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It’s 4am. He doesn’t remember how many drinks he’s had tonight. Too many. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of his car and the world is a little bit fuzzy, but he has just enough sense to not try to drive. Or maybe it’s just that he can’t find his keys. Either way, he’s stuck here in front of this stupid bar, with his breath smelling distinctly of Grey Goose and his fingers fumbling awkwardly with his phone. He thinks he took it out to call a Lyft. But now he’s dialling a number and pressing the phone to his ear and now it’s ringing. And now it’s not.
“Hello?” a familiar voice answers, groggy and annoyed.
Marvin almost forgets how to speak. It’s been so long. A year. A year since he last heard his voice.
“Is anyone there?”
Marvin still can’t find his voice. His mouth hangs open and his head spins and he doesn’t say a word.
“Alright I’m hanging up now.”
That jolts Marvin out of his trance. “No!” he exclaims. “I’m… hi.”
Now it’s the other side of the line that falls silent.
“I don’t know why-”
“Marvin.”
“Whizzer.” There’s something about their stern tones that Marvin’s drunken mind finds hilarious and he breaks down into a fit of giggles.
“God, you’re drunk,” Whizzer sighs quietly.
“I am,” Marvin affirms with another burst of laughter.
“Why are you calling me, Marvin?” Whizzer asks.
“I need…” Marvin starts. “I need a ride.”
“Call a Lyft,” Whizzer suggests,
“I tried that but I… here I am,” Marvin giggles again.
“Call Charlotte or Cordelia.”
“They’re sleeping,” Marvin argues.
“So was I!” Whizzer is getting more and more exasperated by the second.
“Now you’re not,” Marvin shrugs.
Whizzer sighs. “Where are you? Are you safe?”
“I’m in my car in front of the… the bar…” He trails off. He doesn’t remember the name. “The… you know the one.”
“Yeah,” Whizzer agrees, sounding defeated. “Yeah, I do.” There’s silence again for a few seconds, then: “I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t move.”
“You got it, compadre.”
Marvin hears Whizzer stifle a laugh before the line goes dead.
Marvin jumps when the car door suddenly opens to reveal a tired-looking Whizzer standing in the street. “Alright, out of the driver’s seat,” he orders.
Marvin nods and pushes himself out towards the street. Whizzer reaches out to steady him, helping him step down onto the asphalt. He wraps his arm around Marvin’s waist and leads him slowly around the car and into the passenger seat. He slams the door loudly, which makes Marvin jump again, and climbs in next to him.
“Where are your keys?” He asks.
Marvin just shrugs.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Marvin,” Whizzer groans. “Have you tried your pockets?”
“Of course I have!” Marvin answers defensively. He digs into his front pocket anyway, and immediately pulls out his keyring. He looks at it with silent confusion. “How’d that get there?” He mumbles.
Whizzer rolls his eyes and snatches his keys away, immediately starting up the car. “Alright, let’s get you home.”
Even with Whizzer holding him and guiding him up, Marvin manages to trip on a step and fall onto the stairs leading to his apartment, falling also into another fit of laughter.
“Come on, Marvin, get up,” Whizzer insists, trying to yank him up by the arm. But Marvin just sits there on a step, leaning back and giggling like a little kid. He pulls at Whizzer’s shirt, motioning for him to join Marvin on the step. Eventually, Whizzer reluctantly obeys, sitting awkwardly, his long legs bent up nearly to his chest. “Just take your time then, that’s fine,” Whizzer grumbles.
Marvin leans against Whizzer’s shoulder and feels his body tense at the contact.
“Marvin, what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” Marvin shushes him.
“Marvin-”
“Just sit here for a second, okay?”
Whizzer sighs. “Okay.”
And they just sit there. Marvin’s head on Whizzer’s shoulder, Whizzer’s legs bent awkwardly in front of him, both men looking straight ahead. It’s silent for a few minutes, Marvin’s head still spinning--though finally beginning to slow down a bit--, Whizzer’s mind forcefully neutral. Until, finally, Marvin says, “I’m ready to go in now.”
Whizzer opens the door with the apartment key he has been meaning to get rid of and helps Marvin into bed. He arranges the pillows so Marvin can sit against them, retrieves a glass of water and a bottle of advil from the kitchen and sits down on the edge of his bed. “Drink this. Take one of these,” he says softly, handing the pills and the cup to a suddenly sated Marvin. He’s not laughing anymore. Now he’s just quiet. He doesn’t say a word as Whizzer takes the remaining water from his hand and sets it on the nightstand next to the Advil bottle. He doesn’t say a word as Whizzer shuts off the reading lamp and the room goes dark. He doesn’t say a word until Whizzer turns to go.
Marvin grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Stay,” he begs quietly. “Please.”
Whizzer looks down at his feet. A year later. A year of hating him and getting over him and trying desperately to forget. But here he is. And it doesn’t feel like a year. It feels like yesterday. It all comes rushing back to him: all the laughter and the romance and the sex, but all the fighting and the cruelty and the manipulation as well. It all comes back. Like it’s happening all over again. And, again, he pulls away.
“I can’t,” he says. His voice is weak; a tremble away from breaking. “I’m sorry, Marvin. I can’t.”