D—-

D—-, you’re dangerous. This seems dangerous.
But it’s not. My wife and I have an understanding.
Then why will neither of us sit this way unless we’ve been drinking?
That has nothing to do with F——.

It was a good point. It didn’t. In the house it seemed there were no human sounds at all. If I had been standing on the other side of the office door, I would have heard the breathing of the three children. Their small exhales would have surrounded me. But D—- was in front of me, on the wide barnboards that covered the office floor. Now and again he would blur in my vision, partly the dry woodstove air against my contacts, partly the mostly empty bottle of Polish Vodka lying on the floor in between us. We weren’t talking any more, though we had been for several hours.
We had been talking about S—-, the way she is, the way she was, how she was as a director a friend, as a person. The love affairs, the hate affairs, the shows and the training. The sworn vow of silence all the actors had taken on some years back. My own opinion was that it stopped all the bickering between them for a time. When I think now how rarely I am silent, I understand the value of the exercise. That was before D—- and Felicia had met. While he and S—- were still in love, or at least still dancing. He still loved her. K—— once said “Well what do you expect, she is his first love.” I looked at D—-. He was looking at his djarum cigarette, the only kind he would smoke, though once in awhile he’d bum off me.

Want one?
Sure I do.
Glad we don’t have to go outside and smoke.
Too fucking cold.

I think we loved feeling like delinquents. The grown-ups were gone and now we were breaking the rules…staying up way too late, partying and drinking hard and sitting closer and closer together, I don’t remember moving towards him. It seemed so normal to be his physical companion.

They’re out there getting drunk too.
I know. We’ll all be great with the kids tomorrow.
You have a day off tomorrow.
Yeah, my one day.
Do you have plans?
No. Go into town, visit Max, smoke alittle. Come home. I think I have some writing to do on my book.
What is your book about? You’ve mentioned your writing, but never that it was a book.
Well maybe I’m starting to get ambitious.

D—- waited for me to answer his question. I looked at him. Was there a reason he would care? Was there a reason he really needed to know? He was waiting patiently. I felt his arm around me in my memory, as it was in the Ukraine. Where D—- had been my protector. The one. Everyone else wasn’t interested it seemed. In me, in my life. After a full year with them, they were still content to accept me as a stranger. I was just a blip in their fifteen years. I would one day be gone, and they would forget me. That much was clear. That was the part that was already so bitter in my mouth.

It’s about my Dad. Not directly, but really that’s what it’s about. My reaction to him created the main character. Or my non reaction.
Can I read it?
Maybe someday, when it’s finished. I don’t let people see it.
Maybe you should.
I can’t volunteer myself up to people who don’t care D—-. It’s my heart and I don’t care to be so generous with it. Not for people to whom I mean nothing.
It’s not nothing. It’s that you haven’t let anyone know you want to be here. Do you want to be here?
Yes. and no. It’s not my dream, but it could be. I feel like I’ve no part in her dream. I just take care of her girls so she can get on with it and make it happen.
You have to take the opportunities to get involved. You have to jump in and start.
I won’t do that where I feel unwelcome D—-. I don’t like grovelling. I don’t have to put myself out there for people who might hurt me, and haven’t shown any indication they won’t. I’m talented D—-. I don’t need the cast of the sick and the twisted to tell me I am.
Dale, that’s not it.
I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I act so young here. I’ve never been looked at this young. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as such a child, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt inconsequential.
Maybe you’re used to feeling older than you are, you’re used to being exceptional…
…and I’m around fifteen exceptional people. The standards have moved up.
That doesn’t mean you can’t join in when you have something to add. I, for one, have been waiting to see if you would.
It’s not my dream D—-. It’s hers. And even if I could be a part of it, I think I have things to work on before I commit myself to anyone. And this seems like all or nothing. It’s a marriage for life. That’s really the only thing I’m looking for.
So why is it so hard?
Because I can’t be a part of it. Here’s this thing that a group of people feel so strongly about that they remain together to work on it through all the shit. That’s what I want. That’s what I admire. People who actually live with their passion. And I want so badly to live in that. And then I picture myself a part of it and I am euphoric. Then it dies. I realize it’s never been offered to me. Even partially. I feel presumptuous and left out. I know I was not hired to be in this company.
You sound scared to be a part of it.
That’s true.
Of what?
I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared of passion. Maybe I’m scared of the energy that flows between all of you. It intimidates me. Max intimidates me, S—- intimidates me, C—- intimidates me. And everyone else is distant.
Am I distant?
No D—-.
What’s the difference?
We share a common conversation.
Which is what?
D—-, you took the time to figure out there was a person there you might want to get to know. Then you figured out how to get to her.
What, getting drunk?
Yup. Another shot?
Ok.
I mean, not an ideal premise for a friendship.
It worked.
Yeah it did.

He was only inches away from me now. That kind of chill was overwhelming the center of my body. I wondered when it was we would interact physically. We hadn’t, and we’d had the opportunities to do so. It seemed inevitable that we would. Headlights moved across the wall behind his head. We heard doors slamming and voices talking over the evening. I still looked at D—-. We heard the mud room door creak open and the sound of people’s boots thudding against the floor. D—- still looked at me. Our heads did not move further apart. The door from the mudroom opened and footsteps hit the stairs into the office where we sat.

Hey you two. Good conversation?

D—- leaned back in his chair. I exhaled my smoke. F—— looked radiant, like she’d performed. Like she’d laughed. She was so alive. She kissed D—- on the forehead and smiled.