Blank Space

by Francis Gideon

  At the front of the parlour, Curtis gave Ernie his payment and said goodbyes. When they stepped out of the tattoo place, Curtis half-expected it to be night or for the world to look completely different. But it was still April and still the afternoon. There were some gray clouds gathered in the sky, but rain hadn't fallen yet. Everything, in spite of what Curtis felt inside and what was now on his skin, was still the same.

  "Where to? Starbucks or...?"

  "There's a small, independent place around the corner," Curtis suggested. "Maybe there?"

  "Sure, wherever you want."

  They settled into a corner booth at the coffee place with a giant picture of the moon painted behind them and big mugs of coffee in their hands. Curtis watched as Adrian unloaded a bunch of sugar packs into his before he took a sip. Curtis had his coffee black, hoping again to stretch out the feeling of electricity under his skin with pure caffeine alone.

  "So how long does the feeling last?" Adrian asked. "The endorphins?"

  "For a while. Especially since this is a big piece, mostly ink, and it means the wound is bigger."

  Adrian flinched at the word 'wound.' "It sounds so much rougher—almost barbaric— when you put it that way."

  "Yeah. But that's what it is. It's a cut, a deliberate scar made in the skin with colour."

  "Huh." Adrian took a sip. "Maybe it is like your own private Fight Club."

  "And the first rule is we can't talk about it."

  "Can't talk about much, though, if we're being serious."

  Curtis took a long, extended sip of his coffee. He couldn't decipher Adrian's tone, but something was gone. Or maybe you feel a little brighter, Curtis reminded himself, and that means that everyone else takes on a more serious expression by comparison. Curtis tried to move beyond the tattoo to talk about something else, when he remembered the elephant in the room.

  "How's Simone?"

  "She's... fine. Really. Just a lot of morning sickness. The first trimester is always hard."

  "Do you need to go back?"

  Adrian shook his head. "She's stubborn. She'd kick me out if she thought I was babying her. I can stay as long as you want, Curtis."

  "Well, there's dinner. I think D expects me home by then."

  Adrian nodded, seemingly disappointed. Curtis almost wanted to ask if Adrian was going to go out tonight—out to bars, to fuck random men—but that was harder to speak about than Simone being pregnant. He shifted in his seat, felt the sting of the tattoo, and suddenly became aware of the time. Three hours out of their afternoon. And for what? A little pain, a little high, but it wasn't anything that lasted. The ink stayed, but it would only be so long before Curtis wanted more. He remembered Adrian's words: I think I'm more afraid of starting. Because I don't think I'll be able to stop. Curtis's sudden good mood came crashing down.

  "Is this what getting old feels like?" Curtis asked, his breath shaky. Adrian furrowed his brows, so Curtis expanded. "I feel like I've wasted the afternoon doing something foolish."

  "The tattoo? It wasn't foolish, Curtis. If you don't do something fun at least once every six months, when can you?"

  "I know, I know. It's just... being around Ernie sometimes makes me think back to when I was younger. And things were so, so different then."

  Adrian made a small noise of comprehension, but his eyes remained fixed on his coffee. Curtis felt like he couldn't control his tongue; his thoughts were coming in at warp speed, mixing with the endorphins and anxiety, stirring him up until he could swear he was in two different time periods at once. He was young, getting that first tattoo with Adrian, and then he was older again—thirty-six and grasping at straws.

  "Sometimes I feel like I'm in my twenties again, but it's more than a memory. Do you ever get that?"

  "Explain more," Adrian said evenly.

  "Like..." Curtis looked around the cafe, saw the students busking tables, and felt the same quivering sensation in his bones. "Sometimes I remember being young in such vivid terms. I hear a song, and I remember where I was when I heard it. I walk on the same street and get a feeling of déjà vu—except it's not quite like that because déjà vu is when you don't know the source. I know the source. It feels like I'm twenty-five all over again. Everything comes to me in bold colours and capital letters. Then when it fades, and I remember who I am and where I am, I wonder if I'm ever really happy. If I've ever really been happy since I was twenty-five. I just wonder if ... if everything else is coping and what's leftover was that time period, when I was going to shows and hanging out with friends, getting tattoos, and being a dumb kid and I was actually happy. I worry that that was real happiness and what I have now is imitation. Do you... Am I making sense?"

