18. The Silence of His Smile (Drabble 4)
Title: The Silence of His Smile
Author: gaeln
Drabble: 4 by testdog65
Notes: Post 513_word count without drabble is 1,330_little angst_used drabble as opening for slice-of-life ficlette
Thank you herefordroad
Justin watched the smoke unwind in dissipating curls before it vanished in the breeze from the open window. He inhaled again and let the smoke expand in his lungs, feeling the tightening pull and burn before allowing it to escape, this time in the forced rush of his exhale.
A cacophony of noise filtered up from the street below; honking horns, distant sirens and the occasional muffled shout. All of it as much a part of the background as the buildings and the heat and the endless press of people.
Justin ignored the phone as it began to ring again.
The act of smoking soothed him, distracted him, kept him from his need to answer. As it had before, as it would again. A line of silence had been drawn between them. So remaining at the open window, eyes half-closed against the burnt-orange of the sun setting west; his focus remained on the background sounds of the city. Still, he was acutely aware when the ringing stopped, when the call went to voicemail, when the recorded sound of his own voice eased the silence of his 8th floor walkup. Just talk to me. Just talk to me. Please just…talk.
But again…nothing. Only the soft hum of disconnection. And as he had earlier that morning and again later that afternoon, gazing toward the phone’s silence, Justin found nothing there. No understanding for the disconnect. No reason for the line having been drawn. Allowing the city’s version of urban jazz to call him back, back to the deepening crimson twilight sweeping wide and welcomed over his neighborhood, he inhaled deeply. Should be cooler soon. It’ll be good when it’s finally cooler.
There was shouting, people in the alley below were arguing. Three voices, harsh and impatient, cut through the background din, further distracting him from his melancholy. From his confusion. From his desire. But only for a moment before returning, without thought, to his hours-long mantra. Please…why? Why can’t you just give me this? Fuck…why?
Silently pleaded, and as he had all day, waiting far too patiently for understanding to come, Justin let his fine honed skills at diversion save him. Lighting his next cigarette from the first, stubbing the butt out in the filled-to-capacity ashtray balanced on the sill next to him, he drifted away once more, out of the window and toward the oncoming night, the ashtray’s enameled imprint of the Chrysler Building vague under the layered ash of his malaise. Shifting on the window sill; the fire escape he half leaned on silhouetted a warm charcoal-gray against a deep purple, the night’s lighter fringe of violet, where the neighboring buildings butted up against the sky, diminishing toward darkness as each unrealized moment ticked by. Will be dark soon. It’ll be better when it’s finally dark. Dark and cool.
Twirling the last of his bourbon, the clinking of ice against the thick glass both familiar and calming, Justin glided its dampness up along his throat and over his eyebrows in a halfhearted attempt at pushing away the late-summer heat, before finally swallowing what little remained. Scatter-glancing around his now shadowy living room slash dining room slash bedroom, he found the also empty bourbon bottle gleaming translucent bronze on the kitchen counter, caught in the last rays of a distant and dying sunset. Returning his attention outside, he smoked, he watched and he patiently waited.
And when the phone began to ring again, his heartbeat quickened, but, he couldn’t answer it. Two can play at this fucking game. Still, he pleaded once more. Please. Please. This time…please. But when the hum of disconnection answered him for the third or maybe even fourth time that day, he shivered despite the heat. Leaning into the night, he began to give up. Maybe this time it’s real. Maybe this time we really aren’t going to make it. Maybe…maybe this time, he’ll make me let go.
Around ten or maybe even as late eleven, realizing that the ringing had stopped, that the silence had grown too long, had become too permanent, Justin found anger. Realizing that demands from Pittsburgh were no longer being made of him, that irrational compromises were no longer being asked of him, he found resentment. Well…fine. Enough is enough. I’ve made plenty of concessions. I’ve made too many compromises. This time it’s on you. This time it’s you that has to step over that line. To…me. But what a joke…right? What a fucking joke. So tell me, why the hell isn’t anyone laughing? Fuck.
Through some down-the-street apartment window music played, a song floated sweet and heartbreaking through the heavy night as if sung only for him and it caught him, carried him away. And even if in a language he couldn’t understand. The singer made the meaning clear, a song of love gone wrong and Justin believed. Abandoning his sill, closing and locking the window behind him, he turned away from the singer, from the song…from the night and towards the shelter of his room. Could turn on a light. Could even play my music, but why? Why bother? Why fill the void with sound, with light…neither mattered. Nothing matters. He left his room the way it’d been all day…without color, without music.
