Un/Common Ground
By Arielle Pierce
copyright 2014 by Arielle Pierce
All rights reserved.
All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter One
It was the little things that were important to Jamal. The way the sun, golden with the morning, warmed him as he sat on his dorm bed, cross-legged with his psychology book on his lap, phone to his ear. The soft snores coming from the elderly little cat he rescued in the depths of the New York winter, so much more pleasant than the frightened meows that had first led him to her in the dark by the university library only weeks ago. The way his roommate groaned whenever he had to turn a page for his hated business degree. The feather-light touch of a lover’s fingertips along the palm of his hand, fingers that traced the scar there from a childhood accident, fingers that trailed from his hands, to his arms. Fingers that ran over his chest, and pinched his nipple before traveling down his torso, always moving, always seeking, until they curled around dark hair, tugged the curls there. Fingers that…
“And your mother needs to talk to you before you go,” his father said, thousands of miles away via the phone. “There’s a lovely girl— remember Aizhana? Well, she’s not gone through with her engagement to that— what was his name again? Well, yeah, that boy, he turned out to be a bit wild for her father, so they called the engagement off. So…”
Jamal shut his eyes, and he shut his ears.
He shut his mind, he shut down the anticipated mental barrage that would emanate from his father’s mouth. Why aren’t you married? This girl is lovely, that girl is lovely. You should get a nice girl and settle down. How about getting married? Your mama is desperate to have grandchildren… Once Papa had the bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him. Jamal loved him, but at times like this, it was best to daydream, to think of things he wanted to do, not things his parents felt he should do.
Like get married.
“Oh, and before I put your mother back on, that Serik boy got himself beaten up real bad the other day.”
Serik? Really? That woke Jamal out of his pleasant haze. “What happened?”
Like he needed to ask.
“You know how those people are. He taunted some of our boys, our good boys, and they put him in his place. Why they didn’t just put a bullet through his brain is beyond me, would’ve been cleaner that way. At least the boys would be nice and warm in their homes right now instead of having to worry about if the police’ll do anything about it. But why they would… Serik was just an animal, just a dumb animal.”
Jamal shut his eyes, shut his mind off again. It was the only way.
The only way to survive.
Images of Serik teased the edges of his mind. The way he always laughed in the deep snow, like Saratoga Springs was expecting right now. The way he could out-dance everyone in the gay club they had dared to go to a few times. Serik was so brave, so very brave.
His father’s voice hit that strident tone he always got, the almost-monologue that said he was onto his favorite subject, the condemnation of “people like that.” Jamal preferred to concentrate on the way his tears tasted of salt, the way they warmed their path down his face, from his face and onto his hand, upturned to take the touch of love. Tears, a lover’s fingers, it was all the same.
His eyes drifted to the picture of his two sisters that sat beside his desk. It was so much better to think of them when his father was like this, with their sea-green eyes that they— and Jamal— had inherited from their mother. Beside the picture was a single lily, a silly gift a friend from the LGBT group on campus had given to him after his friend had been given an entire bouquet. His friend’s words rang in Jamal’s ears, words to the effect that it was the least Jamal deserved, unattached as he was since he had taken up studies in America three years ago.
The translucent light coming through the petals, that too was a small gift. The way they highlighted fragility with strength, the way they were like Jamal himself.
“You getting ill? You sound ill.”
“Just a runny nose, Papa, nothing more.” No, nothing more.
After his father, it was his mother coming on to talk to him for the second time today. Was he okay? Did he need anything? Did he hear about Aizhana? She then launched into a sales pitch about how pretty Aizhana was, what a good cook her mother was, what a nice wife she would make someone one day soon. Jamal shouldn’t have felt weary putting the phone down, but all the same, he did.
Across the room the bedsprings squealed. He looked up to Denis, his roommate, who was sitting up on his bed. “What was that all about? Papa being a dick again?”
Jamal rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “He can’t help it, it’s just the way he was taught to believe.” This was an old argument between the two. They had asked to room together after meeting the first year as freshmen at Skidmore, as both were gay and both Russian-speaking. But the similarities pretty much ended there.
As if on cue, Denis rolled his eyes and slammed his book shut. “So crying once you’re off the line with your folks is common, and I should just shut my mouth?”
“No. No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Images of Serik in happier times tumbled through Jamal’s head. What would he be like now? Would he be the same or would he have changed, have been forced to change, either through fear— or through brain damage?
“Dude, you need to stay in this country. I’m not going back, no fucking way.” He patted Jamal on the knee. “So why are you crying?”
“It’s just a friend of mine, Serik. He was beaten up last night, badly. My papa thinks he got off lightly. He’s in the hospital now.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” When Jamal looked up into Denis’ eyes, he truly did look sorry. “It’s a fucked-up world we live in, eh? Come on, let’s go get a beer at Michael’s. He should have a lot left over from last night’s party.” He stood up and patted Jamal on the shoulder before heading to the door. “Come on, you could use one.”
Jamal stood up, but his heart wasn’t into having a drink at only eleven in the morning. “I dunno…”
“Come on, dude. There’s nothing else to do. We’re supposed to get a blizzard sometime today. They’ve had weather advisories all over the place, saying to stay home if you’re not working or whatnot. Too bad it’s a Sunday, otherwise we might’ve gotten the day off school, eh?”
