[video from Free Radio on VH1]

———-
Coming About

When Tim got the call saying his grandfather had died, he was in the midst of arguing with his boyfriend while they made love.
“Who argues during sex?” he said later to his best friend, Jason. They were sitting in a booth at the Millennium Grill, one of the last surviving businesses built to capitalize on the hype over the onset of the twenty-first century.
“Steven and Chris did,” said Jason. He was stretched out on the bench, his back to the wall and his left leg extended across the seat. “They used to start fights during dinner, still be yelling as they took off their clothes, and practically slap the shit out of each other as they were doing it.”
Although they were similar in build, and they both dressed a decade younger than their current thirty-two, Jason was Tim’s opposite in nearly every other respect. He wore his bangs long, almost chin-length, and compulsively brushed of them across his face, out of his eyes. His hair was almost black, a legacy of his Chinese mother. He favored raver-style necklaces of bright plastic and the baggy fashions of hip-hop.
Tim’s strawberry blond hair was kept short and gelled into tight spikes in the front. He wore an obscene amount of Abercrombie & Fitch. He disliked most kinds of jewelry, save for a friendship ring signifying his relationship with Jeremy, which Tim had, ironically, been the one to insist they both wear.
“Besides,” said Jason, “I don’t know what you’re so upset about.” He looked quickly over at Tim, his mouth open in shock at his own insensitivity. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t mean, you know, that you shouldn’t be upset.” Tim gave him a half-smile and nodded in acknowledgement. Jason went on.
“But, look—Jeremy has a killer job, he’s gorgeous, and he really loves you. So you argue. So what? Who doesn’t, you know?”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Well, a girl just knows these things.”
Tim rolled his eyes in not-quite-mock disgust. He disliked it when gay men slid into overt effeminacy. It was a throwback to the old straight stereotypes. Anything that played into the hands of the thuggish jocks who in high school had scared him into keeping the closet door shut tight, he wanted no part of.
The waiter made his way to their booth. He asked if they’d like anything else, already knowing the answer, and left the check. Tim took it and left a ten on the table, though they had both had only coffee. Jason cocked an eyebrow at him as they slid out, but said nothing.
They made their way out of the restaurant and into the December night. Los Angeles was known for its perpetual good weather, but the air still had a bite that cut through their light jackets and made their breath a brief white plume. Jason pulled on his stocking cap and stuffed his hands into his hooded jacket. They stood together for a moment, and then Jason spoke.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“’Kay. Later. Feel better, Tim.”
It was a line better suited to someone laid up with a cold or a rabid sports fan who’d had to endure their favorite team getting trounced at the Superbowl. Tim accepted it in the spirit is was offered, though, and waved a hand as they went in opposite directions, Tim to the tiny parking lot and Jason to the street.
He turned the key in the door of his Toyota Celica and slid into the driver’s seat. He heard the thump of Jason’s stereo begin and slowly fade as he drove away. He buckled up, but sat, staring, for five full minutes in silence, in the dark.
He didn’t feel like going home, but didn’t know where else he could go. He entertained a fantasy of going to a bath house and fucking his brains out. He felt a brief flash of arousal, but it was squelched by guilt and then a wave of sadness. He put the key into the ignition, started the car, and pulled out of the lot. It had been two days and he still hadn’t cried.

