EPIPHANY
Disclaimer: Yeah, like you read these things. < 18, I won't ask, you won't tell. I would tell you to leave, but you won't listen *N Sync, I don't know nothin' 'bout em or their sexuality. Fiction, people! FIC. TION. Chapter Titles are taken from lyrics from Jonathan Larson's Rent Not just a sex show! I'm one for true romance - looking for a quickie? Look elsewhere.
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One: Goodbye, Love
"Hey there! Looking for someone? You look kind of lost. Ha. Yeah, I noticed that; you passed by, like five times already. Well, who are you looking for? No, sorry, I don't know her. Maybe she's not here yet - people usually find each other right away here, so don't start panicking. I'm waiting for someone too, you know. Sit down, get comfortable. I'll tell you about him.
"Well, it's kind of a funny story. Hmmm? What was that? Oh, his name. James. His name is James. We met about 35 years ago. 2001. Well technically it was still 2000 but we had our first coherent conversation in 2001. Well, I'm confusing you, aren't I? Sorry, I just get all giddy when I talk about him. Anyway, where should I start? The beginning? Or how about a little before the beginning? You see, it was the first New Year's Eve of the new millennium. My boyfriend and I went to the Plaza to celebrate our two-year anniversary. That's where we met and it became a tradition to celebrate the coming New Year, watching the fireworks show from the hotel as we made out. I was in bliss that day, I remember. The book I was writing was halfway finished and everything in life for me at that moment was great. I was in a state of bliss. And just like a man, my boyfriend decided to pop my little bubble and send me crashing to reality.
"So, I guess that's it, huh?" I looked up at Deny with tears in my eyes. 'NO!' I screamed internally. 'You will NOT let him see you cry!' The tears didn't fall, barely. I just stood there, standing in the middle of the hotel room, staring at the person I was completely in love with. I stood there as he broke my heart. As I studied him, I realized that I didn't have to worry about him seeing me cry. Right now he seemed more interested studying the intricate design patterns of the bed covers. And he didn't seem to want to answer my question. Damn him. I thought, no, I KNEW he was different. I hate being wrong so many times.
Tearing my gaze away from him, I looked out at the night sky. The fireworks show would be starting in a couple of hours. We didn't get a good room this year. Third floor. I should have taken that as a sign of things to come. 'What a way to spend an anniversary' I thought bitterly. Thinking about the date, I began to tear up again. 'Say something, Travis; say anything.' Clearing my throat, hoping my voice didn't betray me, I spoke up. "Well as always, Deny, you have perfect timing. I mean, if you waited five hours, we would've had someone to kiss at midnight." After saying that, I realized something. My voice caught and I whispered "Well, at least I won't have anyone to kiss." I heard him sigh and he turned his head. I was right. I sank to the ground, unable to breathe. I left reality again, twice in one day, but this was far from the earlier bliss. I don't know how long I sat there; Deny's voice broke my trance.
"I guess I'll be going now." No answer. "I'm leaving my stuff - I'll be by tomorrow to pick it up." No answer. "Good bye, Travis." I finally looked up as I heard the door close. My tears, having no reason to be held back now, fell freely. Curling up into the fetal position, I cried myself to sleep.
An incredible pain in my eyes woke me up. I sat up groggily and noticed my right eye couldn't open. Peering at the room with my left, I realized that everything was a blur. "Shit." Crying yourself to sleep while wearing your contacts was not intelligent, Travis. The left must have washed out as I slept, and the right glued my eye shut. Wearily, I got up and headed for the bathroom. After about five minutes of drowning my face in saline, I finally got the lens out. Throwing the useless thing in the toilet, I reached for my glasses and gazed at myself. Blood shot eyes, whether from the crying or the lens, I didn't know. Probably both. Running rose with dried up phlegm filling the divot between my nose and mouth. The right side of my face red and dimpled from lying on the carpeted floor. Sighing wearily, I got in the shower to clean up.
As the hot water ran down my body, I began to feel better. Yeah, I still hurt; I mean it was only an hour since I was dumped, but wasn't feeling so bad. The shower massaged the tense muscles in my back and I let out a sigh. If Deny wanted to run away from this then that was his problem. Looking down at my body, I couldn't see what the problem was. 5'11", 150lbs., swimmers' build. Blond hair, steely gray eyes. Very little body hair. I looked good, God damn it! So what was the problem? Why couldn't I find a lasting relationship? Was it my attitude? I did tend to brood on things, obsessed on insignificant matters. What did Deny call me? Motherly. And I just laughed when he said it. Well, I wasn't going to brood on this tonight. Looking at my watch, I realized it was only 8:30. Plenty of time to go out, have fun. Rachel. She was at Times Square. Plenty of time to find her and celebrate the New Year. I quickly got out of the shower and started to get dressed.
'Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . why is the elevator going up?' Add unable to think clearly when I'm in a hurry to my list of faults. It was almost nine by the time I got ready. I ran to the elevators, and waited an unusually long time for it to stop. When it did, it was filled with room service carts and hotel staff. They looked at me apologetically. "Sorry, sir, the service elevator is being fixed."
