Page 135 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“Neologisms are allowed,” said Ramsay to Joel.“But if you coin a word, you have to drop a coin in the glass.”She picked up an empty beer glass on the table and shook it.
Someone opened a bottle of absinthe and poured out shots for everyone.“The poet’s fuel.”
The people around the table got progressively drunker, though Reg kept himself in check.He felt responsible for Joel, who’d had three White Claws and two shots of absinthe by the time he was ousted from the circle.One by one, the participants were winnowed down until only Reg and Ramsay remained.By this time, the metronome was ticking faster than they could comfortably speak, so a draw was declared.Reg shook Ramsay’s hand to accompanying applause, then noticed Joel was gone.
Reg found him in the hallway, slow dancing to “Ordinary World” with Raelynne, his hands around her waist, eyes closed.
Raelynne spied Reg and surrendered her hold on Joel.“I just wanted to take your ride for a spin,” she said.“See how he handled.”She patted Joel’s belly, the same way she had in the kitchen, and then she walked off with her hands in her pockets and a smile on her face like the cat that stole the cream.
“All right?”said Reg to Joel.
“Sorry,” said Joel.“I went to the bathroom, and she...”
“Waylaid you.No need to apologize.I don’t own you.”
“I wish you would,” said Joel, and he leaned into Reg, putting his arms around him.“Dance with me.”
So, Reg held him, and they danced, but the song reminded him of Martin, and he felt relieved when it ended.
“Come on,” said Reg.
The doorway to the basement was ajar, and Reg, with Joel in tow, went downstairs to a large, finished room full of people lounging in beanbag chairs and crashed on sofas.Instrumental electronic music played.
“Sounds like Flat Mary,” said Joel.
“He knows Flat Mary!”said one of the denizens, who was crouched over a coffee table, rolling a joint.“Come in.”
The joint roller made room for them at the end of a soft, low sofa.It was too short for Reg and Joel to sit side by side, so Reg pulled Joel across his lap where he lay, head propped on the sofa arm, relaxed and content.
“It’s nice to see you loosening up,” said Reg.
The conversation was subdued and sporadic, as though no one wanted to interrupt the music.The man passed a lit joint to Reg, and Reg took a hit of hot, sugary smoke while Joel watched.
“You want to try?”said Reg, blowing out the smoke.“You’re old enough now.”
“All right,” said Joel.
“Inhale when I tell you,” said Reg.
Reg took a huge hit, held the joint away from his face, leaned in, and kissed Joel with a mouth full of smoke, signalling Joel to inhale by squeezing his arm while slowly exhaling the cooled smoke into Joel’s mouth.
Reg pulled back.“Hold it for as long as you can.”
Joel held his breath for a full minute before exhaling in a soft cough, looking like a sleepy dragon.Reg passed the joint on to the person across the coffee table who was reaching for it.Then he leaned down to close his mouth over Joel’s.Joel kissed him, and they made out lazily.
Someone nearby was talking about how they’d almost capsized their boat on Georgian Bay.Someone else reminisced about how they’d gotten so stoned they’d spent five hours trying to remember the word “gazebo.”
A third person found a bottle of wine in a cupboard and poured it into mugs and glasses and handed them out.
“Tastes like drain cleaner,” said someone behind Reg.
“It’s a 1967.”
“Good year for drain cleaner,” said someone else.
“Bad year for plumbers.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
