Bliss

a gay boy who's struggling to find peace.

Bliss

 

Boyd bowed on the edge of the basin, naked under the white light of the bathroom lamp. He rested his elbows on his knees as his eyes darted through the last pages of a hard covered book. His skin was paler at the neck and arms. He got to his feet with his eyes fixated over the book and stopped at the rectangular mirror, resting on the brown tiled wall.

 

He placed the book on the washing machine and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Slowly, he placed a hand at his bright brown nibble and then after rubbing it, ran a finger gently over it.

 

His penis erected and he pranced to the water sink. After applying some soap to his left hand, he stroked the head of his penis so fiercely. For a few seconds, he could feel the sperm dashing up his penis and out it spurted, giving him the monumental pleasure that vanished instantly as if God Knew that pleasure was bad for humans and that’s why he made you feel that guilt right after doing anything that made you happy; The dilemma of happiness.

 

After putting on his blue tee shirt with white school printing on it and his black jacket, he filled up his white mug with hot water, snatched half a pound from the ashtray beside the main door and headed down the stairs, singing a lamentation of death and sorrow which he heard yesterday, to himself. 

 

Some water spluttered out of the mug as he climbed up the few steps that led into the supermarket.  In front of those three steps, Boyd usually checked his reflection in the glass windshield of a hamburger restaurant that opened for just two weeks.

 

Boxes of unopened liquid soap spread down the pathway that led to the glass door of the supermarket. In this small pathway, the delivery boys of the supermarket sat down every evening to have their meals and left the remains of the food sprinkled over journal papers.

 

A tall man dressed in a red training suit rested over the glass door with his fatty shoulder. He beamed at Boyd. “Hello, Mr. Boyd. How are you?” He shook his hands and Boyd went into the supermarket, raising up his cheeks in a forced smile and holding the mug of hot water away from his chest.

 

The tall man’s name was Jackson. He was the youngest of the two brother owners of this supermarket which was called “Nice morning” He had green eyes and yellowish beard and eyebrows.

 

 

Boyd took a packet of Nescafe from the shelf of tea and coffee and after placing the packet between his teeth, he offered Jackson the half pound.

 

Jackson took it smiling then placed it in the counter.

 

“Bye, Mr. Jackson” Boyd said, cutting the head of the packet and adding the coffee beans over the mug of hot water then stirring with his finger.

 

“This book,” Jackson said, “I read it and I wanted you to read it. It’s called the hereafter is reality” he spoke the name of the book in a louder tone. “It’s a religious book. I know you wouldn’t be interested, but I just wanted you to read it.”

 

Boyd nodded, smiling at him. “Sure, where is it?”

 

Jackson walked from behind the counter in front of which a big table filled with all kind of sweeties with colorful wrappings stood.  “It’s with my niece. I will get it from her today. Pass by after school and I’d have gotten it from her.”

 

“Fine,” Boyd said, waving at Jackson, “I’ll come after school,”

 

The smiled vanished off Boyd’s face the moment he left the supermarket. He wasn’t interested in reading religious books, especially from Jackson. He made him feel like an atheist most of the time.

 

He couldn’t forget that day when Jackson insisted that Boyd should join him to pray at the church behind the supermarket. Boyd didn’t want to go and he had to lie to him. He told him that his father was sick and he had to go buy him some coughing syrup from the pharmacy. Jackson started reciting some verses from the bible in which God mentions the rewards of those who pray and headed alone to the church. Since then Boyd avoided any kind of religious talk with Jackson.

 

 

After getting into one of those white caps, Boyd placed his headphones up his ears and watched as the cars rushed by.

 

He reached school at 9:15. It was considerably late for a student in last year of high school, but he never cared.

 

On the other side of the street, infront of his school, there was an abandoned garden with barbed wires encircling it.

 

 After taking off his shoes and stepping up the wires, Boyd slung his backpack on the green grass and lay down with the undrunk mug of coffee in his hands.

 

He brought his bag closer and rested one shoulder on it. Some street dogs passed by, eating at the trash bags, bordering the garden. The place smelt of rot watermelon. A small tomato got crushed under a newly grown tree, tied to the ground with a rope from its stem.

 

Boyd gazed at the blue sky as he sipped up his coffee. The air was cold and dry. He could feel it over his face.

 

Most of the high school students were allowed to leave early, since there were no teachers after break time. Every one went back home.

 

He thought of getting a bus but he then realized that his belly was a bit bigger today, so he decided to have a walk.

 

 After reaching the building where he lived, he stopped for a second, looking at the supermarket. He promised Jackson that he’d pass by after school to take the book so he placed down his bag at the gate of the building and headed to the supermarket.

 

 

Morgan, Jackson’s brother, was sitting behind the counter, dressed in his white shirt and neatly brushed leather shoes.

 

“Mr. Boyd,” Morgan said, pointing the remote control in his hand at the T. V that stood on the high shelves beside the jam bars.

 

Boyd smiled at him, tilting his head in this timid way that he hated about himself.

 

For a moment, it seemed like time stopped; as if Morgan’s hand froze in midair; as if loving specters whispered gently into Boyd’s ears, asking him to unleash his mind from all the thoughts and loose himself in the pleasure of Morgan’s tender, brown eyes.

