Between Enzo and the Universe

by Chase Connor

  “Why don’t we go watch the sunrise and eat the rest of our donuts?” Peter suggested, leaning in to smile at me.

  “Okay.”

  How One Comes to Own a Coat

  Noe wasn’t sudden or drawn out. He was both. His breathing got worse between Christmas and New Year’s, and then we started spending a lot of time at the doctors’ offices and A&E. It was rare that a week would go by that we were not at one or the other. Noe’s medical conditions were nothing new to us, though we both knew that he was having trouble overcoming his recent bout with his chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. His asthma flared up nearly every day. It was hard to get to work on time and perform all of my duties for an entire shift because Noe needed me more and more as the days went by. This went on for months until we were barely able to pay rent and also afford a sufficient amount of food to keep us decently fed. In fact, many days, I rationed out my calories so that I could be sure that Noe was getting enough to eat, though his appetite decreased with each passing day.

  At the end of summer, Noe had to be admitted to the hospital. So, we were both sleeping in his hospital room every night as machines “beeped” and “booped” and nurses came in to check on him periodically, always waking both of us. I took showers in his hospital bathroom and went home to change clothes before going to work. Then I would be back at the hospital to repeat the entire process of barely getting any rest before starting another day. Noe was restless every night due to the medicines they gave him and the nurses bothering us throughout the night. The hospital bed was not the bed he was used to, and he said the sheets and blankets were “scratchy.”

  Regardless of the strain we were under, Noe slowly started to get better over the days he spent in the hospital. The doctors, for once, seemed very caring and attentive, cheerful, and optimistic about Noe’s prognosis. They said that it would take time in the hospital for Noe to get better so that he could go home, but they didn’t doubt that he would, in fact, get better. On our final night in the hospital, a nurse had come in before bedtime to let us know that Noe would most likely be discharged the following afternoon. Noe gave his version of a smile when the news was delivered, and I felt nothing less than relief and joy.

  The following morning, after the two of us woke up and had breakfast, and I had taken a shower, I held Noe’s forearm and told him that I was going to go home and get him some fresh clothes and his coat. It was still summer, but I knew having his coat made of sugar and blue clouds would make him feel better on our way home. Noe told me to hurry because he wanted to leave as soon as the doctors said he could. He had grown as weary of the hospital as I had.

  So, I went home and took another shower, wanting to be as clean and feel as fresh as I could for bringing Noe home. I gathered up a bag of his clothes and draped his blue coat over my shoulder. Then I walked the few kilometers back to the hospital.

  An embolism. So, it was sudden, Noe’s death. But it was the end to months of health problems that all of the doctors seemed to think could be resolved.

  When I left the hospital that morning, Noe was fine. We were going to go home and be our own little family again. When I went back to the hospital, my brother was gone. It happened so suddenly and so quickly, there hadn’t even been time to call me. They had been trying to save Noe’s life instead.

  I sat in a hospital room with what was once my brother, his forearm in one of my hands and the coat made of sugar and blue clouds in my other.

  The universe had dealt a final blow. Nothing else could be taken from me.

  Or, that’s what I thought. Until a blue coat was stolen from a hook in a classroom over a dumpling restaurant.

  Between the Universe and Me

  Peter and I sat in St. Louis Square again after another short taxi ride. Now that the sun was getting closer to rising, sitting on the ledge of the fountain with all of the gorgeous houses surrounding us didn’t seem so dangerous. If someone were to come along and asked us why we were sitting at the fountain at such an hour, we would have the excuse of wanting to watch the sunrise. We would have had no excuse hours earlier. Our donut box was on the fountain ledge between us, open and empty. We had moved quickly to finish our donuts upon arriving at the square. Due to the approaching dawn and thoughts of Peter having to leave for America, neither of us spoke much. What could be said about something unavoidable? All we could do was enjoy each other’s company, eat our donuts, and watch the sunrise.

