If I Should Fall: The Second Book of Geshichte Falls

THESE SIMPLE ECSTASIES

CONCLUSION

When Brad came, he came in sorrow. This almost did not bother him. So many orgasms with so many women had ended in a sort of sadness, the missing of something. So often the desire for sex burned at the prick of his dick and sat in his balls until it was fulfilled, and then in the fulfillment, nearly the same time as the shooting of the nut, the “what now?” colored despair. But he couldn’t let that shape things. He hadn’t. His dick and his weird emotions could not shape his life. Marissa was great. She was just great. He would start something new with her.

After she fell asleep, he dressed quickly and left her the note. They would be together again, but right now he had to be alone. How strange. He had wanted to be with her so much, and now it having happened, he needed to stroll and smoke. Strolling and smoking told him he needed to see Nehru. It was time for practice, and he was always early. Chili Comet Sundae was theirs. He was the father, Nehru the mother. Simple as that.

When he entered Noble Red, Nehru was already at the piano, and Ruth was sweeping the floor. She waved at him and kept on.

Brad vaulted the stage with his guitar, feeling suddenly energetic, and sat on the bench beside Nehru. As Nehru played, Brad harmonized. Nehru switched to an old rock song, and Brad joined him. He switched to “You’re So Vain.” Brad joined that too. He played Mozart and even in this, Brad joined him. They grinned at each other and laughed, bumping shoulders.

When they were done and Nehru finished with a flourish, they sat on the stage of the Noble Red alone, and Nehru said, “You fucked her!”

“Nehru!”

“You’re glowing!”

“I’m glowing to see you.”

“That’s partially true.”

Brad waited a while to confess.

“Truthfully, I always feel weird after sex. I was almost depressed.”

“Poor Marissa.”

“She’s coming by tonight.”

“Is she?”

“I left her a note.”

“You didn’t invite her?”

“She was asleep.”

“So, wait,” Nehru stopped. “You left her asleep after sex and then wrote a note.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a test.”

“It’s not a test.”

“It’s a bit of a test,” Nehru said.

Brad’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t look sad, just as if he were relaxing.

“I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know about myself these days.”

Then he said, “Nehru, we’re friends?”

“Asking or stating?”

“A little of both. Would you be super offended if I tried something?”

“Uh…. I’m super nervous,” Nehru said. “But… shoot your shot.”

Brad looked down at Nehru, considering. When Brad looked at him Nehru wasn’t sure what had passed through him, but it had passed through him before. They were best friends because of the electric between them, but even while he noticed this,  hidden from view by the large piano they sat before, in the Noble Red, with no one to view anyway, Brad leaned down and pressed his mouth to Nehru’s.

It was short. It was expert. Nehru opened his mouth and Brad’s smoky tongue touched his. Brad’s hand touched his cheek and he touched the rough stubble of Brad’s and then they separated quickly and sat side by side not looking at anything.

“That’s the most satisfying thing I’ve done in a long time,” Brad said.

Nehru touched his mouth.

Brad was frightened he might have lost a friend, and then Nehru spoke.

“Me too,” he said.

Again, no one spoke for a time.

“What the fuck do we do about it?” Brad said.

Nehru said, “I don’t know.”

“Should we go out and have a cigarette?” Brad asked.

Nehru said, “I think we’d better.”

    

When Nehru and Shane finished, Shane said, “I wish I’d sung that to Jill—when I had her.”

Brad was chatting with Leon, but looking again and again at the door to the Noble Red. The door swung open. It was only Anigel, followed by Chayne. Ordinarily they would not have been a disappointment.

“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Nehru lied gently to his friend.

Brad could hear Anigel saying to Chayne and Rob, “And this is why I’m going to do the cooking tomorrow night, because until you’ve had real jerk chicken, you really haven’t eaten.”

“Do we get to come over?” Brad asked.

“If you bring the chicken.”

“She’s actually serious,” Chayne told Brad.

“In the case, I guess I need to get…”

“Two chicken,” Anigel said, pointing around with hr cigarette.

“And for now,” Nehru said, “we need to get back to work.”

“Indeed,” Brad murmured, as he strummed his guitar and headed back toward the stage to begin the next song.

 

Marissa had passed, but never been inside of Noble Red’s. It was on the northern end of Kirkland Street, not far from her house, but she’d always passed it by. The place was bigger than she expected, on the first floor of an old brick building in a strip of old brick buildings with shops on their lower levels. Standing outside, looking through the glazed pane, Marissa saw several tables, all filled. The floor lowered to a larger area where Marissa was touched to see so many people toasting each other, stretching slices of pizza apart, lighting cigarettes, all having a great time that Marissa somehow felt she could be a part of if only she went through that door.

And on the stage was a boy singing at the microphone and behind him there were four others. Marissa’s heart lightened to see Brad, strumming his guitar, lean into the microphone, tall and pale against the smaller, darker one that must have been Nehru.

Marissa walked in.

 

How

will

I wake

tomorrow?

 

Can

laughter

come from

soo—row?

 

Well, I’ve been waiting,

for a feeling,

and I’ve waited a long time!

 

Nehru sang as Marissa walked in. She weaved her way through the crowded tables, not wanting to look at anyone, coming closer and closer to the stage.

 

Well, I’ve been around the world

and i ain’t seen none

like

you!

 

Brad, behind Nehru, lifted his eyes long enough to meet hers, and they twinkled. Even while playing, he nudged Nehru so that the younger man looked up and smiled, and then shoved Brad to the microphone so that it was his voice, younger and less sure than Nehru’s actually, a little rough and timid that took up the lead vocal.

 

Well, I’ve been around the world,

and I ain’t seen none like you

I ain’t seen none like you

I ain’t seen none like you

 

 he declared, his voice gaining strength

 

I ain’t seen none

like

you

 

And Marissa stood there, an appreciative smile crossing her face, because the one thing she had learned in thirty-five years is that there was really nothing that declared desire like a man who could hardly sing, attempting to do so.