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Autumn Joy
Never had there been a book long enough to assure him amity, to make him truly at ease. They ended too soon, their familiar folio engulfing him for what seemed like eternity, only to cease in unrequited satisfaction. He could leave the world for hours, transcend time, but like always he had to come back, for their narrative was never immortal. The life of text-filled pages and hardened covers by no means replaced isolation.
Held tight in his grasp was a copy of ‘The Halloween Tree’, an excellent, captivating, gothic fantasy surrounding the struggles of eight young boys searching for their lost friend through the decades of Halloweens gone past. Yes, it was a light read, being a mere one hundred sixty pages, and slightly too young for his usual taste, but ‘tis the season he thought, and the season was most certainly all Hallow’s Eve. He’d already read most of his collection, zipping through some R.L Stine, tackling Bram Stoker’s Dracula, devouring more than enough Stephen King, Anne Rice, Poe. True, the sweet anecdotes would sustain his lonesome self a while longer, but they too all died in short time. He sighed.
Sitting reclined in his plush, wing back chair- or rather, his lover’s chair- he eagerly turned a brittle page. He could smell the old attic where the book once lived, could taste the sifted dust upon his tongue. It left him feeling mild, almost at ease. The room was modest, comfortable even (never minding the plaster that peeled off the walls like a dried-up plant in its final days) and the location was near perfect. It occupied an old building just south of Gotham’s Harbor, but alas, it was going to be remodeled. Unfortunately, this meant a change in residence, but that was alright, they hadn’t planned on staying long anyway.
In the next room was a kitchenette, and further down the hall was a single bedroom, though for the most part it went unused, save for their frequent midnight romps. In essence, all they really needed was a carpeted floor, a couch, the ratty chair, Jervis’s lovely hookah, a few of Jonathan’s whopping novels, and a stove, of course, for making tea. If there were no stove there’d have been no point in settling, even for temporary situations. They had to be able to heat the kettle.
Funny thing, there in fact was no stove within their current dwelling- only a blackened fireplace, filthy from constant use.
“No, Jonathan! There’s no place to heat the tea!”
“The fireplace, Jerv. We can just use the fireplace."
It had taken some effort on Jonathan’s part to persuade Jervis into staying, but given they’d been around each other long enough, it was a noticeably easier task then before. A calm voice and a soothing gesture always made the difference. Eventually Jervis would relent and his anxious energy would cool.
So it was settled, they would stay. They had even brought the kettle from their former living space, hanging it innocuously above the hearth, rust caking it brown and tarnished, but ever so reliant. It still whistled.
Off in the distance, outside the edifice, a common grackle croaked, making a noisy guttural sound that echoed into silence. It was five in the morning, technically Halloween. The pumpkins and children would be out in Gotham, both alight with the season’s festive spirit, a copious swirl of autumn joy. Jonathan smiled at the thought, not only because it was his favorite holiday, but because it was the same fateful day that he and his blonde companion committed themselves to each other. It was the true birth of their relationship, the bloom of their faithfulness to one another, and what a day it had been.
He smirked and rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake away the stiffened sleep that threatened to subdue him. He sat up straight and shook his head then glanced out the window behind his chair. Dawn’s early light shown timidly over the still water, and the harbor looked fresh within its welcome. Fall had come quick, bringing such wonderful colors and sweet smells along with it. It was… breathtaking.
Jervis would have thought it romantic… if he were actually there.
It was true, the short man had been gone for almost two weeks and Jonathan, now acclimated to the man’s company, felt forlorn without his presence. Though Jonathan had refused to believe his feelings from the start he couldn’t deny them any longer. Resentful passion soon flourished into courageous adoration. He was in love; in total and utter love. It was a terrifying concept.
He turned back from the gorgeous view to set eyes upon his book. It was almost finished and he didn’t want it to end, but he knew it had to. Was Pip going to be alright? Of course he knew, having re-read the book a thousand times, but it didn’t matter because he hadn’t finished it yet. He stared off at the far corner of the room, hoping for an answer, though he knew not the question to ask. Sigh… it was their anniversary… Jervis had promised to be back by now.
