The Dove Keeper (Frerard)

Chapter Forty-Six / Photographer

I wasn't sure how long we stayed in the center of the room. Our shudders began to die down, the wind not being knocked out of us every time we took a delicate breath. Bit by bit, our arms began to not grip as tight, our bodies began dislocate from each other and we began to breath normally again until finally we were just standing in front of each other, smiling. We both wanted to say 'I love you', but didn't need to. The expression and meaning we had displayed with the bird coming home was enough emotion to get us through the day. After we could only pick up with our random declarations. We separated at just the right time, a knocking suddenly sounding throughout the apartment. I felt my body stiffen at the invasion, fearing that someone had seen me naked on the balcony and had now called the cops. Gerard's brows even began to knit across his forehead, until a familiar noise followed.

"Gerard," the female voice sounded, striking a chord within me. Even before she bellowed her name, I knew who it was. "It's Vivian!"

I let out the breath I was holding. We were both safe.

I didn't exactly know why Vivian was coming to see us. It was Saturday morning, but I figured her usual breakfasts with Gerard had been put on hold considering the grave circumstances that had fallen on both of us. With the mere sounding of the well-known tone, Gerard's face lit up, like he had been expecting it all along. He pulled away from me, moving closer to the door.

"I'll be there in a second, Viv!" Though Gerard's back was to me, I could feel his happiness emerging. His best friend was outside, his lover was inside, and the bird had returned. It was turning out to be a great day for Gerard, and it was only halfway done. But I still found something very wrong with the situation.

"Umm, Gerard?" I called for him, still standing in the spot he had left me at. I could feel the air in the apartment, though not cold, send a shiver through my body from the areas where he used to cover. My bare flesh was still exposed, and gathering beads of perspiration in some spots from our embrace.

"Hmmm?" he muttered, his back still towards me.

I sighed, laughing to myself a little at the situation as I made my voice a little more stern. "Should you really be opening the door?"

At last my remark seemed to register, and he turned his body around. However, it had registered inaccurate because he heaved a heavy sigh, as apposed to the lighthearted one I kept in my chest.

"Don't worry," he soothed, as if he were trying to comfort me. His brows were furrowed in deep rooted concern, but I was not sad. I had no idea why he would have thought I was sad until he began to explain.

"Vivian knows, and she's not going to tell. I told her to come over today, so it's not a trap. Don't worry..." He was over to me by this point, and warped me in a hug. I was baffled, but hugged back, thinking that he needed it more than I did. I had figured Vivian coming was just a pure and innocent act. I hadn't thought much else into it.

"I know," I told Gerard, hugging him loosely. "But don't you think you should be wearing clothing when you answer the door?"

I shot a smug look up at him as he parted from the hug. He seemed shocked at first, but I couldn't tell if it was because he realized I wasn't sad, or because we were still naked.

"Oh!" he finally uttered, detaching himself from me and rolling his eyes. "I guess she doesn't need to see this."

I nodded, seeing some red root through his pale cheeks. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his room, shouting to Vivian that we should be there in a moment. I felt my heart swell inside my chest, just for the sheer fact that he had said we. Normally concerning Vivian, he would address himself singularly. He was her friend, I was just a third wheel. Ever since the last time I had seen her, where she accepted our relationship for what it really was, things had changed. Perhaps it was our near annihilation that made Gerard address us together, as one single entity. I wasn't entirely sure, and some things were better left unknown.

As Gerard and I got dressed in his room, I almost felt like I really did live there, and I had been living there for awhile. He threw on a pair of his tight corduroy pants and a button up shirt, only doing up one before he dashed away to answer the door. I was close behind him, wearing a mix and match of his clothing and my underwear. I always liked wearing his clothes, for some odd reason. The art shirt was my favourite, and was something I had continually draped across my bare shoulders, feeling suave as I did so. I always felt like I embodied some essence of Gerard when I wore his clothing. Like I was the elusive artist, philosophical ideologies falling out of my mouth like the breath of air. It was something I never could be, wanted to be, but could hold in my hands either in clothing or flesh at night. That seemed to be enough.

Gerard opened the door swiftly to greet Vivian, wrapping her in a larger than usual hug. He eclipsed her immensely, preventing me from seeing what she was wearing. Even though I had met her with her clothing on a few times since I had seen her naked, I always found it hard picturing her as anything but the redheaded exhibitionist. Even when Gerard told me of her daughter, her job and past life, I found those ideas, much like clothing, hard to picture on this woman. She seemed so young to me – not in her late thirties, catching up to Gerard. Then again, Gerard didn't seem that old to me either. There was just so much life in both their bodies, nothing could mask it. Clothing or age.

