Shades of Darkness

by A. R. Kahler

  “Sushi?” I asked, stepping into the backseat so Chris could ride shotgun. Hey, I could be chivalrous too.

  “You trust Michigan sushi?” Chris asked.

  “I’m sure I can find something that will suit your West Coast sensibilities,” Ethan said. He turned the keys in the ignition and began backing out. “Three-Two-Six it is.”

  We drove without conversation for a while, because it’s hard to think of topics when you know you’re just killing time . . . which I suppose was a horrible analogy, given the circumstances. I watched the clouds and the crows roll past, but it wasn’t relaxing. Brad’s voice kept getting louder, and it took all my control to keep it shoved down. I really, really needed a break. Before I cracked. Finally, the music got particularly abysmal and whiny, so I leaned forward and reached between the seats to turn it down.

  “So,” I said, resting my elbows on the armrest and staring at Chris. “What brings you all the way from . . . well, wherever the hell you came from.”

  His grin never left his face, but it did seem to slip just a little bit. I knew that look; guess I wasn’t the only one hiding from something. Unlike Ethan and me, Chris had transferred in just this year. A lot of people did, but I always felt like they didn’t get the full experience. It sure as hell took me the first year to finally understand what this place actually was.

  “Well,” he said, “my parents worked in tech development back in Seattle. They were transferred out here to help set up a new branch for the company.”

  “But there’s nothing out here,” I said.

  Chris’s smile definitely slipped off then. He sighed and looked out the window.

  “Yeah, well, that’s the thing. They moved to Detroit. I was looking into schools in the area and found Islington. I think my parents were actually sort of relieved when I told them about it. Meant they could focus on their job. Not like that’s any different from life before.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But, on the plus side, you got in. So there’s that.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. I’m still just hoping they admitted me for my portfolio and not because my parents bribed them.”

  Ethan glanced over. “Don’t worry—lots of rich celebs try to send their kids here to no avail. Money doesn’t mean anything to the admissions panel, at least not on the faculty side. Though I’m sure charitable donations never go amiss.”

  “Thanks, I think. I believe that was comforting.”

  “That’s Ethan,” I said, patting Ethan on the shoulder. “Our man’s good at emotional support.”

  “I thought gay men were supposed to be the comforting types,” Chris said.

  Ethan shook his head. “I do not know where you guys are getting that idea.”

  I just grinned and kissed Ethan on the cheek, then sat back and tightened my seatbelt again.

  We didn’t really talk after that, but we didn’t turn the music back up, either. There was a comfortable sort of silence as we drove the rest of the way into town, watching trees thin out and become houses and gas stations and, eventually, the lakefront downtown. The lake was slate gray and stormy—it never froze, not fully, though chunks of ice floated like scattered shipwrecks. Whitecaps rode the waves, and the shore was thick with debris and tide. Above, the sky was just as tossed and frigid as the water.

  “Looks like another storm,” Chris muttered.

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “Luckily this thing has four-wheel drive. Oh wait, it doesn’t.”

  He parked in the lot beside the restaurant, and I was pleased to note that there weren’t many cars. Wind swept around us as we made our way into the swank sushi bar.

  326 was one of those upscale restaurants that charged extra because they had a lake view and giant glass windows from which to enjoy it. In the summer, apparently, the place was always crammed with tourists. During the fall and winter, though, when no one in their right mind wanted to venture to the upper wilds of Michigan for cold fish, the place was dead. Especially on a Tuesday.

  “You could have warned me,” Chris whispered when we stepped inside, waiting beside a perfectly pruned bonsai on a black marble stand. “I would have dressed up.”

  I shrugged and unzipped my coat, half-flashing him my paint-splattered T-shirt so he could see that I wasn’t classy by any stretch of the imagination.

  “Don’t worry, they’re used to us by now.”