“Like you go to school anyways.” Jamal eyed Denis like he was mad.
Without thought, he grabbed his coat on the way out. Maybe he could take a little walk in the woods by the campus. Cold air in his lungs would clear his thoughts a bit— more than a beer would. As they walked down the stairs, he looked to the woods and to the town beyond. Alone, that’s what he wanted to be.
“Hey Denis, I think I’m going to go for a walk. Can I meet you at Michael’s?”
“You sure? You’re not exactly dressed for the cold, y’know.”
“I’ve got my coat, it’ll be fine. Besides, this is nothing compared to what we’re used to, right?” Jamal threw his coat on, well aware of the cold biting his legs and his face. America or not, it was bitter out.
Denis didn’t look convinced. “Okay, just don’t go too far. All kidding aside, there really is some bad weather heading our way.”
“I won’t be long. I’m just walking through the woods— maybe go into town for a little while. It’s not like it’s miles away. A coffee sounds better than a beer right now anyways.”
“You just wanna look at the eye candy there. I know you.” Denis grinned like a fool. “Poor Matthew, always working at the coffee shop.”
/> “Well, you never know, maybe he’s not there at all.” Jamal blushed. He’d hoped his crush on the local barista, who came to a lot of the campus LGBT meetings, had gone unnoticed. “Besides, he’s got a boyfriend— that skinny guy who is always spouting off.”
“Dude, he got rid of that idiot months— hell, years— ago. Where have you been? Oh, yeah, thinking about making Mama and Papa happy and getting married, so you can have a life on the down low. Nice.”
“Fuck off.” There was no malice in Jamal’s voice. So Matt wasn’t dating? He tucked that tidbit into the back of his brain. “Okay, I’m going before this so-called blizzard hits.” It would probably be nothing more than a few more feet of snow— which would make the walk back either very pretty or very tiring.
Before Denis could argue and try to convince him to come with him, Jamal waved his friend off and turned his back to the tall dorm building that had been his home for the past three years.
Once alone, the cold of New York’s winter couldn’t stop Jamal’s fears. He tried to close his mind by taking in the view around him. The trees were heavy with soft snow, which buried him up to his knees. Too late he realized he hadn’t put on the proper boots for this type of weather. He had his normal hiking shoes, but they couldn’t keep the snow from gathering under his jeans, and sticking to his socks. Ah well, maybe if he stuck to the sidewalks he wouldn’t get so icy. Common sense said go back and hang out with Denis and Michael, but that just wouldn’t do. The last thing he wanted was to be around those two. After the way Michael had drunk last night, the grad student would be hung over, and both would be gossiping and tut-tutting over his father. No, alone time was what he needed.
Angling through the woods, he struggled in the deep snow until it gave way to a recently plowed street. Thanks to the storm fears, the road was empty of cars, and Jamal was able to walk down it without worry. He should have been awed by the beauty of the scene, at the way the snow had turned a sleepy little village into some children’s fairy tale. The quaint mansions with their gingerbread trimmings along the roofline were made for a scene such as this. But Jamal could not look out; his thoughts were all within. To Serik, to the beauty of Serik— perhaps lost. To his father, his hate so thick it could poison the purest dream.
Chapter Two
So there was a bit of snow on the ground. Matt snorted to himself as the latest customer complained about the two feet they had to trudge through to get to the coffee shop. He obviously was not a native Saratogian. Matt eyed the man from under his hair that was desperately in need of a cut, careful not to seem too much like he was amused by the man’s behavior. The man was tall, with brown hair, brown eyes, brown clothes. And probably a brown life, if the way he sniffed at his surroundings was anything to go by. The girl next to him was little better, with her prim hairstyle and her fashionable big-city clothes.
Only five more hours to go. Matt did his best and tried not to look at the clock. Uncommon Grounds wasn’t a bad place to work. His boss, Joe, was a good guy and, in typical Saratogian style, was laid back. But it wasn’t the life surrounded by his sculptures that Matt had imagined for himself back at the New York Academy of Art all those years ago. Okay, so all of five years ago. And okay, so maybe it could still happen. It was just annoying that had he stayed back in NYC with his friends, he, too, would be well on his way to a career and have work in galleries instead of going back home to struggle and hang on— just— to a few hours a week in a rented studio. Being poor sucked. He sighed to himself as the steam from the lattes enveloped his head.
A blast of cold air indicated someone had entered the shop. Briefly Matt glanced up, more out of habit than curiosity. He looked back down at the lattes, until his brain registered who had just walked in. It was that Asian guy, the one with the exotic green eyes that Matt could lose himself in. The one who had been showing up with the funny Ukrainian guy at the LGBT get-togethers over on the campus. He walked along the long counter, past the glass display of cakes. The tiniest of silly grins played at the corner of Matt’s mouth. This university student had been coming into his shop for well over three years now— not that he was counting— and he took Matt’s breath away, every time.
