The Curse of Flight

by R. G. Hendrickson

  “We’re not getting back together.”

  Steve visibly sunk. “If that’s the way it’s got to be, then let me give you this before you go. I want to. I should have. I wish I had.” The flowers wilted on the table.

  This surprised Josh so much that he didn’t know what to say. The curse drew him in. It was time. He rose to Steve, took his hand, and led him to bed.

  Without delay or request, Steve undressed and lay his belly on the sheet. Josh, still clothed, sat beside and wondered what to make of this. The tension in Steve’s back and buttocks was palpable before Josh’s hand appraised it. He gently massaged Steve’s shoulders and the clenched cheeks. Tight and hard to touch, this was going to take a while.

  Josh’s tender caress was to no avail. His hands only tensed Steve further. This wasn’t going to work.

  Steve’s body spoke. The insidious nature of fear revealed itself. Its sinewy fingers clutched at his flesh. Though perhaps unaware to him and against his will, the muscles along his spine arched rigid, which did nothing to protect him from the perceived threat nor to prevent it. To no purpose, he reacted as under attack. The muscles turned to knots and tired. They twitched, and Steve sighed with fatigue.

  It was a lesson for Josh. On the trapeze tonight, this mustn’t happen to him. He would observe every tension and release it, any fear wherever he found it in himself, down to the blood and the bone.

  He pinched Steve’s butt. “You’re not ready. Another time maybe.” He could have made it happen now, he supposed. If it were in him to do so. Though angry, he still loved Steve, and didn’t want to hurt him.

  The tightness melted before Steve rolled on his back. He gave a look of surprise. A puff of air escaped his throat, relief. Peace came over his face as he lay there. Eyes looked up like they’d witnessed a miracle, such adoration and gratitude.

  His hand reached to Josh’s lips and touched them. He sat up beside Josh, face to face. A warm breath brushed Josh’s cheek. A second puff turned to words. “Can I do something else for you? What do you want?”

  The buttons on Josh’s shirt came undone one by one with Steve’s nimble fingers. The belt buckle opened. Pants unzipped. Steve’s lips on his chest made Josh fall back on the bed, and they took a slow path down his chest and belly.

  Josh’s balls slipped in Steve’s mouth. More would follow. Many nights came back to Josh as his chest heaved. Steve glanced across it at Josh, who met his eyes as Steve spoke. “We can do this.” And Steve did.

  Time slowed. The end approached. A telephone rang, the land line. “Ignore it.” Josh reserved that number for those to whom he never intended to speak. They could leave a message. It wouldn’t matter.

  The ringing stopped. The voicemail greeting played. Josh was close to losing himself in the pleasure. The caller’s voice jarred. “Sorry, to bother you, Josh. It’s Cathy from Marketing. One of the charities wants a picture tonight. Can you stay after the show?”

  Steve choked and sat up. Josh’s eyes sheltered themselves from Steve’s gaze. He knew.

  “It’s Tuesday. You have a show?”

  “It’s a benefit. They do it once a year.”

  “What about the curse?”

  “Maybe it isn’t real. I’ve been afraid for nothing. I’ll be free of it.”

  “What if it is? What if you’re not ready?”

  “Then I’ll be free.”

  “You can’t do this. You don’t have to. Not for me.”

  How presumptuous. “It’s not. It’s for me.” He was done with Steve.

  “You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t. Not anymore.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “I don’t need you. You can’t stop me. I can do it alone.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Then help me.” Josh grasped himself and stroked.

  An arm slid beneath his neck. Steve supported his head and stared in his eyes. Lips pressed against his. He tasted salt. Tears, not his own, but Steve’s wet his face and found their way to the tongue. Across Josh’s chest, semen spattered. The stuff of life, or was it a death sentence?

  Chapter 47

  Steve waited in the lobby. They wouldn’t let him backstage, which was below ground in this theater-in-the-round. He couldn’t be there. Something about the insurance, they’d said. He sat on a bench. His hands held his head, propped up with elbows on knees.

