fall
by Julia
The one that was going was saying, the one that was glowing, the one that was going was saying then, I am content, you are not content, I am content you are not content, I am content, you are not content, you are content, I am content.
Gertrude Stein, from “Storyette, H.M.” 1914
v. tame.
“He’s a kid, C.” Chris. He should have known not to tell Chris. “You’re dating a fucking teenager, you pervert!” Chris was sprawled across the couch in JC’s apartment, the ice-cold beer in his right hand his sole reminder to stay awake.
“Not dating, Oh Short One. I kissed him. Once.” JC, in turn, was sprawled across Chris, entangled between his legs in the way long-ago lovers can be. He couldn’t help but remember Justin’s lips, one hand pressed hot in the curve of his waist. He had tasted like tears, and JC still didn’t know why.
“I hope it was good at least. Eighteen years old? Fuck. He’s probably a goddamn virgin.” Neither the drinks nor the late hour helped Chris to tame his choice of words.
“But, well. How is it so different from when we, um, did stuff, when I was a freshman. You were the worldly upperclassman, and I—”
“That was different. We fucked, C. It was fun. I didn’t have squishy infatuation thoughts about it.” JC could feel rather than see the roll of Chris’s eyes, and he grimaced in response.
“Chris. If all we did was fuck, why are you here at my apartment years after the fact? Still trying to get in my pants?” Chris shoved JC up from his comfortable position between the older man’s legs. JC let out a soft chuckle, then relaxed back again.
“You’d like to think that wouldn’t you. You and your bony ass.”
“My ass is fine, man, thanks.” But it wasn’t the image of his own ass that was clear as crystal in his minds eye. Oh no.
“That what the kid told you?” JC’s mind wandered back to the first time he really noticed Justin. He was on his way back to the
stock room, having recently been relegated to inventory. It was okay with him, less flirtatious fifteen-year-olds and more quiet
space. Sometimes it was deserted enough that he got to work out his voice. The music program at Catholic University was
excellent, but sometimes he just wanted to sing what he felt like singing. And on this particular day, it happened to be some old
Nat King Cole, not the usual choice of the clerical professors. So he walked in, singing a melody under his breath, Walkin' my
baby, Talkin' my baby, strolling in past the cash registers. Justin was still working registers back then and he was scanning a box of Lucky Charms when he heard the tune, and glanced
up. He caught JC’s eye and gave him a grin no one in the world could say no to, and as the phrase of the song ended, Lovin'
my baby, I don't mean maybe, Justin slid his hips around and slammed the cash drawer back in with the left one. Kid thought
he was smooth, but he really had no idea. “Um, hello? Earth to JC?” Impatient fingers waggled in front of JC’s eyes. It was a good memory, the first of many. He hadn’t
been able to restrain his smirk as he headed back to do inventory. JC reached up and grabbed one of Chris’s hands in his own. “Sorry, man. Just thinking.” Chris squeezed his hand, suddenly tender. “Truth, C? If he’s worth it to you, he’s worth it.”
Maybe so. Walkin’ my baby back
home.