The Eli Hour
Bathed in the Violet Glow
Now
He used every inch of willpower to not adjust his tie. He felt his throat constricting in anticipation, the stiffness of his suit making it hard to move gracefully. The man standing next to him was a stranger but his closest ally. They walked into the courtroom together, a duo thrown together out of necessity, desperation, and hope.
The room was nearly empty and small. Nothing like what they showed on TV. No onlookers, no jury, just a judge looking impatient in front of two wooden tables. Eli knew that there was a chance they would have an audience. He dreaded it. He hoped that by getting here early, he wouldn’t have to see them. He wouldn’t have to see the people he had disappointed for so long. He wouldn’t have to see him.
But of course, he would. That was the way these things went. After he sat beside his soft-spoken lawyer, he glanced at the other table. There he was. In a crisp Armani suit, looking as posed as ever. Confident. Arrogant even. Eli could swear he could smell his cologne from here. The way he filled a room and choked you with it, it was a wonder Eli had confused love with power. What he had with Nick wasn’t love. It was just a submission to a powerful man.
*
Then
Eli flinched as the china shattered at his feet. Rice and zucchini bits scattered with the debris, the cream-colored plates becoming nothing more than pieces on the tiled floor. He wanted to scream that those were special. That they were the wedding china, hand-picked from Barneys which could never be replaced now that the store had shut down. That they were the marriage of two people living as one family, eating dinner from beautiful plates, in a beautiful home.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Because when Nick got like this, fighting back only made things worse. The bruise on his left rib proved that. His tirades were better monitored and cautiously ridden out, like a rip tide. Take your eyes off the shoreline for too long and you were carried out to sea. Doomed to drown by your own fault.
“Why the fuck do you keep nagging me?”
Eli looked at his feet, covered in shards and stale rice. All he asked was for Nick to do the dishes. Eli had cooked, Nick should clean. It was an old-time agreement. He had asked nicely. But he forgot to say please. He forgot to ask if it would be okay. He forgot to make it seem like it was Nick’s idea. He always was forgetting these little things. It was all so hard to keep track of the triggers. There seemed to be more and more these days. Five years and so much had built upon the original handbook he created when he said, ‘I Do’.
“I’m-I’m sorry baby. I don’t mean to nag you at all. Why don’t I pour you another glass of wine while I clean this up?”
Nick’s chest heaved with loud breaths. He was tall and lean but still muscular. More muscular than Eli. “Fine. I’ll be in the living room.”
Eli immediately crunched on the destruction beneath his shoes and went to the fridge to retrieve a bottle. He quickly filled the empty glass on the dining table and carried it to his sulking husband on the couch. Eli rushed away without a word into the kitchen to clean up. He wished this was the first plate he swept into the trash. He sat back on his knees and let the hot tears pour, knowing that Nick wouldn’t be able see. Wouldn’t be able to call him a little bitch and a crybaby and all those horrible things he said when he was drunk. Eli let the tears steam on his flushed cheeks, and brushed all the shards, all the rice and vegetables into a dustpan. He let the wetness fall from his face as he emptied the dinner and his heart into the garbage, like so many nights before.
*
Now
Nick’s lawyer was standing, speaking directly to the judge. There was a stack of papers on the table, but he didn’t even glance down. He knew what he is saying, he knew what he wanted to say. There was a buzzing in Eli’s ears. He thinks it might be the florescent lights. They felt too bright, too hot. He stuck two fingers into his starched collar. His neck was damp from sweat.
He felt eyes on him. Eli shifted his gaze to the left and saw Nick looking at him. Smiling. No sneering. Why was he sneering? Then the buzzing suddenly stopped, and the voices became clear again.
“Obviously this is just a ploy for a larger alimony, your honor. My client makes approximately 20 times what the plaintiff makes. Who wouldn’t want a Tribeca penthouse?”
“Objection.”
Nick felt the stranger beside him rise from his chair. “My client has not stated the apartment as an asset request in the division of property.”
The solemn judge paused. “Sustained. Mr. Tallum, please maintain within the arguments predetermined from the original mediation.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Eli felt eyes all over him. He felt them crawling against his best suit like fire ants, making his skin burn and itch. He turned around briefly, afraid to look in the direction of Nick. He saw them in the back row, a quiet front on this battle he had been waging for years. His friends. Luke, Luna, Jeff, and Oliver. He told them not to come. He was embarrassed. But they came anyway. Eli locked eyes with the fifth body, seated next to Oliver. He felt a cool wash of calm come over him. All the irritation, anxiety, and fear drained slowly from his body. Eli remembered why he was going through this hell. He remembered what the reward was if he could just survive and come out the other side.
*
Then
“Do you have to fucking flirt right in front of me?”
Eli shrunk at the words, desperately trying to usher Nick into a quiet corner. Pretty much impossible on the rooftop in Brooklyn, packed with people, a DJ, and free-flowing margaritas.
“Please Nick, baby, I wasn’t. I just apologized for bumping into him. I wasn’t flirting, I swear.”
