Entry #31 - "Wait For Your Heart"
Title: Wait For Your Heart
Written By: 1daftpunk
Timeframe: Post Season Five
Rating: PG
Warnings: Major Character Death, Song Fic.
Genre: Angst, Romance
Wait For Your Heart
One more time with emotion
It's so delicate
When you're painting someone's heart
Every day I was in New York was a surprise. I never knew what to expect.
It wasn’t like the first time; when all I did was sit in a hotel room with Brian’s credit card. This time I wasn’t waiting for him to come and rescue me. I knew he wouldn’t come, and that was a little scary but more than anything I wanted to do this myself. He knew that, and respected it.
It's a little bit hard to be so eloquent
When you don't know where to start
I never said goodbye intentionally. He’s marked me so well that everyone has to compare to him. They always come up short.
I never told him, but the night before I left, when we were all sitting around drinking at Woody’s, I had a strange experience.
Brian was off somewhere pretending to trick. He still wasn’t behaving normally which worried me. With Brian, the tricking is so totally linked to his self esteem. It took me a while to figure that out. He could give two shits about his tricks. They are there to serve a need. He’s a hunter. He needs the prey. He’s taught me how to hunt, but I never needed it the way he does. But, he was trying for my sake and maybe Michael’s that night to put his game face on. I’d wandered away from the bar, and was trying to make my way over to the pool tables when a strange woman beckoned to me from a dark table in the far corner of the room. I was a little slow to catch on so she came over, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to her table. Her grip was like steel, and her Lee Press On Nails dug into my arm.
“I’m Mysterious Marilyn. The stars tell me I need to talk to you.”
I was speechless. She guided me to sit down and she gently grabbed my hands and placed them on the table. “The stars write the script baby, I just say the words.” She muttered then moved her deck of cards around the table rapidly. I’d have left but the art on her deck arrested my attention. The card on the top showed two male figures entwined, and the card’s legend read “The Lovers”. She began to speak, in a tone much lower and gruffer. A chill ran up my back.
“He thinks it’s over and he’s lost you forever. You need to reassure him that you will return and frequently and that this is just another pause in your relationship. You need to keep reassuring him. If it means dropping everything important that you are doing, then you have to do it. He needs your constant reassurance, because he’s given you his heart. To him, you are already married. There is nothing that separates you but time, space and distance. You are already one heart. You will be wildly successful even though your leaving seems highly improbable. Be aware that there are those close to you who advised you to leave, who have selfish reasons for wanting you to go. He is surrounded by selfish people that want him to be a certain person. If he stays forever young then so does some part of them. They would never admit it, but they would also be the first to ridicule him for playing the part they chose for him.”
She paused and took a breath. She flipped over another couple of cards. “I told him a long time ago that you’d be successful in Chelsea. You’re an artist, and there are numerous galleries there. Pick the one that appeals to you and show your work there. They will be receptive to your honest approach. Never stop painting him. He’s the key to your success. Allow him to represent you when the time comes.”
She took another deep breath, and swallowed hard. She spoke quieter this time. “You have a long road ahead of you. One that is filled with temptations and periods of confusion. Remember in your heart, who loves you and sacrificed the love he had for you so that you could be free. Know in your heart who it is that loves you, because he’s given you every possible skill he can think of so that you could succeed. When it’s time to return, you’ll know. You’ll feel it in every fiber of your being. This time you’ll be the one doing the asking, and he’ll accept. He’s not going anywhere without you. Separately you are impressive, but together, unstoppable. Now, go out there and push your luck. Find out just how much love the world can hold.”
I remember muttering a quick thank you and slipping out of the booth as fast as possible. I was a little freaked, and Brian asked me when I got back if I was okay. I nodded my head and sipped my drink. Normally, I can’t remember a phone number for more than ten seconds but I remembered every word Marilyn said.
Every single word.
So, I went to New York and found a gallery and they took one look at my work and incredibly, they decided to show me. I sold a couple of paintings that way and was able to afford studio space. I wish I could say I went to the re-opening of Babylon but I was in the middle of a painting, my work was showing and the momentum was such that I couldn’t leave. I told myself that anyway.
I'll wait where the moonbeam hides
I'll wait on the other side
I knew the next time I talked to Brian that something was wrong. He sounded distant and hollow. I flew back the next day and discovered that he’d been sick. He’d been fighting off the flu, and wasn’t succeeding. He fussed at me for showing up, but I mumbled something about taking care of my partner and he shut up.
