Page 18 of The Voice of Wild Places
“...Yes.”
“I see.Do you have a paper and pen, then?Or would you rather I sent you a list?”
Watt already had a pad of paper and pencil at the ready.“What is best for you?”
Cornelius proceeded to list his belongings in a roll call fashion that was nearly too fast to keep up with.He explained what was best to buy there, and what would be hard to find.They decided who would be responsible for what, and hashed out some other details like where they would meet in the city and when.As more words passed between them, the tension in Watt's shoulders eased.But soon there was nothing else left to say.
“Okay, thank you, I truly appreciate it,” Watt said.
Cornelius hummed.“Was there anything else?”
'I’m sorry I didn’t answer your letters.I didn’t have them.I didn’t know.'
“Ah, no.Thank you for your time.”
“And yours,” Cornelius said briskly, then hung up.
Watt returned the receiver to its place, then put his head in his hands.He could see the disaster blooming out of this mess from miles away, and yet was still running towards the fallout.
Pier 95
March28th,1930
Watt despised New York City.
It wasn't the chaos and noise, it wasn’t the perpetual smoke and impossible buildings.
It was home.
There was a certain way that familiar places crawled through your skin, twisting you from the inside out.Despite standing on the absolute fringes of the city, he could feel the weight of his father’s expectations from miles away.
The North River crashed against Pier 95, doing its best to distract him from the blunt farewell that consisted of his father’s doubt and his mother’s hollow apathy.He wasn’t sure why he thought today might have warranted something different from either of his parents, but alas.He felt incredibly defeated, which was a terrible way to begin an adventure.Not only defeated, but anxious.
Cornelius had given many reassurances that he would be here on time and not a minute sooner, andnohe didn’t want Watt to pick him up from the hotel.They communicated by telegram several times, but Watt didn’t dare call again, and Cornelius didn’t either.Any details regarding the trip were ironed out through paper and wires.It didn’t bode well that Cornelius refused to spend a minute longer with Watt than he had to, and Watt truly didn’t know what to do about it.
He wanted to talk, tolearn, but he felt like he’d only crush eggshells in the process.He’d never met anyone like Cornelius, but he knew he wasn’t a novel concept.Not in comparison to the hundreds of people throughout history who considered themselves a different gender from what they had been born, but this was different.This was someone heknew.
But did he?
And, circling back to his previous thought, how could he be so sure that hehadn’tmet someone like Cornelius?God, if only he had a word.There were terms, he knew this, but transvestite didn’t seem right to him.Even he could see that Cornelius’ choice wasn’t a simple matter of cross dressing.He was aman.
And how … well.His mind wandered back to his last encounter with Cornelius, how the other man’s chest puffed with pride and defense.Mountainous shoulders sloped down to a chest that was as relatively smooth as his own.Were his breasts … bound?Was it uncomfortable?
His thoughts stuttered as one question gave way to another, compounding in their inappropriateness.Maggie huffed at his feet, ears perked.Watt followed her line of sight back to the main dock, and his heart jumped in his throat at the sight of Cornelius and the pianist from the bar.Watt had no idea he was coming, and he wondered at how they knew each other.They hadn’t seen him yet, Cornelius was nervously staring up at the Eastern Prince.The impressive ship was nearly five hundred feet long, its hull painted red.
The pianist elbowed him, mouth moving until Cornelius smiled bright enough to dispel the light fog surrounding the harbor.He used his cane, but wasn't leaning on it as heavily as he had been last time they met.Unbidden, Watt’s gaze descended over Cornelius’ figure.The man looked raffish, but Watt couldn’t put his finger on why.Cornelius’ dark hair was slicked back neatly, and he wore a long sleeve shirt tucked into earthy tweeds.The trousers rested high on his waist, where they cinched his slightly bulging stomach.He wore no waistcoat, only suspenders.The white fabric was tight around his wide shoulders and pectorals, leaving little room for imagination.If he had breasts, they were well hidden.
Watt sucked in a deep breath, wiping his mind of all thoughts and steeling himself for the encounter ahead.
The pier was small compared to its brethren at a stocky seven hundred feet.It was filled with passengers mounting the gangplank, a scenario that was claustrophobic to say the least.He technically should've already been in line, but he didn’t want to do so without Cornelius.
Watt opted to wait right where he was, standing on the precipice between wood and water.It would’ve been so easy to take a step and fall into the depths of the harbor.Tug boats approached, huffing thick gray smoke into the air which were insignificant in comparison to the cruise liner’s columns of black wafting into the cloudy sky.This was it.No turning back.
The dock hummed beneath the force of the engines waiting to be fully unleashed, beneath the tension of families, friends, and lovers saying goodbye.Once again, Watt was struck with an ache for something that did not exist.Someone who cared enough to send him off.Perhaps if he had siblings, there would’ve been a chance.But no, there was only him.
Cornelius and his companion caught up to Watt.Cornelius shook his hand, breathless as he said, “Sorry for making you wait, the traffic was chaos.”His vowels were long, allowing for some of his childhood accent to come through like it had when he was drunk.Watt had assumed the French-Canadian accent had been buried, but perhaps Cornelius merely hid it well beneath his carefully spoken tone.
Cornelius gestured to the pianist, who offered his hand to Watt with a dashing smile.“This is Giovanni Toliver, a good friend of mine.”
