Winter of Summers

by Michael Faudet

  A Dream

  A row of doors

  in a haunted hallway,

  red, black, orange,

  and blue,

  one handle warm—

  a faint trace of you

  lingering still.

  I open it—

  walking into a room

  filled with photographs,

  pinned to peeling

  wallpaper walls,

  every one a memory—

  a reminder of you.

  Do you remember

  how we laughed—

  smoking a joint

  on the Ferris wheel,

  the moonlight

  framing your face,

  how we kissed

  at the top,

  the heady taste

  of ash and sex,

  spilling from lips

  that cried for more—

  now deathly quiet

  in the morning light.

  Striptease

  Your clothes fall—

  like white petals torn

  one by one,

  slowly,

  a tease performed

  with clever fingers,

  until nothing is left

  but the reveal,

  my yellow daisy,

  standing naked—

  your piercing eyes

  undressing me,

  your turn,

  they whisper.

  The Wedding Present

  The big day had finally arrived and it was chaos. Mandy was beside herself, rearranging the flowers for the fifth time, placing long stem white tulips into vases scattered around the bedroom. All the guests would be arriving any minute now and she hadn’t even sorted the bottles of champagne and glasses. Rupert watched her race around the room in the reflection of the wardrobe mirror, a smile breaking across his cleanly shaved face, as his fingers wrestled with the white bowtie.

  “Oh here, let me do that,” said Simon as he waltzed into the room wearing a white tuxedo, looking like a million dollars. He quickly took control of Rupert’s bowtie drama and tied it perfectly in less than ten seconds.

  Rupert kissed him on the cheek. “What would I do without you? How do I look?”

  Simon gave him a quick look up and down. Rupert was wearing a matching white tuxedo but with a scarlet handkerchief tucked into the top pocket of his jacket. “You are the best looking husband this side of the river.”

  “Not yet,” Rupert replied grinning.

  “And bloody never at this rate!” Mandy screamed. “Come on you two, sort yourselves out. We have a wedding to get done.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Mandy started to panic again.

  —

  It was Rupert’s idea to exchange vows in bed. He was a big John Lennon fan and wanted to channel John and Yoko’s famous 1969 “bed-ins for peace” vibe. Simon loved the idea too but only if it was just for one day and not a whole week, he had repeatedly stressed to a bemused Rupert.

  The ceremony had gone smoothly. Simon’s sister, Mandy, presided over the exchange of vows. She was a part-time marriage celebrant and wedding planner. Even the Skype call from Simon and Mandy’s parents had gone off without a hitch. Wishing the happy couple all the very best from the cabin of their cruise ship sailing in the Mediterranean. The wedding had been a spur of the moment decision, another of Rupert’s bright ideas, so there was no way they could get back for it in time.

  When the happy couple exchanged identical gold rings and kissed for the first time as husband and husband, the bedroom had erupted with cheers and loud applause. The love so powerful in the room, barely a dry eye could be seen on any of the guests.

  And now that the official part was done and dusted, the party was in full swing.

  Twelve of their dearest and closest friends knocked back the French champagne, cracked jokes, and chatted with the happy couple. Who were laying in their huge bed, propped up on pillows, a pile of neatly wrapped wedding presents sitting on a side table. ABBA’s “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” blaring out of the Bose speakers.

  Mandy topped up Simon’s glass with more champagne and he caught the worried expression on her face. He knew what was wrong. Not everything had gone to plan. But before he could say anything, she quickly walked off, checking her watch repeatedly.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Mandy shouted, running out of the bedroom in a flash.

  —

  Rupert was halfway through telling a particularly filthy joke when Mandy poked her head around the bedroom door and caught his eye with a wave of her hand. He stopped short of the punchline and called out to her.

  “What is it, Darling?” he shouted over the music.

  Mandy hit a button on a remote and the music stopped. Everyone turned in her direction.

  “Rupert, you have a special delivery. It’s in the living room,” she said nervously.

  “Well, well, well, what could it be?” Rupert replied excitedly, as he hopped out of bed. “You coming, husband, to have a peek?”

  Simon gave Mandy a quick glance. She nodded back. “No, I’ll wait here. You go. I’ll keep the bed warm.”

  Rupert giggled and took Mandy by the hand. “Come on love, let’s go see what all this fuss is about.”

  —

  In an instant, the blood literally drained from Rupert’s face. His smile wiped clean.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he said angrily.

  Mandy gently squeezed his hand. “Just listen to what he has to say.”

  Standing in the living room was a tall, elderly man dressed in a gray suit, yellow tie, and neatly polished black shoes. A white ribbon had been tied around his waist, complete with an oversized bow. He looked Rupert in the eyes and spoke. His voice already starting to break.