***

“You’re what?” Jeremy managed to sound both incredulous and dismissive. Tim had been dreading this confrontation all day, but there was no escaping his obligation to talk to Jeremy about it.
“I’m going to quit my job and go back to school. I want to finish my degree.”
“You already have a fucking degree.”
“I mean my Master’s. Or maybe I’ll go for something else, I haven’t decided which. I just know I’m going back.”
Jeremy shook his head and smacked the counter with the heel of his hand. “This just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense right now. I mean, we were going to do the cruise in a few months. You won’t have enough money to go.”
The two shared an apartment, a bed, food, and their CD collection. But, like most gay couples, they kept separate bank accounts, and what Jeremy, with a vice presidency at a busy ad agency, could afford was often beyond Tim’s means. Tim had a decent position as a network technician, and made good money, but rent on the apartment plus living expenses plus tuition would eat his savings away to nothing the first year. He’d have to figure out how to pay for his second year’s worth of classes after that.
Tim had sat in his car in front of their apartment three nights before, when he and Jason had gone for coffee at the Grill. He sat, assessing his life, thinking back on his memories of his grandfather, David. They had been close all his life, Tim using the pet name Day, after hearing Maire call him that. He felt as if there were a gaping hole somewhere inside him, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where. It was just that something vital had been taken from him. He didn’t think he’d ever taken his grandfather for granted, but he’d become busy with his own life after he left home, and saw his grandparents less and less as time went on. He had kept in touch when he could, calling once every couple of weeks. He wished now he’d kept some kind of record of his grandfather’s voice, recordings with the answering machine, videotapes, something. This was a desperate thought, and would have seemed silly at any other time. After people were gone, though, survivors clung to such shreds of desperation.
His grandmother had been the one to call. Her voice was thick with raw sadness, and he’d have known something terrible had happened to David even if he hadn’t known the cancer was slowly taking him down. Fortunately, he thought, his grandfather hadn’t been in too much pain until the last few weeks. Tim had gone to see him after he’d gone home from the hospital the last time. They had talked a bit, as much as his grandfather could stand before he tired completely, and in that visit he’d told himself he was saying goodbye. Now, Tim felt he’d not had enough time, that there would never be enough time if they were allowed a hundred years to say goodbye. He wondered how he would be able to do it again, when the next person close to him had to go. Or, worse, who would die suddenly, giving him no warning and no chance for closure.
“I know this is rough, hon’,” said Jeremy, moving from behind the kitchen counter and folding his arms around Tim from behind. “But you just need to give yourself time to get through this.”
“It’s not about getting through this,” said Tim. He reached a hand up to grasp Jeremy’s forearm. He could feel Jeremy’s perfect chest muscles against his shoulder blades, and the lump of his penis as is settled snugly between Tim’s buttocks. “I just need to do this right now. I can’t stand that job any more. It feels dead.”
“We all hate our jobs, sometimes, baby. That’s just life.” Jeremy kissed his neck with a soft peck. “You’ll see, it’ll get better. I promise.”
“You sound like my—” Tim began, and then stopped as his throat hitched. “Like my dad,” he said, forcing a chuckle. He had been going to say ‘like my grandfather,’ but had stopped himself. He didn’t know why. He thought he loved Jeremy, was usually positive of this, but at certain moments he doubted his feelings, wondering if they were truly sincere or if he was fooling himself. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel like sharing his memories of his grandfather right now.
Jeremy was extraordinarily cute, and he’d thought so from the first time they’d met. He kept himself in top shape, spending three days a week at the gym. Tim was used to the looks of pure lust on the faces of every guy when they went clubbing, and it’d been handy for getting superior service from any gay waiter and most waitresses. Jeremy frequently told him he was beautiful, but Tim only smiled when he said it, not really believing it. He didn’t think he was ugly, by any means, but thinking about himself as anything more than handsome seemed wrong. This was yet another trait passed down from his earnestly Christian grandfather.
“I need to do this,” he repeated.
Jeremy dropped his arms and sighed. “Yeah. Whatever,” he said.
Tim saw the affectionate ruse for what it was, and it made him angry. “Look,” he said, turning to face Jeremy. “This is something I want to do. I could use your support right now.”
“Fine. Do what you want. Not like I can stop you.”
“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence,” said Tim.
“Could we not do this right now? Let’s just eat.”
They chopped lettuce for the salad, sliced tomatoes, and broiled salmon in silence. Then they ate it all in silence. This was broken towards the end of the meal when Tim couldn’t stand it any longer and lost the battle of wills by asking, “So, what was your day like?”
Jeremy answered still looking down at his plate. “Same old. Peterson was in a rage, as usual. Had me throwing pitches all morning, just utter bullshit I made up on the spot. Somebody else dropped the ball with that client, I guess.”
“So you got another one?”
“Nah, he didn’t like anything. Typical.”
Jeremy looked up at him and put his fork across the plate. “You really going to do this?” he asked.
Tim put the last bite of fish in his mouth and chewed slowly. He put his fork down and took a long drink of water. He had thought of a dozen arguments to convince Jeremy, convince himself most of all. He finally chose to ignore them all.
“Yes,” he said, looking straight across the table at Jeremy.
“Okay. I guess I can deal,” said Jeremy.
It was acquiescent support at best. It wasn’t the enthusiasm Tim wanted, but it was an answer, at least. An acceptance of his desires, which was enough, for now.
Tim stood up and smirked. He peeled off his t-shirt, exposing his slim, tightly muscled torso. He wasn’t meaty, like Jeremy, but he ran a mile every other day and swam on the weekends. He ran his hands across his chest and down his sides, swiveling his hips slowly. His smirk widened into a smile as he watched Jeremy’s eyes follow his hands as they slid around to the front of his pants. He popped the button, eased the zipper down, and let them crumple to the floor, revealing his clinging boxer-briefs. He turned around, wiggling his ass as he stepped out of the pants on the floor. He glanced over his shoulder, gratified to see Jeremy rising to follow him as he sashayed to their bedroom. He paused at the foot of the bed, shucked off his underwear, and jumped up on the bed on all fours. As Jeremy came into the room and got undressed, he was rocking back and forth, moaning obscenely.
“Yeah, do it,” he said, teeth clenched. “Do it, come on.”
He felt Jeremy’s naked body collide into him from the side, and they collapsed in a heap together.
“You idiot,” said Jeremy, laughing. They wrestled, both hampered by their giggling, trading positions atop one another. Finally, Jeremy let himself be rolled underneath. Tim looked into his boyfriend’s eyes as their laughter subsided. He leaned down and kissed him, opening his mouth to let their tongues wrestle as they had been doing moments before. He gently bit Jeremy’s chin, and moved lower, leaving a trail of slow kisses across his jaw, down the side of his neck, and into the center of his chest. He moved from right nipple to left, tracing the contour of Jeremy’s chest with his fingers. He felt Jeremy’s hands running through his hair and caressing his shoulders. Tim needed no encouragement to move lower. Jeremy moaned in appreciation.
They stayed in the same position as they made love, Tim ending up astride Jeremy’s hips, his head thrown back as they reached their orgasms more or less together.
After they’d cleaned up and lay back down together, spooned, Tim lay awake listening to Jeremy’s slow breathing for a long time. The sex had always been good in their relationship. It had been the one thing that stayed that way as they’d gotten involved in work, friends, and the minutiae of making their lives together. The thrill of being with a new partner meant sex every night, sex nearly every morning before work, and occasional furtive lunchtime quickies. As they became more familiar with each other, they slipped back into old habits, needing time to themselves and with friends they’d known before they met.

