A Surplus of Light

by Chase Connor

  Carefully, cautiously, I reached out as Ian continued to sketch…whatever it was he was sketching. I didn’t take my eyes away from him in order to look at his sketchpad. Very softly, my hand touched his shoulder, laying there for the most satisfying of seconds before it slid down, over his chest, across it, then to just below his chest. I reached out with my other hand and reached to his face. His sketching stopped, but he didn’t look up or move away.

  I traced my thumb over his lips as if trying to memorize their shape and feel through touch. Ian stared down at his frozen hand on the sketchpad, as my hands explored his lips and just below his chest. I moved closer to him, bringing my face to within inches of his chest and inhaled. He smelled like the wild. Like the woods and fields we spent our summers in, the creek that we held hands in at the end of summer each year. He smelled like the sun. Warm and dangerous. I closed my eyes as I inhaled, holding back a shiver. I was so aroused. My hand started to move lower, towards his stomach.

  “That’s enough, now.” His hand was around my wrist and his eyes were open.

  His hand had smeared my wrist charcoal black.

  “Okay.” I looked up into his eyes, expecting anger.

  It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was wild. Feral. Longing. Arousal.

  “Let’s stop now.” He said, but there was no power behind it.

  “Okay.”

  But he didn’t let go of my wrist. God, he was so strong. He could break my wrist if he wanted. That, too, was arousing. I knelt there, my breath caught in my throat as I stared into his eyes and he stared back with an intensity that I’d never seen before. His Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down as our eyes stayed locked. Finally, he spoke:

  “I’m going to let go now. Okay?” He whispered. “Then I want to walk away for a minute.”

  “You’ll come back?” I breathed.

  “Yes. I promise.”

  Then he let go and I moved back, my arousal evident as I knelt there. When Ian rose to his feet, leaving his pad in front of the tree, it was very obvious that I was not the only one who had enjoyed my hands on him. Ian stiffly walked down the trail and kept going until he was out of sight. I closed my eyes with a sigh and fell back on my ass.

  I pulled my knees up and laid Ian’s sketchpad against them, making sure it was closed first. He hadn’t invited me to look, so I didn’t. I sat against his tree, waiting like I said I would. Ian had promised he’d come back, so I was going to wait as long as it took. I didn’t have a watch on me, so I wasn’t sure how long it was before I saw Ian coming back down the path. It hadn’t been too long, but at least fifteen minutes had passed.

  “I want to show you something.” He said, looking down into my eyes as he approached. “If you want to see it.”

  “Okay.”

  I got up and handed Ian his sketchpad. He tucked it under his arm and motioned for me to follow. We walked down the trail where he had disappeared. Several minutes went by as we walked side by side in silence. Every now and then, I’d sneak a glance over at him. He was glancing at me at the same time, every time. We’d smile and look away from each other. After a bit, Ian looked at me and held a finger to his lips. He led me to the very edge of the woods, his footsteps becoming light. I mimicked his movements the best that I could.

  When we got to the tree line, he held an arm out, stopping me. He pulled back a branch that was in our way, just enough so that we could peek out. We were just on the edge of someone’s property. There was a somewhat ratty yard that looked like some effort had been made at mowing it, but it was mostly dirty with ragged weeds and rocks decorating it. The house sitting on the property was little more than a shack. On the porch, in a wheelchair, sat a man who looked old and broken, a blanket over his legs, but he couldn’t have been that old.

  I frowned as I looked at the man and Ian held his finger to his lips. He made sure that I was going to be quiet, then looked at the man, too. We watched for the longest time. Finally, the front door of the shack opened, and Carson stepped out. I almost gasped, but Ian looked at me and put his finger to his lips again. We turned our heads back to the scene at the house.

  “Are you doing okay, dad?”

  The man didn’t respond.

  ”’I’m going to make dinner,” Carson said to his wheelchair-bound father.

  He knelt down and repositioned the blanket over his father’s legs. Then he stood and leaned down to hug him.

  “I’ll be back in just a few minutes, okay?”

