Second Line by Gregory Ashe

Second Line by Gregory Ashe

Author:Gregory Ashe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodgkin and Blount
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


ELI (5)

“I’ll get the laundry started,” I said. It was probably a slightly less-than-believable statement, since I was currently lying on the sofa in nothing but a jock strap. “And then I’ve got to mop the kitchen.”

“I’m going to put out the mulch. And I need to finish the weed-eating on the side of the house.”

But lying on the floor in sleep shorts and his favorite Jacques Cousteau t-shirt—which featured a posterized profile of Jacques in his trademark red watch cap—Dag didn’t look much like a guy who was about to move mulch.

“Is moving mulch a sex thing?” I asked. “I’m only asking because it sounds like a sex thing. Like if I say, ‘I’m hitting the clubs tonight, and trust me, I am definitely going to move some mulch.’”

Lost in his phone, Dag didn’t respond.

“Dag.”

He scrolled.

“Dag.”

He scrolled some more.

“Dagobert!”

“What?”

I let the moment catch. Then I said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When he started to lift the phone up again, I said, “I love you so much.”

He wanted to look at his phone so badly. It took almost fifteen seconds before he laid it on his chest and said, “Ok.”

“Ok, what?”

“Ok, message received.”

“There’s no message. Well, except I love you. I love you so, so, so much.”

“Do you want to go on a walk?”

“Gross. It’s too hot.”

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

“I’m all sticky and fat.”

He propped his head up on one elbow. He had eyes the color of sandalwood. After a painful few seconds of trying not to make contact, I pulled a pillow over my face—leaving just enough room so I could peek out at him—and said, “Retracted.”

After a few more seconds, Dag asked, “Do you want to watch something together?”

“No, I told you: I’ve got to start the laundry and mop.”

“Do you want to finish that show we started the other day? The one with all those gay guys, and they tell everybody else what they’re doing wrong.”

“Well, first, that’s my favorite thing you’ve ever said. And second, I know you think the one who makes meals is pretty.”

“Pretty.” Dag snorted. “He chops up one avocado, and he thinks he’s Emeril.”

“Go move some mulch. Go find some pretty, naïve, unsuspecting twink, and then move his mulch all over the place.”

He made a face.

“Yeah, it sounds, uh, different when I use it in a sentence like that.”

“I’m getting the feeling that you want some attention. I’d like to give you that attention. Can you help me figure out how?”

I crushed the pillow down tighter until I couldn’t even peek out.

It felt like a long time before he said, “Ok,” and he sort of sighed, and the floorboards creaked as he got to his feet and moved out of the room.

We get one day a week, I thought. One day, tops, when we’re both home, and Dag doesn’t have a test to get ready for, or an unpaid internship, or a study group. Great job, Eli. Really great job.

I heard the sound of clothes falling into



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