A gay story: Those Days of Summer Ch. 07 Those last few days I felt as if he was slipping out of my fingers. There were short moments of silence between us. We didn’t dare to take a peek into the future, yet we were well aware our clocks were ticking.
There were questions none of us dared to ask, promises we couldn’t pledge, matters we preferred to leave undiscussed. As if not bringing them up could dissolve them. But a confrontation must have come at last.
After our last day of work, mom hosted a little goodbye party. Pleasant evening air, chatter by the candlelight and the smell of fresh lilies – we were ending our summer journey just the way it had begun.
The evening was flowing smoothly, embellished with words of kindness and recognition. Even Marcel gave a little thank-you speech before gifting mom an old vinyl and a bottle of chianti we had picked in town the other day. Using a moment of turmoil afterwards, the two of us decided to sneak out of the banquet.
Taking a shortcut from the backyard, we followed the steep gravel path towards the lake. A warm breeze of a hot day bygone was brushing our hair when we were muddling through the grass. Hand in hand, arm to arm we took a seat on the stones by the bank.
I recalled the night of the birthday party, and the moment I asked him not to move out. If only I could repeat the request now and postpone his disappearance just a little. As if a few more days could ever be enough…
“So…” I sighed. “It’s almost over.”
He squeezed my hand, looking in the distance. His expression was calm on the surface, but I could see there was sadness building within.
“Your mom invited me to Milan. She wants me to open the show in September.”
“This is brilliant!” I gasped, feeling my heart speed up.
So there was a thin chance we’d see each other again in a not so distant future. I felt a sudden hit of happiness followed by a pinch of concern. There were still two months before fashion week. Two long months, that might be enough to part our ways for good.
“I told her I had to think it through.” He finally looked me in the eye. “Tell me – what do you think of it?”
So he wasn’t sure about us either… It was his work on the line. In the end it had nothing to do with my feelings. My mind suddenly started to question the idea. What if he doesn’t want me anymore in September? What if he still does? What if someone discovers our affair? Everybody talks in Milano. They may find us inappropriate. He was my mother’s employee after all. No. It didn’t matter now.
“You have to take it!” I assured him firmly.
I couldn’t keep him close forever, but I was too selfish not to take a chance to have him near me once again. And the lengthy, lonely summer between our encounters couldn’t change a thing. He nodded with a mild smile. Was he relieved? He brushed my hair, kissed my forehead, embraced me with a deep sigh.
“And what will we do with this night, huh? Last night of the world…”
Last night of his warmth beside me, last night of his scent staining my linens with citron and salt, last night of my name streaming down his tongue like a sacred blessing. And what comes after? The silence of an empty room, the void of an empty bed, the torment of a worried mind.
“What is it?” He touched my chin, noticing the sorrow flickering through my face.
“Aren’t you scared of what comes next?” I whispered.
“Look, I loved every second of my stay here. If I have to pay for it, I will. Gladly.”
His trusting eyes changed once more, as if he remembered something. Now he was watching me worried, so I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
“You’re starting to regret it, aren’t you?” He asked.
“What?” I shook my head, a little shocked he interpreted my words this way. “I don’t regret a thing. God, if I could start all over, I would fall for you a hundred times. It’s just… it’s the pain I fear.”
“The pain will pass.” He gave me a bitter look. “Regrets though, they stay with you for life. Keeping you sleepless the nights you least expected them to.”
“Speaking from experience?” I took his hand into my palm, trying to comfort him.
Marcel replied with a bitter smile, and then a shroud of silence came upon us. He was so young, yet he seemed to have gone through so much. The fact he was purposely leaving me out of it was driving me crazy.
Why was he so stubborn to carry the burden on his own? Did he think I was too immature? Did he fear for his own peace of mind? I wanted to know everything. I wanted to understand the one hidden behind the cheerful mask. The one who loathed himself, the one who had regrets, the one who was restless and anxious. I felt as if we’ve lost so much time for meaningless chatter, while the true Marcel was still out of reach. It was my last chance to get closer, even if just a bit.
