Work Text:
London
I dream about the river too often.
Sometimes I’m alone but more times than not he’s there too. A place where the river shallows, next to our favourite tree. A dark-haired teenage boy smiles at me, almost shy. The bright rays of sunshine creep through the branches, dancing on his face.
Our eyes meet and neither of us breaks the gaze. We’re not angry, we’re not scared – a state which eventually became a rarity. But in that moment, we’re content.
There’s an empty bottle at our feet and a confusing feeling between the two of us.
‘Can I kiss you?’ I ask him. My voice is uncertain.
‘You know you don’t have to ask.’
It catches me off guard, again. I lay in bed and try not to think too much about it. I sink into my routine. I make some tea, check my e-mails. I cycle to the studio to work. I sit by my Casio, with hands unsteady on the keys. There’s a notebook with unfinished lyrics on a desk next to me but I can’t bother, especially not today.
I need a smoke, but I decided to quit a while ago. I need to focus, but I’m alone in the studio today and there is nothing to stop me from being embarrassingly self-indulgent.
I look at Graham’s painting on a wall opposite me. It’s just a copy; he didn’t want to leave the original here though I insisted. I remember we argued about that.
We argued about a lot of things back then.
He said that I always demanded too much. I knew it wasn’t really about the painting, he just said no to me for the sake of it. He wanted to have control, to stop giving because it was exhausting. But then again, when someone is so willing to give, at some point it becomes easy to overlook the greediness. In retrospect, Graham was right – I was a greedy motherfucker. Still am, actually. I don’t know if my self-awareness can serve as an excuse, though.
As if we’ve ever had an excuse. Or maybe we’ve never really needed one, just convinced ourselves otherwise. When we were younger, we had frantic moments. It didn’t matter where we were, whether it was some shithole where we had to play during early days, back of the tour bus; dressing room or a toilet in a recording studio – it didn’t matter. We were too drunk to pay attention to our surroundings anyway. Hands and mouths on each other during moments too short to be enough and long enough to feel shame and bitterness afterwards.
Now I remember him in places. Neon lights in Hong Kong, leaning against each other in a subway and the uncertainty of it all. The sound of heavy London rain when we were laying on the floor in my studio after we made love the night we listened to our new songs. And warm nights in LA when he drove to my hotel. Room service and tangled limbs. We were behaving like some adolescent rock stars but I didn’t mind. When we arrived at the concert venue together, I saw a knowing look on Jamie’s face. As always, he knew, I didn’t have to say anything. Sometimes I had a feeling that everyone knew but it was always like that, I suppose – obvious enough but still hidden in plain sight. I watched Graham greet the band, his charming awkwardness put a smile on my face. A quite bizarre feeling dawned on me – two different realities were mixing. Something I could never expect to happen just a couple years ago.
And there’s no shame and no bitterness. Pure want when I have him in my bed and just underneath the surface I can hear silent I love you, I love you, I love you, which gets louder every time we have a chance to spend time together. I’m too old now to pretend that it’s something else.
But there is a shift. He’s gone again and I don’t know what to make of it.
I don’t text him too often. I tell myself it’s because I’m busy. Sometimes I talk to him in songs I write. What was the saying about lovers and a distance between them? I feel like we’ve had enough of it through the years anyway.
He said that it would be good for us, that we shouldn’t be too close to each other for a long time because it gets too much. I didn’t believe him. Now there’s an ocean between us and I feel overwhelmed. I guess he was wrong.
***
Los Angeles
The ocean is calm. Me, I’m exhausted from a long day of doing press and all the PR bullshit that comes with being in a band, even a virtual one, as it turns out.
I’m tired but – like the ocean – I’m calm and the human being standing next to me seems to mirror my state. I look at Graham. The lights of the city formed a halo over his head. It’s late, but the sky here is never completely dark, so I can see him clearly. His hair is a bit of a mess and he has a sleepy look on his face. But there is something else, something different from his usual self. Something quite serene; his twitchy, Graham-typical gestures gone for a minute. He’s like a stone which can’t be moved by the waves.
He catches me staring and frowns. There he is, the stillness gone. I smile.
‘It suits you, you know.’ Graham gives me a questioning look. ‘The city, I mean. LA is a bloody mess; it would drive me mad after couple weeks. But you look like you belong here.’
‘Yeah, I like it here. To be honest it was a surprise for me too.’
‘So, it’s a long term thing, then?’ I try to hide sadness that creeps uncontrolled every time I think about Graham being far away from London.
‘I think so. For now.’
‘And the tan. You don’t look like an anaemic vampire anymore. California sun is doing its job perfectly well.’ I give him a toothy grin.
‘Oh, piss off. Was wandering a lot first couple months. Difficult to avoid the sun when you’re out, you know.’
‘Suits you too.’
‘Shut up.’ He smiles.
We’re quiet for a moment. It’s getting late and we should decide what to do now. We spent a lovely evening together, but I don’t want to part ways, not yet. I’m not quite sure whether I should say out loud what I really wish for.