  The man grunted.

  Carson smiled and went back into the house.

  Ian and I stood there for a few more moments, then he looked over at me and motioned for me to follow him. I blinked a few times, then let him lead me away from what we had just seen. Ian kept his fingers to his lips and led me through the woods again, not saying anything until we were back at the tree where he was always sketching in the woods. He sat down at the tree again, propping his sketchpad up on his knees. But he didn’t move to open the sketchpad. I looked down at him for a moment, then sat down as well, folding my legs in.

  “Carson’s parents were in a car wreck five years ago.” He said. “His mom died and his father…that’s what happened to his father. He’s been taking care of his father and himself since he was fourteen. Sometimes his aunt comes to help. But he’s mostly alone.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “He’s not going to college or moving or going out to lead his own life. And, regardless of what other kids might say, he’s pretty smart. He’ll stay here and take care of his dad until his dad, inevitably, dies an excruciating death of some secondary illness. Probably pneumonia. And Carson won’t be sorry for having chosen to stay and take care of him until the end. Whether that’s tomorrow or forty years from now. He’ll still be here.”

  I stared at Ian.

  “Why didn’t you show me before?” I asked.

  “Because all Carson has is his pride,” Ian said. “And I wanted him to keep that while he was still in high school.”

  “Who all knows this?”

  “Probably just the teachers.” He shrugged. “School administration. Adults.”

  Suddenly, I had a revelation. Whenever Carson picked on other kids, Ian gave him a chance to walk away. To save his pride. The only time he hadn’t given Carson a chance was when he had his hands on me. And even then, he had jumped Carson and sucker-punched him when he couldn’t see it coming. To show everyone that Carson hadn’t had a chance to defend himself. To make it look like Carson only lost a fight because he was jumped suddenly. And he never hit him any more than he had to.

  “Carson is not a bad person,” Ian said. “He has more sorrow than one human body can hold. Carson is a good person. He’s a good son. He just…fucks up sometimes. He’s human.”

  I stared at Ian.

  “You really see people, don’t you?” I asked.

  “I see you, Mike.”

  “It’s summer.” I smiled. “It’s the best time to see me. Lots of light.”

  Ian smiled back, but it was sad.

  It wasn’t sadness at the acknowledgment that we only really got to spend time together in summer. His sadness was for Carson. And that made me fall even more deeply in love with Ian.

  “I started coming to the woods at night five years ago because…”

  I waited. I didn’t want to prompt Ian or make him have a reason to not tell me what he was going to tell me.

  “Because I’d sneak into the store and steal food and stuff for Carson,” Ian said. “I’d leave the bags for him and his dad on his porch. I did this for a while until one night he caught me. And his pride was so hurt. And he was so scared that I’d tell everyone about his family. His house. He attacked me. So, I had to hit him. He’s never been mad about the punch. He’s been mad that I pitied him. He’s been scared that I might say something to everyone. But over the years, I never said a word to a soul. And I stopped pitying him. I only take a few bags of groceries once a month now. Now he
’s mad at me for caring. For not telling. Because not telling, to him, is still pity. He hates me for not hating him.”

  “After I’d drop off the groceries, I’d go to the creek. Swim alone. Talk to God. Ask why this happened to him. Why a kid would have that hand dealt to them. God was pretty quiet most of the time. And then, other times, I’d float in the creek, and look up at the moon, and I’d think…’if I had a magic wand, I wouldn’t use it for me’. And, I could swear…I mean, really swear…that God heard me.”

  “Do you think that God heard me?” He turned his face to me, tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

  “Yes,” I answered without thinking.

  “Good.”

  Ian and I spent the first part of the summer camping, running wild in the woods, laying on hay bales, walking trails, swimming at night. It turned out to be an unusually mild summer throughout. And we worshipped in that temperate season. He sketched furiously. He said he wouldn’t have much more time for sketching. I didn’t know why he thought that. At the time, I didn’t understand. But I tried to ignore that comment and focus on spending my days reveling in my friendship with Ian. The friendship that I loved but wanted to be so much more. Ian taught me the most important thing that summer.