“No need to fret, love, I’ll return within a fortnight, I swear it!” Jervis had announced with conviction, caressing Jonathan’s frowning face, “And when I come home we’ll have all the time in the world, my sweet, little oyster.”
He looked down sadly at the discolored paperback. He would never admit to it, but he liked the stupid pet names Jervis gave him. He groaned longingly and wet his lips, then set the book to his side, tucking it snug between the cushions of Jervis’s chair.
It was time for tea.
Yawning broadly, he rose from his seat, giving a generous stretch to his sore limbs. He ambled sluggishly towards the kitchenette, his bare feet plodding against the checkered floor, lumbering along as if he were weighty; this of course being far from true. Keeping his hands clasped together, he wrung them in restless unease, his mind racing for a solution to his solitude. It was cold this dawn, soon to be winter, and he needed the warmth of his lover at hand. Tea would be the answer, yes… Yes, a hot, steamy cup of tea would do the trick… that and a good book.
A small smile captured his features while he tended to the kettle. He filled it up with a generous amount of water from the tarnished faucet near the stove. Next he opened the charming cabinet door above him and chose one of the two boxes of specialty teas- one being his and the other for Jervis. This, he thought, was an odd matter indeed; they still couldn’t agree on one variety of tea.
“English Breakfast,” Jervis would spit pretentiously, “Now there’s a proper cup of culture.”
The blonde man would then lay back in his lush chair, swish his mug about like the pompous parvenu he was, and flash his trade-mark, Cheshire-cat grin. Jonathan, unshaken, would simply smile, sip his scalding chamomile, and thank God he wasn’t alone. He had learned long ago to let Jervis win those petty battles and so in response let the topic of tea wither despite his stubborn adamancy that chamomile was good too. He decided he didn’t care; let the man he loved have his fleeting victory. All that mattered was Jervis’s eternal companionship … and his loving devotion.
However, Jervis had not come home yet, so Jonathan, being the patient creature that he was, waited eagerly for the man’s return. He made it look painless, but it wasn’t easy. Staying lost within his books was the only escape from loneliness he had. That and the refuge he sought within Jervis’s belongings.
While pondering his lover’s hypnotic charm, Jonathan carefully freed a single tea bag from its paper home and placed it delicately into a mug; a mug frequently used and much beloved by his blonde companion. The container was, needless to say, large in size, but that was only to accommodate for all the tea the crazed man drank. Jonathan reminisced on this fact while caressing his lover’s choice porcelain possession, then reached out swiftly towards the full kettle. He snatched the handle and walked out of the room, back towards the satin-blushed chair and the ebony covered fireplace. He placed the handle on the hook above the hearth and set the large mug down beside him so he could light the awaiting timber. With his hands on his knees he inspected the remaining logs, deciding they would need a bit of newspaper to help them burn.
To his left sat a pack of matches and he blindly seized them while repositioning the pile of wood. He slipped one out of the carton and with a deliberate flick, swiped the match head upon the textured surface of the box, igniting the tip. He gave a quick glance at the flame before placing it tactfully under the shredded newspaper. A blue spark erupted from the base, slowly transforming into orange while it gnawed on the articles. He silently watched as the fire grew, listening thoughtfully to the loud popping of heated wood. As the flames gained in size, he gently pushed the kettle above the oppressive blaze. He stood back, already caught by the fire’s profound warmth, and placed his bony bottom upon the lavish cushion of Jervis’ chair.
All he could do now was wait.
He closed his eyes and controlled his breath while basking in the heat of the fire, unwilling to succumb to his body’s fatigue. He wanted to be awake when Jervis arrived, wanted to be fully composed when the man stepped through the door, large nose twitching and interest piqued by the full-bodied aroma of his favorite refreshment. Jonathan wanted to be ready for his man, though putting it like that always made him feel like a dutiful housewife, and he didn’t much like thinking of himself in such terms.
This notion rippled in his mind as he drowsily watched the shadows play amongst themselves on the opposing wall. He was so tired. He needed to stay awake… Jervis was coming home… stay awake, damnit… the tea… just put… kettle… how…… sleep……
His eyes fluttered to stay open, fighting and losing in vain against the inevitable.
