Heaven on Earth

Heaven on Earth: Chapter 2 Fireworks

The weekend after I got back from my mother’s house, I decided to go to a few bars with a couple of college friends, Robert and Steve. They both lived in New York, so we got together from time to time. Then again, I suppose that calling them friends would be a bit much. They were more friends that I used for convenience. I hadn’t really made a lot of time for socializing, nor did I have many friends in the city at the time.

Anyway, we had gone to some bars on Friday night, and I was so drunk. I stopped counting the number of shots after 3 shots of vodka and 2 shots of tequila. As much as I hate to admit it, I was a lightweight drinker compared to all my friends despite my extended history with alcohol. The guys were somewhat more sober than I was, so they dropped me off at my apartment and headed off once I got inside the front door. If only they had stayed a little longer because I was a wreck. I staggered and stumbled my way to the elevator. I tripped and fell face first on the tile floor. I put my hand on the side of my head and felt a large knot forming under my eyebrow, but something in me just laughed it off. The next time I tried walking, I put my arms out to the side as if I were walking on a tight-rope. I giggled and balanced myself and then lost control when I started spinning around and laughing at my own foolish behavior. By this time, the security guard had grown rather suspicious and was walking towards me. Before he could say anything, I felt one strong arm around my waist and a powerful, yet gentle, hand pressed against my chest.

“It’s ok, Dave. I can take him up to his room,” said Brian.

I looked over at the security guard who nodded and went back to his post, and then I looked up at Brian. He had a worried look on his face and I wondered to myself what could be upsetting him. We stepped onto the elevator, and my foot caught the space between the floor and the elevator compartment and I almost tripped again. Lucky for me, Brian was there the entire time; I was never in any danger of falling.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Fourteenth.”

I must have really been out of it because the next thing I realized was that there was a woman on the elevator, and we were stopping on the 12th floor. I caught what looked to be a sympathetic glance back at us as she stepped off, but I was drunk. It could have been anything. We went one more level up to the 14th floor and Brian helped me off. Not that I ever believed in superstition or anything, but apparently an unlucky floor did not sound appealing to the architects and engineers that designed the building. My apartment was the only one up there, so Brian led me to the door and asked me for my key. I patted around in my pockets for a while and finally pulled my key out. He took the key from me, opened the door, and laid me down on one of the living room couches. As I lay back with my eyes shut, I could hear the kitchen cabinets opening and closing as Brian looked around in them. My first instinct was to yell at him for stealing my kitchenware, but I stopped myself and thought for a moment. I was DRUNK. This man wasn’t trying to steal my stuff. Tears started rolling down my face as I realized my atrocious behavior for the past ten minutes or so. I was such an idiot.

Brian walked over with two glasses of water and handed one of them to me.

“Drink this.”

I started sipping on the water, thinking how foolish I must look to him.

“No, no, drink it quickly.” I realized later that he was trying to get me to throw up all the alcohol in my stomach.

I gulped down the rest of it. He handed me the other glass and told me drink that too. After I finished, I rested my head on my shoulder and fixed my glassy, unfocused eyes on his. I was absolutely lost in those eyes. In fact, I was so lost (and drunk) that I thought I was still looking into his eyes after he moved around to my side. I didn’t realize that he had moved until his hands hooked under my arms and he lifted me to my feet.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

I pointed down the hall to the bedroom. We walked through and into the bathroom. I saw the toilet, and almost on cue, I started puking everywhere. I’m sure it was a mess because I slipped, fell to my knees and started scrambling for the toilet, emptying my stomach as I went. I put my head into the toilet and just kept going. Behind me, I felt Brian reach around and stroke the front of my face and rub my back and shoulders. I sighed and relaxed my muscles as he made circles with his hand before exploding again.

After 10 minutes or so, or maybe it was an hour, he seemed to pretty sure that I was done throwing up. I was dizzy and light-headed at this point, but I did feel a little better. At least I was thinking a little more clearly than before. I looked down at myself and at the bathroom floor, both were covered in vomit. I started crying again as I looked over at Brian and saw that he, too, was incredibly dirty.

