The Mix of Us

by R. W. Clinger

  Gio’s Xterra looked like a massive mushroom from Alice in Wonderland. The vehicle resembled a covered white lump, hidden by the snow. None of its metal, plastic, or rubber was visible through the white stuff. Steve started from the front of the garage to where the Nissan sat. He manhandled the shovel and dug, creating a narrow pathway around the vehicle, one shovelful after the next.

  Approximately ten minutes into his task, a dizzy spell began balling inside his skull. Uninvited, a quick jolt of pain skied through his left temple, which caused him to pinch his eyes closed. His lips quivered because of the fresh pain, and his head continued to spin. He felt woozy, somewhat out of breath, and confused. For a second, he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. When he opened his mouth, attempting to gain some sense of reality and stability, a rush of cold February air entered, freezing his insides. Positioned on the right side of the Xterra, losing all physical control, he fell forward, headfirst into a heap of cold snow.

  Slowly, but swiftly, he floated from the winter world of Low Hollow to the summertime meadow again. Drifting. For how long, he honestly wasn’t sure. His mind opened like a paper pyramid and floated through an imaginary doorway or colorful chasm of sorts. And once again, he was welcomed to a place he considered and felt as if it were his home away from home…home…home…

  * * * *

  The Meadow

  Losing the muses for the time being, Gio and Steve, still sporting their ivy-colored loincloths, walked through a deep and extended hallow of trees that formed a leafy tunnel around them. Gio led the way, sometimes pushing the occasional branch to his right or left, clearing a path for them. He mumbled something about showing Steve the meadow’s maze instead of the waterfall.

  “We’ll get to the waterfall later. The hedge maze needs our attention at the moment.”

  Steve noticed that barely enough moonlight pushed through the overhead foliage because of this denseness. Splintering beams of silver-white light formed around them, here and there, seeping through the thick branches and summery green canopy. The light barely assisted their travels, wherever Gio had planned to take them. The deeper they walked inside the narrow hallow, the more fireflies Steve saw, losing count after a hundred. The tiny insects danced around him, flashing on and off, on and off, and buzzed across the thin, but warm, skin covering his nose, his cheeks, and forehead.

  “Is that drumming I hear?” Steve asked, hearing the hollow and extended beats in the distance, maybe behind them rather than in front; somewhere in the meadow.

  “It is drumming. Probably the muses at work. They’re quite talented young men,” Gio replied over his left shoulder. “They always play during the Nightingale Hour.”

  Of course, Steve had to ask, “What is the Nightingale Hour?”

  “The intimate dance of men. A celebration of love. In low man’s terms, a party in the woods. Some call it the mating hour of men. The seduction. The men like you come from afar. All around the globe. They dance. They drink. Some become lovers. Others marry. It’s extraordinary and fun. Maybe if we have time, I’ll show you. But just a peek. We don’t want to intrude.”

  They walked deeper into the wooded and shaded area of the meadow. Fireflies, bright and lively, escorted them over the pathway, buzzing this way and that, unable to give in to the forest and its heavy darkness. Four or more owls hooted nearby, their tones ranging from baritone to soprano. And a wind, chilly with an edge of thickness, tumbling, brushed against their bare chests.

  “It’s not far now. Just a few more hundred yards.”

  Branches snapped under Steve’s bare feet. All he could think about was getting a splinter in the pad of a foot. He hated the idea of the pain and partial-limping through the rest of his escapade with Gio. Cautious, he moved forward, following his lover’s bare back and legs, studying the man’s wide shoulders. To his right and left, bamboo-like shafts semi-hid the wood’s wild animals. Eyes of swirling reds, illuminating greens, and light blues blinked, gazed, and slowly swung to and fro, tracking their movement. Fortunately, there weren’t any growls or hissing that accompanied the many sets of eyes, which settled Steve’s nerves and removed the idea that they were prey.

  “Why is there a hedge maze here?” Steve asked, curious.

  “Why not? Maybe you know the answer to that more than I do, since this is your design.”

  “Design? What do you mean by that?”

