Echoes in Paper

Once a month, Gerard went to the zoo, to take in the sights and sounds of the crowd in the zoo and to paint some of the animals. He was an artist, a thirty-one-year-old painter, but only a freelancer. He had always loved to draw and paint, as his grandmother was an extraordinary artist and had been a source of inspiration for him, but he was also a painter because of his self-inflicted condition: Gerard didn’t talk. And he went to the zoo when he was tired of painting in his house or on the streets; he saw his Mother’s face everywhere and the zoo helped him to let go of the images he always had in his head. At least he was distracted with something that he loved to do, and he also felt awkwardly comforted by the presence of so many people around him, and even that he knew none of them, they made him happy.

Gerard had needed authorization from the zoo Director to go there regularly and do his paintings. The man had probably conceded because he had grown in pity for the unspeaking painter when he met Gerard, who obviously did nothing but write his request in a page of his small notebook, which he kept in the right back pocket of his pants. That day, after another of his consented paintings, Gerard was walking out to go back home, but he was distracted, looking to his left as a little boy thanked his Father for the chocolate ice cream. His mind gave him images of his own happiness with his parents and it made him look to his feet in some sort of a sad reminiscent echo.

Suddenly, Gerard walked into a guy, who was distractedly searching for something in his wallet. The wallet fell and both men tried to get it from the floor at the same time, causing their cheeks to meet. If they were in love and in some chick flick, they would have kissed right away. It actually made Gerard look at the lips in front of him and smile inwardly at the sight of a very close Paradise.

The man collected his wallet off the floor and Gerard followed his gestures, as he got up again. Everyone else that walked around the zoo was looking at them as they passed by the two men, but they simply didn’t care. It was like the two men were ignoring them.

They looked at each other and Gerard smiled, earning an "I'm sorry" and a smile in response. He leant his head forward a little as he was already used to do in such situations: Gerard remembered the last time he said a word, and he definitely remembered why he chose to stop talking…

I will never forget that day. It marked me in ways no one should ever even consider.

It was just another day for me and my family. I was twelve years old. We were enjoying our one-week vacation together as a happy family in the countryside. My Father rented the same house specifically for our yearly holidays and now we were enjoying the sun that entered through the opened, wide windows of the house. We had just had lunch and because of the high temperature of the climate there, we were at home, waiting for the time to pass by and the weather to be more pleasant. My brother, Mikey, and I were always eager to get out and have fun somewhere with our parents, but apparently that day our luck changed.

Someone knocked. I was near the door so I went to check out who was there. I knew my parents had never told anyone, except our grandparents, where we were, so I doubted that it was some of their friends. Fortunately, the door had some squared pieces of glass on it, so I could see who was outside without opening it. I felt safe like that, and so did my parents. I placed my chubby body in front of it and found a strange man. Strange, not only because he was someone I’d never seen before in my life, but also because he was wearing plain white clothes. Looking at him was boring enough, and his face didn’t show any signs of friendship, so I called my Mother. She came to me quickly and her face ended up as serious as mine had been before.

“Who are you, Sir?” She asked politely. No matter what situation my Mom was in, she always knew how to be polite and calm. She was a brave woman, in fact.

“I am Brad”, the man in white on the other side of the door spoke softly. “I’m a friend of Mr. Smithson and we just came home from our weekly golf game.” Oh, yes, so that was the reason of his plain, boring white clothes. He played golf with Mr. Smithson, the middle-aged man called John, who lived next door and had always been very nice to us. We always spent our vacation week in that house every year and he had always lived next door, so I could say our family knew the man pretty well.

“We were trying to cook”, the man continued, “but Mr. Smithson saw that he had no eggs, and told me to come here and borrow some. Do you think I could have some eggs?” His question was as polite as my Mom’s first intervention, and it made a weak smile flit over her face.

“Why, sure you can! Gerard, Honey, will you go to the kitchen and bring one box of eggs, please?” My Mother asked me with her sweet voice. It was always soothing, and even when she tried to get mad at me, or at Mikey, we could hear that sweetness in her voice. It was always comforting, so I obeyed.

I went to the kitchen and looked at the three boxes of eggs we had there. I grabbed one of them, shook it cautiously and felt that it was full with the six eggs that fit the carton. I carried it in my hands, back to the lobby of our summer rented house. There was something slightly different about it now; my Mother had opened the door to this stranger dressed in white and they were talking cheerfully about how this man used to work in the same office as Mr. Smithson. They talked and she smiled politely, as only my Mother could do. I heard the TV in the living room and I knew my Father and my Brother were in there watching something, so I thought about rejoining them after giving the eggs to my Mother.

However, something made me stop in my pace. Now, there was another strange man in my lobby. I don’t know where he had come from, but he greeted my Mom in the same way as this Brad had done before. He had a golf club in his right hand and bizarrely asked for carrots. I saw my Mom crease her eyebrows in response for the first time that day, and I knew what she was thinking: she probably suspected that there was something wrong with these men. I thought the same.

So I went to the living room, ignoring my Mom’s polite order to go to the kitchen and get them the carrots so that they could go back to Mr. Smithson’s house. I found my Brother and my dad laughing slightly at something on the screen and I spoke:

“Dad, there are some weird men by the door asking for things from the kitchen.”

“Why don’t you obey your Mother and please their demands?” My Father questioned jokingly, as he only knew how to do. My Father was funny like that; he made jokes out of everything. I didn’t know how he managed to be so joyful and positive all the time.

“Because they look weird, Dad…” I warned him as I got closer to the couch where he was sitting. He looked up at me and shrugged at my answer. It made me roll my eyes as I thought that he wasn’t going to do anything about it, but then I saw him nod and get up from the couch. He was going to meet my Mom in the lobby of the rented cottage and take these weird, plain white clothed men out of the house. I sat uncomfortably on the couch, by my Brother’s side, who gave me an odd look as if though trying to ask me what the hell was going on. I ignored it and turned my attention to the door.

Soon, violent sounds erupted.

First, it was the door which closed noisier and more harshly than I thought possible in our house. We had always been very pacific people, so we never made that much noise, even with the doors. I looked over to the lobby, over the backboard of the couch, with Mikey’s head following mine, and we both saw as the second man swing his club on the nearest wall. It wasn’t accidental, but definitely on purpose, and we both saw it with our own eyes. I was confused and didn’t know what to do in response, so I just turned around again and tried to be as silent as possible. Mikey, however, didn’t follow me this time. He kept looking.

