A Lingering Taste
A Lingering Taste
I don’t know why, but I always find myself awake in the early hours of the morning. Remembering, wondering, lamenting. The details in my mind are so vivid, always accompanied by the lingering uncertainty of the memory. It happened so late. It’s hard to tell how late exactly. It’s hard to think, but over and over, like practiced routine; I wake up in the ungodly hours of the morning. I glance at the clock, at my wife, and stare at nothing in particular. Remembering…
It was past midnight when I woke up. To this day, I don’t know what woke me up. Perhaps it was the noise in the kitchen or perhaps it was destiny. Perhaps I just couldn’t sleep any longer. I remember heaving myself out of bed, shivering as the night air hit my skin. Yet I couldn’t be bothered to find a tee-shirt. I just led myself slowly and sleepily towards the living room, taking a few moments to register that I wasn’t the only one awake in the apartment.
A metallic clang, the sound of tap water and a slurred chuckle all coming from the kitchen. I still wasn’t fully awake but I was conscious enough to investigate. And there was my brother at the kitchen table, feasting in the dark. Groping my fingers along the wall, I pushed up the light switch to see the table cluttered with…God, it must have been everything in the fridge. There were jars of peanut butter, mustard, olives, whatever. The milk was out. A puddle of juice dripped steadily onto the floor. And there were fruit. There were bananas, peaches, apples, grapes, watermelon slices…whatever fruit we had was laid out on the table. And there was Gerard, squinting up at me through the light with a look that wasn’t quite guilty. My eyes riveted to his hand, closed around the neck of a bottle of wine.
“Hey little brother,” he said softly, holding out the bottle, offering it to me.
I was irritated. A normal person would have worried about why their older brother was awake past midnight, getting drunk and emptying the fridge for absolutely no reason. I was worrying about having to clean up the mess. And as I stood there pitying myself, Gerard smiled at me and popped a grape into his mouth.
“Turn off the light,” he cooed. His voice was still soft.
“Go back to sleep, Gee,” I grabbed him by the arm to lead him back to his room. He pulled away, instead pushing me against the wall and reaching over my shoulder to switch the light off. I swear his breath was sweet. It was the grapes. He didn’t move; he just stood there, blocking me from leaving and popping grades into his mouth.
“You want one, little brother?” he asked, dropping his voice to the slightest whisper. Even as I shook my head, Gerard lifted his fingers to my face, pushing a grape past my lips. I bit. What else could I do? And I swear it was sweet. He took another long gulp of wine before setting the bottle down at last. It sounded empty. “C’mere Michael,” Gerard took me into a drunken hug before I could protest.
An aroma surrounded him—liquor and fruit. Perhaps more the liquor than the fruit; he began trailing his hand down my back, almost tracing my spine. His fingers were cold and yet…I swear it felt so sweet. Of all things, it felt sweet. His chin rested on my bare shoulder, lips tickling my ear. I pushed him away. That was the strangest thing. I pushed him away because standing there in the dark in my brother’s arms was far beyond brotherly, but somehow, it was right. At that moment, it was right. And all I could do was to push Gerard away.
“Go back to sleep. You’re drunk and it’s late.” I don’t know how I managed to keep my voice so firm. Or perhaps it wasn’t firm at all. Perhaps I never even spoke at all because if I did, Gerard ignored me. Instead, his cold hands found their way back to me, back to my neck as vineyard-flavored lips crashed against mine, chapped and caught off guard.
I still remember. Because I’ll never forget the day, that moment when he kissed me.
There was nothing after that. Sleep finally reached him with a crash as he slumped to the floor, knocking over the empty wine bottle. Glass shards I would have to clean up in the morning. Gerard was too heavy for me to carry him back to his room, but I dumped him on the sofa. I couldn’t let him lie there on the kitchen floor. And though it eludes my memory, I went back to my room, back to my bed to sleep once more.