  Curtis held his coffee mug so tight he was sure his knuckles were blindingly white. But Adrian wasn't really looking at him anymore. He was glancing into his own mug, nodding along.

  "I guess..." Curtis went on, unable to himself, "I sometimes wonder if I'm going to make it—but I have no real idea what that even means. What could I make it as? I never really had any tangible goals; I have a good job, I have a family that I love. And yet I feel like something is missing."

  "I understand. It's like there's a hollow space inside, almost?"

  "Yeah," Curtis said. He thought of Ernie and the sudden drawing on his leg. "A blank space. Yeah. You say things you don't mean and then wonder if you ever meant anything at all, ever."

  "Isn't that always the case? That's what a job is—that's what being a man is—you keep things bottled up so things run smoothly. If you do express feelings, its regimented, controlled."

  Curtis nodded. Even now, he didn't really know what he was saying. He was trying to talk about his feelings, but all the words were stilted or came back as an echo. He felt as if he was describing nothing—but that was precisely the point. That was precisely the problem. Talking about nothing was a Catch-22; as soon as you started to describe nothing it became something. It was like trying to argue your way out of something you couldn't even see the beginning or the ending of anymore. Curtis took a long drink on his coffee and then wished he had never opened his mouth. The silence passed between them, and while Adrian seemed to be deep in thought, Curtis didn't know what he was thinking. That alone tore him up inside.

  "Do you want to go?" Curtis asked. "I think the place is filling up."

  Adrian glanced around and drank the rest of his coffee. Without saying another word, he and Adrian left the coffee house, but stood outside as if they didn't know what direction to turn. Curtis suddenly noticed the puddles on the ground; it had rained in the twenty minutes they had disappeared into the café, but Curtis couldn't remember it happening.

  When Adrian turned to the right, and started to walk down the main street, Curtis followed. Their car was in a parking garage the other way. Curtis took this turn as a good sign; Adrian still wanted to hang out, even if they just walked around.

  "You know," Adrian finally spoke. "I didn't think I'd make it past thirty-five."

  "You didn't?"

  "Nah." Adrian shrugged. They stopped at a crosswalk and he tapped his foot into a puddle. When Adrian raised his eyes from the ground, he caught Curtis's glare with a sigh. "Don't give me that look. It's not as if I wanted to kill myself or anything."

  "What did you want, then?"

  "That's the problem—I didn't know what I wanted, so how could I get past thirty-five? You know what it's like, more or less. There's no future for us."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Being gay. Bi, whatever. There was no future being with a guy. We weren't the generation of AIDs, not really, but we remember it, you know? There was never a time without it for us. It's shaped the way people see us; they think we're diseased."

  "But that was so long ago."

  "I know. But it creeps in within us knowing. And..." Adrian looked around and sighed. "I just never saw myself getting past thirty-five because I never saw people like me getting past thirty-five."

  "So what changed?"r />
  "I met Simone. I know it's so fucking corny, but that woman saved my life. I owe absolutely everything to her, including my ridiculous one night trysts."

  Curtis shifted. He didn't know what to say to that new information. Those dates were trysts? He wasn't having fun? Why bother, then, if Adrian wasn't getting what he wanted?

  "I know what you mean, I think," Curtis said after they had crossed the road. "About Simone, at least. Darcy didn't save me in the same way. But... I knew I wouldn't be happy until I found her."

  "You got part of her tattooed on you for a reason, Curtis. I get that."

  Curtis felt the sting of his new tattoo again. Adrian was right—that was the main reason he was getting Darcy on his leg; they were written in the stars, destiny, but he also got her tattooed because he was just damn scared. He wanted to remember her, he needed to remember that she was there, in the sky, and he had chosen her for a reason. Everything Curtis described with Darcy, though, felt so pedestrian when compared to Adrian's woes. The fear of death, the destruction, and the no future. Curtis knew these issues, even if he didn't feel it in his bones the way Adrian did. Curtis knew he could live past thirty-five; he just never thought he could have a family with a guy.

