(no subject)
<<<
Before long, it’s February. For Fernando, it is the coldest time of the year.
He picks up the job offerings from the printer at work pinning it up on the community board. He reads through all the postings, Peru, Madagascar, El Salvador, Bosnia, Botswana, Thailand, Bangladesh, before something jerks inside of him and his hands go automatically to his phone.
“Silva?”
“Hey, Morientes,” the voice comes, “How’s school? I heard you’re finally getting your Bachelor’s soon.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“After-hang on,” Silva mumbles, before he hears a loud clatter and somebody shouting at another about the hospital supply shipment before the phone is picked back up.
“Sorry, David absolutely refuses to deal with this stuff and it needs to go to that clinic by next week. Anyway, where were we? Oh, yeah, are you staying there after? Doing the nine-to-five, work and commute stuff?”
Suddenly that jerking turns into a restrictive tightness in him. “Don’t know yet.”
“Oh, ok,” Silva says, “Because I was going to say, there are a couple of projects starting up in October if you-”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t even told you what they are or where.”
“Doesn’t matter, just send them to me please.”
“Ok, you’ve got itchy feet already?” Silva’s soft laughter echoes in his ear, “It’s a relief to know that even if you are with proper plumbing that some things never change. Did you want to talk to David?”
When he gets the offer for a job in Peru, with its low salary, promises of a warmer, laid back climate and the lure of leaving, he doesn’t think twice. He accepts it.
One particularly cold, windy day, they fuck at four in the afternoon because their hands are too cold to type.
Afterward, they lie tangled in the sheets as Raúl presses soft patterns into his back. “I got the grant. To go do research this summer.”
Fernando doesn’t move, just acknowledges him with a small noise.
“It is in Cyprus.”
It’s silent and Fernando realises he’s expected to say more, “That’s nice.”
Raúl frowns at his non-response.
“I was wondering,” he starts again, pausing.
“Yeah?”
“If you wanted to come with me.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Oh, it’s just that...” Fernando takes a deep breath. “I got offered a job starting in May.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were even looking,” Raúl looks up at him, surprised, “Congratulations.”
“It’s in Peru.”
Raúl stares at him, silent.
Fernando takes the silence lightly and rolls back on his stomach and yawns. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to think about what the look on Raúl’s face might mean.
It has been three days since they’ve spoken about it and Fernando forgets in the hustle and bustle of work and school.
After dinner one night, Raúl drops the plates in the sink where Fernando is standing to wash them.
“Hey, be careful with those.”
Raúl snorts.
Fernando looks at him, startled. He turns off the tap and turns around, “What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” Raúl asks incredulously. He lets out a frustrated noise when Fernando just looks at him. “You. Peru.”
“What?” Fernando blinks. “I thought...”
“Thought,” Raúl scoffs, folding his arms. “I doubt you did any such thing as think.”
“Hey, I didn’t know you would be upset about it,” Fernando shrugs, “And it’s not like I can take it back, I’ve accepted the job.”
“So I’m not allowed to be upset about it because you never spoke to me about it?” Raúl gestures, “You never talk to me about anything!”
Fernando bites his lip and looks away, muttering something about being irrational.
“And now I’m the irrational one, huh? When it’s the first I’ve heard about anything.”
“Didn’t think you were interested in hearing about this,” Fernando mumbles.
“Interested? Of course I’m interested, I fucking sleep with you every. Single. Night.”
“Don’t act so naïve,” Fernando rolls his eyes, “It’s just a job, I sort of need one. You know, not all of us can hide behind university fellowships all our lives. Some of us need to face reality and start being responsible.”
“You don’t know anything about responsibility,” Raúl hisses, “you think because I haven’t had your twenty-hours a day job that makes me naïve? I’m doing what I need to do to make my life. To make my life a good one, to make me happy, no matter what shit I stumble on.”
Fernando blinks.
“You? You’re not even doing this because you want to. You’re doing this because you can’t stand thinking of opening yourself up to potentially getting hurt.”
“Look, Raúl, I don’t know where you’re making this stuff up from but you are way out of line.”
Raúl glares at him before he turns on his heels and marches away.
Fernando goes home that night, the first night he’s spent alone for the past three months.
After that, things shifted imperceptibly between them.
Slowly his Wednesday nights become free.
He sees Raúl during tutorial sessions, where he comes in late and leaves early and sits in the far corner of the room, sitting low in his chair.
Then he spent most of his nights at the library, sleepless and not working, but avoiding the calls to his phone by setting it on silent.
He doesn’t call back most of the time, and eventually, the phone calls stop.
He occupies himself with thoughts of leaving the city.
At the end of March, Fernando is about ready to call it quits and it’s only the prospect of finally getting his degree that keeps him going.
“I’m here to pick up my paper,” Fernando says, to the department secretary, “For POL348.”
“Name?”
“Morientes, F.”
A stapled pack of paper is tossed unceremoniously on the counter before him. “Thanks,” he says, grabbing it, shuffling through the pages, looking for the mark.
