Spinning

Chapter 40: Fireworks Guy

Eddie woke me up this morning. It was early; the pale light of a sun that has just crept over the horizon was evident, even through my closed eyes. He didn't mean to wake me up. I must've removed my sleeping mask in the night, and when Eddie woke up and saw me "unprotected" – to use his words – he tried to put it back on it. Naturally, I woke up to the giant, glorified elastic being wrapped around my head.
     Luckily, I was able to fall back asleep. There was a dull, rolling pain behind my eye, but it was throbbing less than it was 12 hours ago. And even more miraculous, when I woke up for real two hours later, the pain was reduced to a background nuisance.
    Since then, I've been arguing with Eddie.
    "But I feel better!"
    "Doesn't matter. Doctor's orders. What do we have if we don't have medicinal law? Anarchy. We have anarchy."
    I try to punch Eddie's arm, but I miss and hit the wall.
    "Fuck. Ouch."
    Eddie takes my injured knuckles and starts to massage them. A charming gesture, seemingly, but I know better. It's a ploy to keep my hands occupied so I can't remove my mask.
    "Seriously, the light seems brighter! I think I'm healed!"
    Eddie only massages harder. I sigh in defeat.
    "At least my hands are loose," I mutter.

    It is pretty fun being blind. At least, it is with Eddie. He makes me toast for breakfast and is making me guess what condiment he puts on certain pieces using just one sense. First, he lets me listen to him spread it on the toast. I can guess ketchup immediately. How could anyone mistake that distinctive, disgusting fart noise? I refuse to eat that piece.
    I can't guess any of the others with just my ears, so he lets me smell them. Peanut butter is easy, and I ate that right away after my stomach growled. Mayonnaise is also obvious, and I try to force Eddie to eat it. To think, he would allow me to eat mayonnaise on toast. I also refuse to eat the one with ranch on it. What twisted breakfast foods is he in to?
    The last two I still can't guess. One smells like soy sauce, but Eddie insists it isn't. The other is more difficult. It's sweet and savory and fruity all at once.
    "Try it."
    "No way. It's going to be eel sauce or something. Wait, yes, that's it! Eel sauce. No, wait. Hoisin sauce."
    "Nope and nope. I wonder if Stevie Wonder is as picky as you."
    "I'm not picky! This is just culinary cruelty, mixing toast and Chinese sauces."
    "It's not Chinese. So, what's your favorite holiday?"
    When did this turn into a question forum?
    "Halloween. You knew that. Duck sauce?"
    "Nope. And, I guess I didn't know where Christmas ranked."
    "What's that sweet Indian sauce? A masala? And Christmas is number two."
    "Wrong. And, number 2 behind Halloween?"
    "Exactly. What are your rankings? Wait, please don't tell me you're a Thanksgiving kind of guy. Oh, that's a thought. Is it a sweet gravy?"
    "Wrong again. I'm not an anything kind of guy. I don't really like holidays."
    "Don't like holidays? What's wrong with you? Is it chutney? You're acting like a chutney."
    "Incorrect. You like all the gift giving and merry making nonsense? I had you figured all wrong, then."
     "I thought you were going to stop figuring. Peanut sauce?"
    "You're the only peanut here. But, am I wrong?"
    "Well, no. I like Halloween because of the dark and eerie spirit. And Christmas I like for the aesthetics. I mean, who doesn't appreciate a well-decorated Christmas tree, or the park during a snowfall? I guess that's more winter based, but you know what I mean. I could do without all the gifts though. And it's a lot of family time, too. I suppose it's a good excuse to see the family."
    Eddie drops the piece of toast I'm supposed to be sniffing, and I know I hit a nerve. Could this be an opportunity to learn more about his dark familial past?
    "So I take it you're not a Christmas guy."
    "I'm not an anything guy. Maybe a July 4th guy, if I had to be a guy."
    "A July 4th guy? No one is a July 4th guy. That's just saying you're a summer guy, and everyone is a summer guy."
    "Hey, leave me alone. I like fireworks."
    "So you're a fireworks guy?"
    "Sure, I'm a fireworks guy."
    "So why aren't you a Christmas guy?"
    "You're persistent, aren't you?"
