Chris is not having a good day. His night shift job ends in a bloody nose (for someone else), it's freezing cold in Chicago, and his best friend of almost twenty years won't return his phone calls. When he heads to the park for some release in the cruising area, he's not expecting to find Lorne: an attractive older investment banker with a unique perspective on the New Year’s.
How we spend New Year’s Day is how we spend the rest of the year, according to Lorne, and in attempt to keep both of their good times going, Lorne invites Chris out for a day of fun and surprises -- both mundane and erotic.
Will their mutual attraction and affinity last beyond a day, or is Lorne right, and will this stunning afternoon and evening become something much stronger as the New Year goes on?
We walked to his car, dropped the books in the backseat, and then we were at the concert. The lights on the streets glowed in so many different colors, and seemed to be made that much brighter by the lower temperatures during the day causing the snow to freeze against them. City workers had salted the pathways, so it was safe to walk around -- but the trees, the lights, and so much of the park equipment was covered in a thin layer of ice. It seemed like we were underwater, then like we were in another world, forgotten about, discovering it for the first time.
We took the back pathway to the concert area, walking through the dense shrubbery where I'd first caught sight of him, and him of me, and I couldn't believe it was less than twenty four hours ago. I couldn't believe this was one single day. At first I thought of books I'd read in school and on my own that took place in one single day -- Virginia Woolf's, Mrs. Dalloway being a favorite -- and then I just looked at Lorne. His dark hair and eyes were stunning under the lights, cascading off of them and displaying his countenance in wonder.
"I've ... had fun," I said.
"Good," he said simply and met my gaze with a smile. "Me too."
There was so much more contained in our statements. Indeed, according to his logic, there was an entire year packed into one day. But we said nothing else aloud, only held hands tighter.
We soon came up to the speakers that blasted out classical music renditions of the Christmas songs, intermixed with “Auld Lang Syne” and a few other tracks I didn't know. When a clarinet sounded, and Lorne squeezed my hand extra hard, I asked what song it was.
"'Rhapsody in Blue' by George Gershwin," he said. "I didn't think it was exactly a Christmas song. But I love it."
The song went on and on for what felt like a long time, an entire episode of an animated television show on Netflix. Lorne seemed to know all the parts, like they were words -- except there were no words -- it was just music. When it finally concluded, he smiled widely. "Ah, what a good omen."
I could only nod and agree. We toured the rest of the light display, intermingling with other couples hand-in-hand on dates, and small families with two or three kids. No one batted an eye at us, the two gays holding hands and being moved by everything around them. After “Rhapsody in Blue,” there was another song that wasn't Christmas oriented, but I knew it. I could anticipate the movements, the sounds of horns, and it thrilled me deep down.
"What is this?" I asked.
"I was hoping you'd know," he said. "You seemed to like it."
"I do. I think it's from ..." I closed my eyes, trying to remember a night when Morgan and I had gotten high. We had just gone away to college and were visiting one another's campuses. I was at his dorm room and his roommate had pot brownies. We ate one, thought nothing of it until hours later we were skimming through TV channels in the common room and came across Fantasia on TV. We watched it in awe for three hours, since it was broken up with commercials that were equally enchanting.
"This song," I said, suddenly remembering through the flamingos that animated the sequence and that we'd giggled at on the screen. "It's from Fantasia. The new one, not the old one."
"Ah. Okay. I'll make sure to watch it alter, just so I can get its name. I like it a lot."
"Me too." I squeezed his hand. He reached out and kissed me. Softly, appropriately given where we were, but it was nice. It made remembering Morgan, and the rest of that weekend we'd spent together, a lot easier to handle.
I ended up telling him about it, too. Because we were here, it was a beautiful night, and why not? After we'd gotten high, his roommate had wanted to let off firecrackers. So we'd gone out in his jeep, holding some of them out the window, and letting them burst in our hands. "It was in an area where there was construction, so no one was at the houses. And they were more like roman candles than actual fireworks. It was pretty, not dangerous. I'm not making it sound right. I'm --"
"No, it's good. I get it. You got to hold something in your hand that exploded and it hurt no one." He grinned under the lights and understood everything I said perfectly. "Sort of like today, tonight. I feel powerful thinking I can control the rest of the year. That if I trade stocks wearing my red socks, it's good. I'm good. The world is good. It's magical thinking at its finest, but it also reminds me of my kids. They're magical thinkers, too."
"So are drug addicts," I said. "Most people in the ER, the lab, and at the hotel."
"I can see that."
No, you can't. I haven't told you all that I want to tell you, I thought, but didn't say.
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