might to absorb Kant, he found his pencil sliding across the page, gently at first, then darkening as the details poured across the paper, animated by a will and a hand that seemed little like his own.
First came the eyes with the thick lashes, and the lightest shading over the irises. He wanted colored pencils there, but doubted he could capture the deep-water green. Then he delineated the darker, denser eyebrows and the slight furrow between them. His hand moved across the lined paper in his philosophy notebook, but all he knew was that he was touching Alex's face as best as he could allow himself, knowing him in this way when he wouldn't allow himself to touch actual flesh.
How many hours had passed this way over the last two weeks? How often did he do sums for statistics, only to find himself drawing those eyes again, and crumpling half-completed homework and tossing it away, because the lips that suddenly appeared in the margin were too wide, too thin, too thick? Now and then another face entirely appeared, but he ripped those into a hundred pieces the moment he realized what he was doing.
Now he stood in the dark room staring at those pages, illuminated only by his desk lamp. He sighed, hugged his chest, and sat down at the desk. He pulled the papers into a neat stack, one by one, and set them to the side. Driven to distraction. He looked down at that face, that unblinking face that stared back, and he felt as lonely and pathetic as ever.
He had tried to gather himself after that night under the footbridge. Tried studying, tried eating, tried resuming a social life. But the notebooks were filling up with Alex's eyes, and the turkey sandwiches didn't taste so good anymore, and his friends seemed less a comfort than an idle threat, especially when they asked him questions.
He hadn't seen Emily or Sean in three days, and that was just fine with Matthew. He wasn't forced to tell them nothing was wrong, that he felt just fine, that he wasn't sick, wasn't depressed, and wasn't stressed over classes. They brought him food once in awhile from the little shop near the union, and he let it pile around the small fridge in the corner of his room. Little stacks of instant noodles, cans of soda, and a few bananas that had gone spotted brown lay forgotten during the long nights spent conjuring Alex on the page and listening to the quiet of his self-imposed isolation.
Matthew reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the little card Alex had given him. He laid it on the desk. The paper was creased and folded, the blue ink smeared and nearly illegible from all the times he had crumpled it in a damp fist full of indecision. He had thrown the little ball into the plastic trashcan countless times, only to retrieve it immediately and place it on the desk once again. When the numbers became too smudged to make out clearly, he transcribed them onto a fresh sheet of paper and stashed it away in his sock drawer. He hid them underneath the boxers he wore the night they'd met.
Now, his eyes moved between the card and the phone. He traced the numbers from the paper to the numbers on the dial. It was simple to reach over and pick up the receiver, to hear the dial tone drone endlessly on until the automated voice came, and then the horrid screeching that hurt his ear until the final, deadening silence. His fingers knew only that tight, hesitant fist, unable or unwilling to quicken and push the buttons that would bring Alex's voice to him.
Matthew tossed the receiver onto the desk and ran his hands through his hair, clutched at the black tangle in pure frustration. A small hiccup leapt from his throat, the barest fraction of the sob he held in, the smallest sign of the hurt that came with eyes rimmed in tears. He could not do this thing, could not call out to Alex as he wanted, could not cross the boundaries of self-possession he had spent the past three years drawing across the landscape of his soul.
He spent hours hunched over the desk, his mind quiet like Sundays were quiet. There was no thinking left in him, only the dull ache of feeling, of a heart wrung out by hands of fear. His eyes remained fixed on the stack of pages full of Alex, but he didn't see them. His ears took in the sounds of the dorm, of students calling each other down the halls, of a brief conversation in the bathroom across the hall, but the words didn't register.
The small heater by the window whirred to life. Matthew sighed as the warmth coursed through the room. He rested his cheek against his folded hands and gradually slid into sleep.
"Late, Matt. Very, very late," Matthew whispered to himself as picked his way through the undergrowth of the forest. He hadn't counted on having to mow the lawn. He had charged back and forth across the yard that afternoon, and after his father inspected his rapid work, Matthew charged back and forth again. He didn't wait for a second inspection. Instead, he stuffed the mower into the rusted metal shed and raced down the street towards the forest preserves.