Secondly, it was a female scream. Mom… It wasn’t a cry for help, but a loud sound of annoyance, and my Father wasn’t retaliating, so I didn’t see any trouble with it. Mikey shuddered. I saw it clearly as the skin on his legs gained goosebumps. And it wasn’t from pleasure, or cold… The day was sunny and the temperature high, so it couldn’t be due to sudden cold.

Thirdly, it was a male yelp. Mikey sat back on the couch and his lip quivered severely. I looked at his face, to try and ask him what he had seen, but as quickly as I had opened my mouth, I closed it. I saw Mikey crying; he never cries. Well, apparently he did, as he was crying now. I tried again to ask him what he had seen, but I was interrupted by a thump.

Mikey shuddered once more, violently this time, and I looked at him closely. His eyes were shut as tears fell slowly down his face. I placed one hand as smoothly as I could on his shoulder, and I asked him what he had seen.

“Mommy…” he simply whispered, shuddering once more.

I waited a few moments, but no more words came from Mikey’s mouth, so I made a decision. I was going to turn around and look over the backboard of the couch again…

After that fateful day, Gerard never spoke a word again. Laliophobia, doctors called his fear of speaking, but he saw it only as a precaution. His life was smooth, except when people tried to take advantage of him, but he had already learned to deal with the insults when he was painting on the streets. People called him useless, lazy, loser, dim-whizzer; some spat on him, others just ignored his presence; sometimes people could get really offensive and murmur insults under their breaths when Gerard only thanked them with a gesture of his head. It hurt at times, but in the end he would return home with a comforted life in his soul. Because at least he was alive… and there was something feeding his willpower to survive.

Ten days had passed since Gerard had last gone to the zoo, and he could only think of the next month: he was eager to go back to the zoo and find once more all those people, the ones who were happy and didn’t care about his lack of words. Ten more days of drawing, thinking and sleeping. It had been years since Gerard stopped having dreams about the night he lost his willpower to speak. The images haunted and taunted him for over ten years, but now he had learned to deal with them and accept the fact that he was alone in life. Mikey, who had been left traumatized like him, had hated him since that tragic night. They never talked again, because Mikey blamed his brother for what had happened; in some way he was right, but by not accepting that Gerard had been scared shitless too, Mikey had hurt his brother in ways Gerard thought impossible.

Ten days had passed since Gerard had last gone to the zoo, and now he was coming home with the paintings under his arms and in his hands. They weren’t that many, but it was still heavy, and he stopped in the sidewalk to take a rest and to look at some huge, colorful outdoor ad about a new Art Gallery in town. He was interested and smiled, both inwardly and on his face. Unfortunately, not all people walk with their eyes focused on the way they’re going, and someone walked into his back unexpectedly and hurriedly. All his paintings fell on the floor noisily and Gerard gasped before trying to get them back to his protective embrace. He didn’t even bother looking back at the person who had walked into him. Gerard just squatted on the floor trying to get the paintings back to his arms and hands. The person was kind enough to murmur something and offer his help.

It was a man and when their faces got close, Gerard somehow recognized the lips of Paradise before his eyes. This man was helping him to collect the four paintings he was carrying before and that now laid unhappily on the floor. They didn’t seem ruined, since Gerard had protected them with the unprofessional textile he had managed to get to cover his paintings. Getting up and once more thanking the person with a gesture of his head, Gerard saw that face for the second time in his life, but he was ready to carry on with his journey back home.

“I know you…” the man spoke, but Gerard was already smiling and turning his back to the man. Gerard carried on walking. He wanted to go home and deposit those paintings in a safe place. After all they were his only source of money; he painted for a living.

Finally at home, the deep yet tender voice echoed in Gerard’s ears, as if all other sounds were blocked out inside his mind. It wasn’t like in the movies, where people couldn’t live without it, and the same night they would go back to that same street and wait impatiently for the other person to pass by. No, Gerard wouldn’t do that; he would be calm, but he wouldn’t be impassive either: he would paint that face by memory, as many details as he could remember, and the words would also be included in the painting. I know you… Maybe the man would pass by him when he was at work the next day.

It didn’t happen though. Gerard spent one extra hour on his spot every day, but the mysterious man of the two walks-into he had experienced never came. That day there were no lips of Paradise to hover over his eyes. Gerard went home disappointed with himself, and he even wanted to ruin his painting. Out of anger, Gerard was ready to shred the painting to pieces as tears had broken his eyelids for too damn long that evening, but he couldn’t do it. The painting and the face not quite detailed in the canvas were staring at him and it was too much for him. It was a fake gaze, yet so close, and the words “I know you” were banging in his ears repeatedly. It was unbearable. It meant that the man remembered him, in the same way that Gerard remembered that sweet face and deep voice. He would come back…

The next day, after a long night of fighting with his pillow to get some good sleep, Gerard checked his calendar, because he had rituals for specific days of the week. Not on all days of the week, but some included weekly rituals to try and avoid the boring daily routine. Well, that day, it was a Friday, so it meant: Starbucks day! He had some good, old friends working there, who had always served him with respect for his chosen condition. No one in there ever insulted him or glared at him, and he was always excited about that day. At least he could meet some friendly gazes and hear friendly voices once a week, it felt good to him. It made him want to live the whole week for that ritual on Fridays. So it could only be a good thing in his life. He actually craved for it in his weird way of a painter. Gerard already felt like he could paint that place and the people he had met there directly on the spot. They all were unusually expressive like that.

However, that week was different. Maybe it was because of the weather, since it was summer and the city had been complimented with a sunny day, and people preferred to go to the beach, but Starbucks had almost no costumers! It wasn’t shocking, but it was a surprise, especially for Gerard, because he didn’t meet any of the usual workers in the café. He met a stranger, probably some new employee there, but the newcomer did greet Gerard with a gentle smile. It was a good first step; Gerard just hoped that the man wouldn’t freak out as soon as he found out that Gerard couldn’t voice his order. He would most likely have to point to whatever he wanted on the menu that was on the main counter. Or if the worker deserved it, he could write it in the small notebook he always carried in his back pocket.

