A Winter in Rome

by Francis Gideon

  Her brows creased, but she was calmer now. She no longer needed to assess me, but could approach the situation. "Can I come closer?"

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She stepped over the threshold and into the bathroom. The small night light she kept there was useful, since I hadn't been bothered to turn anything else on. I wondered how many times she had needed to coax people down from a ledge in the middle of the night like this and didn't want to risk scaring them with florescent bulbs. She grabbed my hand and folded it in hers. When she lifted it up to kiss my fingers, I nearly pulled away and gasped.

  "What's wrong?"

  "He used to do that. Well, he still does. It's not like I've ended it…" I trailed off, voice cracking. Why was this so hard for me? So many of the men I knew, my friends included, would have thought this arrangement was stellar. I get to have a girl and fuck around? Right on! Their only criticism would have come from the fact that one of my partners was a dude. But I wasn't like that; I never wanted to open myself up like this in a relationship because I was always worried about hurting people. Even though Alan and Sybil both told me to go, that I was okay and not hurting them, I was still so worried that I was causing pain. I was still so worried that I was the bad guy, even as Sybil comforted me.

  "It's okay," she shushed, placing my hand at my side and running her fingers over my neck. She stopped at the hickey she had given me, then touched my hair line. She was only a few inches shorter than I was, but when I slumped over like this, we were eye to eye.

  "It's hard opening up," she said. "I get it."

  "Do you? Am I hurting you?"

  "No. But time changes, right? You think you're only supposed to love people one right after the other. Serial monogamy. So when you love two at a time, at the same time, you think that one is…like…"

  "Dead," I said. "Or ended. Like when I'm not with him, and I'm with you, I worry that something terrible has happened. And I've fucked it up."

  "Yeah. It's kind of like object permanence in babies. They think mommy disappears for real when she goes around the corner. That's why they cry so often, because going around a corner means death to them. They don't know any better."

  I nodded, then placed a hand on her waist. She was here, warm, and alive. And I knew that if I just calmed down enough to think, that Alan was warm and alive, too. Sybil yawned after a second of our quiet touching. Then I yawned, and we were suddenly trapped in this sudden vortex of tiredness going back and forth.

  "Oh, no," she squealed. "Yawns are contagious. Turn away, look away from me."

  I did as she asked, turning towards the mirror, only to see her in the reflection. And we both yawned again.

  "No!" she cried, still playful. "I'm going around the corner until we stop."

  When she moved, I almost followed her. But I stayed where I was, looking at my broken and out-of-date cell phone, and Alan shot through my mind. Not dead, not ended, I told myself. He's not gone—and Sybil's not gone. They are just not right here.

  "Okay," she said after a moment. "I'm not yawning anymore. Are you?"

  I looked up and realized my jaw was tired, but that was definitely not from yawning, but from what she and I had done earlier. I grinned, and then smelled my fingers again quickly. "I'm good."

  She peered around the corner, a smile on her face. Her eyes were tired, small bits of sleep gathered in the corner, but she was probably the happiest I had ever seen her. When she stepped forward again, I placed my hands on her waist. We kissed, our mouths opening to one another. A lazy kiss, a tired and sleep-filled one—but I needed it.

  When we pulled away, she placed her palms over my bare chest. "You're calmer now. Do you feel better?"

  I nodded, then shook my head. "But I'm still an idiot and broke my phone."

  "Hah. About time, though. When did you get that thing, like 2004? Times are different, my friend."

  "I'm not getting an iPhone," I complained. Alan already had one and I saw how often he would just go into the bathroom to shave and then stay in there for hours watching videos on YouTube as he did. As much as that annoyed me, the memory of this act didn't make me feel bad. I missed Alan, that was for sure. But I missed him in the same way I would have if I was at my apartment at that moment, listening to David and his girlfriend fuck through the wall.

  Only this time, I reminded myself, I had Sybil. I had them both. Everything was okay.

