the back to school social was supposed to be taking place the following evening. i sat lying on the bed in my dorm, which i refused to call 'my bed' yet because it wan't my bed, i was just borrowing it.
the door was open to my dorm because my roommate left it open when he left to go to the social. he made sure to assure me that the only reason he was even going was to hook up with a girl or two.
i decided that i should probably go to the event myself, meet some other kids, writers even. then it was brought to my attention that i hadn't written, or even start to write anything since i arrived at columbia. i scoffed at myself.
the typewriter i used at home, which used to be my dad's, sat on the desk, untouched. me and that typewriter, we were the same, as of this moment. brought to a new place, holding such a capacity for greatness, but still silent in the harsh wind of other people existing through the same reality.
checking my appearance in the mirror, making sure my hair wasn't looking too hectic, and slipping on some shoes, i walked through the door, which i had accustomed to being open, and towards the social.
i find lots of things more fascinating then they maybe should be. for example, when we walk, we are pushing the whole earth in the opposite direction we're going, and the reason the planet doesn't just turn into a giant treadmill, other than the fact that it has a much greater mass than i do, is becuase we're all walking in different directions, and it all just cancels out. or, at least i like to think that's how it works. it gives me a purpose.
at home, if i didn't get up and go get the mail, then the whole balance would be off, becuase someone was walking in the other direction and unfairly pulling the earth that way. i felt as if had to put things right.
it's not like i think the world revolves around me, and i'm not conceited, but i like to find a sense of meaning in everything. i analyze. i figure out.
as i followed another freshman to the social, something inside me told me to turn around. i started walking in the other direction, maybe restoring the balance or even putting it off, becuase a faint sound of music was floating down the hall. i was intrigued.
the choice whether or not to enter a room is a very hard one. most times we decide subconsciously, logical reasoning telling us why or why not we should enter, but there are some cases in which you freeze and all reasoning goes away.
should i or shouldn't? yes or no? those are the only options, and they keep asking each other, over and over until you are forced to choose simply becuase one is louder than the other, and not becuase you feel one is more right.
yes. i should.
i ran a hand through my hair and tried to make myself look suave as i peeked my head inside the room.
"finally! i thought you'd never come. i was going to play bach, but liszt just called your name," the figure said, his crisp words from liquid thoughts filling the room at a volume so only we could share them.
i had no words, crisp or otherwise. i stood in the doorway and stared at him-- the boy from the library. the debate team prom king.
yes or no? yes or no? i kept choosing 'or' and the sides yelled louder in my head.
"i don't bite," he said, with even more ease than the previous phrase. he stood up from his chair, cigarette in hand, and walked over to the small window in whichever room this even was, most likely his dorm.
my eyes followed the movement of his mouth as he spoke. the ripe fruit of his lips made music sweeter than the sonata playing from the record. his shirt, a white button down, was fairly see-through, and i tried to find the muscles in his back. he turned around, catching my stare.
that seemed to be our game, catching the other staring. or him catching me. he didn't seem to have much interest in staring at me.
i quickly moved my gaze to the record player, turning infinitely, a dance more than a song.
"so you do enjoy liszt. figures."
i felt embarrassed. "yes," i managed to choke out.
"so he speaks!" he took a drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes and swaying his head to the music. then, almost in slow motion, he opened one eye, squinting the other, and said very quietly, "but does he dance?"
he stared to approach me with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. he took my right hand in his left, lacing our fingers together as if it was a movement completed many times before this moment. his other hand found my waist, and i froze.
this man, this stranger, joined our hands as if i were a woman he had danced with before, the sonata now much louder than i remember, and he laughed.
"first time?" he asked, lifting his hand from my waist to take the cigarette out while he spoke. my skin tingled where his touch just was. his shirt was unbuttoned like it was in the library, an appetizer of skin, not on display but still there on the menu.
"at what?" i said, taking the debonair persona on, myself, although it didn't seem to fit right, or just needed to be broken in a bit.
he allowed himself a chuckle, a deep crackle of joy. i started to smile. he didn't answer me.
he sighed and smiled, teeth and all, "first times," he said. "i love them." when he talked with the cigarette in his mouth he sounded muffled and raspy. "i wish to live an entire life composed simply and only of firsts," he said, and we continued to awkwardly sway, my hand now on his shoulder.
he separated from me and offered me the cigarette.
"oh, no thanks," i said. "i don't smoke." i wiped my hands on my pants and bit my lip.
he raised an eyebrow and almost unnoticeably licked his lips. "to first times," he said, taking a drag, and then offered me the cigarette again.
i took it. i took a breath, inhaling the same chemicals once going into the boy's system. i wanted to feel what he was feeling. the puff was terrible. he chuckled again. was my presence just an afternoon laugh for him? what was i even doing here? i coughed from the smoke. he took another drag.
"oliver," he said, offering his hand. i shook it.