That was when it hit him, like rocks or an avalanche of snow rolling down a mountain. The man… He wasn’t just a new worker; it was the man of the painting! The man of the two walks-into he had experienced that same month! He was smiling the same way he had smiled the second time they had met casually; he was smiling as if he remembered him! Gerard had once believed in fate, a cruel yet omnipresent figure that could control his life, but that tragic night that happened to his family changed his mind. That night he found out that he was the only one who could decide his own future. Nothing was controlling him… but now that he had found this man for the third time in less than two weeks, Gerard started to believe in fate again, no matter what it meant.

The man kept smiling as Gerard walked closer to the counter. How would he react to the fact that Gerard did not talk? Would he accept it straightaway, or would him shrug it off in some uncomfortable way? Gerard was about to see that… He was now in front of him, as the question “Good morning, Sir. What can I do for you today?” departed his smiling lips of Paradise. He deserved the moment; the man, the new worker behind the counter was the one Gerard had beenhaunting wishing to see for the past hours.

So Gerard smiled back, not wider than he already was, but sweeter. There was a momentary trade of gazes and then Gerard reached out for his back pocket, as the man behind the counter repeated the question. Gerard showed him his notebook and the man nodded in comprehension: he would wait for the written answer. In a glance, Gerard studied his facial expression in full detail as he opened the notebook to some random blank page; and he found nothing more than sweetness on that striking face. The same Paradise lingering on his lips was plastered along his gentle features. There were only some minimum details in the face that hadn’t been included in the painting, but that fact only made this man even more worthy of Gerard’s every smile, every gaze, every thought, every line of paint. Gerard smiled inwardly even more. He wrote down his answer: Coffee. Black. Please.

That man read the words on the paper and folded it carefully before placing it gently in the front pocket of his apron. Gerard didn’t know what he was going to do with it, but some part of him wished that the man wanted to keep it so that he could think of him clearer. It was an affectionate thought running in Gerard’s mind, the exact moment when the man behind the counter came back with the cup and repeated Gerard’s order: “Coffee. Black. Two dollars. Please.” Then there was the smile again. It nearly hypnotized Gerard, but he loved to feel that natural light irradiating from the man in front of him. It felt just as perfect as the Paradise that the man carried in his simple pair of smiling lips.

From that first real encounter and trade of smiles, Gerard knew that Fridays would always be his favorite days as the man’s voice was even deeper in his ears. Every week, he entered that Starbucks with a smile already plastered on his face and, no matter how many people there were in the parlor, Gerard would always be served by The Smiling Man. That was how he called him inside his mind, since they had never exchanged any more words except on that first day. In fact, Gerard just had to enter the café and the man would immediately get his coffee, black, as he knew what Gerard liked. It was amazing, especially to Gerard. He tried to go there at the same time every day, and one of them, it was no surprise to Gerard that The Smiling Man was waiting for him with his unique brand of smiles. There were no other smiles that Gerard could compare to his, not even the thankful smiles of the people who bought his paintings, or simply enjoyed them. They were all real and comforting, but none of them had as much strength as the smile of The Smiling Man, who worked in Starbucks and waited for Gerard to enter the parlor. It was magical. It was Paradise…

So time passed by for the two men and the weekly smiles on Fridays never ended. Four weeks, eight weeks, twelve weeks made their way into the future and The Smiling Man still waited for Gerard with his coffee, black, and with his own smile. The one Gerard would guard inside his heart. The one Gerard would keep in mind as inspiration for his creations. The one Gerard would most want against his staring orbs. The one Gerard described as Paradise, but we already know that. And so did Gerard, and so did The Smiling Man who one day surprised Gerard with a note plastered on the cup of black coffee. Gerard read it while he sat on a chair in the parlor, as usual. He had always drunk his coffee there, before going to the streets and working on his own until lunch time, and then until dinner time. The note had three words only, Frank. You? Please.

Gerard knew what it meant: it was The Smiling Man’s name. It could mean the world to Gerard, but it didn’t. It was just a name; well, not exactly, as it was The Smiling Man’s name, but yet still a name. Gerard felt in Paradise though as he read the note, and his heart beat faster at the memory of the first meetings: the two occasional and accidental walks-into and the first honest and sweet smile at Starbucks. He didn’t respond to the note that Friday, and he didn’t know if it letThe Smiling Man Frank down, but it was something Gerard needed to do. He didn’t want to seem desperate to start any kind of relationship with anyone. He had always been very keen on hiding his anxiety, as it could bring him some kind of trouble, so he kept the first note on his fridge, held stuck onto it with colorful magnets, and decided that he would respond to Frank’s message the next Friday.

However, things don’t always work out the way we want them to. The next Friday, Gerard entered the Starbucks parlor at the same time as all previous Fridays and he did find Frank, but he no longer was The Smiling Man. Frank showed him no smile, and Gerard knew that the man felt rejected. However, he knew how to make it better; he grabbed his notebook and wrote something on it before heading closer towards the counter. Frank was serving customers that day and he did serve Gerard, but again the smile was gone. It somehow upset Gerard, but he had a note and if everything happened as he had dreamed of, his beloved Paradise would come back to the pair of pink lips.

Gerard. Smile. Please.

It worked. Gerard smiled wider, both inwardly and on his face, as Frank smiled back for the first time that week. The world felt one again as they traded smiles once more, before Frank moved his smile and gaze away to get Gerard’s coffee, black. He took more time than he usually did, and Gerard knew that Frank had been reluctant about smiling at him and serving him that day. Fortunately, the note had changed some of it.

Frank came back with coffee, but this time it wasn’t just one cup. Frank brought two cups of coffee that everyone could identify clearly by the huge green Starbucks icon printed on the carton. Gerard didn’t understand at first, especially when he saw Frank putting them down on the counter. However, everything felt right again when Frank took his working apron off his torso, making his neck turn a little to the right to make it easier to remove it. Gerard knew in that moment that Frank would accompany him today. He smiled even more at the smiling man, now called Frank, in front of him, who beckoned Gerard to the usual table where he sat down every week.

Sitting in two chairs on opposite sides of the round table, Gerard and Frank both took sips of their coffees. It was like their gazes and smiles could talk for them. Gerard was an artist and adored that simplicity, as he could interiorize every single detail of Frank’s appearance for further use inside his head as inspiration. It had happened the past weeks, the past months, but now they were taking another step between them: they were sitting at the same table like two friends. Gerard could see Frank as his friend, another friend from Starbucks, but he wanted that man to symbolize so much more to him! After all, he was his inspiration… he had to be important in his average life.

