by Radclyffe
“Noodles, spaghetti sauce equals pasta,” I listed to myself out loud.
I didn’t even notice someone already sitting in front of me until I heard the sneeze.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the man said.
As I looked at him, I was stunned by his honey-colored eyes—so stunned I began to stare. A few seconds ticked by before I came back to my senses.
“Sorry. No, you didn’t bother me,” I said, clearing my throat to seem less embarrassed at being caught ogling.
I quickly put away my pencils and pad while gesturing to the seat he now occupied. “How long have you been there?”
“Just after ‘sauce,’” he said with a sly grin on his face.
I immediately averted my gaze out the window. Then I noticed his reflection looking at me with a generous smile. As I turned back to him, the smile took on a tinge of curiosity, as though he was trying to fit together the puzzle that was the stranger before him.
“My name’s Zack.” He extended his right hand.
“Ethan.” I took his hand in my own and received the firmest handshake I’d ever experienced.
As soon as I touched his hand my whole body grew warm, the heat starting at my fingers and radiating throughout my limbs. The handshake lasted longer than usual, but maybe that was just my wishful thinking. After we exchanged names we rode on in silence. Not awkward silence—the kind of silence that falls between two people who have known each other for so long that words are not even needed. Just stolen glances and smiles were enough. It’s pretty unusual. I usually only experienced something like it with people I’d known for years.
The train began to slow as it pulled up to a station with a Wild West theme to it, from the wooden frame to the rusted benches right by the entrance. It even came with its own fake tumbleweeds scattered about. As I looked around, a sign on the side of the building caught my eye—like the neon signs of Las Vegas but less flashy. Follow Your Passion. If only it were that easy.
I noticed the shuffling, strapping, and zipping of Zack packing up. Our eyes met, and in his there was a shadow of almost sadness or disappointment. But it quickly faded.
“Well, this is my stop. I’ll see you later.”
His tone went up as if it were a question. I don’t know if I even had an answer, but I nodded anyway. At that moment I realized I really wanted to see him again, this stranger I’d just met no more than half an hour ago. I watched him go. After he stepped onto the platform he turned back and looked up at me through the window with a smile on his face. I couldn’t look away, and neither did he—not until the train started up again. He slowly grew smaller until it felt like he had never even existed.
The rest of the day went by in a blur, a series of automatic movements at work like a robot. My body was doing the work while my mind was off somewhere else, filled with thoughts about what Zack could be doing. I bet he’s doing laundry right now. No, maybe working construction—even better, a doctor filling out charts and checking them twice. Soon each fantasy turned into something a little bit naughtier then the first. In one I pictured us just sitting on the beach holding hands, and him feeding me strawberries. That scene quickly turned into a heated make-out session on my couch. Soon the image of him began to invade my work. His name would just appear randomly in the sentences I wrote, forcing me to reread, highlight, and then delete. I eventually just decided that I was done for the day.
I practically ran to the station, hoping I would get lucky and catch him on my way home. I took the exact same seat as before. This time I kept everything packed, freeing up the space so it was open for him. I just sat waiting. Waiting and smiling, like I had some secret. But as the train made its routine starts and stops, my smile gradually faded. The sun began to set, and with it, my hopes. Maybe I would see him tomorrow. But even as I thought that, I knew I didn’t believe it.
*
The next day was my day off, but I needed to run some errands and managed to convince myself that I simply had to take the train. I sat on a bench to wait next to a scruffy-looking man. He was in an awfully cheery mood, even humming to himself. Abruptly he turned to me.
“Today’s the day.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, the train appeared and I lost him in the tide of people surging to get on. Meeting Zack yesterday had been a nice departure from my normal everyday routine, and I decided to try to keep that feeling alive by not sitting in my usual spot. Maybe it was time for something new—to see what else I’d been missing out on by doing the same things like clockwork. So I went to another compartment. This compartment was filled with people. With more passengers I felt better, more alive. I began to put my bag in the seat next to me so they would think it taken. But as I was picking it up off the floor, a shadow engulfed me.
