The Part That Really Matters Written: April 2004 My contribution to the lotrips zine. My Glasgow love song, and probably the best thing I've ever written. for Chelle ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dom sits with one leg tucked beneath him on the corner bench, curled in slightly over the paper in his lap. Not many people out yet. There’s the steady flow of gray suits in the crosswalk behind him, and the occasional passing huddle of schoolgirls, but the wrought-iron benches are only dotted with bundled shapes. Still a bit early. Dom smiles at the woman on the next seat over. She smiles back, and leans down to the child hopping between her knees. “Here you go, Jesse,” she says, city-thick, and produces another biscuit from her bag. “Now don’t feed this one to the pigeons, yeah?” Wee Jesse, clutching his prize, turns and immediately dashes headlong into the nearest clump of birds. They scatter in a tangle of flapping wings, and the boy shrieks in delight and spins in circles as they flee. His mother laughs. Dom’s pencil flies across the page. The sun breaks over the top of City Chambers, bright morning-sharp stripes across the odd red tarmac. It gleams on Jesse’s platinum hair and glints off the windows of the passing busses. Behind him Dom can hear a tour bus filling with chattering passengers. He catches a snatch of German and smiles. Strangers in a strange land. “Shouldn’t you have a hat out while you do that?” Dom looks up as Billy leans over from behind, the fringe of his scarf dangling, spilling over Dom’s shoulder. Billy is looking down into Dom’s lap, where Jesse continues spinning in bold black strokes on white newsprint. “Viggo says I’m getting better.” Dom whisks the sketchpad into his rucksack, only a little bit too fast, and rubs his fingers together to smudge the charcoal stains. “What’d you get?” Billy moves round, slides onto the bench next to Dom, hands him a paper cup. “Coffee,” he says, and Dom takes it gratefully. He can smell the sugar, knows that Billy mixed it himself. He smiles into the curling steam. “And,” Billy adds, pulling a paper sack from his coat, “Breakfast.” Dom takes the wrapped pasty from Billy’s hand and inhales deeply. “God, that smells fabulous.” “I told you,” mumbles Billy around a mouthful of his own. He cocks his head backwards. “Good thing we got here early.” When Dom looks behind them, he can see the line stretching from the tiny bakery out around the corner and down Queen Street. Across the way, the tour bus is departing. It is crammed to capacity. The tour-guide’s voice drifts over, obscured by distance and a bad PA. Billy snorts without looking and chews his food. “I’ll never get used to that.” Dom watches the bus whine past them, garish and red and out of place. “Foreigners,” he says quietly, and for a moment he can’t tell if his accent was English or American. Billy looks at him and smiles, a small and gentle thing. “Finish your breakfast, Dom,” he says. They sit for a few more minutes, tossing crumbs to the pigeons, watching the city open around them. Dom leans back into the sound of traffic and drinks his perfectly-mixed coffee. He rolls the fringe of Billy’s scarf between his fingers. In front of them, Jesse is still spinning. ~~~~~~ Dom can feel eyes on his back as he unfolds his napkin. His elbow bumps the wooden railing and nearly sends his teapot over the side. The rattle draws Billy’s eyes up from the Arts & Leisure section of The Scotsman. “It’s a bit crowded,” Dom says. Billy folds the paper, sliding it into his bag. “This place always is.” Dom looks around the tiny room; every table full, the comfortable hum of mid-morning conversation and the waitresses in their crisp white shirts maneuvering flawlessly through the maze of tiny tables. Over Billy’s shoulder he can see two Japanese girls at the dessert case, whispering to each other and pointing at the lemon tarts. His finger rubs at the plastic tab glued to the glass tabletop: Souvenir menus can be purchased for £4.95. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you brought me here.” Billy stirs his tea and smiles. “You said you wanted proper tea, didn’t you? Or are you missing your stale Twining’s microwaved in Elijah’s Doctor Who mug?” “Hey, I like that mug. It changes colors.” “You wanted tea, I got you tea. Now get your foot out of the walkway and eat your pansy little cucumber thing.” Dom jerks his foot in and scowls. “It’s watercress.” The prickling on his neck intensifies, and he hears whispering and a little “sh!” behind him. Billy smiles between prim sips of Darjeeling. “Don’t look now, but I do believe we are being watched.” At the table behind them sit two small girls, twins, five or six at most. When Dom turns to look at them they giggle and cover their mouths. Their mother shushes them, her face slightly red. Dom turns to Billy, who is grinning at him over the lip of his cup. They both stand at the same time. The little girls cling to each other when Dom says, “Good morning, ladies.” “I’m sorry,” says the woman. “I didn’t want them to disturb you.” Dom gives her a smile and bends down to the girls, who are wiggling in their chairs with matching jam-smeared grins. “Are you two alright? What’s got you so giggly, then?” They blush and smile shyly. One of them points a small sticky finger. “S’Pippin.” Dom’s smile only falters for an instant. “So