Extremely rough Beso fic
After seeing Brokeback yesterday, I so very badly wanted to write fic. But sometimes I see or read things and I'm not sure how to go about writing fic for them, and then I think that maybe I just want to wait until I've seen/read these things a second time so I'll know the canon better before I start writing about the characters. Mostly this is because I'm intimidated by the quality of the original and of the fic I've already read (see dorkorific's incredible Recompense for Exhibit A of high quality and intimidating fic).
So I try to write something else, except it always ends up bearing a striking resemblance to the plot/characters/situations of whatever thing I was just being obsessed with. Like that entire year after I read the first two Harry Potter books and I was completely incapable of writing about anything other than children going to magical schools. (This was before I realized fanfiction existed and started doing that sort of thing on purpose.) At any rate, I wanted to write Brokeback fic, got intimidated, and decided I would instead write fic for El beso de la mujer araña (The Kiss of the Spider Woman) by Manuel Puig, which really makes no sense, but yeah. I read the book in Spanish, but the fic is in English because I don't do fic en español. And it's really really rough and not finished and needs work and why did I write this, anyway?
Sometimes, when Gabriel has trouble sleeping, he thinks about Molina.
He hasn’t seen Molina in years. At first, when Molina stopped showing up at the restaurant every few days, he thinks that maybe Molina has finally given up on him. He wouldn’t blame him; it’s not like he’s ever given Molina any reason to keep coming back. He’s never given Molina anything he wanted. But Molina always comes back: he’s loyal like a dog. He keeps coming back no matter how many times Gabriel turns him away. Molina wouldn’t just stop.
After a few months, Gabriel begins to wonder. Molina wouldn’t have moved away, not when his mother was here and old and sick. Molina couldn’t possibly leave her; she was all he had. After that comes what probably should have been his first thought: Molina, facedown in a ditch somewhere outside the city, or in an alleyway, or broken-up on his own front steps. These things happen to queers, Gabriel knows. A couple of the cooks at the restaurant even talk about doing it themselves. They talk about it when the queers are around, quiet so they won’t hear. Gabriel doesn’t know if they actually do it or if it’s just talk, but he doesn’t much intend to find out.
The only ones who’d know what’s happened to Molina are the other queers. Them and Molina’s mother, and Gabriel’s not about to go asking her. He doesn’t ask the queers immediately after he thinks of it. He doesn’t really want to know until he has to, until there’s no chance that Molina will just walk through the front door like he always does. He’ll be wearing men’s clothing because he knows Gabriel doesn’t like it when he dresses like one of the locas. He’ll walk in and sit at the same table he always sits at, and he’ll order a dish from every section of the menu just so that Gabriel will have to come to the table loads of times. This was how they started talking to begin with, Gabriel remembers, and he remembers too when Molina told him that he ordered all those dishes just so he’d have a chance to see him again and again.
They’ll talk when Gabriel delivers each dish, a few sentences at a time so Gabriel’s boss doesn’t notice him neglecting the other tables. And when Gabriel goes on break he’ll sit down with Molina and they’ll drink a coffee together. And when Gabriel gets off work they’ll go somewhere else, the coffee shop down the street, and drink another. Molina will pay; he always does. Sometimes it bothers Gabriel a little that Molina always pays, but Molina has money and Gabriel doesn’t and Molina won’t hear of letting him pay.
And they’ll talk. By now it’s mostly Gabriel who does the talking, because he sees how Molina wants to hear it, how he hoards every word Gabriel says. At first it scared Gabriel, the hunger Molina had for everything he was feeling and thinking, but now that he knows Molina better he knows it’s only because Molina cares for him and wants everything to be okay for him.
That’s what Molina really wants, is to be able to make everything okay for Gabriel. Molina told him this the first night they got drunk together, in the bar next door to the coffee shop down the street. Molina wants him to come live with him and his mother. He wants him to quit his job, the job he hates, and leave his wife, the wife he doesn’t love, and the two children he does, and live with Molina and his mother. He could go to school and learn things and Molina will help him with his homework and everything will be okay, it will all be okay in a way it has never been before. This is what Molina wants. It’s so good of him, to want something for someone else, and Gabriel can never give it to him.
He thinks about it, of course. It’s impossible not to think about it. He thinks about it when Celia is snapping at him for making too little money and the kids are crying and he can’t help but wonder how it all came down to this. He thinks about going up to Molina and saying, “Okay.” That’s all it would take. The instant he says it Molina would know what he meant. It would be easy, so easy, to leave this life behind him, and he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. That’s what Molina says.
Gabriel can’t do it, of course. He can’t leave Celia and the kids. He can’t quit his job and he can’t go putting his trust in Molina and Molina alone. Maybe it’s because Molina is a queer, no, not a queer, a loca; there’s a difference. If Molina were a queer he’d be a man who liked to fuck other men, but Molina is a loca: he only likes to be fucked by other men, and there’s a difference. Molina likes to be fucked the way women like to be fucked, but he’s still a man, still looks like one, he can still wear a man’s clothing and look like a man, and Gabriel can’t quite wrap his mind around this, the way Molina can be both all at once.
Sometimes Gabriel thinks about having sex with Molina. He’s no queer, but it’s not like having sex with a loca means you’re a queer. It’d be easier if Molina were a man, if you could push him and he’d push back, but he can’t do that or he won’t; Gabriel isn’t sure if there’s a difference or if it matters. He thinks if Molina were the normal kind of queer he might want him. But having sex with a loca is like having sex with a woman.