  He taught me about joy.

  And he only had to teach me once.

  A few weeks before the end of summer, we had both turned eighteen, and before our annual late-night creek swim and bat-viewing, we met in the field at dawn. Ian had the widest grin on his face as I approached him at his spot beside the hay bale on the northern side of the field. Before I could reach him, he stood, giddy and practically dancing like a live wire. I’d seen him happy before—but I’d never seen him quite so happy.

  I want to show you something. He had said to me. His sketchpad was stuck under his arm like always. I smiled and nodded my head. I would never not agree when he wanted to show me…anything. But he didn’t motion for me to follow. Instead, he grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and he pulled me after him. The grin that split my face was almost painful it was so wide. He didn’t walk—he practically ran, pulling me after him. We ran from the field to the woods. When we reached the woods, he let go of my hand so that we could make our way easily through the trees. I didn’t like letting go of his hand, but I knew that he wouldn’t have let go if it wouldn’t have made our journey more difficult.

  We seemed to walk forever, completely in silence, Ian grinning like an idiot the whole time. Several times I thought to ask him what we were walking so far into the woods to see. Further than we’d ever ventured into the woods before. However, I trusted him more than anyone, so I just followed, watching him as we made our way to wherever it was that we were going. The woods became so dense that we were ducking through limbs, pushing through foliage, getting slapped and poked by numerous plants, trees, and shrubs. A few yards later, Ian pushed through a particularly dense bunch of limbs and disappeared from my sight. I frowned to myself and hurried ahead, pushing through the same bunch of limbs, and nearly ran into Ian.

  Ian was standing still, his head tilted upwards, that silly grin still affixed to his face. What? I breathed out as I stopped just before running him over. Look. He nodded upwards. I looked up. There was purple and green everywhere. This area of the woods was so much darker than the rest of the woods. The purple and green vines were blocking out most of the light, taking all of it for themselves. Small squares and circles of light managed to peak through here and there, but for the most part, the sun no longer belonged to us. It belonged to…whatever we were looking at. I turned, looking all around. The vines were climbing over everything, nearly making a room of purple and green around us.

  What is it? I had gasped. He replied: It’s wisteria. It blooms in mid to late spring for only a few weeks. I’ve never seen it in summer, let alone this late. I think because it’s been so cool this summer, and it’s so deep in the woods, it’s still blooming.

  I looked over at my friend—the love of my life—and he was so full of joy I could feel it. It’s beautiful. I had told him. Ian smiled back at me, finally taking his eyes away from the ceiling of purple and green, then he walked over to some of the wisteria growing around us and inhaled deeply. I followed his lead. The smell made me jerk my face away for a split second. It was somewhat acrid, but floral, and sweet…it smelled like how spring felt. Fresh, clean, hopeful. I shoved my face back into the wisteria and inhaled as deeply as I could, a smile spreading across my face.

  Ian’s face was buried in the flowering vines as well, taking in the smell of a spring that had refused to be banished. Everything in that room of wisteria was intoxicating. It overtook my senses and sensibilities. Before I could stop myself, I was reaching out for Ian. My hands grabbed him by his upper arms and pulled him towards me. But this was Ian. He easily slipped out of my grasp, laughing like an imp as he leapt away like a wood nymph—a movement in direct contrast to the brute force he could call up at will and control with horrifying accuracy. It was so frustrating. And arousing.

  Don’t get too carried away. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. I want you. Now. Give me what I want. Please? He bit at his bottom lip—and I wanted to tackle him. Even if to just hold him against me, fully clothed. He considered me for a minute, his smile slowly fading away. I want to sketch something for you. He bit his lower lip again, the smile returning marginally.

  The wisteria? I asked. No. He shook his head playfully. Do you promise to keep your hands to yourself? I squinted at him, wanting to be angry, but it was utterly impossible. If I have to. Yes. He nodded at me. He bent at his knees and set his sketchpad down carefully on the ground. His eyes settled on mine, burning into mine, as he kicked off his shoes. Then he slid his socks off, one at a time, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he pulled his t-shirt off over his head. He let it fall to the ground by his shoes.