  “Hi, Son. Sorry I’m late. Plane was delayed . . .”

  Rupert cut him off. “Fuck your excuses. I don’t care. Just get the fuck out of my house!”

  The old man stood up straight, took a deep breath, and continued talking.

  “Son, I will go. But not before I say something I should have said to you years ago. I’m so sorry. Sorry for how I’ve treated you in the past. Sorry for my ignorance. I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed, for not accepting you for who you are. I was wrong to turn my back on you. When we lost your mother, my world collapsed, and when you told me you were gay, it felt like I had lost you too. It was all me, never you. It’s my fault our relationship broke down. The blame rests with me and I wish I could turn back the clock. I honestly do. I’m not asking for your forgiveness and I don’t want to spoil your big day. But when Simon tracked me down and rang me, when he told me you were getting married, my heart sank. Made me realize what a fool I’ve been. How much time we have lost because of me. I never stopped loving you, Son, and I wanted you to know that. Anyway, I’ll leave you be now, get on my way.”

  Rupert said nothing and just watched silently as his dad tried to undo the white ribbon Mandy had wrapped around him. His arthritic fingers shaking as they tugged at the bow. Rupert could see the tears welling up in his father’s tired eyes.

  “Let me do that,” said Mandy in a quiet voice.

  “No. I’ll do it.” Rupert said as he walked over to his dad and hugged him. The old man bursting into tears, sobbing uncontrollably into his son’s shoulder. Rupert patted his back. “Hush now. You’ll ruin this bloody tux and it cost a fortune.”

  The old man looked up. A faint smile appearing on his wrinkled face. “Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Son.”

  “Okay, enough of this,” said Rupert, brushing away a tear from his eye. “You’ll set me off crying too at this rate. And this is a wedding. Not a fucking funeral! Now come on, Dad, it’s time you
met my fabulous husband.”

  The old man took a comb from his pocket, and ran it through his thinning white hair. “I’d love to, Son,”

  A Quick Kiss

  A quick kiss,

  that’s all it was—

  like a toe dipped in

  a swimming pool,

  to test the water

  before diving in,

  a licked finger

  held up to the air,

  trying to tell

  which direction

  the wind was blowing.

  A quick kiss

  that’s all it was—

  my arrow shot

  from shaky bow,

  just another miss.

  My Grandmother

  You had already gone before you left this earth. Just a trace of you remained in those final days. A faint voice on the end of a phone, a sudden glimmer of recognition, only to be forgotten in the same breath. My heart breaking as I realized we would never speak again of Dr. Who—the sun quickly setting on all those apple pie days.

  It’s the happy memories I hang on to now. And when I squeeze my eyes shut, I can still see you smiling at me. Hair neatly done. Makeup applied with care. The twinkle in your eye when you laughed at one of my silly stories.

  I know, deep down, that’s exactly how you would want me to remember you.

  The love we had, a bond so strong, that not even death could take it away.

  Your passing from this world reminded me that we are all just dominos. Lined up in a neat little row on life’s kitchen table. Waiting for our time to fall.

  And when my turn comes, I know you will be there, ready to catch me.

  A Summer Gone

  No subtle hint

  of summer left,

  a season passes by—

  no fond farewell,

  a lover lost,

  a sea gone silent

  in its shell.

  So a toast

  to fading sunlight,

  shots of coffee

  sipped at three,

  pour whiskey

  into paper cups,

  collect wood

  from broken trees—

  for what is left

  is nothing more,

  than whispers

  on the wind,

  for a summer came

  and quickly went—

  no trace of it

  remains.

  In the Blink of an Eye

  How would I describe the end of our relationship? A blowtorch held to a tiny cube of ice.

  You Came into My Life

  You came into my life

  like a swirling tornado,

  breaking everything

  you touched,

  my confidence

  left in ruins,

  my belief in love

  torn apart,

  and when the dust

  finally settled,

  all that remained

  was the debris

  of a heart,

  scattered across

  a lonely wasteland.

  The Cult of Two

  It was lust that brought us together.

  An overwhelming urge to fuck.

  A raging fire burning out of control.

  Consuming us both.

  Our sex-filled fantasies played out in seedy motel rooms. Fueled by cheap liquor, party drugs, and wet panties.

  No masters.

  Just slaves bound by depravity and self-destruction.

  Phones smashed.

  Bridges burned.

  Just you.

  Just me.

  In this dangerous cult of two.

  Broken Umbrella

  You said you would love me forever and always be there. But when the sky collapsed and came crashing down, all you left me with was a broken umbrella.