“Is this seat free?”
I didn’t even have to look up to tell it was him, and I quickly placed my bag back on the floor. Zack plopped down as if the seat had his name on it.
“You weren’t in our usual spot, so I went looking,” he said with his charming smile.
The mere thought that this demigod was looking for me on purpose gave my body chills. Unlike yesterday’s silence, this ride was filled with conversation. We were thirsty for information about each other. He told me he was an only child and seemed impressed that I came from a family of five. He worked as a freelance artist and seemed happy when I told him I was a writer. He even swore that when he was young he survived on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for a whole year. That I couldn’t believe. Who likes peanut butter?
That’s how it went for the duration of the ride—us playing trivia Ping-Pong with each other. After a while I felt like he knew me better than some of my closest friends. The train came up to his stop, but he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.
“Do you trust me?” Zack whispered with a mischievous grin and a look of steely confidence.
The warnings I’d heard growing up about going somewhere with a stranger were no competition for my instincts. I nodded, and just like that he was guiding me off the train. Our linked hands made me clumsy, and I swear I bumped every person or thing while trying to make my way out. We finally made it. We breathed fresh, crisp morning air that carried a chilly sting. Our eyes squinted to adjust to the sun.
“You ready?”
I was. We started walking, and it didn’t take long for the city to meet us. It was just a small city—stores and apartment buildings separated here and there by a cluster of skyscrapers and a ring of suburbs on the outer rim. Zack, with his sure, even strides, became my tour guide and playfully acted as if I’d never been to the city before. Keeping up the charade, I gasped, oohed, and aahed. It was nice to see the city through someone else’s eyes. Even though I’d been many times before, with him everything seemed so new and foreign. He wanted to point out the great places to dine, shop, and enjoy. But first we had to find something that was supposed to be better than all of that.
“This is it.” Zack bobbed and weaved through traffic like a quarterback dodging defenders.
We made it safe and sound to the next corner filled with small vendors, each with their own cart of foods. He stopped in front of a cute little cart with a blue and yellow beach umbrella attached to it. Its specialty was pretzels. Zack high-fived the stocky man who ran it, and without even exchanging as much as a word, the man handed over two huge almond pretzels. They tasted even better than the ones at Auntie Anne’s at my local mall. We settled in on the curb nearby and I devoured mine in two seconds. I couldn’t help myself. Almond pretzels were my one true weakness, just like his was peanut butter and jelly. I guess he was paying more attention to what I said on the train than I’d thought.
With more than half of his pretzel to go, I just waited. I watched the variety of people that came by, from businesspeople in their suits and ties to the common people in their sneakers and jeans. I couldn’t believe the day I was having thus far, so strange yet exciting. I was actually surprised at myself. I’d a
lways thought of myself as a “stick to the rules” kind of guy. I plan and plan. But with Zack, I felt free to try things I wouldn’t normally do. He made me feel more confident in myself. I couldn’t believe that being with someone I just met could be so easy.
Zack leaned in close so I could hear him and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“This is crazy, right? Are you not feeling a little strange? Do you just normally pick up strangers and whisk them off for an adventure?”
He just looked at me and shrugged, and with that we were off—up from the curb and into the heart of it all. In the beginning it struck me as odd that he could be so nonchalant about this, but another part in me was refreshed by the fact that he didn’t think too deeply into things. He lived in the moment.
We window-shopped until we reached this small boutique called Che’s Place. It was a store filled with an eclectic mix of clothing, from vintage to couture. I really wasn’t looking but something sort of found me. It was a classic black leather jacket. I’d never owned one but had always coveted it. Zack noticed me openly gawking as he pulled it off the rack. He spun me around, and like a professional thief with nimble hands, got it on me in one motion. He then spun me back around to face a mirror that was off to my right. He admired his handiwork, patting himself on the back. I looked at myself—really looked at myself—and I liked it. Not just how the jacket fit me like a glove, but everything. Me in my simple gray cotton V-neck tee and black jeans tucked into my boots. Zack in his tank, All-Star Converse, and worn-in jeans that displayed skin through rips up the front. I liked how he made me feel special. I hadn’t felt that way in forever.
