CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MATTEO
I stood in the middle of the room, my head craned back as I looked up into the domed glass ceiling of the winter-garden penthouse of the Harold Washington library.
I was surrounded by terrazzo and marble floors, silver light streaming in from above, and boxed ornamental trees.
All the neoclassical decor chimed around me, the notes of “Mariage D'Amour” echoing in my heart and soul. I’d hung out in plenty of libraries before, often for shelter while reading about the things I’d been insulated from, but this was on the next level.
I could stay here all day, finding music in pockets of bright light and the quiet spaces between bookshelves.
“There you are,” Sean said as he came up next to me and bumped his elbow against mine. “It’s pretty isn’t it? I like to come here sometimes and read.”
“What do you like to read?” I asked, wanting to know more about him.
He shrugged. “Magazines. Newspapers. I’m not a bookworm, but it’s always good to expand your mind. It’s more about relaxing and enjoying simple moments for me.”
“As opposed to expanding your tummy?” I teased. Heckling him seemed like the natural thing to do. If we weren’t constantly at each other’s throats, something was off.
“I’ve been expanding your horizons lately, haven’t I?” he said softly with a hint of a playful growl.
Every night for the last three nights, we shared dinner and watched a movie before he went downstairs for work.
When he returned at two in the morning, we laid in bed, talking about any and everything in between making out, and working each other up into a ball of need.
I wanted to go further and I knew he did too, but I got the feeling he wouldn’t until I explicitly asked.
I was fine with the snail’s pace because it gave me time to savor his lips.
When we finally took the plunge, it was going to be glorious.
That time was fast approaching, and I couldn’t wait.
Besides, the blue balls were killer and I refused to rub one out on the account of giving him the win.
I had a feeling I was going to be the first to break, however.
This game we had going on was one I was sure no one would win.
I passed him a knowing look. I got him going just as much as he did me.
Figuring it wasn’t good to get into sexually-charged banter in public, I said, “When I was allowed to go to the library, my father insisted on chaperoning me so that any books I picked out could be scrutinized. I wasn’t allowed to read anything not on his tiny list of approved material.
Suffice to say, most of what I chose was promptly rejected.
If I even dared to pick up a Harry Potter book, I could be expected to write a lengthy essay on the dangers of witchcraft. ”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Well, I have a library card so you can check-out whatever your heart desires.”
“I plan to fully take advantage of that fact.” I didn’t tell him I’d once had a library card but was afraid of using it for fear of my parents tracking me down. Could you even track people by their library cards? I wasn’t going to take the chance.
“Of course you will, brat.”
We lingered in the library for another hour, investigating all the floors and displays.
I ended up checking out a book on famous composers, a Stephen King novel about a clown that Sean had recommended, a LGBTQ-themed book, and Earnest Hemmingway.
I’d wanted more, but didn’t feel like lugging a bunch of books around all day seeing as we’d taken the bus instead of his car.
I stuffed my tomes into my backpack, excited about starting them. Reading and music was a way for me to explore the world when I’d been forced to live on an island for the first eighteen years of my life.
We shared a light lunch of chicken wraps in a little cafe facing the lake, the waters along the shore frozen over. Despite the chilly weather, Tuesday afternoon was alive with activity and “Mariage D'Amour” accompanied light chatter with Sean.
“I always liked the city. Some people don’t. It can be crowded and noisy, but quiet nights seem all the more special because of that,” Sean said, his attention on the window. “Funny thing is, I ended up in Chicago by accident.”
“How so?” I inquired.
He took a big gulp of his juice bottle and I wanted to lean in and kiss his neck. He licked his lips and smacked them. “Well, I grew up in Virginia.”
“So that’s the accent I noticed.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, it slips in every now and then. I’m from a little place called Bot-uh-tott, as difficult to say as it is to spell.
Beautiful, though. Lots of mountains and trees and that small-town charm.
Anyway, when I left home, I had grand plans of settling in New York.
Dummy me took a wrong turn on the freeway and it wasn’t until I got to Ohio that I realized I was going in the wrong direction.