So Gerard grabbed his notebook from his back pocket for the second time that morning and placed it on the table, something that he had never predicted to do at Starbucks, especially after Frank had made himself the only servant of Gerard’s usual order. He was about to open it but Frank said “No…”, in such a sweet tone that Gerard looked at him to be sure that he had said the word. Frank smiled again and nodded, as if he could read Gerard’s question inside his own mind. Then, Frank reached for his back pocket and took out a different notebook: it was the same size as Gerard’s, but it was a hardback, not a paperback, and it was black, not yellow. Gerard didn’t understand the meaning of the new notebook on the table, as their cups of coffee, black, rested on it. So he just watched.

Frank opened the notebook and borrowed Gerard’s pen to write something down, hiding it from Gerard. Then he put the pen down again and turned the notebook so that Gerard could see it and read what he had written. I am Frank. It was written on the second line of the blank page, and Gerard knew what it meant. He smiled at Frank before grabbing the pen and writing on the first line: I am Gerard.

Frank then went for the other back pocket of his jeans and took a small tube of glue, and also the first note that Gerard had given him. Gerard’s mouth dropped opened at the sight of that months-old paper, but the surprise near-gasp turned into the sweetest smile. Frank had kept the note and maybe thought of Gerard on the days he didn’t come to the Starbucks parlor. The idea was so sweet! Then, Gerard watched as Frank glued the paper of Gerard’s first order to Frank to the first page of the notebook, right under their first sentences. And it wasn’t just that: Frank had also added in the date of that note. The exact day they had ‘talked’ for the first time. Gerard fluttered in his seat and floated in the air at the sweetness of that smiling man in front of him. At that exact moment, he knew that Frank was different, that Frank would accept him and that he wouldn’t ask questions. He just knew it.

From that day onwards, they developed a strong friendship during the weeks Gerard went to Starbucks, and soon it became a daily ritual. Then it happened every day except on Fridays, as The Smiling Man started to have that day off every week, and the two spent it together. Frank would often go with Gerard to the street where he usually worked on his paintings, and sometimes Frank even posed for him. They also used the notebook a lot more often, jotting down their inner feelings and hopes, their finest dreams and worst nightmares, their favorite and hated things in the world. They started to know each other through paper and Gerard felt as though he had never known anyone before in his life. They shared many secrets of their lives on that notebook; so many that, for the future three years, they would fill seven notebooks with words of their written conversations.

They didn’t use the notebooks all the time, though. Frank would sometimes talk to Gerard, making long speeches about how much their relationship had evolved, how much he enjoyed Gerard’s company, his honest smile, his intense gaze, his warm embrace. In one of those speeches, one year after the first real trade of smiles, Frank admitted to himself, to Gerard and to the world that he was in love with Gerard. It was no longer a friendship that he could only live with on mornings and Fridays; Frank wanted more, and Gerard was more than willing to give it to him. Gerard beckoned him to write down his true feelings and Frank obeyed bluntly: I. Love. Gerard. And the answer came immediately after: I. Love. Frank.

The pen was put down on Gerard’s lap, as he held the notebook in front of Frank’s eyes. The man smiled as usual, the same Paradise of all times lingering on his lips; it was ideal for Gerard’s gaze. He wanted nothing more than just stare at the smile every second of his life, only to memorize and try to paint it in its magnitude. He knew it was impossible, as even his steadiest brush-strokes would never get closer to the true smile of Frank’s lips. It was unique in a way that no one would ever be able to reproduce it, in any imaginable way. The pen was put down on Gerard’s lap, but soon enough it dropped to the floor as Frank grabbed Gerard’s hand. Their fingers touched slightly and the smile on Gerard’s face appeared, as Frank’s smile grew wider. They were touching for the first time, at least a touch they both wished for and dreamed about; it felt perfect, and touching such hands made Gerard stare at his favorite Paradise intently.

They didn’t kiss that day; only one week later. It happened casually, when they were watching a movie on Frank’s DVD player. The once and always smiling man had brought it to Gerard’s tiny living room and they sat down together on the small couch to watch it. At some point, Frank let his mouth slip closer to Gerard’s. The men had been sitting in the dark impatiently during the first thirty minutes of the movie, but when Frank decided, his lips were already closing the gap between their faces. Their smiles faded into one kiss, the loving touch of their warm lines called lips. That one originated many more kisses, in their mouths, and on their cheeks or hands. They quickly got addicted to kissing one another, as much as still talking through the paper of the notebooks. They wouldn’t do it all the time; it wasn’t that kind of addiction, but the two men, now boyfriends, only shared passionate kisses. They would stay in each other’s arms for long minutes that felt like hours but didn’t make the years pass by.

However, it had to happen and, one more year later, Gerard grabbed the notebook: Frank, move in with me? The answer was said out loud first, as The once Smiling Man hugged his boyfriend close to his heart. Their love grew stronger each day and they both knew it, as they felt it clearly inside their hearts. They loved each other and now they would share a house, share one personal place, share a bedroom. In there, they made love for the first time, taking a long time with the first kisses to prove to each other that they were there for the love and not for the pleasure. They already knew it, but it felt cosmic to feel it in the other’s body and kisses. Gerard always remembered that first night as a bright light in his heart and mind: the first time their skins touched entirely, the first day their hands explored hidden corners, the first night their fingers exchanged their purest secrets that no notebook could ever hide. It felt someway weird to hear Frank’s moans of pleasure and love and not want to answer back. Gerard was afraid that it would all happen again, though he had never shared with Frank what had really happened in his life. Yes, the smiling man called Frank who Gerard loved unconditionally still knew nothing about the truth in Gerard’s past.

It didn’t take too long to find it out, though. There was a specific day and a specific movie that they would never forget. The movie had affected Gerard intensely and brought back memories that he pretended to have forgotten, and that day and night touched them both in ways that nothing and no one could ever fully heal. They knew it from the first instant it happened.

Frank had been told by a friend at Starbucks, where he still worked, that this specific movie was a remarkable story, told perfectly by an intriguing plot, that he should see some day. Frank accepted the suggestion and he rented the movie at the video shop and asked Gerard to watch it. Neither of them knew the movie by its title, Funny Games, so Gerard agreed with seeing it. However, the movie hadn’t even reached its middle and Gerard was already shaking his head and crying a river.

Frank got instantly worried about his boyfriend and welcomed the nearly frozen body against his own. He let Gerard snuggle up onto his shoulder. Soon enough, the man in Frank’s embrace started sobbing in silence and Frank could tell by the furious quivers of the now fragile form in his arms that it was something serious. The movie was stopped. The notebook was opened and Gerard wrote his heart out to Frank. He started with a simple, This brings back my memories…

I will never forget that day. It marked me in ways no one should ever even consider.

