Page 126 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Reg’s “Elements” had a small room to itself.The photos had been enlarged to fill the walls.In the cold, white light, Joel’s body looked haunting and uncanny.Joel peered at the photos as though he had never seen them before.Other people filtered through the room.Some stopped, absorbed in voyeuristic admiration.Reg put a protective arm around Joel, and Joel leaned against him subtly.
They stayed until the exhibit closed, though that hadn’t been their plan.The poet Joel had read for introduced them to the sculptor she had collaborated with, a sharp-edged man named Silas, dressed in white, whose grasp and gaze lingered on Joel when they shook hands.
“And who is your friend?”said Silas, giving Reg an appraising look.
“His name’s Reg,” said Joel.“And he’s not my friend.We’re lovers.”
“What an extraordinary boy,” said Silas to Reg.“Wherever did you find him?”
“By a refrigerator,” said Joel.
“How fortuitous.”
“Why are you talking like that?”said Joel.
“It’s called wit,” said Silas.
“Maybe you should fire whoever’s writing your dialog,” said Joel.
Reg laughed, in spite of himself.
“Someoneneeds to be sent to his room,” said Silas.“How deep is your entanglement, little boy?Are you open to dalliances?”
Without breaking eye contact with Silas, Joel took Reg’s hand and pulled him away to a quiet part of the gallery.
“Fucking asshole,” said Joel quietly.
“You meet assholes occasionally in this community.They’re part of its bone structure.”
Reg introduced Joel to the few fellow poets he knew at the event, then he excused himself and went to the bathroom.While he was there, gazing into the mirror, noticing how tired he looked, he had a sudden vision of a white lizard with a golden tongue, scales shining in the sun, and had to have a whip-round through his pockets for his notebook, which, of course, he had left at home.Joel would have provided him one, but he wasn’t here.Reg did have a black pen in his pocket and plenty of paper towels in the dispenser, and one word led to another, and when he’d finished, he had a poem, spilling across five sheets.
Usually, finishing a poem felt satisfying, but this one left him keyed up, as though he were running late for something, though he didn’t know what.He folded the paper towels and tucked them into his jacket pocket.
Reg kept getting waylaid by people he knew vaguely, who complimented him on his exhibit and asked him what else he was working on and whether he was planning to be at convocation.
Reg found Joel in a quiet corner, talking to Silas.Silas had a predilectory gleam in his eyes and was leaning into Joel’s personal space.Joel looked guarded.Reg approached and put his arm around Joel’s shoulders, glanced at him with anAll right?implicit.Joel’s shoulders felt tense.
“Shall we retire for the evening?”said Reg to Joel.
“Sure,” said Joel.
“Is it your bedtime?”said Silas.
“Good evening,” said Reg to Silas.
“My invitation still stands, Joel,” said Silas as Reg led him away.
Reg and Joel got their coats from the coat check, and Joel hurried out.Reg found him waiting by the entrance, his coat still unbuttoned.The air was clean and sharp.
“Aren’t you cold?”said Reg.
“Yes,” said Joel, but he made no move to close his coat.
Reg fastened the buttons on Joel’s coat.“Where do you want to go?”
“Home.”
Joel squeezed Reg’s hand as they went to the car park.
