Blank Space

by Francis Gideon

  Adrian grinned, though he had now closed his eyes against the sun. "That's good. About your mom, I mean. Tell her I say thanks. I'm sorry you're feeling bad."

  Adrian heard Simone shrug. "Comes with the territory."

  Adrian opened his eyes, just to peek at her. In the light from the evening sun, Simone really did look as if she was glowing. He wondered what she'd look like on the roof, with her belly a little bigger, sunbathing until it became moonlight. If they had calculated everything correctly, and the doctor was correct, their baby would be born in early December. A nice, cool month. Adrian glanced down at the listings on his desk, and wondered how long they could stretch out their life in this first house before moving on.

  "So, if you're good with Kay staying the night at my mom's, I may ask her to take her for longer." Simone crossed her arms over her chest, then hissed as if her breasts were sensitive. "We have the doctors tomorrow in the afternoon, and it makes sense for her to stay in Mississauga. But what if she stayed over the whole weekend? Would that be okay with you?"

  "Mmhmm."

  "Maybe you and I can have dinner after the doctors tomorrow?"

  "Mmhmm."

  "And talk about moving again? Beyond the packing. Maybe we could actually pick a listing this weekend?"

  "Mmhmm."

  "Then I can run into the river? Take off all my clothes?"

  "Hmm. Wait." Adrian put down the four-bedroom house with three and a half bath he had been gawking at. "What did you say?"

  "Good," Simone said with a wide smile. "You are listening, then. I was worried you'd say yes to anything."

  "Sorry, sorry. I am... I just. It's been a long day. And there's a lot going on right now."

  "For me and for you," she reminded him.

  "I know. I wasn't trying to upstage you or anything."

  "Hey," she said, taking a step closer. "Neither was I. I know things are hard on the two of us right now—me being sick every hour really doesn't help—which is why my mom stepped in. She's thrilled she's getting another grandkid, so she'll pretty much do anything we ask right now."

  Adrian nodded, his mind still elsewhere. Simone slipped her hand around his shoulder, sliding up next to him at his desk. When she tilted his chin up, he looked into her eyes and felt his heart swoon. Simone was perfect. He slid his hand around to caress her belly; there wasn't much there—the kid wasn't really a kid yet, just barely the size of a pea—but he liked to hold Simone there. He liked having kids. He had never thought he would, but he did. He moved from her belly to her breasts, caressing his fingers over her nipples gently. The actions weren't a come on, but a way to be closer to her.

  "Am I hurting you at all? You seem more sensitive here."

  "Eh, my breasts are fine. It's not the best but comes with the territory. You're definitely not hurting me. Are you okay, though?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Simone furrowed her brows and ran a finger along his lips. "You've been really quiet the past week. I know you've been working a lot, and we've been preoccupied with the baby and packing and looking for a house, but... is there something else?"

  Adrian shook his head. Ever since the tattoo with Curtis, Adrian had gone into his office more and more under the guise of working. He usually cranked up his iTunes playlist as he paced around and packed boxes, but more often than not he'd sit and look out the window, skipping all the tracks that reminded him of Curtis. He shouldn't feel bad about what had happened. It wasn't a rejection, he had figured, so much as it was a reinstatement of facts. Curtis was married to Darcy. He was off limits. Look, but don't touch. Adrian sighed again, just thinking of the clichéd words.

  "I'm fine. Really."

  "Okay. Do you want to go out at all? I wouldn't mind. I could sunbathe while you're out on the town!"

  "No, no," Adrian said with a laugh. "If you're going to sunbathe, I want to see."

  He wrapped his hands around her waist, then lower back as he pressed her close. She laughed into his ear, and he felt his heart swoon again. He hadn't gone out in a long time now, not since the first few men. As grateful as he was with their arrangement, he was still getting used to it. Simone had fallen into it easily, as if things had always been this way. Adrian knew her permission would continue so long as he was around for the big things: the move, doctor visits, the baby being born, and whatever other domestic duties. Since Simone's mother was so close in Mississauga, it was easier than ever to find time alone or together. Adrian could keep up dating in bars if he really wanted to. He just didn't know if he did anymore.