A few months later, I had a huge showing. If I sold all the paintings I could afford a down payment on space for my own gallery. The idea appealed to me but finding people to staff and show my work on a continuous basis scared me. The most successful artists, Coleman, Wyland, Lassen, and that other freak that painted English cottages all had their own galleries. I’d learned just enough about marketing from Brian to understand that I could produce only one original, but the copies could make me rich. The idea of creating a brand for myself had me excited and worried. I knew who I wanted to market and do the advertising for my gallery, but I’d never asked him about it. To my surprise, he showed up at the gallery. I turned my head and there he was, tall, and beautiful as ever in a designer suit and tie.
Away from the words I know
I'm waiting for your heart
I'm waiting for you heart to drop
Later, we sat on the floor of the gallery office, hiding behind the desks so the reviewers and fans couldn’t find me. We shared a joint and he fastidiously brushed the ash off my jeans. The show was a success and I was giddy. I blurted out what I wanted him to do and he sat there and stared at me. “I don’t have a New York office, Sunshine.” He said softly. So, commute!” I said with gushing enthusiasm. “I want Kinnetic to be my representation. I want you to create something brilliant so that I have to eventually open galleries worldwide!”
For a few heart stopping moments, I thought he might turn me down. But then, he bit his lip and I could see the wheels begin to turn. He was seriously considering it! I sat back and let him think. We smoked the rest of the joint in silence. Then he pulled me up and we made a dash for the back door.
I remember flying in his arms when my cell buzzed. The gallery manager called. Every single painting had sold. I didn’t tell him that everything I ever painted was him. He already knew.
He said, “Yes!”
I spent years in giddy excitement after that. He helped create campaigns that made owning a Justin Taylor painting like owning an Aston Martin or a Rolls Royce. The more the giclee prints sold, the more the demand for an original and I was swamped with work. I had four galleries in my name, which also carried works of other artists I liked.
One more time with some feeling
I'm not finished yet
I'm just trying to find the start
The opening of the gallery in Miami though, was strange. Michael and Ben flew down and Ben was clearly ill. I asked Brian but he just shook his head. I found out later that Ben had end stage Kaposi’s sarcoma and wasn’t expected to live much longer. This information, of course, from Debbie, who never could keep a secret. Michael vacillated between obvious grief and downright nastiness toward Brian. We were sitting at dinner before the opening and Ben was unable to attend. Michael showed up however, and tossed off a few ugly remarks in Brian’s direction and I finally gave in to my temper. I dragged him off to the bathroom and asked him point blank what the fuck was his problem.
“He’s like Teflon. Nothing ever sticks to him. He’s still Brian, you know? He never changes. He never has to deal with you being sick, or anything. He just keeps right on dancing.”
Michael’s bitterness infuriated me. “Yeah well, who put him there on that pedestal, Mikey” I said sarcastically. “You seem to forget that he’s had his own problems. But, you don’t notice those because he doesn’t tell you. He knows what kind of best friend you actually are. You wouldn’t notice the changes because they happened on the inside. You don’t notice that the things you say hurt him, because you are too busy wrapped up in your own little universe to care. He knows what his role in your life actually is. He lets you live in your own sanctimonious little world. He knows he makes you feel safe with your little judgmental decisions. He helps you feel secure when you really aren’t. Hey, if Brian’s still dancing then nothing is wrong with the universe, right Mikey?”
“Don’t call me that!” He snapped.
“You know why I like Ben? He always calmed you down. He made you see reason. Right now, if he could hear you, he’d be cringing. Yeah, he gets pissed at Brian for catering to you. But, at least he’s upfront about how he feels. He doesn’t project his own inadequacy onto everyone around him. He doesn’t belittle the people he loves. I am really going to miss him when he dies, because he’s the one that keeps you sane.”
Michael stood there for a moment with his mouth hanging open. I honestly though he might punch me, and lord knows the whole restaurant probably heard us yelling.
He glared at me, and his eyes narrowed. “He’ll never marry you!”
I shook my head and started to laugh. I laughed until tears spilled down my cheeks. I was hiccupping when Brian poked his head into the bathroom and regarded us quizzically. He put his arm out to steady me and pulled me close.
