The Wright Way

Chapter 19 - The Wright Way

It's not quite dark yet but the neon sign behind the window is already blinking. Its light makes the blue water coming from of the many hoses on the curtain seem green.

The clattering of dishes in the kitchen stops and the water is turned off. I wonder if Joshua's hanging out in the kitchen for most of the day, cooking, cleaning and rearranging things was his way of showing gratitude, or just a way to avoid me. We ate together, a welcome change from my usual pasta and canned food, but there wasn't much in terms of conversation.

"So," he says, coming into the room, carrying a plate with an apple and a knife. "Want some? I'm slicing one for myself."

"No." I make a move to sit up in the bed where I've been daydreaming. He gestures for me to stay put and moves to sit on the couch.

"You're going to work tomorrow?" he says, settling down and beginning to cut the apple.

"Yeah," I say.

"Me too," he says. "There's that nightclub on the other side of town, they've been trying to steal me from 'Golden Leaf' for a while. I called them today. They want to meet and talk. Will be hard to get good conditions given that I need them more than they need me now, but that's a start." He sends a slice of apple into his mouth. "In a couple of days, I'll be out of here."

I nod, but the news rub me the wrong way. Him returning to his life of singing in questionable nightclubs so soon after I fetched him from one sounds a bit like my efforts have been in vain. He'll be back to his old ways as if my intervention has never happened.

Also, the thought of him leaving is kind of sad. After the initial shock of having someone in my apartment, it's been nice not to be alone.

"Did you think of finding a different job?"

"What's wrong with that one?" He frowns. "People like how I sing."

"It kind of leads you nowhere, and makes you hang out with the wrong crowd."

"The crowd was fine." His frown deepens. "Please don't start another one of your homophobic rants. I was just beginning to like you." He pauses and, after I say nothing, continues. "As for leading nowhere—I'm still kinda hoping some producer will waltz in one evening, and snatch me to a life of bright spotlights, sold out stadiums and nine digits fortunes."

He smiles, but then grows sober under my heavy gaze.

"I'm not homophobic," I say. "Phobia means you're afraid of something, and I'm not afraid of people like you. I only disapprove of what you do."

He watches me, chewing his apple. Then he swallows, puts the plate aside and pushes himself off the couch. I think for a moment that my remark has been too harsh and he's about to leave, but he only walks around the bed and plops onto the other side of it, lying on his stomach a hand's distance from me. This time we're both lying on the blanket, so there's not even a thin barrier of fabric between us.

"I think you're actually afraid." He props his head on his hand, watching me, and I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "I think you're very much afraid." He pauses, a corner of his mouth twitching a bit.

"Get out of my bed. I told you not to do this."

His one-sided smile grows more prominent. "What's the problem? We're just talking. Are you afraid I'll make a move?"

"You might lose a couple of teeth if you try," I snap, and instantly regret how harsh that sounded. He laughs, though, clearly not taking this seriously.

"I didn't intend to," he says, "but why does it bother you so much?"

"I told you, it's about personal space."

"Not my proximity, dummy. The whole boys attracted to boys thing."

There's much I could say on that, but all my thought smash together like a crowd trying to squeeze through one narrow exit. Eventually, only one makes it outside.

"It's a sin."

He rolls his eyes. "I figure you've grown up in a religious family."

"It doesn't matter where I grew up. It doesn't change the fact that you're in the wrong."

"Haven't it occurred to you that what you consider a fact might only be an opinion—and a pretty obsolete one at that?"

I shake my head. "There can be no opinions about that. Only the attraction between men and women is natural."

He rolls to the side and looks at me thoughtfully, propping his head on one hand.

"An attraction of a human being to another human being is natural," he says. "Sexes have more in common than not." He gestures at himself. "I have skin and muscles and blood and nice hair. I have pretty eyes, as people keep telling me. I have a sense of humor. I have everything that matters." He pauses. "And so do you, by the way—so what's the problem if, say, just for the sake of discussion, I find myself attracted to you?"

I don't like this, but I let it slide. I intended to talk to him about this again, and now that he has initiated the conversation, I should seize the opportunity.

"You should fight that in yourself," I say.

"Why fight against your instincts? I'm an atheist, but even if we adopt your religious attitude, it doesn't make sense. If you were created in a certain way, doesn't fighting it seems kind of rude towards the creator?"

I shake my head. "If Creator gave you weaknesses, it's only to test your will."

"Did he personally tell you that?" He wrinkles his nose. "Also, as for testing my will..." He hums thoughtfully. "Is that why you're so uncomfortable with me being in your bed? Because you don't want your will to be tested?"