redemption songs; or, nicotine fantasies [o1]
Nicotine Fantasies
Chapter 1: Jacob
Rise up this morning
Smiled with the rising sun-
The words are bittersweet in my mouth. “Three Little Birds” was the song Jess sang to wake me up. It’s been two weeks without her Bob Marley wake-up calls. Two weeks without her periodic text messages telling me she’s glad she’d found “Somebody to Love.” Two weeks without her whispered promises of “Golden Slumbers” before she would hang up for the both of us. Two weeks of Vincent prattling around our dorm room hiding anything she’d sent. Two weeks of his insistence of don't worry, be happy, ‘cause every little thing-I get it.
I tug at the frayed, crusted hem of the curtain. I bite back a smile, remembering Vin tossing Jess’s letters into my ashtray with a lit cigarette still in it. He’d spewed some choice swear words while swatting at the flaming curtain before saying the purple paisley looked better aged and distressed.
I look down at said letters, still burned and curled pathetically in the ashtray Vin made for me in his ceramics class. Bob Marley’s and Vin’s voices swirl nauseatingly in my head as I crack open the window and dump the ashes.
‘Cause every little thing is gunna be all right.
The dorm room door squeals its under-funding and I turn to see Vin tossing his backpack on his bed before joining it with a grunt. I shut the window.
“Hey, I was wondering why you weren’t in Lit.”
Even through the pillow Vin’s smothering his face in, his voice makes it obvious he just woke up from a tuition-paid nap. I resist the urge to nag him yet again on classroom etiquette.
“No, I was there wondering why you weren’t.”
Just because I decided not to nag about classroom etiquette doesn’t mean I can’t nag about attendance.
“Right. I lied.”
I note the inkling of guilt in his still-muffled voice and don’t bother controlling my smirk.
“How’re you holding up?”
It takes more effort than it should for me to look at Vin, and I regret it almost immediately. He’s laying on his side, propped up by his elbow, his head cradled in his hand. He looks pitying. And, somehow, impatient. I don’t know what he wants from me. Jess and I were dating for three years. Two years were spent apart, I admit, but he can’t expect me to be over her so soon.
Because I do know what he wants.
Vin’s attracted to anything that moves and has a decent pair of breasts. He has no shortage of flings, but he always comes back to me, crawling into my bed at ungodly hours of the night. And he apologizes.
Because Vin thinks he’s in love with me. I think he’s delusional.
His promiscuity carried over from high school but, thankfully and against my expectations, he mellowed out in college. Until the night Jess left for her transfer school and Vin suggested we get drunk. Halfway into my sixth Red Stripe, he kissed me. At first, I thought he’d gotten carried away with the boozing. But it wasn’t until he was laying on top of me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his hard-on pressing obviously on my thigh, his tongue darting at mine, that I realized his mouth didn’t taste a thing like alcohol.
And he wasn’t just kissing me. He was whispering he loved me into my mouth, his breath hot and tasting only like coffee. Whispering he’s been in love with me since high school. Whispering he couldn’t control himself anymore since Jess was gone.
I don’t remember much else from that night. Only waking up in my bed, fully clothed, and a note in my ashtray:
Jake
Sorry I went too far. I meant what I said. I know you love Jessica. But I’ve waited so long already, I can wait a little more.
Vince
Vin’s never touched me since. I think we have a silent agreement to never discuss what happened. Thinking about that night right now and seeing Vin looking at me so expectantly, I can’t help feeling a bit uncomfortable.
I’ve never encouraged his feelings for me. But I’ve never discouraged him, either. When he gets into bed with me after a late-night rendezvous, smelling like alcohol and sex, I let him. When he apologizes for what he thinks is betraying me, I let him. Because, for the last two years, Vin’s the only person who’s been intimate with me on a daily basis. Aside from sharing a dorm room, he shares his fears and secrets and goals (or lack thereof), his sometimes maniacal conspiracy theories. His unwavering feelings.
I do what I always do when I can’t manage my discomfort. I dig a cigarette out of my pocket and run away.
But this time, he doesn’t let me. Before I can reach the door, he’s out of his bed and grabbing my arm.
“Jake. I‘m sorry. I know I shouldn’t… I am sorry about you and Jess.”
I can’t look him in the face. Not now. Not when he sounds so apologetic and understanding. Not when his hand is burning into my skin.
“-but you know long-distance relationships.”
“No woman, no cry.”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I shrug off his hand.
“I‘m heading to the café.”
He nods his approval before saying, “I‘ll meet you there.”
I laugh, glad I sound more like myself.
“Only once you‘ve said hi to everyone else in there.”
Vin laughs, too, low in his throat so it rumbles. I get goosebumps. He nods again.