“I hate to break this too you Michael, but he already has.” I said. I allowed Brian to pull me from the bathroom and we left.
Roughly three months after that blow up, Brian called me. I was getting ready to leave for my gallery opening in Las Vegas.
“He’s gone.” Brian’s voice was thick. “Deb called me. There’s no funeral. Michael had him cremated.”
I could have asked a dozen questions, but I didn’t. All I said was, “Come with me to Las Vegas.” To my surprise, he agreed.
The opening went well, as the gallery was right on the strip, so there were a million tourists clustered outside. The actual opening was a black tie event at the Wynn, which for an older hotel still held its grandeur. Brian and I wandered through the collection of Picassos and Monet’s at the hotel’s gallery and Brian was unnaturally subdued.
One of the money dripping skeletons informed Brian and me about a ghost town about a hundred miles north of town. “You’ll just love the art up there!” She gushed. “They have real ghosts! It’s a photographer’s paradise!” I nodded my head politely, but in the back of my mind an idea began to form.
I pulled Brian aside later and said “Why don’t we go up there. You can play with your camera, and I have a reputation of eccentric artist to uphold anyway. We can take lunch. It will be fun.” Brian gave me a sour look but said, “Whatever you want, Sunshine.”
I rented a jeep and we drove a little more than an hour up toward Reno. The ghost town lay about four miles outside of a small town named Beatty. Brian let me drive, and he mostly sat there, drinking beer and watching the desolate scenery fly by.
Rhyolite lived up to its reputation. The crumbling buildings were strangely fascinating. I studied the work other artists left there and found myself puzzled by the ghostly version of the Last Supper and the giant Lego statue of the blonde woman.
I even walked the small rock labyrinth concentrating hard on my feet. When I reached the center, I stared down at the valley below me. Suddenly, that entire conversation I had with Mysterious Marilyn came back to me.
“When it’s time to return, you’ll know.” The words flooded my senses and I sat down hard on the crushed quartz. I sat there for I don’t really know how long, in the company of ghosts wondering what to say.
I try to say what I'm meaning
But nothing seems to fit
When I'm trying to fill your heart
I found him back by the railroad station. The building was designed in the mission style and was the best preserved. He was sitting on a log, in the scant shade of a Joshua tree, smoking a cigarette. The silence of the place was impressive, and only the faint breeze caused the surrounding scrub to rustle. I sat down beside him.
He finally spoke. “Everything crumbles away, doesn’t it. In the end, there is nothing left but earth and sky.”
“I think,” I said softly, “What’s left is what people tried to make of it. This building has stood here for more than an hundred years, despite the wind, rain, and blistering heat. Some foundations crumbled away completely and nothing is left but a pile of rocks. Others, like this building, have survived because someone put a lot of love and hard work into it. Many people contributed to this building, and still do to this day. This whole valley is a testament to enduring love.”
Brian snorted. “Enduring greed you mean. There’s still gold in those mountains.” He pointed to the terraced hill off to the side, where it was obvious that a mining operation continued.
“Maybe, but at the same time, they could have restored all the buildings, and charged admission. Instead, they left it as it was, to show the beauty and frailty of living. People lived and died here because they had a dream of success. Many of them never became rich. Some did, and knew when to go home.”
I moved off the log and sat down in the dirt in front of him. “I’ve succeeded, Brian. I found my gold mine. Now, I want to come home. And I want you to marry me.” I held my breath.
“I thought we already went that route.” He said, watching me carefully.
“We did. I don’t really want or need a big ceremony. I just want something formal between us. I don’t care if we just stand up in front of the Justice of the Peace. I just want a record somewhere to show that Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor loved each other.”
I'll wait where the moonbeam hides
I'll wait on the other side
Away from the words I know
I'm waiting for your heart
Brian stood up. “Come on.”
He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. We walked down the barely paved road to the school house.
“I think this is vaguely appropriate don’t you think?” He said.
He pulled out his little Sharper Image card knife and began scratching away at the wall. He must have seen my puzzled expression.
“If watching me deface this building bothers you, don’t watch.”
I shook my head. Then it dawned on me what he was doing. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and laid my head on his back for a few seconds. Then, I put my bad hand over his while he wrote. He finally stopped scratching on the wall. I looked up and he pulled me beside him. “Will that work for you?” He asked.
On the wall he’d written, “Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor were married here, April 11 2010.
