Chapter Twenty Two: Vacation Eternal — Part 5

Arpie and Opus each have a backpack filled with rations and water, the latter of which the sky is kind enough to refill, if only partially. They have spoken to Tomas, to Kia, to Joe. They are looking for the arch that brought Tomas into Arkansas, planning for a future when that arch might need guarded. Opus doesn’t trust his brother any more than Arpie. The two won’t pretend a risk from the east doesn’t exist, even if the locals can take care of themselves.

It takes them until Friday morning to find it, and they are both surprised to see a second arch, humming within eyeshot of the first. The second arch is a quarter-mile from their target arch and heads out to the southwest. Both arches are hazy with mist, as if they are pulling moisture from far away, or storing it from storms long past. The clouds roll in, and Arpie and Opus get undressed, putting their clothes inside plastic bags, just beating the first drops of rain.

The two bathe the sweat of the hike off quickly, passing baby shampoo and keeping quiet as they clean themselves. Both try to respect each other’s privacy, difficult as it sounds. The rain gets rough for a minute or so, giving both men a chance to wash off their soap, but both of them have to stand and wait from the cool drops of rain to fall back so they can pull their towels out and dry their bodies. Arpie doesn’t want to think of what Opus has going on between his legs. He’s curious, he can’t help that, but he’s not rude, and doesn’t want to hurt the friendship the two have built between them. Opus is happy and comfortable in his own skin, especially now that Arpie is the one not noticing the way that skin is shaped.

Or trying not to notice, at any rate. Even though he turns his back to Opus when he bathes, when Opus isn’t in clothes, his body could go either way. His body hair is more like a woman’s, and the proportions of nudity make his face softer, especially in the cool light of an afternoon rain. There is a moment when Opus pauses to clean that soft spot between his legs, just the same way that Arpie cleans himself, really, but the way his body shivers, even at his own touch, causes a reaction in Arpie that is both unexpected and difficult to conceal. Like a boy in a public shower at school, Arpie puts his head forward, closes his eyes, and tries to think of things that will cause the swelling to go down.

“We’re going to have a choice soon.” Arpie says, putting his clothes back on after drying off.

“Stay or go.” Opus agrees.

“Any idea which road we should take?” Arpie asks.

“I think we should keep with the Puds. We owe them that.” Opus says.

“You’re the only person I can’t play slick with.” Arpie says. If he were a cat, his tail would be twitching.

“I know your thinking. Sometimes.” Opus agrees. “You think I look nice?”

Now it’s Arpie’s turn to think like Opus. “Sometimes, you know, when I’m not thinking you’re half my age and kind of on the boyish side.”

“I don’t have to be a boy.” Opus says quietly. “But I can’t lose twenty years.”

“Would you want to be more like ChoCho, or more like Daria?” Arpie asks with a light tone, though he is quite serious. He’s scheming, as always, on behalf of his deputee.

“You mean, would I want a husband and a wife, or a wife and a husband?” Opus counters, giggling less like the boy he seems to be. “How does that happen, they being so lucky?”

“I don’t think it is luck. I think they work at it.” Arpie says. “But you, uh, you got to have somebody to work at.”

There is an unexpected silence between them. Opus might be thinking of something or nothing, as he is staring off into space, wondering about something too distant to talk about in the now. Arpie knows he can have Opus, but deep down he knows it won’t be right. Not prior the storm, and not now. It isn’t the morality of love or longing, but the ethics of age and responsibility. His minds’ eyes grow dark as he wanders through all the possibilities of his relationship with Opus.

“We gotta find you somebody to work at.” Arpie says finally.

“Oh, I got somebody who’s looking at me, but she doesn’t know about the plumbing like you do.” Opus says. “If she need me to swell her belly, it gonna take more work than if I was normal.”

“Nothing odd about you.” Arpie snaps, unexpectedly. “You always think too far ahead, player. Who’s the girl?”

“One of the Puds. She’s older, softer, smarter than a lot of them. Maybe still too young. She’s always in Heath’s shadow, like a duckling. Heath never sees her.” Opus says. “I know they’re wild and all, but she said to come talk to her on Sunday, so I was thinking, you know, maybe I should talk to her.”

“Very well then. If she stays, we stay?” Arpie says finally, somewhere between a statement and a question.

“You wanted to stay all along. This is easy for you.” Opus says.

“If you’re happy and with somebody before we part our ways, then I’ll be the easiest man you ever met.” Arpie says.

“You’re funny, sometimes.” Opus says quietly. “You got somebody you chasing?”

“She’s a young girl, the one with the kid. Still older than you by eight, maybe ten years” Arpie now sounds more relaxed. “We’ve known each other awhile. Shelley isn’t somebody I’d want to chase, with her husband so fresh in the grave. But I’ll stick close, be her friend, help her where I can.”

“What if she leaves?” Opus wonders.

“She isn’t leaving.” Arpie says.

“Can you be sure? She fled the Glenn.”

“Your brother played that hand. Tomas isn’t your brother any more than I am.” Arpie starts to shake, swings a fist out at an invisible enemy. “I really just wish I’d punched that stupid sonuvabitch while I had a chance.”

“You did enough swinging, that day.” Opus says quietly.

Arpie can’t decide if he’s proud or ashamed. “Poor boy will never be able to look in the mirror again without remembering why, that’s for damn sure.”

Arpie sets a fire, makes some tea, and hands a small cup to Opus. The two watch the arches hum and glow as the evening settles. Each one pulses in response to the other, the slight tug of the nearest one shifting the angle of tea in Arpie’s cup so he has to kind of pay attention to how he holds things. It isn’t hard, if he listens to his sense of balance rather than his eyes. The arches are both frightening and beautiful, friends always best kept at a distance. In a moment Arpie is holding Opus by the hand. He doesn’t know why. It isn’t the kind of affection that will go anywhere, but it feels nice just the same. Opus smiles a little, until the need for sleep takes him.

The two set their mats, set their bags, and settle in hoping the night won’t bring too much in the way of rain. Arpie is quiet as he tends to a body whose needs have not diminished with age, hoping the breeze will cover his gasping breath as he climaxes, quietly, carefully, into a handkerchief. Opus doesn’t hear him, doesn’t know, but is smiling for his own reasons, for the same reasons. When sleep does come, it is calm, the hum of the arches and the gentle talk of the wind lulling them both until the morning dew chills them back to thought.

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