Unfortunately, today his lean form was covered in his heavy parka. But at least there was his perfectly symmetrical face to gaze at, with his full lips, and long, elegant nose— and those eyes. Matt had never seen eyes like his. Clear green, with a black ring around the iris, and so exotic. Matt would have guessed him to be Japanese or Korean if he hadn’t heard him speaking Russian at some of the meetings. He had never worked up the nerve to ask him where he was from.
He was so lost in his daydreams about the guy, that Matt didn’t notice he looked as though he had been crying, until he was standing just behind the two New Yorkers. Shit. What now? Why had he been crying? It was all Matt could do not to drop the lattes on the two snobs and run around the counter to see what was wrong. Had someone tried to hurt him? Matt stared towards the door, but there was no sign of any menacing figures about. Hell, there was no one out. For once, everyone had listened to the weatherman.
Matt took the money from the New Yorkers and mentally wished them away from his counter, so he could see what was wrong with the student. When the young man stepped before him, the student tried to say something as he opened his mouth, but not a sound came out.
“You okay, man?” What else could Matt say? The student clamped his mouth shut and looked embarrassed.
There was an awkward silence between the two before the student opened his mouth again. “Just a… just a coffee please.”
“Plain coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“You never drink just plain coffee.” No, more times than not he had Uncommon Grounds’ justifiably famous hot chocolate. Or a mocha, and during last semester’s finals, an espresso. But never plain coffee.
“How do you know?” Those beautiful green eyes widened.
Now it was his turn to be speechless. What should he say? “I’m just your local cute, cuddly, stalker barista,” might be just a touch frightening. “I uh… I just notice what everyone drinks, that’s all. We’re trained to know that… and I’ve seen you at the LGBT meetings over at Skidmore, so y’know… Everyone I see there I tend to make a mental note of what they drink when they come in.” He smiled to try to look as friendly as possible— not scary, gay stalkerish, which is what he was afraid he looked more like at the moment.
Rather than answer, the student nodded and reached in his pocket to pay. He really looked the worse for wear. But, even rough around the edges, he was completely and utterly beautiful.
Clearing his throat— and trying to clear his mind from the pornographic place it really wanted to go right now— Matt said, “Hey man, tell you what, it’s on the house.”
The student looked up at him. “W-why?”
“’Cause it’s a horrible day out, and you look as though you’ve gotten some bad news. So let’s just say you need it, eh?” Though he said a coffee, Matt was already beginning to prep the counter to make a hot chocolate. If he really did want that coffee he’d make it as well, just in case. “Tell you what. Just go have a seat, and I’ll bring it over to you, okay?”
Thankfully, the guy didn’t argue. He nodded and walked along the counter until he found the table tucked beside the newspaper rack, in the corner. It was dark there, no wonder he chose it. Matt watched him until it occurred to him that all he was doing was ogling, and making neither a coffee nor a hot chocolate. Your friendly,stalker barista. Yep. That was him. Bending to his task, he made two hot chocolates, and forgot all about the coffee. There was only the two of them, the big city couple, and feisty old Ms. Feinstein, sitting by the window and watching the snow settling softly over the old Victorian main street.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the student. The guy’s eyes were trained on the wooden table before him. Never once did he look up and see Matt watching him. Poor kid. Wonder what happened to make him so upset? Hell
, what happened to make him come all the way into town? It wasn’t like Skidmore College was just up the street. Matt always took the car when he went there, but then again, he was a lazy bastard.
Drinks done, he took them in hand and walked around the long counter. When he put them down, the kid looked up and tried for a smile that just ended up looking like he had a toothache. Not waiting for him to say anything, Matt slid into one of the empty chairs.
“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself before, but I’m Matt.” He held out his hand. “And you’re…?”
“J-Jamal.”
The student, Jamal,— what a nice name— took his hand and shook it. His grip was firm, and Matt had to scold his mind for wandering off into that dark corner that wondered what that hand would feel like wrapped about his cock. NoNoNo, now was so not the time to be thinking this way. He would have kicked himself— if kicking himself didn’t look just a bit weird to someone who didn’t know him. He tried instead for a smile, which was marginally better than Jamal’s.
“You’re brave, coming out on a day like today.” Matt kept his tone light, in case Jamal would take offense.
“I just…” Jamal waved his hand in the air. “I needed some fresh air, to clear my head a bit.” Matt nodded to keep him talking. Jamal eyed him for a moment and nibbled on his lower lip. He struggled with his words before he blurted out, “A friend is hurt, badly hurt. He’s in the hospital.”
The monologue that was about to start in Matt’s head came to a screeching halt. “Wait… what? Your friend? He’s hurt? In the hospital?” Who was Jamal’s friend? Matt tried to recall the morning headlines in The Saratogian, but he didn’t remember seeing anything about an accident serious enough to send anyone to the hospital. Maybe his friend had been in a car and…
“Back home, back in Kazakhstan. He was injured last night.” Jamal held his hand over his face.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” What did you say to something like that? Matt reached up to rub his chin, feeling the stubble there. He really needed a shave, but it had been so cold that any hair, even a little on his face, was welcomed. Even if it meant he was beginning to look like a cub.
Un/Common Ground Page 1