    "It's easy to be persistent when I can't see the annoyance on you're face."
    Eddie chuckles softly and I feel his hand fiddling with the collar of my Nirvana shirt-turned-sleepwear.
    "Your shirt's on backwards."
    I reach up and sure enough, the tag is at the front.
    "Don't deflect. Why aren't you a Christmas guy?"
    Eddie is silent for a moment.
    "How can you celebrate a holiday you don't believe in?"
    "You don't believe in Santa Clause? Eddie, I'm afraid I have some bad news..."
    "Yeah, Santa too. But the whole birthday of Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to celebrate a birthday for a person who I don't believe existed? I mean, if I was born two days later, it could've been me, Christmas could've been called Edmas and I would be up on that cross, saving the world from their sins..."
    Eddie trails off, deep in thought. For once, I'm also deep in thought. Born two days later... does that mean his birthday is December 23rd? How did I never know? I missed his birthday? How old is he, 28? Did he celebrate? Was he with Angela? Was he with his family? Did he get gifts? Should I get him a gift? I'd be nearly a month late...
    "Sorry, I never know when to pull back. And we were having fun. If you guess it this time I'll let you take off your mask." I hear Eddie shift and reach for the plate again, but I stop him.
    "I want to hear more. We never have conversations like this."
    There's another pause. Does Eddie feel uncomfortable? I wish I could see him, but at the same time, it's easier not knowing.
    "Okay... What do you want to know?"
    "The real reason you don't like Christmas."
    "I just told you why."
    "I refuse to believe the birth of an infant has you this riled up."
    Another pause. And a sigh.
    "Even blind, you are perceptive. Maybe I should make you deaf too."
    I try to punch his arm, but only partially make contact. Eddie grabs my wrist and pulls me into him. I'm back in his arm crook, my head resting on his chest, as blind as ever, ready for his story to start.
    And what a story it is. Eddie talks in a low voice but it's steady. There's a hint of darkness in there too, and he does well keeping it at bay. The more Eddie talks about his childhood and mom and dad and siblings and high school, the more I realize his songs are autobiographical. I think to Release, specifically. How can he sing that time and time again without being dragged down by those agonizing feelings? Maybe he is over burdened...
    I learn his dad died on Christmas. He didn't know for several months after, but I can understand how an event like that will taint a day forever. I press my forehead into his neck, hoping to silently convey my support, as he talks about his first apartment he got when he was 16. 16. Imagine supporting yourself at 16... I was a cashier at Walgreens at 16. I could barely pay for my gas to get there, and I was living at home.
    Eddie finishes, after explaining how sick he is of seeing his family, how they only look at him with the sad familiarity of looking at his dad.
    "I bring the sadness. I don't even mean to, but I remind everyone of my dad. I didn't even know him. How can I generate such depressing nostalgia for someone I barely knew?"
    I don't have answers for him. I wish I did. I wish I didn't ask. I wish he told me earlier. I wish I could've been there for him for Christmas. I wish a million other things as I try to think of something supportive to say. How can I say anything at all? I have no clue what he's going through, what its like to carry that kind of cross. I reach up and rub my thumb against his neck. It's all I can do. How pathetic.
    "Now I've really ruined our day. New subject, and I get to choose."
    I sigh, trapped in my own blindness, waiting for the new subject, not fully ready to move on from Eddie's miseries.
    "I want to take you out for Valentine's Day."
    My heart could not grow heavier. Eddie's story compressed my heart, and now he wants to take me out on a date? Not to mention the worst day of the year? Have I not made my intentions clear?
    "Oh, Eddie... I'm not sure we, uh, I'm not sure we are ready for this. I think we need to take it slow, you know, work everything out."
    I wish I could see Eddie's face. I have a solid suspicion that he is scowling, maybe with dark eyes and a slight frown.
    "I'm not going to lose you again, Jordan. My life has been tumultuous enough. Our relationship has been tumultuous enough, and I want some consistency in my life. I need a constant. You are my constant."
Shit. I was not expecting this. How do I gently ease him out of his intensity, and convince him to let things flourish organically? Do we need to let this flourish organically? Have I been too distant from him? Should I give in?
    "Was that a math joke? You know I hate math."
    "Huh?"
