Authors: Ethan Day
Tags: #MLR Press; ISBN 978-1-60820-237-9; Sequel to Sno Ho
Life in fusion
9
went.
Twenty
-
one clicks.
“Watch your heart rates boss,” Gostric said.
“You watch my fucking heart rates, asshole,”
Buck choked out as he rushed down another
dead end cavern. “I’m a kind of busy looking for
something no one has ever laid eyes on before.”
“Sure thing, Captain.”
Seventeen clicks.
“Damn all the gods to hell! I don’t see any…”
Buck froze, grabbing onto the wall before hissing in
pain from the intense heat of the stone.
There was a soft glow coming from an opening
in the cavern wall just ahead. He could feel the grin
spreading across his face as he ran toward it. He
knew he’d found the Halo; he could feel it. This
was one sizeable bounty he intended to collect.
Turning into the room, his mouth fell open at the
sight before his eyes.
“Son of a Nebulon whore,” Buck muttered
under his breath.
“What is it, Captain?” Gostric asked, his voice
crackling into Buck’s ear. “Did you find it? Did you
find the Halo?”
10 Ethan Day
Buck looked up and said, “Hey buddy, we’re
here.”
q q q
The tapping on the keyboard of my laptop came to a halt. I
sat up straight in the back of the taxi.
“Hey buddy,” the cabby repeated, ripping me the rest of the
way out of my head.
“Huh?” I asked, perturbed at being interrupted when I’d been
on such a roll.
I realized the cab was pulling down Tulane Drive toward my
humble little adobe abode. Reality began to slowly seep back
in, along with the knowledge that only hours before, I’d told a
near complete stranger I’d relocate and move in with him in six
months’ time.
Have I gone stark raving mad?
A sudden stab of nostalgia ripped through my gut at the
panicked thought of leaving New Mexico. I’d lived in Albuquerque
all my life—had never imagined living anywhere else. This place
was my home and had always felt that way. I belonged to this city
and it belonged to me.
The taxi pulled into the drive of my two bedroom 1939 Pueblo
style home in the Nob Hill area, not too far from Bateman Park
and the UNM campus. The house sat a few blocks off Central
Avenue, part of the famed Route 66 from back in the day, a
fact that was now more of a charming anecdote used on tourist
brochures.
I saved my word document and shut down my computer
before getting out of the taxi. I hated having to stop writing,
especially when I’d been having one of those moments where
the story seemed to take hold, almost as if possessing me. I tried
telling myself I’d be able to get back there once I made it inside,
but I knew that wasn’t likely. Real life had already worked its way
back in.
Life in fusion
11
I took stock of my home while waiting for the driver to pop
the trunk so I could retrieve my luggage. Surveying the exterior,
it became clear to me that my place was looking kinda rough
around the edges. Despite having been lovingly owned and
restored by my uncle Barry and his lover Steven, both of whom
had passed away years before, the stucco exterior now required
some attention.
If nothing else, a new coat of paint.
I was ashamed of
myself for a good three or four seconds at having allowed it to
happen, before shrugging it off.
“I’ve never been much of a handy man,” I mumbled as the
cab driver set my bags on the pavement next to my feet.
“Me either pal.” He folded his arms as if waiting for something.
“Money!” I said, holding up a hand. “I need to pay you.”
“That’s usually how these things go,” the driver smirked.
“Sorry, I knew that—I did.” I reached back, taking the wallet
out of my back pocket. Fishing out some bills, including a nice
tip, I continued rambling about not having suffered from any
recent head injuries.
The cabbie nodded, though it was obvious he didn’t give a
damn if I’d cracked my head open or not. He retreated to the car,
sneering as he backed out of the driveway.
“The cabbies treat you a whole lot better in Summit City!”
I yelled as the car pulled away from the house, tires squealing.
“Nosy as hell—but
friendly
!”
I now felt like an idiot, standing in my driveway, fist in the air
and screaming at no one. Snatching my bags up, I noticed my
neighbor, Rosa Diaz, stepping out onto her front porch to watch
me. She was wearing the same look of pitied disapproval that
came over her whenever I had the misfortune of stumbling into
her line of sight. It had been unnerving the first time I met her, as
she appeared to be a sweet, motherly type on the outside. Then
again, I never had been the best judge of character. I instantly
plastered on my most neighborly smile as I sauntered toward my
front door, fighting with my luggage.
I never knew exactly what it was about me that garnered
12 Ethan Day
her pity-looks. I did, however, assume it all stemmed from my
mouth. The things that came out of it were certainly part of the
reason. I suspected the fact I was gay was another, so once again
my mouth, or what I liked to put into it, had her concerned.
Rosa was also the neighborhood neatnik—always after me
about repairing something. Her husband had died the year before,
a sweet old man, and while I’d been very sad for her loss, I was
shocked that he’d dared do anything without her permission.
And if I knew one thing for certain, it was that Mrs. Diaz would
have never given him leave…to leave.
“I kept a good eye on your house while you were gone,” she
called out with a wave.
“Thank you.” I walked as fast as I could with my arms full as
I said under my breath, “Not that I asked you to.”
“And that big piece of trim that fell off is still leaning against
the side of your house!” She called out. “Not that I mind, but I
thought I’d bring it up in case you forgot about it.”
“I haven’t Rosa, but thank you so much for the reminder.”
Dropping a bag, I wrestled the keys out of my pocket, cursing
my gay ass for bowing to the peer pressure of my culture and
wearing the tight jeans, merely because they showcased my
unmentionables.
