And other kisses far removed

“You know you want it, “ Steven said, a devilish laugh slipping out from behind his napkin. The candle in the cheap glass container between all of us flickered in time with his hearty laugh. The red-checkered tablecloth was a horizontal history for the appetizer, salad and thick crust pizza served up over the last few hours.

“No, really. I don’t. I didn’t want it the first time and I most certainly don’t want it now,” I replied through a mouth firmly clenched around a cave-collapsed crunch of teeth.

“It’s just pizza. See. Pizza.” Wes, his short blond locks framing a stunning vista of cobalt eyes, danced the half eaten shard of a vaguely-American -but -covered –in-nothing-like-pepperoni style pizza past my face. Steven’s mouth clamped down unexpectedly on the airborne and unguarded slice, gleefully gulping it away from Wes’ stunned face.

“You twat, that was mine.” Wes said, his ire directed deep inside Steven’s burly hide.

With a mouthful of cheese, Steven leaned in to kiss at Wes. Missing the lips through Wes’ well-timed dodge, the peck hit a cheek and left tomato paste in its wake.

“Ewww.” Wes quickly wiped off.

“Double eww,” was the pithiest thing I found to say.

“What? You mean you guys don’t kiss with your mouths full in the States?” asked Steven.

“No. We fought several wars against you guys so we wouldn’t have to do that.”

“You’ll have to excuse Steven, “ Wes said. “He thinks vulgarity, sloppiness and theft are virtues.” There was a rumble that rolled between both of those “t’s.”

“And you, my dear, still believe you are to the manor born.” Steven leaned in again and kissed Wes. In my mind, I traced the boundaries to their faces. Watched where they slipped apart and pulled back together again. Watched play that was hidden deep behind a soft, pasty white rolling surface.

Watched Wes.

He cocked an eye open and looked at me. He pulled away from his boyfriend.

“A toast--” he began, raising his mug eye-ward.

Steven cut him off. “To American friends soon to depart.”

There was an awkward silence that bounced and bounced between us before I threw out: “To London friends always to be remembered.” I clinked my glass of Coke into theirs.

“To a bloody cheap place to stay in Washington D.C.” Wes answered, his knuckles brushing against mine for the twelfth time that evening.

“Another round?” I asked.

“Well I’m not sure,” Travis began after his burp.

“I am. If the colonial is buying, I’m game.”

“You’ve been drinking Coke just like me for the past hour,” I said.

“So what? You’re buying, Yankie boy. Pony up.”

*

A touch of wind waited for us outside. After all these months, I could tell it was just a sample of longer gusts to come later that night. Steven had a little trouble getting his black leather jacket’s zipper together. Wes put down his left-over desert near the homeless woman teaching a class of ethereal children the intricacies of underwater basket weaving and joined Steven’s struggle.

“So when will you be back?” Steven asked. Though occupied with that testy zipper, Wes cocked an ear.

“Well, I’ve still got to complete my senior year. I’ve still got to pay off my senior year. And, this year in London hasn’t been any cheap walk either.”

“Well if you’d just whored yourself around like I told you….” Travis began.

“Steven…” Wes said, shaking his head.

“American is a nice taste around these parts. Besides, if you haven’t yet, you need to bang on with one of our boys. It’s good. Great souvenir. Things to remember us by.”

“I guess I was just waiting for the right one to come along.”

“Don’t wait too long. You won’t be twenty forever.” The chill in the air met the harsh, barley stained breath of Steven.

“Taxi,” said Wes stepping into the street to make certain one stopped quickly.

*

“Are you sure he’s still going to like you for that?”

The traffic poured away from the curb, rolling off into the night, leaving little behind. The central city had been slowly closing down for many hours now. All that was left were a few late night rent cars carting drunken patrons home and the very late city busses prowling the streets for lone and singular witching hour riders. Much of the city had given way under our footsteps. The walk in the crisp, night air was as constant as the parade of endless topics covered by Wes and I. There was so much more to talk about. So many more things to say after a summer of so many things not said. Tottenham Court Road wasn’t that long, after all. Gower Street and endings would be here far too soon.