  This was his fault. He knew it. If he’d been more accepting, complained less, more understanding, Josh wouldn’t be doing this. It was all Steve’s own fault.

  The usher’s high-heeled shoes stepped over to him. Steve’s eyes followed the nylon stocking up to the skirt, the blouse, and the matronly face.

  “The show’s beginning, sir,” she said.

  “I know. Thanks.”

  “Can I help you find your seat?”

  “It’s okay. I know where it is.” The best ticket he could get at this late date was in the back. He wanted to see Josh but couldn’t bring himself to go in. At the stage door, he’d clung to their kiss. It stung his lips. It wasn’t the last. It couldn’t be.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” she asked.

  He must have looked upset or sick or something. “No, I’m fine.” The choice tore him apart. It would kill him if he saw Josh fall, and if he wasn’t there for Josh when it happened, Steve would die too.

  She walked away. He put his head back in his hands. The program on the floor showed Josh in the air.

  Applause came from within. Josh was going to make it. Steve believed, struggled hard. This was the only way. It wasn’t right to think otherwise. It wasn’t real. The fear was a fantasy, a fiction. But why did he feel it?

  Music rose and clapping subsided. Josh’s act was first. Steve pictured it. From the platform, Josh grasped the trapeze and stepped off. The ropes suspended him. He fell along their arc as strong fists held the bar.

  Feet lifted forward at the top. Josh told him the secret. The higher his legs, the faster the fall and further the height on the other side. He shared the mystery of momentum.

  Josh maneuvered to a standing position, feet on the bar. Arms wrapped in the ropes. He lifted himself. Feet free in the air, legs extended in front of him.

  Back on the bar, he straddled it. The music surged. The audience cheered.

  Hanging by one knee, he swung. Arms outstretched. He gestured to the fans his appreciation, reached to touch them, lifted their spirits. Those who dare to fly, free us all.

  Steve flashed back to their time that afternoon. He lay on his belly and waited for Josh to do it. Relieved when it didn’t happen, he hadn’t questioned it. Now he wished he had. If too late, he would always regret it. Somewhere inside him, a soft spot opened.

  A gasp from the audience, was it the end? Applause. Josh landed on the platform. Steve’s breath escaped. The first act completed, one more to go.

  The time between was brutal. He paced the lobby floor. Afraid he wouldn’t know when Josh’s second act began, he went to the auditorium door.

  That usher greeted him. “May I see your ticket?”

  He patted his pockets. It was somewhere. He probed every hiding place and searched his wallet. Damn. He’d lost it. Why was he always such a mess?

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s a full house. I won’t know where to put you.”

  “I can stand in the back.”

  “I suppose that’s okay.” She pulled aside the black curtain. On stage, Josh climbed the ladder.

  Chapter 48

  Josh climbed the ladder and scanned the audience. The stage lights shined in his eyes and blinded him. He hoped to see Steve but stopped looking. His focus mustn’t falter.

  The fear fell away in the first act. Confident for the finale, he surveyed his body for tension and his mind for lingering trepidation. A small knot in his shoulder twinged. He held onto the rope with one hand and stretched the free arm until limber. There was time before his cue. The tightness loosened.

&n
bsp; He could succeed unless the curse were real. Reaching the platform, he climbed up on it and looked down. Bright-hued dancers and fanciful clowns paraded the hard stage floor. If the curse were real, it would send him there. Sooner or later, it might as well be sooner. But that fate wasn’t meant for him. Curses didn’t exist, except in the mind of a victim and those who would make him one.

  He looked up at the batten. The crew checked the rigging before the show. No chance of a mishap with the ropes like before. The day the back-up line snapped, it tangled in the gears as the platform lowered. A reasonable explanation, he seldom wore the safety harness, except when practicing new feats, not today. The defect remained undetected until the psychiatrist’s test. But he’d flown the main trapeze a thousand times without incident. If a rope broke tonight, it truly was the curse, and there was nothing he could do.

  With that resignation and acceptance, he surrendered to fate, unafraid. If he fell, he wouldn’t fall from fear. The curse would have to knock him down, and he was ready to die fighting.

