Amiable Proximity
Despite the bacchanal of harvest and fall festivities, October was a tough month for Dane since he’d been on his own.
The changing foliage and crisp air evoked so much bittersweet nostalgia for his first months at Schoenfeld’s.
When he was all of twenty years old, tentatively emerging from a chrysalis into the company of people who thought he was miraculous.
“I’ll never forget opening weekend of that first fall season,” he said to Liko. “It’s when Ethan gave me the leather vest. So I’d feel braver in crowds.”
He fetched an old photo album and showed pictures taken that day, when, for the second time in his life, Dane appeared in public as his inner chimera.
His eyes out and his face bisected. He made up the left side himself, his blue eye stunning beneath false lashes with a small row of spangles beneath.
Ethan airbrushed the right side of Dane’s face with leaves and twigs and clusters of acorns, making him half Green Goddess, half Green Man.
But it was the clothing that made Dane feel fantastic that day: he wore Ethan’s gifted leather vest with a kilt and motorcycle boots.
“My man,” Liko laughed over the album page. “What did that guy you met say? I hope we meet again in your twenties?”
“His loss,” Dane said.
“Captivating and ghosting older men at parties is like a thing with you.”
Nomi was dressed as a witch. But what a witch.
A wild wig of auburn tresses. A velvet pantsuit with high-waisted, wide-legged trousers.
Platform boots and a gnarled broomstick taller than she was.
She radiated power and magic. Photographed together, walking through and engaging the crowd, she and Dane were pure dynamite.
Charmaine DuJour would’ve gagged, gooped, shat twice and died.
“Liko needs to hold still now,” Fred sang, moving their body between Liko and the photo album. “Close your eyes, my love. They’re a terrible distraction.”
Liko smiled and closed his eyes, holding perfectly still as Fred adjusted the stencil across his cheekbones, then began airbrushing.
“Did Ethan teach you how to do this?” Liko asked.
Fred snorted. “I taught him. Ethan hasn’t cornered the market on artistic license.”
“And he never needed to be the smartest guy in the room,” Dane said, with all the peace in his heart.
He and Ethan had finally spoken on the phone.
Ethan emailed first, asking if he could call.
Then texted to confirm the date and time.
By the time the formal appointment rolled around, Dane was joking he didn’t have a thing to wear to this job interview.
Liko laughed along, but tactfully vacated the house and went for a walk with Salma.
The ring of the cell phone sent an icicle into Dane’s heart. He inhaled deep through the second ring and picked up on the third.
“Hey,” Ethan said.
“Hi.”
Dane put his forehead in a palm, shaking his head. So that’s all it takes, he thought. One word brings it all back.
One word could render them both silent, too. A long, breathing moment passed before Dane finally spoke. “Where are you?”
“Germany. I got to Odenwald this morning. I mailed you a postcard from Frankenberg.”
“Didn’t get it, but I haven’t checked the mail today.” Dane got up from his seat on the porch and walked down the driveway.
“Trees must be starting to turn,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, it’s going to be a pretty fall.”
“Is the CSA over?”
“Last boxes get picked up on Thursday.” Dane collected the mail and rifled through it. “Ah, here it is. Haina Monastery. The engraving on the consecrated bell.”
“Sketched from memory,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t get near the bell.”
“You know what these postcards have made me appreciate?”
“What?”
“How many bad medieval artists were in the world.”
Ethan laughed.
“Seriously,” Dane said. “What the hell are these—they look like mutant deer on steroids.”
Ethan’s from-the-belly hilarity kept tumbling over the line. Dane smiled coolly at the sound, and Diane carved a satisfied notch in their shared soul as the laughter softened into thoughtful quiet again.
“How are you?” Ethan asked.
“Truth or silence rules in effect?”
“Yes.”
“I’m good. Farm’s doing well. CSA in the red. We only lost four chickens to foxes. I grew some veggies for myself. And I met someone.”
“Saskia said.”
“You?”
“It’s been a journey. Grief isn’t linear but processing grief on a linear path is…
I don’t really have a word for what it is.
Starting in Cave 407 where my parents saw the Three Hares for the first time.
Progressing along the route, leaving a little of Nomi in each place.
It’s like a long goodbye. At each stop there’s just a bit less to hold onto.
More room in your heart for new things to grow. I don’t know.”
“It’s a beautiful thing to do,” Dane said.
“Truth or silence,” Ethan said softly.
“I mean it.”
“Will you come to Paderborn?”
Dane drew a deep breath. “Before I answer, I need to say something.”
Ethan gave a little laugh. “I figured you’d have many somethings to say.”