  By “us” I might have meant Ethan and me, who came here practically every week, or Islington kids in general. Not many high-schoolers went out for sushi on weekday afternoons, and even less did so while covered in whatever art they’d just pried themselves away from. We were easy to tell from the crowd, especially in a place like this: long sleek leather benches and shiny black granite table tops, everything black and crisp white, from the white linens and snowy orchids on every table to the mirrorlike ebony tile floor.

  Save for two couples seated near the back bar, the place was entirely empty. Looks like we were the few dumb enough to brave the upcoming blizzard.

  A waiter came out from behind the back curtain, saw us, and smiled. It was Jason, a local college kid who worked here pretty much every weekday. He was gorgeous in that high fashion cover model sort of way: short brown hair slicked back, black pants and white shirt, and tight black vest. You could tell he worked out from the way his sleeves caught on his arms, and a hint of tattoos peeked out from under his cuffs.

  “Hey guys,” he said, stepping up to us. “How’s it going? Day off?”

  In normal situations, at any other restaurant beside this and T’Chai Nanni, I’d just smile and be polite and say things were great, how are you? But this was Jason. Jason, who would spend his slower days sitting at the table with us and talking about his dissertation on gender roles in comic books and, occasionally, moan about his boy troubles. Surprise surprise, backwoods Michigan wasn’t teeming with gay men.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We . . . we lost a student this weekend. So campus is pretty much closed down.”

  Jason’s face immediately switched from charming server to normal, concerned friend. “What do you mean? Dropped out?”

  “Suicide,” I whispered.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, guys. I hadn’t heard.”

  “It’s okay. That’s why we’re here—trying to get our mind off things. Anyway,” I said, shifting into a lighter tone, “this is Chris.”

  Jason held out his hand and introduced himself, then handed us a few menus and let us choose a table. We sat near the front windows, as far away from the other customers as possible. I didn’t intend to talk about Mandy, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come up on its own. Chris sat first, and I sat across from him. Ethan didn’t even hesitate when sitting beside Chris; he probably didn’t want the poor guy to feel like the third wheel. Jason disappeared behind the back curtain and came out a few minutes later with a ceramic pot of jasmine tea and four tiny cups.

  “Just in case,” he said, putting the fourth cup in the empty spot beside me. Which, I knew, translated to, Hopefully, these other guys will leave and I can sit and drink tea with you.

  Ethan poured the aromatic tea in each of our cups, starting with me and leaving himself for last. He raised his cup between thumb and forefinger and held it out to us.

  “To Mandy,” he said. We all held up our teacups, clinking the black ceramics delicately.

  “To Mandy,” we repeated.

  Outside, the snow began to fall.

  • • •

  The place emptied out a few minutes later, halfway through our appetizers of edamame and fried tofu and miso soup. And yeah, I felt a small note of pride at the condescending looks we got from the well-dressed patrons as they left, as if we were the ones intruding on their sacred space. Little did they know it was quite the opposite, as proved by Jason, who went over and flipped the door sign to CLOSED the moment the last table left, giving us a conspiratorial wink. When he returned, he bore eight different maki rolls, only five of which we’d actually ordered.


  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said as he set them down. “You guys look like you could use something positive today.”

  “You have no idea,” I muttered. Jason smiled again, then went to the back to grab a fresh pot of tea before returning and sitting down beside me.

  I glanced to Chris, who watched the whole exchange with a strange sort of fascination, like he wasn’t used to people acting like, well, people around him. Must have been part of coming from money.

  “Thank you,” Ethan said. He was trying very hard not to stare at Jason as the guy poured us tea. He’d had a crush on the waiter since day one, but had always deemed Jason “too old.” I think he was just scared of putting himself out there. At least now he had Oliver to hold his attention.

  “No problem,” Jason replied. He poured some soy sauce in a dish and began mixing in wasabi. “Are you guys doing okay?”

  I shrugged and took a sip of soup, looking out at the lake.

  “We’re managing,” Ethan said.