“Can I ask you about something? If it’s too private, I get it.”
He fixed me with a leery stare, but his head nodded affirmingly. I took a deep breath, wondering how to bite the bullet.
“Yesterday at the boat,” I started, “You seemed upset. Why?”
“About that…” He paused and rubbed his neck in embarrassment. “Uh… Do you really wanna know?”
“I do.” I kept squeezing his hand, observing his self-conscious expression.
“When I was younger I used to justify things. You know, a coping mechanism. On a subconscious level I knew there was something off with my “straightness”. But I just couldn’t stop pretending.” He smiled sarcastically, as if he wanted to laugh off that past version of himself. “There was a moment when I was partying a lot. Drinking, exploring… I jerked off with another guy? And who doesn’t? A harmless kink. Someone gave me his head? A fling, his fault by the way. I made out with a stranger in the bar? Blame the alcohol, not me. It was all going smoothly until I bottomed for the first time.”
So that’s why he was so nervous after we were done that day on the lake. No wonder he’d been asking if I was fine. I should have guessed. With all the self-loathing Marcel’s parents engrafted in him, understanding his sexuality must have been a real nightmare.
“I’ve never felt so dirty,” he shook his head. “It was sick. I scratched myself to blood trying to wash him off of me afterwards. I looked like a bloody lobster.” He laughed bitterly. “I just couldn’t stop.”
He was rubbing his chest, as if the feelings of a painful night came back. His eyes filled with tears once more. It was a miracle that he somehow got through it, moved on, and matured into the guy that was now sitting in front of me.
“So yesterday… You were worried I may feel the same?” I weighed my words, not knowing what else to say.
I had a feeling he didn’t want my compassion, my sympathy. If I were him, I wouldn’t either. Regardless, I was grateful he let me take a look behind that facade of his. And I didn’t want to overuse his trust.
“Needlessly, right?” He still required some assurance he’d done me no harm.
“Needlessly,” I confirmed with a playful smile, recalling all the pleasant sensations from the day before. “I was actually thinking of doing it once again, but…”
“But?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“I may need more than just your fingers this time,” I whispered teasingly, getting closer.
“Naughty, naughty boy,” Marcel smirked, placing his thumb on my lower lip. “We should go home then.”
With no further hesitation we turned our steps uphill towards the house. Candlelight, distant sound of glasses hitting each other in a toast, and frisky voices made me realize the party was far from being over. I suddenly felt the urge to stop before the atmosphere changed once more. There were so many thoughts running through my mind. So many things I wanted to tell him. I grabbed his hand before he could open the gate to the backyard. He looked at me surprised, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
“I know it was difficult for you. Thank you for opening up, Marcel,” I whispered passionately. „I… I would really like to know you more. To be there for you. More.”
“I know…” He put his hands on my shoulders, looking at me lovingly. „It’s all new to me. You’re the first person to actually care about my feelings, about me…”
I pressed my face into his chest, feeling my throat clenching. He didn’t deserve all the bad stuff that kept happening to him. And yet there was nothing I could do other than holding him and being held. How young, and hurt, and helpless we were.
“Tell me what to do,” I begged with my hands clenched on the fabric of his shirt. “If there’s any way I can stop it. If there’s anything I can do to make you stay…”
“I can’t stay,” he whispered back, caressing the back of my head. “I really can’t.”
“Is it really over then?” I panicked. “Will we just lose it all now? Forget and move on?”
“It’s not over for me, I can promise you this.” He touched my chin, making me look at him. “I’ll be there for you, as long as you need it. And if I can, I’ll meet you this fall. No forgetting, alright?”
I nodded, slightly calmed down by his response. His lips met mine in a frantic kiss, as if it was the last one. And the night summer breeze embraced us for the final time.
