A Winter in Rome

by Francis Gideon

  "Ad Astra," Sybil said. "It's Latin for To the Stars."

  "Really now?" Rebecca said. "I like it. And someone will want a nice little space picture inside their living rooms. You'll probably sell it right away. Aren't you glad?"

  "You know it's never really been about the money."

  "It's about something though," she countered, still smirking at both of us. "And whatever that is, I'll take it. Just sign here, my good friend."

  Rebecca disappeared into the kitchen for Alan to sign whatever paperwork she had. I was the only one left in the living area now with the painting itself. I didn't want to let it go, as foolish as that was. I had watched Alan paint things and then watch them disappear the same day. What did this piece matter?

  When Rebecca came back into living area, she held out a large white bag the painting would be transferred in. "You guys are really lucky I have my van today. We're going to set this up quickly, so we won't spoil your morning."

  "Do you know?" I asked.

  She cocked her head and then nodded. "Sweetheart, I could see it on all of your faces."

  "And that's okay with you?"

  "Why would I care? I'm happy you're all happy. It's not as if you're harming me."

  I nodded, relieved that we weren't trying to keep our new relationship a secret. In the same way Sybil had been there for me as a lifeline when I started to date Alan, I supposed Rebecca now acted as our lifeline, our connection to the world. I felt my body relax, and even as Rebecca prepared her bag for travel.

  "Do you see it?" she asked after a moment.

  "See what?"

  "The hidden image Alan's put into the painting."

  "What?"

  "If there's anything I know for sure about him," she stated with a nostalgic glance back at Alan, then to the painting again, "it's his love affair with Wassily Kandinsky."

  "Wait, really? All he ever talks about is the Renaissance period—Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel. And maybe Patti Smith," I added.

  "Well, yes, but that's where he's settled. His beginnings are in Kandinsky. There's this famous story about Kandinsky being stuck on a painting. He left it on its easel to go for a walk, and one of his maids came in to clean his room. She accidentally knocked it off its place, and since it was an abstract piece and he hadn't signed his name yet, this poor maid had no idea how to put the painting back. She did the best she could, but as it turned out, the painting was upside down. When Kandinsky came back, though, he realized that was how everything should have been. That was the right way to see."

  As Rebecca talked, her hands gripped the edge of Alan's painting. She flipped it to its side, then upside down, before another rotation turned up what she needed. She settled the work back down and smiled. "There. Alan's always so transparent."

  "What? I don't see it."

  Rebecca tapped me on the shoulder as I leaned in further. "Take your time, then. The show isn't for day or so. I can pick it up whenever you're ready. Enjoy it while you can, because this is going to make a hell of a sale."

  As she walked away, I finally saw what she had been referring to. It was us—we were in the painting. Hidden in constellations and upside down. But the line of stars around one orb of colour formed a nose, lips, and faces staring at one another. The brush strokes made it perfectly clear—so long as you knew where to look. We were an odd shape in the sky, an odd pattern that could hide in plain sight. I imagined the family that would buy this piece; they would hang it in their living rooms and be none the wiser that we were there. I knew that was how most of the real world would see us, especially Sybil now, save for a handful of good people. And those good people, who knew the right way to tilt their heads, were so important.

  I glanced back to see Sybil and Alan talking in animated terms to Rebecca in the kitchen. Ashleigh poured coffee out of the French press, finding milk and sugar, then bringing people their coffee. When she looked up, she nodded to me—then her eyes caught the new image in the painting. She looked back at Sybil and Alan, and her mind seemed to click as she put it together.

  I wanted for the criticism, the weird questions, but Ashleigh just shrugged. She gave Rebecca her drink, along with Alan and Sybil, and then wandered over to me.

  "I don't know how you take your coffee," Ashleigh said. "With sugar or milk or black."

  "Usually both," I said, taking the drink from her with a smile. "But black is fine. Thank you."