‘What do you want to do now?’ Graham’s expression is unreadable now. I can’t tell what he wants me to say.
But I can’t lie, can I? What I want to tell him is wrong for so many reasons, but somehow it seems even worse to let him slip away from me, to leave it as a casual reunion with an old friend.
Reunion. God, how I hate that word.
‘I want to go back to my hotel. With you.’ There it is, the truth. There is nothing casual about us and this is not a reunion. Sometimes I think that Graham never left. It is true, in a sense. Even when we weren’t speaking to each other, he was at the back of my head, haunting me with every single fuck up, every failure of our relationship. And god knows we had a lot of them.
Now I hope Graham can somehow read my thoughts and that we are on the same page.
But I look at the ocean. There’s a moment of silence between me and Graham and I let it sink in. I remain calm; after all, my words are not an afterthought. I’m sure he knows.
I feel his fingers wrapping around my wrist. ‘Okay’, is all he says.
***
In front of me, flickering city lights. Los Angeles doesn’t sleep and neither do I. I light up my cigarette and look out from the hotel window. Passing cars, neon signs – from the nineteenth floor they’re all the same iridescent dots of light. It’s like LA’s own morse code, like the city wants to tell me something.
Behind my back, crumpled sheets, dim light of a bedside table lamp and a man in my bed. I sigh and focus on him again. LA will have to forgive me.
‘I thought you quit smoking.’
‘Yeah, well. I tried to quit many things. Doesn’t always work, does it?’ I inhale the smoke, not breaking eye contact. Graham just shakes his head; he knows exactly what I mean. We’re both shit at quitting.
***
‘You should join me on stage, you know.’
Graham studies me for a moment. ‘And do what? Rap a verse in Clint Eastwood?’
‘Ha, ha, very funny.’
Graham suppresses a smile and focuses on his food. We’re in a small restaurant having breakfast. LA looks lovely and welcoming; a not too hot October sun warms us. I can already feel the pre-show excitement, a promise of a thrilling night hangs in the air.
‘I’m serious, though. Let’s do one of our songs.’
He leans into his chair. ‘Really?’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘A bit, yeah. Still not used to you being so… fond of Blur, I guess.’
I laugh at that and brush my knee against his under the table. ‘Oh, I am fond of Blur. I am really fond of Blur, Gra.’
***
I wipe out sweat from my face and down a shot of vodka which Jamie gave me as soon as I went off stage.
‘Hey.’
I turn around to see Graham leaning against the door frame. He sips on his coke and gives me a once-over.
‘Hey.’
He enters the dressing room. ‘It was good, yeah?’
‘What? The sex or the show?’ I joke, giving him a cheeky smile.
‘The show, you twat.’
‘Just the show? You’re hurting my feelings, Gra.’
Graham punches me lightly in the arm, but his hand stays there, resting on my bicep. He sighs, studying my face. A slight smile dances on corners of his lips, but there’s something I’d rather not name; a feeling which can only be seen in a brief glist of his eyes or in the way his lips quiver slightly because of things he wants to say but can’t bring himself to do so.
I know it too fucking well.
‘You’re ridiculous.’
‘Yeah? How so?’
He doesn’t answer my question, just takes a towel from my hand and wipes out sweat from my neck, each collarbone and then chest. I shiver slightly, cool air of an air-conditioner causes goosebumps on my hot skin.
Deja-vu. Post-show adrenaline and a sudden need to act on it. Graham and I in a small dressing room. Liquid confidence and heat radiating off us.
Twenty years ago, I would fuck his brains out. Now I’ve got people waiting for me, actually paying attention to what I’m doing and who I am doing it with. There it is again – a feeling that everything we are doesn’t belong to the present. A weight I don’t want to carry.
I focus on Graham again and the nausea is gone. I ask him whether he will stay with me tonight. He says yes – of course he does – even though I saw that a second ago he felt the weight too.
***
Early hours of the morning. LA balances on a thin line between the night and the day. I’m tired and my head aches from all the alcohol I drank at the party. Graham’s in my bed again, we’re slipping in and out of consciousness. Weirdly agitated, I can feel myself sobering up. Alcohol mixed with all the emotions of past two days won’t let me rest properly.
‘When you’re leaving?’ Graham’s voice is quiet and a little hoarse.
‘Afternoon.’
‘You should get some sleep. You’ll look like shite.’
I yawn. ‘Then I’ll tell everyone that I’ve been shagging my best friend whole night. A good reason to look like shite, I think.’
Graham smirks. ‘If only that were true, old man.’
‘You’re old too.’ I roll over onto his side and wrap my arm around his waist. ‘Besides, we still have some time. I’ll show you I’m not that fucking old.’
I close my eyes, not really waiting for a response. Graham just laughs under his breath.
We’re lovely, I think to myself. We’re great.
Sleep comes eventually.
***
‘It’s gonna be weird without you in London.’
