Whomever It May Concern by Justin P. Smith

Aaron and I sat across from each other’s cucumber sandwiches at the local Slice of Heaven restaurant, crunching into the two hundred calorie dinners while exchanging our thoughts on the weather. We had been dating – if you could even call it that – for a couple of months, catching each other for dinner once or twice a week, maybe go out to a club together, and then head back to my place. The conversations never really picked up, but things certainly lifted off later, even if afterwards we would pass out cold, each of us lying with our backs facing one another, him snoring loudly.

“So I was thinking that tonight we could go to Adonis instead of The Edge – Adonis usually has such better music and a lot more guys. I mean, I get sick of the constant flashing blue lights at The Edge – they think they’re some huge gay club instead of the hole in the wall that they are,” Aaron said, taking a drag off of his cigarette. “And, I mean, we could always, like, use some more faces or something. I get so sick of seeing the same people every time we go out. What can I say, I like variety.” He laughed, tapping the ashes off into the tray. The small specks of ash fell into the tray with a few floating through the air, towards the bright orange walls with the green trim, until it settled onto the gray tile on the floor, blending in.

Aaron tapped me on my forearm to get my attention. “Hey! Earth to Joseph, do you hear me?” He paused to laugh. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Oh,” I said, looking up and forcing a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine with that. Maybe the go-go boys will be a little less drugged up at Adonis.”

“What do you mean by that? I think they’re cute.”

“They weigh ninety pounds,” I blurted out before taking a drink. Aaron rolled his eyes and turned away, raising his hand to signal to the waiter that he wanted another diet coke.

I stared off, focusing on the fake flower decorations on the table next to us with the papery pink and green colors coming out of solid, unmoving plastic water. I couldn’t really tell what the “water” was made from, but when the couple sitting at the table got up to leave, it sat perfectly still while the table itself jostled back and forth. Who puts fake water in a fake vase with fake flowers – it seems unnecessary. And who makes fake water? What would if you were out on a date and someone asked you what you did for a living, and you had to answer that you managed a fake water factory so that cheap, divey restaurants could pretend to have class?

As I looked at the unmoving water, a tallish guy, maybe average, with black, spiky hair and noticeably blue eyes brushed the vase as he was reaching for the leftover sandwiches. He wrapped the pieces that the previous couple had left behind up in napkins, placing them in the cargo pockets of his red plaid shorts, and finished off the sweet tea remaining on the table before he started for the door. He looked at me, seeing that I had seen what he had taken, and smiled, sheepishly, as he brushed past the waiter and grabbed the handle of the door.

As I turned back to Aaron, waiting to hear the rest of his plans for the evening, I couldn’t decide if the guy had come in for the sole purpose of taking food or if he had just so happened to grab it as he left from his own dinner. He left alone, hopping on his bike and riding East on First Street, towards uptown.

#

After a few drinks, we walked the three blocks over to Adonis and paid the cover to get in. As we got our bracelets for the bar and continued to walk in, the waft of sweat and music passed over me, filling the air with tangible salt and water, serving as some sort of barrier between me and everyone else.

Aaron was behind me, his pelvis moving from side to side and his hands pushing me onto the dance floor. “Come on, let’s get out there. This song is really good, we shouldn’t miss it.” As the music picked up, he yelled loudly, grabbing my hand and pulling me into him to start dancing. He put his hands into my back pockets, pulling me closer and squeezing as he did so.

I pulled myself away. “Hey, I think I’m going to go grab a drink. Do you want anything?” Aaron shook his hand, saying that he would just keep dancing, and waved me towards the bar. After I asked the bartender for a whiskey on the rocks, I stepped back and scanned the crowd, looking for Aaron but noting the men at the club. It was a fairly typical dance club, full of faux-hawks and tight pants, guys brushing up against one another and hands traveling into places without permission. They catch your eye, smile, and move their head backwards to indicate for you to dance with them. Then they take ask you to go to “the bathroom” with them, before coming back to the dance floor and finding someone else to dance with.

Though almost all of the men at the club were either wearing mesh tank tops or nothing at all, there was a guy that wasn’t quite presenting himself as everyone else was. His six-foot slender frame was accentuated by a tight belly-shirt he was wearing, tight black with the bottom ending just above his navel, displayed just above his red plaid shorts; his black hair was gelled so that little pieces went off in totally different directions. His head was tilted down as he was looking at his body moving, his hips quickly shaking from side to side and his arms moving up as his legs went out. He never really looked up from watching himself dancing, even when guys approached him. They would do what men do at clubs: they grabbed his hand, or, usually, simply moved in behind him and held onto his hips. He never seemed to notice, moving just as he did before right in front of the speakers, never leaving the blasts of music. He stayed by the stage and the music for a while, never following any of the men dancing with him to the back room. Eventually, he came to the bar and grabbed a seat next to me.