Jason was the person Tim had spent the most time with before, and after the whirlwind of the new romance, Tim probably spent more time with him than Jeremy. Come to that, Jeremy’s firm had been expanding rapidly, and there had been business trips and late nights at the office to contend with. They were finding it harder to be together, and it wasn’t just the frequency of the sex that had diminished.
Tim had known Jason since college, having met him in a required English Lit class. They’d been across the room from one another at the beginning of the semester, but gradually moved together, week after week, until they were sitting beside each other. They’d found out later that each had suspected the other was gay from the first day in class. Jason was much more outgoing than Tim, as well as a good student. His comments and responses to the professor’s questions just seemed to Tim to be, well, gay. Jason, for his part, had noticed Tim couldn’t keep his eyes off the cutest guy in the room for more than a few minutes at a time. By the time they’d got together for a two-man study group at a café, there was no need to acknowledge their sexuality to each other. It was left unspoken and understood. Jason was currently seeing someone, Tim was unattached. When Jason broke up with the guy just before semester’s end three months later, they were much too happy in their friendship to ever entertain anything sexual. Besides, Jason wasn’t Tim’s type. He wasn’t attracted to slender, boyish guys. The baggy pants were also a turn-off. Jason, though, wasn’t just a fashion slave. He’d been a skater since junior high, and still used his skateboard as his primary means of transportation.
Tim let his mind drift from thoughts of school and friends to memories of his family. He remembered glimpses of scenes with his grandfather like clips from a movie, a best-of compilation of some of the time they’d spent together. The montage faded seamlessly into his dreams as he drifted into sleep.