"It's so good to see you!" Vivian almost shouted, meaning every word. It occurred to me just then that this was their first meeting (at least not surrounded by police) in a long time. He squeezed the life out of her, but not like he did with me.

As I observed their actions closer, I began to see how Gerard had described their love. It was just there. It wasn't on fire, but glowing constantly, fueling things to come. Gerard loved her, but it wasn't with the same passion he did with me. I felt my heart swell again.

"And it's good to see you, too, Frank!" she exclaimed once done the hug with Gerard. She made her way over to me, her turquoise shirt catching me off guard right away, before her arms around me in a giant hug did. I noticed she was about my height as her red hair fell over my shoulder, my loose hands finding her sides. I was not used to hugging people on command, other than Gerard and Jasmine. I had never done it with friends, so I had always assumed it meant something more. I had to keep reminding myself, especially after Vivian placed a quick peck on my lips, that some people employed these gestures for affection, and not anything romantic. It was away of saying hello and showing that you cared. The idea of Vivian, one of Gerard's friends, caring about me was a little hard to comprehend, but it felt nice. It was almost a motherly type of love, with more of an emphasis on friendship than parenting.

Once she had backed away from our small hug, I saw that her bright blue-green sweater (matching the shade of her eyes by only a few hues) sat up top of silky smooth black dress pants. Her hair was poised almost perfectly in small curls and waves, the wafting smell of hair products still lingering on my shirt. I also noticed she was wearing make-up, soft hues adorning her eyes lined with a soft dark tipped pen. I had never seen Vivian dressed up like this before, if even dressed period. Even when she had come to visit the last Saturday I had been at Gerard's place, she had not worn make-up. She was still in her flannel pajama pants, a rock t-shirt adorning it. She looked professional here, and so much older.

"You look good, Viv," Gerard commented, noticing that I had been studying her. He smiled at me as I snapped myself out of it, paying attention to the situation at hand.

"Thank you," she replied, blinking erratically as she dipped down to do a little makeshift curtsey. Then, quickly changing from her girly ways, she topped off the remark with a slight sarcastic approach, rolling her eyes. "It's for work, you know."

"You're working on a Saturday?" I questioned, allowing myself into the conversation right away. Anytime Vivian had been over before, despite her best efforts, I had always felt secluded, or secluded myself. I was not going to do that this time, and started out right away bouncing in.

"Yeah. You know, when you work in the art business you kinda have to look at least half as good as the paintings, especially if you don't make 'em yourself. Looks are key. Sounds sorta shallow, but not really. I love my job and all, just a bummer when I gotta work on a Saturday," she retorted, rolling her eyes again and making a disgusted face. "But, that's actually why I'm here."

She added a smooth sly smile and a glance over to Gerard at the end, making me wonder just what the fuck was going on. I remembered why I always felt secluded in their conversations; they seemed to have so many inside jokes I had no idea if I needed to laugh or feel threatened.

"What? Why?"

"Vivian has a show to prepare for today," Gerard explained, nodding his head and getting the same sly smile. He motioned with his free hand up and down her body, cocking and eyebrow. "Which is why she is fulfilling her duty and looking absolutely ravishing."

She smiled at him, batting his hand away. "Coming from a gay man, that is quite the compliment. And coming from you, it's an honor." She smiled, turning her attention towards me. "Gerard told me you've been taking pictures and that you're quite the photographer..." She let her words die down, leaving me to make the conclusions in my mind.

"No way," I stated, shaking my head and back away from the two people around me. All three of us had been making a triangular formation with our bodies, none of us actually touching, but as the bottom dropped out when I moved away, they began to follow side by side, their smiles present on their faces, despite my outward refusal at first. They looked like a pack of hyenas approaching a kill.

"I'm not having my photos in some exhibit," I insisted again, my voice shaking with nervousness. "I don't want to be judged by other people."

"Art isn't about judging, Frank," Gerard soothed. "It's about critiquing."

"I still don't want that, either," I retorted, my hands waving in front of my face as a refusal. I didn't care if Gerard, Jasmine, or even Vivian saw my photos. They were my friends and they wouldn't judge – or critique – whatever the fuck that meant. If they did, I knew it was for the best. They wouldn't hurt me too much. It was strangers, people who thought they had a lot of prestige, that I didn't want to see my work. They would be too harsh and cruel, slaughtering me just because they could. It was my work; just like those pieces of poetry and torn up dreams I kept in my drawer at home. I was too afraid to show them, and I was too afraid to show these pictures. The three people I knew I could trust had enough to show them. I couldn't imagine a bigger audience.

