Two Wayward Streets

Chapter 2

A few months later saw Santiago and Jordan practically joined at the hip. Santiago had been giving Jordan some training to help with his singing, and had introduced him to a number of his friends and others in his social circle. Everyone knew that they were an item — of sorts, as Jordan still seemed a bit reluctant to put a label on their situationship — and given how liberal most of them were, Jordan was readily accepted.

Jordan would sometimes openly distance himself from Santiago, while also flirting with women in his presence — much to Santiago's and his friends' chagrin — but they all reluctantly accepted that it was a difficult process for him and that, perhaps, he needed more time. As time went on, however, his behaviour hardly changed at all; and Santiago was clearly losing patience with Jordan's unwillingness to be affectionate around their friends, despite everyone's knowledge, and acceptance, of their relationship.

Jordan had begun, for some time now, to stay over at Santiago's house when Santiago performed at, or attended, a live music event hosted by friends of his once a week. It was the who's who of the local arts scene, and anyone who was anyone, wouldn't dare to miss the lively entertainment, social recognition and networking opportunities provided by the event. Jordan had begun to make very good use of the access he now had to a very different social strata, while appearing somewhat indifferent to Santiago when they were in public. When they got home, however, it was a far different story as they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Jordan, like most men who had s*x with men, but feared the label of gay, or anything remotely related to it, still had certain hangups regarding what he would, and would not do, in the bedroom.  Still, Santiago was happy that Jordan had made such strides since they first met, and was willing to be patient as Jordan grew more comfortable with his sexuality, and their relationship, in general.  There was no question about it, the s*x was absolutely, mind-blowingly amazing!  They had a rhythm all their own, and Santiago revelled in it as much as he could.

After their earth-shattering love-making, they would hold each other through the night until morning, where they had their routine of freshening up, making breakfast and the like, and Santiago would grudgingly part with him later in the morning or early afternoon. Santiago, despite his best efforts, had begun to fall in love with Jordan. A part of him knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Jordan would one day break his heart; and yet, he hoped, that he was just being overly cynical, that they would find a way to make it work. Until then, he was determined to enjoy their crazy rollercoaster ride as thoroughly as possible.

The time was almost upon them for Santiago to take Jordan to the transportation hub so that he could get home. Every time he had to leave, the bittersweet refrain of Shakespeare's immortal words rang true in his heart: "parting [was] such sweet sorrow". He began to ache for the moments when Jordan would be near him, to feel him, to taste him. It often felt like there was never enough time, and his heart broke a little more each time Jordan had to go.

'Hey, are you ready?' Santiago asked, as Jordan tracked down any items he might leave behind, even though they would be waiting for him upon his return.

'Yeah, sure. Just a minute." Jordan replied, and just like that, the hamster wheel — or was it a rollercoaster, maybe both? — made another revolution.

Santiago always made his best efforts to hide his sadness: behind his infectious laughter at their almost unending playful banter and inside jokes, or his delighted slaps of Jordan's firm and inviting backside. There was no shortage of happiness between them, but beneath those joyous breaths were always gasps of sorrow. Another time around the track; and Jordan was on his way back home, once again, until their next reunion.

When Santiago got home, he would recall the warm, salty taste of victory upon his tongue, as he released yet another torrent of his pain, barely disguised within his pleasure. There was not much more that could be done, though, for to do otherwise would be to run the very real risk of discovery. It was one thing to be open and free among their now mutual friends, but outside of those spaces,was risk inviting even greater heartache and, quite probably, certain death.

Another night; and so it went, week after week, until a few months later, the almost unthinkable happened: Santiago lost his mother. It was a heart-rending time, but to Jordan's credit, he scarcely left Santiago's side. Through his family's grief-fuelled attacks, criticisms and abuses, Santiago had the comfort of knowing that, at least, he had Jordan's warmth, both physically and emotionally, to get him through those dark times.

Santiago had been very busy for weeks, planning the memorial, designing the programme, arranging and rehearsing the music that he would soon conduct in final tribute to his troubled mother, and their very fraught relationship. In the presence of most others, he remained stoic; but when they were in each other's arms, he felt free to unveil his grief.

The night of the wake had arrived; it was a Friday, and Jordan remained Santiago's rock. Food and drink were prepared; family members and neighbours stopped by with platitudes and condolences; and Santiago, was just about ready to lose his mind from the weight of it all, but Jordan kept him going, along with a couple of other essential friends — one of whom had been staying at the house, in Santiago's bedroom — while he stayed in the guest room.

That night, as Santiago tried to steel himself for the trials that would come in a few hours, he shared the bed, once again, with Jordan. The house was filled with typically homophobic men, many of whom had been contracted, one way or another, to assist with the preparations; and yet, that night, as if his deepest instincts screamed for him to hearken unto them, his very soul were rent by the anguish it sensed in his lover, Jordan made mad, passionate love to Santiago.