“That was quite a show,” I said. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his back, streaking his hair and making his shirt cling even more to his torso. He wiped his face with a napkin.

“What?” he burst out, quickly, whipping his head around to meet my gaze.

I raised my voice. “You—your dancing, I mean. You looked like you were having a good time.” I laughed, trying to seem like I hadn’t been staring at him for the past hour. I reached my hand out. “Shit, I should introduce myself. I’m Joseph.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded, gesturing to himself. “Ryan.” He stopped and leaned against the counter, looking for his drink. The bartender wasn’t within sight, and he got back into his seat, his breathing getting faster and heavier. “I’m really hot. Is it really hot in here? Are you ok?” His eyes looked me up and down as he took his shirt off, his body shining with sweat. The chair caught his leg as he started to lose his balance, his shirt in his right hand.

“Whoa there.” I grabbed him and got him settled back into his seat. “If you want to do that, head on to the bathroom or something. You don’t want to get kicked out.” I forced a laugh, receiving a blank stare in return, his eyes looking at the wall and his head starting to slide backwards. “Ok, you don’t look too good. Do you need to get home?”

Ryan nodded his head before resting it on the bar counter. I asked him where he lived, but the only response he gave was loud, heavy breathing. I nudged him awake. “Where do you live? I think you need to get to bed, you don’t look so great.” He mumbled a few words about living downtown, but couldn’t really clarify where. “Wait here for a little bit, okay? I’ll be back in a minute to give you a lift home, I just have to find my friend.” He nodded, and I gave the bartender a look, telling him to watch him.

I waded through the salt and sweat to find Aaron, shirtless and dancing with another shirtless boy paid by the club to dance with other guys. I tapped him on the shoulder and told him that I had to take care of someone, and that I would give him a call sometime. He smiled, nodded, and resumed grinding with the go-go boy.

Once I got back to the bar, a tall man had taken my seat, the one next to Ryan. He wasn’t responding very much, muttering“yeah” every now and then to the guy’s questions. I hurried beside Ryan, placing my arm around his neck and asking, “So, are you ready to go home soon?” I turned my head to the man, gave a curt smile, and then turned back to Ryan, watching the man walk away slowly out of the corner of my eye. “Let’s get you home, okay? You can tell me where to go when we get out to my car.”

We walked out to my silver Honda and I helped Ryan climb into the backseat. I wadded up my coat and handed it to him so he could use it as a pillow in the back. He lay down, his black hair spreading over the light blue of my jacket when I climbed into the front and started the car. “Where are we heading?” I asked as I turned the key in the ignition, starting the nonexistent purr of my Honda Accord. I glanced in my rearview mirror to see Ryan asleep, emitting a gentle snore as he inhaled. I decided to drive my house, just outside of the city, so that he could at least have somewhere to sleep, and I would leave a note for him that said what had happened so he wouldn’t think I was a total creep. I kept a steady ten miles per hour under the speed limit on the way back—I didn’t want to get caught with a half-naked man passed out in the backseat of my car and have the police decide I was a total creep, either.

I try to justify it now. I try to think that I was just doing him a service, making sure that he wasn’t going to end up blowing some guy he didn’t find attractive in a dark room, wake up the next day with matty hair and a taste of chlorine in his mouth, not knowing where he was. I can say that I was worried about predatory gay men all that I want, but I’m the one that took him home. I’m the one that gave him a place to stay, and I’m the one that stared at his muscular frame in my rearview mirror on the ride home; I’m the one that watched his stomach rise and fall with each breath that he took, I’m the one that put him to bed. I’m the one that kissed his forehead before he drifted off, tasting skin and salt as he shifted his weight onto his right side.

I walked into the living room in the morning and moved to the other side of the couch to wake Ryan up; when I got there, though, the blankets were all bundled up on the floor with nothing on the couch. His clothes were gone, and the rest of my apartment was empty, save a bright yellow watch sitting next to a note written on the other side of what I left him the night before.

“To whomever it may concern:

Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch last night. I regret that I left so early this morning, but I woke up quite early (full bladder!) and decided that it was best for me to go home. However, you should fill in the black spots in my memory tomorrow! How about we meet up at Garrison Park near downtown? Give me a call (9317882379) and let me know what time is good!