I just…started driving and wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going because I needed to put distance between the new me and the old me, amirite? ”
“Not surprised,” I teased. “All beauty, no brains.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a regular himbo, but you like it,” he shot back, wagging his brows.
“Your dimwittedness is adorable,” I countered.
“Hm,” he muttered and leaned in. “I don’t see you minding when you’re sucking my face. And don’t try to use the excuse that you’re throwing me a bone, because those little sounds you make when I’m kissing you tells me everything I need to know.”
Well, damn. I do believe this is the first time I didn’t have a viable plan of counterattack, because I squirmed and looked away.
I was way too invested in making out with him.
He gloated that I was speechless, and I found that I didn’t mind all that much.
I liked the way he kissed me and brought out a side only he got to see.
We finished our lunch and took the bus up State Street, Christmas decorations lingering in windows and on lampposts.
Everyone seemed so happy, and I wondered how they could be.
The world was a dark, suffocating place to me, a cage and though I’d broken those bonds years ago, there was a chain around my neck, threatening to pull me back in.
I’d had a taste of freedom these last few years, but I was afraid I’d lose it. I supposed I was envious.
We got off on Randolph Street and I followed the old architecture of the building up several stories.
Nana had told me about shopping here when it had been Carson Pierre Scott.
My parents rarely allowed me to come downtown on my own for shopping because it was too full of demonic distractions.
Anything I’d needed was fetched by the housekeeper and nanny.
I followed Sean through the revolving doors and was instantly enchanted by the bright lights and gleaming glass display cases of the first floor where perfumes and colognes were housed. Sean headed for the men’s section and peered into a glass case.
“Can I help you, sir?” A well-dressed woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I get 150ml of Burberry for Men and 3.4oz of Santal 33. I’d also like them individually gift-wrapped, if possible.”
“Certainly. I’ll be just a moment.” She passed him a bright smile, retrieved the colognes, and rushed off.
“You’ve got expensive taste,” I said when she was gone. “Hard to believe you can afford your lavish lifestyle on a bouncer’s salary.”
He smirked, leaning in to look at the display of cologne samples. He sprayed one on the skin of his wrist, rubbed it in then sniffed. “It’s not for me. I have two friends with birthdays coming up. One in February and the other March. Might as well knock them both out while I’m here.”
“I hope they're blowing you for buying them Burberry and Le Labo,” I grumbled with a note of jealousy.
I missed my comfortable and fine clothes, the expensive soaps and all the comforts money afforded. Living in poverty for the last few years taught me to be thankful for what I did have. Even then, I’d found more happiness sleeping in a drafty closet than living in my parent’s immaculate house.
He turned to regard me. “It’s a gift. You know, something given without expecting anything in return?”
“You’re telling me you never had sex with any of your friends?”
“We’re not talking about this right now,” he said, offering the woman a tight smile as she returned with two gift-wrapped boxes. Sean approved them and handed over a credit card.
While we waited for her to ring him up, I said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
“You never apologize. It feels weird.”
“Well, I’m not an asshole. And I wasn’t criticizing you, just wondering how that worked. I imagine it’s hard having gay friends and wanting to fuck them. But I’m a novice, so what do I know?”
He squeezed the back of my neck. “It’s fine. I’m just very thankful for the few friends I have. If you want, we will talk about it later, okay?”
I nodded. “Can we check out the rest of the store?”
“Yeah. There is a toy store a few floors up. We could check out the clearance section in the men’s department and see if we can score you some clothes.”
I said nothing as we made our way up the escalators.
I didn’t like him spending money on me, but I did need some more clothes.
The department store was very nice and very classy and made me feel even worse about my situation.
Even as a kid, I could recognize my privilege and lamenting my life made me feel bad, because there were a lot of people that had it worse.
All the light of this place and the smiles made me long for happiness.
We ended up scoring a new pair of jeans and a few shirts for me that were marked down.
