Page 11 of All That Remains
Beyond a cult leader and elusive lover, he’d been an unlikely mentor in my youth; one indispensable to the man I became. He taught me everything he knew, sympathizing with my brotherless upbringing. Lessons included the little things my dad left out, or the things my mum hoped I'd never learn. Like how to smoke a cigarette or roll a joint. How to fuck. How to fight. How to cook a mean curry and ride a skateboard. How to style my hair and accessorize, although some of these things still escaped me. Whatever I may’ve taught him paled in comparison. I was Protestant, bourgeois, and average for my age. He was poor, Byronic, sex-addicted, and from a deeply devout Catholic family. Endlessly intriguing. Boy Wonder.
The older we got, the more intentional his teachings became—the more pragmatic. He bought me my first set of pots and pans for my new house, encouraging my love of cooking because his mum had gifted him a mutual appreciation of culinary arts. Some nights we'd stay home alone and have furious cook-offs, blasting dancehall from the 90s; bickering and growing impatient of each other’s kitchen habits.
What I depended on most in this transaction where we exchanged knowledge, culture, and strange intimacies throughthe years, was his introducing me to a world of new music—hip hop, reggae, old school R&B, and artists like Prince and Gregory Isaacs. Along the way, his musical tastes married mine and became the soundtrack of my coming-of-age. My solace during the darkest days of our relationship; captivating every memory I held of him and our time in the band.
Though the secrets of us may one day be cast away with infirmity and old age, I took comfort in knowing they’d be inscribed on my skin long after I’d forgotten my own name. When one day I reeked with incontinence and longed to die, he would still be a defining part of me. My biology. Love maimed us in so many colors, and the tattoos were like battle scars. He was the first person I had allowed to ink me and the pain had been exhilarating. I trusted him beyond reason. Beyond wit, beyond wisdom, and plain mortality.
To this day, a few facts remained. Roman was the most fathomless lover I’d ever known. He was the first guy I'd ever kissed, and the only one who'd ever been inside of me. Corroding my deepest kept convictions and self-perception. Redefining everything I thought I knew of masculinity and intimacy. What did I know of anything, really? Of men and of women? Of sex? Of sneaking around unlit places? Of meeting in hotel hallways after hours? Of kissing boys who really liked girls but had made an exception for me?
After taking pics with a few fans, I pet a passersby's dog—a mean little pug—and spoke to the owner about the best breeds for families with small children. My hands felt gross after they left, so I stepped away to wash them. When I returned, John cocked a brow at me.
"What's up, dude? You're doing something weird in this general area…" He circled his mouth.
"What? Smiling?"
"Way too much. There's this weird little smirk action going on. What's good?"
"Uh..." I grinned, accepting our water as it arrived. "Nothing really, I think." I took a sip with my pinky up in hopes he might lose interest.
"Absolute creeper…”
"Alright, sue me."
"What's up? Should I be worried? Is this like the time you side-swiped that guy downtown and didn't tell me because he almost beat the shit out of you?"
"Heyyy..." I frowned. That was a sensitive topic. "No, of course not—"
"Now the smirk's becoming more of a leer and I'm officially terrified—"
"Fuck’s sake, mate...it'sRome," I said, as if the name alone justified my behavior.
"Roman? What about him?" he squinted through the breeze that swept the table.
"He called."
"Again?"
"Mate, what do you mean 'again'? He never called before."
"So…you spoke?"
"Yeah. Well…not really. It was, uh, more of an email to voicemail sort of ordeal."
"Ok… enlighten me. How'd he get your number anyway?"
"It was more like his assistant got in touch with my assistant sort of thing. They left an email, and then eventually I heard about it."
"Sooo...no one actuallyspoke, right?" he clarified, just short of calling me pathetic. My embarrassment mounted.
"To be honest, no. It was all emails and secondhand shit."
"Andthat'swhat you're smiling about? Really dude?"
"Mate, c'mon. It’s something."
I grabbed a hold of my glass but didn't drink. I was relieved when the waitress came and took our orders, but mortified that he wasn't impressed. It wasn’t his fault. He had no clue what’d gone down between us. No one understood the innerworkings of the cult. I was Susan Atkins, practically frothing at the mouth over a third-party email chain, and he was eyeing like I needed to be 5150-ed.
I lost my appetite upon realizing how fragile the Roman connection was. It was dependent on multiple peripheral parties and tons of circumstantial factors that had the potential to fail or separate us for another six months. I had to be proactive. Before I could even ask John to reach out for me, he started up again.