  There was a lump in my throat…and other places. Ian continued to gaze into my eyes as his fingers went to the button of his shorts. With a flick, the button was undone. Next, his zipper came down. Then the shorts were at his ankles. Then his boxers were at his ankles, and he stepped out of them. And he stood before me, naked and supernal. And…aroused. I swallowed hard.

  He practically glided over to me, unashamed and unafraid. Keep your hands to yourself now. He ordered in a sing-song voice as he approached. All I could manage was a nod. Then his hands brought my shirt up over my head and pulled it off of me. It, too, got tossed to the pile of clothes he had started. Then his fingers were at the button of my shorts. Then the zipper. I was so aroused it was painful. He slid my shorts down and then my boxers, and when I stepped out of them, I was naked, too. I kicked my shoes off to complete the shedding of my clothes.

  Ian bent forward slightly and placed his lips gently against my collarbone. I sighed. Then my left pec. Then the right one. Then a little lower to my stomach. I moaned, but I had learned some control. Ian stood up straight and looked me in the eyes. We were touching…in lower places. He didn’t make a move to step away. And he didn’t seem to mind. I shivered. I wasn’t the least bit cold.

  Ian grabbed my hand and led me over to the pile of clothes. This is it. I thought. We’re going to have sex. Finally. But Ian pushed me down gently until I was sitting on top of the clothes. Then he looked around and found a fairly clear spot on the ground. He grabbed his sketchpad and went to the spot he had decided upon and laid down. He laid on his stomach, having to position himself so that he didn’t hurt his groin. He laid there, on his stomach, propping up his upper half with his elbows and pulled his sketchpad to where it was beneath his face.

  I want you to describe me, Mike. He had told me. Describe my body, and I’m going to sketch what you tell me.

  Seriously? It wasn’t mocking. I was wondering if I really had permission to describe everything I saw in his body and what I thought about it.

  Yes. He breathed out, charcoal in his hand, frozen against the sketchpad, his eyes closed with a look of pleasure on his face.
Describe what you see. What you think of it. What thoughts it gives you.

  Okay.

  I took a steadying breath as I sat there, fully aroused, staring at the naked form of my friend. When I breathed out, I felt that I could do this. So…I described to Ian his hair. The summer growth, the way it curled slightly at the side of his head as if trying to tickle his ear. The way his button nose looked slightly upturned in profile. The plump apples of his cheeks that went down to an angular jaw and plump lips. His furrowed eyebrows as he concentrated on sketching as I described him. How I wanted to press my lips against his because they were practically begging to be kissed. How I imagined his tongue would feel against mine when I parted his lips with mine. How his skin would feel against my nose as I fed at his mouth.

  Then I described his long, graceful neck and its curve as he laid there over his sketchpad. His defined and powerful arms that ended with delicate, artist’s fingers that held as much strength as they did agility. The angles of his shoulder blades, how they seemed to be trying to cut through the skin of his back and how they flexed as his arm moved over his sketchpad. The curve of his back downward to the upward curve of his ass. The barely there blonde hairs I could only see when sunlight peeked through the wisteria at certain times. His muscular thighs and hair-dusted calves. How I wanted to run my tongue up from his calf, up the back of his thigh, up over his ass, up and along the length of his back, between his should blades, leading to the side of his neck and then to his lips.

  The arches of his feet strained and flexed as his toes dug into the ground below as if every part of him was full of untapped energy and possibility. Ian’s expression was languid and dreamy as he sketched and listened to me. So…I told him that, too. I told how I imagined that he was thinking of my mouth on him—all over him. How he probably imagined that felt and how aroused it made him just to think it. How he wanted me to take control of him, to prove to him that he wanted to give himself over to me. To make him feel as loved as he made me feel. I wanted his shoulder blades to dig into the earth as I pushed him downwards and tried to make our bodies one.