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DISRUPTION
.— For M., in memoriam. 1. Call Me by Your Name You’re the only one I can tell: how I lay back on a hotel bed watching two young men at the beginning of devotion. One—wide-eyed, tender— the other, Oliver— brimming with the lassitude of the late Italian summer where they swim with girls and their disappointed hips. I’d love to see the two men fuck, but sadly it’s not happening in this movie. Oliver. He reminds me of him— the one I told you about —the way he travels through a room in the same insouciant manner Oliver uses Later as his preferred offhand mode of saying goodbye. He moves his torso in the tone of the word, his entire being becoming Later— for them both, everyone is an afterthought, a disruption left in their wake. Oh M.— I’d also like to stick my cock in the peach, to know what it feels like— not to have just any cock, but his specifically—how it feels when its buried in the flesh of that fruit, the juices dripping down its sides, how he feels in the core of his body when my hand is on it—the places he enters. 2. Is it a Video? Outside it is cold and windy. There are children jumping in a freezing pool. The front desk assured me my room would be quiet, that no one would swim when it’s so cold outside, but all I hear is shrieking while I stare at my cry-creased face in the mirror, thinking how I wanted him to witness me in this hotel room—a place so lonely it may not even exist—how I wanted him to love my body here, where I came to put yours in the ground. And I can’t seem to separate it all— the people that hurt me—in whatever ways they did, they flash before me now, all their faces in the mirror— how you are part of this accretion, I don’t know. Back on the bed, my phone lights up with his name. I want to tell him I’d love to watch us fuck but it’s not happening in this movie. I want to tell him, you don’t want to fall in love? Fine. Let’s not. But it’s too late for that. So I tell you instead. But it’s too late for that. |