Matthew's blue shirt snagged an outgrowth of unruly thorns. He tugged on it in frustration, and then frowned when the ripping sound came and a long gash appeared along the side. It was never easy to reach the secret place where they met almost every day after school and on weekends. There were no horse trails or bike paths in these woods. Only the thick underbrush and a few hilly markers to find his way as weeds and ivy lashed his bare legs.
As he drew closer to the spot, he slowed to a crawl and crept towards the edge of a steep drop. Parting long grasses and weeds, he peered down into a crevice, smiling as he saw a mop of blonde hair bob in time to a tinny beat scratching out of a set of cheap headphones.
Matthew leapt down into the crevice.
Justin Nowicki, all sky blue eyes and white teeth, grinned as Matthew landed next to him. Justin looked up with an amused expression as if he had fully expected Matthew to materialize in front of him just as he did. "You're never going to get the drop on me, O'Brien," he said as he took off the headphones. "Give it up."
Matthew flicked Justin's shoulder and sat down on a small boulder opposite his friend. The tingling that came whenever they met began spreading through his chest. Good to be away from home. To be here. With him. Now I can smile, too. "I think I killed my shirt," he said, turning to show Justin. "Mess."
"Mess is good." Justin's hand touched the rip in the shirt, explored its length. Soft fingers brushed Matthew's skin. The hand reached through the tear and came to rest on his stomach. "Man, look what you did."
They were alone in this place, but Matthew felt uneasy. There had been close calls before, no matter how isolated they seemed out here. He tensed and put his hand over the Justin's. "Not now, Jus. I heard noises a little ways back."
Justin ignored him as his fingers moved over Matthew's chest, twisted a nipple playfully. "It's probably a deer. Fawns are out now." Justin kissed Matthew on the cheek. "I'm glad you made it."
Matthew was glad too. Overjoyed, in fact. "Not easy," he said with great emphasis. "My dad's in the middle of a two-caser weekend and the grass was pissing him off."
Justin took his hand out of Matthew's shirt and began stroking his thigh. "Not again. Didn't you just cut it on Wednesday? That's the second time in four days."
"Third," Matthew corrected. "I missed a few blades on the second go round." He didn't want to talk about his father just then. "What about you? Been waitin' long? Get the stuff?"
"Pfft, did I get the stuff he asks me," Justin teased as he crawled into the back of the crevice.
They had discovered this place several years before while exploring. Water might have once run over the drop and down the incline, or perhaps some animal had burrowed into the side of the hill. Either way, a large pit had been cut diagonally into the ground. Only the scarcest slant of light pierced the wild bushes along the edges. A creek lay far below, a silver ribbon curling through the oaks and sugar maples.
Over the course of their twelfth summer, the boys had molded the dirt walls and moved the stones and boulders to their satisfaction. Justin had even dug holes into the sides and lined them with wood for their own personal storage. While other kids nailed together ramshackle forts up in the neighborhood trees, Justin and Matthew had carved out this place for themselves from the very earth itself.
Justin let out a small, triumphant laugh. He emerged from the back of the crevice and threw a paper bag down at Matthew's feet. A blue bottle tumbled out along with a half-smashed pack of Mrs. Nowicki's cigarettes. "Not easy," Justin said, just how Matthew had a few moments before. "But I don't think they'll miss it. I pinched it from a table during my sister's twenty-first." He picked up the bottle.
Matthew watched Justin unscrew the cap, tilt his head back, and take a long swallow of rippling sapphire light. He grimaced, coughed a little, and handed the bottle to Matthew. "Go."
Matthew hated alcohol, hated vodka. He stared into the open bottle, afraid he would throw up just from thinking about the taste. Like drinking liquid bile. But his friend was smiling now and flushing from the warmth. And what came after was always worth it. He took a drink and clenched his stomach as his throat burned and his eyes watered.