  “So . . . Chris, was it? What are you studying?”

  “Art,” Chris replied. “Painting, more specifically.”

  “Very cool. How’d you all meet up?”

  I looked to Chris then, wondering what he’d say, but it was Ethan who answered.

  “We’re presenting our theses at the same time. Solidarity in insomnia, you know.”

  Jason chuckled. “I know that one.”

  Conversation drifted into the usual small talk as we ate the sushi—how were classes, how are your projects going, plans for the summer, etc. The entire time, I was acutely aware of Chris’s glances over. But he was sly about it, never quite making eye contact, passing it off as looking to Jason. No one mentioned Mandy, though it was clear from the stretch of silences that that was what everyone was thinking about. I could practically feel her, watching. Every time I looked out the window I expected to see her hovering there, translucent, begging through silent lips to—what? She’d committed suicide. That was that. There wasn’t any avenging that needed to happen.

  I didn’t have anything to do with it.

  A crow flew past, and I knew, in that moment, that I probably, somehow, did.

  “Still unhappily celibate,” Jason said, and I realized I had no idea what the start of the conversation had been. I glanced over while he talked to Chris. “What about you? How’s the love life?”

  Chris had the decency to blush. But he also had the indecency to look my way. I know Jason caught it, but he at least was able to hide most of his grin.

  “Single,” Chris said. He took a sip from his tea and didn’t say anything else. Ethan’s smile would have given the Cheshire Cat’s a run for his money.

  “I see,” Jason said slowly. Thankfully, he didn’t let the moment linger. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? I can’t imagine you guys just lounging around all afternoon.”

  “Dunno,” I responded. It felt more honest than anything else I’d said today. “Maybe wander a bit. Just don’t want to be back on campus.”

  “I don’t blame you.” He paused, considered his words. “Did they tell you what happened?”

  I shoved down the images that flowed through my mind like pumping blood—red on white, blood on concrete, crows of shadow—and took a sip of tea. It was cold, and it tasted like raven feathers.

  “No,” Ethan answered for me. “Just that she . . . yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I stared into my teacup and my reflection stared back, ripples distorting my face, making me pale. Wavering. Ghostly. The room tilted.

  “Are you okay?” Jason asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. But it wasn’t his voice.

  I looked over as if in a dream. Blond hair, brown eyes, tan skin, blood dripping from his lip, smeared on his hand. Brad.

  I screamed. Legit, top-of-my-voice screamed, the teacup falling from my grip and shattering on the floor. The moment it hit, it was just Jason staring at me. Kind, gay Jason, his hand quickly darting from my shoulder to his lap.

  “Kaira, are you—”

  “I’m fine.” Too quickly. My blood pulsed the lie through my veins. “Just . . . on edge. Sorry. I shouldn’t . . . I’ll be right back.”

  I pushed out of the chair, nearly toppling it over, and ran to the bathroom.

  “It’s okay, he’s gone. You’re just stressed. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.” My words were a furious whisper the moment I pressed my back to the bathroom wall and squeezed my palms to my eyes and tried to block out his words, his laughter, the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, the memory of the cold stall door against my back. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop the tears.

  “Kaira?” someone asked. Not Brad. Of course not Brad. He’s gone.

  Ethan opened the door and stepped inside, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move as he walked over and slid down next to me. He didn’t touch me. I could feel the static of space between us.

  “Kaira?” he asked again. “Do you need to talk?”

  I didn’t answer. He didn’t move.

  The silence stretched, but no one else came to check on us. The tears stopped. Finally.

  “It’s just stress,” I whispered finally. “I don’t know. Too much at once, you know?”

  “I do,” he replied. His voice was grave, like he knew it all too well.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. It felt like coming up from drowning. When I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around me. It didn’t feel like Brad. Ethan never felt like Brad. Ethan felt like safety. Like home.

  “Too many ghosts,” I finally whispered.

