Nine Minutes in Heaven

by David Connor

  “I should have waited,” he said, before I could explain any further. “You’re upset. If it’s our bedroom, you should get a say in what it looks like. Bad pharmacist! Bad pharmacist!”

  “No. Not at all.” When I realized I was pacing again, I stopped. “I’m not good at that sort of thing anyway.”

  “Bullshit. I’ll cancel the order and we’ll find something we both like.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “At least let me send you pictures of what I ordered. Better yet, go on the Telly’s Furniture site yourself and see if there’s anything you like. Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “No. Not you.” The amusement in Patrick’s tone made me smile, too. “Someone just came into the store.”

  “Oh.”

  “Be right with you,” Patrick said to the customer, and then, to me, he said, “Hi.”

  I smiled again. “Hi.”

  “Don’t go away.”

  “Okay.” I brought up the Telly’s site on my tablet while listening to Patrick in his friendly, jovial tone speak to whoever had arrived. I found something I loved right away, cherry wood, reddish brown with a beautiful shine.

  “Okay. Just let me know if you need any help,” I heard all muffled. What came after that, loud and clear, was sort of shocking.

  Chapter 4

  “Say something, Goose.”

  I tried. “You…It’s not that…”

  “I mean, I know you don’t really want to marry me, and I fully understand why.”

  “I do,” I said.

  “No pun intended.”

  How could I not want to marry the man? “Patrick, it’s just…”

  “I get too excited,” he said.

  “And I don’t? Remember the superhero costumes and making snow angels in a blizzard? It’s one of the many things I adore about you, while, at the same time, being very grateful you also find it somewhat endearing in me.”

  “Endearing? I find it magical and wonderful, sexy and uplifting.” Patrick stayed true to form with his words.

  “So, what’s the problem, then?” Other than the fact I still wasn’t talking about my true feelings.

  “Picking out furniture and building a greenhouse. Both are things a couple should discuss before doing. Yet, here I went and did both all by myself. You’ll be thinking I’m bossy and controlling, and before we even set a date, you’ll be telling me you don’t want to get married.”

  “Stop.”

  “The bedroom set I picked out is cherry. You might prefer oak or even black lacquer. How dare I?”

  “Funnily enough, I’m on the site right now and have fallen in love with a cherry bedroom set at first glance. The one with the leather headboard insert…”

  “And brushed bronze drawer pulls.” We finished together, both of our voices rising with excitement by the end.

  “The very set I ordered,” Patrick said.

  Then, I gasped, as I also had a tendency to do. “By all means, don’t cancel. Love at first sight…it doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “I still remember that night at the reenactment, when I was being all serious, dull, and pedantic about historical accuracy, and you raised your hand and asked about snacks.”

  “Sounds kind of jerky in retrospect,” I thought aloud.

  “Not at all. I found it adorable.”

  “I do like to eat.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Pancakes.”

  “I was just thinking about that, as my text might have indicated.”

  “Well, my heart definitely went pitter pat when I got a good look at you.”

  “Mine went pitter Patrick.”

  “I see what you did there,” he said.

  I was up against the banister to my sister’s beige carpeted staircase, almost hugging it. “And here we are, me still infatuated with everything about you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. I swear.” I took a breath. “If I have any reservations at all, they’re about me, not you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I get panicky about disappointing you.”

  “Never happen.”

  “Even if I’ll never be brave enough to meet your whole family at once?” I asked, thinking about the St. Patrick’s Day video.

  “You’ll meet them one at a time.”

  “Or if traveling the world seems more scary than exciting?”

  “I’ll never let go of your hand,” Patrick said.

  “What if I chicken out at the last minute, right at the airport when we’re about to leave for Rio?”

  “You can draw me a picture of Christ the Redeemer. I’d cherish that more than a photograph, anyway.”

  “I guess I’m not totally over my isolation phase.”

  “I’ll give you space.”

