@reichandwrong
Bingley had rushed here quite confidently. But all this waiting has stewed in him. Turned his belly nauseous.
The familiar tick of the wheels on Jakob’s old bicycle (like the cluck of his tongue against a wall of teeth) echoes around the corner. Away, when not here--in bed or eating breakfast with Caroline--Bingley finds himself dreaming together the shape of Jakob’s mouth based on every word it has made at him, like a greedy fruit bat with its all-sound world: big, eased and easy, rough or soft or rougher, open.
The old bicycle clucks closer.
Bingley’s learned to love the old. Love Jakob’s refrigerator that wheezes water from its metal back. Love the wobbly door hinges to the bathroom. Love the sand-dollar-thin bar of soap for soap (and not a bottle). Love the window that never closes. Love the floorboards that sing like a hundred cricket legs. Love the windowpanes with holes the size of doves, from when burglars came (but the thought of doves is sweeter isn’t it? that something that delicate would want in). Bingley wants in.
There’s an unconditional acceptance the less fortunate have for their old belongings. No matter how poorly a mattress is a mattress or a toothbrush is a toothbrush or a towel is a towel, they love it. Because they have to. Because it’s the only one they’ll have. Bingley is not the only person Jakob has. So what use is he?
Jakob stops in front of Bingley, still perched on his bicycle, outside the complex’s staircase.
Bingley blinks fast, faster than his hummingbird heartbeat. He wrings at the web of skin between his thumb and index finger nervously with his other hand. He feels light headed and heavy hearted and the contrast leaves him exceptionally dizzy. Bingley grasps both of the bicycle’s handlebars for support.
There is no hello. There is no greeting. There is only a blushing boy, a smile as curved as cupid’s bow, and a half memorized speech.
“I know-- I know you must, or might, or, well, maybe--because I don’t presume to know what you feel, of course, but--I know you perhaps may be wondering how it is I feel about, ah, you and the-- tailor shop. I did not say anything to you about-- it then, or after, or any of the many following days (which I am very sorry for, that was most selfish and cold of me) because I didn’t know what to say, you see. I was... I was cowardly and confused. But I’m not now. Jakob...”
Bingley pulls the handlebars forward until the front wheel is halfway between his legs and Jakob’s mouth bumps into his own. The kiss is soft and quick and much too modest, but so is Bingley. He forgets what else he was going to say.