“Yes, Brian. That will do, just fine.”
Written By: 1daftpunk
Timeframe: Post Season Five
Rating: PG
Warnings: Major Character Death, Song Fic.
Genre: Angst, Romance
Wait For Your Heart
One more time with emotion
It's so delicate
When you're painting someone's heart
Every day I was in New York was a surprise. I never knew what to expect.
It wasn’t like the first time; when all I did was sit in a hotel room with Brian’s credit card. This time I wasn’t waiting for him to come and rescue me. I knew he wouldn’t come, and that was a little scary but more than anything I wanted to do this myself. He knew that, and respected it.
It's a little bit hard to be so eloquent
When you don't know where to start
I never said goodbye intentionally. He’s marked me so well that everyone has to compare to him. They always come up short.
I never told him, but the night before I left, when we were all sitting around drinking at Woody’s, I had a strange experience.
Brian was off somewhere pretending to trick. He still wasn’t behaving normally which worried me. With Brian, the tricking is so totally linked to his self esteem. It took me a while to figure that out. He could give two shits about his tricks. They are there to serve a need. He’s a hunter. He needs the prey. He’s taught me how to hunt, but I never needed it the way he does. But, he was trying for my sake and maybe Michael’s that night to put his game face on. I’d wandered away from the bar, and was trying to make my way over to the pool tables when a strange woman beckoned to me from a dark table in the far corner of the room. I was a little slow to catch on so she came over, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to her table. Her grip was like steel, and her Lee Press On Nails dug into my arm.
“I’m Mysterious Marilyn. The stars tell me I need to talk to you.”
I was speechless. She guided me to sit down and she gently grabbed my hands and placed them on the table. “The stars write the script baby, I just say the words.” She muttered then moved her deck of cards around the table rapidly. I’d have left but the art on her deck arrested my attention. The card on the top showed two male figures entwined, and the card’s legend read “The Lovers”. She began to speak, in a tone much lower and gruffer. A chill ran up my back.
“He thinks it’s over and he’s lost you forever. You need to reassure him that you will return and frequently and that this is just another pause in your relationship. You need to keep reassuring him. If it means dropping everything important that you are doing, then you have to do it. He needs your constant reassurance, because he’s given you his heart. To him, you are already married. There is nothing that separates you but time, space and distance. You are already one heart. You will be wildly successful even though your leaving seems highly improbable. Be aware that there are those close to you who advised you to leave, who have selfish reasons for wanting you to go. He is surrounded by selfish people that want him to be a certain person. If he stays forever young then so does some part of them. They would never admit it, but they would also be the first to ridicule him for playing the part they chose for him.”
She paused and took a breath. She flipped over another couple of cards. “I told him a long time ago that you’d be successful in Chelsea. You’re an artist, and there are numerous galleries there. Pick the one that appeals to you and show your work there. They will be receptive to your honest approach. Never stop painting him. He’s the key to your success. Allow him to represent you when the time comes.”
She took another deep breath, and swallowed hard. She spoke quieter this time. “You have a long road ahead of you. One that is filled with temptations and periods of confusion. Remember in your heart, who loves you and sacrificed the love he had for you so that you could be free. Know in your heart who it is that loves you, because he’s given you every possible skill he can think of so that you could succeed. When it’s time to return, you’ll know. You’ll feel it in every fiber of your being. This time you’ll be the one doing the asking, and he’ll accept. He’s not going anywhere without you. Separately you are impressive, but together, unstoppable. Now, go out there and push your luck. Find out just how much love the world can hold.”
I remember muttering a quick thank you and slipping out of the booth as fast as possible. I was a little freaked, and Brian asked me when I got back if I was okay. I nodded my head and sipped my drink. Normally, I can’t remember a phone number for more than ten seconds but I remembered every word Marilyn said.
Every single word.
So, I went to New York and found a gallery and they took one look at my work and incredibly, they decided to show me. I sold a couple of paintings that way and was able to afford studio space. I wish I could say I went to the re-opening of Babylon but I was in the middle of a painting, my work was showing and the momentum was such that I couldn’t leave. I told myself that anyway.
I'll wait where the moonbeam hides
I'll wait on the other side
I knew the next time I talked to Brian that something was wrong. He sounded distant and hollow. I flew back the next day and discovered that he’d been sick. He’d been fighting off the flu, and wasn’t succeeding. He fussed at me for showing up, but I mumbled something about taking care of my partner and he shut up.
