Freestyle Love

by Marcus Lopes

  Malachi walked along the river until he came upon a large rock, which he sat down on. He balanced his wineglass on the sloping, uneven surface, and closed his eyes. The flow of the river. Birds chirping. The slightest whistle of wind in the trees. These were the only sounds he heard. Malachi focused on his breathing, drawing in long deep breaths and pushing them out slowly through his nose. As he sat there, alone, the last few months of his life began playing themselves out in his mind. Cole. Sarah. Joshua. Chad. It was as though Malachi was finally able to put the pieces of the puzzle into their proper places, restoring a certain order that had, for a long time, left him perplexed. He had been searching out something that had been right in front of him all the time.

  I don’t think I know what love is. But Malachi did know. Malachi had always done as Sarah had counselled him, let his heart lead him. There was no doubt that Taylor Blanchard had opened up Malachi’s heart, showed him what love could be. Zach Brennan had left a scar, crisscrossing love and desire, leaving Malachi thoroughly confused. Cole Malcolm had unlocked Malachi’s heart but their love, it had withered, and Malachi wasn’t sure if it would ever bloom again. And Chad… there was a connection between them, a silent understanding of each other, but could there be anything more than that? Why was it that Malachi could talk to Chad and not Cole? Was it because Chad was, like Shane had implied, a distraction? Was Malachi looking for something real between them, something enduring? Had Malachi really fallen out of love with Cole?

  Malachi picked up his wineglass and took a sip. Off in the distance he could see that the grey skies were becoming darker. A storm was approaching, and Chad had warned him that they could be fierce. Malachi stood and carefully climbed down off the rock and made his way back to the cottage. Chad had piled wood next to the fire pit, but was now carrying the folded lawn chairs towards the aluminum shed to the far left of the cottage. Malachi collected his cell phone and the bottle of wine from off the picnic table before heading to the cottage. A drop of rain hit Malachi’s head as he mounted the steps. He had just made it under the covered porch when the rain fell in hard pounding sheets. Malachi watched Chad running towards the cottage. Chad was soaked through to his core.

  Chad said, “Go ahead and laugh,” and went over to Malachi and hugged him. Malachi struggled to free himself but Chad’s grip was strong. They looked at each other intently, their hearts thumbing in their chests. Chad slowly loosened his grip, and leaned in and pressed his lips against Malachi’s. At first, Chad just held his lips to Malachi’s, but then worked Malachi’s lips apart with his tongue. The kiss had an andantino tempo to it, as if this were the first time they had kissed, until the rhythm of it had caught up to them. Their tongues darted about their mouths, and the growing fierceness of the kiss had Chad ready to explode. Chad pulled out of the kiss and took a step backwards. “I’m sorry.” Chad dropped his gaze and rushed into the cottage.

  Malachi ran his hand over his mouth as he entered the cottage. He set the wine bottle, his wineglass and cell phone on the kitchen table, and went into his room to change out of his damp clothes. Afterwards, he returned to the kitchen and retrieved his wineglass, and then joined Chad in the living room. Chad, seated on the cozy loveseat, looked at Malachi when he entered the room. Malachi smiled, and sat down next to Chad. There was a loud clap of thunder and the lights flickered off but came back on immediately.

  “Better light some candles.” Chad bounced off the sofa. He set his wineglass on the buffet made of a dark cherry wood, opened the middle drawer and pulled out a lighter. He moved about the kitchen, dining and living rooms, which were all open to each other, and lit the candles spread out over the rooms, as if he were always prepared for such an occasion. He returned the lighter to the drawer, picked up his wineglass and assumed his earlier position on the loveseat. “About earlier…” He licked his lips and, without looking at Malachi, continued, “I just… I’ve been wanting to kiss you since…”

  Malachi reached over and took Chad’s free hand in his. “I know. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have —”

  “Don’t say you shouldn’t have come here.” Chad’s tone was somewhat harsh. “We need to figure this out, whatever this is.” Chad lifted Malachi’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I’m glad you’re here, even if it’s not forever.”