  "I remember turning thirty-five," Adrian said.

  "You do?"

  "Yes. I was on Simone's laptop and her Facebook notice came up—Adrian Hart's birthday is today!! And it hit me, seeing it laid out in front of me, just how old I was. How I had made it. I was so grateful to be there, but then I looked around my living room and I saw the tiny girl shoes, the toys she had left out. I saw Simone's half-finished art leaning against the wall. I was happy—don't ever get me wrong on that—" Adrian said, his tone almost angry. Curtis nodded along, understanding. "I was happy, but things were different. This just wasn't how I saw my future. It wasn't what I thought I had wanted. And I didn't know if it that was good or bad. If I was more mature for evolving, or if I had left a piece of myself behind that I was never allowed to look at again."

  Curtis waited for Adrian to finish, to tell him what the final answer really was. But instead, Adrian added, "I messaged you a few days later, you know. To hang out."

  Curtis tilted his head, surprised by the response. He couldn't really remember who had started the conversation on Facebook, who had added who, and what happened from there. But now he remembered the first—hey, there's this show at this bar and my friend is playing, do you want to hang out? message—and he remembered being thrilled. They had gone out, and everything had fallen back into place like they were in university again. Just a few years later.

  Curtis observed Adrian now. Two years had passed since that reunion and he understood what Adrian meant. Their lives had gone in completely different directions. They were happy—of course they were—but they were also curious about what had been left over.

  "What if, what if, what if?" Adrian said, mocking sing-song in his voice. "I was so nervous to talk to you again because I kept thinking what if."

  "I'm glad you did."

  "I'm really glad too."

  It was a nice sentiment, but Curtis still sighed and felt the sudden smarting on his thigh. They couldn't do much with sentiment at all. Especially now that another clock was ticking and they'd have to go back to scraping by hours to find time to be together.

  "But hey," Adrian added, "I'm excited about the kid. I really, really am. Simone is a fantastic mother."

  "And you're a good dad."

  Adrian laughed a little, but nodded. "Sure. You are too, Curtis. I'm sorry if I've been a bummer today."

  "I don't mind. I've been kind of a bummer, too."

  "I think it just hit me how much our lives are going to change yet again in the next few months. I'm happy. I want the change... but I get that feeling you described back there a lot. I wonder how I can reproduce that good feeling I had a long time ago, and I wonder if it was ever real."

  It was real, Curtis thought. It was so real, because I remember it with you. Curtis could still recall their first meeting after all these years. The show they had gone to was okay—a generic sounding band that the Toronto Edge Radio station had talked up a lot—but it had been the interaction with Adrian that made Curtis's life pop back into full colour again. The music, the tattoos, everything else that had been there was a minor background element. They allowed the feeling to extend again; they acted as the totem items to bring the world back into focus. But it had been Adrian, it had always been Adrian, who made that world and happiness real to him.

  "We have nine months, then," Curtis said suddenly. "Nine months to feel like we're in our twenties for a little while longer. We can go to more shows—hell, I may even get more tattoos. And you... you can keep going out. Maybe I'll come with you some time." Curtis laughed, knowing that Darcy would probably not allow that at all. "To a gay bar, I mean. I can come with you—maybe we can find a queercore band rip off, or a Buzzcocks cover band, and I can just go for the show. You can have your fun, but I'll go home at the end of the night..."

  "Yeah, maybe." Adrian turned around suddenly, no longer heading towards the opposite direction. Now, with Curtis on his tail, they were heading back towards the car in the parking garage. Curtis wanted to keep their conversation going, but he knew there was only so much time. He was getting hungry now from the coffee on an empty stomach, and Darcy would be waiting.

  The clouds gathered high in the sky again. Curtis heard the slow rumble of thunder and bit his lip as he felt a sudden drop of fat rain on his nose. It wasn't going to downpour, not yet, and they were almost at the car, anyway. Adrian's gait seemed stilted as Curtis caught up beside him.

