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When your mind is a messso is mine I can’t sleep ‘cause it hurts when I thinkMy thoughts aren’t at peace with the plans that we make ~ Jack Johnson (If I Could) ***+++*** Brian hears the reverberation of the front door sliding shut with more than his ears; he feels it in his throat, in his lungs, in his gut. He doesn’t watch Justin as he goes, still, the image is branded on his brain and despite himself he fills in the blanks with too vivid of an imagination. It’s funny, the one time he’s ready to say “stay” is the only time Justin can’t afford to hear it. He uses the term funny in the bitterly ironic, morbidly gut-wrenching, sense. Stretched out on soft comfortless cotton sheets, Brain feels limp. All his muscles flat-lined, all his energy devoted towards not thinking, just being, already knowing his efforts will be in vain. The only way he’s ever found to shut off his brain is with alcohol and narcotics, both of which he’s promised Justin he wouldn’t indulge too frequently. Neither one of them defined what ‘too frequently’ entailed, but Brian’s not an idiot. He knows what it means. He idly wonders how pathetic it would be to take the day off work tomorrow. Then contemplates just how suicidal he’d feel by the end of the day with nothing to do but wallow in how much he misses Justin. And he keeps thinking…he hadn’t had him back long enough, he wasn’t ready to let him go. The truth is though, he wouldn’t have ever been ready. This, right here, right now, this is the reason he’d fought it for so long. If he were a little less…in love, he’d be cursing ever meeting Justin, for ever allowing him in his life, for ever allowing Justin to convince him for one instant that he had a chance …at keeping what was never meant for him. For wanting what he could never have. It takes him forty minutes to decide to get up, wash up, prepare for bed. Twelve minutes after that to decide what to do with the note he’s found in his underwear drawer. On top of Justin’s own underwear. Hand steady, though the rest of him feels like it trembles, Brian picks it up. ‘I left some clothes,’ Justin has written in that neat loopy script he’d had to relearn after the bashing, ‘because you don’t take everything you own when you go on business trips. This is just a business trip, Brian.’ Beneath that, beside a rapid pencil sketch of two men embracing, their faces indistinct: Where thou art - that - is Home. ~Emily Dickinson He traces the words with his index finger, and the picture smudges a little. He knows it was rapid because he knows Justin’s work, crisp lines, the gentle blur alluding motion. He knows Justin’s work like he knows his own. Five minute, ten minutes tops. Probably did it sometime tonight, before the food run, after their third round of sex while Brian was cleaning up in the bathroom… He places it back gently, retrieves what he needs and shuts the drawer. He takes his things to the bathroom, heart thrumming in chest, brain whirring, processing, thinking. And finds another note taped to the mirror, this one clearly torn out of a loose-leaf pad. ‘You know what I’ll miss the most? Taking showers with you in the morning. Your hands all over my body, soaping me up, warm water cascading over both our heads. New York has water too, I can’t wait to have our first shower together there. We never did leave the bedroom the last time we were there together. “You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. ~Maya Angelou”’ He presses his palm against it, hand spread, the paper peeks between the pads of his fingers. He closes his eyes and sees his mouth sliding against Justin’s collarbone, feels his slick skin slipping in his arms. Swallowing hard he pulls the note from the mirror, eyes open again. He moves to place this one with the first, in their bedroom, in their dresser. And finds another one on the counter, beside conditioners, shampoos, stuck between a bottle of dove hand-wash and the French shit he uses when he’s feeling paranoid about dry skin and wrinkles: “Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. ~Robert Heinlein” ‘Be happy Brian, your happiness is mine, the two are not distinct, they are two halves to one whole.’ He doesn’t know when Justin wrote this. When would he have time to put these there? How did he not see? What else did he miss? Brian drops his clothes on the counter, ignoring when his t-shirt falls into the sink. A quick look around reveals nothing out of place. Toilet paper where toilet paper should be, razors in the cabinet, comb in the basket on top of a shelf. He’s not disappointed, not yet. He knows Justin, he knows how his devious little mind works. There will be more. It’s amazing how quickly depression is replaced with anticipation. He doesn’t even bother denying that he was ever depressed. Who’s there to deny it to? In the kitchen pressed between the freezer door, half hanging out: “A man is not where he lives, but where he loves. ~Latin Proverb” ‘I love you, I can’t wait to live with you again. My heart’s in Pittsburgh, my body will soon follow. Sappy, huh? I know. I couldn’t help myself, it’s true.’ On the coffee table, underneath the remote: “I learned the real meaning of love. Love is absolute loyalty. People fade, looks fade, but loyalty never fades. You can depend so much on certain people, you can set your watch by them. And that's love, even if it doesn't seem very exciting. ~Sylvester Stallone” ‘I don’t know if I entirely agree with Sly. I think love can go hand in hand with excitement, loyalty with adventure, comfort with spontaneity. Maybe we’re just the lucky ones.’ Between the sofa cushions, one corner peeking out so that he wouldn’t have noticed it unless he was looking: “There is only one success - to be able to spend your life in your own way. ~Christopher Morley” ‘Christopher said it, but you taught me that long before I ever heard of him. Thank you for that. Thank you for always being there for me, behind me, smile. Thank you for helping me find myself and for keeping me strong. I love you so much, Brian. So very much.’ And finally on their bed, underneath Justin’s pillow: “You really shouldn't say I love you unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget. ~Author unknown, attributed to an 8-year-old named Jessica” There’s a space between the quote and the whole second half of the paper is filled with three words: I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. Repeated over and over again. Brian reads each one, mouthing it faintly, eyelashes fluttering. On the back Justin’s written: ‘I’ll never be able to say it often enough. Check your phone. ‘ Attached to the note, stapled together in the corner …is a plane ticket. Round trip to LaGuardia, dated for next weekend. Brian sits down heavily, fingers fumbling for his cell. Carefully holding down the 1 for voicemail, pressing it tight to his ear as Justin’s voice washes over him. “You’re in the bathroom right now, and I’m leaving in eighty-six minutes. Eighty-five. God, time moves so quickly when you don’t want it to. I wish I could freeze this moment, pause it for a second, I’m not ready. I’m scared and excited and hopeful, and nauseous. And the only thing that’s getting me through right now? Is knowing you’ll be here. In the end, if I fail or succeed, you’ll be here, you and me we’re inevitable. We’re it, you’re it for me. I want you to know before I go that I’m coming back. I know you don’t believe that yet, Brian. But I plan on telling you as often as it takes. And then when you finally believe me, I plan on doing it. Think of it this way, when have I not come back to you? That’s right, you can’t think of anything, because it’s never happened. It won’t ever happen. I bought you a plane ticket, well, technically you bought you a plane ticket. I checked with Ted, you’re free, I expect you to use it. I love you, I miss you already, you’re my home. You’re coming back now, I guess I better get off.” He laughed a little, and Brian absorbs it, eyes closed, phone pressed tighter still to his ear. “So I can get off. I really do love you, Brian. This isn’t going to break us, we’re too strong. Together we can face anything, that’s my promise to you. I believe in us. And that’s a Justin Taylor Original.” The phone clicks as Justin hangs up. When the automated voice comes on and asks if he wants to erase, save, or listen to further options…Brian chooses replay. Five times. Finally, he saves, and dials Justin’s number by memory. It goes straight to voice-mail. Brian hangs up twice so he can listen to Justin’s voice say ‘leave a message, I’ll get back to you when I can.’ It’s not as pathetic as it seems since no one will ever know. The third time he leaves a message of his own. “I got your message.” He smiles and holds the phone close, “Yeah, I got the message. You’re probably checking in right now and won’t get this until after things settle down. That’s okay, it can wait. Your home will be here whenever you’re ready for it. I’ll see you next weekend. ” Pause, breath, promise. “I love you too. Later.” ~~Le Fin.~~