I unlocked the arched front door, one of my favorite
architectural features of the house. It was solid oak, stained
dark, and had one of those peek-a-boo openings covered with
decorative wrought iron that matched the ornate latch and
hinges. Tossing my bags in as quickly as possible, I stepped in and
slammed the door shut behind me. Despite the fact the door had
a latch that locked itself automatically upon closing, I fumbled
to also lock the dead bolt, taking no chances that the outside
world could get to me for the remainder of the day. I leaned back
against it, exhausted.
I let my gaze wander as the familiar scent of leather and wood
filled my nose. It struck me as similar to Wade’s house in a way;
except the smell from the wood in my house carried with it an
Life in fusion
13
aged quality.
The living room and its kiva fireplace with the brick and tile
surround welcomed me. The creamy stucco walls and rough
hewed beams that stretched across the low ceilings mixed
harmoniously with the warm hues of the leather and earth
tone fabrics, providing a coziness that had all the muscles in my
shoulders finally relaxing.
I was home. It felt good, which surprised me considering I
was still experiencing tiny pangs of sadness at having parted ways
with Wade. It wasn’t debilitating, but there none the less, lying
just under the surface of all my other emotions. It was strange,
having that ache slowly ripping through my chest over a man I’d
known for such a short amount of time.
Stupid ass emotions—nothing but trouble
.
His mojo was strong, grasshopper—making me feel like a
bug, being crushed under the weight of it.
I tried shaking him out of my head as I stepped away from the
door and weaved around the bags scattered across the terracotta
tile. I’d genuinely missed my house, which was more modest than
Wade’s mountain lodge and its spectacular views. But my place
felt more like an actual home to me. I could sense it, passing over
the threshold, that this house was lived in.
I slipped off my parka and tossed it across one of the matching
leather club chairs that sat across from a small faux suede sofa.
There were plants everywhere, green and lush, spilling out over
large pots and cascading toward the floor. Daylight cut through
the windows, which were covered in rich, velvety rust colored
panels that pooled onto the floor.
From the front door I could see clear through the house
to the sliding glass doors that led to a small covered patio. The
backyard was nicely landscaped with shade trees, and the stucco
wall that wrapped around the property line made skinny dipping
in the pool possible.
I stepped up into the intimate dining room and walked past
the round mahogany pedestal table I’d rescued from a flea market,
14 Ethan Day
tossing my wallet and keys onto it. The dark stained wood floors
that ran through the bulk of the house creaked under my feet as
I kicked off my shoes.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket and turned on the smart
phone. I frowned, realizing Wade hadn’t called. I knew it was
dumb, since I told him I’d call the instant I made it home, but
the new silly-school-girl side of my altered personality had half
hoped he wouldn’t have been able to wait.
“He did say he thought he loved me.” I nodded at the display
as if that justified my infantile disappointment. I scrolled through
all the numbers, realizing most of the missed calls I’d collected
were from my best friend, Gabe. The rest were from dear ole
Mommy.
Passing through the kitchen I paused at the small refrigerator
from the fifties, and retrieved a bottle of water. It was the second
old-ass fridge I’d been forced to search out since the cutout in the
wall was too small for today’s modern appliances. Everything was
smaller in the hobbit kitchen, as it had become dubbed by Gabe.
I stepped down into the den at the back of the house and
plopped down on the tufted burgundy cushions of the Morris
chair. I leaned back, setting the water down on one arm of the
chair, and my phone down on the other. The built-ins surrounding
the fireplace had been filled to capacity with books of all shapes,
sizes and themes. The den was slightly smaller than the living
room, but had the same tiled floor and dark wood beams. The
walls were covered in dark, solid wood paneling, giving it a more
masculine feel.
People were often surprised by my home, commenting on
how tasteful it was. I assumed they were shocked as I, or what
came out of my mouth, wasn’t usually all that tasteful. I liked to
say that I didn’t want anything in my home to be more colorful
than me, since one’s home should be the last place in which one
needed to compete. In reality, I believed it to be a revolt against
growing up in my parents’ house, which was the antithesis of
what I now craved in terms of design.
Sitting up, I snagged the remote off the coffee table and
Life in fusion
15
turned on the flat screen that hung above the fireplace. I turned
the volume down till it was barely audible, and stretched my
body out in the chair. I scowled listening to my back cracking
and popping.
Either I was getting old, Wade had fucked me out of
alignment, or the stress of the past week had taken more of a toll
than I’d previously allowed myself to imagine.
“I’ll take all of the above.” I closed my eyes for a moment.
“Well, except the old part. I’m much too vibrant a personality to
ever be dimmed by age.”
My mind immediately went back to the Quad, the four ladies
who’d been the best friends of Wade’s mother back in the day.
They’d all but adopted him and Jackie after she died when they
were kids. I reminded myself that getting older was now looking
even worse than I’d ever imagined. “All that sniping.” I opened
my eyes and smiled. “It was fabulous.”
I laughed and reached for the phone. I wondered to myself if
Wade had any idea what they’d done. And if he didn’t know and
I brought it up, would the Quad wind up holding it against me
for the rest of my life, making me miserable whenever possible
for telling on them?
I thought back to that morning, after the shuttle bus had
picked me up at Wade’s house in the mountains. I was supposed
to be on my way to the airport in Denver. I closed my eyes again,
recalling the way I felt in that moment, the exquisite agony of it.
q q q
In the back of the otherwise empty shuttle bus carrying me