  "Well, you should still get a new phone. Something a little more modern. I wouldn't knock smartphones right away. You're going to want something to keep track of dates and schedules."

  "For assignments?" I asked, but then realized what she meant. With all of us. In order to avoid me sleeping through when I was supposed to go and meet Alan, I was going to have to plan. Maybe even start setting alarms for when I had to be somewhere. Having two people was about more than just the sudden and overwhelming emotions that came to the surface, and how to deal with them. It was about finding a new way to measure time.

  "Maybe I will get an iPhone," I said with a grin. Sybil nodded, proud of her convincing, and then pulled me close to her. She let the blanket fall from her shoulders and onto her bathroom floor. We stood with our bare chests touching, our breath on one another's lips. I liked the fact that while we both wore boxers, hers were completely different than mine. She had Hanes in dark blue that clung to her large thighs. I had baggy plaid ones I had gotten for Christmas. I caught a glimpse of us in her bathroom mirror, our bodies so close, and just the right height.

  "We're kinda like twins," she said, laughing. "If my hair was shorter."

  "You'd look good with short hair," I said. She considered this, then merely kissed me before pulling me back into the bedroom.

  "It's late, but do you want to use my phone? Maybe he's still awake, and you can call him, and tell him you're fine."

  She extended her iPhone to me, its case decorated with blue and black triangles that intersected and traversed one another. I was about to take it and maybe find Alan on Facebook, to see if the green mobile light was one, when I handed it back.

  "Are you sure?" she said. "He's a night owl, right? Always planning his lectures last-minute?"

  "Or trying to draw something," I said with a smile. I liked that she knew Alan's patterns almost as well as I did now. "I know he'll be up. But why don't you call him?"

  Sybil took a moment to think about it. She analyzed my face, my body language, everything. From head to toe, and then back to my eyes again. "Yeah, okay. I think that would be an interesting conversation."

  She sat on the edge of her bed as I rattled off his phone number. When he answered, and I heard her voice slip into a comfortable rhythm, I placed my head in her lap and relaxed.

  "Hi. I'm Sybil. Craig's here," she said. "Just tired. He broke his phone in half, which is why I'm calling you."

  "I'm glad you did," I could hear Alan say on the other end. "Your voice is really nice, Sybil. I like talking to you."

  "You haven't heard me rant yet. Or speak in Italian."

  "Oh, but I look forward to it."

  I closed my eyes then, turning over onto Sybil. Alan went on, but I strained less to hear every last word. I could see their strings getting tangled, their opinions differing on some art piece. But it was a different type of disagreement than I had seen Sybil go through before, like with men at the poetry slam or other students in Italian. It was challenging, but fruitful. For a while, as their voices mixed together, I thought they were one person—I thought we all were. But then I realized, I was only dreaming so close to the edge of sleep.

  "Craig? Yes, he's still here…" Sybil trailed off, touching my cheek. I heard her press a kiss to her finger before she placed it over my lips. "But I think he's out of it for the night."

  "Ah, well, give my regards."

  "I will. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight, Sybil. It was nice meeting you."

  "You, too."

  Chapter Four

  Though Alan and Sybil often disagreed on
small details, they talked to one another fairly regularly, usually through text messages and Facebook chat. When they did hang out, like when we all had dinner together some nights, there was a silent respect and camaraderie to them. They talked and discussed, but still kept their distances. And so long as we were all together, all getting along, no one found a need to change what wasn't broken.

  Then Alan got the news that he would go to Rome. He had applied for the research position on a whim. It had been during the grant-writing season for professors; both he and Rebecca had stayed up well into the early morning preparing documents and trying to sound fancy on paper. Alan had always done those applications with a bit of malice, since he had been doing them ever since his first year in graduate school and he had never won.

  "Since Rebecca's won once, the committee always gives it to her again. It's that weird unfair system in academia where the people who get the most, keep getting the most. And I'm just here, losing sleep and sounding like a pompous twat. Believing myself to be an artist when I know I'm just a guy who would like some money."