  He sighed.

  “And in times like this, they just get louder.” He squeezed me and went silent. He didn’t tell me to pull myself together or that everything would be okay. He knew better than to lie.

  “They’re going to think I’m crazy,” I finally said.

  “No,” he said, just as stoic. “We’ve always known.”

  I laughed, and it was almost a sob, but I nudged him in the ribs anyway. He kissed the top of my head.

  “I love you, Winters,” he whispered into my hair. Tears welled up again, but I forced them down. Down to where Brad waited, along with the blood and the raven feathers. Down where I shouldn’t see or feel or hear them.

  “I love you too, Davis,” I said. “Even if you are an ass.”

  • • •

  “So,” Chris said from his seat beside me. We were in T’Chai Nanni, which was pretty much the antithesis of 326’s empty interior. The teahouse was swamped with patrons, Veronica and the other waiter flitting between wicker tables and rocking chairs and sofas with trays of mismatched teapots in their hands.

  “So what?” I asked. We hadn’t even opened up our portfolios to work; Ethan’s and my usual table was taken by hipsters talking about Foucault or something like that, so we nabbed a bench in the corner. At first I had no clue why the place was so crowded, then I saw a band starting to set up in the corner. Great. Acoustic shows always meant a crowd, even if—or especially if—the music sucked balls.

  “So tell me about yourself, Kaira the Conundrum.”

  I laughed and sipped my tea—Russian caravan t’chai, which was dark and earthy and reminiscent of woodsmoke—as I peered at him over the thick cup. Ethan was on the front porch, chatting on the phone with Oliver, though I don’t know how being outside in the wind and snow was quieter than being in here.

  I think he just wanted Chris and me to be alone.

  “I’m a conundrum, am I?” I asked. Well, I suppose that’s better than being a freak.

  “At the moment,” he said. He gave me a grin, like he was totally okay waiting for my puzzle to complete itself, however long that took. Neither he nor Jason had said anything when Ethan and I came out of the bathroom, Ethan holding my hand like he could keep all the shadows at bay. I’d felt embarrassed at first, until Jason began talking about
his latest failed date that involved learning he was seeing the ex of a guy he’d almost hooked up with last year. That was the blessing of artists—everyone had their demons, and they knew not to press when yours were becoming too loud.

  Being in here made me feel better. Safer. T’Chai Nanni smelled familiar. In here, surrounded by so many strangers, it was easy to drown out the words that whispered in the silence.

  “Well, what do you want to know?”

  “Where you’re from, for one. And why you came to Islington. I’m doubting you’re one of those celebrity kids Ethan mentioned.”

  “Wouldn’t you feel like an idiot if I was? I could have my secret service off you in the bathroom.”

  “Are you?”

  “Nope,” I said. There wasn’t much space on the bench, even without Ethan there. My arm and hip brushed against Chris. My gut clenched at the thought of leaning in closer, at how it would feel if he put his arm around me. Brad’s face shot through my mind, that grin he used on me time and time again. It’s okay, he’d say, we can go slow.

  I leaned away and took another sip.

  “Well,” he said after a moment. He must have noticed my move; he sounded a little sad. “Where are you from, then?”

  “Outside of Minneapolis,” I said.

  “Ah, is your family still back there?”

  “Adopted family,” I replied, maybe a little too quickly. “But yeah.”

  “Gotcha.” He didn’t, of course. But I appreciated the attempt at empathy. “And why did you come here?”

  “I enjoy being a workaholic.”

  “Seriously,” he pushed.

  I sighed and looked at him. That was a door I wasn’t going to open. Not here, not now, and not with Mandy’s shade hovering over my shoulder and Brad’s sneer behind my eyelids.

  “Because I wanted to be here,” I said. And then, because he looked like he was going to push the subject, I added something I hadn’t even really told Ethan. Ethan knew when not to ask for more. “Because I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

  “I know what you mean,” he replied.