“I need to say I’m sorry.”
A surprised beat. “For what?”
“What I said the night before you left.”
“Oh God, Dane, I don’t even remember wh—”
“I bet you do,” Dane said. “Your eyes and ears never turn off and you have an eidetic memory. You remember.”
“All right, I remember, but…”
“But nothing. It was shitty and I’ve regretted it since. I’m sorry. I was upset and angry, but it’s no excuse for taking such a cheap shot at your identity. You wouldn’t do it to me.”
A shaky breath and a sniff. Then silence again on the other end.
“I’m sorry,” Dane said.
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t believe you could be man enough for me, and it broke my heart.”
“Dane…”
“It made me feel I didn’t do a good enough job making you believe it.”
“You have no idea what your love meant to me,” Ethan said thickly.
“Meant to me, means to me, and will go on meaning the rest of my life. I want you to come to Paderborn for so many reasons. Because it’s the end of this pilgrimage and I want you and Saskia to be there.
To sprinkle the last ashes and end it with me.
I need three people to be there. The three most important people to Nomi.
But I want you to come because I just want to see you. I miss you so much.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a soulmate. Because I equate seeing you with peace. Because I still love you. I’ll always love you.”
But, Dane thought. But, but, but. Which is the birthplace of all our arguments and I am not going there. Not today, not ever again.
I give a fuck. I can’t relegate this to the Meaningless Scrapheap. But if Paderborn is the end for Ethan, it has to be an end for me.
These are the terms of peace.
“I’m coming to Paderborn,” he said. “Flights are booked, itinerary is set. Liko is coming with me, which is non-negotiable.” He winced at his terse delivery and lowered his voice. “I want to see you too. Despite what you might think, or how I act, I do miss you too.”
“Do you?”
“So much. So many ways. But for me to move on with Liko, I need to hear something from you. Not now, not on this call. I want to hear you say it in Paderborn.”
“Say what?”
“With truth or silence rules in place, I need you to say you’re not in love with me anymore.”
“Dane, I—”
“Don’t do it now,” Dane said. “Come on, my man. You are the king of the concept-to-creation pipeline. A master of the romantic gesture. Let an average schmuck have his chance.”
Ethan laughed, but Dane could tell he was in tears. “God, I missed hearing my man. No one else says it.”
“Only men who are much men can be my man. Anyway, those are the terms of Paderborn. The Paderborn Protocol.”
“You know I’d do anything for you.”
“I need this,” Dane said. “Those words. That place. It’ll be the end of both our journeys and the start of new ones.”
“What will be your new journey?”
“Remains to be written. Yours?”
Ethan hesitated, inhaling slow. “I’d like to come home.”
Dane didn’t say anything.
“Not to your house. Not even to the farm. I’m a misanthropic son of a bitch, but I can read a room.”
“This I know.”
“Birch Island is my home. That land is in my soul and the Black Dirt Region is where I’ve grown my best ideas. I don’t regret any of this pilgrimage but I’m so homesick, it hurts. So can you think about amiable proximity between now and Paderborn?”
Dane’s eyes were wet but he smiled into his cheeks. “I can do that.”
They were unaccustomed to goodbyes. After twenty-odd years, their typical way of ending a conversation was falling asleep mid-sentence. But those days were over. They made a little small talk, cracked a few jokes, klutzily decoupled and hung up.
Peace negotiations concluded, Dane texted Liko. Terms favorable. Treaty to be signed in Paderborn.
Fred made a last pass with the airbrush, stepped back and scrutinized their efforts. “I believe my work here is done.”
Liko turned his head and looked at Dane. His violet eyes gleamed from a painted, foliage mask.
“It would be twice as magnificent if you’d shaved the beard,” Fred said.
“I would’ve been murdered.” Liko reached and jostled Dane, who was staring open-mouthed. “What are you, the butler? Say something.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Dane managed.
“It’s the company I keep.” Liko slid down from the vanity and turned around to view himself in the bathroom mirror. He turned his head this way and that, admiring the intricate foliage design from temple to temple, hairline to beard line.
“Next year, full face,” he said. “For my debut, I’ll play it safe.”
“You’re gonna cut a bigger swathe than Pao,” Fred said. “Get a move on, Green Man. Fame awaits at the fall festivities.”
They posed on the porch first so Fred could take a picture, which Dane would frame and hang in the kitchen: Liko with his horizontal half-mask of leaves, and Dane with his vertical one.
Their other-worldly eyes two bucks circling, each believing they were the fairest of all, and they ought to take it back inside.
Or upstairs.