Page 32 of After His Eulogy
“Come on. You first. I want to see. Come on, baby.”
He stops. Just for a second. His whole body goes still around me and his eyes find mine. There is a half-second where he is not under me and not over me and not anywhere. He is somewhere I do not have access to. I have known him for ten years and I have not been to this place. He is the only one in it. I hold still. I let him have it. I am not going to be the one who pulls him back.
Then he comes back. His eyes are wet, and I do not know if he is going to cry or come.
He looks at me. He looks at me and his face works, the eyes-doing-the-work thing. Then his face stops. His face just lets it happen. He comes in my hand without breaking eye contact, his whole body doing the release, his mouth open, his hand on my neck. He comes saying my name. Reed. I watch him. I watch him.
I come a few seconds after he does, with my forehead pressed against his and his hand still on my neck. His other hand finds mine on the bed and grips it. I make a sound I have not made in two years. He says into my mouth, “Yeah. Yeah.”
I collapse. I collapse onto him. He takes my weight. His hand stays on the back of my neck. We breathe.
Later. I have pulled out. I have dealt with the condom. I have come back. I am lying on my side facing him and he is on his back and his eyes are closed and he is breathing slow and my hand is on his chest and his hand is over mine.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
“You okay.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Reed. I am yes. I am very okay.”
“Okay.”
He turns his head. He looks at me. His face is open in a way I have not seen it be open in two years. He is letting me have his face.
“Are you okay,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Yeah.”
“Okay.”
We lie there.
“Griffin.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for asking.”
“For what.”
“For asking. What I wanted. Tonight. Which way.”
He looks at me.
“You think I was going to assume.”
“I think you’ve been deciding things. For a month. You could have decided this too. I’m thanking you for not.”
He is quiet for a second. I watch him think. He does not make a face when he is thinking. The eyes do the work and the rest of him stays still. I have always loved him in this stillness. I haven’t been allowed to for two years. I’m loving him in it now and he doesn’t know I’m doing it.