I looked over the backboard of the couch again and saw the two men forcing my parents to the living room where we were. They brought them by the neck, grasping violently at the skin, like two dead rabbits. I saw the blood on my dad’s forehead and I gasped quietly. It was running like a small river down his nose, a highly evident line of blood, and my dad looked as though he was in great pain. I remembered he had a disease that made him bleed in currents even from minor injuries. I never knew its name. My heart convulsed in fear as I watched something so terrible happen to my dear Father.

"Dad!" I tried to scream and get closer to him, but a golf club forced my chubby body back to the couch.

And then the game began.

The two weird white-clothed men sat my Mother and Father on the other couch in the living room, as they positioned themselves in front of the television.

"Let's play a game..." The first one to come in to the house suggested with a smirk, but it was not a pleasant one.

Mikey tried to deny him the pleasure of playing a game with the family, because they had just hurt our Father, but the men in white just released a small laugh of amusement at my Brother’s attempt to reverse his words. I watched as my Mom warned me and Mikey with her steely gaze, before ordering us to be quiet and just listen to these men. After all, and I could see this, we were at some kind of dangerous disadvantage here…

The men, especially the second one to come to our house (the golf club holder), applauded my Mother's order. "That was wise... and you better obey, you Little Shit", the man said to Mikey. The boy by my side shuddered but sent him a deadly glare, to which the man responded with a raising movement of his left eyebrow.

I watched it all in silence, as my Mother had been quite firm about that order. I never knew that it would be my last chance to remain sane and say a word...

"Let's play a game..." one man repeated, and then the second man did the same.

"What game do you wanna play?" The first one, I think he had called himself Brad, asked. "The alphabet game?"

"No..." the second one, Unnamed, shook his head. "That's too boring and we have children here, we must keep them entertained all the time, isn't that right, Little Mother?" he asked tauntingly. No answer.

"Answer, woman!"

No answer.

My Mother refused to answer as she knew nothing about these men in white clothes. They had clearly hurt her by injuring my Father, and no one knew when they would start hurting Mikey and I. So she kept quiet, and Brad grabbed her by her hair.

"He asked you a question..."

Silence.

"We must keep children entertained all the time, isn't that right, Little Mother?" he asked again. The Mother nodded. "What?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Good. Now, what about Hide and Seek?" He suggested, as if nothing had happened there. They continued mentioning game after game for what seemed to take an eternity. I fixed my gaze upon them, inwardly wishing that they would somehow stop with this already sick little game of them.

"I have an idea..." The first one, Brad, stated. "Let's play The Silent Game."

"Nice... but we must tell them the rules. Maybe they don't know that game..."

"You may be right." He turned to Mikey, who trembled under Brad’s cruel gaze on the couch. "Do you know The Silent Game?" Mikey shook his head. "What?"

"No, I do not", he surrendered.

"Well, it's good that we haven't started it yet, or you would have already lost, Boy", Brad answered smartly. Then he turned to me. Oh my God.

"Do you know The Silent Game?" I shook my head. "What?" I shook my head again. "Do you know The Silent Game, or not?" He insisted.

"Please, they’re just boys..." my Mother spoke quietly. She was so tender and careful even in these situations of danger. No one has any idea how much I love my Mother…

"You lose!" The man in white exclaimed. "We are playing the Silent Game, so you're supposed to stay silent. What's so difficult in that?"

"But have we started it already?" The other man asked. The first one stopped to think.

"I guess we have, since I've just said that she lost the game..."

"But the rules, you didn't explain the rules", the second one insisted. They were talking illogically and insensibly, and I thought I would never understand these men. They were real psychos, like the ones I’d only seen in movies or read in stories.

"Why you're so wrong! I just did. I told them that they're supposed to stay silent. If it wasn't for that, the game wouldn't be called The Silent Game, right?"

The second one thought about the words. "Yes, you're right. So we did start playing it..."

"We did?" The first one asked. Maybe they were fooling themselves too, or maybe they were just as confused as I was. It was so damn difficult to stay focused on anything with this tense ambiance inside the living room now.

"I guess we did..."

Silence.

Just like the game was supposed to be played.

Then something happened. To me. WHY ME?! I had this stupid urge to go to the bathroom. I chose to ignore it, or I could put my whole family in danger. I felt that these guys were tougher than the plain white clothes made them look. The clothes gave them that angelic look, and so did their too-pretty faces, but their attitude wasn’t the most comfortable.

The men kept asking us questions and we kept answering with only our heads or hands. Apparently, everyone had learned the rules of the game, as the Brad guy had referred. We had to remain silent. However, my bladder decided that it wasn’t one of those to follow the rules. It was getting difficult trying to hold it back and I looked at my parents for comfort. My Father was gratefully silent, as the certain pain in his head made him flinch sometimes and fidget a lot in his seat. The blood on his face hadn’t slowed down, and it made him look dark and scary, not the joking Father I had seen a few moments before. I didn’t want my Dad to die, or my Mom. She looked way too fragile now, as she sat down on the couch with her face very serious and emotionless. And so was my Brother. Mikey was sitting on the couch with his feet on the floor, which constantly moved. I didn’t know why it didn’t bother the two men in white, as they seemed too sensitive to any kind of reaction.

Talking about them, they remained in the living room talking about everything and nothing; sometimes mocking about silly jokes they had heard, other times ‘joking’ how they had heard of some old lady who had been found dead in her bathtub. She had been found in slices… I gulped. And then I felt it again. It was stronger than ever and I needed to do something. So I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. Our holidays… now ruined by the two in-white men. No, not working, they were still there. Mikey… my little Brother, who bugs me so often with his silly toys of a nine-year-old boy. Mikey, who was now quivering by my side. No, not working either.

“I need to go to the bathroom…” My mind told me.

“What did you say?” No!

No, I couldn’t have said that out loud… but apparently I did, and now one of the men was coming closer.

“You said you needed to go to the bathroom, right?” He placed one hand over my knee and I heard my Mom hiss in some sort of pain, as if he had placed that hand of milky skin on her own knee. I nodded. I didn’t remember I had broken the rules; I thought that it was only my mind telling me the facts about my body, but no. I had spoken those words. I had broken the rules. And now god knew what would happen.