“What? Putting him into a taxi and saying I’ll see him tomorrow? Eh. I’ve done it before. He’ll get over it.”

A short, wide man with a bouncing backpack ran for the bus. His shoes clickedly-clacked against the pitted sidewalk.

“You are going to come see me, right? I mean I do have more than enough space in my apartment,” I said.

“Where would I sleep?”

“It’s America. Everything is bigger there. Bigger rooms, bigger beds, bigger…”

“If you say it I’ll slap you.”

“What? It was going to be a perfectly innocent comment about pillows. Promise.”

“Unhuuh. And I’m the Queen of England. “

I started to speak.

“Don’t! I’ll slap you for that joke too.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

He reached out and took my hand. “You know you did keep buying him beer, well after it was necessary. Well after I stopped.” I said. Our arms moved back and forth as we walked.

“You notice how it kept him talking? Kept all of us talking, really late. “

“I did. I have to say it was quite amusing once I figured out what you were doing.”

He let go of my hand and mocked being insulted.

“What I was doing? Do you really think I was so terribly dishonest? So plotting? So calculating?”

“Yes.”

“Damn you’re good. What else have you noticed?”

He stopped under one of those faux gaslights running along the side of the street. All the cars slept, just like their owners, tucked away behind the sea of brownstone steps traversing either row. It seemed as though we were the only ones alive for miles.

“There’s a certain twinkle in your eye whenever you get someone really riled up after a few choice comments you’ve designed to foster everything but understanding. I’ve noticed that you take great joy in racing over the exit barrier in the tube stop – especially if it confounds an attendant on the watch for people racing the in barrier. And I’ve noticed you never leave a restaurant without something -- a piece of bread, a side dish or dessert -- to give to the first homeless person you see.”

Wes took it all in with a simple simile. I’d wondered if he’d heard any of that before. Had anyone ever noticed those things about him? Or did they just stop at the soft features; the wide shoulders and the twenty-dollar smile and not bothered to inquire further.

“You don’t say.”

“It was there if you looked for it.”

Wes “humthed” matter-of-factly.

A gray Sterling screamed down the empty street behind us.

“And what about me? What did you notice about me?”

“Not a bloody thing.” Wes mimed walking away.

“Bitch.”

He turned back, grinning ear to ear. “Well, okay. But it’s only the physical stuff, I’ve noticed. I’m shallow you see.”

“True.”

He moved in really close, stepping up, face to face. I had to look up, just a touch. His hair didn’t move with wind.

“There’s a little mole on the side of your face right here.” His delicate finger touched my cheek. “It’s funny because it rests right along this path here.” Warmth marched along my skin. “That stretches up to the side of your ear, then down and over and back up to the most beautiful lips I think I’ve ever seen.”

I was wedded there, face-to-face, eye-to-eye and touch-to-touch. Everything else that needed to be said danced out from the tips of his fingers in an endless, silent cacophony of half phrases, hidden emotions, stolen thoughts and subjugated dreams. Our lips met. His breath was the same as mine. It moved with sure steps, lock step in tune with my own. We were the only things in motion on that street, the only things that danced, the only things that sang, the only things being said of any importance for a hundred miles in all directions. It was simple and complete, perfect. Full.

Wes started walking again, his hand back in mind, and our steps much softer and simpler. As roads do, Gower crossed. My dorm slumbered away just to the right. His tube station’s illuminated entrance called up and off to the left. We kissed again, arms stretched this time out and around and encompassing everything that mattered. Our shadows repeated our actions in large script upon stone steps.

The chain gate of the tube station closed with a definitive clank, the light passing away with the click of a switch. I smiled at Wes. We both walked right, down Gower, away from the major road and onto the smaller, softer path. The stone stepped shadows struggled to follow, before giving up and flowing off to someplace else, far, far removed.