“I always save the best for last.”
Chapter 1: Jacob
Rise up this morning
Smiled with the rising sun-
The words are bittersweet in my mouth. “Three Little Birds” was the song Jess sang to wake me up. It’s been two weeks without her Bob Marley wake-up calls. Two weeks without her periodic text messages telling me she’s glad she’d found “Somebody to Love.” Two weeks without her whispered promises of “Golden Slumbers” before she would hang up for the both of us. Two weeks of Vincent prattling around our dorm room hiding anything she’d sent. Two weeks of his insistence of don't worry, be happy, ‘cause every little thing-I get it.
I tug at the frayed, crusted hem of the curtain. I bite back a smile, remembering Vin tossing Jess’s letters into my ashtray with a lit cigarette still in it. He’d spewed some choice swear words while swatting at the flaming curtain before saying the purple paisley looked better aged and distressed.
I look down at said letters, still burned and curled pathetically in the ashtray Vin made for me in his ceramics class. Bob Marley’s and Vin’s voices swirl nauseatingly in my head as I crack open the window and dump the ashes.
‘Cause every little thing is gunna be all right.
The dorm room door squeals its under-funding and I turn to see Vin tossing his backpack on his bed before joining it with a grunt. I shut the window.
“Hey, I was wondering why you weren’t in Lit.”
Even through the pillow Vin’s smothering his face in, his voice makes it obvious he just woke up from a tuition-paid nap. I resist the urge to nag him yet again on classroom etiquette.
“No, I was there wondering why you weren’t.”
Just because I decided not to nag about classroom etiquette doesn’t mean I can’t nag about attendance.
“Right. I lied.”
I note the inkling of guilt in his still-muffled voice and don’t bother controlling my smirk.
“How’re you holding up?”
It takes more effort than it should for me to look at Vin, and I regret it almost immediately. He’s laying on his side, propped up by his elbow, his head cradled in his hand. He looks pitying. And, somehow, impatient. I don’t know what he wants from me. Jess and I were dating for three years. Two years were spent apart, I admit, but he can’t expect me to be over her so soon.
Because I do know what he wants.
Vin’s attracted to anything that moves and has a decent pair of breasts. He has no shortage of flings, but he always comes back to me, crawling into my bed at ungodly hours of the night. And he apologizes.
Because Vin thinks he’s in love with me. I think he’s delusional.
His promiscuity carried over from high school but, thankfully and against my expectations, he mellowed out in college. Until the night Jess left for her transfer school and Vin suggested we get drunk. Halfway into my sixth Red Stripe, he kissed me. At first, I thought he’d gotten carried away with the boozing. But it wasn’t until he was laying on top of me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his hard-on pressing obviously on my thigh, his tongue darting at mine, that I realized his mouth didn’t taste a thing like alcohol.
And he wasn’t just kissing me. He was whispering he loved me into my mouth, his breath hot and tasting only like coffee. Whispering he’s been in love with me since high school. Whispering he couldn’t control himself anymore since Jess was gone.
I don’t remember much else from that night. Only waking up in my bed, fully clothed, and a note in my ashtray:
Jake
Sorry I went too far. I meant what I said. I know you love Jessica. But I’ve waited so long already, I can wait a little more.
Vince
Vin’s never touched me since. I think we have a silent agreement to never discuss what happened. Thinking about that night right now and seeing Vin looking at me so expectantly, I can’t help feeling a bit uncomfortable.
I’ve never encouraged his feelings for me. But I’ve never discouraged him, either. When he gets into bed with me after a late-night rendezvous, smelling like alcohol and sex, I let him. When he apologizes for what he thinks is betraying me, I let him. Because, for the last two years, Vin’s the only person who’s been intimate with me on a daily basis. Aside from sharing a dorm room, he shares his fears and secrets and goals (or lack thereof), his sometimes maniacal conspiracy theories. His unwavering feelings.
I do what I always do when I can’t manage my discomfort. I dig a cigarette out of my pocket and run away.
But this time, he doesn’t let me. Before I can reach the door, he’s out of his bed and grabbing my arm.
“Jake. I‘m sorry. I know I shouldn’t… I am sorry about you and Jess.”
I can’t look him in the face. Not now. Not when he sounds so apologetic and understanding. Not when his hand is burning into my skin.
“-but you know long-distance relationships.”
“No woman, no cry.”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I shrug off his hand.
“I‘m heading to the café.”
He nods his approval before saying, “I‘ll meet you there.”
I laugh, glad I sound more like myself.
“Only once you‘ve said hi to everyone else in there.”
Vin laughs, too, low in his throat so it rumbles. I get goosebumps. He nods again.
“I always save the best for last.”