I can never forget. He was still on the couch that morning, but the kitchen was spotless. He never spoke a word of it. Neither did I, but I spent years wondering if he remembered. The mystery eludes me still. And another mystery joins it…was it real? Was that night, those ungodly hours of the morning, were they real? My wife doesn’t know. No one does. Because some mornings, I wake up remembering and believe that it was all just a dream. And if I dreamt it…why?
It was past midnight when I woke up. To this day, I don’t know what woke me up. Perhaps it was the noise in the kitchen or perhaps it was destiny. Perhaps I just couldn’t sleep any longer. I remember heaving myself out of bed, shivering as the night air hit my skin. Yet I couldn’t be bothered to find a tee-shirt. I just led myself slowly and sleepily towards the living room, taking a few moments to register that I wasn’t the only one awake in the apartment.
A metallic clang, the sound of tap water and a slurred chuckle all coming from the kitchen. I still wasn’t fully awake but I was conscious enough to investigate. And there was my brother at the kitchen table, feasting in the dark. Groping my fingers along the wall, I pushed up the light switch to see the table cluttered with…God, it must have been everything in the fridge. There were jars of peanut butter, mustard, olives, whatever. The milk was out. A puddle of juice dripped steadily onto the floor. And there were fruit. There were bananas, peaches, apples, grapes, watermelon slices…whatever fruit we had was laid out on the table. And there was Gerard, squinting up at me through the light with a look that wasn’t quite guilty. My eyes riveted to his hand, closed around the neck of a bottle of wine.
“Hey little brother,” he said softly, holding out the bottle, offering it to me.
I was irritated. A normal person would have worried about why their older brother was awake past midnight, getting drunk and emptying the fridge for absolutely no reason. I was worrying about having to clean up the mess. And as I stood there pitying myself, Gerard smiled at me and popped a grape into his mouth.
“Turn off the light,” he cooed. His voice was still soft.
“Go back to sleep, Gee,” I grabbed him by the arm to lead him back to his room. He pulled away, instead pushing me against the wall and reaching over my shoulder to switch the light off. I swear his breath was sweet. It was the grapes. He didn’t move; he just stood there, blocking me from leaving and popping grades into his mouth.
“You want one, little brother?” he asked, dropping his voice to the slightest whisper. Even as I shook my head, Gerard lifted his fingers to my face, pushing a grape past my lips. I bit. What else could I do? And I swear it was sweet. He took another long gulp of wine before setting the bottle down at last. It sounded empty. “C’mere Michael,” Gerard took me into a drunken hug before I could protest.
An aroma surrounded him—liquor and fruit. Perhaps more the liquor than the fruit; he began trailing his hand down my back, almost tracing my spine. His fingers were cold and yet…I swear it felt so sweet. Of all things, it felt sweet. His chin rested on my bare shoulder, lips tickling my ear. I pushed him away. That was the strangest thing. I pushed him away because standing there in the dark in my brother’s arms was far beyond brotherly, but somehow, it was right. At that moment, it was right. And all I could do was to push Gerard away.
“Go back to sleep. You’re drunk and it’s late.” I don’t know how I managed to keep my voice so firm. Or perhaps it wasn’t firm at all. Perhaps I never even spoke at all because if I did, Gerard ignored me. Instead, his cold hands found their way back to me, back to my neck as vineyard-flavored lips crashed against mine, chapped and caught off guard.
I still remember. Because I’ll never forget the day, that moment when he kissed me.
There was nothing after that. Sleep finally reached him with a crash as he slumped to the floor, knocking over the empty wine bottle. Glass shards I would have to clean up in the morning. Gerard was too heavy for me to carry him back to his room, but I dumped him on the sofa. I couldn’t let him lie there on the kitchen floor. And though it eludes my memory, I went back to my room, back to my bed to sleep once more.
I can never forget. He was still on the couch that morning, but the kitchen was spotless. He never spoke a word of it. Neither did I, but I spent years wondering if he remembered. The mystery eludes me still. And another mystery joins it…was it real? Was that night, those ungodly hours of the morning, were they real? My wife doesn’t know. No one does. Because some mornings, I wake up remembering and believe that it was all just a dream. And if I dreamt it…why?