  "We could, Curtis."

  "Could what? Go to the bar?"

  "We could go to the bar, yeah. Or we could do it."

  "What?"

  "I'd do it. You know." Adrian shrugged like it was nothing. They came to a red light and Adrian repeated, "I'd do it."

  Curtis took in a sharp breath. He couldn't let his mind consider what Adrian was saying because he knew he'd say yes. He'd consider cheating on his wife, messing up his family, and he would not be that guy. He would not be that person. Look, but don't touch. Look, but don't touch. He said the words in his mind like the thunder, like the buzz of a tattoo needle. He felt his raw patch of skin through the gauze and knew he couldn't dignify Adrian's question with a response of anything other than silence.

  The light changed and they crossed the road. They walked quietly, and Curtis hoped, he prayed, that Adrian wouldn't ask again. That he'd realize that Curtis's lack of a response was all he could give at that moment. After a while of silence, Curtis wondered if the whisper had been real—if the suggestion had even been real. But as he glanced over to see Adrian, he saw his face fall. The question had been real, and Curtis rejected it without the dignity of a response. He hoped Adrian could understand that this was the only response possible. Anything else would have made him into a bad guy and he couldn't do that. Adrian had permission from Simone, their relationship was fine, and they'd work it out. But Darcy—she was his and he couldn't do that to her. Even if she'd never find out, Curtis would know. She didn't deserve that—and he didn't deserve to be married to her if he did that.

  Curtis could only stare straight ahead as he walked. He saw the parking garage now and felt the safety and security of its walls. Adrian arrived first, opening the door for them both, and then heading up the stairs. Curtis stayed close behind him, his guilt blooming the longer silence spread between them. He wanted to hold Adrian so badly. He needed to feel him close to him again.

  "Hey. Let's go to a hardcore show."

  Adrian's gaze met Curtis's as they reached the top of the stairs. "A hardcore show?"

  "Yeah." Curtis nodded. "Not a stadium concert, not a cover band. Those are nice, but they're not like what we used to do. Let's go for the old days, you know? That always makes me feel better."

  Adrian seemed to understand Curtis's implication between the lines. Hardcore shows mean
t thrashing, meant skin to skin. It meant touch they could get away with, a touch they didn't have to talk about later on. Not a rejection anymore, but a new opportunity.

  "Okay," he said, smiling again. "Sounds like a plan."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adrian sat at his desk, trying to find the right amount of light for his office. It was always hard in spring being on the west side. The sun would start to set, and from then on during the evening hours when he'd try to get something done, he'd be blind. It was even harder to concentrate now that his office was half in boxes. He gave up working on notarizing a document in a couple minutes and moved over to his shelf to pack up a few more items. He had just reached his old law textbooks when he heard Simone's shoes against the hardwood floor. She rarely walked up to the highest floor in their Shank Street townhouse, so he relished her presence.

  "Hey you," he called when he saw her pass by. "Heading out to the roof to sunbathe?"

  She laughed, light and throaty. "Do I look like I'm sunbathing?"

  "I don't know." Adrian eyed her red business suit, the button undone on her blazer, and her hair already tied back. "It's been getting pretty sunny, and you could always use a break to put your feet up and relax."

  "Hah, I wish. I should take advantage of the roof, though. Especially since we won't be here very much longer, right?"

  "Right. So you should go."

  Simone reached into her briefcase by her side. "Maybe I will later. But first, I have listings for you to look over."

  "Sure." Adrian turned around and went to clear off his desk. Simone stepped inside, glanced around at his half-packed boxes, and seemed pleased. She placed the folders down on his desk—there were at least ten of them, Simone was nothing if not thorough—and Adrian sat back in his chair. He held his hand over his forehead, blocking out some of the sun.

  "Where's Kay?"

  "With my mom for the evening. She knew I was feeling crummy, so she took her for the night. Maybe even all night, if you're okay with it. We could use the time to pack. Or sunbathe."