SHORTLY AFTER Jim started working at the law firm, when Bram was still in grad school, they’d picked out a house together. It had been a compromise. Jim wanted a condo within walking distance of shops and restaurants; Bram preferred something with a lot of privacy. They ended up buying a clapboard cottage with a tiny yard and high fence, only a short drive or run from their offices. They’d abandoned their shabby student furniture and picked out new things. They’d agreed on paint colors and prints to hang on the walls. Bram liked the house—it was the first place he’d lived that truly felt like home. Even after Jim’s death, he’d been happy to continue living there. As difficult as the lonely evenings were, he’d been grateful for his familiar refuge.
But this week he couldn’t enjoy his house at all. The walls were too boring. The food was too bland. Nothing there caught his interest, not even his journal articles or his DVD collection. And it was lonely.
On Wednesday evening he jogged home from work, showered, and went out for Thai food. He ordered everything extra hot, even though it made his nose run and his eyes burn. And when he’d finished eating, instead of returning to his house, he went to the coffeehouse with the rude baristas.
The guy behind the counter had floppy bangs, a scraggly beard, and black spikes in his ears, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be emo, hipster, or punk. He looked as if he intended to die of ennui before Bram got his order in.
“I have a question,” Bram said.
“What?”
“I’m looking at the menu board, and you’ve got, oh, maybe two dozen kinds of coffee drinks listed. And that’s not counting the teas, the smoothie things, the hot chocolate….”
“So?”
“Do there really need to be that many kinds of caffeinated beverages? Isn’t that overkill?”
The barista rolled his eyes. “Whatta ya want?”
“Water. I want a big cup of plain old water.”
“There’s water bottles there.” The barista poked a finger in the direction of the refrigerator case.
“But I want mine in a cup. And I want you to call it something fancy. Aguaccino or something. You’ll think of something, right? You’re an artist.”
The barista glared at him for several moments before spinning around, jerking a paper cup from a stack, and filling it at a sink. He plunked a lid on it. Then he marched back and slammed it on the counter. “That’s two eighty-five.”
“I won’t pay unless you give me the fancy name. Because that’s the part that’s worth the money, right?”
After brushing his hair from his eyes and looking hopelessly at the ceiling, the barista puffed out a breath of air. “Here is your eau de la tappe, sir. Two eighty-five.”
Bram set a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Eau de la tappe. Not bad. You can keep the change in compensation for the attempt at French.” He picked up the cup and turned around to survey the tables.
Only a few of them were occupied. In a cushy chair near the window, a middle-aged man slouched with a book. Near the wall, four teenage girls huddled with their cell phones, giggling loudly. Not far from them, a woman and man in their early twenties sat across from each other, but their eyes were on their phones. And close to the door, one woman knitted while her companion tapped at a laptop.
Bram sat down at the table with the young couple. “Hi,” he said mildly when they goggled at him.
They exchanged quick glances. “Um, hello,” said the girl.
“I’m drinking overpriced water. How about you guys?”
“Coffee,” the guy answered. He looked a little frightened, which was pretty funny. Bram wasn’t a petite man, but nobody had ever mistaken him for an axe-wielding murderer.
“Well, that makes sense. Coffee in a coffeehouse. So, are you guys married or just dating?”
“Look,” the guy said, bristling. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“I’m just making friendly conversation, like people do. Anyway, I saw you sitting here, and I was wondering what stage of your relationship you’re in. ’Cause if you’re married, okay, although it’s still kind of early in a marriage for you to be ignoring each other. But if you’re just dating? I’m pretty sure you should be talking to each other instead of texting your friends and checking your Tumblr accounts. There should be flirting, maybe a little bit of veiled innuendo…. You should be building up the sexual tension until you’re both ready to go home and fuck like rabbits.” He sat back in his chair and gave them a cheery little smile.
Neither of them seemed capable of formulating a coherent response. Bram took a sip of water. It tasted like paper.
“Why is coffeehouse music always so tragically pretentious?” he asked, waving a hand vaguely in the direction where the speakers might be. “It always tries to be cool without being offensive, but that’s bullshit because truly cool music isn’t bland. Besides, every time someone orders a cappuccino, all we hear is that obnoxious zhoop. Maybe they should just play the sound of toilets flushing, considering all the liquid that gets consumed.”
He stood and walked away, abandoning his expensive water.
Sitting in his car in the parking lot a few minutes later, he began to shake. He’d never pulled a stunt like that, and he had no idea why he’d done it now.
No. That wasn’t true. He had a definite idea, and it was named Ghede Nibo. The lwa wasn’t riding him now—Bram could feel the difference—but it was if he were hanging around nearby, egging Bram on. As if Bram were a teenager whose new best friend was a bad influence.
But Ghede Nibo’s effect on his behavior wasn’t bothering him right now. What had his heart racing and his hands feeling clammy was that he’d enjoyed making a small spectacle of himself and yanking a few chains. And he’d suddenly realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something just because it was silly and fun.
BY FRIDAY Bram’s coworkers were giving him very strange looks. Janet was spending more time than usual in the lab and keeping her earbuds stuck in her ears when she had to come back to their shared office. She fled entirely when Carla showed up late Friday afternoon.
Bram looked up from his computer screen and grinned at her. “How they hangin’, Carla?”
She sighed heavily and plopped down in Janet’s chair. “What’s going on, Bram?”