it is! None other than Pippin Took himself. Would you like to say hello to him?” He straightens as Billy walks around but doesn’t meet his eyes. He waits until Billy’s kneeling beside the table, animated and effortless, before he turns and walks back to their seats. His tea is lukewarm so he eats the rest of his watercress and takes the check to the register. He buys a mug for Elijah and a souvenir menu for £4.95. Billy finds him downstairs looking at Mackintosh rings. He hands Dom his shopping bags and they step out silently onto Sauchiehall Street. The sun is bright on their faces as they walk side by side in the crowd. “Merry doesn’t wear eyeliner,” says Billy. “Or a four-day beard.” Dom puts on his sunglasses. “I’m a master of disguise,” he says. ~~~~~~ “Please tell me you’re not actually going to eat that.” Billy freezes, mouth open. He lifts one eyebrow and then shoves the entire brown square into his mouth. “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.” Billy’s cheeks are puffed out like a squirrel's. He crumples up the wax paper and chews slowly, savoring his morsel before swallowing. “This coming from a man who eats raw eel on a ball of fish eggs.” “Sushi is a delicacy,” says Dom. “So are fried Mars Bars,” Billy says, and picks his back teeth with one finger. The sun beats down on the narrow lanes of the market, lined with tables and jammed elbow-to-elbow with haggling, noisy Scots. Billy maneuvers them through, pulls Dom around the corner, under the arch and into the main courtyard. It is even more crowded than the street, and now Dom can hear the tinny thump of music and smell the greasy-burnt scent of a chip shop somewhere near. He looks up, taking in the faded brick walls and the woven rugs hanging from the iron bars. When he looks back down, Billy is blinking at him from behind a pair of purple rhinestone sunglasses. “What do you think?” “They’d look better on Orlando.” Billy laughs and pulls off the glasses before moving on, dragging Dom by the wrist behind him. “Look at all this stuff!” says Dom. “I’ve never seen so much useless shit in all my life.” “I knew you’d like it,” says Billy. It’s dimmer inside, and even noisier. A man is airbrushing t-shirts in the first stall; next door, an old woman reads a Harlequin novel as she sits behind a stack of unknown crocheted objects. Dom stops at a migraine-inducing display of tartan and picks up a jaunty little green and blue bonnet. “I think you’d look lovely in this one, laddie,” he says in his best Highland brogue. Billy eyes him, amused. “Say that a little louder, love.” Dom looks up to see the owner of the stall glaring at him over the glass case of knives, enormous arms crossed over his chest. Dom drops the hat on the table and murmurs “cheers” before hurrying to catch up with Billy. “What is this, Bill? There’s an old man over there selling tea towels which explain ten reasons why a beer is better than an Englishman. I’m beginning to fear for my well-being.” Billy says nothing, merely keeps walking until Dom has to hustle to keep up with him in the throng. They turn behind a divider and come out the back, and an enormous corner stall spreads out in front of them. Dom’s mouth falls open. The seller, a stocky young man with a black goatee and the sleeves of his Rollins Band t-shirt rolled up over his tattoos, sees Dom staring and asks, “Can I help, mates?” “He might need a minute,” says Billy. Eventually Dom finds his voice, though it cracks a bit. “Is… is that an original?” The young man cranes his neck to look up at the wall. “The 'Rubber Soul'? Aye, that’s a first press. I’ve got some others in the back but I don’t like to leave them out in the heat.” He gives Dom an appraising glance. “You like Bowie? I got a new set of 45s if you wanna see them.” Dom makes a small noise in his throat. “He’d love to,” says Billy. The seller disappears behind the curtain. Dom looks down at the endless rows of CDs he’s bracing himself against. He picks one up and stares at it. “Billy, look at this.” His finger trails down the track listing. “I’ve never even seen some of these dates before.” Billy watches him, his face shining with a simple smile. Dom looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this place?” Billy takes the CD from his hand and turns him gently back to the stacks. “Because I wanted to show you.” ~~~~~~ The sun is following them through the park, down the hill from the Gardens and back toward the bridge. It glitters off the slow-moving river and throws long bars of light across the green grass and the black path they’re strolling down, lined with willows that rustle in the breeze. Dom keeps his hands in his pockets to stop them from slipping through the crook of Billy’s arm. He’s gone quiet since they started walking the river, and Dom knows it’s not time to distract him yet. Another jogger passes and they dip off the path to let him by. They stop there, leaning against the fence and looking down into the river, listening to the Frisbee game behind them and the evening birds in the trees overhead. Dom pulls a ball of paper from his pocket; the crumpled remains of their breakfast. He pours a pile of crumbs into his palm and tosses them to the swans sunning themselves along the embankment. A few are interested; the rest put their heads back beneath their wings and go to sleep. Dom tosses the paper