Things, They Happen

Parker’s bronzed eyes burn with an intensity that is extinguished when he blinks and flickers back to vivacious life when he opens them again. A haze from our fevered panting and the heat emanating from the diffusion of sweat covers my window pane. If the outside is a raw bleakness, then the inside of my room is a sweltering heat — at least, that’s how it feels from my head, to my toes, and to the rest of my extremities. He pins my wrists to the middle center of my bed’s headboard and with the other, lifts my right leg into a raised bend. There is a pattern of fluidity which is accented with spikes of contradicting primitive crudity, like waves rising and crashing. I feel myself losing touch with any sense of control with each motion he makes, with every thrust forcing out an obscene sound or a swear after the sound of the headboard slamming against the wall. In addition to the loss of the sense of control, I also lose the sense of ache nipping at my heart. The voice in my mind crying out for Matthew is silenced with the parts of my mind moaning out for Parker’s name. In one quick move, he releases his grip on my arms and turns me over burying my face onto one of my pillows. A building tension rises from the conflict between the rising intensity of movements and the quickly diminishing air in my lungs. It seems like an eternity passes in this state of euphoric tension, but that eternity comes to halt at the same time the intensity crescendos into a peak thrust and quickly decrescendos, letting me pick my face off of the pillow and let my lungs fill with the tepid air hanging in the empty space of my room.

The tower of pillows have collapsed with the movements that Parker and I have made throughout the course of the hour; some have been tossed across the room, some have been imprinted under the weight of my elbows, and some have been streaked with sweat. Just as the tower of pillows have collapsed, he has collapsed on top of the plush rubble, filling and emptying his lungs in a set pattern. My legs shake as I get off my bed to light a scented candle on my desk before I drape my bathrobe over my bare body. As I do so, I feel something dripping between my legs, a less-than proper reminder of what had just happened. The satin grazes over my skin almost artificially compared to how Parker caressed my skin. I find my phone amongst the fumbled mess of clothes on the floor. The same voices that were caterwauling in the bed just mere moments before are now demanding me to finally do the first thing that I have always known needed to be done in order to begin the process of letting Matthew go. With one deep breath, a turn of the head towards Parker, and a quick flurry of taps; I delete The Heartbreak Playlist.

I then settle myself down on the bed and place a hand on Parker’s chest, “How are you doing?”

He sits up and fixes a loose strand of hair as he did before in the pool, “I’m fantastic, but, this is awkward, do you mind if I dip soon? I have classes early tomorrow.”

“Of course it’s fine,” I watch him as he picks himself up off of the bed to begin retrieving his scattered clothes. Once he begins clothing himself, I stand, “Do you want some water or anything?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“You already tired of seeing my body?”

“No, because I’m about a second away from jumping your bones again.” I bite my lip playfully before stepping into the hallway where I catch a glimpse of Colton tapping his foot to a song playing through his earphones. A cold shudder runs down my spine to think about what he must have heard through these paper thin walls. In an attempt to avoid a possible awkward confrontation I decide to do a brisk walk to the kitchen so he doesn’t catch a glimpse of me.

My fingers wrap around the fridge handle and immediately recoil at the sound of Colton’s nonchalant voice, “I feel like I have to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Please tell me you plugged in earphones when we got loud.”

“You know I did, the thing is, your voice even pierced through the freaking music. It felt like I was listening to a porno with an imbalanced background track.”

Parker steps into the living room and I notice his eyes widen at Colton, “Yo, uh I didn’t know you were here.”

Colton’s eyes flicker towards me in judgement, “It’s cool bro, I put on earphones. I didn’t hear a thing,” he lies.

“Here,” I hand Parker a cold bottle of water.

He takes the bottle from me, “I’ll text you when I get back to my place, we can plan a possible hike this weekend. There’s this hiking trail kind of up north in Auburn.”

A feeling of dread washes over me, but I feign an interest in it, “That sounds fun,” I follow him to the door.

“I had fun tonight cutie,” he examines my robe, “I would ask you to walk me to my car, but it’s kind of cold out there.”

“Such a gentleman.” Colton sneers quietly from the kitchen.

Thankfully Parker doesn’t seem to hear him and he kisses my cheek before leaving.

The door latches shut then I release the residual pains from the past hour by relaxing my posture and slouching my back. “Oh yeah, I’m gonna be sore in the morning. I don’t know whether to shower or stretch first.”

“I’d say shower. You have porno hair right now,” Colton wraps his earphones around his hand and tucks it into his pocket, “and you smell like sex.”

“Oh, before I forget,” I pick the to-go box and my clutch up off of the floor then place them both on the kitchen counter, “hope you like lamb.”

“Lamb? Where’d you go?”

“Remember a couple of months ago, when you and I went to the mall? We decided to walk into that hella fancy place by the front and we laughed at the menu?”

“He took you there?”

“Full three fucking course meal with salad, soup, wine and desserts.”

“The hell? Emilia didn’t say he was fucking loaded.”

“I know right? Anyways, I’m gonna go shower. Because apparently I smell and look like a post-action porn star.”

***

The donut shop I work at on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings is called Donut Be Jealous. Though it has a pun name it is considered to be a hidden jewel amongst the hole-in-the-wall businesses in Midtown. It’s simultaneously owned by the family who came up with the business idea and their employees so it adds that sense of intrigue to the consumers in the area who look for politically correct labor practices. Being that the shop is a co-op, the owners decided to give me special parking place behind the storefront so that I can avoid paying the exorbitant street parking fees, not to mention that they aren’t as strict when it comes to uniforms, all they require is a simple brown apron with a picture of a donut that they provide. A box of supplies nearly falls on me as I enter through the backdoor, though I’m able to notice it and hold my hand up before it plummets on me. Being crushed to death by a box of flour seems like the wrong type of way to go. There is a rack by the doorway leading to the actual storefront from which I pick up the apron with my embroidered name.

“You’re late sis!” A voice calls out from somewhere in the storefront. After a clang from the rack sliding into the display case echoes through the empty storefront, a guy with green-dyed hair pops up from behind the display case and fakes a disapproving scowl, “Leaving your favorite twink to fend for himself and push these donuts into the case, you should be ashamed.” The shifts on Thursdays are the only times that I’m able to work with my favorite coworker, Danilo; part time donut shop worker, and part time go-go dancer.

“Shush, I woke up late okay? If you want I can take care of all restock duty this morning.” I offer him an exchange for his unnecessary labor at 6 am.

“Woke up late?” Danilo gasps, “Oh my god, don’t tell me that your himbo of a roommate finally gave you the goods. I swear, the way he housed that donut in his mouth that one time, oh god, I could just climb him like a tree—okay, you’re looking at me like I just made our queer ancestors roll in their graves and that’s suspicious.”

Not once in my entire life have I been the girl to kiss and tell, though the dangerous glower that my face has made in order to fight a coming smirk might have sent the wrong message to Danilo, “No, it’s nothing like that, but let’s just say that things are interesting right now and leave it at that.”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, “Come on, you know half of my diet is just juicy tea from other people, plus it’s the least you can do since I did all of the prep work for this morning: brewed the coffee, made the first batch of donuts, restocked the—”

“Fine, but I’m not going to give you any sordid details.” I interrupt his tirade, “You know how I’ve been struggling to get over my ex?”

“The one who went across the country leaving you to totally pull a mistress waiting for her man to come back home kind of deal? Abs-ol-ute-ly.”

“Well, I think I’m starting to get over him, and not because he started dating this pretty bitch from New York, but for what I think, and hope, are good reasons.”

“Oh I’m living for this. Not going to lie, there are some times when you come into work and I literally think ‘she’s going to end up crying into someone’s coffee’. Speaking of, I’m gonna make an iced-coffee, do you want some? Don’t answer that. You definitely need some.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so energetic like 24/7. I’m barely awake and I had to zip through the streets on a loud freaking motorcycle.”

“That’s cause I’m fueled by my hatred of bigots and self, I’m kidding. The truth is I think I’m constantly bursting with energy because I’m just built like this. so tell me, what are these good reasons you’re talking about?”

“His name’s Parker. He has wavy hair, piercing bluish eyes, and he’s just an all around amazing guy.”

“Another white boy seriously? You know, there’s a beginning movement to decolonize ourselves and you’re over here opening your legs to a conquistador.”

“He’s so not a conquistador.”

“I will handle all of your duties for a shift if you introduce me to him and I can’t picture him riding on a horse while trampling on some sacred ground.”

“Okay, to be fair he did take me on this super fancy dinner date last night. I think he’s rich or something.”

“Aha! See, he is a conquistador. His parents are probably like secretly racist. Anyways, tell me about this pretty bitch that your ex is dating.”

“So, he posted this picture of them after months of posting nothing but pictures of fancy ass places and after years of not talking to me. She’s this strawberry blonde who had her hands all up on him.”

“At least you started moving on.”

“Yeah.”

The donut shaped clock on the wall begins ringing its alarm indicating that it’s time to open the shop. Not a minute passes by after I unlock the front door that the customers begin filing into the queue. A combination of tired-eyed workers looking for a sugar rush, jittery High-Schoolers, and impassive people in business attire are the usual people who frequent the shop in its early hours of operation. One by one, the donuts vacate the shelves, making me rush to make more of our bestsellers: the cream-filled, the jelly-filled, and the maple bars. Soon, the iced coffee that Danilo had made for me is emptied, while he begins making himself a fourth cup as the flow of customers dwindle. Sunlight bursts through the door from tops of the buildings across the street and with it a still sleep stricken Colton.

“Good morning!” Danilo shouts, jolting Colton awake.

I snort to stop a coming fit of laughter.

“Dude, you’re a walking espresso shot.” Colton exasperates with a certain lingering drowsiness.

“You know it! Now, do you want the usual?” Danilo widely grins and leans over the counter using his hands as a chin rest.

“Yup.”

Seeing a situation where Danilo begins hitting on Colton is imminent, I tap Danilo on the shoulder and jerk my head towards the back of the shop, “Hey, go take a break and let me take over. I’m putting this on my tab.”

Danilo makes an adamant groan before heading off to the back.

Colton stretches, “Okay, why are you in such a good mood today?”

“The two donuts and the iced cold brew is to repay you for the things he had to sit through last night.”

“Oh, I though the lamb was the payment.”

“Nope, I already promised you leftovers.” I state nonchalantly while inputting his order into the system.

“Then I guess I gotta get you leftovers later tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

He takes the bag of donuts and the large plastic cup of dark coffee, “Emilia’s going to come back to town for dinner at her parent’s and she invited me to tag along. She told Mrs. Choi that we were talking again, and she practically flipped.”

“Aw, I always knew her parents loved you.”

“Yeah, I guess. Anyways, I’ll see you later tonight okay?”

“Wait, if you wanna get me some leftovers, grab some of their homemade kimchi. That shit’s to die for. Oh and tell Mr. and Mrs. Choi that I say hi. ”

“Alright then. See ya.” He jerks his head upwards and leaves the shop.

An alarm rings from the clock again, indicating that the morning shift has officially ended. The donut case is empty except for a few of the less popular donuts and a smashed croissant. I look towards the back door, the distinct wisps of silver smoke reveals that Danilo is still in the middle of his cigarette break. Seeing that the flow of customers has slowed to a trickle, I take the liberty to start closing up shop. While I carry out the necessary tasks to close, my mind wanders to the possible moves that I could take now that I have officially deleted the playlist. Several thoughts solidify themselves: the appropriate time to tell Colton that the playlist no longer exists would be sometime soon but no longer than a week from now, the fact that I have to find a way to get used to hiking because there is no doubt in my mind that Parker would ask me to join him for one soon, and lastly but not so solidified; when would Parker decide that he would want to make this an official thing. I make myself dizzy trying to figure out the latter part of that train of thought then Danilo returns from his long break.