Gabriel thinks about slapping Molina sometimes, idly, when it’s slow at work. He wonders if Molina would cower like a woman, like a dog. He wonders, idly, if Molina would ever get to the point where he’d hit back.
So I try to write something else, except it always ends up bearing a striking resemblance to the plot/characters/situations of whatever thing I was just being obsessed with. Like that entire year after I read the first two Harry Potter books and I was completely incapable of writing about anything other than children going to magical schools. (This was before I realized fanfiction existed and started doing that sort of thing on purpose.) At any rate, I wanted to write Brokeback fic, got intimidated, and decided I would instead write fic for El beso de la mujer araña (The Kiss of the Spider Woman) by Manuel Puig, which really makes no sense, but yeah. I read the book in Spanish, but the fic is in English because I don't do fic en español. And it's really really rough and not finished and needs work and why did I write this, anyway?
Sometimes, when Gabriel has trouble sleeping, he thinks about Molina.
He hasn’t seen Molina in years. At first, when Molina stopped showing up at the restaurant every few days, he thinks that maybe Molina has finally given up on him. He wouldn’t blame him; it’s not like he’s ever given Molina any reason to keep coming back. He’s never given Molina anything he wanted. But Molina always comes back: he’s loyal like a dog. He keeps coming back no matter how many times Gabriel turns him away. Molina wouldn’t just stop.
After a few months, Gabriel begins to wonder. Molina wouldn’t have moved away, not when his mother was here and old and sick. Molina couldn’t possibly leave her; she was all he had. After that comes what probably should have been his first thought: Molina, facedown in a ditch somewhere outside the city, or in an alleyway, or broken-up on his own front steps. These things happen to queers, Gabriel knows. A couple of the cooks at the restaurant even talk about doing it themselves. They talk about it when the queers are around, quiet so they won’t hear. Gabriel doesn’t know if they actually do it or if it’s just talk, but he doesn’t much intend to find out.
The only ones who’d know what’s happened to Molina are the other queers. Them and Molina’s mother, and Gabriel’s not about to go asking her. He doesn’t ask the queers immediately after he thinks of it. He doesn’t really want to know until he has to, until there’s no chance that Molina will just walk through the front door like he always does. He’ll be wearing men’s clothing because he knows Gabriel doesn’t like it when he dresses like one of the locas. He’ll walk in and sit at the same table he always sits at, and he’ll order a dish from every section of the menu just so that Gabriel will have to come to the table loads of times. This was how they started talking to begin with, Gabriel remembers, and he remembers too when Molina told him that he ordered all those dishes just so he’d have a chance to see him again and again.
They’ll talk when Gabriel delivers each dish, a few sentences at a time so Gabriel’s boss doesn’t notice him neglecting the other tables. And when Gabriel goes on break he’ll sit down with Molina and they’ll drink a coffee together. And when Gabriel gets off work they’ll go somewhere else, the coffee shop down the street, and drink another. Molina will pay; he always does. Sometimes it bothers Gabriel a little that Molina always pays, but Molina has money and Gabriel doesn’t and Molina won’t hear of letting him pay.
And they’ll talk. By now it’s mostly Gabriel who does the talking, because he sees how Molina wants to hear it, how he hoards every word Gabriel says. At first it scared Gabriel, the hunger Molina had for everything he was feeling and thinking, but now that he knows Molina better he knows it’s only because Molina cares for him and wants everything to be okay for him.
That’s what Molina really wants, is to be able to make everything okay for Gabriel. Molina told him this the first night they got drunk together, in the bar next door to the coffee shop down the street. Molina wants him to come live with him and his mother. He wants him to quit his job, the job he hates, and leave his wife, the wife he doesn’t love, and the two children he does, and live with Molina and his mother. He could go to school and learn things and Molina will help him with his homework and everything will be okay, it will all be okay in a way it has never been before. This is what Molina wants. It’s so good of him, to want something for someone else, and Gabriel can never give it to him.
He thinks about it, of course. It’s impossible not to think about it. He thinks about it when Celia is snapping at him for making too little money and the kids are crying and he can’t help but wonder how it all came down to this. He thinks about going up to Molina and saying, “Okay.” That’s all it would take. The instant he says it Molina would know what he meant. It would be easy, so easy, to leave this life behind him, and he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. That’s what Molina says.
Gabriel can’t do it, of course. He can’t leave Celia and the kids. He can’t quit his job and he can’t go putting his trust in Molina and Molina alone. Maybe it’s because Molina is a queer, no, not a queer, a loca; there’s a difference. If Molina were a queer he’d be a man who liked to fuck other men, but Molina is a loca: he only likes to be fucked by other men, and there’s a difference. Molina likes to be fucked the way women like to be fucked, but he’s still a man, still looks like one, he can still wear a man’s clothing and look like a man, and Gabriel can’t quite wrap his mind around this, the way Molina can be both all at once.
Sometimes Gabriel thinks about having sex with Molina. He’s no queer, but it’s not like having sex with a loca means you’re a queer. It’d be easier if Molina were a man, if you could push him and he’d push back, but he can’t do that or he won’t; Gabriel isn’t sure if there’s a difference or if it matters. He thinks if Molina were the normal kind of queer he might want him. But having sex with a loca is like having sex with a woman.
Gabriel thinks about slapping Molina sometimes, idly, when it’s slow at work. He wonders if Molina would cower like a woman, like a dog. He wonders, idly, if Molina would ever get to the point where he’d hit back.