I was in awe over this man's ability to have it all but not give a rat’s ass unless it suited him. Sure, he was a walking billboard of designer labels and drove a teenage boy’s wet dream of a sports car, but the more I got to know him the more he surprised me. In spite of his ‘all business’ persona at work, he can be quite sweet when he’s away from it all. I can’t fault him for wanting to “keep up appearances.” Especially in a city like this, where people onlyseem to be impressed by how hard you work and how little sleep you get. The grind is a way of life, until life is taken away. With time, I hope Eamon’s shell can fall away. I see slivers shining through the cracks, each time we’re alone together.
At the box, I politely ask for subtitles during our show. Our tickets for the nine o’clock showing ofLost Boys, already had a queue full of other eager movie goers, including some couples hand-in-hand. I find myself suddenly looking for something to occupy my hands. As the line gradually moves forward, I celebrate silently as I remember my stylish jumper has pockets. I slide my hands on each side of me, thankful that they have a place to be.
In the lobby, Eamon notices me eyeing the candy display as we make our way to the theater three. Without a second thought, he diverts us over to the counter, dragging my hand from the safety of my pocket. I look down to find our hands joined together. I like how my hand feels in his.
“A box of chocolate clusters and sour candy for the lady.” My lips purse. Odd choices. “Chocolate clusters were my brother’s favorite,” I inform him as he pays.
He hands me my box then proceeds to rip open his selected treat, rattling a handful into the palm of his hand, ahead of popping them into his mouth. “No kiddin’,” he says with a mouth full of chocolate. Extending his bent arm, he escorts me to our assigned auditorium. Any previous smile is long gone; he seems more withdrawn than before.
Did I do something wrong?
We sit down front and center, nibbling on our candy, while waiting for the classic horror flick to start. A few teenagers sit behind us, as the theatre slowly starts to fill up. I could tell they were boys based on the different pitches in their tones, not quite settled with a deeper masculine voice yet. I also couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The movie begins after a short preview, and the subtitles appear across the bottom of the screen. It makes it so much easier to follow along with the character's dialogue, especially when the actor is speaking “off screen.” I look over at Eamon. He seems on edge, turning occasionally to glance back at the rambunctious adolescents behind us. Eventually, their words become loud enough for me to hear. The teens are booing and yelling for the staff to, “Turn off the stupid words at the bottom of the screen?!” This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had others complain about simple accommodations that cause no harm to them but make a world of difference for people like me.
I turn around to find three pimple-faced boys, tossing popcorn at one another, while taking turns hollering their distaste for literacy in a movie. They seem to notice me staring, which only makes their heckling worse. Insults get thrown around like: “Deaf people shouldn’t come here, and no one goes to the movies to read a book!” I never saw Eamon leave his seat, but in an instant, he had two out of three teens by the scruff of their shirt, raising them off their seats. The other teen looks as though he may cry, immediately apologizing right as the theatre staff show up. Calmly, Eamon explained the situation. I believe he even dropped his last name just as the manager approaches. The uniformed man apologizes profusely. Permanently banning all three of the boys from ever stepping foot in their establishment again. The manager even offers us complimentary tickets for the whole year, but we kindly decline. It wasn’t their fault some parents didn’t teach their kids not to be blatant assholes.
When we finally sit back down, he turns to me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed them to say those things to you. It should have never gotten that far.” He seems disappointed in himself. He’s so protective. I take his hand and weave our fingers together between the two seats.
“You can’t control what happens, Eamon, only how you respond to it.”
He nods and gives a tight-lipped smile. His emerald eyes are duller than before. My awareness of the man holding my hand in the dark causes pictures to form in my mind. I imagine him in tactical gear, reaching his gloved hands over to me, he begins unbuttoning my jumper. Exploring my body, much like his masked version did, just days ago. My fantasy has Eamon doing this to me… in a room full of people, no less. Yet… he isn’t making any moves to do so. In fact, he wasn’t quite astouchy-feelywithout his stalker gear. I mean… sour candies, really? It must be him. His large hand all but swallows mine, as I spend more time recalling the man that was previously between my legs, than I do watching vampires reign over Santa Carla.
It’s a cult classic, but I just can’t buy how every problem is instantly solved by killing the head vampire. There has to be some kind of residual issues. I mean the character Lucy, likely has trauma!
We watched the rest of the movie without interruptions although at one point, I could have sworn I saw a tear stream down Eamon’s face. Maybe it's all in my head, but each time I’m alone with him, it’s as if I understand myself better. After the movie concludes, I invite Eamon to my go-to place, Benny’s. Sometimes, the easiest way to get to the center of a person is by sharing a slice of pie.
