Never Thought This Life Was Possible
VI. 1953
An open sky of crepe paper and egg yolk greets the newest couple Andry St. has seen in three years. The blushing bride, legs nimble and turned inward, heels dug into the freshly cut grass of her new lawn, squints against the sun and smiles at her home.
Home.
Gerard has a home, finally. After years on the streets and taking care of his precious bundle, he and Mikey can finally have a roof over their heads and clean clothes. The realization is overwhelming. This fence running along the front of his acre of land, this pedicured lawn, this mailbox that says Way, are all his.
'And my brother's. And my husbands,' he thinks offhandedly, bringing a gloved hand up to shield his eyes from the slice of yellow light bouncing off the hood of their car.
The term husband is still too scary for him to completely embrace. Not because it's a binding word, not because he's afraid of the commitment the way he would be if the word wife were thrown in there instead of husband and a woman was standing there beside him, but because he has always been the husband figure. Mikey is his to protect. Wives weren't supposed to protect their husbands, it was the other way around.
He hates that his authority has been thrown out.
"Gerard," Mikey whispers, and his voice is like a prayer. Asking for permission to step into their new house, lay down on their bed. But that's not Gerard's decision anymore. Mikey is in charge, and he has to know, for the sake of them both.
"Mikey?" Gerard whispers back, turning to look up at his brother. He lowers his eyelids slowly, almost demurely, as if to say, 'What? Little ol' me can't make those kinds of decisions now'. His left leg steps back a fraction and he clasps his hands in front of him, letting his palms rest and snag on the harsh material of his cheap sundress.
And. As much as it pains him to admit, even in the depths of his mind, even when it's not outloud, that's right. He isn't able to make those decisions anymore. He is a prim and proper lady, and ladies don't make those decisions. They may decide which brand of detergent to buy, or what dress to wear that day, or maybe even what color to paint the kitchen, but nothing important. Important to them, maybe, but they were raised that way. They don't know any better than what they have been brought up to be.
He watches Mikey's mouth close and an elaborate story pass along his face. The drama and confusion, his brows climbing to the middle of his forehead. Little crevices of skin folding into themselves. Hazel eyes, somehow as blue as the ocean be shadowed by heavy clouds of lashes. A smoothing of the land around his mouth.
"Gerard..." he whispers again, this time leaving his tongue between his teeth for more words. When his voice breaks the silence again, it's strong. For the first time Gerard can remember, his baby brother, his life, sounds like he has a life of his own. "We should go in, check everything out. Don't you think, dear?"
Tight ropes loosen in the cavern of Gerard's chest and he slips his arm through Mikey's, feeling lighter than air. "Yes. I'm excited to see our home."
*
It's more than Gerard could have ever imagined. The walls, apart from being fucking walls, have the kind of wallpaper with metallic flower underpinning. When he runs his hands over it, he can feel the indentions, can run his fingers around the glossy wall in a swirl then encounter a different texture. It has him amused for at least five minutes, sat squat in the corner near their spider plant and bookshelf and running his hands and cheek along the wall.
And don't even get him started on the roof.
Home.
Gerard has a home, finally. After years on the streets and taking care of his precious bundle, he and Mikey can finally have a roof over their heads and clean clothes. The realization is overwhelming. This fence running along the front of his acre of land, this pedicured lawn, this mailbox that says Way, are all his.
'And my brother's. And my husbands,' he thinks offhandedly, bringing a gloved hand up to shield his eyes from the slice of yellow light bouncing off the hood of their car.
The term husband is still too scary for him to completely embrace. Not because it's a binding word, not because he's afraid of the commitment the way he would be if the word wife were thrown in there instead of husband and a woman was standing there beside him, but because he has always been the husband figure. Mikey is his to protect. Wives weren't supposed to protect their husbands, it was the other way around.
He hates that his authority has been thrown out.
"Gerard," Mikey whispers, and his voice is like a prayer. Asking for permission to step into their new house, lay down on their bed. But that's not Gerard's decision anymore. Mikey is in charge, and he has to know, for the sake of them both.
"Mikey?" Gerard whispers back, turning to look up at his brother. He lowers his eyelids slowly, almost demurely, as if to say, 'What? Little ol' me can't make those kinds of decisions now'. His left leg steps back a fraction and he clasps his hands in front of him, letting his palms rest and snag on the harsh material of his cheap sundress.
And. As much as it pains him to admit, even in the depths of his mind, even when it's not outloud, that's right. He isn't able to make those decisions anymore. He is a prim and proper lady, and ladies don't make those decisions. They may decide which brand of detergent to buy, or what dress to wear that day, or maybe even what color to paint the kitchen, but nothing important. Important to them, maybe, but they were raised that way. They don't know any better than what they have been brought up to be.
He watches Mikey's mouth close and an elaborate story pass along his face. The drama and confusion, his brows climbing to the middle of his forehead. Little crevices of skin folding into themselves. Hazel eyes, somehow as blue as the ocean be shadowed by heavy clouds of lashes. A smoothing of the land around his mouth.
"Gerard..." he whispers again, this time leaving his tongue between his teeth for more words. When his voice breaks the silence again, it's strong. For the first time Gerard can remember, his baby brother, his life, sounds like he has a life of his own. "We should go in, check everything out. Don't you think, dear?"
Tight ropes loosen in the cavern of Gerard's chest and he slips his arm through Mikey's, feeling lighter than air. "Yes. I'm excited to see our home."
*
It's more than Gerard could have ever imagined. The walls, apart from being fucking walls, have the kind of wallpaper with metallic flower underpinning. When he runs his hands over it, he can feel the indentions, can run his fingers around the glossy wall in a swirl then encounter a different texture. It has him amused for at least five minutes, sat squat in the corner near their spider plant and bookshelf and running his hands and cheek along the wall.
And don't even get him started on the roof.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know it's been a long time.