"elio," i replied. "perlman," i added.
he squinted with his eyebrows more than his eyes and nodded, like i was an old friend he had forgotten the name of. he didn't tell me his last name.
"to first times, elio," he said. my name in his mouth made me smile and sent a shiver down my chest. each letter that i had heard thousands of times before sounded so different i didn't even recognize the syllables as belonging to me. oliver took ownership of them. "and to many more," he raised his cigarette like a wine glass and took a long drag, closing his eyes.
someone called out from downstairs, "elio perlman? there's a phone call for you!"
i sighed and slowly started to walk backwards. "i should, i should better get that. you going to the social?" i said as oliver grabbed his coat.
"only the most anti-social go to an event that is actually called one," he replied, smirking.
he followed me outside and i jogged to the phone. it was my mom.
"elio? is that you?" she said. she sounded exhausted and dehydrated.
"yes, mom, it's me, what's going on?"
"why didn't you tell me you were gonna leave me? you weren't supposed to leave!"
my stomach dropped when she said that. "i'm coming home this weekend, mom, i'll explain everything, okay? i gotta go."
"wait, he, he's not.."
"i know mom, i'll be home in a few days," i bit my lip, and turned to see oliver walking downstairs. "where are you going?" i asked him.
"i need you tonight. okay? promise you'll come home tonight," my mom pleaded.
i let my hang head back and i tried to find constellations in the ceiling. how did i not see this coming? "i promise. now i have to go." oliver, who didn't answer me, was already down the stairs. i hung up the phone and ran after him.
he turned around to see me following him, and speeding down the stars, i almost ran into him.
"well don't hurt yourself," he said, messing with my hair like he was my uncle. he continued to walk down the hallway. "you coming?"
i realized my feet were glued to the floor. i wanted to follow him into his world of first impressions, but i couldn't move. my hand gripped the railing and i swallowed the fear and the worry. that didn't allow me to move. just more weight in my feet. i didn't understand why i didn't follow him like the hungry dog i was. was i afraid of looking desperate? or just scared of diving into uncharted waters head-first?
"yeah," i said, hoping my words would convince my body otherwise.
they did.
i let myself follow him down the narrow hallway and then was re-born into, not the social, but a party. i didn't recognize any of the students, and it occurred to me that oliver was certainly not a freshman, and neither was anyone in this room. these were the elites. i was an outsider. first times, i tried to remind myself, replaying the feeling of oliver's hand on my shirt and my name on his lips.
when my mind was brought back to the room, i found oliver kissing some girl. i didn't know what to feel, becuase i wasn't invited to this exchange of breath.
oliver stepped away from the girl, and for a second, as he was wiping his moth, either getting rid of the girl's taste or keeping it for later, i saw him lock eyes with an older man. he couldn't be a student, but the way he and oliver held onto each other's eyes, it reminded me of us in the library. who was this guy?
"wonderland," oliver said, turning back to me.
"you know her?" i asked, trying to shake the image of the man, who was now walking towards us.
"glad i don't," he replied, "she tastes phony. i don't do phonies."
"ahh, who do we have here?" the man said, gesturing to oliver and me. "ladies, gentlemen, and others, here is a perfect example of what i am trying to explain to you all."
he looked around the room like they were his audience. perhaps they, we, were.
"meet my dear friend oliver, someone who is so, how do i say this, sure, of things, of himself, that sometimes he forgets to open his eyes and realize why he even is this way."
some people nodded, and a few girls made faces as if they were saying, taunting, "i actually do know oliver." it made me sick.
"elio, meet eric," oliver mumbled under his breath to me.
"hey," i said, giving a chummy smile towards eric.
"and who invited you?" eric asked me, but was still speaking to the room. he could probably smell my youth and wonder.
"this is elio. he's with me," oliver said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. i smiled proudly.
how was is that oliver was so comfortable acting like i was his best friend when we'd only properly met within the hour? was he that confident in himself that everyone around him, stranger or not, was just a part of his life without even meeting him? a rush of honor and pride reached my toes as i realized oliver, the most social and effortless person i'd ever met, chose me to have a first with in his life.
"oh, really?" eric said. "you know," he started to speak again, this time softer, and directly at me. "you know i was just like you once?"
i could see oliver start to frown.
"starstruck and naive. but be careful, because once you really start to-"
"that's enough," oliver cut in. "come on, i need a drink."
he turned around and pushed me with him, his strong hand finding the small of my back. even from behind, i could tell he had rolled his eyes. he and this guy has some kind of history, and i didn't know if i wanted to know about it or not.
maybe it started there. when i got involved, invested even. maybe it didn't actually start until after i was looking at the museum, it was when i started to become an artifact myself. like a sacred object from the live of an amazing person.
maybe nothing ever starts in wonderland-- it's out of the rabbit hole when anything real and raw ever happens.