Rendered
A statuesque, graying Asian- American man entered the suburban, two- story house for the first time in nearly nine years; he had not entered the neighborhood since his wife had sold the place to their youngest son.
Ritter Harris passed quickly through the first few rooms. They would tell him nothing, except that Corey was still compulsive about the organizing and the decorating and the matching-… all the things real men left for women to do so that they could spend their time doing useful things…
But enough of that.
Onward to the bedroom.
He’d read somewhere that if you really wanted to know the truth about a person, check his bedroom- it’s like a mirror image of a man’s inner self. Just through that ultra- modern kitchen- (Wow, that wasn’t here ten years ago)- and he would be at Corey’s sanctuary, his place of rest.
After passing through silent, immaculate hallways and rooms, Ritter grasped his son’s doorknob but snatched his hand back in complete surprise when it vibrated beneath his fingers. He had to force himself to turn the trembling knob. The door met slight resistance when he pushed it forward. He pushed harder.
God! It shocked him, made his teeth clench to have that bass assault his ears like that. A man shouldn’t go deaf just trying to invade his son’s privacy after so long apart, he thought rationally. He stepped over a pile of soiled work clothes and frayed jeans and t-shirts that had previously blocked the door and into that precious space.
First thought: This could not be Corey’s room.
No way- there was no floor space to speak of; every inch of cobalt carpet was inhabited by furniture— king size box spring and mattress (no frame), photo covered dresser, prehistoric rocking chair— or pages from a spiral notebook, hastily scrawled upon and discarded; so many of them that the waste can (-that matched the walls! Would the madness ever cease? -) had relinquished the tedious load to the floor, out of turmoil.
The Peavey T-60 was the only thing intact and untouched by the chaos. Even the amp had not escaped unmarred.
The confused man stumbled forward a little ways now, just enough to make out the words on several large, eerie posters tacked haphazardly to the pale sky wallpaper- Staind, Tool, Live- group names that he remembered from conversations with his wife, and newer ones- Catharsis, Evanescence, Dori’s Redemption- that he’d never heard of.
This could not be Corey’s room! He was too meticulous, too neat…
But the pictures: Corei Elks; Corey and Ted; Ted; Corey and Ted and Elidheaven; Elidh by herself; Elidh and Amy; Corey and Elidh and Amy…
Well, maybe…
Then to the bed.
Dead giveaway.
Should have just followed his ears in the first place.
Passed out from exhaustion, he had his headphones plastered over his ears, just like the good old days- no pillows, young body draped over perfectly strewn crimson sheets; cotton pants and t-shirt clinging to his bony frame for dear life, and now, puddling slobber on his fresh band tee, was baby Elidh, breathing shallow angel breaths in time to the pounding bass.
Feral Fairies
No, he didn’t really wanna meet Ted at the hotel- not right then and definitely not that weekend.
Things were going too well. Like with the grand opening:
The turnout was phenomenal! Although the master of ceremonies cancelled at the last minute, Corey was able to pull it off himself, regardless of the carnivorous butterflies gnawing away at the lining of his stomach. But he survived, so now all he wanted to do was celebrate; And, why not:
He was twenty-six (and still kicking!); his little girl had been born on his birthday - a couple months earlier than planned- but she was healthy and he was still glowing with new-fatherly pride; they had been able to open the Los Angeles branch of The Hideaway with only a very small loan (the opening alone had nearly paid it off), so he had been able to afford Amy’s Renaissance gown and the diamond jewelry that he wanted her to wear for the occasion with out going into cardiac arrest when the numbers began to stretch across the receipt.
Now that the worst was over and things were up and running, Corey had started to feel like a human being again- then Ted shows up.
At 7 a.m.!
The brazen sun has finally risen in the cloudless California sky, and yeah, everyone’s out of their beds already, but still, it’s just common courtesy to wait until at least 8 to come knocking on doors- especially the doors of people who don’t like you.
Corey was staying at Liam Beale’s (a sorta strange guy that he’d waited tables with in Connecticut before his dad passed the restaurant chain on to him) multi-leveled beachside residence and (just Ted’s luck!) Liam, who worshiped the sun from its cresting until its daily death- and hates the older man with a burning passion- was the only one coherent enough to answer the door.
Ooh, it was bad.
* The begging and the pleading- “Please Liam. I really need t’see Corey. It’s really important.”
* The blatant denial- “Get off my porch or I’ll call the police, you creep!”
* The anger- “Tell him to come right here, right now, you skinny [so-and-so], or I’ll break your hideous little neck!”
By then, Corey had dragged his sleep-laden corpse close enough to the doorway to hear Ted’s responses clearly through the screen door. Flinching at the last retort, he almost felt sorry for his tactless acquaintance.
Liam’s delicate hand flew to his neck, lips trembled, massive blue eyes grew impossibly larger.
Ted backed away from the front door.
Corey, whose view was distorted by his dear friend’s favorite everyday wear accessory- a pair of wire-enforced, transparent silk, glitter-encrusted fairy wings- could imagine the expression on Ted’s face as he stammered, “Look man- uh- just- just give him this”— he tossed a piece of paper in front of the screen door that had begun to open, only to reveal the furious young man in his entirety to a steadily retreating Ted.
Corey peaked around the pretty irate blond fairy’s rigid torso just in time to see the small handgun emerge from who-knows-where? in Liam’s shiny teal night shorts.
“I am not hideous!” he squealed at the top of his nasal, affected voice.
He stamped his little slippered foot causing Ted to jump then he leveled the pop gun at him.
As much fun as this situation was, Corey felt the need to interfere.
Gently, he placed his hand on Liam’s quivering shoulder.
“Okay Liam,” he said pacifyingly, “I think he’s plenty scared of you now, so you can put that thing up.”
The fairy narrowed his eyes and stared at Ted for a loaded moment before lowering the gun. He stuck his tongue out at the mean man then ran in the house, slamming the door behind him.
That was when Corey found out that Ted was staying at a ritzy hotel in Tayburn Heights and would be there until Tuesday.
Then he fled.
Liam, who was waiting just inside of his doorway with his ear pressed to the doorjamb, actually recommended that he go- and tell him to find someone else to manipulate and treat like trash.
“He’s not really that bad, Liam,” he said typically, automatically; he was always ready to defend Ted’s cause.
He decided to go anyway.
**
It was a beautiful, majestic suite that Ted led him into- an outer room, relaxed cozy den filled with furniture that actually looked inviting. A short, brightly decorated hallway led to the bathroom if you took a sharp right, but if you were to continue straight ahead you would be in the bedroom, which was their destination.
Ted stretched his arms coyly then plopped his colossal, muscular body on the king size mattress. He lay on his back, facing Corey who perched nervously on the edge. The slight young man requested a pillow that he promptly hugged to his chest, security blanket style.
This was soo uncomfortable but pretty soon, glancing at Ted’s self-righteous face brought the anger to the surface.
“I’ll never forgive you, so don’t even ask.”
Brief pain, then that smug smile obliterated genuine emotion.
“Don’t lie to me, Corey. Don’t lie to yourself.”
Ted folded long fingers behind his dark head.
“You’ll forgive me. I know it. You’ll always forgive me.”
Corey bit his bottom lip until he tasted that familiar salty liquid-calm and squeezed the pillow to himself harder.
He blinked back tears.
“I hate it when you say that Ted. And I hate it when you lie to me.”
“Look, don’t cry, Corey.”
He was beginning to sound faintly irritated. After propping himself up on one arm, he sighed impatiently.
“It’s life man. I mean, people disappoint you. People let you down. But do you sit there and cry about it? No. You get up and regroup and put on your best smile ‘cause that’s what no one expects you to do- smile in the face of your pain.”
He looked at him with unexpected fondness.
Softly, “Can you do that for me Corey?”
The younger man averted his eyes and began to rock slowly from side to side, arms still wrapped around himself protectively.
“I think you can Corey. I think you can forgive me.”
Corey wiped his eyes and gazed at Ted for a long time before nodding.
The other man tried desperately to suppress a triumphant smile as he extended his arms, beckoning Corey toward him. The slight young man crawled up the bed and slid into Ted’s all-encompassing arms.
“I forgive you,” he said, his voice choked with tears as he pulled slightly away. He firmly pressed the flattened pillow to Ted’s face then reengaged, never breaking their intimate embrace.
The Nature of Carnality: A Poem
unholy and bereft of natural love
I strove to one day come upon
The stream for which the normal lovers searched
So my cursed love would never come undone
Although this passion burns like smoldering coal
Upon my life it’s left its hideous stain
And even when they tell me I will die
I turn away and still embrace my bane
Forbidden love, though called by many names
Which is where the brazen lovers go at will
But into which the pure of heart won’t dare
This is my fate, I must confess to you
And I would shun it as I know I should
But I have long engaged in carnal love
And probably would not stop it if I could.
this is the only Corey Harris poem I've written.
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