  "Well, I'll leave you to work, I guess," Simone said, stepping away. "I'm going to do laundry. Let me know as soon as you can about the listings, okay?"

  "Definitely."

  Adrian watched as Simone got to his doorway and gave him a wave before she slipped into the laundry area across from his office. Adrian touched the mouse on his computer, about to type in the three-bedroom house address into Google maps, when a Facebook alert caught his eye. Curtis's name, and a picture of his new tattoo as his profile picture, pulled Adrian in.

  Here's a hardcore show. Like the kind we used to go to. What do you think?

  Adrian clicked on the website for a band called Punching Mary (the name made him cringe slightly, but he wasn't surprised) and a small venue. It was a basement show, in the bottom of a warehouse. Very 1990s, except this placed advertised wifi. That alone made Adrian chuckle.

  Maybe, he wrote back. But I don't like the place. That's half the fun, you know? Give me a little while—I think I remember some of my old haunts.

  You're the expert, Curtis wrote back really quickly. His green online alert faded away and the phone icon came up instead. Gone from Facebook, but still close by. Adrian pushed aside the housing listings and tried to remember all the obscure and probably broken up bands he used to see. He followed a couple links from old pages he found in the WayBack archive, and finally landed on a dingy venue just outside of Kitchener. The place was called The Hive and looked really rugged from the photos on their website; when Adrian pulled them up in Google Earth, he was happy to see that there was still a crack in one of the windows and graffiti down the side of the building. He didn't really remember having gone to this place back in his youth, but that wasn't saying much. He had gone to a lot of clubs, a lot of house parties, a lot of warehouse shows. They all blended together with the amount of bodies pressed inside them, the smell of weed, and the hot aggression of sweat and anger. The Hive didn't seem any different.

  What about here? Adrian wrote, and was about to hit enter with a link, when he saw Simone pass by his door again.

  "You find something you like?" she asked, catching his eye. "I heard your excited keyboard smashing."

  Adrian smiled—the first genuine one in days. Simone stepped inside his office again gingerly.

  "Actually, I was looking up hardcore shows. Sorry, I got distracted."

  "No, no! It's okay. Can I see?"

  With a quick nod, Simone appeared by his desk again. He shifted so she could sit on his lap, and she did with a happy little noise. She scrolled through the venue's page, making snide comments about the lighting and the graffiti on the wall. But they were the type of snide comments Adrian liked. The divisive tone Simone took always made him smile, because she could laugh at the thing he love, while still supporting it.. She made the same type of remarks about her art classes in school and her artistic, weird 'circle of freaks' friends, but she also loved all of those things dearly.

  "So when are you going?" she said, after making fun of some of the bands. "I really think you should see Sandwich Fist. I think they're probably quality music."

  Adrian grinned and pinched her side. She batted at him.

  "Okay," she laughed lightly. "Now I'm definitely hoping you see Sandwich Fist."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're smiling again. And you need to do that more."

  Adrian nodded, his face suddenly serious. "I was... I was thinking of asking Curtis to co
me with me. He and I kind of miss the hardcore scene."

  "Oh." She paused. Eying him, she seemed to understand what wasn't spoken—and how that wasn't exactly part of their initial deal. She looked back at the screen and scrolled down to where the venue's address was listed.

  "I know it's in Kitchener," Adrian said. "I also think Sandwich Fist is playing in London—near Western University—too. But I don't have to see them per se. I just want to go to a show, you know? But the atmosphere has to be right. Toronto... is too slick now. I want to find the places I went to when I was younger."

  "I get it. I do. Are you sure you want to even consider London, though? It's like four, five hours from here."

  "We don't have to go there. Kitchener is much closer. Only two hours without traffic. And I'll make sure to go on a Saturday."

  "Okay, but, can you drive back afterwards?"