"Don't worry about jerks," Vivian came in, playing off Gerard's words and the torn expression on my face. "This is an exhibit for new artists. I think I told you guys about it ages ago. It hasn't been doing well. It was hard to find new people..." She trailed off, listing reasons as the memory came back to me.

I did remember her mentioning it the last time she came over. She and Gerard had raided my painting collection, wanting to put that up. I knew there was no way in fucking hell those ruined canvases were going to be put on a wall. It wasn't near as good as my photos. My photos, I had convinced myself, and Gerard seemed to agree, were good. They could possibly survive in a new artist's exhibit... I found my mind wandering even more, actually debating everything. I had certainly worked hard enough to get them fucking developed, I might as well do something with them. I guessed I wanted to do it, in a way, but I couldn't get over the thick mental block inside my head. I would be exposing myself. I would be putting myself up for ridicule. And what if they really did suck?

"But..." I started again, spilling the thoughts that had been running through my mind. I tripped a lot of the time, but I still picked myself up until they were all out, and I was left with Gerard and Vivian, two adults, staring at me. They didn't look down on me though; they looked at me, trying to showing me what I was.

"Frank, let me see something," Vivian stated the question, making it have only the answer she wanted. I bit my lip, anticipating the complete pillage of my photos. I was surprised when a completely other cause escaped her lips. "Let me see your hands."

I opened my eyes and looked at her, completely forgetting the merit behind the act. She had asked me this before, when I was a mere struggling artist. I had found myself in the short period of time since our last meeting, but she had yet to witness proof. She needed to see my hands to be sure she knew what she was getting herself into. She needed to know that her encouragement was not in vain. She needed proof; she needed my hands.

She began to walk over to me slowly, like I was some wild animal suddenly placed in captivity and still getting used to the human race. Gerard lagged behind her, watching with a half-smile to make sure everything went according to plan. His grin only grew as I exchanged a quick look with him, extending my hands forward gradually and letting Vivian take me away. She placed her face close to my skin, so close I could feel her breath and her tiny button nose against me. She flipped my hands over, linked our fingers, and tugged on the skin a bit with a blank countenance before she finally breathed out a sigh of relief. She looked up at me, her aqua eyes beaming and radiating like her shirt. She pointed to the thin skin between my thumb and index finger.

"It's worn down," she informed me, letting go. I brought my hand to my face, checking out just what she meant, while she kept talking. "It's worn because your body is accommodating for something. You're body knows that something belongs there, and it's not rejecting it anymore. It's making a home for it."

She paused, and I saw what she was talking about. I saw some patches of skin I had never seen before, almost as if they had popped up over night. I had noticed a small change in my hands before, when I was just taking pictures, but this was like something I had never seen before. I saw exactly what she had pointed out to me; a home, a worn down place that my camera fit into. It was staring up at me, no longer mocking me, but congratulating me that it finally had a purpose. I had actually needed to finish the act of photography, the development included, to actually have my hands accept me. Not reject. My skin was glowing, I was sure of it.

"You're a photographer, Frank," she stated, reading my mind but putting it into simpler words I could comprehend. I looked up at her from the new canvas of my skin, and smiled right along side her. I was an artist, but I had already been that. When I played my guitar, painted, and tried to express myself through meager bits of poetry, I was still an artist. I hadn't found my exact talent yet, but I was pursuing a path down the arts that would hopefully lead me to my true goal. I had found that in photography. I was a special breed of artist now, one called a photographer. It felt astounding knowing what I was. I captured a quick glance of Gerard in the background; he looked even more amazed than myself.

"You're a photographer and I would love to have in my show," Vivian concluded her thought, cocking her eyebrows at me, opening up the suggestion once more. My elated phases fizzled, and I felt my deliberation stir within myself.

"I don't know..."

"Okay – let's take a look then? Maybe you'll change your mind?" she asked again, her head cocked to the side. She realized how hard this was for me, even if she didn't understand it all and she was trying to make things easier. She was asking to be let into my soul, to see my works of art. I looked at Gerard, who merely nodded his head quietly. He owned at least a small section of my soul that was hanging up on lines inside that small room; I had to asked for his permission first. And once he agreed, I knew I didn't have much to lose. A sigh fell from my chest as my arms fell open, pointing to the room where our secrets where kept. Vivian squealed a bit at my acceptance, and ushered quickly into the room, being careful not to distort the red light. Gerard followed close behind, but looked back at me when he realized I was still standing in the middle of the floor.

"Come on," he said, extending his hand across the room that felt like countries apart. "Be apart of your future."

With that, I took his hand and walked inside the room, red light washing over me.