Rain drizzled down in rivulets upon the windshield. They started their journey as one then split off in two as they neared the bottom, branching out like roots beneath the earth. He twisted the wiper stalk on low and watched as the rubber blades swept across the surface of the glass, leaving behind streaks of splotchy moisture. He sighed.
It had been almost two weeks since he’d—
What are you doing?
His hands flexed on the steering wheel. Maybe he’d gone down the rabbit hole. It was a typical scenario, him running about after the white rabbit, the lop eared animal startled by his sudden curiosity, him then bending down to the earth in an attempt to hear the boroughs beneath… the place where the ivory hare descended into absence.
He tried to go there… where?
ROAD.
Ah, the car.
Pay attention.
He coughed into his fist as he signaled left, flicking the opposite control stalk with his other hand. He couldn’t remember much of the last two weeks, only that he must be getting back now… back to his Alice.
Ah, Alice…. his lovely maiden. Well, she wasn’t really a maiden. Heh, that seal had been broken, many times. Ah, she was well worth the trip. He visualized her as he drove, tall and elegant, with her short, brown hair and eyes that lit his soul aflame. She was sharp, barbed like a rose, but her grace and intelligence were like the budding, crimson-painted petals that made the plant so divine. Soon he would be returned to her and she would grin, her face an ashen portrait, like that of the Cheshire cat; all teeth and none the wiser. His dream…
Wait…
My gracious, I’m so late.
Think, wait, dash-it all!
Why is a raven like a...
His hands leapt to his face, feeling with panic the rounded curves of his cheeks, making sure the bones were still there and that he was still real.
Relief.
Pay attention.
ROAD.
Ah, the road. Sorry.
Gripping the steering wheel, he shook his head with a rapid twist and closed his eyes, opening them wide to stare off into the orange glow of daybreak.
Must be alert; must pay attention.
He needed to be home amongst his trappings and belongings, and he certainly needed some rest. Whatever he was supposed to accomplish whilst he was away (which he was sure his Alice would reiterate to him once he was safely nuzzled in her arms) was a fading memory tucked aside in the crevasses of his subconscious. It was about money… or something. Stupid thing, money. He never liked the concept of man’s so called currency, which was probably why he couldn’t remember a thing in regards to his mission, but he knew the unwavering importance of cash, and Alice deserved a man who could keep her warm and safe with a full belly and everything she dreamed of. He’d even gotten her a gift with some of the funds he’s recently procured. That was guaranteed to put a smile on her face.
But smiles were not what he needed to focus on at the moment. Besides, he was confident his Alice would give him plenty of them when he reached their home, but in the meantime he would have to make do with what little information he could retain: like directions back to wherever home was.
He took another left, this time forgetting to signal, and decided it was no use. He was going around in circles for all he knew. What had Alice said?
“Hmm… ‘Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction.’” He chuckled, “No… No, Jonathan didn’t say that… now where in the bloody hell is that harbor?”
He drove silently until he reached another turn, this time deciding to go right instead of left. If he went right he had to end up in the right direction… right?
“Well… “All roads lead to Rome’” He quoted with a shrug.
Veering the wheel off to the side, he guided the car slowly towards the sunlit terraces and freshly preened foliage of Gotham’s more fortunate residents. It had stopped raining, and the leaves had turned a magnificent mixture of red and yellow; they floated down to the earth like twirling dancers in the breeze. In less than five minutes down his chosen path he could see the small image of Gotham’s waterfront growing larger in his field of view. His heart leapt at the sight of such beauty. His foot hit the gas pedal and he suddenly shot forward, careening down the road while lurching up in his seat. As he zipped towards the waterfront, racing ahead in his beat-up Volkswagen, the seagulls scattered in bewilderment, their wings cresting over the sun as it settled into the horizon.
He was almost there, almost home… of course- home was where Alice was.