‘Come on, Dames, it’s not like we were seeing each other regularly when I was there. You’ll barely notice that I’m gone.’
‘That’s not true.’
My eyes are bored into him, but Graham lays on his back, facing the ceiling. He looks like he’s considering something. I already don’t like what I’m hearing, so I’m not sure whether I want to continue this conversation. Graham’s self-doubt and tendency to run away is starting to show and I don’t want to go along with him. I want to be sure. I spent so much time trying to be sure of us.
‘But the distance will be good for us, right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We can’t really stand each other for too long, something always goes wrong.’ Graham smiles, trying to make his words look like a half-serious statement.
You’re wrong, I want to say. This is not us, not anymore. I want to tell him that the hurt we caused each other years ago doesn’t matter, not now. That we’re better than that. We don’t need distance, we need honesty. God, we’ve been through this, so many times. Why uncertainty always comes back to us? Can’t we just be?
I remain silent.
‘Damon?’
I sit at the edge of the bed, not facing Graham.
Why does he think that we can’t handle this relationship?
‘We’re not doing this again.’
A warm hand on my back. ‘I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s fine’, I interrupt him. ‘Can we just spend time together and not talk about this? Kind of ruins the mood.’
‘Come here, then.’
I turn around to face Graham. His hand is now resting on my lap. I look at him and my chest feels heavy. God, I’m too old for this, I think to myself.
‘I’m here, love.’ I lean in to kiss him. ‘Are you?’
***
London
I look at my hands which stopped playing and I didn’t even notice when. Why do I think about all of this? It’s not like analysing our relationship ever helped, so why bother? All we have are moments of bliss in each other’s arms or on stage, all of them too good, almost too intense. And in-between there are unanswered calls, years of silence and avoided conversations. Sick and twisted kind of balance which always leaves us confused. This is our routine.
I want to hear his voice. How long has it been? Three, four months? Nothing unusual for us, but now there is no comfort of having him nearby.
I call him, not really considering the time difference. I hope this time he’ll pick up the phone.
‘Damon?’
‘Hey. Did I wake you up? What time is it there?’
‘It’s, uh, eight in the morning here, so no, I wasn’t asleep. I’ve been awake for three hours or so. Couldn’t sleep really. What’s up?’
‘Nothing, just…’ I wanted to hear your voice. And I’ve been thinking about LA, and I can’t fucking figure out why everything about us seems complicated again. ‘Working in the studio and thought I could use a break. Then I wanted a smoke, realised that I quit couple months ago and I don’t have any cigs with me. And then decided to call you, just to chat. And… yeah.’
There’s a short pause. ’Are you okay? You sound weird.’
‘I don’t know. Just feeling out of place, I guess. Which is fucking annoying. I hoped I would finish a song today.’
Graham laughs.
‘Give yourself a break. You’re always productive. One day of doing nothing won’t kill you, promise.’
‘I know, I’m just…’ I rub my face with exasperation. ‘I miss you.’
Graham’s quiet for a moment. I can hear him moving, doors opening and closing. Now his silence is accompanied by a subtle hum of the city.
‘I miss you too.’
‘I had this dream again, you know. The one about us by the river.’
I can feel him smile. ‘Oh, I remember.’
‘Yeah.’
Silence.
‘This is not you calling just for a chat, right?’
‘I don’t know what I’m calling for, I just…’
‘Look, Damon… what I said about us when we saw each other…’
‘You don’t have to…’
I don’t want him to apologise to me out of pity. I know he saw what his words did to me, I couldn’t hide it. Everything was bloody intense in LA then. I had a strange feeling that we could see each other clearly. I was almost sure Graham felt it too.
‘No, just…’ a sigh. ‘Listen to me for a second. You know I’m terrible with these talks but I’m tired of us being confused. It’s not my goal to distance myself from you. And I want to see you anytime I have the chance. I don’t know how to make it clearer without saying too much.’
‘It’s okay, Gra. I get it.’
‘I don’t regret anything, Damon. I really don’t.’
‘Me either.’
‘I get frustrated because it’s been almost forty years and you still have the power to overwhelm me. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, I know the feeling.’
There it is, our ultimate nemesis. The fear of being overwhelmed. But it’s nothing new; in fact, it’s the same old story. We just told it in a million different ways over the years.
‘It wasn’t me cutting off things with you. It’s the last thing I want actually. Even though you piss me off too often.’
I smile. This is the most honest we’ve been with each other for a long time.
‘You know what’s funny? When we have the balls to actually communicate, it’s a fucking phone conversation and not a face-to face one. We’re fucking pathetic, really.’
‘True.’ There is a lightness in Graham’s voice that wasn’t there before. ‘But we have other things to do when we see each other.’
I lower my voice, ‘what kind of things you mean, Coxon?’
‘Oh my god, shut up. This is not a foreplay and we’re not having phone sex right now.’
‘God, I love you, you know.’
‘Yeah. And I love you too.’
***
This time I dream about a field. And he’s there, waiting for me. Of course he is.