“Nothing. I’m just looking over these reports.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She poked at her smartphone for a moment. “Yesterday morning you proposed a toxicity marathon to see who could withstand paint fumes the longest. You also went downstairs to the gym and told everyone they should be plowing fields instead of using the treadmill.” She glanced over at him. “I’m told you accompanied the suggestion with some graphic movements.”
He shrugged.
“You’ve been telling dirty jokes in the lab,” she said. “You stood next to Brian Billings and pretended he was overloading your Gayometer.”
“Brian Billings is a homophobic idiot. I bet he’s compensating.”
“You sent out a mass e-mail containing thirty science-related puns. This morning you asked the cafeteria manager why the packaged pastries contain more chemicals than most of our paint products.”
“Have you seen the ingredient lists on those things?” he asked, smiling.
“You wrote a memo to the CEO complaining that our hallways are too bland and demanding they be painted with rainbows.”
“We make paints, Carla. We should not have white walls.”
She tucked the phone into her jacket pocket and gave him a long look. “You spent thirty minutes this afternoon roaming the building, asking everyone you met whether they were working hard or hardly working. And when they were men, you emphasized the hard. Are you taking something, Bram?”
He sputtered a laugh. “No. I’ll pee in a cup for you if you like.”
“Something prescription, maybe? Sometimes those medicines have unexpected side effects.”
“Not even aspirin. I am fully capable of operating heavy machinery.”
“Then what the hell is up with you?” she yelled. Carla never yelled.
Bram set down the pencil he’d been toying with and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just livening things up. Carla, we literally watch paint dry for a living. We need more levity.”
“Peeking on your coworker over the top of a bathroom stall isn’t levity, Bram—it’s sexual harassment.”
“It’s not like he was taking a shit. He goes in there every day to play Candy Crush and update his OKCupid profile.”
Carla slowly stood and crossed her arms. “Are you trying to get fired?”
“No. I like my job.” That was an honest answer, although the prospect of unemployment scared him much less than it would have the previous week.
“Okay. As of now, you’re on vacation. You have a lot of it saved up anyway. I don’t want to see you back here for at least two weeks. See a therapist, Bram. Then go find somewhere fun and exotic, with lots of cute and easy boys hanging around.”
Maybe she expected him to throw a tantrum or say something inappropriate, because she looked slightly apprehensive. But Bram only nodded. As she watched, he shut down his computer. He hung his lab coat on the coatrack and grabbed his gym bag from under the desk.
“Thanks, Carla,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
He’d driven to work that morning because jogging had seemed like a waste of effort. Now, he peeled off his shirt as soon as he was inside his car. Then he started the engine and cranked the AC to the max. Even with his sunglasses on, he squinted. Without really making the decision to do so, he pulled out his phone and called Daniel.
Daniel answered after two rings. “Are you all right?” he asked right away. He’d been checking up on Bram twice a day, which was sweet and comforting.
“Nobody’s trying to kill me at the moment. That I know of. But do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. But hang on—let me go somewhere more private.” After a brief pause, he said, “Okay. This is good.”
“Are you at the shelter?”
Daniel worked in several different locations, but he spent a lot of his time at a shelter for LGBT teens. He’d talked about the place during their evening phone calls over the past few days, Bram huddling comfortably on the couch.
“Yeah,” said Daniel. “And I’m actually in a closet right now, which is pretty funny. But nobody’s going to be listening in.”
“I won’t keep you in there for long.” Bram watched a sparrow land on a nearby tree. “Um, I wanted to ask you something.”
“It’s a little early for a marriage proposal, and this isn’t remotely romantic.”
Bram’s laughter was loud in the car, even with the noise of the fan. “I think we need at least one official date first. The thing is, this week I’ve been kind of… off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing stuff I would never have pictured myself doing. I mean… nobody’s making me do anything. I’m in control. But I’m finding myself wanting to do some pretty weird shit, Daniel.”
“Yeah.” Daniel was quiet a moment, perhaps gathering his thoughts. “When I was a kid, I was pretty wild. I did a lot of stupid things. But then Ezili Freda chose me, and after a while, I started listening to her. I calmed down. I started putting effort into school. Stopped sleeping around.”
Bram closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. “Sounds like your lwa is a lot more responsible than mine.”
“Well, Ghede Nibo’s a lot cruder than she is, that’s for sure. But my point is that I needed to do those things—I needed to grow up and chill out. But you’ve already done plenty of growing and chilling. You needed to loosen up a little. Ghede Nibo’s helping you.”
“Daniel, there’s loosening up and there’s acting like a psycho. I came really close to getting fired today. Carla should have canned me after the shit I’ve been pulling. And I don’t even care all that much.”
“Sweetheart,” Daniel said. Bram’s heart lurched and his breath caught. And Daniel repeated the endearment as if he wanted to be sure Bram didn’t miss it. “Sweetheart, you’ve been a champagne bottle. Now you’re opened and there’s bound to be some initial foaming. You’ll settle. Give yourself a little time. You’ve had an awful lot of excitement lately.”
Excitement. That was one way to put it. But Daniel’s words soothed Bram. “You think?”
“I think. You’ll find your balance. You’ll still be a little bubbly, but… but I think I’ve taken this metaphor about as far as it will go. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thank you.”
“I’ll be done here in an hour. You want to get together?”
Bram did want that. But he declined. “I think I’m better off foaming solo. I’ll see you Saturday morning, okay?”
“And you’ll be careful until then, right?”
Bram smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. “I will,” he said.