  Gio looked over his left shoulder, continuing to walk. “Your creation. The fragments of your mind. The things you think about. The dream you are having. It’s all you. I have nothing to do with it, Steve. I’m simply the navigator and guide you’ve made me to be. This is all your work.”

  “You’re a caretaker of the meadow, right?”

  “If that’s what you want to call me.” Gio stopped, coming to a Y on the dark pathway. Fireflies fluttered around his body. He pointed to the left. “The flower gardens are that way. Enchanting. Beautiful. Majestic. I love them.” Then he pointed to the right. “The hedge maze is this way.”

  Steve followed him to the right. The forest became less dense, thinning. After walking another two hundred yards, he could see multiple flames in the distance. Red, orange, and yellow teardrop-shaped fire blazed atop night-reaching poles, revealing the meadow’s hedge maze. At the end of the pathway, the maze stopped them. A massive wall of the freshly trimmed evergreen shrub hedge, Emerald Arborvitae, stood approximately fifteen tall.

  Gio faced Steve in the night’s flickering and surreal light. “Follow the hedges to the left. You’ll find access to an opening. The maze is approximately half the size of a football field. I’ll meet you at the end, and we’ll head to the waterfall.”

  “I’m on my own?” Steve asked, confused.

  Geo nodded. “Of course. There are things you need to see on your own. I’m simply a guide here, just as you’ve created me to be. Go now.”

  “But what if I get lost?”

  “You can’t get lost.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Gio reached out with both hands and placed them on Steve’s shoulders, gently squeezed. “Remember, this is your design. It’s all your design. You can’t become a prisoner of your own creation. It’s not possible, at least not here.” He squeezed Steve’s shoulders again, attempting to comfort him. Then he hugged him, patted him on the back. When he pulled away, he said, “Off you go. Find what you need to find and learn what you need to learn. As I’ve already said, I’ll meet you at the end. The waterfall awaits us.”

  Before Steve could respond, Gio vanished. Steve started to walk the line of hedges, falling away from where he and Gio just stood. Twenty feet turned into thirty feet of hedges, then forty. But eventually, just as Gio had said, an opening to the maze welcomed him, and he stepped inside. At first glance, he saw bunnies and squirrels scampering in all directions, which made him feel as if he were a prince in a Walt Disney animation.

  Approximately twenty feet inside the maze, he saw a wide-eyed and beautiful deer to his right, curled near the ground. The doe blinked and stirred at his presence. Suddenly, it jumped up and bolted away, deep in the maze, probably knowing the area better than any other animal that resided or visited there. The action startled Steve, who backed away and let out a gasp, probably feeling the same way when he and Gio sometimes visited haunted houses in October. Wind sucked out of his lungs briefly, he blinked and, once again, gathered his composure.

  The structure of the maze came to a T. He looked to his left and saw that the maze curved right. Then he looked to his right and saw that the maze curved left. He shrugged, decided to head right since he was right-handed, and watched more scampering bunnies in the shadows, which were created by overhead torch lights that some way, somehow, didn’t set the surrounding maze ablaze.

  He walked straight, made a left, then a sharp right, and came to a dead end, starring at a wall of hedges on three sides of him. Just as he was about to turn around, continuing his adventure inside the labyrinth, attempting to find his
way out, a glistening, green-yellowish bubble floated down from above, grew to the size of a bathroom mirror, and flickered various hues, most of which were a swirl of blue and grays.

  Baffled and motionless in his tracks, he watched the bubble expand. As the glistening and crystalline orb grew, a brilliantly colored motion picture started to appear within its center.

  The movie within the bubble caused his heart to drop. He viewed a twin of himself in a hospital bed with no visitors. Both legs and his left arm were in plaster casts. The room appeared lifeless because of its white walls, floor, and ceiling. There were no get-well cards, no flowers, void of anything remotely cheery that exemplified love. Alone in the bed, he started to cry. Tears crept down and over his cheeks, falling into the corners of his mouth.

  The twin looked to his left, then his right, saw nothing, and whispered in a melodramatic and somber tone, “Alone.”

