Page 66 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“Why can’t I come with you?”
“Because he’s told me he wants to talk about something serious.”
“Is he sick?Is he dying?”
“I don’t know what it’s about, but I detected a whiff of disapproval in his tone, so I expect he wants to tell me off about something, and I doubt introducing him to my eighteen-year-old lover would pre-empt that.”
“Then, what should I do?”said Joel.
“I’m worried you’re getting too dependent on me.I’m not your compass.Go where you will.Do what you will.Enjoy yourself without me.”
This time, Reg found himself worrying about Joel.Not because Joel was inclined to be reckless.He was common sense personified.But the way Joel had said goodbye that morning left him full of unease.He’d seemed so terribly upset.
When Reg returned late that evening, the house lights were off.Reg went inside and called Joel.Joel came downstairs slowly with an odd look in his eye.
Reg switched on the lights.
“Did you keep yourself occupied while I was gone?”said Reg.
“Yes,” said Joel, walking into his arms.
Reg buried his hand in Joel’s hair and felt something unaccustomed and hard under his thumb.“What’s this?”
Joel pulled back enough for Reg to see a bright metal ball in his right earlobe.
“I didn’t think you’d go berserk,” said Reg.
“Berserk would have been a Prince Albert piercing.”
“Fucking hell, Joel.”
“You disapprove?”
“It’s not for me to disapprove,” said Reg.“You’re an adult.You can do as you like.You surprised me, that’s all.”
That night, Reg watched Joel sleeping beside him.The stud glinted in the moonlight.Joel’s earlobe was red and swollen, despite him cleaning it before bed.
Reg had never been inclined to pierce his ear—or anything else, for that matter.That shiny metal ball, like an angel’s tear, felt like an interloper in their bed.But Joel was sleeping peacefully, so perhaps that was a sign Reg should stop worrying.
And that was when another poem came as a shape in the darkness.His notebook was full, so he went downstairs with a pen, passing Joel’s room—though Joel wasn’t there, going in without his permission would have felt like an intrusion.Reg found a pad of paper in the kitchen and looked out of the window.The garden was bright with moonlight, so he went outside, jotting words on the pad.He headed for the pool but sat in the grass before he reached it, as it was one of those poems that was experienced as much as written and that drew him by the hand down its dark green pathway.He didn’t resurface again until he heard a sound behind him and saw Joel standing barefoot on the lawn.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” said Reg.
“I’m awake now.”
“You can go back to bed.”
“I’d rather stay with you.”Joel sat on the grass beside him.
Reg finished his poem and lay back.Joel moved so his forehead was pressed to Reg’s lips.
“What did your dad want to talk to you about?”said Joel.
Reg laughed humourlessly.“He’s going to become a monk.”
“Seriously?”Joel sat up on his elbows.
“Deadly.”