  Chapter Nine

  The next time I was at work, I got pulled in for a double shift. I should have been at home, having dinner with Alan and Sybil, but I knew the money would come in handy. I needed to replace the air conditioner in my car, since the summer heat had sprung up out of nowhere and I didn't exactly want to stew in my own sweat. I had called to tell Alan I wouldn't be around, and though there was a definite sad tone in his voice, I also heard Sybil in the background.

  "We'll miss you," Alan said. "And I'll save you dinner."

  Now, on my second-to-last break before it was all done, I didn't want to look at my phone. I usually cherished the messages they sent, but I felt more distant than I ever had been. I walked around the back corner of the café, near the parking lot, and appreciated the temperature drop from earlier that day. On every corner from where I stood, I spotted posters for Pride. I used to think it was good that Toronto was so open. But even in the queer community—not that Pride was exactly a queer community—there was still resistance. They wouldn't accept Sybil for being herself, trans or not, and they definitely had a hard time with all three of us.

  But that's not exactly why I'm upset, I told myself. With a sigh, I turned towards my phone again and looked at the texts they sent me. In between shots of dinner and Alan saying he loved me, there was an image of different coloured handprints on a canvas, a small one for Sybil and larger ones of Alan. We are waiting for you to add the rest. Sybil wrote. Don't you think it's nice? I wanna hang it in my window at my place, so I can have something of us here.

  How could those two love me, when I wasn't nearly as creative? I texted Sybil back something nice and sweet, so hopefully she didn't suspect anything. I thought I was found out when my phone buzzed again, but this time it was Rebecca.

  Your show is almost ready, she said. I have everything hanging and the art space is perfect. We're sharing the room with some queer art place, but hey, I figured that would be perfect!

  It's not my painting, I responded. I have no discernible talents.

  Oh, please. Cheer up and just come out to the show, okay? Stop thinking you're the centre of the world.

  I laughed. That's the problem, I wanted to tell Becca. I wasn't the centre of the world anymore. I was sharing it, and missing it, and like a child, I was upset.

  There will be free food, Rebecca added. Just come for an hour. It will be fun.

  Sure, I responded, not knowing if it was a lie or not. I'll see you later, then.

  The rest of my break was quiet—no more texts coming in from anyone. I stared at my hands for a long time, wondering what my future could really hold, before I went back to work.

  *~*~*

  When I came home, Sybil and Alan were in the kitchen drinking old coffee warmed up in the microwave. Sybil was reading, like always, and Alan still had paint under his nails; I could see the mix-matched blue and black on his large fingers from where I stood. The handprint canvas they wanted me to contribute to was leaning against the wall where the corkboard was, drying and leaving the air filled with the waxy scent of acrylic. Blue, black, yellow, and green had been used so far. I wondered if that meant I was red and purple. Or maybe silver? I didn't ask, merely took off shoes by the door and headed into the kitchen.

  "Hey," Sybil called out. "How was work?"

  "Same as ever."

  Alan got up from his seat and slid an arm around me, kissing my cheek before he walked by. "I hear you. I've been grading papers for art history."

  "Oh?" I said. I gathered old coffee from the counter, added sugar and milk. I sat next to
Sybil on a stool. She reached over and touched my knee by way of another greeting. This close now, I could see the flush on both of their cheeks. I felt a shiver of fingers over my neck and wished I had been there. I wanted to have been a part of it. But I swallowed my pride down with cold coffee.

  "Get this," Alan scoffed as he sat back down. "Some student mixed up the Renaissance with the Romantic period. Completely different!"

  "They're trying," Sybil said. "We need to make mistakes to learn."

  "I know…I should stop taking their errors personally." Alan shoved the stack of papers away and regarded me again from across the table. "You see the painting?"

  "I did. It's drying now."

  "You should add to it."

  "Maybe later." I shifted as I watched Sybil's hand wander to Alan, holding his knee the same way she did mine. He reached out a hand and curled some of her hair over her ear, touching the soft fuzz where her new undercut was. I wanted to do the same. I felt their eyes on me, asking me to do the same. But I didn't know how to move like this. I couldn't pull out the right words anymore.