He watched as Nick angrily downed the last of his drink. He was the only person Eli knew who could drink a margarita aggressively. He shuddered internally when he remembered that it used to turn him on. Eli wasn’t sure how far Nick would take this. They were in a public place and their friends were here to witness. Sure, they’ve seen their fair share of Nick and Eli fights, but Nick was always careful to keep the violence and true malice for inside their private home. It seemed that this side of him was seeping into everyday life, appearing in public more and more without any warning. Eli was at his wits end stepping on eggshells 24/7.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eli watched Luke start to approach them. Nick felt it too, the idea of a witness becoming too much for him.
“Fuck this. I’m going home. I’ll see you later tonight.”
Before Eli had a moment to process, let alone react, Nick was weaving his way through the crowd and disappeared down the stairs. Luke was upon him before he could work up the energy to cry. He really didn’t want to get emotional surrounded by drunk strangers. Luke took one look at him and grabbed his hand, leading Eli away from the empty spot Nick left behind. Together they joined their group of friends and without a word, began to dance. They threw their heads back, swung their hips from side to side, ran their hands on any available body that was close enough to touch.
He was at a loss. A loss for words. A loss for excuses. A loss for the presence Nick held with him for so long. Eli started to snap. Right there on this Bushwick rooftop, the loud music filling the cooling summer air. The season was on the cusp of turning to autumn. Eli felt like he was on the cusp of turning too. Turning into what, he wasn’t sure. But there he was, high above the world he had existed in for so long, a bridge between him and what he had called home.
He felt them first, strong rough hands. First, they were on his hips, then they were circling around his waist. He smelled like sweat and something clean. Not the sharp, expensive cologne that Nick wore. Clean and subtle, but earthy and natural. It was intoxicating.
Eli turned to face the body that these hands belonged to. He drunkenly locked eyes with a beautiful man, sharp in the right places, a week’s worth of scruff on his jaw. Eli wanted to run his palms against it. He wanted to press further against him and kiss the richest lips he’d ever seen. But the ring on his left hand burned. It scalded him like a reminder and instead he took this man’s hand and dragged him away from the dance party happening in the middle of the apartment complex’s roof.
The guy followed without complaint, eager to be guided by Eli. His heart pounded in his chest, the tequila swimming in his ears. They stopped by the west-facing ledge, the chilling high-rises of Manhattan in the distance. Eli paused and took a deep breath, fully facing him now. He was nothing like Nick. Nick who was polished and waxed and reeked of money. Nick who was pristine and manicured and always put together. This guy wasn’t dirty but just earthy. He was natural and comfortable in his skin, a loose flannel over a fitted black tee. A rugged face, un-tamed wavy hair. He was honest and handsome and hot. And Eli was shocked that his immediate attraction was fueled by this need to know him. To lock this man in a room for hours on end and get him to spill his darkest secrets and possibly share his own. It was abrupt and sobering, Eli never had such a visceral initial reaction anyone like this before. Not even his husband. And this man hadn’t even spoken a word yet.
“I’m Eli.”
He leaned down to get closer to Eli’s ear, the speakers throbbing a loud bass beat around them.
“I’m Ethan.”
*
Now
When does the person you thought you knew inside and out become a stranger? Is there an exact moment that the switch flipped? Or all these little moments that happen over time that eventually add up to a stranger standing over you as you hold your ribs in cradled pain, full of fear. It’s like that analogy of the boiling frog. Put a pot of hot water on the stove and drop the frog in only to have it hop right out. Immediately it sensed the danger and left. But if the frog is put into the pot of tepid water and the boiling temperature is gradual, the frog doesn’t realize the danger until it’s too late. Then it’s cooked, boiled alive, and essentially by its own consent. No one is to blame but the frog.
Eli knew what that frog felt. That panic when the danger suddenly was drowning him, and he was too far gone to jump out. How did he let it get this far? How could have he not seen what was happening to him? But it just wasn’t that simple. Love and life and marriage and people weren’t frogs and pots of water. There were so many unknown variables.
The first time Nick hurt him; it was an accident. He had thrown a shoe out of frustration. A rough day at work. It hit Eli in the head, and they had laughed about it. Such a silly little accident.
The first time Eli felt forced to take Nick in him, he swallowed his tears. He told himself that it was just an angry fuck, not really about him, but about Nick releasing his work frustrations. And Eli wanted to make Nick happy. He had vowed to make him happy at their wedding, didn’t he?
The first time Nick made Eli bleed was from broken glass. He had thrown a wine bottle at the cabinet behind Eli. Eli had said something sassy. He had talked back about Nick’s work hours. The shards cut the arm that shielded Eli’s face. Nick apologized a few hours later. Even went down on him to make amends. There was barely a scar now.