"It's awful," Matthew choked.
"You have no taste." Justin grabbed the bottle and took another long pull. "You just have to get it in you. Then you're all done and you can enjoy it." He leaned back and sighed.
They passed the bottle back and forth this way until it was empty. Then came Justin's mom's cigarettes. Those were better than the vodka, the smoke smooth and cool in Matthew's throat even though the rest of him had gone numb. They smoked and laughed and stumbled around until the shafts of sun sank sideways into the western canopy of the woods.
Matthew grew silent and drunker in the gray twilight. He listened to Justin talk about his parents ("assholes") and his older sister ("a total bitch"). The words slurred in Matthew's ears. He fell into listening to the sound of his friend's voice, to that strange rhythm and almost raspy tenor.
Matthew found himself staring as Justin sat on a rock and related his life story for the billionth time. Matthew studied his friend's calves, his knees, his smooth, tanned thighs, and the gap in the leg of his red shorts. Too dark to see anything there, but Matthew certainly knew more than enough to form an image in his mind.
Matthew liked this. Lived for this. To sit alone with Justin in the dark and listen to him talk. To take in his friend's face and eyes, the muscles still forming on Justin's fifteen year old frame. To reach over now and then and touch the light blonde hair just beginning to show on his friend's arms. And, alcohol or no, when Justin's hands were on him, and Justin touched him and kissed him, and made him feel not so alone anymore. That was life itself to Matthew.
"You haven't been listening to a word I've said." Justin reached out in the dark and gently scratched the front of Matthew's shorts. "Uh huh. I figured."
The hardness between Matthew's legs twitched. He smiled and reached between Justin's legs to feel if there was hardness there as well. There was.
Suddenly, Justin stood and lifted a dizzy Matthew to his feet. Justin's lips briefly pressed against Matthew's. "I've got the best idea. Come on."
The two friends scrambled out of the crevice and staggered into the woods. Matthew watched Justin's white sneakers flash in and out of his vision as they half-jogged below the tall, black trunks of the oaks. His own feet seemed to catch every root and bramble as they passed deeper into the forest, Justin pulling him along. "Where we goin, Jus?"
"To the grove!" Justin panted.
Matthew came to an abrupt halt, jerking Justin back. Matthew could feel sweat running down his chest like acid as his heart sputtered and pounded in alarm. He tasted salt on his upper lip. A low buzzing sound thrummed in the center of his brain. "The grove? Now? Are you crazy?!" His voice sounded hysterical in his own ears, but then hysteria was exactly what a trip to the grove at night warranted.
Justin pulled Matthew close and ran his hands up and down his wet back. "It'll be great. I've always wanted to do it. I bet you cum harder when you're scared."
Scared? Nearly petrified into sobriety was nearer the mark. Thoughts of the grove, with its giant green lagoon and dilapidated cemetery ran wild through Matthew's mind. Walking among the broken columns, obelisks, and crumbling markers in full sunlight was daunting enough. But in the dark? "Justin, no, seriously."
Justin leaned in and kissed Matthew's neck, licked at the sweat on his collarbone, pressed his erection against Matthew's thigh. "Come on, Matt. It'll be great."
Matthew's knees nearly gave under this assault. He swallowed and held onto Justin's shoulders, folded into him and trembled. "Ok, Jus. Ok."
Matthew awoke in his dorm room with a start. His sweater had soaked through. His hair was matted and wet. He wiped the four-year-old memory out of his eyes. "Justin," he whispered hoarsely.
Had it happened just like that back then? Of course, it had to. There was little he could forget about those years with Justin, of spending all those days and nights at their secret place in the woods.
Matthew picked up the discarded phone receiver from the desk and placed it on the cradle. Confused images of Alex mixed with Justin flashed in front of his eyes. And here he was, thoroughly drenched in sweat, and the room stifling as the heater continued to pump hot air.