“Stop fretting over me buying you something. I can tell it’s bothering you. If you want, you can repay me with blow jobs,” he said against my ear as we took the escalator another level up.
“So, is that how it is at your age? You have to buy blowjobs?”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and got a little closer so that his breath brushed across my jaw. “I don’t have to buy one from you. I know you’ve been thinking about my dick in your mouth.”
I tugged my jacket down over the bulge in my pants and he chuckled. God, I just wanted to…kiss him to death or something. He was so infuriating sometimes, but in a way that made my insides bounce with excitement.
We floated around in the toy store for a while.
Sean was adorable as he played with action figure displays, his eyes wrinkling in the corners as he smiled.
I’d never had much in the way of toys, so the appeal was lost on me.
I didn’t want to ruin the moment and tell him I wasn’t allowed toys like this but I couldn’t help enjoying watching him entertain himself like a child.
I felt the music first in my gut like a warm jolt before I heard it with my ears. It was faint and for a long moment I thought it was coming from within me, a kind of phantom tingle.
I inched toward the escalator that opened into the top floor, the notes becoming clearer, sharper.
Glancing at Sean who was entranced with the action figures, I figured he’d be okay for a few minutes by himself.
I quickly found myself on the escalator, my heart accelerating as the chords became crisp, like a ray of sunshine punching through storm clouds.
The top floor was a restaurant of sorts, packed to the gills with a Christmas tree in the middle.
The source of the music was a beautiful grand piano next to the tree, an elderly gentleman dressed in a black tux plucking away.
The piece was a lento of a modern tune, a song from a movie, perhaps and meant to be in the background.
I watched the pianist for a long moment, playing as if this was more a job for him than passion.
When the piece ended, he got up and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant, likely to take a break.
It got hard to breathe and my fingertips itched as I slipped under the velvet ropes encircling the restaurant and passed the hostess busy informing a couple there were no open tables. I was a passenger now, unable to help myself, my body moving of its own accord.
The piano was a Bosendorfer 200 with an ebony polish that reflected the colorful lights of the tree.
I pushed past the heart palpitations and took a seat on the sturdy stool.
Running my fingers over the spruce-wood keys, a rush of emotion tightened my sinuses.
I looked around at the people enjoying a nice dinner in cocktail wear, knowing it was a miracle I hadn’t been tossed out yet.
God provides, I heard my father’s voice.
I played a few of my favorite chords to get the feel of the instrument, the tuning sounding near perfect to my ears.
I noted a few heads turning in my direction, likely wondering about the bum messing with the piano.
A waiter leaned into another and whispered something along the lines of–should we call security?
I quickly switched to Chopin’s “Waltz in C Sharp Minor”, a simple piece but perfect for a classy setting like this.
As the notes spread out and penetrated my body with minute vibrations, I wanted to cry.
My life had no meaning if I couldn’t play and share the music I’d been born with.
How I’d survived the past three years without being able to play was a miracle.
The keyboard at my fingertips matched the keyboard in my mind and I played with closed eyes, the color behind my lids tuned to the notes.
Every hit of the hammer against the string, every sweet note tapping my heart.
Even after all this time, I could hear Nana’s voice telling me: you have a gift, Miho.
And God doesn’t hand out gifts quieras o no.
I transitioned into “La Campanella”, my heart singing as my fingers fell against the keys effortlessly.
I’d been a weird kid, focusing on the hardest compositions because I thought if I could master some of the most difficult technical pieces ever crafted, I could master anything.
Even after years away, the notes flowed.
A man and a woman came to dance near me, and I nodded to them, aware I had an audience, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to let the music out that had been building for three years.
Playing was a dance of sorts as I moved my hands and fingers across the keyboard, hitting the notes, the sounds moving me.
As I got deep into the piece, I let loose and absorbed every chord, every note and beat of my heart until I couldn’t tell the difference between the music of my body and the music of the piano.
This was happiness, pure and undiluted by the terrible things in the world. As I played, I got a whiff of a familiar scent, as if Nana were still with me.
Let your music out and don’t ever let anyone take it from you.