  The bubble in front of Steve popped and created ten smaller, glassy bubbles, all of which fell to the green, Astroturf-like earth and dissolved. The quick action caused Steve to blink numerous times, unable to feel anything at the moment besides confusion. At a loss, he slowly turned around, exited the dead end within the maze, and continued his travels for an escape.

  After zigzagging through the maze, he decided to follow one of the tiny bunnies. The fuzzy animal made a sharp right, curved left, then another left. As the rabbit scurried into the hedge, vanishing among its pine layers of bristly branches, Steve realized he had come to another dead end, this one with a perfectly manicured hedge that ever so slightly created a curve.

  Still, wondering if he would ever escape the maze, another green-yellow bubble slowly fell from the night’s summertime heaven’s, glistened and expanded in front of him. A second colored movie appeared within the growing bubble: an expansive, Colonial house in what looked to be set in the Deep South, perhaps Savannah or Atlanta. Stringy moss hung from tall and weeping oaks that surrounded the residence. Two wooden rockers appeared on a narrow verandah.

  Steve saw himself hobble out of the front door with a cane in one hand and what looked like a glass of iced tea in the other. He looked to be close to eighty, with many wrinkles, an arched back, and flaming white hair. Steve watched the old man take forever to walk to the one of the rockers and sit down. It took him twice as long to sip the tea and rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, singular in his motion, without anyone at his side. The rocker positioned to the older Steve’s right sat motionless and empty.

  Dread washed through Steve as this second bubble popped and its remains fell to the maze’s earth, also dissolving like the first one. He felt pangs of anguish within his chest and tears surface at the corners of his eyes, which he wiped away with the back of his left hand.

  “You’re all by yourself in the future,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No one’s with you. It’s only you. Gio is with Clef. You’ve lost him. He’s gone.”

  Flustered, shaking his head, suffering from an upset stomach, Steve realized that he was maybe lost within the hedge maze and almost called out for help. Then he told himself, “They’re just movies. It’s not real life. Pull yourself together. Get moving and find Gio.”

  Following his self-therapy, he turned away from the curved hedge, walked back to where he had come from, and continued his trek through the maze. Steve became tired as he walked to the right with many squirrels and fuzzy rabbits in tow, left again, then to his right, back to his left, right, right, left, and left again, one last right.

  The adventure became frustrating and exhausting. And more bubbles glided down from the night’s heavens, sharing short and blunt motion pictures of his lonely future without Gio: eating alone, traveling to Madrid alone, shopping for books alone, sleeping alone, and drinking a martini alone. An endless number of short film-bubbles flashed and popped around him, all of which forecasted a lonely and singular future for him. As the hedge maze crumpled around him, Steve felt depleted, depressed, lifeless.

  * * * *

  Low Hollow

  “Christ in a hand basket,” Steve heard, pulled out of the meadow and back into the real world by Gio, who was shaking him. “What the fuck happened now, Steve? I can’t even leave to get cigarettes?”

  Steve had his face buried in the cold snow. When he opened his eyes, he thought he had gone blind from his fall, seeing thick blackness. That wasn’t the case, though, since colors soon appeared in his vision as he lifted his head: frosty whites mixed with winter grays; the stripes of orange on a teenager’s sporty car—Steve thought it a Mustang, had to be—parked across the street; a bright blue mailbox, next to the sporty car; fancy script on the side of the mailbox reading The Hendersons. He turned over, and there was Gio above him, concern locked on his face, mixed with confusion.

  “Can you sit up?”

  Of course, he could. He wasn’t disfigured. Nor did he have any broken bones. All was good. Safe. Unharmed. He sat up.

  “I passed out again. I went to the meadow.”

  “The meadow?” Gio asked. “Why there?”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Are you time traveling without me?”

  Steve shook his head. Not that he knew of. It was strange to think that thought a possibility. Time travel was for television, novels, video games, and the movies. It had nothing do with a violinist from Low Hollow and shoveling snow.

  “I don’t even think I believe in time travel.”

  “Well, we can’t count it out. Some strange things have been happening to you. I’m not sure I get it. And you probably don’t either.”

  Gio was right. Steve didn’t get it. Not in the slightest. His passing out and sporadic states of unconsciousness were a mystery to him. Maybe he was lacking vitamin B-12 in his diet, or something like that. The body was a finely working machine, and if it wasn’t cared for well enough, neglected in the slightest, passing out could occur, right? He thought so. Any reasonable doctor would have agreed with him, of course, if they weren’t a quack.

  “Take me inside. Will you, please?” Steve asked, attempting to stand.

  Gio helped him up, pulling on one arm, tugging his lover up and out of the heap of snow. Together, they tromped through the thick snow, leaving the shovel behind. He felt Gio hold his right side, balancing him through the tundra.

  “Did you hit your head?” asked Gio.

  “I didn’t. I was shoveling, and the next thing I know, I was in the meadow again, somewhere in a hedge maze. It was the strangest thing.”

  “Maybe you need summer to come back. The cold is starting to get to you. We should plan five days in Mexico. Both of us probably could use that. What do you say?”

  Once inside, Gio undressed Steve and eventually walked him to the sofa.

  “Your blackouts are all from this damn coffee table.” Gio kicked one of the table’s legs with the side of his foot. “It’s cursed, Steve. And maybe you are, too. We should think about getting rid of it. Break it up and toss it away, piece by piece. I wouldn’t feel right about selling it to anyone. Why pass bad juju onto the next guy, right?”

  Steve agreed. “We were thinking about buying a new living room suit anyway. Remember Jasper down at Home Decorating? He said he’s having a sale from now through March. Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

  “He only told you that because he wants in your pants.”

  Steve didn’t object to Gio’s comment, knowing it was the truth. Jasper Conrad had been trying to get with Steve for the last five years, ever since Home Decorating opened. Jasper made it quite clear, almost sexually harassing Steve upon his short visits to the store, that he had a thing for him.

  Always pertaining to furniture, he made somewhat vulgar comments to Steve like, “I like my wood smooth and durable. How about you?”

  Steve now told Gio, “I’m not into him. He’s not my type. My ginger days are long over. I’ve been interested in Italian men, particular you, for the last six years. Let’s leave it at that.”

  T
hey did. Enough said.

  Gio made lunch for Steve, and the two men sat around and watched two movies as a windstorm kicked up outside. They enjoyed Little Children and Fargo, both of Steve’s favorites. By five o’clock in the evening, already dark outside, the wind had kicked up to an extreme and intense speed. It slapped against the Tudor’s windows and doors, shaking the house’s walls as if they were constructed out of tin. Howling persisted, and the lights within their shared abode flickered off, on, off, on, which reminded Steve of the fireflies in the meadow. Following the movies, Gio made a simple but loving dinner: cans of chicken soup and grilled three-cheese sandwiches; nothing gourmet, but it was tasty.

  “Play your violin for me. One or two songs. You know it turns me on.”

  Steve loved to play the instrument for Gio, agreeing to his request. Together, upstairs, the two men entered the spare bedroom Steve had converted into his studio. Both men sat in foldable chairs, and Steve played a portion of Vivaldi’s “Winter” and then P. I. Tchaikovsky’s “Violin Concerto in D Major,” which was one of Gio’s favorites. Steve filled the Tudor with the music, embracing the moment. The violin’s melodic sounds moved from one room to the next, taking residence inside their home.

  While playing, Steve noticed the smile on Gio’s handsome face: overjoyed, uplifting, and filled with what he easily determined as a heartfelt life; a smile that created the tuneful embrace of two men living together, both in love with each other; the sharing of winter days; the folding, unfolding, and protection of the music Steve played that kept them warm from the torrential wind and swirling snow outside.

  Eventually, Gio abruptly stopped him. “Enough. Put the violin down. You’ve turned me on. I’m going to make love to you now. Right here and right now. You can’t tell me no.”

  Wide-eyed, smiling, feeling a buzz of notes and chords rush through his system, Steve didn’t object. Instead, he stood, unzipped his jeans, pushed the fabric down to his knees with his boxer-briefs, and slipped his hard dick inside Gio’s mouth: ferociously, forcefully, and…