Grabbing a six-pack from the fridge, stretching out on his couch, twisting off the cap, he downed half the bottle in one grateful gulp, he dove headfirst into the rest of his time before sunrise. Two six-packs and three cigarette packs promising him at least some solace. The tip of his cigarette cut the darkness, a shimmery red burn whenever he inhaled, a dried-blood red burn whenever he exhaled. And lying above him in sheer bands, the reflected glow of the smoke was made visible by the white city lights that shone through his window and that would until sunrise. Wonder what time it is? Doesn’t much matter. This night will go on forever. But I’m okay…I am. I’ll be just fine.
Around two, a dull and distant bark flicked at the edges of his understanding. A sound that not so much startled as confused him. Unconvinced, unfazed, he considered it not so much real sound as something imagined. Something so longed for that it had, in just that moment, become real. But when the sound, sharper and nearer, flicked at him again, Justin decided to find out why. Unbolting the three deadbolts, cracking opening the fireproof door, finding Brian just on the other side, leaning against the door jam, his arm draped over the top of it, Justin said, “We’ve done this before, right? Haven’t we done something like this before?”
“Before, I was chasing a moody 17-year-old runaway. Now I’m just indulging a spoiled 24-year-old-”
“Don’t call me a brat.”
“Child. A very spoiled, a very needy 24-year-old child. Christ.” Brian moved past him and into the still dark if no longer silent room, throwing his overnight bag on the beer bottle strewn coffee table. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked looking around. “I said I was sorry. I must have said it at least three times. I don’t know, maybe even four.”
“Were those clicks you? Was all that silence you? Each and every time? Oh…my gosh, I am just so sorry, Brian.” Closing, locking the door behind them; he followed after Brian. “I was just so busy what with trying to solve the seemingly unsolvable problems of rampant global hunger-”
“Bono. Again?”
“Yes…yes, I’m afraid so. Bono…again. He just left, you must’ve-”
“I thought that guy I passed on my way up here looked familiar.”
“World famous rock star-”
“Yeah, well,” Brian shrugged.
“Showed up earlier today. Unexpected, I might add. But see? He really wants to get this whole Africa thing under control-”
“Well, who doesn’t? But tell me again why he thinks you’re the very best man for the job?”
“I’m sure I don’t know why, Brian. He just…does. So I guess I just wasn’t paying attention when you apparently apologized what? Three, maybe four times today? Think that could be it, Brian? Think maybe I just didn’t hear you?”
“More like you just didn’t understand me.” Brian took his face in his hands, leaned into him so close that he could only be clearly understood and said, “I’m sorry, Justin, I am. You hear me now? You understand me now?”
And in the silence of his smile, in the warmth of his kiss, Justin assured Brian that he did.
Author: gaeln
Drabble: 4 by testdog65
Notes: Post 513_word count without drabble is 1,330_little angst_used drabble as opening for slice-of-life ficlette
Thank you herefordroad
Justin watched the smoke unwind in dissipating curls before it vanished in the breeze from the open window. He inhaled again and let the smoke expand in his lungs, feeling the tightening pull and burn before allowing it to escape, this time in the forced rush of his exhale.
A cacophony of noise filtered up from the street below; honking horns, distant sirens and the occasional muffled shout. All of it as much a part of the background as the buildings and the heat and the endless press of people.
Justin ignored the phone as it began to ring again.
The act of smoking soothed him, distracted him, kept him from his need to answer. As it had before, as it would again. A line of silence had been drawn between them. So remaining at the open window, eyes half-closed against the burnt-orange of the sun setting west; his focus remained on the background sounds of the city. Still, he was acutely aware when the ringing stopped, when the call went to voicemail, when the recorded sound of his own voice eased the silence of his 8th floor walkup. Just talk to me. Just talk to me. Please just…talk.
But again…nothing. Only the soft hum of disconnection. And as he had earlier that morning and again later that afternoon, gazing toward the phone’s silence, Justin found nothing there. No understanding for the disconnect. No reason for the line having been drawn. Allowing the city’s version of urban jazz to call him back, back to the deepening crimson twilight sweeping wide and welcomed over his neighborhood, he inhaled deeply. Should be cooler soon. It’ll be good when it’s finally cooler.
There was shouting, people in the alley below were arguing. Three voices, harsh and impatient, cut through the background din, further distracting him from his melancholy. From his confusion. From his desire. But only for a moment before returning, without thought, to his hours-long mantra. Please…why? Why can’t you just give me this? Fuck…why?
Silently pleaded, and as he had all day, waiting far too patiently for understanding to come, Justin let his fine honed skills at diversion save him. Lighting his next cigarette from the first, stubbing the butt out in the filled-to-capacity ashtray balanced on the sill next to him, he drifted away once more, out of the window and toward the oncoming night, the ashtray’s enameled imprint of the Chrysler Building vague under the layered ash of his malaise. Shifting on the window sill; the fire escape he half leaned on silhouetted a warm charcoal-gray against a deep purple, the night’s lighter fringe of violet, where the neighboring buildings butted up against the sky, diminishing toward darkness as each unrealized moment ticked by. Will be dark soon. It’ll be better when it’s finally dark. Dark and cool.