The door made a creak as it crept open, the irritating squeal sending a quick shiver up Jervis’s spine. At last he could relax, safe and snug in his sanctuary. He crooked his head up, cracking his neck with a sharp snap, then set forth to nestle in for the remainder of the day. Lightly and assuredly, he strode down the short hallway towards the main den, the natural ease of sure-footedness accompanying his every step. He set his bag and coat upon the small counter space and kicked off his shoes, yawning like a lion in anticipation of the chair he so missed.
GIFT.
Oh yes, his mind sparked, I simply can’t forget about that.
The present he’d just recalled, was wrapped inside the sandy brown, sling he’d set on the counter. He turned around quick to retrieve it, unzipping the bag to reveal a plain red box. He let out a tiny giggle as he pictured the contents within. Oh what joy he had brought home for his Alice, on their anniversary! Yes, of all the things he couldn’t remember, he did remember that, their special day.
With an airy hum and a joyous grin, he lazed merrily towards the living room, the flat red box under his right arm and his senses keen upon his blood-red chair. As he reached the doorway he heard a light murmur followed by a jumble of incoherent phrases, each trailed with a wet smack of soft lips. Puzzled, Jervis inched slowly towards the room. It couldn’t be his Alice, the man never slept. It was near fact.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, and edged past the doorframe to peer into the den.
Sure enough, he found Jonathan dozing peacefully amidst their possessions, propped up against his favorite chair. The sight of her made his breath fall short, and he leaned onto the doorframe with a warm, sentimental smile across his face. Jonathan’s head lay bent to the side and the book he’d been reading sat opened upon his lap. The fire crackled playfully in the hearth, as if prying for Jervis’ attention. It drew his eyes askance for a moment, long enough for him to notice the kettle they so often used. His expression grew warmer. Jonathan must have missed him.
At that moment the whistle from the kettle blew feverishly, shrilling higher and higher the more it sat unattended. Jervis watched in amusement as Jonathan shot forward from the noise and dashed toward the fireplace. The tall man turned the trammel hook to one side with a kitchen mitt, removing the kettle from the flames, and yawned blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eye with long fingers. Jervis smirked.
“How lovely to find all my cherished possessions gathered here upon my return.” He spoke with a chuckle.
“Jervis!” Jonathan spun his head around, “You’re back!”
It was a rare occurrence to see Jonathan truly smile. They were always pinched smiles, or lopsided, smiles that tugged at the corners of his lips, or ones that shown camouflaged through his chestnut eyes. But it was so rare to see the man actually show teeth and gum, for his cheeks to plump up and wrinkle, so rare to see pure excitement written on his usual dreary face. Jervis loved to see that look. It was the same look he saw in his dreams.
“That I am, my dear.” He took a step towards his partner, “And did I not tell you I would be?”
Jonathan blushed though he didn’t try to conceal it like he often times would. Jervis liked that too. In three quick strides he was there in front of his lover, forgetting all about the red box and letting it slip from his grasp as he captured the other man’s jaw in his small hand. He leaned in close. Jonathan’s smile never waned, even as they kissed.
“I see you’ve taken refuge in my belongings…” Jervis purred as he broke their lips apart.
“Hmm?” Jonathan responded, dazed.
“My chair? My hookah? Tea in my favorite mug?” he taunted playfully, rubbing his nose against his partner’s, “What will I find the next time I return home, dare I ask? Why, you’ll be wearing a top-hat and spouting Lewis Carroll quotes I’d wager.”
Jonathan burst out laughing. Jervis grinned; the sound was like music to his ears.
“You got me there,” Jonathan shrugged, “Can you blame me? You start to grow on a person. Like a fungus.”
They both laughed.
After they quieted, Jonathan asked, “So… how was it?”
“It was alright,” Jervis forced a frown, “You know I don’t remember much of these silly events.”
“Right, but how was your… you know, cut?”
“Profit?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Ah… yes that,” Jervis feigned a disappointed look, “You see… my other ‘team mates’, well, they thought I didn’t quite… deserve our initial negotiation. My earnings were… not as… precise.”
Jonathan’s expression became concerned, “What do you mean, ‘not as precise?’”
“Ah, well, love—”
“How much?”
