Chapter 89.1: 1968, Georgina

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Chapter 89.1: 1968, Georgina

“I still think Sulu is gay, I don’t care.”

“We’ve been over this. He is not. They would never put a gay man on TV.”

“Why not? There’s gay movie stars.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, too.”

“We’ve talked about everything. That’s what being friends for years does.”

“Yeah.”

“God, I love Star Trek. I could watch it forever.”

“I don’t care much for it. You know I don’t.”

Paulie eyed me like a cat from his laid out position on the couch. I wondered if I’d gone too far, my foul mood saying too much of my real opinion of his favorite show. I draped my arms over the arm rests of my wheelchair, my head slumping to the side, giving up. I had no energy for this, even for a fake fight between friends.

I watched him get up on his elbows, sore from a day at work painting and sore in general. I could tell his pains from the attack were still hurting him but he was too proud to show it. Regular Paulie wouldn’t be on the couch like this after a day at work.

“You’re sure in a sour mood today, aren’t you? What’s wrong with you?” This wasn’t said in a mean way, just sounded more harsh than it was. I didn’t show that I was offended, not moving really.

“Nothing’s wrong. Talk more about Star Trek.”

“There is definitely something wrong. You never want to hear more about Star Trek.”

He had me there. We’d been watching it together for years. He always had to see it whenever it came on, no matter where he was. He could be at my place, his place, it didn’t matter. It would often be on while we got ready for the night, him leaning out of the bathroom to watch his TV with a cigarette dangling from his red mouth. He claimed it was revolutionary TV, everybody had to watch that show. I didn’t care if it was revolutionary or not. It bored the shit out of me. He knew it, too.

“Yeah,” I sighed. He’d definitely caught me.

He rolled over, his face screwing up a little bit in the effort. What were we, seventy years old? Since when were we moving around like old fogeys all the time? It made me angry, knowing why, all of this mess. He was still hurting from the attack. I was hurting, and for what? For a stupid dream, a dream that wasn’t even achievable. But one everyone had made me believe.

“Your lip is slowly creeping out.”

“Oh, it is not.”

But I could feel it, my lower lip coming out like a five year old who didn’t get their way. It had been out earlier when Frankie had tried to cause me to feel better. I hadn’t been upset with him, but upset in general. He’d made me a sandwich after our shower, sat with me. I hadn’t much felt like eating, so like one would for a Queen he’d torn the sandwich in pieces and fed me dearly. Instead of crying about it I’d felt numb, eating like I had no soul at all. He’d been showing enough concern, emotion for both of us.

When Paulie had come home, he’d rushed into his bedroom to change from his painting clothes and then came into the kitchen. Without a word, because I wasn’t saying anything, Frankie had left with that same look of concern in his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave.

Now Paulie was here, and it didn’t look like he was going into work tonight. It was already eight o’clock and he was still laid on the couch in trousers. We’d watched the news and whatever was on after the news then he’d switched off the TV and started talking at me about Star Trek. Where he’d been going with that I didn’t know, because Star Trek was one of my least favorite subjects in the world and he knew that.

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