Olive Juice

The screen lit up in front of them, the lights from the dash bright.

David looked away.

He leaned his head back against the seat, staring out the window.

He felt heavy, waterlogged and tired.

The heater came on.

The SUV began to move.

It wasn’t old. In fact, it was one of the first major things they’d done… after. It’d been at the beginning of year four and he hadn’t had a drink in three months, and there was this lull, this period between this new beginning and the inevitable end, where they’d almost been—well, not happy, and maybe not even content, but something more than what they’d been before. There had maybe been a little smile every now and then, and they’d even made love one morning when the sun was streaming in, the birds calling just outside the open window.

He couldn’t remember how it’d come up, but one day, a Saturday, they’d been at home, and then they’d been on their way to a dealership, trading in something old for something new. He’d haggled on the price, and Phillip had rolled his eyes, but it’d been something, and it felt like a little celebration, and even though he’d felt slightly guilty at the thought, there it was. He’d been through some shit and come out on the other side. He hadn’t woken up needing to count down the hours to when it would be considered socially acceptable for him to have a drink.

It was the eye of the storm, though they hadn’t recognized it then.

David had almost ruined it when they’d been driving back home, the smell of new leather around them. He’d said, “She’ll like this when she gets back.”

The silence that came then had threatened to suffocate them both.

Then Phillip had taken his hand and said, “Yeah. She will. We’ll have to go on a road trip.”

Neither of them had said anything when Phillip had sniffed and wiped his eyes.

David didn’t ask where they were going now. He thought Phillip would drive him back to his shitty apartment and then make his own way home, back to their house, their house where they’d spent the happiest days of their lives. Except it really wasn’t their house, was it? Sure, their names were still on the mortgage, and yeah, they hadn’t exactly talked about divorce, (“I think we just need some space,” Phillip had said tightly on that horrible day. “I think we just need some space from each other to decide what we want.”)

(And then, later, “David, this is Keith. He’s… a friend.”)

Phillip would go back to his (their) house, and they’d continue this strange, sad existence where they were both circling the same sun but stuck in orbits that rarely lined up with each other, making do with fleeting passes in the darkest parts of the night.

He’d said it for the first time in September 1992, that he hadn’t yet gotten his fill of David. It’d been three days, three days they’d spent together. David had been twenty-eight, Phillip a year older, and they’d been introduced at a dinner at a friend’s apartment over Labor Day weekend. They’d both arrived at the same time, which just happened to be fashionably late, and they’d bumped into each other as they walked out of the elevator. Phillip had blushed, and David had been charmed out of his mind. It’d been awkward until they realized they were heading for the same apartment, and it’d gotten even more awkward as they stood, wondering which one of them should knock. And somehow, they’d reached up for the door at the same time, their hands brushing together. They’d both been a little startled, chuckling and looking away.

David had thought, Hi, hello, who are you and why can’t I wait to find out? while finally stuttering out his name. And this man, this enchanting man in front of him had mumbled, “Hi, David. I’m Phillip. Phillip Moore. It’s very nice to meet you. I like your coat.”

Their hosts must have heard them outside the door, because it opened in front of them, Keesha looking back and forth between them before smiling widely and hollering over her shoulder, “Ronny! Looks like they did all the work for us!”

Three days later they were still together.

On that Monday before they both returned to work after the holiday, they’d left Phillip’s apartment for the first time since they’d gotten there the Friday after the dinner. The world looked a little different, the colors a little brighter. They’d found a fruit stand and had bought green apples, the crunchy tang that much sweeter. The sun was bright, the air warm, and everything felt new in a way it hadn’t before.

David was unsure of what was going to happen next, if this was just a onetime (three-day) thing, and when they’d walked back to Phillip’s apartment, he’d fumbled through some excuse about leaving if Phillip had wanted him to. They’d hadn’t kissed yet, they’d slept in the same bed, faces near each other, but that was it. But Phillip had given him that funny little smile and said, “But I haven’t gotten my fill of you,” and David thought his heart might just burst.

Their first kiss had been the following weekend. They’d been out for a drink, sitting in a dark little corner where no one could see them, and Phillip had been laughing at something David had said. He’d thrown his head back, baring his neck, and he’d just laughed. David’s mouth had gone dry, and even before he could think about it, he leaned forward just as Phillip had looked at him again. Their lips had brushed together, and they breathed and breathed, and it was a tremulous thing, the barest hint, a question posed where the answer wasn’t known. But then Phillip had smiled, and David felt it more than saw it, and even though it was probably dangerous for them to do this in public, they weren’t even thinking about that. Not then. Phillip kissed him sweetly, and David had thought, Here. This. This is what I want. This is all that I want.

It wasn’t, though. He hadn’t known there was something more that he could have.

But he found that out later, a phone call from Keesha’s mother waking them in the middle of the night, a teary voice saying, “Oh my lord, oh my sweet lord in heaven, they’ve gone with the angels, they both have, they’ve both gone right on home, but she is still here. God and Jesus saw fit to keep her safe, and they’re gone, but she’s not.”

And she wasn’t. At least not then. It’d ta

ke almost two more decades for that to happen.

Eventually, David felt the car come to a stop. It idled for a moment before it shut off.

He sat up.

He was about to thank Phillip for driving him back to his apartment, about to say Phillip could take the car and he would just come by and get it later when he saw where they were.