Sincerely, Ryan
P.S. Sorry I can’t remember your name”

He was standing on top of a bench when I finally found him in the park. His sandals were five feet away from him in the grass, and his torn blue jeans were rolled up to just below his knees, his black hair frazzled from the constant wind. When he saw me, he jerked back, smiling and waving vigorously before jogging over to me. “Good. I didn’t think you would come, so I stood up on that bench to make sure that I saw you. How are you?”

“I’m okay; I had to stay at work late last night, so I’m a little beat.” Ryan nodded sympathy before changing his gaze to a cardinal. He stopped walking and stared at it for a few seconds, tilting his head to change his view. I watched him and then asked if he was okay.

“Oh, sorry. What were you saying? Cardinals are my favorite bird, and this is the best time of year to see them. If you look at that one,” he pointed to a tree to his right, “you can see the sun coming directly between the limbs. It looks like the cardinal is on fire,” he said, putting his hands together and then pulling them apart quickly and violently, like an explosion had just occurred in his fingers. He pulled his camera out and took a few pictures, and then started walking on the path again.

I didn’t really know what to say after that as I watched his head dart from tree to tree, animal to plant to people without really responding or saying anything. I thought I would make sure that he was who I thought he was. “So what do you do for a living, that you need to steal sandwiches to eat?”

“What?” He turned away from the oak tree to look at me. “Oh, I run errands in a local firm, Row & Zifroe. Coffee and stuff. Sometimes I file documents in the courthouse, but besides that, not much.” He turned back. “I don’t know. I like it there. Ten dollars an hour, good benefits. My bosses are bitchy but I can handle that because I’m never actually in the office, you know?”

“That sounds great,” I said, looking around. He rolled his eyes. “No, really. I mean, as long as you’re hanging on just fine, who cares how much you work?”

Ryan looked at his feet as he kept walking. “I know it sucks,” he said, looking back up at me. “I don’t care that I’m in a kind of crappy job. I do just fine for myself, and I don’t have to put in any extra hours or anything like that. It’s fine. I guess I’m not a high-powered gay man like you, with your fancy apartment, but I’m okay. Plus, I come out to the park when I’m supposed to be doing errands and say that the ‘traffic is murder’ or something that people in positions like me say. And I lie here,” he said, pointing under a sprawling oak tree, “and look at stuff around me for a few minutes before I go back. They don’t suspect a thing; it’s perfect for me.” He scanned the park for something, I didn’t know what, before he pointed and said, “Over there is a swallow nest. I love watching them.”

I watched the adult birds fly out of their nests as we got closer, letting out a series of high-pitched squeaks before flying higher. They did flips in the air, going up before flipping over and coming back down in a semicircle of wind and feathers, dipping and dodging through the air without stopping. I kept looking at the loops they made and the turns that they took, until Ryan spoke up again.

“Oh, yeah! I meant to ask you to bring my watch. I left it at your place, I think, and I was wondering if you saw it there? I’ve had it for years and would really like to have it back.”

As we walked away from the tree, the sparrows came back to their nests and settled down. “Oh, I don’t remember it. I haven’t really been home much lately, though, and I haven’t cleaned anything up in a few days. I could give you a lift back to my place to look for it before taking you home.”

“That sounds good,” Ryan responded, watching the birds sit in their nest. “In a few minutes. I want to scare these sparrows out one more time.”

Sure enough, it was waiting on my end table with bright yellow straps with red and green strips. Ryan put it on, emitting an audible ‘yes’ before turning around and looking at me, smiling. “I’ve been really upset about this thing, you have no idea.”

“Well, good. I’d hate for you to lose such an, um, nice watch.” I sat down on my couch, the hot leather sticking to my arm. Ryan followed.

“I got this three years ago, from one of those crane games at a video arcade.” He spun the watch around on his wrist; I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look, I really don’t go to arcades much: I can’t handle the flashing lights. Seizures. A friend – well, a guy – dragged me there, and the only thing that I could do was the crane game. Twenty dollars later, I had this,” he said, pumping his fist into the air and grinning. “Nice, right?”

“I’ve never seen someone so worked up over wasting twenty dollars.” I bit my lip and looked up at him, thinking myself terribly clever and waiting for him to feign anger.

Ryan looked at me, processing what I had just said, and screamed, “Oh, now you’re going to get it,” jumping on top of me and pressing my shoulders down on the couch, pinning me.

