Page 146 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“Goodbye, Reg,” said Joel, his voice cracking slightly.
“Look after yourself, Joel.Please.”
Joel said quietly, “You just gave up the right to give a fuck about me, Reg.”He picked up his backpack and suitcase and left.
The door closed quietly behind him.
Chapter 35: Abeyance
It was such a gentle, amicable split, Reg was left without even the salve of anger.He stayed in the loft until Christmas Day, in case Joel returned.
He didn’t.
On Boxing Day, Reg threw clothes, his laptop, and his notebook into a bag and booked a flight to India.He travelled for a while before landing at a guest house in Jodhpur, its principle appeal being that nothing there reminded him of Joel.
Tourist season had ended, so he had the place practically to himself, which suited him.He started smoking again, or tried to, but cigarettes didn’t taste the way he remembered, and they weren’t what he was longing for.He met a couple of expats—a furniture exporter and a freelance photographer—staying at a nearby hotel, and on some afternoons, he’d sit by the pool with them, drinking and chatting.Once, they all went together to the Mehrangarh Fort and had dinner on the rooftop.Afterwards, they looked down from the fort at the rows and rows of blue-painted sandstone houses in shades of indigo, lilac, and ultramarine, and Reg reflected that something about looking at a beautiful landscape while you were grieving made you die inside a little.
In principle, sleeping in a strange bed, Reg didn’t expect to wake and find Joel beside him, but when he was asleep, Joel’s presence was always close by.Reg’s body craved Joel, the muscle memory of holding him when he was half asleep caused him to wake with a bundle of sheets in his arms.
Nothing here reminded Reg of Canada, but it did remind him of Wales.It was the colour of some of the houses—the same seaside blue as the tiles in his grandmother’s bathroom.He kept expecting to round a corner or come over a hill and see the ocean.It was disorienting to keep realizing he was on the edge of a desert.
For a while, he spent most of his time alone in his room getting drunk and wallowing in self-pity.Eventually, prompted by boredom and loneliness, he started writing.Not in the short, flame-tipped bursts that Joel’s presence had inspired.This, this inspiration in Joel’s absence, was a steady, unrelenting drumbeat, a compulsion that pulled him along, word by word, no matter how much it hurt (and it did).Despite the lack of tangible reminders, Reg thought of Joel often when he’d written himself out and was trying to sleep, trying to stop worrying himself sick about Joel, terrified that something had happened to him.
Once, he was wakened from a nightmare by the sounds of a boisterous wedding procession in the street.He went downstairs to watch and found himself pulled into the procession with the shouting and blaring music and colours and lights, surrounded by happy people singing, and he felt like a ghost among the living.
Distance from home and social isolation leant him perspective.He realized that the only two sexual relationships he’d had in his life had been initiated because he was missing Martin.Although Reg would never say it out loud, Flip had been his second choice.And perhaps, towards the end of their relationship, after Reg and Martin had re-established contact and Reg’s attentions had shifted, Flip had cottoned on to that.Martin had been the only constant in Reg’s life.Losing him to Juliet had laid the groundwork for Reg’s relationship with Joel.
Now, he’d lost both Martin and Joel.A part of him believed that it was inevitable that Martin re-enter his life.After all, the reason for their split was because Reg was seeing Joel, and that was no longer the case.
A few times during his stay in India, Reg had been on the point of contacting Martin, had gone so far as to draft an email, but a splitting headache had come on suddenly.Knowing that what he needed to write required a clear head, Reg gave up and went to bed.He’d been drinking heavily, so it wasn’t too surprising.But the next morning, he felt worse and, by the afternoon, worse still.He couldn’t keep any food down.The guest house called in a doctor, who diagnosed him with malaria.
He was sick for two weeks, during which time, he had plenty of opportunity to realize that if he died here, no one at home would be the wiser, that he didn’t want to die, and that he missed Joel and Martin both.
As soon as he was well enough to travel, he decided to complete his convalescence at home.In Wales.
He was greeted by comparatively cold and grey weather.The problem was, he’d gone from a place where nothing reminded him of Joel, to a place where everything did.Before Joel, every inch of the place had reminded him of his childhood summers with Martin.Now, everything reminded him of Joel.