“Then come”, the other man told me. His hand was stretched in front of my low face. I lifted my head to look at his expanded fingers and he beckoned me to go with him, now in silence. Apparently we were still playing The Silent Game, but they had done nothing when I said that I needed to go to the bathroom. So I looked at the hand, then my Mom, my Dad and my Brother. They looked scared, but none of them seemed to know what to do. I understood their position, but I needed this.

I got up from the couch and took the hand that was being given to me. The man closed his fingers around my plump hand. His hand was warm, but his touch felt wrong. I had a weird feeling that something might happen to me in the bathroom, and that was why I didn’t want to go in at first. But then, the man just plopped himself by the bathroom door and beckoned me to enter, with nothing but a movement of his head. I obeyed.

I did my business in peace and inwardly sighed in relief. I didn’t know how much time I had spent holding it back, but apparently I had to take a very long leak. It didn’t feel wrong though. However, I was reluctant about turning around. What if the man who had brought me, the Unnamed one, had some surprise waiting for me? Was he going to hit me? Was he going to yell at me like the other one had yelled at Mom? I closed my eyes as I slid the zip up again, and I slowly turned around to the door.

It was still closed and I was alone in the bathroom. I sighed; unfortunately it came out noisier than I had expected. I stood still for some time, trying to see if something would happen. No, nothing happened. I guess everything was alright and that these men weren’t as mean as they wanted us to believe. I guess they understood natural needs, like peeing or eating. Maybe they were just playing a game, and would get out of our house when the night came and they had to go back home to their own Mothers and Fathers, and have dinner.

I thought about that and a lot more things that confused me about these men, while I washed my hands. I tried to do everything as quickly as I could, to not bore the man in white waiting for me by the door… or even worse to make him get mad. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst, as I opened the bathroom door.

Nothing major happened. The man was in the same position I had left him, as if he was some sort of a wicked puppet who turned off when they were in stand-by for a specific amount of time. He looked at me when I closed the bathroom door again, as if the noise had turned him back on, and he looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I didn’t know what it meant. Then he smirked at me and placed one hand on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes at the poisonous touch, but I didn’t know what it meant. I felt him lean down to my level and felt his breath on my ear.

“Don’t tell Brad”, he started, “but I forgot my watch”, he told me. I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I moved my head in consent. I nodded furiously and looked at him as confidently as I could, to show him that I wouldn’t tell Brad that he had forgotten his watch. Whatever.

Soon, we got to the living room and the violent shock erupted.

My Mom was now kneeling on the floor, her face and chest turned to my Father and Mikey. The man in white in the room, Brad, was threatening her… with a knife. The blade was placed carefully in the middle of her neck, as the man held her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck as if my Mom wasn’t human and was some kind of animal waiting to be slaughtered at the abattoir. My heart twitched painfully in my chest.

The Unnamed man pushed me roughly back to my spot where I had sat since the second man had come to the house in his fake search for carrots. I almost fell onto the couch on my face and the man who pushed me was slapped on his arm by Brad, probably because he had pushed me too hard. I was weirdly grateful for that punishment, but still scared, and scarred, as my Mom’s throat was exposed so weakly.

“Charlie, what were the rules of the game?” The Brad guy asked. I thought he was talking to the other white man, but no answer came. Maybe there was no Charlie in that room… I looked at my Mom and saw how there was already a small string of blood descending on the left side of her neck where the knife was. That fucking man was hurting my Mother! Then it changed again.

The Brad guy let her head go a little bit to its natural position and he ordered: “Say it, Mother… Say it.” Apparently my Mom obeyed:

“Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy Name…” She prayed. I had no idea why she was saying such prayer, but I somehow knew the mantra too and I said it silently along with my Mother’s voice. Also in silence, obeying the main rule of this sick game we had all been forced to play, I felt the tears abandon my eyes and slip past my eyelashes, exactly as the words abandoned Mom’s throat and trespassed her lips.

With no care, I lifted my head at a bad timing and had to watch as my Mom’s throat was slashed by the knife. The movement of that man-in-white’s hand was slow and provocative, as if he was testing us, and inciting us to scream and break the rules. I don’t know why I didn’t. I should have screamed and retaliated, and the worse that could have happened to me was still being left alive. I never knew why the molesters had let me live; I didn’t understand why they had had to let me live and suffer forever with such images in my head. Maybe they were so evil that they wanted me to live with that trauma forever, to learn to be quiet when I was told to. I watched my Mother twitch and my Father bleed, both to death, and I watched my Brother squeeze his eyes shut and mutter something inaudible under his breath. I should have done something like what Mikey had done; I should have never watched.

I will never forget that day. It marked me in ways no one should ever even consider. It was the day I refused to talk ever again.

Reading the words as fast as Gerard wrote them, tears streamed down Frank’s face. The truth was too harsh to read, and he couldn’t imagine how his boyfriend had managed to live with that. Frank couldn’t imagine how many images rolled in Gerard’s mind over and over again. Frank couldn’t imagine how much pain played with Gerard’s fragile heart. Frank could only understand why Gerard was so careful about his voice, and more than ever he didn’t mind about their silent relationship. Frank would respect Gerard for who he was, and since his boyfriend had experienced so many bad moments in his past, he was more than satisfied to be the one who could save Gerard from depression. He was happy that he had been The Smiling Man in Gerard’s life, because now he could comfort him as he most deserved. Frank hugged Gerard, but one hand of his slipped out of the embrace and met the pen again:

Love. You. Always. Love you as you are. Love you because you’re strong. Love you because you’re unbeatable. Love you because you’re Gerard. I accept you. I. Love. Gerard.

They slept so happily together that night. Gerard had comfort in Frank’s arms, and Frank had love in Gerard’s embrace. They completed each other as no one else had ever done in life; not even Romeo and Juliet with their tragic ending. And for the next year, Gerard knew that Frank would accept him and love him, and for that he felt comfortable enough to be a true man again. He just needed the perfect moment…

Gerard would always remember the one day when Frank was professing his love out loud, his deep miraculous voice sounding heavenly to Gerard’s ears. He had all the strength he needed to follow his idea, but Frank didn’t stop enumerating a large number of qualities he saw in their relationship: that they had shared so many things through the notebooks; that they could even publish a book when they got older, as in a collection of their memories for some romantic young couples to read and feel inspired; that they had something so special in their bond and Gerard was so unique in his life… This made him consider the hypothesis of not talking again, even to his boyfriend Frank, if the silence meant that much to him.