  “I don’t want space from you, just maybe the rest of the world. You do realize, the only three people I talked to the entire time we were at that reenactment were you, Rip, and a ghost.”

  “But you raised your hand and spoke in front of the whole class.”

  “To ask about food. I’ll face all my fears to fill my belly.”

  Patrick chuckled. “I’m glad I was one of the three, and I think you sell yourself short. You were a champ at the tree protest, too. And the way you interacted with Carrie was amazing. I won’t push, never, but I never want you to put yourself down, either.” I could hear him working as he talked, opening a box, rattling pills, flipping through papers. “I’m going to call you out on that. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Can I confess something?” Patrick asked after a pause.

  “Sure.”

  “The only reason I brought some of that stuff up is because…Well, do you remember when I told you how my ex longed for travel and excitement, Paris and far off places, a more fanciful existence?”

  I hadn’t, but now I did.

  “See, I was afraid that was everyone’s notion of happiness, so I wanted you to know, if you felt that way, that I was willing to do it with you. I was overcompensating, maybe, trying to grant your every wish before you could make it. I think about my past, too,” Patrick said. “I’m not perfect.”

  “No?”

  “Certainly not. There’s growing to do, and maybe that starts with me letting you tell me what your dreams are.”

  I caught my refection in the mirror across Rip and Shelby’s living room and hoped Patrick was smiling on his end of the phone as well. “The truth is, all I need is you.”

  “Back at ya, Love Camel.”

  “You and my family, my puppy dog, a sketch pad and pencils…food.”

  “Yes, food. Hamburger pancakes. Which ones first?”

  “Maybe just small pancakes as buns.”

  “You got it. Next time we get together, burgers on pancake buns.”

  My mouth watered. The burgers were coming. I wished I had the pancake buns and Patrick right then. “You’re close to perfect, Patrick O’Hanlon.”

  “I’m also quite itchy today.”

  “Aww. I’ll bring baby powder next time we see each other. I need to touch and lay my head on all the sexy prickliness I felt this morning, and more importantly, kiss you some more,” I declared.

  “I’d love to oblige.”

  “I’m heading over to Carrie’s play practice in a bit. Maybe we could meet up there. I know you’re tired.”

  “Perfect idea, as usual, because I have already decided to skip the after-work work tonight and break outta here at exactly seven.”

  “I won’t keep you too late.”

  “I’ll break curfew and sneak in through the bedroom window when we’re done. If I avoid the squeaky floorboard, no one will ever know, and I won’t be grounded.”

  “You’re silly.”

  “Silly and sexy. What else?”

  “Sensational. Stupendous. Sociable. Soft. Soothing. Satisfying.”

  “Mmm. You’re gonna get me hard at work, the way you drew that last one out.”

  “Black, st
retchy dress pants with your hard cock protruding from the fly front of your boxers. Mmm.”

  “Stop, Goose. There’s a customer about, remember?”

  “Shoo her out and get over here.”

  “It’s a him.”

  “Kick his ass to the curb,” I said.

  “He’s a browser,” Patrick whispered. “Up and down the aisles. Usually, people know what they want when they come in here—tummy ache, aisle three, earache, One B, headache, One A…”

  “Hmm. Maybe he aches all over, like me for you.”

  “It feels like forever since we’ve love fucked,” Patrick said, still talking softly. “Let me cure what ails ya. God! I want you inside me.”

  “Now I’m getting hard.”

  “I bet you’re wearing black jeans and a blue and green striped sweatshirt, with maybe a button-down shirt under it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You have a clothing schedule.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Uh-uh. You didn’t know?”

  “I did not.” I checked out my reflection again. “No.” I was trying to imagine if it was true. I did laundry once a week. Seven shirts, seven pair of jeans, three black, four blue…I probably laid them all back in the drawer a certain way and just wore them in order every single time. “Damn! I told you I didn’t have many clothes. God. What a dork.”

  “Adorkable. I can’t wait until summer, when you add the cargo shorts you wore last October back into the rotation.”

  “Well, I have a lot of underwear. That’s always a surprise.” It was a surprise for me as well. I had to check, unsure what ones I had on right then.

  “Red, yellow, green, orange, rainbow, puppy paw prints, golf balls, paint brushes…” Patrick listed some.

  “The ghost ones you got me for Christmas, and the ones with acorns on them.”

  “I haven’t seen you in the Valentine’s Day pair I gave you, with the big, red heart target right there.” Patrick got quieter and dirtier. “You’re hot as fuck in your tight, little undies, Love Camel.”

  “You’re in luck. I just checked. Those are the ones I slipped into after showering to come over to Rip and Shelby’s, so I could feel you near me.”

  “You just looked down your pants?” Patrick swallowed hard and audibly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you put your hand down there?”

  “In my pants?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “No.”

  “Can you?”

  “There are people in the house.” I glanced toward the kitchen door, and then up the stairs.

  “Just be careful,” Patrick said.

  “I will if you do.” I was getting hard.

  “With this dude in here? At the moment, he’s looking at the baseball bat signed by the softball team I sponsor. Damn me and my idea to hang it on the wall.”

  “It’s good he’s distracted. Go behind the counter.”

  “Already there. I could press the keys on the register with my hard-on.”

  “I’d pay to see that.”

  “I can’t wait to hit the bullseye with it.”

  “Maybe I’ll wear them backwards.” I licked my lips. “Or as kind of a ski mask.”

  “You dirty little Love Camel.”

  “Ready, aim, fire.”

  “Shit, Goose.”

  I squirmed against the balustrade. “We’ll make Monday Hump Day. I’ll call off late for work, kiss you to sleep in your bed after, and then go clean like a speed demon.”

  “I could get into that.”

  “How’s about you show up in your black dress pants and nothing else?”

  “It’s not that warm out there! I don’t even have my body fur to help.”

  “You can wear a shirt and a coat, sweet and spontaneous Patrick, even the tie. Just slip off the boxers, so there’s nothing between me and your cock but a zipper.”

  “Mmm. You got it, fabulous, fun, fantastic, fuckable Goose.”

  “Wowie. And don’t forget the necklace.”

  Patrick had sent a selfie of himself kissing the G some more during the day.

  Patrick: I’m thinking of and missing you right now.

  Goose: Same.

  I’d reciprocated with a photo and sentiment of my own, once up from my daytime slumber.

  “Okay, Mr. Red Baseball Cap is heading up front,” Patrick said in the present, giving me a flash of Tom, my ex, who put one on the moment he awoke and only took it off to shower and sleep. “I better go.”

  “Get out, Mister.”

  “He only has one thing. Ninety minutes or so, Love Camel.”

  I managed to forget my past and put on a smile as I thought of the very near future. “See you soon.”

  “Absolutely. I have a drop-off to deliver after I close, then I’ll slip off my drawers and be on the way. See you by eight, at the latest.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Me neither. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  After staring at the blank screen a while, though I’d already hit End Call, I checked my crotch for obvious protrusions, then skipped to the kitchen. If Wilbur was making fun of me in his mind, he didn’t say anything out loud as he followed. “Need help with the dishes, you two?”

  “Well, there’s a mood swing,” Rip said, wiping my smooch off his cheek with the dish towel he was using to dry as Shelby washed.

  I picked Carrie up off the floor and spun her around when she came down the back stairs, now dressed as “Charlie.” Then, I gave my sister a whirl.

  “I’m gonna puke,” she warned.

  “Oh, sorry.” After Shelby, Wilbur wanted a turn. I was dizzy when all was said and done. Dizzy and still not full, despite the Oreos. “I hope you made me at least three burgers, because I’m about to finish all your cookies and then chew on the cupboard.”

  “Your chat with Patrick made you hunppy?”

  “Richard Dolensky! There’s a teenager in the room,” Shelby scolded.

  “He said ‘hunppy.’” I stressed the N.