  “Chad…”

  Chad set his wineglass down on the rustic brown wooden chest that served as a coffee table and shifted his body. Chad reached for Malachi’s wineglass and placed it on the coffee table, and took hold of Malachi’s other hand. “Whatever’s going on between you and Cole… You might not think so, but you still love him. I see that in your eyes when he calls. I wish things had been different when we first met because I love you, Malachi. Please, let me finish.” Chad’s eyes were moist. “You should go home and talk to Cole. Tell him everything, why you left, why you stayed away so long, about us. But you have to speak to him from here…” Chad guided one of Malachi’s hands to his chest, placing it over Malachi’s thumping heart. “Say what needs to be said.”

  “I came to you because I didn’t know where else to go, when I first left Cole and then when I left Halifax. Go home?” Malachi shrugged. “I still don’t know where home is. I want to believe it’s with Cole.” He choked back his tears. “I keep trying to figure out what happened between us, what went wrong. What did I do? What could I have done differently?”

  “You can’t change the past —”

  “I know,” Malachi said askance, and jerked his other hand free. He lifted himself off the loveseat and paced the area between the loveseat and the kitchen table. “I used to believe that there was good in all of us, in me.” He smirked. “When I caught Cole and Jeremy together, the first thing that came to mind was how I could hurt him like he had hurt me. And what did I do? I ran straight to your bed.”

  “All that proves is that you’re human,” Chad said, dryly.

  Malachi stopped and turned to face Chad. “Human? Where’s the humanity? I mean, I can’t even feel forgiveness in me. And when I look around at this world I’m terrified when I see how we treat each other, how we suffer.” He bit down on his lower lip and then, with emotion, “I’m trying to understand why my need for revenge trumped my capacity to forgive. Why couldn’t I be…” Malachi cupped his hands to the back of his head and blinked back his tears. “The worst part of all is that when I imagine my future, Cole’s not in it, like he’s already been extracted.” He dropped his hands to his sides.

  “If it’s forgiveness you’re after, start by forgiving yourself,” Chad said, matter-of-fact, and moved off the loveseat. Chad went over to Malachi. “You’re a good person, Malachi, and there is good in you. I don’t know why we fall in love, or why and how we fall out of love.” He scratched his head. “I know you still miss Taylor but Cole, he’s been good to you, too, hasn’t he? I think…” Chad cupped his hands to Malachi’s shoulders. “Taylor would want you to be happy.”

  “This isn’t about Taylor,” Malachi spat, and went over to the coffee table and lifted his wineglass to his mouth.

  “Yes, it is.” Chad returned to the loveseat. “You haven’t really mourned the loss. You immediately sold the house, moved to Toronto and met, oh, what’s his name? Patrick. That was going too well, so you fled to Claredon. You lost yourself in your work. And then Zach. He was a distraction.”

  Malachi turned and glared at Chad. “Zach wasn’t a distraction,” he said, pointedly. “I loved him!”

  “Did you?” Chad looked doubtful. “Then why did you let him slip away?” He reached for his wineglass. “It doesn’t take a psychologist to see the pattern.”

  Tears flooded Malachi’s eyes. “Why are you being like this?”

  Chad set his wineglass back down on the coffee table as he stood. Chad went over to Malachi and placed his hands to Malachi’s smooth face. “Because I love you.” Chad slid his hands down to Malachi’s shoulders, and breathed deeply. “From everything you’ve told me about Cole, he’s a good man, and he de
serves better than this. And so do you.”

  Malachi took a step backwards, and then moved to in front of the living room window. He watched as the rain continued to fall in hard pounding sheets. The dark grey storm clouds had displaced the sun, and it looked as though the full veil of night was in place. His heart was heavy, his face tear-soaked, and he felt battered. What was Malachi doing with his life? When had he lost control? When had he lost himself? He wiped his face dry with his left hand and spun around. Malachi fixed his gaze on Chad, who had gone into the kitchen and was loading the supper dishes into the dishwasher. Malachi said, “I think about him every day.”

  Chad closed the dishwasher door and wiped his hands on a blue and white chequered dishcloth, which he then tossed on the counter. Chad pursed his lips and flicked his eyebrows at Malachi. “It’s good that you think about Taylor. It was a very happy time for you. But what about now, your present?”

