Tell Me Our Story

Banging at the door, a wild series of heavy, insistent vibrations. They whirled toward it, snapping off the current running between them. “O’Hara! Open up.”

The Sapphire twins. With their uncanny ability to interrupt at the most inopportune time.

Jonathan grimaced and opened the door.

The Sapphires flooded into the room, tackling David into laughing embraces. They nodded gruffly at Jonathan, like they weren’t yet sure what to make of him. “Dinner—time to suck up to the judges. Let’s go.”

David glanced regretfully over his shoulder as they dragged him out. “I’ll see you down there.”

Jonathan waited until their buoyant chatter faded. He distributed his clothes into the drawers, toiletries into the bathroom, changed his shirt after the long journey, and made his way to the restaurant.

Seven animated bodies crowded around a long, narrow table; the Sapphires, George and Mira, two of the judges, and David at the end like a captain commanding his ship, steering the conversation, laughter filling the sails. At Jonathan’s approach, he bolted to his feet, knocking his wine and catching it clumsily. The others watched, fascinated at the change, like Jonathan had lured him to shipwreck.

David searched his side of the table fruitlessly for a free chair, and Jonathan quietly shook his head and seated himself at the furthest end.

“A question for you,” said one of the judges, with a glint in his eye. “Why do you think we chose Greece as the meeting place for the semi-finals this year?”

A blue-topped head laughed. “Maybe you wanted to give O’Hara here an edge.”

David raised a brow.

The two representatives rolled their eyes. “Any other guesses?”

George hummed. “It’s a beautiful location?”

The other smurf, “Did you guys choose Greece? ‘Cause you’re gay and Greece is famous for its gay lovers?”

Jonathan cleared his throat, and acknowledged their hosts. “I’m sure it’s no accident that the Greek language has eight words exploring different aspects of love and affection.”

Down the length of the table—over stuffed peppers, grilled eggplant, gyro flatbread, and a half dozen glasses of wine—David smiled at him. It was a quiet smile, one that teased at the door of a dimple. Knowing. Wanting.

Jonathan looked right back at him, seeing his naked back in the library as he’d zipped him into his Cupid costume. I’m not sure Eros needs the actual dressing part? Just a pair of wings? Maybe some oil?

Around them gazes ping-ponged.

David raised his glass and sipped. “Greek mythology is full of powerful stories about love. Some of the most famous.”

A snicker, “More famous than Romeo and Juliet?”

“Where do you think Shakespeare drew his inspiration?”

Frowns.

“Pyramus and Thisbe. Star-crossed lovers who grew up in warring families. They fell in love, and they killed themselves for love. All a tragic misunderstanding.”

They ordered mains and pivoted from topic to topic. At some point their hosts left and the conversation carried on without them. Jonathan was content to absorb more than partake. He was, truthfully, exhausted. Jetlag had the table rolling like they were all on a boat, the ground water beneath him. Every glance at David, gravity rushed through him, in peaks and troughs like great waves. David looked thoughtful, possibly a little drunk on the time-change too but handling it with far more grace than the Sapphires. Focus on something still. The vase of cut hyacinths centerpiecing the table.

Roses. Jonathan tending to them, helping them grow. A black cat frolicking among them, playfully swatting at leaves. The sharp insecurity about how long the cat would stay. The uncontrollable need to pick him up and hold him anyway.

He looked into the dark red in his wineglass. Good God, he was drunk. Jetlag and one glass.

Not just him, either. Most of them were stumbling over their words, missing their mouths when they tried to eat, laughing uncontrollably. David was telling a story, leaning back sleepily in his chair.

“—the god of the north wind, Zephyr, was jealous that Hyacinthus chose Apollo over him, and when Apollo was teaching his young love to throw the discus Zephyr sent a gust of wind to force the discus off course. It caught Hyacinthus’ head and just like that, the light of Apollo’s eyes died in front of him. From blood and tears, the flower formed, and first bloomed on the spot where Hyacinthus died.”

Someone googled and said stories of the gods must have titillated generations, there was so much fucking in them. David told them more stories. Giant George shut his eyes and—was he snoring?

Mira leaning against George’s arm, and George tipped off his chair and landed with a shuddering crash on the floor. The table tensed, and Mira slapped a hand over her mouth, and—

A deep snore.

Mira turned to the table with a pleading look. “Help me get him to his room?”

The Sapphires rolled their short sleeves up to the shoulders and came around the table, beefing up their red and black tattooed arms and calling frantically for George to wakey-wakey.