He grabbed his keys and left his room. He jabbed the elevator buttons with damp, impatient fingers. He ignored people on the way down. Paying no mind to how he looked, he hastened across the crowded student union, threw open the glass double doors, and passed into the cold night air beyond.
Matthew watched as wisps of steam rose from his sweater and dissolved against the sky. He had lost feeling in his arms and legs, but the motion of the waves was lulling him to sleep. So easy to stay out here and think of Justin, think of Alex. He reached up to touch his hair and found it stiff. It was as frozen as he felt; as frozen as everything else out here on the lake, on the little floe of ice he lay upon.
His dark blue eyes became slits as he contemplated the stars. He squinted, as if looking at the magic-eye puzzles from his childhood. He willed himself to look past the stars, to see the sky in three dimensions, as if there was shape and substance to all those tiny pinpricks of light against the flat, black expanse above.
"Should I ask what you're doing?"
Matthew felt the floe tilt as someone stepped onto it. A cigarette was slid between his lips and lit for him. He took a long drag and blew the smoke skywards, his eyes never moving, never blinking. "I'm regarding the stars."
"Are they regarding you back?" Sean sat down next to Matthew on the ice and lit his own cigarette. "Or is that a stupid question?"
"Probably. To both." Matthew sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, shrugged the chill from his shoulders. "What are you doing out here?"
Sean laughed and flicked an ash into the water. "Lucky me, I'm on Matt Patrol. That's what Emily calls it. It was my turn to sit in the union and wait to see if you ever left your room. Which you did. So now I get to freeze my ass off on a Friday night. Thanks for that."
"I didn't ask . . ."
Sean waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. You didn't ask. Emily ordered. And since she said she'd tear my balls off if I didn't help watch you, here I am. Because, you know, I like my balls. And so do a couple other people. We're all very happy with them staying just where they are."
"Man-whore."
"Drama queen."
Matthew smiled. He even laughed a little in spite of himself. He had sought cold isolation, but now felt the ice in his soul melting at the sound of Sean's voice.
"So are you going to tell me what's up?"
Matthew glanced over. Sean's hazel eyes were looking across the lake, looking at the mounds and swells of the winter waters. "Just thinking is all. Everyone needs to sit down and think once in awhile."
Sean began gesturing with his cigarette in what he must've thought was a scholarly fashion. "Matt, we're in college. All we do is think all day long, right?"
"Right," Matthew replied.
"It seems to me, if anything, that we need to sit down and stop thinking. All that thinking, it rots your brain. What's the use of filling up your head if it all spills right back out again? No one needs that shit. You have to slow down a little and let it absorb. Like beer."
"Like beer?" Matthew rolled his eyes.
Sean nodded firmly. "Like beer. See, you drink beer, and nothing really happens at first. So you drink more and more. Eventually you feel it. Eventually everything's real nice. And that's good. You keep the good parts, and piss out all the extra you don't need. But if you drink too much, then it's mess. Then it's no fun, because you have no idea who you're with or what you're doing. Then you're just groping some chick you just met, but you're not really having fun. You're just doing it. You're not getting anything out of it."
Matthew turned and blinked at Sean. "I don't think I'm following this."
Sean shrugged. "It sounded good in my head."
"And then you opened your mouth."
"And then I opened my mouth." Sean laughed. "Fuck you."
Matthew teasingly nudged his friend. "Maybe I do get what you're saying. If you take in too much information, it gets all jumbled and useless."
Sean nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly."
Matthew smiled to himself. "Well done, professor."
Sean raised his hands to the sky and let out a mock cheer. "I impress the hell out of myself sometimes."
"And you confuse the hell out of everyone else." Matthew tossed his cigarette into the water.
"That's the best part. When they're confused, they never see you comin. Score." Sean threw his cigarette after Matthew's. "So what are you thinking about out here anyway?"
Matthew felt the inner frost begin to creep again. He shrugged. "The grove, oddly enough."