The first time Eli had to hide a bruise was after their three-year anniversary. Nick had shoved him into the sideboard by the front door. Eli had angered him during their celebratory dinner, upset that Nick hadn’t gotten him a thoughtful gift. He didn’t think he made a big deal, but Nick was positive Eli had made a scene. Eli had embarrassed him. Eli made him angry. Eli didn’t move fast enough when unlocking the door. Eli was too clumsy to avoid falling into the sideboard. It was all Eli’s fault. Truly.
It all blurred together, the memories of the firsts. Because that’s what they were, firsts. The first of many. And soon Eli lost count. It all bottled up and spilled over, that day on the rooftop. Eli watched this man, this stranger, look at him the way Nick never did. Not even at their first meeting or during their first kiss or their first ‘I love you’. And that’s when Eli realized that it was time. Time for this accusation, the storm off, the inevitable tantrum that awaited him at home, to be the last.
*
Then
Eli watched the warm skies breathe the last piece of sunlight before painting the world in a hazy shade of periwinkle dusk. He let Ethan take his hand. He let him guide him away from his smiling friends and down the stairwell. He let him lead the way down the grimy, loveable streets of Bushwick and to a narrow green door. He let the words they shared during the sunset shadow them in the hallway, protecting them from hidden harm.
I want to kiss you.
Well, that’s good. I would like that.
But I can’t.
Why?
I’m married, but I don’t think I want to be.
Okay.
Is it though?
You don’t think or you know?
I know.
Are you unhappy or…?
I…I…he just doesn’t love me the way I need to be loved.
Okay.
But I don’t want to ruin your night.
You haven’t ruined anything. Would you like to go somewhere else?
Like where?
This totally isn’t a cheesy move, but I live pretty close to here.
Are you just trying to hook-up?
Yes and no.
At least you’re honest.
I’m thinking you are too.
Okay.
Okay?
Yeah, let’s go.
Eli let Ethan open the door with three locks. He let him lock two of them once the door closed. He didn’t let him turn on the lights. The apartment was bathed in a neon purple glow, radiating from lamps in another room.
“I’m a bit of a plant-dad.” Ethan shrugged bashfully.
Eli loved the warmth of the lamps, the vibration of light and heat in the air. He could see through the open window between the kitchen and living room a small collection of plants. It was like the sweetness of a greenhouse, soft and earthy.
He placed two hands on Ethan’s rough face. “It’s perfect.”
Ethan looked at him, really looked at him. His brown eyes radiating a plum hue. He had this halo of the light behind him, and Eli felt his breath give way.
“Can I ask how your husband doesn’t love you in the way you want to be loved?”
Slowly, Eli nodded. Ethan took Eli’s hands from his face and guided him to the couch. He sat beside him, but far enough to show respect to Eli’s comfort. It was all new to Eli. He wasn’t used to this kind of care. He wasn’t used to not giving all of himself for the comfort of someone else. He wasn’t used to being given anything in return.
*
Now
Eli walked away from him. Something he never thought he was capable of doing. He listened to the jargon; the fine print laid out for them. He heard his name in conjunction with Nick’s for the last time. He felt the invisible scissors of fate, snapping the thread of their shared life. And he still was able to stand. He was able to walk away from the sexy smile that turned into a sneer. He was able to breathe the air clear from the pretentious cologne that haunted his dreams. He was able to do the one thing he never thought he would do. He was able to do the one thing that Nick never though he could do. Eli walked away from Nick and never looked back. He didn’t need to. He saw the five people he was walking towards, and they looked much better than what was behind him.
*
Then
Eli stood slowly before Ethan and silently unbuttoned his shirt, focusing on his hands so that they wouldn’t tremble. He didn’t have liquid courage anymore. He needed just plain old courage. He felt Ethan’s eyes on him. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He slowly stripped away his shirt, placing it gently on the couch beside Ethan.
He held his breath, knowing that the violet glow of the lamps wouldn’t hide the deep purpled bruises on his torso. Some were sickly green, putrid yellow. Eli felt his nerves vibrate. It had been so long since another man saw him shirtless. He had been hiding ever since the bruises became frequent.
He felt Ethan stiffen and Eli closed his eyes. He let the warm lamps of synthetic sunlight wash over him. He let their vibrant haze seep into his skin, and pour out of his chest, his legs, his feet, his hands, his ears. He waited for the darkness of rejection and repulsion. He wanted to feel this light as long as he could before that came. He felt the rustle of movement and opened his eyes to Ethan perched on the edge of the couch before him. Eli gazed down in curiosity just as Ethan reached out his fingers inquisitively. Eli tensed. But the probing hands never came. Instead, Ethan leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Eli’s left rib. Right where a mottled reminder of the pain and hurt of the last five years imprinted on his skin. A ripple of warmth and kindness illuminated from that single kiss. And Eli tilted his head upwards, closing his eyes in quiet relief. He let Ethan kiss each bruise on his body, without a word spoken between them. He let the light soak into him and pulse in his blood. Eli let himself finally be loved the way he always wanted to be loved.
Eli’s Song
Bookish Quote
“He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest.” — W.H. Auden | Stop All The Clocks