A few months later, I had a huge showing. If I sold all the paintings I could afford a down payment on space for my own gallery. The idea appealed to me but finding people to staff and show my work on a continuous basis scared me. The most successful artists, Coleman, Wyland, Lassen, and that other freak that painted English cottages all had their own galleries. I’d learned just enough about marketing from Brian to understand that I could produce only one original, but the copies could make me rich. The idea of creating a brand for myself had me excited and worried. I knew who I wanted to market and do the advertising for my gallery, but I’d never asked him about it. To my surprise, he showed up at the gallery. I turned my head and there he was, tall, and beautiful as ever in a designer suit and tie.
Away from the words I know
I'm waiting for your heart
I'm waiting for you heart to drop
Later, we sat on the floor of the gallery office, hiding behind the desks so the reviewers and fans couldn’t find me. We shared a joint and he fastidiously brushed the ash off my jeans. The show was a success and I was giddy. I blurted out what I wanted him to do and he sat there and stared at me. “I don’t have a New York office, Sunshine.” He said softly. So, commute!” I said with gushing enthusiasm. “I want Kinnetic to be my representation. I want you to create something brilliant so that I have to eventually open galleries worldwide!”
For a few heart stopping moments, I thought he might turn me down. But then, he bit his lip and I could see the wheels begin to turn. He was seriously considering it! I sat back and let him think. We smoked the rest of the joint in silence. Then he pulled me up and we made a dash for the back door.
I remember flying in his arms when my cell buzzed. The gallery manager called. Every single painting had sold. I didn’t tell him that everything I ever painted was him. He already knew.
He said, “Yes!”
I spent years in giddy excitement after that. He helped create campaigns that made owning a Justin Taylor painting like owning an Aston Martin or a Rolls Royce. The more the giclee prints sold, the more the demand for an original and I was swamped with work. I had four galleries in my name, which also carried works of other artists I liked.
One more time with some feeling
I'm not finished yet
I'm just trying to find the start
The opening of the gallery in Miami though, was strange. Michael and Ben flew down and Ben was clearly ill. I asked Brian but he just shook his head. I found out later that Ben had end stage Kaposi’s sarcoma and wasn’t expected to live much longer. This information, of course, from Debbie, who never could keep a secret. Michael vacillated between obvious grief and downright nastiness toward Brian. We were sitting at dinner before the opening and Ben was unable to attend. Michael showed up however, and tossed off a few ugly remarks in Brian’s direction and I finally gave in to my temper. I dragged him off to the bathroom and asked him point blank what the fuck was his problem.
“He’s like Teflon. Nothing ever sticks to him. He’s still Brian, you know? He never changes. He never has to deal with you being sick, or anything. He just keeps right on dancing.”
Michael’s bitterness infuriated me. “Yeah well, who put him there on that pedestal, Mikey” I said sarcastically. “You seem to forget that he’s had his own problems. But, you don’t notice those because he doesn’t tell you. He knows what kind of best friend you actually are. You wouldn’t notice the changes because they happened on the inside. You don’t notice that the things you say hurt him, because you are too busy wrapped up in your own little universe to care. He knows what his role in your life actually is. He lets you live in your own sanctimonious little world. He knows he makes you feel safe with your little judgmental decisions. He helps you feel secure when you really aren’t. Hey, if Brian’s still dancing then nothing is wrong with the universe, right Mikey?”
“Don’t call me that!” He snapped.
“You know why I like Ben? He always calmed you down. He made you see reason. Right now, if he could hear you, he’d be cringing. Yeah, he gets pissed at Brian for catering to you. But, at least he’s upfront about how he feels. He doesn’t project his own inadequacy onto everyone around him. He doesn’t belittle the people he loves. I am really going to miss him when he dies, because he’s the one that keeps you sane.”
Michael stood there for a moment with his mouth hanging open. I honestly though he might punch me, and lord knows the whole restaurant probably heard us yelling.
He glared at me, and his eyes narrowed. “He’ll never marry you!”
I shook my head and started to laugh. I laughed until tears spilled down my cheeks. I was hiccupping when Brian poked his head into the bathroom and regarded us quizzically. He put his arm out to steady me and pulled me close.
“I hate to break this too you Michael, but he already has.” I said. I allowed Brian to pull me from the bathroom and we left.