  There was another loud clap of thunder, and lightning lit up the sky. The lights flickered and then went out. The candlelit space seemed to ease the tension as Chad and Malachi stood looking at each other with misgiving. Chad smiled faintly, desperate to hold Malachi and to whisper in his ear, “Stay with me,” but Chad knew that was totally impossible. They had been compromised, or had they? Malachi gulped the last mouthful of his wine and then made his way to the kitchen. He placed the empty wineglass in the dishwasher. Malachi followed Chad into the living room and they sat down on the loveseat facing each other.

  Malachi said, “I don’t know if I want to make things work between Cole and me. He and I are on different paths, and we’re just afraid to admit it. We’re trying to hang on to something that doesn’t hold any meaning anymore.”

  “Really?” Chad sounded surprised. “Are you sure about that?”

  Malachi blinked magnificently at Chad. “No.” He dropped his gaze. “Do you really love me?”

  Chad said, “Yes,” and reached for Malachi’s hand. Chad slid his body closer to Malachi and stared at Malachi for a moment before kissing him. They were immediately swept up in the wet, sloppy kiss, Malachi pushing his tongue deep into Chad’s throat. Chad slipped his hand underneath Malachi’s grey T-shirt and pinched Malachi’s nipple. Malachi had shoved his right hand inside Chad’s khaki shorts, fingering Chad’s sphincter. Chad let out a soft moan, and they pushed apart, panting. Chad stood, took both of Malachi’s hands in his and pulled Malachi up off the loveseat. They kissed again, and then Chad led Malachi by the hand into the bedroom at the end of the short corridor off the kitchen. Chad climbed onto the bed and pulled Malachi down on top of him.

  ****

  Chad said, “This seems like déjà vu,” and laughed.

  “I know,” Malachi said, and smiled. “I, um…”

  Chad stepped forward, placed his mouth briefly on Malachi’s and then backed away. “I’m always here. If you need to talk or get away. Anything.”

  “I know,” Malachi said, and extended his hand, which Chad gripped firmly.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “This isn’t goodbye.” Malachi sounded confident. “You’re too important to simply let go of.”

  Chad, checking his tears, pointed at his watch. “You have a plane to catch.”

  “So long beautiful man.” Malachi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Chad, and they held each other in a crushing embrace. Can I really let go of this? Malachi tried not to cry. Malachi kissed Chad on the cheek. Malachi picked up his suitcase and trained his gaze on Chad’s moist eyes. Leaving didn’t feel right to Malachi, but deep down in his heart he knew it was necessary. Malachi swallowed hard, took two steps backwards and waved and after Chad’s acknowledgement with the slightest nod of his head, Malachi turned and made for the airport terminal. Malachi stopped just inside the entrance and looked back at Chad, who waved and then got into his car. As the beige Sunbird pulled away from the curb, Malachi thought about the last time he and Chad had said goodbye, and how he had felt that something had shifted, clicked into place. Since then, Malachi’s whole life had been transformed, and the way he saw himself. Now uncertainty abounded, at times knocking Malachi to the ground and leaving him gasping for air. He wanted to believe that he could pick himself up, and find his way through this terrible mess.

  Malachi reached for his vibrating cell phone, which was clipped to his belt. He looked agonizingly at “Home” flashing on the screen and, after a moment, selected the “Ignore” option and returned the phone to its holder. He headed for the Air Canada check-in line-up, repeating silently, “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

  Eighteen

  The door opened wide, and Malachi stepped out of the black Lincoln town car, the bright afternoon sun coming into his eyes. He squinted at the redbrick house in front of him, the house that he had tried to think of as home, and felt misgiving. He had arrived at some other place, foreign and where he did not belong. He was alone in that other place, unable to speak the language, the faces blurred, voices loud and terrifying. He stood barefoot on the warm pebbles — there was no grass — and the trees were sickly and leafless. The scent of lavender filled the air but he could not tell where the smell came from. There was no colour, like in a black and white film. Then a small boy, perhaps seven or eight, ran past Malachi and into the street as an eighteen wheeler sped towards the running child. Malachi cried out to the boy and wanted to chase after him, but Malachi’s legs wouldn’t move. The boy turned back to look at Malachi and smiled. They stared intently at each other, the boy’s provocative brown eyes made Malachi tremble. They were the only thing in colour, or was Malachi imagining it? The truck thundered by and the boy was gone.

