Page 37 of Paint Eater
Logan’s mom nodded. “See that you don’t gettoodistracted, darling.”
With that, she was gone.
Logan closed his eyes and tried not to scream.
**********
Logan paused on the sidewalk, watching Jay for as long as he could get away with it. Jay was playing hopscotch with a bunch of kids, and, seriously, who the fuck did that anymore? But the street was bustling with summer life like he’d been dropped into a Spike Lee movie. A basketball game was in progress in the park behind Jay, the scuffle of sneakers on rough ground and playful trash-talk filling the air. Someone was playing Hispanic music loudly from one of the windows, and on the stoop beside a laundromat, a group of old Latino men sat and laughed, one of them dancing to the music. Four children took one of the corners of the basketball court, skipping on a large rope, singing a song he didn’t recognise.
Everything about it was so radically different than what he knew. The Upper East Side wasn’t dead, by any means, but it was filled by white people, moms with prams, and jogging men in their forties. Nothing like this.
Jay turned, teasing one of the kids he was with, and spotted him. Logan tried to breathe normally as a grin took over Jay’s face, lighting him up brighter than the summer air.
“Bye!” Jay said immediately to the kids, who waved him off, and jogged towards him. “Hi,” he said loudly even though he was now only a few steps away from him.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t do something stupid like reach out and touch him. “Hey.”
Both of them knew that they weren’t hanging out because of Logan’s photography project anymore, but he had brought his camera with him anyway. He spent some time photographing the scenes of the neighbourhood, and then the kids when they realised what he was doing and scuttled over. They posed, gap-toothed and arms slung over each other.
“Where you gonna put ’em?” one of them asked.
“Uh. Nowhere, really.”
She raised her eyebrows. She must have been, what, seven? And she was already shooting him an unimpressed look. “Dontcha have an Instagram?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Her hand was on her hip now.
Jay was trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle some laughter, but he managed to come to his rescue. “I’ll set one up for him. What’s your handle?”
They exchanged some kind of information, Jay pulling him away when they were done, a cheeky grin on his face. “You looked scared back there.”
“Shut up. You’re the one giving your Instagram handle to a seven-year-old.”
“Okay, you were the one taking pictures of her, weirdo.”
“For—that wasn’t…shut the fuck up.”
Jay laughed.
Logan tried to walk quicker, but Jay’s long legs caught up easily. He didn’t rib him further, though, just bumped their shoulders together and led him into another adventure.
It was another day out of the many he now spent with Jay. Another day Logan had to try and tolerate the force of Jay’s sun. The way it stripped old paint away, leaving him raw and new. The way he chattered away quickly, waving his hands around, checking to see if Logan was still listening as if he expected otherwise.
But Logan was always listening, and watching, and growing warmer and warmer every hour they spent together. Every day, Logan had to tread through the water that was melting from him, the chips of ice, the exposed sensation it was leaving him with, tender to the touch, vulnerable to heat, towanting.
Logan had lived in New York all his life, but when he was with Jay, he felt like he’d never really known the city at all. He’d always been corralled by what his parents thought was appropriate, fenced-in by their expectations, his world limited to what they wanted him to see.
Now, though, he was waking from that soporific enchantment. Why hadn’t he ever challenged his parents’ mandates? Why hadn’t he lied about where he was going and explored the city his mom didn’t want him to know about?
He’d always told himself he rebelled against his parents in small ways, but those had just been a carefully crafted lie. For years now, he had been nothing more than complacent.
Jay weaved through every borough without flinching. He was carefree, a part of the summer heat. Logan, by some strange miracle that had befallen him, was not only walking those same streets, but seeing them through Jay’s eyes.
Logan almost stepped onto a road when a car rushed past. Jay grabbed hold of his hand, pulling Logan back, and just…didn’t let go. Didn’t seem to think twice about it. Had no clue about the electricity it sparked through Logan, who, no matter how much he touched Jay, simply couldn’t get used to it.
After so many years without it, the feel of skin brushing his, of softness and warmth, made him reel. Logan didn’t think Jay knew what it did to him—or, at least, he desperately hoped not. He couldn’t stand the thought of anybody knowing how much he thought about it. How much he needed it.