***
There are things in this world that aren’t meant to last. I was old enough to know that. Some say it’s a matter of fate. Two worlds collide, two life lines cross and meet before shooting out in different directions. Was it written in the stars? Or was it just a coincidence?
We were two complete strangers, and we became alike so quickly. By the end of his stay even the sound, and rhythm of our footsteps seemed the same. I adapted to the vigor of his moves, and he learned my sneaky ways of shifting around. My smell was mixing with his like the sweetest of perfumes. It was almost as if these two could no longer exist alone. In the nights, his skin was blending with my flesh so smoothly, I was scared we might become one. What would we do if by dawn there was no Victor, and no Marcel, but a unified entity of bodies, emotions, memories? When I held him, I felt as if I was holding the whole life lying ahead of me. And at the same time, I knew this life was slipping away from my grasp.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get to see him again,” I said calmly in between the drags of a cigarette.
The wilderness of purples and reds spilled all over the sky was reflecting in the clean surface of the lake. I was playing with the warm sand below my palm, observing the horizon and waiting patiently for the night that was about to devour our little valley. The first night without him.
Paolina sat by my side, unusually silent. She came to check on me as soon as I was back from the airport. Had he asked her to do so, or was it her own idea? Whatever the case, I was fine with her presence. Anything seemed better than staying on my own that dark and lonely evening.
“Why?” She looked at me curiously, with her face aimed at the setting sun.
I brushed my shoulders unknowingly, watching the ash falling from the cigarette she was smoking.
“Gut feeling.”
“Did you have a fight?” Her eyes were immensely focused on my face, as if she was trying to read my mind.
“No, it’s not that.” I shook my head, wondering how to give utterance to my thoughts. “It’s just… He seemed to be tied down. Internally, externally… He was giving me hints all this time. It just doesn’t seem like he’s in control of his own life.”
I recalled the time he mentioned the hardships of being a part of the modeling industry. How he was circling around the subject, trying not to say anything. Or how he cried the rainy night we were stuck alone in the house. He was trembling and shaking while telling me about the way his parents treated him, the way he used to loathe himself.
Marcel was a broken man, subjectified by his closest environment, kept captive. He had regained his freedom for a short while, but now that he left Vagli Sotto, he was back in his prison again. For his parents, for his supervisors he was nothing more than a puppet with a pretty face and a beautiful body. And I couldn’t do anything to rip him out of this madness.
He might have kept me assured about his plans of joining me in Milano, but I knew too damn well he would end up doing whatever his agency tells him to. In the face of their ruthless calculus, his words meant nothing. I could feel it in my bones – he was gone for good.
“I think I know where you’re coming from.” She looked at me as if she understood completely what I meant. Did she read between the lines, or had he opened up before her? “What if you’re right? Do you think it was worth it?”
Her question hung in the air, as I pondered her words, looking for the right answer. Fleeting moments of delight, followed by intoxicating longing, the ecstasy and heartache, the temptation and the punishment.
“Was it worth it?” I began, my voice almost trembling with sudden emotion, “How can one judge the worth of their own experiences? We love, we lose, we live on. In the end all that’s left are the memories.”
Paolina nodded, her eyes reflecting a silent understanding. I felt her hand on my palm, caressing me in a reassuring gesture of quiet compassion.
As the last glimpses of twilight faded into the darkness, I felt a strange sense of peace settling over me. Perhaps, in losing Marcel, I found something else – a deeper understanding of emotions, intimacy, and the elusive beauty of life itself. Perhaps amidst all that, I discovered a part of myself I never knew existed. A part shaped by the youthful heat of our summer madness. A part that will forever remain touched by his presence.
“Yes,” I finally replied. “It was worth it. Every moment, every glance, every shared embrace.”
All my longing, sorrow and muffled grief suddenly transformed into a feeling of acceptance. Some experiences are not made to last, but it doesn’t make them any less valuable. They become a part of us. They merge with our souls, reconstruct us, blend into our minds, and live on, until our lights are out.