I recovered what little sense I had left and managed to croak out, “I need to shower.”

“A shower?” Brian asked. “Is that what you said?”

My throat must have been drier than I thought. This time I just nodded my head and got up to walk over to the shower. I reached inside the stall and twisted the knobs. It’s not as if I had much of a concept of temperature, so I accidentally put on more hot water than I intended to. I stepped out of my clothes and was about to get in when Brian crossed the room. He put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me.

“Are you sure you’re ok to get in there?” he asked. I sort of mindlessly shook my head no.

“I smell so bad.” Oh, yes. I was Evan Alexander, Master of the Obvious. Tears welled up in my eyes again.

“I know. It’s ok. It’s ok.” He tried to calm me down, but all of tonight’s frustration was really getting to me. “Do you want me to help you?” he asked quietly.

I must have looked like a pitiful little boy with my lip poked out as I slowly nodded my head. Brian undressed himself and stepped in with me. Like I said, the water was too hot and we both cried out when it hit our skin. He pulled me out of the spray and reached around me to turn up the cold water. Once the water was at a comfortable temperature, he maneuvered me back into the center of the stall. I grabbed my washcloth and soap and started cleaning myself off. I made a few lame attempts at trying to reach my back, but my coordination was still off.

“Um, do you want me to help you?” Brian asked heisitantly.

I must have looked fairly scared, but I managed to tell him yes. I gave him the washcloth and turned to face the water as he moved in behind me. He spread the soap all the way from my shoulder blades to the small of my back, rubbing the tension out of my muscles and coming dangerously and pleasurably close to my ass. I started to get a little hard. What could I do? It felt really good. I think I made an audible moan because Brian turned me around and looked at me questioningly as the water rinsed my back. The concerned look on his face was heart-breaking.

“Thanks,” I almost whispered. Suddenly I realized that he hadn’t had a turn to get clean, so I dumbly handed the washcloth over to him. No matter what I did, I always felt like an ass around Brian. I felt as if every one of my actions were put to the test and I never seemed to measure up.

Of course, it wasn’t him that made me feel this way. It was my own insecurity and paranoia. All he did was smile warmly at me and start soaping himself. I watched him as he washed himself, and I noticed that he must work out fairly regularly. After staring at him, I think he began to feel my eyes looking at him. I was sort of embarrassed that he had to wash my back for me, so I turned him around and took the cloth from him.

“Fair is fair,” I said. He gave me a sort of crooked grin and slowly turned around, and I began scrubbing his backside.

I got really excited washing his back, but fortunately it was an experience that passed quickly enough for me not to get too embarrassed. He shivered a few times as I dragged the cloth across his skin, but it was probably because I was still right under the shower and blocking him from the warm water. We switched places and I unconsciously kept my hands on his back as we turned. I met his eyes as we moved around the shower stall. Again, he smiled and said “Thanks.” Once he was done rinsing, I turned off the water, and we both stepped out. Although I was still somewhat groggy, the shower had cleared my head enough so that I could walk over to the side closet and grab some towels for us.

We walked into the bedroom in silence as we toweled off. I pulled some running shorts and an old t-shirt out of a drawer and tossed them to Brian.

“Sorry about your clothes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, pulling on the shorts.

I moved over to the bed and left my crumpled towel on the floor. I slid under the covers and fell asleep faster than I expected to.

***

The next morning, I awoke to sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen. Remembering the events of the previous night, I put on some boxers and a t-shirt and headed into the living room. Brian was making coffee as I sat down at the bar.

“Good morning, kiddo. How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Well, I slept ok. It’s the hangover that’s killing me now,” I answered while squeezing and rubbing at my head.”

“You have to be more careful when you drink,” he winked at me and gave me a sympathetic look. I’m sure my face had already started to deepen in color.

I nodded my head in response. Was it just me or was his voice awfully loud?

“How do you take your coffee?” he moved over to the coffee maker.

“On mornings like these? Black.”