I sighed. "That's alright. I'll catch the next one." What a year-end it is. First I break up, then decide to go to Times Square, something I swore I would never do, and now elevator problems. Just as I was heading for the stairs, the elevator doors opened. I ran in without looking and hit the button for the lobby. The doors closed and I soon realized I was heading up. Damn it all. Why did the hotel staff have to go on strike now! Looking up when I hear the elevator ding, I realized we reached the eighteenth floor. Penthouse level. Some stuck up philanthropist will get on who will look down on me in disdain. So what else is new? The doors slide open and I looked up. A young man, my height, bleach blond, spiky hair in a Hugo Boss suit stood there holding a brown paper bag. Green eyes. Deep emerald pools looked at me in confusion. 'OK, Travis, you just broke up with your boyfriend, you're not ready to commit, and you don't believe in empty sex so STOP DROOLING!!!' With my inner voice screaming at me, I awoke from the trace and smiled sheepishly at the man, still waiting outside the elevator, with an apprehensive look on his face. He glanced at his watch, swore silently and stepped in. The elevator started moving down, finally, with him on one side and me on the other. The silence was unnerving, and I couldn't wait for this ride to be over. Alas, somewhere between the tenth and ninth floors, we stopped. The lights went out and came back on, flickering. Damn elevators. And this was a four star hotel! Oh well, I didn't care about Times Square, anyway. Rachel wasn't expecting me, so I wouldn't be missed. Too bad I couldn't say the same for my new friend.
He started to hit all the buttons, to no avail. Looking at me, he spoke hesitantly, his deep voice astonishing me. I would never have thought his voice was so deep. "I heard somewhere that if we jump, the elevator will think there's no one here and it will move down." I started to laugh. He looked at me, shocked I would laugh at him. "What?"
Still chuckling to myself, I asked him "Let me guess, 'You've Got Mail,' right?" He slowly nodded his head. "Well, did it work in the movie?"
He stood there speechless for a second, a confused look on his face. Then, I guess because it was in an uncomfortable situation and because I embarrassed the hell out of him, he snapped at me. "Well, at least I'm making suggestions! Why don't you come up with something!"
I looked at the man calmly. So immature. Sighing, I looked at him and spoke, "there's nothing we can do. We'll just have to call the front desk, let them know our situation, and wait for them to get us out." After saying this, I proceeded to call the front desk. At least the emergency phone was working. My friend, however, sank to the floor, head in his hands. I hung up with the desk and offered my hand to him. He looked at it like it was a bomb. Pretending not to notice his reaction to me, a said "Hi, I'm Travis Cook." No reply. "And you are . . .?" I prompted.
I was not expecting his scornful reaction and the flash of anger in his eyes. "Like you don't know. I bet you're loving every minute of this, aren't you?"
Taking a step back, I looked at him, startled. "Excuse me? Why would I want to spend New Year's Eve with a spoiled little brat like you? And why the hell should I know who you are! God what a fucking little arrogant prick!" I stormed back to my side of the elevator, sat on the floor and scowled. My famous death look. When I get mad, I usually don't yell, but I have a look that terrified everyone in its gaze. And right now, I had my sights set on the blond, who looked extremely nervous. Before he could say anything, a phone started ringing. Reaching into his coat pocket, he grabbed his cell phone.
"Hello?. . .Justin, hi. . .well, you'll never guess it but I'm still at the hotel." He pulled the phone away from his ear and a person screaming on the other line could be heard. "Justin, Justin, JUSTIN! I'm stuck in the fucking elevator, alright?. . .No, I don't know when they'll be letting us out. . .What do you want me to do? Use my special powers and teleport there?. . .God, Justin, you are such a baby! I'll be there if the elevator starts to move again. If not, then oh well!" He shut the phone off and reached for the bag. Bringing out a bottle of tequila, he took a gulp and looked at me. I sat there, glaring at him.
I could barely hear him when he spoke. "You really don't know who I am, do you?" I gave him another irritated look. Can one man be so dense and conceited? The company I find myself in. "OK, stupid question. Sorry." He took another drink from the bottle and started to talk again. "I just thought that you knew who I was. . .I mean, you were going up to my floor and the look you gave me at first. . .but never mind." He extended his hand. "James. I'm James. Nice to meet you, Travis." I looked skeptically at his hand, but grabbed it anyway. Offering me a drink, which I declined, he spoke up again. "So, why were you in the elevator?"
"I was in a rush and didn't notice which direction the arrow was pointing. I was running late, and I wanted to get to Times Square, but I guess that's a mute point, now, right?" I looked up and noticed him smiling. Such a great smile, even though it's alcohol induced. Half the bottle was gone.
"So, you were going to the MTV party, too?" he asked.
"No, just Times Square. Is that where you were going - the MTV party?"
And so our conversation continued. As the night wore on, we chatted, talking about random less nothings about our past. I found out he was from Florida and he realized I lived in the city, just taking a vacation from reality. And James continued to get drunk. By the time he passed out, he drank three-quarters of the bottle. I smiled to myself. Once you got pass the hostile outer shell, James was a pretty decent guy. A guy who was dead to the world and in a alcoholic state of limbo.
About an hour after James passed out, the elevator started to move again. Down. I hit the three and it stopped at my floor. I don't know, there was something inside me saying it was wrong for me to leave him lying on the floor of the elevator. I picked him up and took him to my room. Opening the door with a little difficultly, I stumbled into the hotel room and dropped James onto the couch. Giving him the comforter, I got ready for bed. slipping into the bed, I glanced at my watch. 2:05a.m. Sighing to myself, I took my glasses off and started to drift into oblivion. The last thought coming to my mind was why James thought I knew him.
Coming soon:
Two: When All The Scars Of The Nevers And Maybes Die