Page 9 of Sicken of the Calm
“So, Ezra. Fox Lake, huh?”she starts unsubtly. I shake my head, resigning myself to whatever Iva is up toas I lay down on my back. I rest an arm over my face, the crease of myinner-elbow between my eyes. There’s no point in giving Iva more ammunition byshowing my interest in their conversation.
“Uh, yeah. Fox Lake,” Ezra says.
“How are you liking it?”
“Loving it,” Ezra says, his voiceperking up. “I never knew frisbees could be so versatile.”
“I don’t want to hear about whatdepraved things you’re doing to frisbees, Ezra,” Iva jokes. Ezra sorts.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t befilling frisbees with cum and flinging them into freshmen crowds?” Ezra asks.Iva cackles loudly.
“No, you’re right, those littleducklings need to learn that life is a cold cum-frisbee to the face as soon aspossible,” Iva says in mock seriousness before they cackle together. “What majorare you doing?” Iva asks when they’ve settled down.
“Journalism. You?”
“Art and Graphic design.”
“Oh yeah! Damn, I remember thosepictures you did for art class – that one of…I mean, they were all reallygood.”
“Of…?”
“Well, like, you did one ofJoaquin that was pretty good. Definitely did his eyebrows justice,” Ezra says.Iva laughs as I tense up.
“He’s a pretty good subject,actually, he barely moves on a normal day. And, I mean, look at him! That darkhair! Those shoulders! Those thighs! He could take down a wild pig. And youshould see him without a shirt – Joaquin, flex your biceps!” Iva orders. I liftmy arm and glare at her. Ezra has turned to look at me, but he’s not looking atmy face, his eyes trailing down my body. I tense up further. I pray that thelight brown of my skin and the shadow from my arm will camouflage the blush Ican feel creeping up. Ezra’s eyes flick to my face and then away, caught. Hisblush is stark on his cheeks. I cover my face again, feeling the beating pulsein my neck.
“Speaking of hot guys – you withanybody?” Iva asks.
“Uh, no, not really.”
“Not really?”
“I mean – no, nothing, like,serious.”
“Oooh, playah!” Iva teases. Ezrasnorts. I squeeze my eyes closed below my arm.
“Uh, I wouldn’t go that far. Whatabout you?”
“No –nothing serious,anyways,” she says, laughing.
Luckily, the conversation veersaway from the topic as they start gossiping about people they didn’t knowbeforehand they had in common. They get on like a house on fire, with me as anoccupant within. There has always been an easy openness to Ezra, an almostflippancy to the way he interacts with the world. I still have the memoryburning in my head of when I witnessed someone call him a faggot in school. Mymind had gone blank at the word, but Ezra, he barely reacted. A look thrownover his shoulder, a,Yikes, dude. That was lame, in a dismissal souncaring it had cut the guy off at the knees. I hadn’t been able to fathom thatlevel of freedom from others.
In the September afternoon, inthe warmth and the breeze and the noise of the people and the birds chattering,I am left with the images of Ezra doingnothing seriouswith somefaceless guy. Of those almond shaped eyes looking at someone with a piercinglook, that languid smirk on his lips, the freckles on his nose. I imagine hishands. His fingers. The way they would slide with just the tips across goosebumpedskin, the way they would grip, pull, explore. The way the person under himwould strain, plead, the way Ezra would drag it out, his long fingersunspooling the thread until it was pulled tight.
The mixture of anxiety andarousal the image causes is a bezoar in the pit of my stomach. I remove my armfrom my face and blink at the foliage over me, praying the swaying of the blueand the green will take me away.
CHAPTER TWO
I glare at the computer as Ezrascribbles beside me, his elbow intermittently brushing mine. There had been aninstant tension in my chest the moment he had stepped into my apartment for thesecond time, but the feeling had not been altogether unpleasant, like the pullof muscles after a hard game.
We sat around for a little whiletalking before getting to work. I had tried not to get distracted by the wildgestures Ezra made as he told me a story about the weekend before, his deepvoice lilting up and down for comic effect. I found myself smiling more than Idid with anybody except Iva or my family, shaking my head as Ezra exaggerated,Ifucking swear it was a twenty-foot drop!
“That’s like the size of agiraffe, Ezra,” I had said.
“Uh, your point? I’m fuckingIndiana Jones, baby,” he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Now, though, both the amusementand the tension has been swept away by irritation.
“Fucking Excel. I swear toGod…they do this on purpose, I’m about to…How is that the y-axis? Who decidedthat should be the y-axis!” I bark at the computer. Ezra snorts and I whiparound to glare at him.