After paying, we moved on. The jacket didn’t come off once he’d put it on me. After finding the jacket, the rest of our day passed in a blur. There were just so many stores, so little time. I wasn’t really even looking to buy anything else—I already had enough. With my new jacket and Zack by my side I felt like a whole new Ethan. Zack’s Ethan. An Ethan who could do what he wanted and say what he liked. It just felt right.
Before I knew it, the sun was beginning to set. Zack guided me up a few blocks to an In-N-Out on the corner. You could already smell the trademark burgers and fries a few yards away from the building. My stomach was growling with excitement. Who would have thought that shopping would get me that hungry? Like a gentlemen, he propped open the door for me.
“For you, my prince,” Zack said with a smile.
“Thank you, my kind sir.” I laughed as I passed him through the threshold.
When we had our food in hand we sat by the windows so we could watch the sun set. The sunset in the city is different. The fire-lit sky becomes the backdrop for the many skyscrapers. It warmed our skin and set us aglow. I looked into his eyes. By the light of the setting sun, they seemed awash in a rainbow of colors.
We didn’t really talk; we just enjoyed each other’s company. In sync with each other, our constant chewing and breathing created a sort of playlist. In that moment, I realized I never wanted the day to end.
Zack was the first one to break the silence. “You ready for the finale?”
I didn’t even hesitate. I just nodded. By this point, he had to know I’d follow him anywhere.
As we exited, night was already upon us. The city had changed. It was more alive—thrumming with a new, more laid-back energy than before. As we took our first steps, we become a part of it. Zack hailed a cab quickly.
The surprise turned out to be Exotic, a nightclub I had only heard about in whispers from friends jealous they weren’t able to get in. Even from outside, we felt the throb of the bass. As we waited in line we became fast friends with a small group ahead of us. That was something else I liked about Zack. Wherever we went he fit in, blending seamlessly with whatever type the crowd was.
The club, with its strobe lights, glitz, and glam, seemed like another dimension—so unlike the one we’d left behind at the double doors. The atmosphere was surreal, allowing the best (or worst) of each dancer to rise to the surface. Immediately, our new friends hit the bar. They ordered drinks with names you might think were jokes: Blackout Beaches, Fuzzy Nipples, Bahama Mamas. Zack and I passed the outstretched cups and bottles from hand to hand in the pack. Once they got their liquid courage we migrated to the dance floor. The music connected to a primal level in all of us. We moved and swayed, thrust and tapped. Throughout it all I felt at ease, finally a part of some bigger picture or plan. As I came back from my thoughts, Zack was before me—so close I could feel his body heat mingle with mine. My eyes traveled up his long torso to his broad shoulders before stopping on his face. It was as if the world slowed when we locked eyes. The music became stretched and warped like taffy. He moved even closer until we were chest to chest, and then he wrapped his arms around me. My arms instantly twined around his neck. He leaned his head down, slow and steady. My mind raced. Was he going to kiss me? Why was I nervous? Was my breath fresh?
All those thoughts ceased to exist as our lips touched. After a few sweet pecks he turned up the heat. His kisses become more forceful and passionate, and he even nipped at my bottom lip. What seemed like forever passed before he eventually pulled away. I slowly grazed my fingers across my lips in disbelief. The kiss was better than my fantasies. It left butterflies in my stomach and a longing for more.