into the nearest bin and leans against the fence. Billy’s hands are on top of the railing, curled around the iron bars. Dom looks at the place where their fingers nearly touch. Behind them, two teenagers are kissing on a bench. Dom speaks quietly. “Billy, why did you bring me here?” Billy doesn’t answer. He’s looking up, away, over the bridge and across the river to the row of housing blocks that filter out the sunset and stripe his face with shadows. The gray concrete leaches his eyes pale. “This is my home, Dom.” Dom can hear children playing in the park behind them. A group of young men jog past in a quick rush of color and laughter, and then are gone. The sunset stretches out longer across the field, the smell of fresh-cut grass and the soft sigh of the willows. Billy is looking at laundry strung across rows of balconies, flapping in the wind that stirs foamy trails on the dirty river. “This is what I am.” Dom looks at his profile, sharp and shaded against the setting sun. He slides his hand around the bar and covers both of Billy’s with his long fingers. Billy blinks, and looks down. “Come on,” Dom says. “We’re going to be late for the movie.” Billy lets Dom tug his hands from the railing, looks up into his smile. He stands there for another moment before matching it. They turn and walk toward the bridge, up across the grass with the warmth of the sun on their backs. Billy slips his hand into Dom’s and squeezes. “You’re right,” he says. ~~~~~~ Dom is halfway across the moss-covered stone bridge before he realizes where they are going. “Billy, what—?” But Billy is already pushing at the enormous wooden gate. The moonlight turns his skin silver as he looks back, and Dom can see his teeth glitter when he grins. “Hurry up, Dom,” he calls in a whisper. Dom looks up at the ivy crawling down the worn stone around them and the looming black shape above. He feels the fine hairs rise on the back of his neck. “Billy, this is a—” “Come on,” Billy says, and slips between the doors. Dom follows him through the gate. He can see Billy standing between the soft white shapes of carved stone winding up the narrow path. Dom looks up, row upon row spiraling into the darkness, round stones fallen and cracked across ancient roots and the dim glow of crosses carved in pale knots. He shivers. “Not afraid, are you?” Billy’s voice is boyish and promising. Before Dom can reply he says, “Race you to the top,” and disappears. Dom must run to catch up with him, hissing out his name, flying along the tiny path, dodging under branches and leaping over roots and fallen gravestones. He tries not to fall and break his neck, tries not to wonder how Billy knows his way without looking, tries to keep his blurry figure in sight around the corners and between the rows and up the hill and higher. He refuses to look too closely at any name he passes. He turns the last corner and Billy is standing at the edge of a flat plateau, still and breathing in the damp night air. The city spreads out before him under the shine of a full moon, twinkling white and orange in the darkness, turning him into a black silhouette as Dom moves up slowly behind him. “It’s beautiful,” Dom whispers. “We used to come here at night,” says Billy. “When we were kids.” Dom stares, silent. The smokestacks of the breweries blink back at him. Tiny lines of traffic crawl by, red and white, between dotted windows and strings of streetlights. They sparkle in Billy’s eyes, hum beneath his skin, like everything here, like this entire day, every day, every time they come back. For Billy there has only ever been this place. Dom takes a step away from the edge. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I only wanted…” Billy turns to him, brow knit in confusion. “Dom?” But Dom is walking away, back down the path toward the trees. His steps grow quicker as he hears Billy call his name, and he is running by the time Billy starts to follow. The way down is too steep and he’s stumbling, skidding on the moss, running blindly and tripping over a root just as Billy’s hand closes on his arm. They hit the dirt together and roll to a stop. Billy moves to pull him up but Dom jerks away, sits back and catches his breath against a headstone. He leans against the cross, smell of earth in his nostrils, ivy fluttering around the stones, and Billy’s hand settles on his face. Dom opens his mouth but Billy’s lips are on his before he can speak. His fingers curl and clench two handfuls of Billy’s shirt. Dirt falls into his hair. Leaves brush against his face, between Billy’s fingers. Billy tastes like popcorn and after-movie cigarettes. He opens his eyes when Billy finally pulls back, and doesn’t remember when they closed. Billy takes one of Dom’s hands and presses it flat against his chest. His heartbeat knocks wildly against Dom’s fingers, but the hand over Dom’s does not shake. They breathe together in the chilly air. “This is what you do for me, Dom,” Billy says. Dom looks at him smiling in the moonlight. Billy’s eyes look like the future. “I can’t find this anywhere but you,” he says. I love you, Dom thinks. The bags from the day’s shopping have spilled out across the ground. Billy gathers them all, brushes off the dirt and leaves. He stands and holds out one hand to Dom, still smiling. “Let’s go home,” he says. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ back