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he doesn't have todd, but he has the crackle of the landline.
it sounds like goosebumps, and neil knows goosebumps. how they feel under his tongue, how they feel on his arms.
"sorry i couldn't make it." todd's voice is far away, much more than the few feet that used to separate their beds. laughingly close. scarily close.
neil laughs. his tongue sticks dryly to his mouth and it reminds him of the fly paper his mom used to leave in the house. eradication. "oh, don't worry. is linda feeling any better?"
"neil."
oh, how ironic. pity, for him. for neil, the one who chose cornflakes for breakfast, a steady job and ironing blouses. "what?"
todd sighs. "she's good. the kids were worried, but it was just a fever after all."
she could have died. neil is not sure how he would have felt, but he is sure that he would have visited, that his hands would have been more morally gray than his mind. it's good that it was just a fever.
"how are things with you?"
neil stares at the empty can of beer next to the cutting board. a fly has landed on it and he is too lazy to swat it away. he never has these calls sober. he wonders if todd notices. he wonders if todd still tastes the way he remembers.
"same old."
todd's breathing echoes down the line and neil counts the seconds, waits for him to make a decision. he used to dig for truth, todd- neil still feels the ghost touch of todd's hand on his jaw, making him look up. how do you really feel, neil?
"ah."
blue. todd's eyes were so blue. now he's just a voice.
"my parents came over."
"that's nice."
oh, todd. how well-behaved you are, how in line. do you remember how we used to talk about them? do you remember the black eye i gave you? braver than me, always.
"they've been fighting, i think."
neil wonders how his voice sounds over the phone. he's become used to landline-todd, but he still remembers that he thought the phone altered his voice the first time they called.
"oh, really? the dog again?"
the first time they called. teeth clashing into the receiver, he was grinning that wide. ear pressed against plastic, red and hot after. these calls used to be good.
"sorry?"
he wasn't always sober back then, either.
there's a tug in neil's stomach and he quiets it with a sip of beer, holding the phone away so todd won't hear. todd knew he was drinking back then. drunken calls. the tug in his stomach is still there. wretched memories.
"weren't they arguing about the dog last time? it messed up the garden or something?"
a hand in his pants, todd in his ears. there used to be no air between them, just the crackle of the phone; quiet, desperate noises. todd. goosebumps.
"god, yes, i'd forgotten. how do you remember these things?"
do you remember others? my coffee order, that ticklish stretch of skin just above my left hip. my lips on yours, your nails in my shoulder. it hurt, but i didn't mind. i never minded with you.
"memorising poems for a living does that to you, i suppose."
(it hurts. i mind.)
neil gives his voice a teasing tinge. he's fun, he's fine. over the phone, he doesn't have to be barefoot in the kitchen, warmed by supermarket beer, dinner cold on the table, less important than todd. he can be fine. he wanted this.
"oh, the tragedy of getting what you want."
he earns a laugh. "you're right."
he used to earn kisses, marks, moans. interestingly shaped stones, apartment keys. poems.
he threw them away of course. his parents visit often.
"you're right.", todd repeats, slower, as if he's in thought. or maybe he's drunk too. "linda told me so, too, last week. i can't keep complaining about the job i always dreamt of."
you're right. neil grins into the emptiness of ghost sounds and telephone line between them. what would he have given to hear these words all those years ago?
"don't get me wrong, i love being a poet."
neil had known they wouldn't work. he tried hard to convince todd back then, but not hard enough to succeed. he'd wanted to try it. todd.
"it's just- there's lots of dry stretches. if that's what this is."
braver than neil, always.
"is it still a dry stretch if it's long enough to look like a desert?"
in the end, neil just gave him that cruel cardboard box. then it was over and todd was gone and he ate pancakes made from a box mix.
neil huffs a smile into the phone. "i don't think this is a dry stretch. you can't help being a poet, listen to yourself."
listen to yourself. voice low, purring. golden sun dripping into the bedroom. their bedroom. legs tangled, cheeks flushed. minutes melting away in gasps and sighs and stifled somethings. you like this, huh?
todd laughs. "you flatter me."
listen to yourself. anger bleeding into the words, tinting them red. eyes wide, in exaggerated disbelief. traces of their argument all across the living room- an envelope torn open, an ashtray shattered, a newspaper thrown to the ground, angry people on it. you don't really believe this, do you?
neil smiles. "that's what i do."
there's a beat. their breaths mingle in the telephone.
"neil." don't make this harder, todd.
neil pinches the bridge of his nose. his kitchen smells like oranges. winter is almost here.
"did i tell you my parents visited?"
a sigh. "yeah."
todd's easy to convince to play along. but then again, they're not playing. neil wonders what todd is wearing, and then he wonders wether linda likes what todd is wearing.
"well, we had a blast."
that catches him off-guard, and neil revels in it. small victories. like that really good deal he got on dinner. "really?"
"no."
todd laughs, and neil can feel his own mouth lift into a smile.
they had good times, too. before the shattered ashtray and cardboard box and linda. he used to laugh so much his stomach hurt. he used to dance in the kitchen sometimes. he should dance more often. go to a bar.
todd's grin is audible through the crackle of the landline. "how bad was it?"
"they're still nagging me about getting married."
landmines all around them. neil has steered them dangerously close. he blames the beer and the memory of calling todd with a hand down his pants.
"i thought you were going out with jill from work- they would have liked her, i'm sure."
this is a dance too, todd steering them back on track.
"didn't work out." neil takes another sip of beer and looks out of the window, into the darkness. they always call late. is linda asleep?
"that's a shame."
"yeah."
silence, or as close as this can get. breathing. landline crackle.
"it really is."