  Music rang out his cue. All as it should be, the proper score. He lifted the bar and flew. With gravity’s familiar pull on his wrists, he hung by his hands. The ropes tugged at his arms and curtailed his fall to a curve, faster until the bottom, then slowing to the top. All was as it should be.

  He flowed through the routine, pulled himself up, and stood on the bar. His arms wrapped in the ropes and lifted his feet in the air. Then back down to his knees, he straddled, hung by one leg, then two. Near the end, the platform apparatus lowered. He looked down at where he’d started and where he must return. A rope hung above the deck. When it was time to let go and fly, he must reach that rope and grasp it, then slide to the platform below where he’d begun.

  He let loose. The bar fell back. Free in the air, the music took a new tone. He glided toward the rope and the deck, but something wasn’t right. Time slowed as in a crisis. It skipped some points on the continuum and fell between the seconds. In ever smaller increments, bottomless, it passed in always slimmer slices, almost to a standstill. Strange music blared, and he reached out blindly. When it stopped, he grabbed the rope and slid down. It was done, a new world.

  The music returned to normal, and the audience cheered. He was free, and he bowed. The curse was a fraud, a lie made true by believing. It never controlled him, but he let it.

  Down the ladder, he raced off stage. To the dressing room, so excited, he didn’t know what to do first. The phone dinged. He picked it up. A message from Steve, who waited at the stage door. The text finished with the words I love you. Josh’s heart hesitated.

  An email notification caught Josh’s eye. From the professor, they found something. The mystery word, it showed up in an ancient writing with context well defined. It meant what one might call a virgin. The puzzle solved, he who spares the virgin, breaks the curse. This was the inscription.

  It gave him pause as he pondered the meaning. Steve came to mind and their recent time together. Still a virgin in one respect, Steve’s expression flashed back, relief and gratitude, spared something for which he wasn’t ready. Maybe the curse was real after all, and Josh’s compassion had broken it.

  Clowns rushed by. Towels snapped. Dancers huffed. One way or another, by courage or an act of kindness, with a higher love, he’d broken the curse. He broke the curse!

  His heart warmed. Feelings overwhelmed him. They flowed out of nowhere like a rogue wave. Set free, he could hold them back no longer. His body ached for Steve. Josh didn’t intend this to happen, but he loved him. He always had, and now he understood he always would.

  No time to change from his costume, he raced to the stage door and out in the hall, Steve’s smile greeted him. He flew to an embrace. Steve caught him and held tight. They kissed. The photographers flashed bright lights in Josh’s eyes, and over Steve’s shoulder, the women from the charities blushed.

  When he wiggled free from Steve, Josh fell to a knee. He grabbed Steve’s hand and kissed it.

  Steve’s smile doubled. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Josh slipped the old ring from his right hand. “Will you marry me?”

  Steve winked. “Under one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Josh switched knees. The floor was hard.

  Steve beamed. “I’m the pretty one.”

  It was from that movie. He’d seen it since Steve first mentioned it. “Yes, you’re my pretty one.” He slipped the ring on Steve’s left hand. It fit perfect on the pinky.

  Chapter 49

  Josh signed in at the front desk. He smiled at her, and the attendant said hello. Steve stood too close to him and fidgeted, afraid of the elderly infirm as Josh had learned. This was a stretch for Steve. It was nice he came along. Not until Josh’s second request had he agreed, but still, it was nice.

  Steve’s hand warmed his. Josh tugged on it. Steve trailed behind. The regulars lined against the rail. Wheelchairs creaked. The friendly woman raised her wrinkled hand and eyes twinkled. Josh smiled and said hello to her. Steve’s grip tightened.

  At his uncle’s door, he knocked. It was closed, not ajar as usual of late. He knocked again. The old man wouldn’t mind waking.

  A faint voice passed through. “Who’s there?”

  Josh cracked the door. “It’s me. I brought someone for you to meet.”

  “Come in.”

  “Uncle, this is Steve.”