“Black it is,” he said. “I usually take mine with a lot of cream and sugar, but it seems like you and I could both use coffee strong enough to pour itself this morning.” He passed me a mug of scalding hot coffee, but I threw back the first sip even though it burned my tongue. I muttered my thanks and lowered my head a little to stare directly into the cup. He came around the bar and sat on the stool next to me. It was then that I noticed he was wearing jeans and a button down shirt.

“You’re not wearing the clothes from last night.”

He looked down at himself. “No, after you went to sleep, I crashed on the sofa in your room so that I could hear you if anything was wrong. I woke up about twenty minutes ago, went down to my apartment and changed. Don’t worry about the shirt and shorts. I’ll wash those for you.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You act as if you haven’t already done enough.”

“It was nothing. Better me than Dave the security guard. He probably would have gotten a nasty surprise if he tried to pat you down and find anything on you.”

I laughed sarcastically at his joke. “Thanks, Brian. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Evan, right?” I nodded. “What are neighbors for if they don’t keep you from vomiting all over the public elevator?”

“Great, just make me feel worse than I already do.” I groaned, but he could tell I wasn’t serious, so he just laughed at the expression I made when I said it.

“I can’t believe there’s no one else here to help you out. You live in this apartment alone?”

“Yea. It turns out that my uncle knows the owner of the building, so he got a pretty sweet deal and bought the loft.”

“Lucky guy. It’s certainly much better than my little two bedroom, one bathroom hole downstairs.”

“Well, it’s not like I expected to come in and share my ‘inner self’ with the bathroom floor on a nightly basis. Shit, I need to go clean that up.” I started to get up, but Brian put a hand on my arm.

“Already taken care of, buddy. Just relax.”

“You really didn’t need to do that,” I protested. “Putting up with me must have been terrible.”

”Like I said before, Evan, it was my pleasure.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, ‘pleasure’ may not be the right word, but it certainly made my evening more interesting. That was a nice fireworks display you had there.”

I laughed at my own expense. “Hopefully, there won’t be a repeat peformance next weekend on the 4th of July.”

“I surely hope not. Speaking of that, I was wondering if you wanted to join me and a few of my friends for a cookout on the roof on the 4th. We already reserved the space, and when my friend Erica saw you on the elevator last night, she looked at me and said that you looked like a man in need of an old-fashioned, home-cooked meal.”

“She would be absolutely correct in saying that. In the month that I’ve been here, I can’t say that I’ve eaten a lot more than take-out and microwavable food. I’m dying for some real food, but I’m a terrible cook.”

“Perfect. We’re going to start next Friday at around 6:30. Oh, and since everyone’s bringing something to the cookout, maybe you should just bring chips for about six or seven people. We wouldn’t want you poisoning us with your cooking.” A big smile spread across his face and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“That sounds great to me.” I paused for a moment. “You know, my girlfriend could probably make some of her famous baked beans. Is it ok if I bring her along as well?”

The look on Brian’s face changed a little. “Sure,” he said, “the more the merrier.”

“Great!” I suddenly realized that I didn’t know what time it was at all. I glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was 10:25. “Shit!” I exclaimed. “I was supposed to put in some extra hours at the community center today!” I slurped down the rest of my coffee and ran to the bedroom. As I put on some of my old painting clothes, I heard Brian call out.

“What community center do you work at?”

“Millenium Park over in Brooklyn!” I shouted over my shoulder, frantically trying to pull on some socks. “I was supposed to be there at 10:00! I’m going to be so late by the time I got all the way out there.”

“Good luck then. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yea, I’ve got your number, I’ll give you a call.” I heard the front door in the living room close. About five minutes later, after brushing my teeth and struggling to put my hair in some sort of order, I rushed out of the door and into the city.

***

Jane came over later that night. She started dinner as I got back into the shower. Fortunately the volunteer coordinator wasn’t too upset that I was late, but it definitely took a long time to finish all of our painting for the day. Since Jane had a key to my apartment, she had already started dinner by the time I got home.

I walked into the kitchen and hugged her waist.

“Lasagna. My favorite, babe, thanks.” I kissed her neck, but she shifted uncomfortably in my arms.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Now, go sit down and stop molesting the chef.” I turned away from her with a pout, but she surprised me and pinched my ass as I walked away. I jumped and she gave me a devilish grin.