  Welcome Home

  Come to me quietly

  in this waking hour,

  the purple pause

  between darkness

  and muted light,

  the call of the magpie

  beckoning the dawn,

  crisp sheets cast aside

  by sleepy fingers,

  a rush of cold

  before the trickle

  of glowing warmth,

  legs sliding into

  a waiting bed,

  your naked body

  spooning into mine,

  the scent of toothpaste

  on your lips,

  a homecoming

  softly sealed,

  by a lover’s

  morning kiss.

  Crown of Thorns

  The garland of roses

  you promised,

  nothing more

  than empty words

  spoken in jest,

  with me as the punch line—

  cruelly mislead,

  crying alone,

  a crown of thorns

  on my head.

  Melting Ice Cream

  “You seem restless tonight,” I said, as we sat down for dessert.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really. It’ll pass. Just pour me another glass of wine,” she replied with a wry smile. “But if you’re really concerned for my well-being—lift up my skirt, bend me over this table, and fuck me until the ice cream melts.”

  Always You

  It feels like I have known you all my life and every life I have ever lived.

  The Passing of Years

  We are too busy knocking back the martinis of youth—our life nothing more than a rushing blur reflected in a rain-streaked window. Time is a slow-moving train wreck we only begin to notice when it’s all too late.

  No More Wishes

  I swim with sharks

  when darkness comes,

  the butter melting

  on a plate,

  my coffee cup

  untouched,

  chasing shadows

  inside my head,

  wishing I had

  more wishes left,

  to waste again

  on you.

  A Withered Heart

  Shut the fuck up—

  I’m tired of your

  empty promises,

  give those lying

  lips a break,

  save your breath

  for some other

  hopeless fool—

  go find another

  pretty distraction,

  to remove the pickles

  from your burger,

  while you feast

  on their naivety,

  never satisfied—

  until you wring

  the last drop of trust

  from their withered heart,

  like you did to me.

  Just You

  I never asked for the moon, or a diamond ring, or some mansion high up on the hill. All I ever wanted was you— just you.

  Winter of Summers

  I don’t think either of us were searching for anyone. We were just two lost souls drawn together by circumstance. Travelers walking along the same stretch of lonely road, the well-trodden path to redemption. Looking for meaning in this meaningless life. Strangers who became more than just friends, over a bottle of vodka in a bar, sheltering from a blizzard.

  The next morning we moved what little possessions we carried in our backpacks into a cabin by the frozen lake. Handing over a month’s rent to the grizzled man wearing a rabbit fur hat. His eyebrow raised when we said we weren’t married. Lighting a crumpled cigarette between his wrinkled lips as he pointed out the dusty furniture, de
nted fridge, little gas cooker, and fireplace. Walking us into the tiny bedroom and patting the bed with his giant hand, a small sneer creeping across his rugged face.

  Rachel smiled awkwardly. I felt my cheeks blushing red. We hadn’t crossed this line yet, where kisses became so much more.

  “I’ll leave you two to settle in. Don’t forget to prime the water pump and keep the generator topped up in case the power goes,” he said in a deep voice.

  We nodded like anxious children in front of a scary headmaster, trying our best to hide the fact we honestly didn’t have a clue. A wave of relief sweeping over us as the old man pulled the creaky front door closed behind him.

  “Left or right side?” Rachel asked laughing. Her nervousness disguised with playful banter as she hopped onto the bed, making the decision for me.

  —

  The weeks passed slowly as we both slipped easily into the roles of make-believe lovers. I spent most days camped on the tatty brown sofa, head buried in a book, cooking in the evenings and only venturing away from the cabin to visit the general store in town. To withdraw cash from the ATM, pick up groceries, and buy bottles of wine. My savings account was well topped up by the sale of my apartment back in Vancouver. A place where my old life lay in ruins. Another time, a different story.

  Rachel was far more industrious. Waking at dawn to write on her laptop, a collection of poetry she hoped to turn into a book one day. Her way of making sense of a broken marriage, she told me. A cathartic journey taken with fingers that had spent too much time wiping away tears from her soft gray eyes. When she wasn’t writing, and the sun was shining, she would be outside building snowmen. Using carrots to give them erect cocks. Laughing at my frequent eye rolls whenever I discovered a new one.

  The nights we spent playing cards with an old deck we had found in a wooden chest of drawers, along with a large collection of ’70s porn magazines. Not that we needed any encouragement to fuck. It became one of our regular evening activities. So much so, it caused our old bed to break, a leg suddenly snapping, sending us rolling off the mattress onto the floor. After the initial shock of landing on our bare asses, all we could do was giggle. Rachel, always the resourceful one, managed to prop up the bed with a log found in the firewood pile. After that mini-disaster, we kept the bed solely for sleeping. Choosing instead to have sex everywhere else in the cabin. We even did it outside one afternoon. Up against a tree that towered above the roof and threatened to come crashing down every time a fierce storm hit.