another winter
It takes time. Time and trust. Three weeks of building up the courage to kiss for longer, cuddle at night, hold hands. It’s new and it’s overwhelming. But it’s amazing. Subtle, but amazing. Cordelia feels like she's flying. Flying so high that it's a shock when the landline rings at two. She wriggles out of her girlfriend’s arms and tiptoes over to the dresser with the phone atop it. She picks up and whispers:
“Valentine-O’Malley residence?”
“Dee?”
“Whizzer?”
“Hey.” He sounds so far away. She can tell that something's up instantly. “Can- do you have a car?” No, bad she can drive and Charlotte has a morris minor.
“Yeah, why?”
“Can you maybe pick me up? There was some- trouble at the place I’ve been staying and now I don’t have anywhere to stay-”, his voice cracks, “I’m sorry i just-”
“No, it’s okay. Where are you?”
“Just off spring street.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Cool. Be safe. See you soon.”
She hangs up, scribbles a note for Charlotte and bolts out of the door. She throws herself into the car, revs the engine and speeds out into the city. It’s dark and quiet and she gets to spring street in twenty minutes flat. The scene is crazy. A couple hundred kids line the street, shivering in the bitter winter’s cold, huddling together for warmth. Some of them are clutching rucksacks and suitcases, some have duffle bags, most have nothing. There’s a crowd around the end of the street, and as Cordelia gets further down she can smell burning. She turns off at the end, slows down and sticks her head out of the car. Whizzer’s easy to spot, sitting poised as usual atop his suitcase wearing the same dusty pink coat he was a while ago. It’s not winter appropriate. She makes a mental note to get him to buy a new one. She honks the horn and he runs over before hopping into the shotgun seat.
“Good morning!”
“Morning. Thanks for picking me up.”
“It’s nothing. What the hell happened here? Where’d all these kids come from?”
“Some skinhead torched the hostel.” He’s been staying in a hostel? How did she not know that? “I suppose that’s what you get for putting a ‘gay friendly’ sign in your window.”
“Geez Louise.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you want me to drop you somewhere?” She asks softly. He looks embarrassed.
“I- ah- Don’t have anywhere to go.” He’s staring at his feet. She feels awful.
“That’s fine! Come stay at my place for a bit!”
“I don’t wanna be a bothe-”
“-Whizzer. You’re never a bother, okay? And besides, we got a spare bed now…” His eyes light up at that.
“For real? Y’all are-”
“-Together!”
“Holy shit, Dee!” He reaches across to hug her, “that’s amazing!” She giggles and hugs him back.
“Yeah. It’s pretty perfect.” He’s grinning at her as she speaks, excited for her.
“So I finally get to meet this girl!”
“Yup. She’s at med school to be a doctor. Super smart.” He wriggles his eyebrows at that,
“And super rich super soon, if she’s boutta be a doctor!” She rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm.
“Materialist.”
“You got me there.” They both laugh as Cordelia drives through the night. Pull up outside her apartment. She carries his suitcase in and they tiptoe into Cordelia’s old room.
The room is painted light pink and the covers and furniture are an even lighter yellow. The post-it Whizzer left Cordelia when he skipped town three years ago is stuck on her mirror. He notices it quickly and walks over. Gazes at it. To him, it feels like it was taken decades ago. His eyes are bright, his smile is wide and he looks so much… Clearer. He’s overwhelmed with nostalgia and fernweh. And guilt. Guilt for leaving so suddenly. He sighs. Looks back over at her. She’s watching him. He tries to fake smile, but there’s no point faking to her.
“You okay?”
“Tired.”
“Me too. Get some sleep, kiddo.” She says, gesturing to the bed. He thanks her again, blows her a kiss and starts opening his suitcase. She says goodnight and leaves him be. He pulls on his khaki shirt and sleeping shorts, rubs the oil into his arms, climbs into bed and tries to sleep. His legs hurt. His hair smells like smoke. He’s exhausted. But it’s okay. It’s okay because this room smells like Cordelia’s mom’s house. Like home. Not like the hostel. Not like the shelter. Not like the doorway he slept in for a month a few years ago. Like home. He falls asleep smiling.