In the name of the Father

Chapter 2 - French Columbia

Chapter 2 – French Columbia

Jeanne placed it on my bedside table last night. He bought it yesterday because our room didn’t have one. He might have gotten the idea from this television show we saw the night before. The show had this couple sleeping in an opulent room that looked just like ours, with the addition of modern timepieces decorating each of their bedside tables. I guess Jeanne wanted the same look and feel so he got the exact replica. It amazed me how effective he was in sourcing equipment and materials. He would always surprise me with things that I knew and only saw on television and online.

The numbers on the modern digital clock shone bright sharp red. It held the time as it glowed and ticked against the darkness. I wished the digits weren’t in a strong shade of neon vermillion. It was a color that would rile my thoughts into thinking that I needed to be alert. My body wasn’t the most vigilant when exposed to such color, but my mind was. I remembered when Jeanne secured my safety from that unspeakable incident a month ago. The memory kept me cold and warm. It would chill me to the bone whenever I’m reminded of the close-call I had, yet it would also blanket me with snug feelings for it was the night that birthed my relationship with Jeanne.

Numerals ticked and bled on the timepiece, reminding me that I was already in deep thought for the past couple minutes. The red was really disconcerting. I often associated its color with vigilance and caution. It wasn’t the most relaxing of hues for me. I felt that my drowse was about to fall between the lines of sleep and reality. My consciousness was about to wake up and stir.

I sighed barely above a whisper so as not to rouse Jeanne from his bear-like slumber. He looked blissful in his sleep. He was a charming and attractive man for one who’s fifty. His handsome face and well-toned physique kept him from looking a day over thirty-five. Aging wasn’t a dilemma he had to contend with. I felt jealous of his genes. I silently wished that I’d look just like him when I became his age. His physicality looked great despite his other health conditions.

I sighed again as I eyed the time. I should have talked him into getting a different colored clock. I liked neon green better or probably electric blue. Those colors calmed me down despite their disco-like luminosity. And as I thought of the bright shades I wanted for the modern timepiece, I knew that I already fell out of sleep to welcome the new day. I felt sated, rested, and renewed.

It was now five in the morning and I couldn’t move. Jeanne and I have shared this bed for a month now. One might think that a man like him would find his portion of the bed much more comfortable. Real-life couples didn’t always wake with their bodies entwined, but Jeanne and I were different, we represented a stereotype. Despite our gargantuan bed he still managed to find himself within the cusp of my arms. At this moment I knew that we were no ordinary couple. We were so much more. I knew it was early to say but I did see a future with him. It looked just like how we were now – snug in each other’s arms, coiled and warm in a tight and loving embrace.

My lids fluttered to completely open. It was quite early in the morning and the touch of his warm supple skin pressed against my much smaller body heightened my senses, making me hyperaware of the smallest of sensations. I could almost feel every inch of skin perspire and respire in the stillness of my position beneath him. I brought attention to my breathing which only escalated the more I thought about how intimate we were in bed. I swallowed hard to push down my pounding heart that got lodged in my throat. My thickening arousal rose and flamed. I felt needy and hungry for attention. I wanted to sink in the feeling that only he knew how to provide. My breathing was coming out frayed, short, and uneven. I felt so heady and desperate for his friction. I found it hard to suppress my carnal urges. I felt unholy. I felt weak.

I didn’t want to tire him out early in the morning so I carefully slipped from underneath him. I needed to quell my nerves with a glass of water. With careful steps I snuck out, cursing at the door which creaked and cried like a dying animal in the woods. And as I gazed at the apple of my eye I knew that I fell hard for a man who had taught me what it was like to become primeval.

I came back into our room feeling relieved with a heartbeat that returned to normalcy. It was only a momentary reprieve for I was welcomed by a sight that pushed me to break my scout’s honor. I wasn’t fond of camping when I was young, but the tent that Jeanne decided to erect behind the covers was an invitation worth getting lost in the woods for.

With a stupid grin on my face I pressed forward, wanting to take a peek and see what was inside his tent. Cinders gave birth to flames which then sparked to a full-on bonfire within the carnal depths of my being at the sight of wood ready and waiting for a flag ceremony. I was tingling all over as I tiptoed to take position astride him.

Strained moans were getting caught from the back of his throat as my hands quested and explored. His morning wood was fast catching fire in my hands so I decided to blow a few embers.

Strips of moonlight formed lines across his face. He stirred from bed and let out a choked gasp. His hooded eyes blinked to recognition at the attention I was giving him. His sultry blues shone bright as it caught slivers of the moonlight. His lips parted to form the words that I knew where straining from his voice box, “W-what the … hun?” he rasped in a tone that sent delicious chills down my spine, “W-what are you doing?” he almost smiled as he said this which made him look devilish.

I pulled back and said, “Good morning.”

He pulled me up and gasped, “I love you.”

