J.T. Warren - Remains

I took my arm away from my eyes, and looked over at the phone. My mother and I had gone through a war about putting a phone in my bedroom, but Sarah had weighed in on my side. It was still that ancient, milk-gone-sour color phone that I had spent so many nights staring at. I reached down and grabbed the phone line from where it snaked along the floor. I snatched quickly, and put my other hand out as far as I could reach it. It was an old trick from lying on my bed, praying for someone to call. I half expected it to crash to the floor before I could reach it, but it flew onto my palm like always.

I listened to the dial tone for a moment, then put my finger over the interrupt button. The sudden quiet was loud. Before I could stop myself, I dialed.

“Hello?” Kevin said after three rings.

“Kevin,” I said.

“Mikey,” he replied with a flat voice.

“Umm—I just—I—,” I started.

“Don’t,” he said.

“But I—Kevin, I have to—,” I tried to continue.

“No, you don’t. Unless you’re calling to say that you want to come over, hang up,” he said.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. He hung up. The sudden ‘click’ made me jump. Something in my chest contracted, and pressure built behind my eyes. I set the phone down on my chest, my finger over the interrupt button again. I picked it up, and dialed again.

“Hello?” Susan said.

“Hi,” I said, after a moment.

“Hey,” she said. In the background, I heard the television going, and someone laughing. “Super busy right now,” she said, “can I call you back?”

“Yeah—” I started to say.

“Great,” she said, interrupting, and hung up. I put my finger over the button, again, and listened as the house creaked. A wind came through, and the windowpanes rattled a bit.

I dialed again, and when someone picked up, there was only silence.

“I want to come over,” I said, and hung up.

I slid into my shoes as quickly as I could. I didn’t bother to lace them. Something in me was moving. I kept wanting to say ‘finally’, but that seemed an understatement. I got down the stairs two at a time. I was almost to the door before my mother said, “Goodness!” and caught me from the side-room. I stopped. “I came up a moment ago,” she said, “you were asleep.”

“Just remembered something. I gotta’ go. Can I take the car?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know, honey. We’ll need to ask your father—” she said.

“Nevermind,” I said, “I’ll walk. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I said, and opened the door.

“But don’t you want to take the car?” she asked. Something in her voice said that she was hoping for a delay of any kind.

“No, that’s alright,” I called as the door closed behind me.

I was about halfway to Kevin’s trailer before I realized I was jogging. Something in me was moving. I wondered if this was how trees feel when spring comes on. I felt as if trying to slow down would kill me, and I’d been dead so long. The sidewalk gave way to the bare shoulder of the road. That soon turned into hard-packed dirt. The entire time I tried to have a coherent thought, but couldn’t. The only thing I could even begin to describe as thinking was a continual amazement at what I was doing.

I was there so quickly that I felt, for a moment, that I must’ve come to the wrong house. I walked up the two steps, and knocked. I waited, looking around the park. The last time I’d been here during daylight, I had been leaving; I hadn’t noticed much. I could see, though, that most of the trailers were in horrible shape. Down the street, children played stickball in the dying remains of what was, at some time, a small park. One boy slid from a full run while a girl and another smaller boy attempted to tag him. Behind me, the door opened.

I turned to find Kevin wearing nothing but a towel. His hair was damp, and scattered in all directions. Water beaded on his skin. My eyes flashed as I stepped in, forcing him to step back. I felt as if the momentum I’d built up on the way over was in control.

I closed the door with one hand, and put the other on against his face, cupping his jaw. I drew him closer and kissed him. He resisted somewhat, but didn’t actually try to pull away. His eyes opened wide in shock, then melted down to closed while I watched. His hand was flat against my chest, still trying to push me away, but the pressure grew weaker second by second. I don’t know how long he let me kiss him, but at some point, the pressure returned to his hand, and I stepped back.

“What—?” he started, but had to pause to catch his breath.

“I want you,” I said. I hadn’t meant to say that, but in the act of letting the words out, I realized it was true. I realized I’d wanted him all along, even as a kid. I remembered that, even after getting out of the boxing class, I’d still snuck to the windows and watched almost every one of the practice matches he’d been in. I remembered that, at the time, I’d told myself I was watching his stance, and the set of his shoulders. “I’ve always wanted you,” I said.

“Wait,” he said, the pressure against my chest increasing. He was actually pushing me away. “I—,” he stammered, and I smiled, “I don’t—this is—this is too fast,” he said. In his voice, there was surprise and also something else, something I couldn’t recognize.

I put my hand on his arm, “I want you,” I said.

“But you said—I mean—you left .”

“I shouldn’t have,” I said, running my fingers along his arm.

“I—,” he started again, “Mikey, this is—maybe I didn’t explain to you what—I mean what I do —,”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, trying to move closer. At that moment, I wanted his mouth on mine more than anything else I could ever think of. Something in my chest was pressing toward him; I needed his mouth on mine.

“I’m—Mikey, I’m a—,” he started, again.

“Shut up,” I said, amazed at myself, “and kiss me.”

His eyes changed, and the pressure against my chest lessened. I moved closer to him, and he tilted his face toward me. Our lips met and, in my head, there was a dull thump, as if something in a box exploded. The sounds of the room were more vivid, and my body grew so hot, I was certain it was glowing. I’d heard Susan talk about things like this in her romance novels, which I’d always turned my nose up at, but I felt this. I knew this, now.

When I came back to something resembling my senses, the light in the room was dim. I burrowed my head further down into the pillow, and heard someone sigh next to me. I moved a bit so I could see, and Kevin was burrowed down into his own cocoon. In my body, a desire to wrap myself around him rose up. I wanted to put him in me, to protect him from something. I reached out, and put my arm over him, the flat of my palm against the flat of his chest. I pulled him back toward me, and he moved. His lower back was against my stomach. I smiled, and closed my eyes again. In my head, there was a quiet; not the breath-held quiet of a jungle, but the settled quiet of a house—of a home.

In the dream, I was inside an airplane, and looking out the windows at a blazing sunset over the Grand Canyon. I thought I should go forward, to the cockpit, to see out the front windows. The plane was traveling directly at the sun. Everything seemed so warm, and glowed the way things do at that time of day.

From behind me, though, someone kept whispering my name. I tried to turn around, but could only do it inches at a time. Each time I turned, the seat became less comfortable, and things glowed less. Every turn, that whisper got louder. By the time I turned all the way around, I saw that Kevin was making love to my sister in the seat behind me, his eyes on me the entire time. He wasn’t moaning my name, though; he was yelling it.