Frank touched Gerard’s hand with three fingertips only, as if he would splinter under any harder touch. He had always had that fear, but now that he knew the truth behind Gerard’s silence, it had gotten worse. He didn’t want to hurt the boy he hugged every morning and cuddled every night. He wanted to remain in his embrace for eternity and that was what he worded to Gerard.

“Gerard, Gee, I-I have something for you.”

Gerard was still looking down at the fingers that caressed his hand, and a smile waited patiently on his mouth for something to happen. And when Frank talked, Gerard knew that it was time: he lifted his head and felt strong enough, but when he met Frank’s paradisiacal smile on those lips of Paradise, he blushed, smiled more softly and waited for the rest of Frank’s words.

Frank, however, didn’t clear his throat to talk anything more. He motioned for the seventh notebook, which curiously was on its last page, and that lay by Gerard’s side. It was out of reach for Frank, so he silently begged his boyfriend for its possession. Gerard conceded, but didn’t let him have it without a short kiss. He had goosebumps all over his body skin just by thinking about touching those lips of Paradise that Frank had always owned. Gerard remembered the first time their cheeks had touched and the first time he realized that there were perfect lips, and he had just found them. Gerard touched Frank’s cheek for a while before leaning in to the most passionate kiss of the day, maybe of the week. They rarely shared those hungry kisses, mixing tongues, saliva and lips in a frenzy; they preferred to gently take care of the other’s taste and meld their souls through the expression of how much they enjoyed to be together. They were happy together, both of them.

As the kiss ended, mere seconds after it began but massive throngs of lovely high voltage in its middle, the smiles resumed their positions at the faces and their eyes locked. That was when they would never want to let go. The eyes are mirrors of a person’s soul, and they did adore the utmost potency of their gazes. They held love, care, respect, acceptance, passion, need, in a mix of so many other things that there wasn’t even a name for them all. It was their relationship reunited and summarized in two pairs of eyes. And once more they read it in their mutual love and the notebook landed miraculously on Frank’s hands.

His smile grew wider by itself as he opened the notebook and hid the last page from Gerard. What he was going to write had to be a surprise, because his mind was made up for a very, very long time and there was nothing else in the world that Frank wanted the most. He had been waiting for this moment: they were alone, inside the house they now shared, sitting on the comfortable couch they had bought together and with their lives reviewed in one touch, one kiss and two gazes. Everything was a beautiful memory and, since the notebook was ending, Frank wanted to conclude it with a twist in their relationship. Not exactly a twist, but it would most likely be a change; if not in their lives, at least in some specific parts of their appearance.

The notebook was kept out of sight of Gerard’s curious gaze and the man did try to pout to see if it would make Frank surrender, but he didn’t. Frank simply smiled, as if he knew that by doing that, Gerard’s heart would melt at the sight of those lips of Paradise. It was like Frank was teasing Gerard to yet another kiss, though hiding that request under the pen of black ink that jotted down on the paper. Little by little, inch by inch, frame by frame, Frank pressed ‘Play’ on their real lives once more and the notebook was closed and placed on Gerard’s lap. Carefully, as if his fingers would ever rip apart that important piece of their relationship, which nearly worked as a diary, Gerard opened it and tried to review all the pages they had written so far. He was flipping through months of endlessly amazing experiences, of countless wonderful moments, sometimes harsh tears of silence and of pain, but Gerard’s loving smile never abandoned his face as his hands moved slowly, his fingers caressing the worn pages. All those pages revolved around their past as a couple and it made his fingers turn tingly from expectation.

On one hand, Gerard just wanted to get quickly to the last page and find the magical last words that Frank had written there; secretly inside his mind, Frank wished he would do that, as his heart could almost be heard from the outside. It ran like stormy winds inside his chest and Frank could barely tolerate the twists of excitement. On the other hand, both Frank and Gerard wanted to revise inside their minds and in their smiles and gazes their adventures of a couple throughout the past year, possibly less. They wanted the past to be important at that moment, especially Frank, since he already knew what the last page said. Gerard was patiently flicking through the pages and his heart jumped out of his chest wanting to take all those previous pages out of the notebook and spread it all over the living room to find Frank’s most recent words. But there was love in their awaiting expectation, and there was patience in their mutual care.

Just before turning the last page and reading what Frank had written, Gerard turned his face to his boyfriend and smiled at him. In his eyes, it was very clear how much he wanted to look down and read it already, but at the same time he loved to stare at Frank as he smiled back. Those lips of Paradise had been the first thing he had fixed about Frank’s appearance, and they would be his salutary passion for as long as he had a breath to take and choices to make. He loved Frank; when had been the last time he thought about it?

Finally, it happened. Gerard got to the last page of the book and Frank took a deep breath. His heart was fighting a race against itself, as he both begged to keep rushing at a fast pace to find Gerard’s answer and slow down to stay inside the chest. Gerard stared at the Paradisiacal smile once more, inwardly counted to three and looked down to the words that would start a new cycle in his life.

Marry. Me. Please.

Three words, the last one a “Please”, just like the first note Gerard ever wrote to Frank. He remembered that day as his eyes widened and his heart swelled at what he had read. His eyes welled up with tears as well, but it was nothing compared to the strength and the reality of the memory that hit him.

The man kept smiling as I was walking closer to the counter; how would he react to the fact that I did not talk? Would he accept it straightaway, or shrug it off in some uncomfortable way? I was about to see that… He was now in front of me, as the question “Good morning, Sir. What can I do for you today?” departed his smiling lips of Paradise. He deserved the moment; the man, the new worker behind the counter was the one I had beenhaunting wishing to see for the past hours.

So I smiled back, not wider than I already was, but sweeter. There was a momentary trade of gazes and then I reached out for my back pocket, as the man behind the counter repeated the question. I showed him my notebook and the man nodded in comprehension: he would wait for the written answer. In a glance, I studied his facial expression in full details as I opened the notebook to some random blank page and found nothing more than sweetness on that striking face. The same Paradise lingering on his lips was plastered along his gentle features. There were only some minimum details in the face that hadn’t been included in the painting, but that fact only made this man even more worthly of my every smile, every gaze, every thought, every line of paint. I smiled inwardly even more. I wrote down my answer: Coffee. Black. Please.