It was a brand new day filled with promise and brimming with hope. The sun was out and I looked pale against its light. I needed to introduce some color to my skin. Being the young French man that I was, I needed some American coloration. My steps and gaits took me and around Columbia as I surveyed the farmer’s market for fresh finds and produce. Jeanne wasn’t getting any younger and so was the status of his health. So every time I could I made sure that I visited the local market to pick up some alternatives to fast-food and Chinese take-out boxes.

I learned a great deal of cooking when I was at a convent among priests and religious brothers. Life seemed to stretch for those who kept themselves clean and unmarred by worldly pleasures and appetites. It was a devotion I partook in but found to be very constricting. The notion of preserving one’s purity kept me from experiencing the rawness and pleasures of life. I felt like a sardine at the time when I was praying with the nuns. Even with a rosary in hand I knew that I was no canned good. I didn’t want to disrespect the thought of the Lord but I didn’t like the idea of preservation. I felt like I was rotting and spoiling from the inside the more I kept myself clean.

I picked up red apples of sin and realized that I was happy the explosion at the River Seine happened. I knew it was wrong to poke fun out of something that was sad, but I somehow felt relieved that the incident happened the way it did. It led me to the kind of love I’ve always wanted and craved – a love that knew no gender. I bit into the red succulent apple and felt like Eve. Jeanne was my Adam, and we both sinned. If this was hell I didn’t care, for it felt like Paradise to me.

Awkward, cold, and desperate were just some of the emotions I felt as Jake picked yet again on his Father’s packed lunch for the day. My willpower was trying hard not to lash out with tendrils of wrath. I knew that Jeanne wouldn’t appreciate if the bickering between the two of them became a threesome that included me. I had no plans of turning the situation to that either.

I would have just about given up on Jake if it weren’t for his father whose love for me could move heaven and earth. I held firmly on my remaining strands of control and managed to rid myself of errant thoughts that I knew were not reflective of me. My indomitable spirit held its honest prayer of faith and resilience for I wanted to prove myself worthy of the love I was given. I just hoped that my tenacity towards Jake would bear good fruit someday. I longed to win his love and approval of me. It would devastate me if I ended up spoiling the fruits of my labor.

With careful tact and body language that concentrated on the slightest of movements, I engaged the hungry beast, “So, how are the pancakes?”

With mouth stuffed and eyes that were hard to read, he engaged my pathetic attempt at chatter, “Iggds greally googt,” was his airless response.

My heart blossomed and swelled with joy. It was the first time Jake responded without throwing a fit. The words were muffled but were good enough for me. I assumed a faint smile of triumph on my face which tugged ever so slightly at the corners of my modest lips. I was making progress. We were about to become a family.

“Um … you want more?” I asked cautiously.

He swallowed his food and said “Yes please.”

I smiled and forked more layers onto his plate.

He gave a dry smile and poured maple on them.

I sighed inwardly. Indeed I was making progress.

Jeanne preferred the privacy of having only a few people in his home. One would think that an estate such as his would need more than twenty hired help to keep organized and clean. But that wasn’t the case. He only needed one butler to take care of everything on the inside.

The place had a good security detail outside. Armed men were at the ready should anything happen. Surveillance cameras were placed where they mattered. And kennels with Labradors were aplenty.

‘The Butler’ as Jeanne would call him, is fifteen years his junior and ten years my senior. I never asked why we simply called him ‘The Butler’ or ‘Bodyguard’ for I kind of like the mystery and enigma of it all. I would probably ask in the next month. Maybe. I wasn’t entirely sure I would.

Jake pushed his chair back after finishing his meal. He stood up, reached forward, and gave me an awkward pat on the back. It wasn’t the most sincere of gestures, but I welcomed it nevertheless. I was just glad to have made him happy. He wasn’t his usual snarky self today. It made me wonder what was up with him.

A silhouette of a woman emerged from the doorframe near the kitchen. She looked lovely and very keen. It was then I realized his reason for shifting the attitude. They were probably dating. He didn’t want to look bad in front of her. Who would want a temperamental partner I thought.

I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. I nodded my hello and she squinted hers back with an arched brow. I wanted to whisper a word that started with a ‘B’ and ended with an ‘itch’ but I held back my tongue.

They left and sashayed hand in hand. I felt the habitat of butterflies in my stomach breed a colony. The sight of a couple in love always got to me. I blushed. I thought of what Jeanne and I would look like if only we could do the same in public; frolicking, laughing, and feeling absolutely free.

‘Hmm … this looks promising’ was what I told myself as I concentrated on what I was doing. I thought for a second that I wanted to break down into gut-wrenching sobs, but then I realized that for the first time in a month I didn’t have to. This time there was no reason to. I felt rehabilitated.

However, the thought escaped me as my eyes began to prickle with tears. I was again holding a knife in one hand while the other held a peeled onion. I focused on the task at hand, not wanting my blood to end up being the tomato sauce, while my innards the pasta. I’m French, but Jeanne wanted Italian, and so I just kept chopping till the well in my eyes went dry. Hmm … bellissima.