  As I sat there, a fairly small white cardboard box the only thing separating us, I didn’t think about my problems or sorrows. My family and what had become of it, the awful people in my ESL class, Noe’s stolen coat, the rude food vendor in the market—all of it was a distant memory, at least for the time being. The Lazy Duck, the park, the square, the donuts, the M&Ms and Smarties, the taxi rides, the flirtation…Peter having to leave…that was all I thought of and cared about as we waited for the sun to peek over the horizon. Overnight, it had gotten even colder in the city, but somehow, with the threat of dawn, the wind was still, and the city seemed warmer. It was if everything was waiting for the sun’s warm rays to bathe every surface in golden light and start the day anew. I’ve always loved the mornings, especially before the sun rises. A new day is a new start, and if you beat the sun in waking up, you can feel the anticipation and hope of its imminent arrival. Nothing fills me with hope like waiting for the sun to arrive, dragging the new day behind it.

  Beside me, with that cardboard barrier between us, Peter sat silently, looking easterly towards the row of houses that the sun would peek over once it arrived. Without asking, I knew that he felt the same way that I did. While our night together, which we decided to declare our first date, hadn’t been all smiles and fun, it had been extraordinary. Both of us had spent the night with someone who understood them deeply, who wanted the other person to feel loved and cared for, without judgment or expectation. Two people met by chance—or maybe they found each other on purpose—and decided to listen to the universe’s suggestion. It would have been just as easy for either of us to have walked away at the autumn festival, to decide that there was no point in talking to a stranger with the expectation that they might be the very person we needed most that night. Peter and I had decided to do the opposite of what came so naturally to both of us.

  My life had never been a series of logical events that were leading up to something greater. It had always seemed that with each great thing, my life got more difficult, sadder, more overwhelming. I wasn’t sure as I sat there on the ledge of the fountain why I had allowed Peter to walk into my life when good things always seemed to herald doom. Maybe a handsome red-haired American was too irresistible. Maybe I was tired of expecting doom every time something good happened. Or maybe, somehow, I had decided to trust the universe again.

  No. I didn’t trust the universe.

  Not because I thought it didn’t care about me, but because it had too many people to care about.

  I was just Enzo.

  I was one of billions—if not trillions—of concerns the universe had to deal with each day. So, the universe did not have my trust simply because I knew the universe wouldn’t know if I trusted it anyway.

  As we sat there, the sky growing lighter, and the neighborhood around us beginning to become bathed in a pale violet-y blue color, I wondered about kismet. That was how Peter described our meeting. Had all of my prayers finally been heard…or had a series of events just coincidentally placed us in each other’s path? Was there a difference? What are prayers but a wish for your hopes and dreams to be manifested in some way? The method doesn’t really matter, one just hopes that someone is listening and gently guides them towards bringing those thoughts to fruition. A person could call that thing God or providence or the universe, but it was really all the same thing. Prayers send out thoughts, and we hope for the best. For one night in my life, I had gotten the best.

  “I’ve never been so unhappy thinking about a sunrise before.” Peter sighed.

  “Me eit
her.”

  “Maybe if I knew how long I’d have to wait to see you again after today, it wouldn’t feel so awful.”

  On our way to the square in the taxi, Peter had taken my mobile phone and entered his phone number and the phone number of his friend who had a job waiting for me. The wait to see each other again did not have to be long. It all rested on how well the job paid. There was only one way to find that out.

  “It will not be too long,” I said.

  “I hope not.”

  “Do you think I will like America?”

  “I’ll be there. Why wouldn’t you?”

  I chuckled, still unable to pry my eyes from the houses in the east so that I could look into Peter’s eyes. Looking at him would make the fact that he was leaving all too real. I didn’t want him to leave, and I didn’t want to think about what it meant to be so sad to see a stranger leave.

  “Of course, I will be happy you are there,” I said gently. “But tell me what else I will love.”

  In the corner of my eye, I could see Peter turn his head to look at me.

