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Tyler stands for a moment with his hand on the doorknob before he finally gives up.
“Going out, Mom! Grabbing some smokes!”
He hears his father mutter about why he needs to smoke so damn late, but he’s already shutting the door by the time the words reach him.
Tyler isn’t actually going out for cigarettes, but he figures it’s a better excuse than I’m seeing a man I’ve never met because Mark said I need to find a friend in the city.
Mark had actually been much more crass than that, in a very long-winded letter lecturing Tyler on how sad it is that a twenty-five year old marine is living with his parents post-war and barely gets out of the house. Insisted that Tyler meet his friend Josh, and ensured Tyler knew what a dick move it would be to leave him hanging after the plans had already been made. So Tyler is heading toward the square on a Friday evening, still wondering if it’s too late to turn around.
His dread grows the closer he gets, but it’s drowned out in an instant by his heart picking up in speed when he sees a head of dark, curly hair. He catches sight of Tyler instantly and starts waving excitedly, a wide grin splitting his face. Tyler thinks that despite the distance between them, he can already feel the warmth.
He sticks out his hand the second Tyler reaches him. “You must be Tyler. I’m Josh.”
Tyler eyes his hand warily for a moment before giving it a firm shake. There’s something…magnetic, almost, about Josh. Tyler feels drawn to him in a way he can’t describe. “That’s me. What’s Mark got scheduled for us?”
“Not Mark,” Josh says. “He let me plan this. And I hope you like music, ‘cause I’ve got us two tickets to La Traviata.”
“I hate opera.”
The words leave Tyler’s mouth before he can agree to saying them, but Josh doesn’t falter even slightly. “Well, lucky for you, you’re with me.” He smiles again. “Who cares what you are listening to, it’s who you’re listening with.”
He grabs Tyler’s hand before he can respond, dragging him along to the theater a few blocks away. Josh doesn’t say anything the entire way, nor does he let go of Tyler’s hand, and Tyler can’t stop himself from checking for any lingering eyes passing by.
Josh’s tickets put them in the very back of the opera house, barely seated a few minutes before the show is set to begin. Tyler glances over at Josh, whose gaze is trained forward, hands in his lap. He looks at home, more at home than Tyler feels in this moment. He almost sighs, only holding it back because Josh would notice. It seems this evening is going to be little more than four wasted hours sitting next to someone he’ll likely never see again.
As the lights dim, Tyler closes his eyes, hoping maybe he can at least get in a nap without Josh noticing. The sound of violins fills the theater, building slowly and allowing Tyler to start drifting off until they reach a steady rhythm and he feels something that makes his eyes fly open again.
He’d left his hand carelessly resting on the chair arm between them, but now as his eyes try to adjust to the darkness, he sees Josh’s hand now in his.
Tyler looks at Josh, but is met with nothing. Josh is still dutifully watching the stage, like he hasn’t noticed anything different. Tyler’s gaze flicks back to the stage, wondering if what’s going on is really that captivating, but he can’t entertain that idea in good faith.
He looks around the seats in front of them, but while most are occupied, no one is paying them any attention. No scrutinous eyes watching them, ready to hurl accusations their way. There’s just the orchestra soaring, and Tyler, and Josh with his strong hand providing an anchor.
So he just…settles back into his seat, not even realizing he had sat up. Watches the opera play out, glancing over to Josh occasionally, and remains alert for the entire show. The music is beautiful, even moving at times, but Tyler knows it’s far from responsible for the butterflies in his stomach.
Josh doesn’t let go of his hand for the entire duration of the show, only releasing him to applaud at the end. He stands, leading them both outside, and they watch the audience drift out of the theater for a while. They listen to the bits of conversation they’re able to catch, and the ambience of the street, a silence between them.
“So…” Josh finally says. “Were you bored?”
Tyler almost laughs. Was he bored? He’s never been more awake in a theater before in his life.
“No,” he admits. “I guess it wasn’t…that bad.” He sighs and laughs quietly. “It was the best time I’ve ever had, actually.”
He catches Josh eyeing him and shrinks under his gaze, clearing his throat. “At the opera, I mean.”
Josh laughs, warm and soft. “Well, I’ve got seats to Beethoven’s Fifth next week. Same time, same place. Lucky for you,” he says, echoing his words from earlier.
Tyler agrees without question, bidding goodbye to Josh and walking home with a spring in his step. Maybe opera isn’t so bad, after all.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
From there, the time exploded like a bullet from a gun, as Josh liked to say.
Weeks, months, years flew by as Tyler and Josh grew closer. Friends, that was what they always told people. That’s what they had told Mark when he asked how the night at the opera had gone. That’s what they told Tyler’s parents when they had moved into an apartment in the city together, just someone to make everything a little less lonely.
Letters when they were apart, covert outings when they were together. It wasn’t always friends, sometimes it was old college roommates, sometimes coworkers, sometimes even cousins. They always tried to laugh it off, just to not let the weight of it overtake them.
Tyler sets the needle on their old phonograph down gently, smiling softly as the overture of La Traviata begins and once again fills the small space of their rental. The volume is loud, but he can’t bring himself to give a damn if his neighbors complain.
It’s a special day, after all, one he begins like any other. He makes breakfast, showers, dresses himself in his Sunday best. A crisp button-up, brown slacks, a brown tie that Josh had picked because of its pattern. He tugs his jacket on and forfeits his keys, opting to walk instead.
He stops for flowers on the way, picks the nicest and sweetest smelling bouquet in the shop. The cashier gives him a knowing smile, and he returns it, even if she’s probably wrong. No need for corrections when he can just let her enjoy the idea of him.
When he reaches his destination, he sits in the grass, setting the flowers in front of him. He fusses over them longer than he probably should, but he wants to make sure they look nice.
“You know,” he says quietly, “it still doesn’t feel real, that night we saw La Traviata.”
There’s no response, of course; the headstone in front of him remains utterly silent. Tyler traces his finger along the lettering engraved into it, then the dates.
Joshua William Dun
1921-1966
“That was twenty-five years ago today, can you believe it?” Tyler whispers, smiling.
A tear rolls down his face, the first of many to come, and hits the back of his hand where it rests on his lap.
“They’re playing La Traviata again this weekend,” he says. “First time in years. I was going to get tickets, but they sold out already.” He smiles weakly. “I guess it’ll just be me and the old phonograph.”
“I miss you, you know.” His voice finally gives out mid-sentence, sobs catching up to him. “It’s been five years and it hasn’t gotten any easier. You just had to go and leave me hanging, didn’t you?”
He laughs, broken and tearful, and lightly runs his finger over the rest of the words on the grave.
Life is not the things that we do, it’s who we’re doing them with.