    " 'You are my constant'— never mind. Eddie, I think we have a lot of problems to work through before we go on any romantic dates. I mean, Angela is barely in the gr—," but I am cut off.
    "Don't talk about her." I hear Eddie's heart rate increase, and his arms imperceptibly loosen around me. I don't like this one bit. "We don't have to talk about her, or anyone else. We can work out are issues together, while we are together, romantically, living together in your apartment, if you'll have me, and we'll raise our children there, and I'll hang my signed Pete Townshend guitar on the wall, and our children will have those tiny bikes and..."
Eddie continues rambling, and I start sinking in his daydream. Apartment? Kids? What?
"EDDIE." I just sort of scream his name out of nowhere. I need him to stop discussing our grandchildren while I can't even see out of my goddamn eye. He stops talking, and plays with the edge of my sleeve absentmindedly.
"You may take me out for a date if it means you'll stop talking. But no fancy restaurants, no roses, no chocolate, none of the classically romantic stuff. Just you and me. And maybe music. Yes, music sounds good. But that's it. And we are discussing our issues, just to reinforce the non-romantic-ness of the date. Er, not a date. A discussion. Yes, a discussion. On Valentine's Day."
A goddamn weak argument, I know. But I'm overwhelmed, and my lack of eyesight seems to make every other sense prone to overstimulation.
"A fair and well-reasoned argument, milady. I shall take you out on Sunday, February 11th, and I shall promise a flower-free evening for the glowing princess."

    ****
    "Hello?"
    "Oh, Jordan, thank god. I need your help."
Why the hell is Susan calling me? Why does she sound so weird?
    "Well, long story, but I'm trapped in LA and I really need my passport."
Trapped in LA? What?
    "Oh... okay. Is it at your apartment? Should I mail it? Is overnight quick enough?"
    "Yeah, that's—wait, hold on a second—," and I hear muffled voices as Susan talks to someone on her end. But something doesn't sound right...
    I'm pretty confused. Susan and I aren't exactly friends. I mean, she's nice and all but I eventually extracted out of Stone that Angela and Susan were best friends, and I think Susan feels like she owes it to Angela to not replace her with Eddie's new... whatever I am. Which is a fair point, and I respect her decision, and honestly admire it because I'm not exactly shopping around for new friends, especially not ones that smile that much.
    "...wait, yes, genius! Hold on, I'll tell her. Jordan?"
    "Yes?"
    "Well, so Chris had this great idea. We are in LA for a, for an Alice In Chains thing. And I need my passport for... for business stuff, whatever, it's boring. But the hotel made a mistake and gave us two extra nights in this huge deluxe suite. Why don't you hand deliver my passport! We can do all the LA touristy things like Hollywood Stars, or the Hollywood Sign, or the Hollywood—,"
    "—or the Hollywood museum of penises—,"
    "—shut up Chris! Seriously, come visit! Free hotel and I know a guy who works for Delta and can get you the same discount Delta employees get."
    Wow. I don't even know how to handle her enthusiasm. It almost seems forced, almost, like this was premeditated. LA? Now?
    "Wow. I don't know what to say... it's just, well, I'm not sure I can leave work, and well, Eddie and I were supposed to do this... thing on Sunday and I, uh, don't want to cancel on him." Was that enough excuses thrown together?
    "Jordan, stop! Don't you still have another week off from work because of your eye? And screw Eddie! I'm sure you two can do whatever you were going to do later."
Goddamn it. She has me. My eye has healed much more quickly than expected, and my short-term disability insurance has me at over another week off from work, or maybe even two. It is February... a snow storm is predicted for this weekend... fuck it. Let's do this. Angela, I hope you are watching from above and hating every moment of this.
    "Well, you sure know how to make a good argument kid. Let me talk to Eddie, but count me in. When should I leave?"
    "Yay!" A weird squeal comes from Susan's end. Was that Chris? "I'll call my guy at Delta and try to get you on the early flight tomorrow morning. Is that enough time?"
    "Enough time for what?"
    "Oh, er, right. Um, just to pack and everything."
    Huh. That was weird.
    "Yeah, should be enough time."
    "Okay, I'll call you later with more info!"
    Okay, this is officially weird.