It was, perhaps, the most soul melding and fiery love-making that they had ever done; filled with wild abandon and Santiago's finger inserted in a way that had never been allowed before, as if Jordan's entire body belonged to Santiago alone; as if his fully engorged passion's only desire, its manifest destiny, were to help Santiago to forget, make him forget; fill him so entirely with his love, his empathy and compassion, his molten heat, that he need never question his commitment ever again.

It was the kind of love-making that birthed galaxies and stars; scattered moons and planets to the endless cosmos; ripped holes and sent shockwaves through time and space. When, finally, Jordan's thousand suns rose within Santiago's body, and they both lay there, breathless and spent, with those homophobic men lying asleep, perhaps even listening, on the other side of the wall, nothing else mattered but the two of them, obliterating the chrysalis and emerging into a new dawn.

Jordan left his lover in bed, recuperating from their vigorous enterprise, as he stepped into the adjoining bathroom and cleaned himself up at the bathroom sink. Santiago watched him, a mixture of admiration, adoration and consternation, as he impatiently awaited his return. Finally, after a few more minutes, with only the last beads of sweat and seed remaining, Jordan returned to the bed, wrapping his arms around Santiago, who was basking in the heat radiating from his body that fit his like a glove, before falling asleep in his strong, loving arms.

Santiago loved cuddling: be it big or little spoon, or any other variation thereof, the feeling of being nestled into Jordan's body and that Matryoshka oneness, was something beautiful to him. He felt closer to Jordan than ever before; each act of love-making a sacred and profoundly spiritual ritual that served to deepen their bond; every drop of saliva, every mouthful of hard-earned reward or internal eruption, a reminder to honour his partner and the sharing and intermingling of their bodies and essences.

Despite his attempts to communicate that to his partner, Jordan seemed wholly satisfied with the primal sensations and aspects of their s****l intercourse, never daring to explore the hidden depths that were slowly, but surely, revealing themselves to them both. Jordan's insistence on dichotomising their experiences, instead of opening up to the fullness to be derived from them, had begun to truly frustrate Santiago. Despite these differences, however, he still felt a deep connection with him.

At the memorial, Jordan occupied a place of pride at Santiago's side: in the pews reserved for the Santiago's chorus, which he would be conducting that day.  Santiago himself, short a few Tenori but himself, practically two in one, sang with the group even as he conducted.  First, Arcadelt's poignant setting of Ave Maria, to which his cousin, his personal arch-nemesis processed out of time —at her insistence despite Santiago's fervent desire to have it done by someone else who would, at least, follow instructions, and at best, were more amiable — with the urn containing his mother's ashes.

Jordan could tell just how irate his cousin's vulgar posturing had made him, and in response, held and squeezed his hand briefly, before letting go and allowing him to refocus on the proceedings. Santiago had meticulously planned every aspect of the programme, almost down to the minute, which he had had to do since the venue had another event which needed to be set up right after theirs; but it also showcased his years of mounting his own concerts and recitals in its practised efficiency and splendour.

Next, came the hauntingly beautiful Soprano voice of his dear friend, who at his request, performed Handel's "Dove Sei?" in English, taking everyone's breath away. At its conclusion, the other tributes poured in, but Santiago, ever the professional, maintained his stoic façade, and powered through the readings and renditions, hardly skipping a beat. Through it all, Jordan remained at his side.

Then, after Santiago himself took centre stage to read a poem by Maya Angelou, the rest flew by in a whirlwind, and the final performance of his chorus was at hand: Handel's "Surely He Hath Borne Our Grief", which broke the attendees' floodgates open with its rich majesty. The grand piano, organ, trumpet, and voices joined in concert, raised the roof of the Chapel, carrying with them the combined sadness and grief if the congregation. It was a fitting, and well considered, final tribute that put on grand display, just how well he knew his mother, testified by those who, at the memorial's conclusion, felt compelled to seek him out to offer their last condolences, but even more so, their commendations.

It surely would all have been too much, without Jordan by his side, quietly encouraging and soothing him with his beautiful presence. All Santiago could think about was just how glad he was to have him there, his personal island against the tide, to which he clung with every fibre of his being. Nestled into the programme were two hymns by J. S. Bach, sung by the congregation and harmonised by the chorus. The recessional, "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name", sung to the melody of "Diadem", was the pièce de résistance, joined by musicians, chorus and congregation that ushered his mother's spirit from amongst them, and towards its eternal home.

For someone who was non-religious, he certainly knew how to programme religious hymns and the like; but the truth was, Jordan was not in the least surprised, because of Santiago's vast experience, and the memories he had of his mother, which also helped to inform the selections. They retired to the beautifully manicured lawns afterwards, upon which the repast was being held.