  "Are you guys going to the show tonight? Becca texted me about it."

  "Right. I got that too. I think…" Alan looked at Sybil, who barely smiled. "I think we'll stay in. Why bother seeing my universe painting, when I have this here?"

  "Right then," I said, knowing I probably sounded too curt. "I guess I'm going to go to bed."

  "No." Alan's voice was so sudden and desperate—something I had never heard before. It made me stop in my tracks and look at both of them.

  "Are you okay?" Sybil asked. "I'm worried about you."

  "Why would you be worried about me?"

  "You took an extra shift—in a row. Since when does that happen? And you didn't really text us."

  "I texted you."

  Alan narrowed his eyes. "You've been quiet lately. We just want to be sure everything fine."

  "Just checking in, you know?" Sybil added. "It's been a while. A lot has changed between us all and…."

  I laughed lightly, cutting her off. "Isn't that the point? Everything changes, rises and then converges. A winter in Rome is another world away…"

  "I've been back for months now," Alan said.

  "I know," I said, feeling my chest hurt. "And I still feel like I'm waiting for you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know." I slid forward on the table and put my face in my hands. "When you left, everyone said everything would change. And it has—but just for you two. I'm here and nothing is different. You're both moving and doing so many good things—like a show! How could you blow off an art show? Do you know how awesome that is, how I would kill for talent like that?"

  Sybil and Alan both exchanged glances. She moved closer to me and placed a hand on my cheek, making me turn towards her. "You have so much to be proud of. You know that, right?"

  "You two—you both are the best things that have ever happened to me."

  "Craig…" Alan got up now, moving to take my other hand into his. "I'm not at my show because everything I want is here."

  "Sure, fine. You always say that, but I don't know what I'm good at. I don't have talent. I don't know what my future looks like, only that everything is passing by me."

  Alan's arms were around me before I could say anything else. I held his body close to mine and felt Sybil's hands on my neck, combing through my hair. She hushed and hummed, kissing me in between short bursts. I didn't know why I was so upset. I was just so frustrated, so bored and annoyed. But I hadn't wanted to say anything because I worried they would think it was them. That it was the trans thing or the poly thing, when no, those facets of my life were perfect. It was just my imagination that was lacking.

  "Hey," Alan said, nudging me. "Remember what I said about Eden, ages ago?"

  "Yeah."

  "I was full of shit."

  "Wait, what?" I pulled away so I could look at him, wiping away the single tear that fell.

  "I said that Eden was an image, this wonderful place—but a wonderful place I had to let go. Rome had always been a kind of Eden for me, this magical place from history books that existed, maybe still existed, but I could never know for sure. Then I got to go. But I only realized that as beautiful and magical as Rome was, I also spent a lot of it wanting to go home."

  "And?"

  "And I'm glad for the experience. But there's always a reason we leave paradise. Some stories say it's knowledge, and other stories say we're forced out and have to deal with our bad decisions. But maybe one day, Adam and Eve got bored. Maybe they left because they wanted to try something new."

  "So…" I trailed, off, wondering where Alan had lost the thread of his own advice. "Should I go to Rome?"

  "No," Alan laughed. "But maybe you could do something else for a while. Not work—maybe not even be with us as much."

  "No," I said, reaching out. I gripped his hand, and I felt him squeeze back. "I like being with you."

  "Okay. But do you see what I mean?" Alan asked, scrunching his nose up. He glanced at Sybil, hoping she could maybe fill in some of his blanks. "We have all these images of these things or these places that we want to go. Dreams we think we need to accomplish because they make us who we are. But that's not the real thing."

  "What is, then?"

  "Other people," Sybil said. She eyed Alan, who smiled at her.

  "Yes. So Rome is longer a place for me—it's not occupying that dream. It's just an image now. A far away image, but a good one, nonetheless."