Jervis exaggerated a sigh. “Oh... let’s say… Five…”
“Five thousand?!” Jonathan blurted, mouth hung open, “That’s it?! For two goddamn weeks they tear you away from me for fucking five thousand dollars?”
The taller man darted to his feet and began to pace restlessly. He started to jabber on about ‘those fucking cocksuckers’ and about how ‘they negotiated a fucking set price’ and how he was just ‘so fucking pissed.’
Jervis watched in cool mischief as his lover spouted insults and cursed like a sailor, but he giggled to himself inwardly. He was being mean, and he knew it. But, when he noticed Jonathan’s look grow darker he decided to end the charade.
Oh, I don’t like that look, he thought, amused, let’s turn that frown upside-down.
“Five…” the words rolled of his tongue in emphasis, “Hundred.”
Jonathan screeched to a sudden halt and stared at his companion, gears processing.
“Five hundred? Five hundred?” As expected, the man’s dark face lit up, “Jervis, five hundred thousand?!”
Jervis simply nodded.
The next moment happened in a blur as Jonathan swooped over to his companion and shrieked in absolute gaiety. Jervis was almost taken off guard by the other man’s exuberance, but as his lips were pressed forcefully against his heart’s desire, he slipped into a state of total bliss, soaking up his lover’s happiness like a dried sponge. Jonathan broke away and leapt up, jumping in joy.
“Jervis, that’s AMAZING!” he yelled in delight, “Jervis, that’s half a million dollars!”
“It’s also…” Jervis contemplated briefly, “Fifty million pennies.”
Jonathan bent down and kissed him again, and Jervis in turn melted into it, suspended in time by the soft lips cemented to his own. It was like nothing could tear them apart. He romanticized the sweet scenario round and round in his head while his lover started to place little smacks of kisses on his cheeks, brow, and on his lips. He gazed off with a pleasant smile, his eyes half lidded by the shower of affection.
“Oh, Jerv, I can’t believe it.” Jonathan cupped his face, “How did you… how did you manage that? To get that much?”
“Let’s just say I… hm-persuaded my colleagues to up my revenue.” Jervis stated, pretending to care about his nails. “After all, it was me and my mind control chips that made all the difference.”
“And you put the cash in our little savings ‘deposit’?”
“Of course, of course.”
Jonathan beamed and let his hands drop from his lover’s face. “Pretty soon we’ll have enough to…”
“I think a quaint little beach house on the shore of, say, some Southeast Asian island would suffice, don’t you?” Jervis illustrated, noticing then how the light of the fire made his partner’s face look even more mesmerizing.
Jonathan kissed him, this time wrapping him in long arms.
Oh, the getting is going to be so good tonight, Jervis deemed in triumph, his eyes rolling back at the sheer thought.
They made out a while longer, swathed in the heat of the fire, their lips zealous and unafraid. Jervis could have gone on forever, he knew, but Jonathan pulled back, took a breath, and smiled. Jervis was about to speak but he paused as he noticed something had caught his companion’s eye. Jonathan quirked his head in question.
“Jervis, what’s that?” he pointed to the red box.
Oh!
GIFT.
How silly of me.
Jervis snatched up the box and presented it to his lover, his best friend, his Alice.
“Why, it’s yours.” he replied with a smooth look, his arm resting casually across his bent knee, “Happy anniversary, baby.”
Jonathan took the crimson box and chuckled, shaking his head, “Jerv, I thought we agreed no gifts.”
“I had my fingers crossed.” Jervis stated coolly.
“Should I open it?” Jonathan inspected the sides, running his hands along the edges.
“No, I had plans on you opening it next year. Of course, open it, open it!”
Jonathan gave him a playful push at the sarcasm and slipped off the top half of the box, placing it aside. Jervis looked on, peering with his lip between his teeth as he watched his partner’s brow furrow in confusion.
“Um…” was all the taller man could muster as he unfolded the contents to reveal a short, sky blue dress laced with white trim and a matching bow.
The room was silent.
“What is this?” Jonathan finally asked, scrutinizing the frills and the mesh underlay that gave the frock its volume.
Jervis smirked wickedly, and said in a calm and controlled voice, “Happy Halloween, little oyster.”