Dec 5, 2014

"We don't age, you've forgotten?" ---- This is heaven (teaser)

We're on the Surfside Field, the festival ground, John is trying to sell Godehart's lederhosen, and Taylor and his pal, Tex, appear out of the blue. Taylor, yes, the guy from yesterday's intermezzo in the shower of the green room, we haven't forgotten. 

Tex's last words were (I have to quote them at length to get the context right):

 “I understand Count Dracula and his folks,” Tex is saying, “they were mean-spirited and banking blood wasn’t on the agenda then, surely they had to feed on humans, but the Cullens of Twilight, Doctor Carlisle is a medical doctor, and they’re so preppy and above the fray and in favor of gun control, I’m sure, I’m sure they’re liberals, all of them, why don’t they just purchase blood? Why this hunting of deer in the rainy forest of the Puget sound?”

“You don’t get it.”

“And you should look at the deer, these cute bambies grazing on succulent ferns growing for the occasion between the redwood trees. And then there’s a sense of impending danger because the director of photography won’t hold still, bambi’s eye blinking at us, a cry for help that goes unanswered because we’re strapped to the comfort chairs of this multiplex, popcorn cups in hand. And now she’s off, bambi, running for her life, bambi, and Dr. Carlisle is chasing her, although you can’t really see him chasing her, what you see is a vortex of black substance chasing bambi, but it is Carlisle, to be sure, it’s him or Emmet or Rosalie or Esme or somebody else of his clan.”

(So, here goes:)

“You don’t get it.”
“No, exactly, I don’t get it,” Tex says.
“It’s easy,” Taylor answers.
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, the question has been asked before.”
Taylor’s looking for help, we make eye contact. I’d normally take the side of Tex in this, but I misbehaved so much yesterday, I have to make it up to Taylor now.
“Look it up on the internet,” I say to Tex.
“What?” Tex asks.
“About the blood,” Taylor adds. Tex swipes his cell.

“I'm doing it,” Tex answers, “there’s nothing on Google.”
“Let me see,” Taylor says, reads: “‘Only Vampires Cry Blood’, ‘Vampires don’t cry’, ‘Real vampire website: how to get blood’... How to get blood, look it up.”
Tex swipes: “‘Getting blood made easy’ … blabla … ‘These are the types of blood rated in order of relevance. Virgin Blood: OH GOD YES PEOPLE. THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE; comparing this blood to any other kind of human blood is like comparing sirloin steak to hamburger.’”
“Hold it right there,” Taylor says. His right hand is somewhere near his groin clutching a book, not yesterday’s woo-book but a slim volume by a certain professor Barbette Bienpensant about Risking Rapture in 2012—The Metaphysical Meaning of the Mayan Calendar Explained.
“Hamburgers,” he says pensively.
“No, sirloin steak,” Tex says.
“The internet has spoken,” I say.

There’s a silence, or a subtext. Taylor and I make eye contact again.

“How old are you anyhow?” I blurt out.
“Legal age?”
“Eighteen?” Tex interjects. “You’re seventeen, Taylor.”
“It’s my birthday today.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
“Your birthday?” Tex ask. “We don’t age, you’ve forgotten? You could be hundred and seventeen.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell anybody.”
“But now you do.”
“Gimme a break.”
“That’s why you are so prickly today.” Tex says, “Entering full midlife crisis. A paradigm shift.”
“Leave me alone,” Taylor says, raising his hands, still clutching the Bienpensant book. “Here”—handing the book to Tex—“here are all the answers you need.”
“No-no,” Tex says and hands the book back to Taylor, or tries to, the book ends up on the ground. Taylor walks away.
“Anything wrong?” Tex cat-calls at him. Taylor turns around, looks at Tex—part mock, part real exasperation—and then at me, briefly.

“Ask Luke,” I say to Tex, voice raised a bit, “he’s the only true vampire on the field.” Luke arches his eye brows in anticipation. Tex turns to Luke.

And now what? My cell rings. Or could ring, conceivably, since I expect a call from the washed-up scriptwriter. I press the cell against my ear, by way of precaution, and amble away from the stand. Taylor is about to disappear behind the double-decker bleachers. He has taken note of my tactics and is moving in the direction of the trailers, in particular the third trailer in the line-up along the canal, the one decorated with yellow police tape. He has opened the trailer door (forcing the frame against the pliant plastic band), and disappeared inside. It’s my turn. I pull on the door, negotiate the tape, close the door behind me. Taylor is standing next to the bed. This, folks, this is how some people come to discover their homosexuality. It didn’t happen yesterday, it happens now. This could be the most important moment of his life.

He pulls on his T-shirt, sheds it. Looks at me. Waits. Learning by doing. How does he do this? I wouldn’t have had the nerve at his age. Now he’s standing there, still in his briefs. I chuck my shorts, pull on my T-shirt. I step one step forward. He steps one step forward. We embrace and kiss with some degree of passion. He chucks his briefs. I get on my knees, grab his dick.

There’s a mildly jarring squeak from the door. Taylor’s knob shines in the intruding light. I turn my head. Inspector LaStrada of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation has entered the premises.

Are you still there? Then you will probably like the GREEN EYES, the first part of this story, which is now available now as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:

Night Owl Reviews

Go here for the previous teaser of This is heaven, here for the next one, and here for a selection of chapters of the Green Eyes.

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