  An image, I thought, that we could put on a corkboard for people to find later on. But for us, right here and now, there was just us. I could handle that, right? I took in a shaking breath, trying to nod, only to feel Alan's hand on my shoulder. I melted into his touch as my mind quieted and calmed. Inside of me, I heard the Rolling Stones' song "Paint It Black", and I tried to imagine the colours spreading out, the music calming me the same way Alan's hands touched me. He leaned down and pressed his nose to my temple, urging me to meet his lips. Sybil moved beside me, onto her knees, and then pressed a kiss to my neck. I didn't know where to turn—towards him or her—but I knew that there was no bad decision here. I could always have both.

  I kissed Alan and then I kissed Sybil. I tasted him on her and me on both of them. And when we drew away, after several moments of laboured breath, everything tingled.

  "We still need your hand on the canvas," Alan said. "But I want to go to the bedroom first."

  I looked at Sybil, whose hands were around my waist, working off my belt. I swallowed hard and grabbed her hands, kissing each one of her knuckles. As we moved across the apartment, everything got quiet and clear at the same time—like a snowstorm covering everything.

  Inside the bedroom, Sybil pulled my pants off and ran her hands up and down my thighs as Alan stripped my top. I only wore a t-shirt, so I was naked in a matter of moments. Alan was a bit trickier; my fingers fumbled over his buttons. Sybil met me halfway up his torso—her starting at the bottom of his shirt and me at the top as I kissed his neck. When our hands met, I moved and met her mouth with mine as Alan took off his pants.

  "Come here," Alan whispered to me. "Come closer."

  Sybil tugged my hand and placed it on Alan. She was the only one still dressed now, though she was already working out of her plaid shirt with her left hand as her other made its way down her pants. Alan kissed my cheek and moved his hand over my dick. He squeezed the head and stroked my balls as I moved onto the bed and opened my legs to him. He got on his knees and took me into his mouth. I closed my eyes and barely felt as Sybil got on the bed with me. When I glance at her again, she was naked and touching herself, eyes half-lidded as she returned my gaze.

  "I want to see you," she whispered into my ear. She kissed my neck, her hand touching my chest. I could smell her—all of her—as she moved. I sucked her fingers when she allowed, just as Alan took my balls into his mouth. "I want to watch you both."

  Alan looked up, replacing his mouth f
or his hand. "I'm good if you are, Craig."

  "Yeah," I said. "Just don't stop."

  Sybil kissed me, her tongue licking into my mouth. Alan shifted to the bedside table, grabbing a bottle of lube and a package of condoms. There were so many people here, I realized. A threesome always sounded so fun and glamorous, but it was really just confusing. My senses were blurred; there were so many fluids, and arms and legs that could get tangled. As I kissed Sybil, I rolled on her hair a couple times, before she gave up and grabbed an elastic band. By that time, Alan's fingers were already inside me, stroking me out as he continued to suck my cock.

  "Fuck…" I bucked my hips on the bed, hitting his throat before moaning again. I opened my eyes and saw Sybil stick two fingers into herself, then stroke her own cock with her thumb. I bit my lip as I watched, until Alan's hand touched my cheek.

  "Look at me," he said. "Or do you want to watch her as I fuck you?"

  The question left me paralyzed.

  "On his stomach," Sybil said, glancing at Alan, who then looked back at me. "Is that good, then?"

  I barely managed a nod before Alan turned me over. I propped myself up on my elbows and lowered my hips. Alan's hands traced my ass, over my thighs, before I felt his cock line up outside of me.

  "Deep breath, okay?" Alan waited to the count of three as I breathed before pushing inside. I let out a low groan, this angle always hitting me in a different way. I folded my arms like a pillow as his rhythm picked up, and looked to the side to see Sybil smile.

  "Don't finish yourself off," I told her between moans. "I want you."

  She smirked, but took her hands away. She cupped one of her breasts and spread her legs open, watching me and Alan as if we were the best show on earth. I could tell she and Alan were making eye contact, especially as Alan bucked his hips faster into me. But sometimes I'd look away and miss a glance, and I wasn't upset by it anymore. I was just happy to be there, to be present, and I was too blissed out to care.