He checked his watch and gave me the sign that it was time to leave. We said our good-byes to our new friends and headed for the door. I knew I’d never forget how the strobe lights revealed little glittered particles in the air. Even now, if I concentrate, I can still remember the smell of sweat and perfume that was the club itself, and how the music became a whisper as my mind focused elsewhere. Since the kiss, Zack hadn’t let go of my hand. Fingers intertwined, we made it outside. The cold air slapped us hello.
We climbed into another taxi and began to backtrack. From the window I could see the places we’d visited that day. The now-dark In-N-Out sign, the now-deserted Che’s Place. We ended up right where the pretzel stand had stood, marking the beginning of our adventure. Still hand in hand, we walked the rest of the way, both smiling uncontrollably like love-struck teens as we occasionally pushed and shoved each other playfully.
The city slowly started to dissolve and the train station finally became visible. The sun began to wake from its slumber. We waited on a bench for the train, wrapped around each other to stay that much warmer. We boarded the train, our usual seats now. As I began to come down from the high of the adventure, my head bobbed this way and that, trying to fight the good fight against sleep. Finally, it lost. Before my eyes shut, I saw the now-familiar sign: Follow Your Passion. It seemed that mine had found me. I didn’t know where this journey would take me, but I hoped it would never end.
I hope it’s a round trip.
Butch Fatale
Kirsty Logan
Tuesday night at the Sleazy Queen, three beers down, and Bex and I are sucking on a fourth and laughing at the hot femmey bitches: They’ve got the high heels, wet lips, shaved legs, soft tanned glitter-speckled skin; and Bex and I laugh louder so they’ll look over. I hope they will, so that they notice the band badges on my jacket, so carefully selected to be the perfect mix of punk trendy queercore indie, including a band I don’t really like but I know femmes like them and that’s a good conversation starter.
Bex has her hair waxed, her quiff leaning off to the left, and Beware of Clit Rings she’s writing on the bar. I know she’s only writing that because her high-school ex had one and she’s hoping the ex is here, hoping she’ll see the graffiti, but mostly hoping that the ex will see her with a femme on each arm, and the thought will be in her head that Bex will fuck them both later, two dildoes on two thigh harnesses and four tits in her face and screams of joy shaking the windows in their frames and oh Christ I need to get laid.
“Bex,” I say. “We need to get out of here.”
“Mmm,” says Bex, still scratching at the bar. I want to tell her to stop because any minute now the stoned-eyed bar
man is going to notice and kick us out, and that would suck because this is where the best-looking femmes hang out.
“We’re just fucking around here. These girls will never go home with us.”
Bex looks up from her artwork. “I don’t want them to come home with me. Just to the ladies’ loos.”
“Jesus, Bex. That’s so fucking depressing.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you were in a cubicle with your hand up her skirt.” She nods at one of the femmes—dark hair, red lips, like the Bettie Page of dykes—and I have to concur. Maybe the goal for tonight should be the ladies’ loos.
“Or,” I say, not sure why I’m still flogging this dead horse, “we could go home, drink some beers, put on The Crash Pad, and fall asleep to the sweet sounds of lady-loving.”
“Or,” Bex goes back to her graffiti, “we could get some of our own lady-loving. Now shut up and drink up, or laugh uncontrollably so those girls come over to see what’s so funny.”
I go for the former, and down my beer.
*
Three hours later the bar closes, and I leave. Alone. Except I’m not alone, because Bex is alone too.
“Well, that could have been worse.” Bex leans on the rain-darkened wall outside the bar. I watch the couples all leaving, hand in hand or leaning heavily on one another’s shoulders. High heels click on the pavement.
Bex pulls on a beanie hat to keep the spittle of rain off her quiff. She’s wearing a plaid shirt over a black T-shirt, skinny jeans, and Converse with holes gaping at the heels. Although I haven’t looked, I know she is wearing boys’ boxers and no bra. She looks like a teenage boy. Then she speaks and you realize she’s a teenage girl. Then you get up close and see the crisscross of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, the tension in her jaw, and she’s only twenty-one but sometimes she looks a hundred years old.