  "We won't drink," Adrian said. He knew Simone wasn't meddling, just worried. "We could stay at my parents' place?" Adrian laughed at his own idea. "Okay, forget I said that. I wanted to relive the best parts of my youth, not the horror stories. Maybe Curtis and I will go some place closer." He shifted back to the computer, looping his arms under her, and trying to find something maybe in Oakville or Burlington—maybe even Mississauga, though it would be weird to go to a show where Simone's mom lived.

  "No, no," she insisted, nudging his hand away from the keyboard. "Go where you want. Where your memories are. Part of the fun is getting away, right?"

  "Right."

  "So what if you got a room somewhere?"

  "Like a hotel?" Adrian asked. A hotel with Curtis? My God, that would be perfect. He knew the exact place, too. He pulled up the website with one hand still on Simone's belly and her hand over his. It was a small, older building from the 1880s with a jazz lounge, but he had stayed there once or twice before. It was utterly perfect; Adrian could already imagine showing Curtis around the city, taking him to his favourite hang outs when he was a kid. Adrian had actually done his first degree, his undergrad, in Waterloo. He had moved to Toronto for his graduate degree, where subsequently met Curtis. He often forgot that Curtis knew nothing of this world before they had met. Suddenly, Adrian couldn't wait to share it.

  "Is this what you want?" Simone asked. She squeezed her hand into his, her voice speaking the other connotations of the question. Adrian paused, his memories no longer guiding him. He met Simone's eyes and saw the sympathy and love there. When he nodded yes, she smiled crookedly.

  "Then go," she said. She kissed his forehead, her lingering against his skin. "We'll make it work."

  *~*~*

  A hotel? Curtis stared at his phone. He looked up around his office, seeing nothing but the calendar in front of him. Marked off for today read PRESENTATION in large letters. Curtis groaned at his desk; he didn't have time for this. He had checked his phone, hoping to see a positive song lyric or even something more about the show Adrian was supposed to organize now since he hadn't heard from him all weekend. But now, on Monday and at eleven in the morning, just before another huge presentation, Adrian had finally sent him a response.

  I know this is far away, the message read. But I really, really like this city—their scene was good back in the day—and I'd really like it if you'd humour me and come along. I can show you all the fun stuff I never got to before. I did my degree here, and my parents are here, but I definitely plan on ignoring them while I'm in town. Just music. But since it's far away, Simone thought it'd be a good idea to get a hotel. What do you think?

  Curtis read the message over a few more times. Simone thought this was a good idea. Did that mean she was effectively giving Adrian permission to fool around? No, that couldn't be it. Curtis pushed all of this from his mind, because really, he absolutely didn't have time for this.

  Silas, as if on cue, appeared around Curtis's cubicle. His tanned skin and dark eyes seemed excited in that way he always got before a presentation.

  "Ready for some ol' razzle dazzle?"

  "Ugh," Curtis groaned audibly. "No. No I am not."

  "Oh." Silas's browns furrowed. "You wanna take five minutes? Cool off in the bathroom? Nerves suck, but hey, it's just like a show, right?"

  Curtis clucked his tongue in his mouth. Just like a show. But right now he was dealing with a show he wasn't sure he wanted to attend anymore. Weren't there consequences? For the performers, there always was; they could get up on stage, try their hardest, and still be laughed at. This was one of the main reasons Curtis had never bothered with a music career. He played guitar to cool down at the end of the day, not to dazzle people. He liked to play songs he knew by heart, not make up some of his own. Getting up on stage was risky. It left you open to too much. His mother had always stressed a good, stable career above all else, which had been why he'd gone into business and economics. If he had known this degree would lead him into as many presentations, as many dog and pony shows, he may have said fuck it and gone for music anyway.

  But then again, he remembered, those days are long, long gone. And you're still a bit too young for a mid-life crisis. So grow the fuck up.

  Curtis rose from his seat. Silas still stared at him with knitted brows. Though his hands shook, Curtis didn't want to go to the bathroom for some private time. He was vaguely worried he may run away and never look back.

  "We should just go now," Curtis said, "while I'm feeling ready."