Sean fell quiet for a long moment. Matthew could almost hear him reaching for the memory. "The grove, huh? I haven't thought about that place in years. What got you thinking about that?"
Matthew shrugged again. "It was such a mystery while we were growing up. I was thinking how it represented the unknown for me for the longest time. And how the unknown was frightening. There were ghosts in there, and the dead. What you didn't know was scary."
Sean began tapping his shoes together, for warmth perhaps. "It couldn't have been that unknown to you. I seem to remember you going up there all the time."
Matthew's heart ached. He pursed his lips and felt himself lapsing towards the silence that had shrouded him from other people these past few weeks. He made a concerted effort to beat it back. "I did go up there all the time. But there was still the unknown. We never swam in the lagoon. We always said we would, but we never did."
Sean chuckled under his breath. "Well, yeah. That's only because you were never that stupid and I was never that crazy."
Matthew rubbed his hands together. "I always wondered if the stories were true. Maybe if I had tried to find out, it wouldn't have been such a scary place."
Sean wrapped his arms around himself. "So what did you do up there all that time if you weren't trying to figure out if the stories were true?"
Matthew closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them. "Not much."
"Right," Sean said. "So you sat up there afraid of the unknown and never did too much about it?"
"That's about the sum of it," Matthew replied, wishing the lump in his throat would go away.
"What a shittin waste of time." Sean stood and shook himself all over. Matthew knew this was the universal dramatic signal that Sean was too cold and ready to leave. "And this is a waste of time, too. You need to get out. Here doesn't count. Don't look at me like that. It's Friday night and there are parties. Get your ass in gear."
Well, why not? Matthew thought. Why the hell not? He got up off the ice. He tried to rub feeling back into his limbs. His sweater had become just as stiff as his hair. "I need to shower and change first."
Sean rolled his eyes. "You're worse than Emily sometimes, I swear."
Matthew held a plastic cup full of beer between his knees as he sat against a wall watching Sean dance with Mandy to a driving club mix full of piano trills and a histrionic voice. How many weeks had it been, and Sean was still interested in the same girl? Impossible. But there they danced, and Matthew thought they looked good together. Her face was full of jungle juice, and Sean's full of rum. Still, they seemed genuinely into each other rather than oblivious.
Matthew lightly knocked his head against the wall to the beat, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a sip from the cup. Warm and bitter. He didn't really want the beer or the cigarette. He dropped the butt in the cup.
The house was full of couples, some dancing, some trying to talk, their mouths gaping like fish as they shouted at one another over the music. Something about a boy and girl on the couch across the room caught Matthew eye. The young man's hand stroked the girl's leg while her head nestled under his arm. At least a dozen others shouted, sang, danced, and stomped around them while they serenely took in the scene. Every few minutes, the boy bent down to place a soft kiss on the girl's lips.
Matthew rose and eyed Sean while Sean eyes Mandy. No worries on that account. Matthew retreated into the kitchen and picked up the phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, hoping there would be an answer, and hoping he didn't have to scream bloody murder to be heard over the party, to relate what he needed to.
Matthew stood by the plastic kiosk with the broken clock just in front of Martin Hall. He rubbed his hands together continuously during the fifteen minutes he spent waiting. He paced around the kiosk. He tried to read the tattered and waterlogged bulletins posted on the plastic postmodern monstrosity.
A hand came down on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.
Matthew turned around and found himself staring into those green eyes, the ones he couldn't quite capture on paper. Something inside him cracked and sloughed away, fell onto the floor full of forgotten nothings.
He looked at Alex Pendleton, tried to pick out the expression on the face he knew so little and so well. And then Matthew stopped thinking. "Ok," he said simply.
"Ok?" Alex replied, uncertain.
"Ok," Matthew nodded. "But slow. For now." He grabbed the thick leather belt around Alex's waist and pulled him along as he turned and walked towards the dorm.
End Part III
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