Bliss

A Story by Tarik

A boy, a man and a wife.

Part 1

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.

After finishing his walk, Boyd was going back home when Morgan poked his head out of the side window the shop. “Hey, Mr. Boyd. How are you?”

“I’m fine, How are you”

“Thank, God.” He stopped for a moment and then went on, “do you like green tea?”

Inside the shop, Morgan and Boyd sat at two chairs opposite to each other with a short, round table in between them with a plate of beans and onion on it.

“Eat, Mr. Boyd.” Morgan said, “I make the best beans in town,”

Boyd eyed Morgan’s right hand and noticed a silver ring at his forefinger. He frowned for a split of a second and said, “ I thought you were a bachelor”

Morgan laughed and patted Boyd, “you’re so kind, dear Mr. Boyd. I wish I’d been a bachelor, but life…” He shrugged. “Marriage isn’t a walk in the park, dear Boyd. Save for the bed part.” He winked at Boyd. “Go on, eat”

That night Boyd couldn’t sleep. He pushed his head under the pillow and cried. He know realized what it felt like to love the wrong guy; He realized how painful it was to love someone that can’t love you back; That was life; It was unfair.

he pressed his lips together so that he wouldn’t wake his parents from his cries and called God for help. “Please, help me.” he cried harder and harder with every passing second. His body shook. He tugged at his quilt and wished that he’d be dead soon.

He didn’t want to be gay; he didn’t want to be different. It wasn’t his choice. He wanted to be a normal boy with a normal crush over a pretty girl; But God never cared what you wished for. It was his will; and his will alone.

Part 2

Morgan’s wife, Emilia Ronald, lived in a small apartment with her two daughters. She hated being away from Morgan; the man she loved since she was 19 years old.

Whenever she sat down to watch TV when Morgan was away, she would bring the bronze frame that had Morgan’s picture in it and place it down beside her on the sofa. She would caress the frame and smile it, “do you like the movie, darling?” She’d imagine him replying and then she’d kiss the frame and go to bed.

All over the house, color filled canvases spread over the walls with oil pastels and coloring brushes collected in a corner beside the TV. Those painting tools belonged to Emilia. She studied art in college and after graduating, she opened her fist exhibition. In one interview, Emilia said that Morgan has been the source of her inspiration for the last ten years, and that she couldn’t have been luckier to marry someone as tender and loving as he was.

Morgan called that day and told Emilia that he was coming tonight. She could not believe her ears, dashed to the kitchen, and prepared all kinds of delicious plates that Morgan loved.

Morgan returned home at about ten pm. He placed his bags at the room, took off his clothes, had a shower and went to the living room to have dinner with his family.

Emilia sat down in the chair next to him with their daughter sitting on the other end of the table.

“I missed you a lot,” Emilia said, rubbing Morgan’s hand and smiling at him.

Emilia looked at her husband who raised his spoon to his mouth. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Morgan eyed his wife briefly and smiled at his daughter. “How was school, Janet?”

“It was fine.” Janet said, “I had this fight with my math teacher, Mrs. Dina. She is so stupid. I cannot believe her. She’s making fun of me for not using calculator...”

Morgan laughed and took another spoonful of rice. “She’s jealous because my big daughter is smarter than her...”

Emilia finished her plate and stood up, taking it to the sink. As she washed it, she turned her head to Morgan and said, “Did you like the rice? I made it using the Chinese method.”

“It’s pretty good,” Morgan said, pushing away his empty plate “thanks, Emilia”

After having a shower, Morgan went into his room to find Emilia dressed in her white, nearly transparent nightdress. She sat on bed with the sheets wrinkled under her open feet.

“I know that you missed me,” she said, “and I missed you too, Morgan.”

Morgan eyed her for second and sat on the bed, taking off his shirt since he liked to sleep with his sleeveless under shirt.

Emilia placed a hand around his neck and started caressing his chest. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“I want to sleep, Emilia,” Morgan said, placing his head on the pillow, “I’m tired and I need some rest.”

“I know you need me,” she ran a hand on his penis and kissed him in the neck. “You need some love.”

He held Emilia’s hand from the wrist and gently placed it away from his neck. “Emilia, I need to sleep. I’m sorry”

Morgan woke up in the middle of the night to pee. Emilia wasn’t sleeping beside him. After peeing, he checked the kitchen and he didn’t find her, there also he checked his daughter’s room. Eventually, he found her standing in the balcony.

She was naked, save for a towel wrapped around her shoulder. When he walked in, she was smoking at a cigarette while running a hand at her left n****e. She seemed like she was walking asleep.