  “Oh. I thought he said ‘humpy.’”

  Carrie covered her mouth. I might have gone with both ears, like I’d done before.

  “Hunppy,” Rip explained. “Like hangry, only it’s hungry and happy.”

  Rip was right. I was ready to marry Patrick that night, to ask permission to sleep over with him and never leave.

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Mood swings were as natural to me as gasping, and I needed to find some middle ground. For the moment, I’d settle for a date and being hunppy.

  “Maybe, hunpy will catch on,” Rip said. “Throw it around, Carrie, will ya? New words always start amongst the young.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  I told her I was going to drop by her rehearsal toward eight-ish. Half an hour sounded doable, especially if Patrick was there, too. Carrie reminded me she was “Charlie,” as far as everyone else there was concerned.

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you just come and watch?” she asked. “I’ll drive.”

  “I’d like to.” Part of me would. “But I’ll follow. Patrick is going to meet me there.”

  “Cool. Maybe he can watch, too.”

  “I’m sure he’d love that.”

  After scarfing down Rip’s delicious grilled ground round with double white American cheese slices, Carrie and I headed for the school. She was amazing up on the stage, breaking my heart as she acted out the tragic love story of two devoted souls torn apart by abusive outsiders. I tried to hide in the back of the spacious auditorium, but the drama director, Mrs. Quintero, spotted me toward the end of the evening.

  “You’re Goose?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She threw her arms around me and shoved me back a good two feet. “Your donation is going to make a huge difference for our show.”

  “Well,” I began, speaking through the largest gold hoop earrings I had ever seen, “the donation is
Cost-Mart’s, not mine.”

  She unwound herself from me and smiled. “You made it happen. Our Carrie is fantastic, isn’t she?” Mrs. Quintero kept her voice low.

  “Completely.”

  “Such joy. It’s really come out since she’s been living with your sister and Mr. Dolensky.”

  I watched a bit more, as Carrie recited the dialogue proclaiming the state of Lun Tha’s love for Tuptim as hopeless and sad, reiterating how they would likely be killed if anyone discovered their secret. Suddenly, I was reminded of Jefferson’s relationship with Calvin, what they must have gone through, daring the conventions of the 1800s to be together, despite being the same gender and from different races. I wondered how often they met in the shadows and hid from the moon, for fear of being caught and punished.

  Recaptured by Carrie’s voice and mannerisms as she acted out the script, recalling the sheer joy she showed upon singing the songs, dark as they might be, at Cost-Mart, I noticed her current performance, though powerful and on point, seemed to lack some of that. I assumed it was due to the fact she was singing the male part, as opposed to the one she truly wanted to sing. The scenes they played that night were not meant to be jovial, but rather ambivalent, at best, two soul mates always cautious and melancholy. Perhaps that was what I was seeing.

  “Amazing, right?” Mrs. Quintero asked.

  “Yes,” I said anyway, just as I witnessed Carrie’s costar push Carrie’s hand away when it came near hers.

  “We’re going to stop here for the night,” the director announced. “Before you all rush off, I think Mr. Tucker, here, deserves a standing ovation for the fabric, plywood, and paint he’s arranged for us.”

  I wanted to crawl under one of the seats in front of me, despite the questionable state of the carpeting in the room and the fact I would have to fold myself down to about the size of a bed pillow to do so.

  “No big deal.” I could feel my face getting red. “Don’t forget to email me with specifics, so we can get you what will be the most useful,” I told Mrs. Q, as most of the kids called her.

  Fortunately, twenty teenagers buzzed around her then, like I imagined Patrick’s bees doing with their queen. This offered me a chance to duck out into the lobby, where I hoped I might find him. Carrie joined me.

  “You blew me away up there,” I told her.

  “Eh. I was okay, I guess. Laura, the girl playing Tuptim, she’s kind of a…” I could see Carrie choosing her words carefully, which was definitely a good thing. “A diva, maybe…or maybe just not very nice.”