  “Hello, Mr. Dalenzo.” Steve didn’t extend a hand. “It’s nice meeting you.”

  Neither did the old man offer a shake. “Hello, young fellow. Call me Alfonso, or you can call me Uncle. You’re very handsome.”

  Josh caught Steve’s awkward glance and smiled. “Yes, he is.”

  “I’ve always preferred women myself, but I can understand what you see in him.”

  “He’s more than handsome.”

  “Yes, of course, he is, or you wouldn’t love him, nor he you.”

  “Uncle, we broke it. The curse, we broke it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Josh put his arm around Steve’s waist. “We were together on a day I flew. I’m still here. I didn’t fall. We broke the curse.”

  “What curse?”

  “Don’t pretend. You know. I didn’t fall when I should have. We made love.”

  “You think what happened to you never happened to anyone else?”

  “But they fell.”

  “They did, and so should have I.” Alfonso slapped his good arm on the bed. “What spared me, I don’t know.”

  “Then the curse was a lie?”

  “A curse? What are you talking about?”

  “You know. Don’t pretend.” His uncle was so stubborn.

  Alfonso got a far-away look. “Curse or no curse, the trapeze is a dangerous thing, and so is love. This will never change. I’ve known both, loved and flown. Look at me now. Not that I wouldn’t do it again.” The old man closed his eyes.

  “He’s flying.” Josh held Steve’s waist tight.

  The attendant, Christina, came in with a pill in a little cup. “Mr. Dalenzo?” When she couldn’t wake him, she put her finger to his neck. “He’s still here.”

  “Has he talked any more about the curse?” Josh asked.

  “No. Did he? What curse?” She put the little cup on the table.

  “You know. What you said in the lobby a few months ago. You were worried about him.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember that.” She gently shook her patient. “He’s hardly spoken at all for so long.”

  “You were concerned about dementia.”

  “If I was, I shouldn’t have discussed it with you. He never signed a proxy. I can’t release his records.” Unable to wake him, she picked up the little cup and left the room.

  She’d forgotten like it never happened. Had he imagined it? She’d made notes in a folder, or had the ink faded like her memory? He would never know. The file was sealed.

  He tightened his grip around Steve’s waist and held onto the belt b
uckle as Steve’s hand fidgeted above the navel.

  “What about you?” Josh asked. “You haven’t forgotten. Have you?”

  “Forgot what?” Steve stared vacantly.

  “The curse.”

  “Oh, let it go. It wasn’t real.” Steve’s fingertip disappeared inside his belly button. “Just a silly superstition.”

  The ring shone on Steve’s little finger and lit a memory for Josh, the day he flew in the curse’s face. Steve had tried to stop him. In tears, Steve’s fears surpassed Josh’s own then, and now it was just a superstition.

  Fear of the curse had fallen from Steve’s memory. Perhaps when they broke it, it crumbled away. Josh hadn’t yet forgotten it himself, he still remembered every terrible detail, unless he’d imagined it.

  Mike wouldn’t remember. He was too busy with Bruce to think about anything else. Josh hardly saw them anymore.

  And Genie, who knew everything, would she recall the curse? Having never seemed to take it very seriously, her focus likely remained on Steve and his problem, which, thankfully, had resolved itself for Josh, albeit, with lots of patience and handholding. They knew for sure now. It wasn’t Steve’s thing, but that was okay. Their love had evolved. The mechanics no longer took on so much importance to either one of them.

  Dr. Brinkwater surely would remember. He’d described the curse in those forms before the first appointment, unless it got misfiled. If he saw her again, they might talk about more mundane things, like the losses in his life, and how these made him shy away from love, afraid of losing it again.

  His uncle stirred and drew in air. His mouth agape, a little breath escaped. While with it as if from nowhere, a melodious whimper drifted out and faintly hinted at that old circus tune, the classic one from Josh’s youth.

  The music sounded anew with whimsy and romance as it flew from the room. It spoke to Josh. He was free. The curse possessed no power over him. He would fly for as long as he could, live and love fearless until the day that he should fall.

  THE END