Then Gerard’s head lifted up reflexively as he took a deep breath and let out an extended sigh immediately after. He slowly turned his head over to face Frank and the tears in his eyes immediately fell. He wouldn’t prevent them from falling; they were now free, as he belonged to Frank’s heart. He just knew what his answer would be and the strength came back again: Gerard was ready. To prove it, the already crying man motioned to Frank and enveloped him in the sweetest hug he knew how to give. There was only love, happiness and a thankful message that he wanted to transmit in that embrace and Gerard didn’t even need to think of an answer: it just came out.

“Yes. I. Will.”

Three whispered words formed a finally spoken answer that the notebook would never have, but that all attentive gods would hear. The new chapter in Frank and Gerard’s life would start with an unanswered question, at least on paper that could prove its existence. Three whispered words formed the only answer that Frank needed to hear, not only for its content, but for its meaning and all the triumphs it signified. Gerard had spent over twenty years in silence, battling with ugly memories that slaughtered his insides. He had been trapped in a pain that he never asked, because of a guilt he couldn’t avoid. Gerard had been a caterpillar with reminiscences in each one of his small feet, from the countless little steps he had taken alone in despair and remorse. Three whispered words formed the beginning of his breakage. Frank had slowly taken his very own place inside Gerard and the latter believed in salvation. Frank was the spring Gerard needed to break free from the cocoon of his past. Gerard had matured into the beautiful butterfly that Frank had seen that he would ultimately become.

“Thank you, Gee.”

Three murmured words formed the exclusive answer that Frank could only think about. Gerard had trusted him enough to talk to him. It didn’t matter to Frank if it took three years, or if it would take another twenty years: he would have waited for Gerard to be ready. Fortunately, their moment in peace and love had inspired his boyfriend to trespass the barriers of his ghosts and face a new future that Frank could only wish to be full of lights and bravery. He knew now that it was possible: Gerard had won his most difficult personal battle and Frank was finally complete now. He was happy, more than happy, even more than words could even describe, for his boyfriend who had just ascended another step on his way to the plenitude of life. They were happy and let go of the embrace.

Frank and Gerard looked at each other’s eyes, found their mutual love swimming somewhere around those floating gazes and leant in for a kiss. It started as a shy kiss, with lips crashing onto lips and noses colliding in a glance, but it slowly evolved to yet another demonstration of pure affection. Two hands flew to two different cheeks and two heads turned to opposite sides, as the same lips parted and damp tongues clashed in an unhurried touch. Then entered the need: the two men knew what it meant. They would end up wrapped up in this kissable confirmation of pure love. Their faces would get even closer, defying the limits of proximity. Their lips would get moist and their tongues crackly in their movements of a passion they’d been sharing for years. Years that felt like moments, because Frank and Gerard could never get the sufficient quantity of the love they felt for each other. They always wanted to show some more, but soon enough they would be moaning at the pointy and tingly feelings of an engagement kiss. Yes, they, as this was the first kiss to which Gerard responded with a moan. And did it feel perfect? Oh no, it felt Paradisiacal.

But Paradise is never endless and six months passed, and the date was marked: it would be the exactly one year after the proposal. So, another six months later, Frank and Gerard met in the Registry Office to finally exchange their vows and celebrate the first year after the written proposal and the spoken answer. They only needed two people to witness their wedding to make it official, so they asked two of the Starbucks workers that had always been nice to Gerard, before he met Frank, and who had continued to be good friends with the couple.

Now, one year after the wedding, Frank and Gerard were just another happy couple in town. Gerard didn’t become a talkative person, but he knew how to say the right thing at the right moment. He was very interpretive of art, and now he had gotten a job in the Art Gallery which huge, colorful outdoor ad he was admiring when Frank walked into him for the second time in their lives. It started out as a magical place for the couple; not the location of the outdoor ad, but the Art Gallery itself, as it represented the first official job Gerard had in his life and also one of the reasons they were together. After all if that Gallery hadn’t opened, Gerard would never have stopped to look at that huge, colorful outdoor ad, would he?

“You remember the first time we saw each other, Gerard?” Frank asked me when we entered the zoo. It was the first time we came in here together, as a couple, and we wanted to wait for this specific date: our first anniversary as a married couple. We’ve met for over four years now, the first time being in that same protective space, and we’ve been together for three magical years. I could use another adjective to describe this, but no matter how cliché this ‘magic’ in love is, there was nothing better to describe what we had with each other. Frank had worked his magic in me since the first moment: first because of his lips of Paradise, then his deep voice, then his smile, his acceptance, his first move and finally his love. It was so magical that it made me lose all my fears and have the strength to start over.

That was why I wanted to come back to the zoo. I wanted to start over. We’ve been happily married for one year, and the memories of four years in silence made us enjoy life differently. It made us appreciate every single detail in our personalities and every single flaw that makes us humans. Stepping out of it and ending that silence, made us explore the new world of words, and I feel that Frank talks with a lot more significance now. Not that he had never said wise things, but now I noticed in his eyes that he knew how important my fears were to me. I had been broken so hard once, shattered to pieces. I had been unrecognizably splintered to tiny parts of what I once was. But Frank knew how to save me…

I once dreamt of my Mother; in fact there was an endless flood of the same dream over and over again, long years in the past, in which my Mom came to me from the Heaven where she surely rests now and told me that I was going to change. She told me that there was nothing wrong with me, that I could be a caterpillar for not talking, but that all ugly bugs become butterflies eventually. My Mom told my unconscious mind, back in those dreams, that I would become a butterfly myself and fly free into some welcoming arms, some warm and cuddling arms that would also protect me from all evils. And I didn’t believe her until I met Frank…

Frank looked me in the eyes and was a true gentleman the first time we met. Frank recognized me the second time we walked into each other. Frank accepted me as soon as I showed him my notebook. Frank turned a simple notebook into our diary, into our notebook, the one that converts the echoes of our minds into love-notes on paper. Now there is nothing more important in my life than my future with Frank. He came to me like an angel and saved me from a long gone past. The future will only be better; I see it in his eyes every time we say ‘Good Morning’, ‘I Love You’ or ‘Good Night’. I see it in his lips that carry Paradise within the two thin lines. I see it in his skin when we make love and he snuggles up to me, letting the moonlight bathe his muscles softly in a pallid glow. I see it in every word he pronounces carefully to me. I love Frank. We’ll write in our notebook over and over again. Everyone will know how happy we are. The world and Paradise will know how words mean everything when you have someone that fulfils your being.