“Yeah, I got them, but they only had the red ones, not the green.”

“I asked the guy, but he didn’t have any.”

“No, I didn’t make him go back and check. What’s wrong with you?”

“Okay, sorry, sorry. Sorry.”

“I said sorry. No I don’t think it’s funny.”

“I got the candle, too. Listen, you really like the vanilla-scented?”

“Sometimes. It reminds me of incense.”

“I don’t know, just incense. It’s all the same.”

“Okay, whatever.”

“Well, I was thinking about stopping off at Kevin’s house for a minute.”

“He is not!”

“I’m not yelling, it’s just.”

“He’s not, I’m telling you.”

“Just for a minute.”

“I’ll just be a second. He’s my friend, God.”

“No, I already filled the tank.”

“I know you are.”

“I know you do.”

“Me too. Bye.”

“What?”

“No, but the book says we can use cyanide as a substitute.”

“No, I already prepared that sample. It’s in the freezer.”

“So it wouldn’t leak all over and stink up the place.”

“Because it’d congeal, and then it wouldn’t work.”

“Look, if I have to go get a fresh batch, I don’t think I’m up for it.”

“It’s just, I don’t know, we’ve been doing it an awful lot. Maybe we should stop after this one.”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“If I was, then I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it the first time.”

“Well it got the thing opened, didn’t it?”

“So? I cleaned it up and nobody heard a thing.”

“I know, I thought it’d be quiet, too.”

“Yeah, there was so much of it, all over.”

“I’m all right, I’m just tired.”

“Okay, one more and then they can all go to hell.”

“Heh, yeah, it is ironic.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Plato stared into the thick light that oozed into his room. He had worked out nearly all the dialogues here, though he didn’t write most of them himself. He preferred to have one of his students with him for that purpose, once he felt he’d thought through a subject enough. He was forever staring into space, he thought. Did the gods grant him insight because he raised his head toward their realm?

He frowned in irritation. He wanted his ideas to be his own. He was tired of thinking through Socrates. It was time for his words to be understood directly, without metaphor or filter. He needed simplicity, purity. Defiant, he forced himself to look down. He stared at the ground near his left foot. Then he noticed the foot itself. He began to smile.

He carried the concept around in his head for years before he was able to draw it. It existed as impression, as ideal, as ethos. Nothing fancy, he just thought of it as the physical expression of a small part of his philosophy. A small part, but a vital core.

It wasn't that the dragons gave him protection. They were, after all, merely made of ink stabbed underneath his skin at three thousand punctures per minute. It was the idea they represented that looked after him. His intention powered the circle around him.

This is what he believed.

He further believed that believing in the power of his dragons to protect him gave him access to power. It was infinite, but immeasurable. He believed its inability to be detected made it even more powerful, if it was possible to stack infinite power on top of itself.

His belief in the power of the dragons to protect him gave him confidence and shepherded him through his daily life like a trusted coach. He believed he could do anything if he wanted it badly enough. He didn't want much, but he desired with a fiery intensity.

They coiled and writhed behind him everywhere he went. They would be with him until he died. Then, he believed, the power that had imbued them would tear them away from his flesh and give them life in the world beyond. He did not know if they would be a force for good or evil. He believed at that point he would not care which.