  "Don't we all?" I said, but even joking around didn't seem to ease his annoyance. "What if you did something else, then?"

  "Like what? I have to apply—because if I don't, then I don't look serious and the university might…"

  "I know, I get that. But what if you find something to apply for where the prize isn't a grant, but something different?" I knew my suggestion was weak. I had no idea how to even manoeuvre around my own undergrad classes; graduate school seemed like a morass of red tape and labyrinths I didn't want to navigate.

  "I suppose. A million things get pitched around this time period, and most good ones are for money, so other ones offering different incentives get ignored. That's a good idea, actually, Craig." He rose from the couch where we were speaking, kissed me on the forehead. "I should never doubt you."

  And so, he had found Rome. A teaching contract overseas, and then some limited research money to look into old artefacts from the Byzantine Empire. It was right in Alan's area of specialization, and though he hadn't written his dissertation or written books on that specific era, he had done some stuff for popular magazines. He had worried that work wouldn't look "serious" enough on his application. But that's what the school had wanted; not prestige, but popularity. Popularity got students in seats and the university money. It all came down to money in the end.

  "Capitalism strikes again," Alan joked, with a hint of seriousness. "At least it's relevant, since the modern banking system started in Rome. I would expect nothing else."

  When Alan's contract was approved and his plane tickets bought—by the school, all expenses paid, plus stipends—Sybil and I made him dinner. I had been so focused on making him happy, easing him into the start of the semester and making him coffee through the late nights, that I couldn't even think past the next week. I didn't even consider what would happen if he actually did win the position he applied for. I didn't want to consider the fact that he would be gone for an entire semester and everything would change. For the better, of course, because this trip meant he was probably going to get tenure at OCAD and that was so unbelievably huge for his career and his dreams.

  During that dinner, Sybil announced she was starting graduate school, too. "It was sudden. I thought I didn't get in," she said. "But they just wanted to shift the program start date around, and since I was doing the volunteer work at the crisis centre, it just worked out."

  "When do you start?" Alan asked.

  She said the date, and I realized it was the morning after he left.

  "I'll be in Rome," he confirmed. His smile was so wide, so big, that I couldn't be unhappy. I just couldn't. I had learned a word from early on when we all started dating and Sybil had brought home a battered copy of The Ethical Slut from the LGBT resource centre. Compersion, she had told me, was the opposite of envy. You didn't long for the other's happiness, but instead you were happy for theirs. It was the sharing of joy—not the stealing of it. At that dinner, I was so happy for both Alan and Sybil and so proud of everything they had done in their lives.

  "And Rebecca emailed me," Alan went on, pouring more wine into all of our glasses. "She said that her proposal got past the first stage in the grant process. That's a really good sign. She'll probably get it. And for once, I'm not mad."

  Sybil narrowed her eyes at him playfully, but smiled. "All of that sounds fantastic. Right, Craig?"

  She turned to me and I suddenly felt the weight of Alan's gaze, too. "Oh, yeah. Perfect. I'm so happy for you two."

  "I think it deserves some cheers, right?" Alan asked.

  "Right," Sybil agreed, holding her glass in the air. I lifted mine, but my wrist felt heavy. The food we had laid half-finished before us. I looked down at my lap for a moment, pulling up a calendar on my phone with one hand. Three weeks. Just another three weeks before Alan was gone, and Sybil was busy. I'd be alone for the first time in months. My phone suddenly seemed too small, and like I didn't need it anymore.

  "I would like to say that first of all, I could not have done any of this without you, Craig," Alan stated. He was standing, and I felt myself fumble to my feet so I could meet him eye to eye. Sybil stood to my left at her seat at Alan's small kitchen table. "If you hadn't been there to nudge me forward, I would have been trapped in this weird cycle of grant-writing and then drinking away my sorrows with a bottle of wine. And showing up to class in my tight pants again."