I looked up at him, seeing the playful look and the serious lines contouring his face. His elbows were locked, his veins swelling as his breathing grew heavier. I tried to rise up, pushing my shoulders against the weight of his body, but he pushed back, holding me there. His smile slowly faded until he was looking at me, expressionless, his mouth slightly open and his eyes narrowed. He closed them, tilting his head upward and inhaling deeply.

With legs pressing down on my shins and hands firmly on my shoulders, Ryan laid the rest of his body on top of mine and sat there, unmoving.

“Sorry,” he said, moving his head out from my armpit and looking into my eyes. “This must seem really weird.” He looked upset.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I smiled again, and moved my hand around his head and to his cheek. “Really.”

Ryan smiled and moved his head back towards mine, our lips slowly approaching each other. They touched, parted, and touched again, continuing as he slid his hands under my shirt and mine moved to his neck, until his pants came off and my belt was on the floor beside them. My hands slid along his spine until he suddenly stood up, crying, reaching for his clothes.

I paused, confused. “Oh, shit, is this not okay?” I asked, jumping up to put my arm around him. “I thought that’s what you wanted…we can stop. It’s not a problem.”

His eyes were closed tight, water seeping out from between his eyelids. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s not that. I need to go.” He quickly pulled his pants on, hobbling towards the door and breathing heavily again.

“What’s up? Hey hey hey, wait a second. I thought this was good.” I grabbed his arm and tried to get him to look at me. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just have to go. I’ll get a taxi, don’t worry about it. See you.”

The door opened, Ryan walking as fast as he could and putting his shirt on at the same time. I heard stumbling down the stairwell as the door shut, automatically, behind him.

The next night, I was sitting in my living room, finishing off the last few pages of my favorite George Eliot novel when my phone rang: a call from Ryan

“Hey. I need to talk to you; meet me at the bridge, the one on seventh street over the river. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Before I could ask why, he hung up.

I kept reading, glazing over Dorothea’s last lines while mentally reaching for my car keys and driving towards the bridge. Ryan would be there, mismatched clothes and messy hair tossled by the wind. It would be overcast and warm, and he would tell me what he was thinking. I could tell him why he was too much for me, or why he was so good for me. I hadn’t decided yet.

My car keys were sitting right beside the couch, and as I dog-eared the third-to-last page, I grabbed them, stood up, and walked out of my apartment and towards the Mississippi.

“Hey.” He was standing on the edge of the bridge, looking off and watching the light reflect off of the river. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. Look, what happened last night? And what’s up right now?”

“I don’t really know.” Ryan sat down and dipped his feet in the water. “It was weird. It is weird. I don’t know.”

I sat down beside him. “It’s nothing. I mean, really, it wasn’t a big deal. We were just doing what guys do, you know? It doesn’t have to be some big thing.”

He put his head in his hands. “But it always is with me. I always do this. I always want to be with someone and lie on top of them and just melt into them, you know? And it is always too much and weird and painful and they can’t handle it and I can’t handle it. It’s just not a good idea.”

I looked at him, my eyebrows raised. “I guess I don’t understand. I don’t mind.” He started crying when I put my arm around him. “Just relax. The fact that you’re reacting this way is sweet. Don’t worry about it.”

Ryan dried his eyes and looked up at me. “What do you see when you close your eyes?”

I looked out over the river, the bright yellow handrails obstructing my view of the shore. I could see a little farther, though, enough to see the muddy water and the beer cans floating in it. “I don’t know, I can’t really make it out. Black, and some less-black spots.” I lied. I figured that I’d seen enough of the backs of my eyelids in my life to guess what was there.

His black hair shone in the dusk as he clenched his eyes shut, forming small wrinkles next to his temples. “I see a lot. Mainly blurs of purple, and greens, and reds. The purples just sort of spread out more and more, and they seem pixilated. At least, more pixilated than the other colors.” Ryan paused, dropping his head until his chin reached his chest. “The greens swirl a lot. Like, they spin until they form the shapes of everyday objects. Bowls or tables, mainly, I don’t really know why.” He looked at me with teary eyes and forced a smile. “It doesn’t make sense that I see green tables when I close my eyes, does it?”

“No,” I said cautiously, looking at him and putting my arm around his neck, tucking his head next to my own. “I think it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.” He started crying, and I didn’t know what to do. I put my hand on the back of his head and kissed the top, squeezing his shoulder.

“It’s just…not.”