“Okay consider us equal now. I handled opening and you handled closing.”

“Awesome. I have to head to class now though, so I’ll see ya next week.”

***

There comes a time that someone needs to begin sorting through the rubble, pick up the pieces that still make sense, then find a way to somehow piece it all back together like a jigsaw puzzle with undefined lines and jagged corners. A peculiar emptiness permeates throughout the dining room as a result of Colton’s absence and the lack of the reverberating beats from the now-deleted playlist; almost as if the apartment were giving me the silent treatment for taking away something that it had grown accustomed to. Instead of familiar music, the clacking of my keyboard, the occasional squeak of highlighter on paper, and the beats of an entirely new playlist pound against the walls on a quiet Thursday night. Doing homework while eating a greasy heap of meat wrapped in a burrito is a welcome return to normalcy. A time for myself without the interruptions of other people. It’s a strange type of peace.

Moments of peace pile up on top of each other as the burrito beside my laptop slowly disappears into my stomach. I approach the last paragraph but am interrupted by my phone vibrating against the now empty take out box.

“I wanted to tell you myself.” A voice I haven’t heard in years comes through the speaker, a strange calm and a firmness of conviction; Matthew clears his throat, “How are you?”

Anger boils in my stomach, “What do you want me to say Matthew?”

“Nothing. I just want a chance to tell you that yeah, I met someone new.”

“What’s her name?”

“Isabella.”

“I don’t really have anything else to say to you, Matthew. It’s been two fucking years since we so much sent a message to each other.”

“Then why did you comment?”

“Why did you call me like I owe you something?”

“You don’t. I just thought it would be nice to tell you.”

“Guess what? It wasn’t. It feels like you’re fucking smearing it on my face. I spent two years waiting for you to text or call me again, listening to that stupid fucking playlist, and wondering what the hell went wrong.”

“I didn’t tell you to wait for me. I told you to try to move on.”

“The playlist was kind of counter intuitive don’t you think? Whatever the case is, congratulations again.”

“I upset you.”

“No fucking shit. Three years is enough for you to get totally absorbed in another way of life,maybe you forgot that people in your hometown experience things a little differently than your posh fucking group.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just I recently came to the realization that I made a mistake in stopping talking to you.”

“You don’t get to say sorry like that. Fuck! Look, I realized that I had to learn how to get on with my life without you around, and I’m just now starting to do that. But hearing your voice out of the blue is just making me feel so many different emotions.”

“Then feel them.”

“Again, you don’t get to tell me what or what I can’t feel. If you really want to speak to me like the past two years never happened, then I’m sorry that just can’t happen like that. As far as I’m concerned we’re back at square one.”

“Sol, can you—”

“It’s Soleil.”

“Maybe we aren’t meant to talk to each other again.”

A deafening silence stagnates between the speaker and my ear.

“Damn it, okay. I’m being unfair. Things have changed Matthew, and I’m not the same Soleil you fell in love with, just as much as I’m sure you’re not the same Matthew I fell in love with. If you want the two of us to speak again, then you have to start at square one.”

I hang up on him before he gets the chance to respond. The fucking nerve, the absolute gall, the pure stupidity of him daring to call me is nearly enough to make me smash the unlit scented candle against my laptop. A fleeting grumble from my stomach rejecting the greasy heap brings me back down to a calmer state. I take the lingering anger to finish the essay albeit in a more aggressive tone than is appropriate. I shut my laptop then head to the living room. The life that I had built since he left is one that I never would have seen myself living. Not once in my younger years did I picture myself living with Colton in the part of the city we had rarely visited in our younger years, nor did I ever think of me riding around on a motorcycle instead of a car, and never did I fathom that I would be stuck in this purgatorial bind between moving on and being bitter about a perceived injustice of a heartbreak. But at the end of it all, I find that I’m proud of the small victories that I have achieved throughout the past few years, hell, even with the rather larger victory that happened just last night.