Page 157 of Two Marlboros

As he crossed the threshold to leave, I thought that old Nathan would have hoped so much for his return in the next few days.

Thinking about it more, perhaps the new Nathan hoped a little, too.

Alan had to have come home by now. I found myself thinking about him after about twenty minutes after my father had left. I couldn’t remember how it had occurred to me, but maybe I was just thinking of someone with whom I could discharge all the anger and disbelief I had. I had been brooding all that time, trying to understand why my father had changed the way he had, but I had found no answer. His questions were running through my head, that apprehensive look in his eyes, the one he had never had in all those years. So, I had wondered if Alan might have an answer, he who always seemed so sure about everything.

I shifted my eyes to the cabinet beside my bed, looking for my cell phone, when I stumbled upon clothes I didn’t recognize. I reached out a hand to feel them and felt that they were soft, just like pajamas, but which I didn’t remember having. I grabbed it and brought it over my legs, to get confirmation that yes, that was indeed pajamas. I opened it up - regretting it the next moment, because I should have folded it - and went looking for a tag, a note or anything that would let me know who had put it there. Nothing, there was nothing there at all, and yet it didn’t look used. It was pajamas for me, but I didn’t know who had brought it; I hadn’t really paid attention to it. I folded it up and, to no one’s surprise, the result was very different from the initial one: with the pants it hadn’t gone badly, but the top looked like it should have been worn by a deformed alien. I put it back and grabbed my cell phone.

I dug through the numbers until I got to Alan’s, but just as I was about to press the green button I stopped. There was no real reason for that gesture, but guilt assailed me, and I wondered if it was right for me to run to him again. He was the only friend I had and the only one I wanted to hear from on such an occasion, but was it fair to him? He hadn’t told me anything about what had happened between us, and even though nothing concretehad happened, we knew that things could have been different and that there was something on both of our parts.

Oh, it seemed so weird to say. “There was something from both of us.” It was the truth: all we would have needed was a little more courage and we would have kissed each other, without turning around too much. So, at that moment we would have been boyfriends? Or would it not have been so obvious in our case? Maybe that was an equation that was fine between teenagers, but between two young adults with a lot of messes behind them, what would a kiss have meant? Maybe it would have meant only the most obvious thing, which was that we wanted it. Or rather, I wanted it, he didn’t. It was this close for it to happen, but it hadn’t happened. So, did it automatically mean that he didn’t want to be with me? And was this also such an obvious equation or not?

With Alan there was nothing obvious; and while this aspect on the one hand gave me a headache, it also fascinated me. So, what was I supposed to do? Could I call him?

Finally, the new Nathan pressed the green button without me even noticing. The line was free. It began to ring, and I wished he would answer as soon as possible, because I really felt a kind of impatience, as if hearing his voice was a matter of paramount importance. I didn’t just want to hear it, I reallyneededit.

The line kept ringing and going silent, and I was always hoping that at that moment he would answer. Maybe he was driving, but he had to be home by now. Was he with his parents? Probably, but someone like him had to always keep his phone with him, and he certainly was doing so at that moment. Was he in the bathroom doing his business in peace? Also, possible.

The call expired and I pushed the phone away from my ear, then stared at it dejectedly. It was already starting to get dark outside, and I felt the monster of loneliness eating me more andmore, partly because the guy in the next bed was out for a walk, so I was left alone.

I tried dialing again and tried to see the beauty in the view from my window: a gray apartment building with peeling plaster, plus a few fronds of who knows what tree to stir up the landscape.

“Hello.”

He took me by surprise. “Alan? Is that you?”

There was a moment of silence, and for a moment I thought the line had dropped. Another second passed without a sound on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.”

His voice was different than usual. It almost sounded like he was speaking under the influence of pot, but I knew that was impossible. It was a slow, almost stunned voice, as if his mind was on another planet.

“Is everything alright?”

I asked, thinking that one could never know. All I got from the other end of the phone was a sigh. In the corner of the room was a flowerpot, far from any bed, but the neon above my head cast an almost monstrous shadow of it on the wall.

“Let’s say yes.”

He had answered after quite a while and in a tone of voice I did not like. His breaths were big and irregular. I had an inkling that he had been crying, and the very thought of it froze me. I had called him to talk about my father and how much I didn’t care anymore, but even though I couldn’t see him, I understood that Alan needed me much more than I needed him.

“You sure?” I asked accordingly.

He breathed in deeply and let go after a couple of seconds.

“It’s just that...” he began to reply, after which he smacked his lips, “I was thinking about you again. And Oliver.”

That conversation turned into a minefield, ready to blow you up at the slightest mistake. I could have told him not to worry, that I was alive after all, but none of those answers seemed to have the sensitivity I was looking for.

“I was afraid,” he continued in a whisper, while I was still searching for the right answer. “Afraid of losing you, of never seeing you again.”

“I’m sorry,” I only whispered. No other words came to mind.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.”

On the other end of the phone silence fell again. Alan had another couple of loud sighs, and I thought that for that evening he would say nothing more, but I was wrong.

“Listen,” he began, hesitantly. “How are you?”

I brushed my ribs and wiggled my toes. “I’m not complaining, it could have been worse.”

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