  “Well, there’s the food.” He began. “Like Montreal, you can find all kinds of food in Minneapolis. It’s a pretty diverse city. It’s very friendly to the LGBTQ community. So, we could kiss in the middle of town, and no one would care. Usually. There are movie theaters and museums. Parks. It’s not far from the Great Lakes if we wanted to take a weekend trip. My parents only live an hour away…if you wanted to meet them. I have a lot of friends who would love you and treat you like they’ve known you their entire lives. It’s really nice. And I’ll be there.”

  “That is my favorite part.”

  “I think I will like Minneapolis even more if you are there.”

  The first rays of the sun began to peek over the tops of the houses. The violet-blue of the neighborhood slowly began to turn gold.

  “Here comes the sun,” I said.

  “I love that song.” Peter chuckled.

  “What?”

  “The Beatles?” He said. “It’s a song by them. Here Comes the Sun.”

  “I have never heard it.”

  Peter didn’t say anything more, he simply pulled his fancy phone from his pocket and tapped the screen for a few moments as the neighborhood and square slowly became more golden. Suddenly, nearly making me jump, music started to play softly from Peter’s phone. After the first few chords, I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the sun climb over the tops of the houses. As the seconds went by, and the song played, and the sun climbed higher, starting to peek over the rooves of the houses, I unbuttoned my new coat and slid it off of my shoulders, then neatly laid it along the ledge of the fountain. I stood and took a few steps away from the fountain, greeting the sun and the brand-new day, a smile coming to my face as the warmth of our closest star licked at my flesh. The Beatles sang their lullaby as my eyes drooped shut, and I smiled at the warmth on my face.

  A moment later, I heard the music getting closer, then suddenly I sensed Peter in front of me.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.” He said lowly. “And then I’m going to leave. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, keeping my eyes shut, though my smile never faltered.

  “And I won’t look back.”

  “Okay.”

  Bracing myself, I felt Peter step into the beam of sun that had been warming my face. My whole body seemed to be a live wire of nerves, anticipating the kiss, and also dreading it. What if I did something wrong? What if he kissed me and suddenly felt differently? I had been rejected many times before, but I had never been rejected as a sexual being. I wasn’t sure I could handle such a thing, having no experience with it. My instincts told me to step back, to pull away, do anything but let his lips touch mine. Another part of me told my instincts to shut the fuck up because I wanted nothing more than to know what Peter’s lips tasted like. So, I forced myself to stand still, my eyes closed, as Peter moved closer.

  Peter’s hand was against my chest, laying there for a moment before it traveled upward, to the flesh of my throat, around to the side of my neck, and then up the back of my neck so that his fingers could get tangled in the short hairs there. I felt the warmth of his body move up against mine as he moved his face closer. I desperately wanted to know if his eyes were also closed like I’d seen people do when kissing in movies or other couples did in public. Did he have his eyes open, not wanting to miss the look on my face when I received my first kiss? In the end, I knew that I could not bear to open my eyes and see Peter’s, knowing it would be the last time that I would see them. I would have to make do with the kiss being my last sensation of being with him. For now.

  Then I felt Peter pull gently against my head as he moved his face toward mine. My whole body threatened to collapse, as though I was going to let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding, making me deflate until I was a puddle on the ground. Somehow, I managed to keep my knees locked and stay on my feet as Peter’s lips finally pressed against mine. Gently at first, testing how his lips felt against mine. Then more firmly, as though suddenly infatuated with what they felt, trying to devour me and memorize that feeling. My hands rose to Peter’s hips, gently laying against them as his fingers tightened in my hair, and his lips memorized mine.