  Malachi staggered at the thud of the trunk being slammed closed. The stout chauffeur, who had tried unsuccessfully to converse with Malachi earlier, thrust his attaché at him and set his suitcase down on the sidewalk. Malachi slung the strap of his attaché over his left shoulder as he slipped the driver two fifty-dollar bills. Malachi remained at the bottom of the driveway as the car rolled down the street, his legs immobile, heavy, still. What was awaiting him inside the house? The house… it tried to claim him, like the house where he had spent his youth, without fully latching on to him. He was an implant, artificial and defunct. Right? “Be strong and stay the course,” Malachi encouraged himself, and wishing that he had instead holed himself up in a hotel until he had sorted things out for himself. But that was part of the illusion. Malachi had sorted things out, he had made decisions.

  Malachi picked up his suitcase and ambled up the driveway, slowing his pace as he passed in-between Cole’s silver Hyundai Sonata and his blue Honda Accord, and stopped. He breathed deeply, trying to expel his nervousness, and then continued towards the house. At the front door he pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket and, his hands shaking, jammed the key into the lock.

  With his keys hanging in the lock, Malachi pushed the door open and entered the house. He set his suitcase and attaché near the staircase, retrieved his keys, and closed the door. He stood for a moment in the foyer, and listened. Silence. Where was Cole? Had Malachi imagined that Cole would rush to greet him? Would they fall into a crushing embrace and suddenly everything would somehow be different yet in fact all right? Malachi roamed from room to room, meditating on the events that had played out in them, and trying to feel himself in the room, as if he were a part of its history. When he entered the living room tears rolled down his face. This was the room Malachi had loved the most. Malachi would be at the piano, and Cole would enter the room, sit down on the sofa and stare longingly at Malachi while he played. Malachi felt nervous when Cole was in the room, unsure of his talent, and his hands would become clammy, causing Malachi to falter over the keys, as if he were an amateur. Cole, listening to Malachi struggle through a section, would move off the sofa and sit down next to Malachi on the piano bench. Malachi would stop playing when Cole kissed his cheek and then searched for his mouth, and with their tongues deep down each other’s throat, they moaned and groaned t
heir pleasure. It was never long before they were upstairs in the bedroom, Cole pushing him onto the bed and fumbling to take off Malachi’s clothes.

  Malachi shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. This wasn’t home, he felt that deep within him. Could it somehow be reconstituted? Malachi wasn’t certain of that. Malachi was ready to set it all free — Cole, Chad, his job at the college — if he could somehow find a way to begin again, remake himself. But when Malachi tried to imagine himself fleeing overseas to work among the poor, help the starving, the screen was blank. If forgiveness wasn’t necessarily within him, neither was charity.

  “Malachi…”

  Malachi spun around and looked at Cole, who stood just inside the entryway. They both seemed to stiffen, and let the tempered fragility of the moody walls carry them. Malachi shifted his gaze slightly so that he was no longer looking directly at Cole but in Cole’s direction.

  Cole sat down on the sofa and watched Malachi, who was now standing in front of the fireplace. Cole said, “All of your mail is on your desk, and there are a couple of messages saved on the machine for you.” We’re back to the beginning, or is it the end when we can’t see beyond the moment?

  “Thanks.” Malachi pulled his hands out of his pockets and sat down on the far end of the sofa so that the middle cushion separated him from Cole. Malachi sat with his head bowed and his hands cupped to his knees. “Cole…” Malachi’s heart was racing, and there was a heaviness in his voice, as though he was summoning some force from within. His whole life was shifting, and although the shift originally terrified him, he felt as though he was slowly coming back into himself. He looked at Cole. “I, um…” He blinked rapidly to force back the tears coming into his eyes.