 

 

Morgan’s eyes widened and his lips parted, as if a breeze of fresh air with scent of roses blew down his face.  The fleeting smile along with the brown eyes that shone in the sun light, all seemed to send arrows into Boyd’s chest, piercing him with the dizzying, yet sweet, power of physical attraction; the power of love.

 

 “How are you?” Boyd said, keeping a more relaxed smile on his face, “I hope everything is going fine.”

 

“Thanks, dear one.” Morgan got to his feet and snatched a book with red cover from under the desk. “Jackson asked me to give you this.”

 

Boyd took the book, “ Oh, thanks.” He examined the cover for a second. The title was written in thick, white letters while the back cover was red with some brown parts. “Have you read it?”

 

“No, I really didn’t” Morgan sat back at his chair, “I’m always busy, Dear Mr. Boyd.”

 

 

“I can see that” Boyd smiled, nodding. “I guess I’ll have to read it and give you a summary.”

 

Morgan tuned his head to the TV with the placid smile still plastered to his face “I’d be pleased to,”

 

 

“Bye,” Boyd said, walking out of the shop, “Take care,”

 

Morgan didn’t turn his head away from the T.V “Bye, Mr. Boyd”

 

On his way up the stairs, Boyd recalled this feeling that he received from one caring look and a gentle smile. He might be gay. Boyd Thought; he might be flirting with him. Boyd raised the sides of his lips, dismissing the idea from his head, and asking himself to stop interpreting every caring look or touch as a message of mutual attraction.

 

 By the time he reached the door of his apartment, he was telling himself once again that he couldn’t fully dismiss the idea of Morgan being attracted to him. “Nothing is impossible,” The quote dashed through his head and he didn’t care to cling to it, for he was to lazy to cling to anything, even his thoughts

 

 

Night had fallen and after Boyd finished his dinner that included a mug of coffee and a French fries sandwich, he headed to his room, intending to sit down and pray for God. He felt as empty as usual. He had watched two pornos today after waking up from his midday nap. God could help him; he thought.

 

He walked into his room and closed the door behind him. He thought of turning off the lights but he didn’t and he looked at his reflection in the mirror of his wardrobe. He wore his red shirt and wool, brown slippers.  He smiled at himself, making sure that his teeth were as white as today morning.

 

 Although he stood in the middle of the room, getting ready to pray, he somewhat started doing other things like checking some of the novels in the wardrobe drawer, singing and even humming a lullaby to himself. It was as If Satan was lurking behind him, whispering ideas unto him and leading him away from the remembrance of God.

 

He thought that it was unfair not to allow humans to see devils. At least when you could see the devil, whispering unto you, you’d do your best to drive him away. But with the inability to see him, you start confusing the whispers of the devil with the whispers of your soul.

 

 

Somehow, for Boyd, the whispers of the soul were much purer than those of the devil. He’d feel better if he started doing something, even if it was sinful, but he knows that it’s from deep down inside of him, not from an unseen enemy. It made him feel more as a complete human with a dark side and good side; it made him feel that he had the freedom of choice; the freedom to act upon his soul’s desires or to simply ignore them. However, that was because he knew that they were from inside of him and not from an unseen specter.

 

 

Boyd pressed his lips together, turned off the lights and kneeled down in the middle of the room. Silence enwrapped him. As the sound of his mother, speaking on the phone came through the slit of the door, which allowed in a shred of white light, he tilted his head forward and closed his eyes.

 

He opened his eyes once again, bent forward over the carpet and pressed his head against the ground. He could feel the grains of dust on the carpet against his forehead, like stones sent from hell to torment him; to tell him that God ignored his prayers because he was a sinner.

 

 He raised his head a few inches from the carpet, thinking of giving it all up and going to bed, but he told himself it was the devil and he placed his head back on the carpet.

 

The moment his lips parted to form a word, silence seemed to thicken. “I’m sorry, God. I just want to stop being gay. I can’t, it’s my nature. You have to tell me what to do. Am I allowed to love a man, God? If I got married one day to a man, will you throw me in hell? I love you God and I have none but you to help me, so don’t forsake me.”

 

Boyd stopped, feeling his palms against the carpet. He swallowed and then this feeling of emptiness took over him once again. He pressed his forehead harder against the ground and cried with suppressed sighs, “God, forgive me. I can’t love you like I love anyone round here on earth. I really want to love you, I want your love to be sufficient for me,” He swallowed once again, feeling his tears going down his cheeks, unto his lips and over his tongue. “Help me, God. Help me. I have no one here. I have no one but you. Don’t leave me.”

 

Next morning, after having breakfast, Boyd put on his leather jacket and went away for a walk around the house. Whenever he felt his body heavy, he went for such brief walks. The streets were calm and empty, especially during the night. That was the best advantage for Boyd; it allowed him to shun society for a brief time.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

In life easy to fall into desire of the body. Rare peace in real life. I like the pace and the story. You create a interesting character and story. Some decisions can separate you from family and friends. They must be made. A excellent story. A lot of conflict needed to be answered.
Coyote