Page 108 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“It suits him,” said Reg casually.“I’ve introduced him to civilized society.He’s taken to it rather well.”
They brought the drinks back to the table and handed them out.Joel tried his.
“How is it?”said Reg.
“Appalling,” said Joel.
“My god, you’ve rubbed off on him, Reg,” said Martin.
Reg and Joel looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Joel, your room is being sublet until September first,” said Juliet.“Where are you living until school starts?”
“With me,” said Reg.“I have a spare room, and I’m happy for him to stay.”
“Spare room?”said Martin.“That’s your office.There’s no bed.I can’t count the number of times I stayed over at yours and had to sleep on your sofa.”
“I’ve bought a bed.”
“Oh, so you’d buy a bed for Joel but not for me?”said Martin.
“Needs must.Joel needs a bed.You already have one.”
“He’ll only be there a week,” said Martin.“You could have bought him an air mattress.”
“Joel is welcome to stay with me for as long as he likes,” said Reg.“I’m charging well below the market rent.”
“It makes sense if it’s cheaper, and you live closer to school,” said Juliet.“Bill’s happy to take Joel’s room for the next year.”
“That’s sorted, then,” said Reg.
There had been a break in the program while they were talking, and now the chair spoke into the microphone, though in Reg’s experience, she didn’t need any technological help to project her voice.She was the only person he had ever met who could scream in a whisper.
The chair was looking at Reg as she spoke.“And now, the last reading for tonight—our wayward graduate, Reginald Fieldfare.”
Faint cheers sounded from a group that Reg used to drink with.
The chair continued, “...who made himself scarce this past semester and whose thesis, against all expectations, has been nominated for Most Outstanding Thesis in this year’s MFA Creative Writing Program and the Terry Umstoud Award for Poetry.”
There followed more applause and hooting from Reg’s drinking friends.
“Jesus, Reg,” said Martin.“You kept that quiet.”
“Well, what can one say?”Reg gathered his printed-out poems and stood.
“Can I read them?”said Joel.
“What?”said Reg.
“I’d like to read them.Am I allowed?”
“Iwon’t stop you,” said Reg.
Joel followed him to the podium.
Reg stepped up and arranged his printed sheets in front of him.The lights were trained on the stage, so he could barely see the audience.“Thank you for that introduction.It is a great fortune for a poet to find his muse, and even better to find one as agreeable and passionate as mine.”Reg looked at Joel.“My poems will be read by him.”
Reg allowed himself to touch Joel’s shoulder reassuringly as Joel stepped up to the podium.He was struck by how calm Joel seemed in front of the audience.
