Love in Chippstown

Unlike so many other love stories I have watched, heard and read, mine, by far, was the most twisted one in many ways. Not only that I never thought that I fancied men, but I grew up as that innocent little child with a big dream of being a pilot and had given less to no care about how the world and myself worked to a nineteen-year-old dismal young man who struggled, still struggling, on questioning every tiny existence and happenings. The last part was almost never twisted, though. I know it happens to everyone. Not every love story began with cheerfulness, nor they ended the same way. Take mine, if you will hear, started from the brief pandemonium at one certain and unforgettable party around the neighbourhood of this small town called Chippstown. Ironic, because a party is usually surrounded or composed by people filled with intense joy. There’s that screaming of cheers! as they hold a glass of punch or wine or any drink they prefer in their hands. Cigarettes. There’s also that biting of one another’s lips – that’s a good way. And, I don’t know what else to include, maybe games? But we were not ten anymore. Anyhow, the party I attended was a farewell party for my friend, Michael. He was set to leave on the weekend to start a new life outside Chippstown, outside this state actually, to Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was accepted to college at Harvard University, the biggest college school, I suppose, there in America. No one ever liked this town. At first, the party was, well, diverting. People were here and there inside the minute home, with almost all of them having a glass of drink in their hands. Music was blasting on, as well as everyone’s voices. I didn’t like how it sounded, but I carried on with the party, anyway – if that’s going to take me away from work. I didn’t know much about these people. Some of them were acquaintances, our previous classmates, some were people I never got to see in my whole life, and some were those I casually pass by across the streets. Never thought they’d be here. Just like I said, Chippstown is a small town. But before the said uproar, one woman in particular, who was oddly wearing an almost sleeveless tank top suddenly halted right in front of me, disrespecting my personal space, and started running her lips and tongue around my neck as she directed my hands to her arse. I was utterly disgusted by the moment I unwillingly reached it that I pushed her off with enough force which poured down the drink on her hand on her tank top. I left her right after. Michael didn’t see the quick scene. I thought no one ever had seen it, thankfully. I marched out of the scene and walked my way to the front door and outside, where I found a fag on the window and a red lighter beside it. I took the chance. A young man alone with an unknown fag – nothing quite like that in a long time. So, I was there, having my moment. I wouldn’t say it was a peaceful spot under this cold night as I can hear the music from where I was but that did not bother me enough when I was trying to visualize my life outside this bloody town. And just as the time to exhale the smoke for the thirteenth time, I reckon, an ear-splitting shriek arose inside. It sort of baffled me in the first place, making me wonder what was that about, but soon the music stopped and another cry caught my air, something told me that that’s different from the usual. I stood straight, dilly-dallying at first as I didn’t want to lose my pleasant back that was leaning against this old wall of bricks, then went directly to the door. Opened it up, and then there was everyone, forming a circle inside the living room. My skin felt that weird heat in the room due to over-crowdedness, yet my focus was on whatever was going on. “Are you nuts?!” It was a man’s voice that I first heard after those two screams, looking vexed. I did not know or have seen him around town, but I knew the moment I caught his eyes it was bigger than usual. Perhaps, because of the situation. And there in front of him was the same woman that I had mentioned not ten paragraphs earlier, seeming shamefaced. Everyone’s eyes were on her. She had her head on what I assumed to be her friend’s shoulder, but it was already enough for me to analyse the cause of that man’s incensed mood. Only how he reacted through actions was that I wondered about due to those two shrieks from the woman I heard. Not a single wouldn’t do that without an understanding cause. It did not really bother me at all. I didn’t care around, or about that man’s displeasure, although there was no denying that I fit in his shoe. Factually, I knew I was solely feeling a bit brassed off on the whole party I wished to hear or see something different. Now, there was. I squinted a little to confirm that it was Michael I got taking the talking part on behalf of that perv woman, less annoyed than that man. “She’s drunk, mate! What do you reckon would happen?” “Oh, is that right, mate? ‘Cause I saw her walking straight not a minute ago,” the man responded with the same tone as earlier. His eyes were still big, extending his arms on his front after he zipped up his trousers. I just realized that this desperate-for-a-d**k woman had gotten too far in her s****l desires. It never occurred to me that she would open a stranger’s trousers and just take in raw whatever she found inside. Revolting. Anyhow, my ears caught a few more words from the man. “Even totally differentiate the punch and tequila to her friend without a flaw!” I like how observant he was during the party. “Just get out, mate! Now, go, please!” Michael hated to admit it, however, he, too, must have perceived that the man he just ordered to go out was right and agreeing with him was something he wished he had done before defending that debauchee. Without a word, this man walked past the crowd with that same face of disgust and enraged. He looked straight to the door – and by that I meant, his eyes were directly at me – while everyone else’s eyes followed him. I did not know what to feel about him, but I sure felt a bit of regret for not standing with him when we were both harassed by that hungry-for-c**k b***h. Like everyone else in the room and in return to his sight at me, I glanced and followed him by eyes yet before he reached the door, I consciously pulled myself out, abhorring the idea that he, too, will walk past me. And then I went back to the same spot where I found the fag and the red lighter, and breathed in deeply, which I visually discern right in front of me. The music in the background came alive again, and then, as seconds passed on, the chattering and cheering voices gradually blended with the music. Similarly to that, I was back to what I was thinking before the short chaos. However, not a long moment after, I was interrupted by the same man. He was completely out of my mind that easily after he marched out of the door – I even suspected if he ever did march out of the door. Anyway, I had no idea