  Silas gave him a small nod. "Don't worry about a thing, okay? You know what we're saying, and I'll always be your opening act."

  Curtis made a noncommittal nose. As soon as they were in the meeting room, he felt better. The door was closed—no way out—and the glass window that looked out over the Toronto skyline always calmed him. In a big city, nothing really mattered. No one really knew who you were. He glanced down at his notes, remembered this was for an ad campaign, and he and Silas were only pitching the logo and art design. That was easy. Totally easy. It meant most of what they had to do was really just impressing people with their PowerPoint. All the attention was off them. Curtis leaned back in his chair and watched as Silas moved on with his slideshow.

  "Who remembers this design?" Silas clicked and a photo of a candle stick appeared on the screen. He clicked it again, and the candle image inverted until it appeared to be two people's faces moving close to one another. He clicked back again, emphasizing the optical illusion. "I see a lot of nods. Most of you know what's going on here. This is how negative space works. It uses what's already present in the image and shapes the viewer's expectations. The Japanese concept of Ma does the same thing."

  Silas clicked another slide and a Japanese character emerged with the English translation for "space" written underneath. "Ma is the distance between two points. It's not about what is said, but what's not said, and how the audience can use it. Now," Silas clicked again and the old logo for the product they were working with came up alongside the new one. Curtis had been talking with the graphic designers down on the fourth floor for about a month, trying to hash and rehash something that would work for everyone involved. While he and Silas were proud of the final effort, Curtis closed his eyes at how hard it had been to get there.

  "With this new logo," Silas continued, "we wanted to employ that concept of ma—negative space—to our advantage. Not by giving the audience an optical illusion, but by anticipating their response, then subverting it. So you think you have one product, but then you are pleasantly surprised by the hidden and unexpected result."

  Curtis nodded along to Silas's presentation, but soon zoned out as he dove into the nitty-gritty of the pitch with sales figures and projected numbers. His mind slipped back into the Facebook message he had just received. A hotel. A hotel was something he had never thought of, never anticipated. But really, how different was it from what they had already been doing? Even if they went to the hardcore show, they would be close to one another again. Pressed up against one another in a pit, then driving home afterwards in a cramped car. It was nothing they hadn't done
already. So why was it a big deal?

  . It's the something you've never said before. It's what you've been dancing around since this all started. He pictured himself and Adrian again, like the candle in the first photo. They were close. Just close enough. Sometimes too close—but it all depended on perspective. At times, the distance between their bodies and their words felt like a lifetime. It was ten years; a different path; a missed opportunity. But other times, like in the coffee house when Adrian had whispered his longings, it felt like they were too close. So close it was suffocating and threatening to destroy everything Curtis had ever built. To be too close or too far away had its own set of issues and burdens. But sometimes you could stare at the image and see both options—the candle stick and the faces—without it hurting too much. It was possible, sometimes, to find a balance. Wasn't it?

  Curtis stared up at the presentation again, still unsure, just as Silas came towards the end of his section.

  "The most important part of the concept ma is the imagination. If you can't imagine this product in your life, then we haven't done our job.

  "Now to my colleague." With that, Silas glanced at Curtis. Thoughts still swarmed in his head and his skin still tingled. He felt the scab on his thigh from the tattoo, but he also felt it there like a badge. He could see the ending now—or at least some aspect of it, and Curtis realized just how much he needed to go to the show. It wasn't about the music anymore. It was about the space between them. Curtis needed to know how far he could go until everything changed. He needed to know if his youth, the life he had left behind, was still always there—just hidden behind something he couldn't imagine before. He had to imagine a different ending, because if not, he hadn't really done his job.

  They traded places, and Curtis looked at his boss, who seemed slightly more riveted than usual. Curtis opened up his folder and began to read from the chart, only occasionally referring back to Silas's presentation and concepts. When he was done, the boss and clients stood and shook both Silas and Curtis's hands with smiles on their faces. They had done a good job, relief coursed through his body for the short period of time before he returned to his desk.