In the brightly lit diner over a large helping of cherry dessert, Eamon and I take turns exchanging nuances from our childhood. He grew up in Boston, just like me, however he wishes he had more say when it came to his career path. Between forkfuls of compote and crust, he tells me about his college years. That was one stark difference between us. Even though my parents weren’t thrilled about me pursuing fashion, they never decided for me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, putting my brother andI through school. Eamon briefly touches on his mother and how her death created a rift in his family. That… I can understand. My parents up and left after my brother passed. We weren’t a picture-perfect family; they worked a lot and relied heavily on Theo to watch over me. My relationship with them has only grown more obscure over the last three years. I got lost in my own head, wondering if my parents leaving was because there was nothing left to keep them here. I always thought Theo was thegoldenchild but abandoning me nearly validated it.
As if he could sense that the conversation had become too heavy, he redirects to ‘favorite food stops around the city.’ We agreed to disagree about who serves the best lobster roll while it was an unequivocal,yes, that we both root for the Red Sox. I like how his eyes had little lines at their edges when he laughed. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard as much as a chuckle out of him, before now. It's as if he’s a different person outside of The Black Sheep. This side of Eamon is nice. It feels like a warm hug in this cold city. Would it be strange to say that being around him reminds me of hanging out with my brother? Just fewer noogies and fart jokes. I shake the unsettling comparison from my brain, as we exit the diner. Out of things to say at this point, I find myself standing before him, yearning for a more physical connection.
“You’re incredible, Cindel. I truly enjoy getting away from all of my responsibilities and spending time with you.”
My idol hands fiddle with the seam on the pockets of my romper, as I wait on pins and needles for this gorgeous man to make some kind of move. A man who is very much, NOT my brother, I remind myself.
Clearly, he can read my thoughts, because he places his hands on each of my hips and pulls me forward. My cheeks warm over the close proximity to him. Towering over me, I lookup into his evergreen eyes. They resemble closer to a solitary rain cloud in a park, vaguely their usual brighter color.
Eamon leans down, while I tilt my head up and to the side. He hovers just a breath above me, as if thinking better of it. I hold my breath for what feels like minutes. Finally, he pushes the last inch, slamming his mouth on mine. It’s light and sweet at first, tasting like the tangy fruit we just shared. Then as the kiss deepens, his tongue forges its way into my mouth. Exploring. Curious. Notes of whiskey and smoke invade my taste. The kiss feels new… exotic. He is a force.
I wish for Eamon to be able to move toward what he wants in life, and I think I’d like to be one of those motives. Perhaps it’s because things are new or he feels vulnerable without a mask, but something feels… off. As if he’s void of the desire, he had for me just days ago.
We just kiss, nothing more. He even tries to walk me the rest of the way to my building, but I tell him I’m good. There’s a possibility that Andrea is waiting for me. She could see us walking up the street from our apartment window. I’m ‘supposed’ to be alone. He kisses the top of my hand. “Goodnight.”
Our apartment is dark, aside from the crimson glow of Thelma’s light. I soundlessly make my way to the bathroom undetected. Could Andrea be asleep already? It was pretty late, considering she was an early riser. My lipstick is smeared, and Eamon’s smell still clings to me, so I opt for a shower before bed.
Putting my hearing aids on the sink, I climb into the shower and briskly wash. The mirror wasn’t even fully covered from the steam, so I knew I wasn’t long. I slipped on a robe and wrap my hair up in a towel before making my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
I startle when I notice a shadowed figure sitting at the table. Taking in a sharp, choked breath, I can feel the sound resonant from my throat.
The figure reaches for the switch on the wall, illuminating the table in a vague wicker-like cast from the pendant light above. Andrea's intense stare and clenched jaw keep me fixed in place. All at once, she begins to move her hands erratically, mouth moving a mile a minute, but it’s hushed.
I regarded her, pointing to my ear, as to indicate… I’m not wearing my hearing aids. The onslaught of her voiceless words pauses. Then she proceeds to speak in sign language.
You lied to me.She motions forcefully with her hands.You were out with Eamon!Each movement is meant to feel sharp; her hands are quick with razor sharp precision.You’re putting yourself in harm’s way.
When she is done, I take a moment to consider my friend. The things she’s said to me over the past two weeks... how she claims to care about me, but I know one thing. Actions speak louder than words, but her words have cut me! She’s the one who’s never around lately. Always running off to work or whatever she actually does. Right now, I’m struggling to understand who’s right here. Our once solid friendship has been reduced to a pile of rubble, and I’m the only one left to pick through the pieces.
I recede within myself, feeling cornered, wanting desperately to hold onto any sense of self I have left. I repeat internally;I deserve better. Eventually, I faced the scrutiny and signed back with just as much punch as she gave me.