  Sybil laughed. "To you, Craig, too."

  "What did I do?"

  "You've been good enough to listen to me talk and buy me lattes to keep me going."

  My face flushed. I had done so much for both of them, and I almost resented it. I tried to keep my face strong and smile. They both looked at me with expectant eyes, holding their wine glasses.

  "I… I don't know what to say."

  "Anything will do. It's a cheers, after all," Sybil said.

  "Well, I love you both…" I took a deep breath and said the only other thing I knew for sure. "But I am terrified of change."

  I expected an unearthly quiet afterwards, but to my surprise, Alan had lifted up his glass. "Of course; we all are. Cheers to that, then."

  "To fear," Sybil announced and then laughed wickedly. For once, I felt as if I was on the outside of their conversation, instead of being the mediator between them. I watched as their eyes caught one another, and then Alan turned to me.

  "I'm terrified of leaving, because distance like that will always change people. That's the whole purpose of travel. And a winter in Rome—in a city that's called Caput Mundi—well, yeah. It will change the world as I see things. But that's kind of the point. That's why I'm going."

  "I'll still love you," I told him.

  "Of course," he said. "That is how it always will be."

  Sybil nodded, and while I knew that there would be no cutting of strings—not at all—I still didn't know how our knot of relations would look at the end of this. I wanted to know, I needed to, but the way their eyes found one another and seemed to sense the other's fear, I didn't want to push it. I would have three weeks with them, and then I'd have to wait a winter.

  If I had gotten this far in life without them, then I could live a little longer.

  *~*~*

  I supposed that fear was what kept me texting Alan the first few weeks he was gone. We had agreed to email, since it was cheaper, but my phone became a heavy weight. I wanted to keep in contact with him, I wanted to know where he was—not because I was jealous, but because my chest felt tighter and tighter the farther he got.

  I'm not with anyone here, he wrote me back late one night after I had sent probably far too many texts than was healthy—or responsible financially. I'm not meeting up with boys in bars and getting to know the Roman Gods here.

  You could be, if you wanted to. I would understand.

  I know. We've talked about this. You are my rock, Craig, but I will tell you if there is anyone else.

  Could there be? Y
ou don't have to always have me, you know.

  There was a long, long wait between the messages. I wondered if I had ruined something, or insinuated anything else. In the years we had been together now, Alan had only been with me. I had only been with him and Sybil. And Sybil would sometimes talk about going out on dates with people, but she would soon grow frustrated and hang out with me instead. Alan had always said that he had everyone he wanted. I had accepted it, but words on a screen made me doubt myself and the foundation I stood on.

  I think we have had this discussion too much to take it up on text messages, he wrote back after a while. But I will email you tonight after my class, okay?

  That night, Alan sent something long and meandering like he normally gave me. At first it had just been a rehash of what he had learned that day, but at the bottom, he had come back to his initial topic: I love you with all of my heart. I am here, you are there with Sybil. There is no one else I want because everyone I want is there, in Toronto. But you have to trust me to speak up when the time is right, even if the time never comes, okay? Like I trusted you with Sybil.

  I had felt like a chastised child then, centering our entire world around me, but I knew he was right. Even if Rome was filled with a million different people, it was not my job to wonder about each of them. I found him on Facebook messenger, the green light on, and messaged him there instead.

  I know, I'm sorry. But when you come back… I wrote, pausing between my words and hitting Enter.

  I'll give you stories, he finished for me.

  All I could want.

  The next day, over coffee at the café, Sybil had given me a drink on the house and I told her about the whole thing.

  "That's what he said?" she asked. "That everyone he wants is here in Toronto?"

  I nodded, sipping too quickly and getting foam on my nose. She smirked and shook her head, passing me a napkin. "I think I love you too much for my own good sometimes."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I sometimes think I'm so in love with you, that I am you."

  "What do you mean?" I repeated.