where he had lurked after. All I knew was that he was already beside me, imitating my pose on this red, old brick, only that his head was facing towards me. What after a mere second of his arrival which I was quite unprepared for, he questioned, “Can I have one?” I handed him the fag without a word, tossing the red lighter in the air as he placed his lips on the same cigarette butt my lips had been seconds ago. I wondered if he commented on how it tasted. Gladly, he never said anything out loud. I tossed the lighter for the second time, trying to seem normal around this man. But, really, I was nervous. He caught it this time, which baffled me. I looked at him closely for the first time. Then, he went on saying while examining the lighter he took, “You, erm, you’re from around here, yeah?” “Yeah,” I answered with a disturbing yet muted gulp and multiple nods. “Yeah.” “But,” I could see his forehead crumbling under this poor-lit little porch, tilting his head a little bit away from me, “never seen you around here before.” “Work, probably,” I remarked briefly. I hated the way I exchanged words with him in such limited ones. I wished to have a real conversation here. Then I thought of asking him back the same question, so this ‘give-and-take’ thing I had in mind stayed between us. Yet, again, he never minded interrogating me. At least, he never felt that I was not into this discussion, which was untrue. “What work?” “Nothing fancy.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Then, a huge silence covered us. He took another go with that fag on his fingers, wherein I was no longer interested in taking from him. Since I thought I had enough, I thought of giving him the favour of finishing it. We continued staring at whatever our eyes caught in the dark distance while this ear-splitting silence never left us. I thought of asking him the same question, though, nevertheless, I also thought it would seem inappropriate since he moved on to another question. All right, I admit that I hated myself for those minutes we were together. It’s not always every day I got to have someone like him in discussions. I badly wanted to know more, just like a kid full of wonders about how the aeroplanes flew in the sky. Slipping this in, I now know how they fly. Hesitating at first, I took a glimpse at him, then words fired out. Not from me, but from him. It was not displayed or seen on my body or my face, but I was stupefied. “The name’s Owen.” “Jack.” I tried to get another glimpse before retorting. I dared to ask him by then, still he gave me another question. Just to be clear that I did not hate him for that, or for those basic questions. I was annoyed towards myself for not voicing out the simple question when I had the chance. Nonetheless, I had the feeling that we had all the time under this cold night, so, until I was comfortable to ask him the question or he pointed out if there was something I would like to ask him, I remain muted as he pressed on with his question. “So, what’re you doing after this?” “Probably go home.” I did mean it, actually, although there was a desire in me to stay for a couple more minutes to be with him. I didn’t know what occurred to me to say it. “I’ll walk with you, then, yeah?” It was the most beautiful question I ever heard for months, to which I replied, again, in a short response, “Yeah.” I led the way right after that response. I thought I seemed or my actions were cold because of how I responded to his questions, but Owen’s chuckles told me he liked the way I behave – that was what I felt, at the very least. The music fainted on our ears as we ambled away from the party house. There was no regret, knowing it was the last time I’d see my friend. Michael was my friend, yes, but these past weeks our relationship had been slipping. I reckon it was because he’s moving to another country, wishing to leave behind all the memories he had in Chippstown, including memories he had with me. I never saw at least a bit of sadness on his face when their family decided to move across the Atlantic Ocean because of that stupid acceptance letter from Harvard. I never even heard a word from him saying he’d miss me, so why say goodbye to someone I knew who wasn’t going to miss me, anyway? Back with Owen, there weren’t much words around us when we were on our way to my home. The whole neighbourhood around us was now dead. There were only a few, awkward glances between us at any random moment and also the unstoppable touching of our shoulders. That I was not certain if Owen was doing it intentionally, or if it was just on the way we walk close to each other. Oh, yeah! There was also that moment where our hands kept on meeting each other, like our shoulders. Yet, Owen did throw another question while we were on the way. Without me knowing, he was a few feet away from my back, turning himself around while his head was on the roofs of these houses and his steps were quite tortoise-like when I heard him ask, “Have you been always living here in your entire life?” “Yeah.” My answer was once and always had been brief, but to this question, I wanted to say more about why we’d been living in the same neighbourhood and how I wanted to go to places I was thrilled to visit, yet we reached the brick stairs to my house, and, so, I added instead, without wanting him to go yet, really, “well, this is me.” I saw that seductive smile of his around his brunette beard fade away the soon I breathed my last words. He came close in my front with his eyes fixed on mine. I was expecting an acknowledgement so that I could quickly take the steps and open that knob to the inside of our house, yet there was none, so far. I waited for another minute or two, but what I got in return was beyond what I ever imagined from him on this jarring night. Owen pushed himself to me for a kiss. He placed his one hand on the back of my head and the kiss lasted five seconds or ten before I fully came to my senses about what was going on with our lips. Of course, it was my body that reacted, pushing him away on the shoulder, breaking the kiss. It was not that I didn’t like Owen’s lips – it was soft and, so wet – but what caused me to break the connection of our lips was my daze. The first night with a stranger and a kiss was already formed. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, ma–,” “No, no,” Owen tried to step closer but I gestured him not to while I took a step back. It took me another moment to continue what I was saying, “It’s fine.” Then, without another ado, I turned my back and just went on inside the house. It was the time that I realized I did have a night and that it was time to call it a night. Just like the other houses around the neighbourhood, ours as well were pretty much dead. No light, no sound everywhere. Dad, I suppose, was already snoozing. Thought it was about time to do the same thing, and, so, I did after putting off my jacket. I did my best to forget the kiss before my eyes shut down. Nonetheless, I couldn’t.