He frowns when he gets to the last page where, in familiar scrawl , he reads Fernando, please see me regarding your mark. - R.G. in place of a percentage point.
Fuck.
It is already dark outside the window when he finally gets up the courage to approach Raúl’s office. He leaves it to a few minutes before his office hours end.
Through the open doorway he sees him pack up his bag.
He knocks on the door.
“Fernando,” Raúl says, seemingly without looking up. “I was hoping you’d come to speak to me.”
“Yes, well,” he says, shuffling by the doorway, looking at everything but the man in front of him.
“Yes, well?”
“Considering you did not really leave me a choice-Is this about, is this your way of getting back at me?”
“What?” Raúl looks genuinely astonished, “You think I’m petty enough to do something like that?”
Fernando stays silent.
“Wow,” Raúl says, hurt in his voice. “Look, it’s about your damned paper, OK?”
Fernando pushes away the feeling of guilt stabbing through his stomach. “What about it?”
“I’m going to be straight with you,” Raúl looks up at him, “it’s a great subject, it’s no doubt, potentially, the best paper I’ve read this year...”
“Potentially?” He raises an eyebrow at him, “But?”
“Your argumentation is weak, it is vague, and your supporting evidence is based on far too current and ongoing events for you to completely be able to justify.”
Fernando blinks. “Everything is so black and white for you academics,” he protests, haughty despite his best efforts. “I used actual recent examples because that’s what I know.”
“I know nothing’s this black and white,” Raul responds, jaw set, trying not to lose his temper, “but this isn’t about that, it’s about your argumentation. You need to be more-this,” Raúl’s finger jabs at the table, “is not the field, it’s not about reality-no, no matter how much you think so,” he quickly adds, holding his hand up, “its about scholarship.”
He hands back the paper to him, “listen, I shouldn’t...even be doing this but,” he closes his messenger bag, sighing, “if you’re willing to fix it, I’ll be willing to give it another re-read, fresh.”
Fernando stares at him, his eye twitching. “I appreciate that, but...I really don’t need your charitable assistance...kid.”
Raúl stares at him silently, and Fernando tries to ignore the hurt across his face, before the man shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He makes his way to the door, pausing before he disappears through it. “Just think about it.”
Fernando stares morosely into a rapidly emptying pitcher of beer.
He had tried to read through his paper again, before he crumpled it up and sent it flying into a wastebin. On the way out though, he had dug it out, against his better instinct.
Fuck that stupid-
Someone slides into the booth seat across from him and he opens his mouth to snap at him.
“Listen, I’m sorry.”
Goddamn. “Are you following me?”
“For such a freewheeling spirit you’ve got a predictable routine.”
Fernando glares at him. “Look, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.”
“Fine,” Raúl shrugs. He pulls some papers and a pen from his bag.
Fernando raises an eyebrow, “You’re staying.” He lets out a frustrated groan.
“I’ll leave if you rewrite your damn paper so you can leave this place with honours. I’ll leave you alone if you just do it.”
Fernando stares at him before he gives in, “Fine.”
“OK, then,” Raúl puts his stuff back in his bag.
“You’re...going?”
Raúl stares at him strangely, “I told you I would. I’ll get out of your way now.”
Fernando just watches him leave for the second time.
Three days later, Fernando leaves a paper, completely redone, in Raúl’s inbox.
On the last page, he’s added a scribble on a post-it from a half-finished pad he finds tucked behind the toaster and refrigerator, dusty. I’m sorry. -F. M.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, Fernando sits his last examination of his degree.
Turning his phone on after he leaves the examination hall, he’s assailed by messages from friends and family, all far away, wishing him the best of luck and the best wishes for his birthday.
He texts them all back, a sad smile on the corner of his lips as he reads them, especially the last one from David: Congratulations, old man. We’re all looking forward to seeing your ugly mug again soon.
He walks into the politics department to submit his last paper, when he freezes.
Emerging from the grad student lounge, Raúl stops in his tracks as well.
“Hi,” Fernando whispers.
The other man acknowledges him with a nod before he moves past him.
Fernando stays in place when he hears the same voice calling his name. He turns around. Raúl is standing in front of the stairs, his hand on the railing.
“Congratulations.”
When Fernando looks puzzled, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re finished aren’t you?”
Fernando colours slightly as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, with just one last paper to turn in.”
Raúl nods. “Well, I should go.”
“Yeah, me too,” he turns around to go.
“And have a happy birthday, Fernando.”
When he turns around, Raúl is halfway down the stairs and out of his sight.
That night, he returns, for the first time in months, to an out of the way Thai restaurant to write a letter.
He drops it in a mailbox as he walks to the subway station at midnight, headed home.
A week later, his boxes are packed, his belongings seemingly reduced from when he arrived.
That’s supposed to be a good thing, he tells himself, but he’s not quite sure why he doesn’t feel the same pride of accomplishment, the same tug of excitement in his stomach, he usually feels.
He sighs as he closes the windows for the last time, wet like when he moved in, but spring instead of autumn.
He pauses as he thinks about this for a second, but shakes it off.
He knew it wouldn’t have lasted anyway.