“Emilia,” Morgan said, “you’ll get a cold,”

“ yes,” Emilia said, gazing at world as if examining it, as if everything seemed to cause her a great deal of confusion. “I love you, Morgan”

Morgan placed a hand at her shoulder and egged her into the living room. She followed him to the room and there she placed the towel at the stool beside the bed and slept within Morgan’s arms. She spoke in this dreamy tone. “I wanted you to f**k me,”

Morgan caressed her over the head and said, “I’m sorry. I no longer can do it. I’m really sorry”

“You no longer find me attractive,” Emilia said, “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I like you a lot Emilia,” Morgan said, “it’s just; I’m having strange feelings lately and I can’t talk. It’s so confusing.”

Next morning, when Morgan was having a brief walk around the house, he found a lady dressed in a red dress and man with a blue shirt whose upper buttons were undid, sitting on a small bench waiting for the morning bus. The man placed a hand at the lady’s thigh and she extended her head towards his mouth and they kissed.

Strangely, Morgan remained in his place, on the other side of the street, watching the fervent love those two had for each other; this kind of love that revived the dead parts of the soul and enriched your life; the love that made you feel so light and nibble; that love that made your chest feel open and your words, gracious and kind.

He wished that one day he could kiss someone with so much love inside of him.

After having lunch with Emilia, Morgan kissed his sleeping daughter on the head and started folding his clothes back into his bag. He was leaving.

Emilia walked into the room as he wore his shirt, “you disappoint me,”

She didn’t turn to look at him and he didn’t turn to look at her. They both stood a few centimeters away from each other, afraid to come any closer. They both felt different emotions towards each other and none of them could control it. Emilia loved Morgan so much and Morgan realized that he never loved her.

Without a word, Morgan left the apartment and took a bus to the south.

Emilia couldn’t believe that he left; she couldn’t believe that Morgan didn’t care to give her one loving look. She got to her feet and took off her clothes. Lit up a cigarette and sat at the floor of the room, with her feet open. She rested against the wall.

“Morgan,” she whispered his name and wished that he could whisper back, “Morgan...”

She knew that he would never whisper back and that he would never return. She saw it in his eyes before he went away. They spoke of coldness, relinquishing and detachment.

It was ten pm. Boyd put on his jacket and headed to the door of the appartement with the keys in his hand and five pounds in his pocket. As he opened the lock of the door, his father, who was sitting at the computer on the other side of the living room, turned and waved at him, “ where are you going?”

“I’ll have a walk,”

His father nodded and looked back at the screen, “ just don’t be late,”

The street was empty as usual with the orange lights of the lampposts flooding it with this feeling dreamy halo.

Boyd placed his hands with in his pockets walked down the street, with his head drooped to the ground and his lips pressed, hoping to suppress such unexplainable tears as the ones that flowed down his cheeks.

He wanted an explanation. Why was he sad? He never knew. He still never knew. It was just his mind that made him feel that it was possible for Morgan to love him, but deep down inside, Boyd knew that the feelings he had for Morgan were a mere illusion; an illusion that tugged at his head and ripped it apart.

Boyd headed into a near street. It seemed that no light had touched the leaves of the trees, bending forward in front of the buildings, save for the some sunlight every morning.

Boyd sat down on a sidewalk, removing the accumulating small piles of dust with the sole of his shoes. He bent forward and breathed in, closing his eyes. He placed his two palms over each other and squeezed, gasping in air through his nose. “ God,” he gasped in harder, “ Do something,”

He pressed his palms harder over each other. His head started shaking with his shoulders slightly raised and stiff. He could feel the muscles at his elbows crunch over each other as if he was trying to push out his biceps.

The shaking augmented. His pressed his teeth against each other and for a moment he thought they’d break in his mouth.

“God, Help me. I can no longer bear it,” he said through gritted teeth.

And as if an angel descended the sky to hug him, Boyd’s body slackened on itself and he fell to his face, with his tears mingling with the dust over his cheeks. He pressed his forehead against the harsh asphalt and brought his elbows in front of his head. He cried and cried and cried.

He cried till he had no more tears to shed.

He walked back home and on his way up the stairs, the image smacked him over his head that he stopped on his way up the steps and raised his head to the yellow light coming down at him from the lamb of the stairs. He closed his eyes and laughed. The image got clearer with the seconds rushing by. He knew what would he do.

Not for just one second during his life that spanned 18 years, had Boyd felt such vigorous emotion come over him. He felt his whole body loosen; he felt his spirit soaring high up, after years of fighting against the bars of its prison. He knew he could be free and happy once and for all.

It was easy; a simple word, “Death”