Twirling the last of his bourbon, the clinking of ice against the thick glass both familiar and calming, Justin glided its dampness up along his throat and over his eyebrows in a halfhearted attempt at pushing away the late-summer heat, before finally swallowing what little remained. Scatter-glancing around his now shadowy living room slash dining room slash bedroom, he found the also empty bourbon bottle gleaming translucent bronze on the kitchen counter, caught in the last rays of a distant and dying sunset. Returning his attention outside, he smoked, he watched and he patiently waited.
And when the phone began to ring again, his heartbeat quickened, but, he couldn’t answer it. Two can play at this fucking game. Still, he pleaded once more. Please. Please. This time…please. But when the hum of disconnection answered him for the third or maybe even fourth time that day, he shivered despite the heat. Leaning into the night, he began to give up. Maybe this time it’s real. Maybe this time we really aren’t going to make it. Maybe…maybe this time, he’ll make me let go.
Around ten or maybe even as late eleven, realizing that the ringing had stopped, that the silence had grown too long, had become too permanent, Justin found anger. Realizing that demands from Pittsburgh were no longer being made of him, that irrational compromises were no longer being asked of him, he found resentment. Well…fine. Enough is enough. I’ve made plenty of concessions. I’ve made too many compromises. This time it’s on you. This time it’s you that has to step over that line. To…me. But what a joke…right? What a fucking joke. So tell me, why the hell isn’t anyone laughing? Fuck.
Through some down-the-street apartment window music played, a song floated sweet and heartbreaking through the heavy night as if sung only for him and it caught him, carried him away. And even if in a language he couldn’t understand. The singer made the meaning clear, a song of love gone wrong and Justin believed. Abandoning his sill, closing and locking the window behind him, he turned away from the singer, from the song…from the night and towards the shelter of his room. Could turn on a light. Could even play my music, but why? Why bother? Why fill the void with sound, with light…neither mattered. Nothing matters. He left his room the way it’d been all day…without color, without music.
Grabbing a six-pack from the fridge, stretching out on his couch, twisting off the cap, he downed half the bottle in one grateful gulp, he dove headfirst into the rest of his time before sunrise. Two six-packs and three cigarette packs promising him at least some solace. The tip of his cigarette cut the darkness, a shimmery red burn whenever he inhaled, a dried-blood red burn whenever he exhaled. And lying above him in sheer bands, the reflected glow of the smoke was made visible by the white city lights that shone through his window and that would until sunrise. Wonder what time it is? Doesn’t much matter. This night will go on forever. But I’m okay…I am. I’ll be just fine.
Around two, a dull and distant bark flicked at the edges of his understanding. A sound that not so much startled as confused him. Unconvinced, unfazed, he considered it not so much real sound as something imagined. Something so longed for that it had, in just that moment, become real. But when the sound, sharper and nearer, flicked at him again, Justin decided to find out why. Unbolting the three deadbolts, cracking opening the fireproof door, finding Brian just on the other side, leaning against the door jam, his arm draped over the top of it, Justin said, “We’ve done this before, right? Haven’t we done something like this before?”
“Before, I was chasing a moody 17-year-old runaway. Now I’m just indulging a spoiled 24-year-old-”
“Don’t call me a brat.”
“Child. A very spoiled, a very needy 24-year-old child. Christ.” Brian moved past him and into the still dark if no longer silent room, throwing his overnight bag on the beer bottle strewn coffee table. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked looking around. “I said I was sorry. I must have said it at least three times. I don’t know, maybe even four.”
“Were those clicks you? Was all that silence you? Each and every time? Oh…my gosh, I am just so sorry, Brian.” Closing, locking the door behind them; he followed after Brian. “I was just so busy what with trying to solve the seemingly unsolvable problems of rampant global hunger-”
“Bono. Again?”
“Yes…yes, I’m afraid so. Bono…again. He just left, you must’ve-”
“I thought that guy I passed on my way up here looked familiar.”
“World famous rock star-”
“Yeah, well,” Brian shrugged.
“Showed up earlier today. Unexpected, I might add. But see? He really wants to get this whole Africa thing under control-”
“Well, who doesn’t? But tell me again why he thinks you’re the very best man for the job?”
“I’m sure I don’t know why, Brian. He just…does. So I guess I just wasn’t paying attention when you apparently apologized what? Three, maybe four times today? Think that could be it, Brian? Think maybe I just didn’t hear you?”
“More like you just didn’t understand me.” Brian took his face in his hands, leaned into him so close that he could only be clearly understood and said, “I’m sorry, Justin, I am. You hear me now? You understand me now?”
And in the silence of his smile, in the warmth of his kiss, Justin assured Brian that he did.