Snowman
Page 22
"Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a dream. No big deal." Tim felt Nick’s arm wrap around him as he lay back down, strong and warm and comforting as ever and soon they were both asleep again.
Now he watched the scene from above. The organ music still played, but Tim’s mother was gone and it was peaceful again. Waves lapped at a nearby shore and Tim could hear seagulls and a distant foghorn. Maybe this was Adam’s wedding to Alexandra, but there was no ocean in Chicago. The organ’s notes turned into the sound of the sea again and they faded away this time. Now the congregation was dressed in pastels.
Men and women wore big flowered hats. Now he understood.
Many of the men were in drag.
It was a wedding alright, but it was taking place in Arts restaurant on Castro Street. The place was ten times bigger in Tim’s dream than in reality. Phil was playing the piano, naked—there was no pipe organ if you didn’t count the massive organ between Phil’s legs. He wasn’t completely naked, either.
He had on that silly bow-tie he wore on special occasions with starched cuffs and silver cufflinks and probably black patent leather shoes, although Tim couldn’t see Phil’s feet. Tim moaned again and felt Nick touching him, shaking him until he came to.
"Huh?" Tim blinked. "Where am I? What’s going on?"
"You’re right here safe beside me, Snowman. You were just having another dream."
Tim was used to wild dreams. They were a common side-effect of the HIV drugs he took every day. He didn’t mind the dreams, as long as the drugs kept working, keeping his viral load undetectable and his T-cells over 500 at last count. Most people had lots worse things than dreams to worry about, whether they had HIV or not. Tim knew there were lots worse things than HIV, too.
"Oh, Nick, did I wake you up? I’m sorry. What time is it, anyway?"
"It’s almost 7:30, time to get up. I was awake, anyway.
It’s time to pack up and head home pretty soon. You were mumbling about a wedding and then you mentioned Phil and then something about an earthquake. I thought I’d better try to wake you ’cause you don’t usually talk in your sleep. Are you sure you’re okay?"
"Thanks." Tim sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah… I’m okay. It wasn’t such a bad dream except the part when my mother was shit-faced and ruining Aunt Ruth’s wedding. I don’t remember any earthquake. The whole thing was so weird and then I wasn’t sure who was getting married. It might have been someone else. There were all these drag queens at Arts in big hats like Easter bonnets and lots of other people. I knew most of them."
"Maybe we should take a run on the beach. It might clear your head and we could work up an appetite for breakfast before we head back to the city."
"Head back…? What beach? Is that the ocean I hear? I thought I was listening to a pipe organ. Where are we?"
"Don’t you remember?" Nick lifted the palm of his hand to Tim’s forehead. "It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but maybe you’re a little warm. We’re in a cabin south of Carmel.
We were driving back up the coast from L.A., just taking our time and you said you wanted to stop here and spend our last night on the road. Don’t you remember? We were planning to be back in San Francisco by this afternoon or this evening, but it doesn’t matter to me. If you’re not feeling well, we can stay here longer… at least until you feel better."
"Oh, sure I remember. I’m feeling okay now. Don’t worry. It was just a dream."
"So… you were dreaming about a wedding, huh? Do you think it might have been our wedding? Yours and mine?
"I thought it was Sam and Ruth getting married," Tim said, ignoring Nick’s attempt to get closer to him, "but it could have been anybody, I suppose. At first I thought it was in the Castro Theatre, but then I realized it was broad daylight and it would have been dark in there. Then it seemed like it was in some huge, cavernous place like Grace Cathedral or maybe St.
Mary’s or that big white one in Minneapolis just north of Loring Park."
"I think I detect a change of subject, young man," Nick said. "I was asking about you and me, but maybe you’d like to go have a run on the beach and we can talk about it later."
"Now I remember where we are. I remember last night and the night before and that place we pulled over in the car above the ocean and watched the sunset… You know, Nick, sometimes I think you and I do honeymoons so well that we should just stick to what we’re good at. Why do we need to talk about getting married?"
"You remember all that, do you?" Nick asked and slid in closer, putting his arm around Tim’s shoulders.
"Yes, I do remember now and I can think of a better way to work up an appetite for breakfast than running." Tim pushed Nick back down on the bed. He kicked off the covers and climbed on top of him, straddling his chest and then leaning in close to nuzzle his neck and kiss him on the mouth. "Does it make me a top if I sit on it?"
"I’m not into labels," Nick laughed. "You can be whatever you want, Snowman… just don’t stop."
By the time they opened the door of the cabin the sun was high in the sky. They pulled on shorts and went for a barefoot run on the sandy beach together and than took showers and finished packing. Check-out time was posted at 10AM but there was no one else around when they were ready to go. Tim dropped their room key through the mail slot of the locked office door. Maybe the proprietors were off on an errand.
They pulled over once to put the top up on the car because a bank of white fog was piling in over the city. By the time they got home it would be cold enough to light a fire in the fireplace in Tim’s living room on Hancock Street tonight. Nick took a turn behind the wheel of Tim’s Thunderbird as they headed up California’s Highway 1 toward Pacifica. Nick was happier than he’d been in a long time and he knew better than to press Tim again about any further commitments. Tim was right.
They were very good at honeymoons. Weddings could wait.
To Be Continued…
About the Author
Born and raised a Minnesota farm-boy, Mark Abramson has lived in San Francisco so long he is now a native. Not only did he survive the worst of the AIDS years in California, but also the Reagan era AND both Bush administrations. He is thrilled that the Beach Reading series, his first foray into fiction, has been so successful and he is grateful to the loyal fans of Tim, Aunt Ruth, Artie and the rest of the gang. For Mark, it’s easier to make up stories about the Castro because no one would believe all of the true ones!
Document Outline
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
A sneak peek at
About the Author