Roughly three months after that blow up, Brian called me. I was getting ready to leave for my gallery opening in Las Vegas.
“He’s gone.” Brian’s voice was thick. “Deb called me. There’s no funeral. Michael had him cremated.”
I could have asked a dozen questions, but I didn’t. All I said was, “Come with me to Las Vegas.” To my surprise, he agreed.
The opening went well, as the gallery was right on the strip, so there were a million tourists clustered outside. The actual opening was a black tie event at the Wynn, which for an older hotel still held its grandeur. Brian and I wandered through the collection of Picassos and Monet’s at the hotel’s gallery and Brian was unnaturally subdued.
One of the money dripping skeletons informed Brian and me about a ghost town about a hundred miles north of town. “You’ll just love the art up there!” She gushed. “They have real ghosts! It’s a photographer’s paradise!” I nodded my head politely, but in the back of my mind an idea began to form.
I pulled Brian aside later and said “Why don’t we go up there. You can play with your camera, and I have a reputation of eccentric artist to uphold anyway. We can take lunch. It will be fun.” Brian gave me a sour look but said, “Whatever you want, Sunshine.”
I rented a jeep and we drove a little more than an hour up toward Reno. The ghost town lay about four miles outside of a small town named Beatty. Brian let me drive, and he mostly sat there, drinking beer and watching the desolate scenery fly by.
Rhyolite lived up to its reputation. The crumbling buildings were strangely fascinating. I studied the work other artists left there and found myself puzzled by the ghostly version of the Last Supper and the giant Lego statue of the blonde woman.
I even walked the small rock labyrinth concentrating hard on my feet. When I reached the center, I stared down at the valley below me. Suddenly, that entire conversation I had with Mysterious Marilyn came back to me.
“When it’s time to return, you’ll know.” The words flooded my senses and I sat down hard on the crushed quartz. I sat there for I don’t really know how long, in the company of ghosts wondering what to say.
I try to say what I'm meaning
But nothing seems to fit
When I'm trying to fill your heart
I found him back by the railroad station. The building was designed in the mission style and was the best preserved. He was sitting on a log, in the scant shade of a Joshua tree, smoking a cigarette. The silence of the place was impressive, and only the faint breeze caused the surrounding scrub to rustle. I sat down beside him.
He finally spoke. “Everything crumbles away, doesn’t it. In the end, there is nothing left but earth and sky.”
“I think,” I said softly, “What’s left is what people tried to make of it. This building has stood here for more than an hundred years, despite the wind, rain, and blistering heat. Some foundations crumbled away completely and nothing is left but a pile of rocks. Others, like this building, have survived because someone put a lot of love and hard work into it. Many people contributed to this building, and still do to this day. This whole valley is a testament to enduring love.”
Brian snorted. “Enduring greed you mean. There’s still gold in those mountains.” He pointed to the terraced hill off to the side, where it was obvious that a mining operation continued.
“Maybe, but at the same time, they could have restored all the buildings, and charged admission. Instead, they left it as it was, to show the beauty and frailty of living. People lived and died here because they had a dream of success. Many of them never became rich. Some did, and knew when to go home.”
I moved off the log and sat down in the dirt in front of him. “I’ve succeeded, Brian. I found my gold mine. Now, I want to come home. And I want you to marry me.” I held my breath.
“I thought we already went that route.” He said, watching me carefully.
“We did. I don’t really want or need a big ceremony. I just want something formal between us. I don’t care if we just stand up in front of the Justice of the Peace. I just want a record somewhere to show that Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor loved each other.”
I'll wait where the moonbeam hides
I'll wait on the other side
Away from the words I know
I'm waiting for your heart
Brian stood up. “Come on.”
He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. We walked down the barely paved road to the school house.
“I think this is vaguely appropriate don’t you think?” He said.
He pulled out his little Sharper Image card knife and began scratching away at the wall. He must have seen my puzzled expression.
“If watching me deface this building bothers you, don’t watch.”
I shook my head. Then it dawned on me what he was doing. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and laid my head on his back for a few seconds. Then, I put my bad hand over his while he wrote. He finally stopped scratching on the wall. I looked up and he pulled me beside him. “Will that work for you?” He asked.
On the wall he’d written, “Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor were married here, April 11 2010.
“Yes, Brian. That will do, just fine.”