"Oliver!" Anne shouts; I instantly feel water touch my skin. The particles hit my face like the spray of a waterfall. This time isn't so scenic.
I turn from our room door, holding a bucket over my head in a stance made for throwing, "You brought this on yourself! You should really stop spraying me with your damn spray bottle. Who even gets that hot, anyway?"
Anne flips her hair back with the face of her hand and gives a sly smile, "Only the hottest." She winks.
"You are despicably entitled, dear," I shake my head and lower the bucket. "You should really watch it."
We both start laughing, and like we always have, we get competitive. This time it's a game of who can make it to the ice machine the fastest. I, of course, win by running to the stairwell and locking her out.
"That's probably a safety hazard," I mumble quickly before running a flight of stairs down. The machine hums a tone, signaling my victory.
As I head back up the stairs with the ice, I see Anne frowning at me through the window of the stairwell door, "You cheated, you know?"
I raise my eyebrows at her on instinct to give her a sense that I'm not buying it. She's never been a good loser. Once, when we were in our teenage years, we played a ten hour long game of monopoly. Needless to say, I won, and she didn't speak to me for an entire week. She's loosened up a little since then, I'd hope.
"You did! You cant just lock people out of the second floor!" We're in the hallway now. The sound of the ice rattling echoes the halls.
"Why didn't you try the elevator?"
"I did! It was held up. Besides, I wouldn't have made it in time anyway."
"So you admit you wouldn't have had a single chance at winning?" I grin.
Her eyes go wide, and she stutters with her finger in my face. Before she can say anything else in protest an older couple greets us in the hall. I recognize them as Mr. and Mrs. Belmont. I worked with Harold a few years back on a local project.
"Oliver!" he cheers and opens his arms for an embrace. He had always been quite cheerful and welcoming. His wife; not so much.
"Harold! Vanya! How are you? How are the kids?" I plaster on a grin that feels somewhat fake, but I allow myself to roll with it considering their expressions match.
"Oh, you know. Crazy; as always!" They laugh in unison and I follow after. I have absolutely no idea what they mean. I've never had children and the closest I've gotten to it is babysitting my sister's son. "Well, we must be getting along now. Much to do!" Vanya smirks a bit before rushing her husband along. She's always been the leading one in their relationship, unsurprisingly.
"Do you think she hates me?" I look to Anne,
and she looks back at me.
"Why would she?"
"Well, you know. It's the nineties." That seemed like the popular answer these days. No one ever spoke out loud about identity or sex, especially considering most of us stay closeted. I hate that word. It makes me feel like I'm living in a cage with no intentions of freeing myself. The trouble is the rest of the world is caged. That's where the real danger is.
"That's still so bizarre to hear. What's next? Flying cars? But besides that; why? Because she thinks you're gay?" She raises her eyebrows as if to ask if I were serious. It's been all this time, and she still doesn't know. At least, from what I've gathered. She assumed my connection with Maria fell apart because I cheated on her. Which, in part, is true, but the only person that will ever know that it was with a man will be Maria. She was so understanding through it all, and I am forever in her debt for not telling a single soul. Anne always talks about how lucky I was; how I wasted everything away when I had it all.
"After all of this, you're giving it all up? You were so happy, and it's gone. For what? Nothing! You should have come to me, Oliver." She yelled those words at me after Maria told her I cheated on her. She's right. She's probably more right than she knows.
"Yes, that."
"Most probably," she laughs a bit and shakes her head. "Cold hags are all the trend this fall."
—
Many hours later, as I lay in a puddle of blankets that havent been washed since the great depression, I start to realize that it is far into the AM. I haven't slept in the slightest, unless you count mindlessly staring at the television convincing yourself you've fallen into a coma. I'm typically fine, alright really. I can lay down and then suddenly be waking up to a bright morning; but tonight is different. Tonight I feel like the universe is around me and the ceiling is a Van Gogh painting taunting my existence. Drops of paint falling from the pull of gravity could swallow me, and I'd let it. It's not a new thought. I've had it a few times. I shouldn't, I know, but the temptation of it all; endless darkness and no sensations of pain or loneliness. It all sounds freeing.
To an extent.
There wouldn't be rain, or trees, or rivers. The sky wouldn't be lit, and the sun would have fallen to pieces. The only memory of love I would have is a distant pin somewhere in the numbness of what's left of me. A pin that echos of Italian streets that never end and loop until you realize you're stuck there until you die; searching for a face you'll never find. Not even a name etched in a half cared for notebook.
I looked at the guest list.
I shouldn't have, but I did. I didn't even know what I was looking for, but I saw a name I certainly wasn't expecting. Samuel Perlman.
Now, I can't stop considering the slim possibility of Elio joining him. Everyone gets a guest. Everyone brings someone. But, all the same, it's unlikely. I shouldn't worry about it.
"Anne?" I speak out into an empty room and sigh. I have absolutely no idea where she's gone at 6 AM unless she's eagerly waiting for breakfast to open in an hour. That would be a new record for her punctuality.
I start to gather a collection of mismatched clothes to begin my decent to the lobby, but I reconsider. I have a presentation today, so perhaps I should practice or listen to the pulsing voice in the back of my head telling me to sleep. While I'm pondering my decision a sudden wave of restlessness leaving my body makes the decision for me.
I hear a click at the door. I turn to see the clock read 2:37 PM. I have just slept for over 8 hours. "Oh my god," I jump out of bed and immediately fall. I had put on a pair of shorts with both ankles in one leg. There's really nothing my sleeping brain can prepare me for is there?
As I stand and start to redress myself, I see a figure move from behind Anne and travel away. Impossible to make out, but I did see shorter height and unruly hair. "Who's the chick?"
She raises her eyebrow at me, closes the door, and tilts her head a bit. "First of all, did you just wake up?" Before she lets me answer, she continues, "Never mind that, that wasn't a 'chick'. It was some guy who's staying down the hall. He seemed really weird, if you ask me."
"Probably because he was a chick," I laugh at her a bit, and she makes this face at me that could only be defined as 'hatred for family'.
Crossing her arms at me, she beckons me to the door, "You go tell him that, and see how it works out for you."
"Yeah, that's okay."
"That's what I thought," Anne glaces at the clock for the fifth time since she got back from God knows where. "Isn't your presentation in 20 minutes?"
"Shit," Yes. Yes it is.
