Page 22 of Silent Is The Heart

Aaron

I once grabbed a navy-blue sock and a black sock while getting ready for an early shift at Mercy Hospital in Seattle, where I worked. I didn’t notice until halfway through my workday, but it was all I could focus on after that. I never realized how much of a contrast there is between navy blue and black before that.

Right now, I feel like I’m wearing that mismatched pair of socks again, even though it’s so dark in this club that no one would notice if I were.Pulseis an accurate name for the place. The loud bass of the dance mix music has been reverberating in my eardrums since the second I walked inside. Not the ideal place for talking, but then again, Easton and I won’t need to use our voices, I remind myself.

Ifhe ever shows up…

Scanning the crowded club from my barstool again, I check to see if I missed his arrival. The patrons are predominantly male. I’ve been offered two drinks already in the hour I’ve been here, and the redhead at the bar either thinks I’m someone he recognizes or is trying to send a not-so-subtle hint that he’s interested. There are straight couples here, quite a few on the dance floor, but it’s apparent the club is queer-friendly and I’m on the radar.

“Ready for another? You’ve got one coming if you want it,” the bartender says, motioning his head toward the redhead at the end of the bar.

Fantastic. The perfect, quiet, getting-reacquainted evening I was hoping for with Easton. Minus Easton. Did he dupe me and send me here on my own as payback for bombarding him yet again?

“Uh, no. I’m good. Thanks. I’ll have aSprite, please, but let me pay for it. Okay?”

Pulling out my wallet, my face heats, knowing I’m being watched. I haven’t been single in a club for ages. I don’t even remember how to turn someone down or know what could happen if it doesn’t go well. The last thing I want, if Easton actually does show up, is to be half-buzzed while stuck chatting with another man. That wouldn’t look like a sincere flag of friendship.

Glancing down the bar, I give the man an apologetic smile and wave of thanks, and then point to my wedding ring. He smirks and gives a shrug, but then looks out at the crowd like he’s already searching for his next mark. I’ve never been so grateful to be easily forgotten.

A flash of light by the entrance catches my eye. Each time the door has opened, it lets in a flood of the exterior light. This time, a gaggle of people is illuminated by it, two of them familiar. One is the woman who works the desk at S&H and the other is Easton’s… well, I’m not sure what he is. He’s the long-haired man who was in Easton’s apartment that morning, the man whom Easton devoured with his mouth, mere feet away from me. His arm is around a slender woman with long, sleek black hair, though. Her arm is wrapped around the back of his waist, her hand hugging his hip. I don’t even have timeto contemplate if Easton knows when he walks in right behind them, laughing at something another tattoo artist said that I recognize from his shop. I guess that answers the question of whether he’s aware of where his business partner’s interests are focused at the moment.

His party approaches, angling through the crowd. I stand from my stool with every intention of flagging him down, but he looks over, saving me the trouble, and flashes me a smile and a wink. The stupor I’d started sinking into over the thought of being blown off evaporates with that wink and something like joy flutters in my chest. It resembles something like a sense of belonging.

How bizarre. We’re veritable strangers, yet I know him better than anyone else I’ve seen since moving back, short of my family.

A bubble of anticipation creeps up my throat knowing I might get to fill in some of the blanks between what I knew of Easton years ago and now, as long as I don’t mess this up and mention Hampton. Except, I’m left with a sinking feeling when he and his friends walk right past me without slowing or as much as a word or another glance.

Odd. Not exactly what I’d call an invitation.

I watch, suspended in an awkward limbo, as they proceed to a cordoned-off section at the front of the club where a bouncer attends a roped gate that leads to a series of oversized booths. He gives Easton and his friend both a high five and releases the rope to allow them entrance.

Still… not a look from my stalwart former patient. Great. What do I do?

I wait, assuming he might return to the bar to get drinks for himself and his friend, but then I spot a waitress approaching the booth they sat in.

He saw me, right? He didn’t wink at someone else and miss me, did he?

Shit.AmI being duped? Was this another‘I asked you to fucking leave’gesture but just played differently?

My dignity tells me to leave and accept my humility, but I’ve nearly run out of dignity in the last year and a half. I also promised myself all week that I was going to find the courage to face him again to make up for setting him off with that stupid electrolarynx.

The flash of a memory assaults me as I remember the sweet kid I spent so much time with years ago. I can still remember the storm in his eyes one cold spring day when he was frustrated with his progress and still burning with rage over his accident and the death of his mother. I don’t even recall what I said to him to get through to him that day, but I’ll never forget the way his hostility slowly melted away. It came to a point, and then it was like the flip of a switch—a carefree shrug, a wry grin, and then some crack at my expense and he let me in. I had to earn it. How could I have forgotten that?

You had to earn everything with Easton. I took for granted that he let me earn his audience while he wouldn’t let anyone else at Hampton.

Striding over to the roped barrier, I don’t calculate any dialogue. I just move with purpose. I want to earn his respect again. Hell, maybe I just want to respect myself. Maybe for once in a long time, I just don’t want to think about everything I say or do.

Memories of arguments with Jason taunt me in a quiet hush, along with all the doubts I carried over the last few years of our relationship. Doubts that turned into poisonous seeds that took root in my soul and infected every bit of confidence I had in each aspect of my life until I became a sad being who only existed to make a marriage work. And then I became a sad being who reaped the weight of all those regrets when his husband died, strangled with equal parts guilt over my unhappiness and grief over the good times.

Shaking off the thoughts, I focus on the bouncer. I do not want to be mental right now. I don’t know whether I’m doing this for me or Easton, or because I really do need a friend. Maybe I’m doing it because it scares the shit out of me since it means I’ve taken a step toward really living for the first time in forever.

“Hey, I’m supposed to meet my friend,” I yell at the bouncer and point toward Easton.

Saidfriendglances over, laughing at something someone said. What I’d give to know what that sounds like. The bouncer looks over at Easton for approval. Easton raises his hand with a let-him-pass motion, loosening the tight knot in the pit of my stomach.

As I pass through, every jittery apprehension I had returns, my false confidence abandoning me when I need it most. This was my idea. I asked to hang out sometime. Why didn’t I register that meant making small talk with someone who clearly has nothing in common with me?

He slides deeper into the half-arch booth as I approach. The welcoming gesture brings me a modicum of ease, knowing it means my presence is being accepted.

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