Page 167 of Two Marlboros

I stared at that string - or thattail- for a while longer, only to realize that Nathan may have been right: following the tail from the tip to the junction, it was impossible not to see a mouse-sized carcass, standing there, motionless, perhaps a little too much for it to be considered alive.

“Oh. Doesn’t that disgust you, even a little bit?”

Nathan straightened his chin this time and let the smoke out slowly, giving me time to watch as it caressed his lips. That feeling of envy hit me again with a punch to the stomach.

“Yes, of course, but I have no other place to smoke.”

“And the neighbors don’t say anything to you?”

He chuckled with a cough. He moved closer to me until our shoulders touched. I turned toward him and caught a glimpseof a light beard illuminated by the sun’s glare, but that was all I had time to notice because he looked up and returned to point at something in that direction.

“Do you see that window there, the one that’s wide open?”

I tried to look for it among the iron mesh of the upper landing; so, I just lowered my head and collided with Nathan’s breath on my right cheek. I couldn’t see it, but I said yes.

“If you go up to there, you find an arsenal of used syringes. They’re high, I’m telling you. And a couple of times I’ve caught them fucking out here.”

“Out here? You mean on the ladder?”

Nathan nodded. The image of those two fucking on the landing flashed through my mind; I turned to the boy next to me and that image changed connotations. The boy and girl upstairs were no longer there. On the other hand, something between my legs began to feel again, and I prayed to myself that Nathan would stop talking about fucking and stuff like that.

“Of course, funny things happen in this building.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly why I’m telling you I can smoke all I want.”

He sucked one more time, still leaning against my shoulder. I could feel his full weight on me, as well as his chest expanding and compressing between puffs. I barely shifted my gaze toward him, because if I had turned around at all we would have been too close; he, however, was looking straight ahead at something I could not see, known only to the innermost part of him. Smoke kept coming out of his mouth as if in an automatic gesture; every now and then he moistened his lips by running his tongue over them.

He rested his head on my shoulder. I lost a beat or maybe more. The next moment he settled down and brought his body closer to mine again, so much so that I felt him cling much more. I could not only feel his chest; in that moment I could feel themovement of his muscles as he raised and lowered his left leg in search of a position.

My breathing had stopped, and I was looking for a way to breathe inconspicuously. I could inhale until my lungs were half full and exhale in sections, a little at a time, without kicking out the tension all at once, but I knew I wouldn’t get enough air in, and I wouldn’t spit it out with the right speed. I would be too short of breath not to look like the one with uncomfortable emotion in the way.

Nathan stood with his head on my shoulder, occasionally rubbing himself to regain his position and occasionally moving those legs that ended in a pair of semi-slung shoes. I brought my right hand toward the railing behind me, as if to accommodate him better; I realized only at that instant that I could have raised it a little and used it to encircle his body. Yes, I could have laid my fingers on his side, just for a moment; I would have left him room to move his arm as he preferred, since he had to finish his cigarette. If I had squeezed him to feel the texture of his body, would I have embarrassed him?

I barely moved my fingers over the terracotta tiles and that sound seemed to echo in the silence of that summer afternoon. The rustle of my fingers moving was clearly heard, and from that noise one could guess everything, including the direction in which they were going. Nathan did not flinch and brought the cigarette to his mouth; at that moment, I heard the sound of his breathing, of his lips coming up to the filter and barely sucking in. It was impossible for the smoke not to get under my nose, but along with it I also smelledhissmell, Nathan’s smell, which seemed stronger than mine, but not so much that it bothered me. It was just a matter of habit.

I lifted my fingers and barely raised my arm, but perhaps it was even worse, because I crawled it unwillingly across his back. It was impossible for him not to have noticed, but he saidnothing that time either. I certainly couldn’t stand with my arm in mid-air, so I exhaled in sections, as I had promised myself I would, and with my thumb brushed his side. He did not flinch an inch, and so, little by little, the thumb was joined by all the other fingers of my hand.

Within seconds, all my fingertips were brushing against him. With my thumb I could feel his ribs, which seemed quite prominent; the others, however, sank slowly into his skin, despite the presence of his shirt to prevent full contact. He had slender hips, as lean as one could guess by looking at him, but touching was a whole other thing. I wanted to squeeze tighter, but I also didn’t want to hurt him: how would it look if I dug my fingers into his flesh? I kept grazing him, with that hand that felt stiffer than a block of marble. It was him, if anything, who was moving to settle down, and then my hand would always feel a new inch of flesh. Another breeze barely lifted his shirt, and I took the opportunity to sneak in a little more. I grazed a handful of small hairs, plus a few overly pronounced pores, perhaps from the September breeze that caressed that part of his skin.

It was the first time I had touched him with such a high sense of intimacy. If we had been lovers, that would certainly have been a prelude to something more.

However, reality hit me again and I remembered in a moment why I was there, and it certainly was not to hug Nathan or feel his skin.

The hand on his skin began to feel like too much, almost wrong. Besides, I had no right to touch him like that, and it was possible that his silence was due more to embarrassment than pleasure. Perhaps he hadn’t had the courage to tell me to stop, so he had let me.

I moved my hand away, regretting what I had done, and hid his skin again under his shirt. I felt him swipe his head to move it toward me, surely questioningly, but I did not lower mygaze toward him. I brought my hand back to the tiles and made sure they were far enough away from his bottom that I might accidentally touch it; then I left my hand there, as if it had been dead.

“Are you back to regular cigarettes?” I asked him, as if nothing had happened. I expected to hear him rub his head on my shoulder in assent, but I noticed with surprise that he, too, had detached himself from me. He nodded as anyone would, as two friends who share nothing more would have done.

“Yes, the drums made me sick. And then I had a hard time rolling cigarettes. You know, when you’re there and you feel like it, even waiting an extra minute is a pain.”

I chuckled sincerely, because I could already imagine the great suffering he was talking about.

“Is there any more news?” I asked.

He turned to me, and our gazes met. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, when you text me like this out of nowhere it’s because you want to tell me something.”

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