The mouth-watering aromas of jerked chicken, curried meats, fried fish, soup and other offerings filled the air, as servers hustled and congregants bustled, and chatter and the clinking of utensils and pans joined the fragrances in a dizzying post-memorial dance. People milled about, munching on the delicious food, or drinking cups of natural fruit juices, reminiscing or exchanging pleasantries. Santiago appeared utterly exhausted. Jordan walked with him to a little occupied end of the lawn where Santiago's Aunt sat with a few others.

Santiago was clearly over the whole thing and ready to go home, but there werr miles to go before anyone could get any sleep. Jordan acknowledged Santiago's weariness, but smiled proudly.

'It went well.  You did well.'  He said kindly.

'Thank you, sweetie.' He replied, as he looked at his plate unseeingly, and began to dig in to the food. Jordan silently followed suit, keeping an eye on him.

As the afternoon wore on, people would come up from time to time, continuing to offer condolences and praise at the wonderful programme. In a quiet moment between them, Santiago growled softly.

'Ugh! I wish they would just leave me alone!' He grumbled, full of resignation.

'I know. We will get home soon.' Jordan responded, his words pregnant with the unspoken promise of things to come. He patted him on the back sympathetically, before returning to his food.

Some time later, when all the food had been consumed and increasing numbers of persons departed, Santiago, Jordan and Santiago's father readied themselves to leave, also. The memorial now passed, the hard work of grieving was about to begin. The ride back home was mostly quiet and contemplative, but Santiago and Jordan just sat — Santiago in the front passenger seat, and Jordan behind — feeling each other's presence. Jordan widhed more than anything that he could just rip the sadness from him and rid him of it, but the only way out would be to go through it.

When they arrived home, Santiago removed his clothing, rinsed his face and lay down in bed. Jordan was not entirely sure what to do, but eventually decided to join him. He wrapped his arms around Santiago's torso, and held him close to his body, as he sent him loving, healing thoughts before they eventually drifted off to sleep. A while later, Santiago opened his eyes, jolted awake by a particularly hard sensation at his back. He smiled cheekily, as he turned to Jordan with a naughty glint in his eye.

'It looks like someone is up, eh?'

Jordan gently shook his head in resignation, then gasped as he felt Santiago's hand wrap around him, urging him to take things further. Before long, Jordan was enveloped by Santiago, as they both moved in sync, and Santiago's barely restrained moans filled his ear, and sweat dripped down upon him. He took Santiago in his hand, moving his hand back and forth, willing their combined waves of pleasure to crest and break against their shore. Soon, Santiago was collapsed against Jordan's chest, heavy breathing slowing... slowing... slowing, until soon they both lay there, sweaty, spent, and in absolute ecstasy.

Before long, it was time for Santiago to feed his dogs; but before leaving, he kissed Jordan lightly on his lips, wanting to kiss him deeply, but knowing he would meet resistance.  Apparently, Jordan had no problem being inside him, but kissing — oh, no — that was just too intimate!  What utter ridiculousness!  Santiago thought to himself as he climbed over Jordan's nude form, trying not to wake him.

The next few days were harrowing, to say the least. Santiago's relationship with his mother was quite fraught, and with so many unanswered questions, persistent family drama and his own grief plaguing him, his life seemed like it was destined to take a turn. Jordan was determined to keep his spirits up, but even his usual joviality wasn't quite doing the job anymore. It seemed to Jordan that the only things that were even remotely helping Santiago during the weeks that followed were physical intimacy and ranting about his Mother.

'... All because I'm gay. You know?' Jordan only heard the last part of Santiago sentence, as he was desperately trying to be supportive, but simultaneously beginning to lose his mind a bit from Santiago's complaints.

'Listen, Santiago. I know that this is a difficult time for you right now, but how about you come and watch a movie with me or something, huh? You choose, and I promise I'm all yours.' Jordan replied, doing his best to sound as empathetic and supportive as possible.

Santiago considered Jordan's proposal for a moment, before replying, 'All right. Deal. I suppose that I could use a good distraction right now. Well, other than Little Jordan, you know?'

'Little Jordan?!'  Jordan said incredulously.  'Little Jordan?!  I'll have you know that—'  Jordan did not get to finish, however, as Santiago quickly, and apologetically, chimed in, cutting him off mid-sentence.

'Baby, I'm sorry.  You know that I didn't mean it like that!'  Santiago said, half teasing, half reticent.  'It's just that we haven't exactly come up with a name for... well... him, yet!  Plus, you know how much I love him!'  ...and how much I love you, he wanted to say, but didn't, knowing that he wouldn't be able to unring that particular bell.

It also turned out that he hadn't quite realised yet, much less accepted, how deeply he was falling in love with him. Jordan, being who he was, and from the family whence he hailed, probably wouldn't be able to handle an admission of such magnitude, to be completely honest. It pained him more than he could say, to not be able to tell him the full truth about his feelings for him; but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he didn't want to be without him, and telling him that, would likely all but ensure it, and that was something that he simply could not abide.