By a few minutes, she really meant fifteen. I sat at the table in bored anticipation. “You could at least set the table while you’re sitting there doing nothing,” she said as she pulled it out of the oven. I stuck my tongue out at her and got up to get the silverware. Somewhere along the way, my relationship with Jane had become a lot more like my relationship with my sister: childish and familial.

We sat in relative silence for the whole meal. As she was finishing her salad and I shoveled the second helping of lasagna down my throat, I remembered Brian’s cookout.

“A friend of mine invited us to a cookout for the 4th,” I mumbled through mouthfuls.

“Evan, didn’t your mother teach you not to chew with your mouth full?”

I finished off my dinner and gulped down the last of my water. “Do I ever listen to anything my mother says?” I said, smiling one of my best smiles.

That got a laugh out of her, the first real one that I had heard in awhile. “No, I suppose you don’t. So who is this friend of yours?”

“He’s a guy from downstairs. I met him about a week ago.”

“Oh, really?” she shifted her glance at me. “I didn’t think that you had met anybody in the building. You told me you stayed up here most of the time.”

I stood up from the table and began to clear my plate, making sure to avoid Jane’s eyes. I I was always such a terrible liar. “I, er, met him when I headed to Mom’s last weekend, and we’ve kept in touch.” Ok, it was most of the truth, just not the whole truth.

Jane stood up after I did and put her plate in the sink along with mine. I washed and she dried. We continued talking as we worked.

“Where is it going to be?”

“Up on the rooftop. We won’t have far to go at all.”

“So what’s his name, where’s he from?”

I thought the tone in her voice was rather strange. I looked over at her, but she didn’t flinch. She stared right back at me. I went back to washing. “His name is, uh, Brian Davis. He’s from Boston, but he’s working on his PhD over at Columbia.”

“That’s great. The two of you will be close by when you start school again. Maybe he can show you the area around the campus.”

I had to laugh as I finished off the plates and dried my hands. “That’s just what he said. I was wondering if you could make your baked beans for us to bring along because you know that—”

“I know that you can’t cook.” She dried off the last of the plates and wiped her hands on her pants. She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss on my scarred cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to get home and finish some building sketches. The life and work of an architect is never over until death.” With that she collected her things and left, blowing me a kiss on her way out of the door.

I sat down on the couch closest to the TV and dug my fingers between the cushions to find the remote. I always said that you could find the remote as long as you left it in the same spot each time. Once I turned it on, I began flipping through the channels endlessly, making several complete run-throughs of all the stations. Saturday night television, what a waste. I was about to give up when the phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hello, is this Evan?” A woman with a rich, southern voice was on the phone.

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Erica Stone, Brian’s friend. We…met briefly on the elevator last night.”

“Oh, I remember.” Again, not a complete lie. “But, how did you get my number?”

“My best friend and her boyfriend used ta live in that apartment, so I guessed that they hadn’t changed the number. Brian told me that he invited you to the cookout on Friday. I wanted to get to know you a little better before then. A few of us are going to be hangin’ out down here in my apartment, 12A, so I was wondering if you’d like to stop by and talk for awhile. That is, if you’re not doin’ anything else tonight.”

“Um, I’d love to. What time?”

“Let’s say around 9:30? Brian’s been telling me all about you. I can’t wait to really meet you this time.” She hung up and left me staring at the phone.

I replayed her words in my head. “Brian’s been telling me all about you.” There wasn’t really much to tell. We had only met twice, and the latest development wasn’t the most enjoyable of occasions. I clicked off the phone. Unless it was that he told her about what happened in the shower. Despite the fact that I had been busy all day, I had spent most of my breaks and my time in the car thinking about Brian. I kept trying to convince myself that my enjoyment from last night was some drunken thrill, but the more I denied it, the more I realized that I had wanted Brian to touch me, and I wanted to touch him. What was this supposed to mean? I didn’t like men. Did I? I turned the TV off and went into the bedroom trying to shake the thoughts of Brian from my head. I had a little more than two hours before going downstairs, so I decided to take a nap.