  I knew that the kiss lasted long enough that anyone passing by might have been scandalized, but it never could have lasted long enough to satisfy me. With the first feel of Peter’s lips, the taste of him coursing over my mouth, I never wanted it to end. The strength with which Peter held onto me, the way his fingers tangled in my hair, I knew he was fighting his own battle. But finally, as all things go, I felt him pull back just far enough to sigh, his breath warm against my face. Bit by bit, his fingers loosened in my hair, and his hand slid from the back of my head, back around my neck, over my throat, and down to my chest. For a moment, he let his hand lay there again as I stood before him, eyes still shut, afraid to look at him.

  “Whenever you get to America,” He whispered, his mouth still dangerously close to mine, “it won’t be soon enough, Enzo. I’ll miss you.”

  “I will miss you, too,” I whispered back, my lips fluttering against his.

  Without another word, I felt Peter’s hand reluctantly pull away from my chest, and his body move away. The music stopped. I wanted to open my eyes to see if he was struggling to walk away from me. I wanted to know that leaving Montreal—leaving me—was one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

  “This is only ‘goodbye’ for now.” He said firmly, his voice further away.

  “Okay.”

  “Goodbye, for now, Enzo.”

  “Goodbye, for now, Peter.” It nearly came out like a sob, but my happiness overruled it.

  When I finally was able to open my eyes, though I was unsure how long I waited, Peter was nowhere in sight. It was almost as if he had never existed at all, though I knew that was just my mind playing tricks on me, trying to convince me that something so wonderful couldn’t have been true. When a person goes for too long without goodness in their lives, it seems unlikely when it arrives, and like a fantasy when it is gone again. Standing in the middle of the square with the now golden neighborhood bearing down on me, I couldn’t bear to stay still. So, I went to the fountain and got my coat—my new coat that Peter had so selflessly given to me—and slipped it back on.

  Shoving my hands into the warm lined pockets of my new coat, I forced myself to take in the houses bathed in gold around the square and smile. Even if Peter was gone, and even if I never saw him again, at least I had experienced one of the greatest nights of my life and my first kiss. Even if there had been tears and sadness, there had also been joy and healing. Peter had helped me to understand that even after death, there is life. There is no greater gift one can receive than that. Somehow, I knew that things would get better between the universe and me. For all of my trying, all of my struggles, I knew that I was not perfect. I hadn’t been the best grandson, son, or brother. But I had done my best. Maybe the universe was
just doing the best it could, too.

  I found myself walking along Ave des Pins E after leaving the square, wondering where life would take me next. Calling Peter’s friend would be my first task the following day. And it would be my life’s mission to visit Peter in America, no matter how long that took, but in the meantime, I had no idea what life had in store for me. I was okay with that. Once a person is sure that life can have good things waiting ahead, it makes it easier to put one foot in front of the other, to keep moving forward until the good times arrive. The smile would not leave my face as I turned onto St. Urbain Street, heading in the direction of my apartment once again.

  Where was Peter in Montreal? Was he already back at his hotel, packing for his flight home, after hailing a taxi somewhere in the city? Was he thinking of me as much as I was thinking of him? Was the thought of getting on a plane to leave Montreal as hard on him as it was on me? I didn’t want Peter to feel remorse or sadness in leaving the city, but I wouldn’t have minded knowing that it was not easy for him, either. I would have given anything to know that he would miss me until the moment I stepped off of a plane in Minneapolis sometime in the future. And I hoped that as soon as he saw me step off of the plane, that sadness would melt away immediately. I wanted to see the light return to his eyes the first time I saw them after closing mine by the fountain in the square.

  Maybe I was foolish and ridiculous. Maybe I was acting as though I was a character in a fairytale. Sometimes, all you can do is pretend that life is a fairytale just so you can get through one moment to the next. With Peter on my mind, I knew that the following days would be much warmer. Much easier. As I passed the dumpling restaurant that had Mr. Paquette’s classroom above it, I stopped and stared at the building. A smile immediately came to my face. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Paquette insisting that I go get something to eat…if it hadn’t been for someone stealing Noe’s coat…I never would have met Peter. There was no way that the universe had not had a hand in orchestrating those events.