Auguries of Summer

Chapter 2-2

Later that day, I finally decided to put together the last of Jack’s bookcases.

It was a hot July night and we hadn’t set up our air conditioner yet, so I was sweating and getting a little impatient. My tools were scattered all around me and I couldn’t find that little silver screwdriver IKEA provided with this mess.

In his fancy armchair, Jack peeked at me over his book. “Need any help?” he asked.

He was reading something on Da Vinci.

I grunted a fast “nope.” I knew Jack was simply being polite. And anyway, I didn’t want him touching anything. I had a system going on here and he’d only confuse me.

I sniffed and chewed on my bottom lip, bending to the pile of black screws again. I could feel Jack watching me.

“Those jeans make your ass look like something you’d find hanging in a meat packing fridge.”

I shot him a look over my shoulder. “What?”

Jack licked his index and turned another page of his book, not looking at me. “It makes me regret being a vegetarian.”

I shook my head at him and crouched down, going back to work, but though I didn’t show it, his compliment had made my heart skip a few beats.

So Jack liked my ass.

Nice.

“Going out to kick a ball around tonight?” Jack asked, still not looking up from his book.

Yes, and I was looking forward to getting out of this apartment. I was meeting the guys later for a night of soccer. I hadn’t played in a week and that never did me any good. Since childhood, I’d been into physical activity. It had helped me with my learning disabilities.

“Well, well, well,” Jack said, before I could answer him. “I’ll be damned. Then again, I already am damned, according to half of the world’s population, but hey, did you know that your name is derived from the Greek word Sebastos and that translated into Latin, the word means Augustus?”

“I did not know that,” I said, tongue-in-cheek.

As if I’d know that.

“Yeah, I’m reading this book on Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man. You know, the drawing with the gorgeous male body spread-eagled, surrounded by a circle and square.”

“Yeah, okay, I know that one.”

“Do you now? Well, look at you.” Jack winked. “So anyway, Vitruvian was named after the Roman architect Vitruvius who came up with the idea, and this guy served under the emperor Augustus, and it says right here, that Augustus means the ‘venerable one’. The majestic one. They gave that name to the emperors.”

I loved it when Jack shared these trivial things with me. Of course I never remembered any of them after a couple of days, but nonetheless, it was always entertaining.

“Sebastos takes us to Augustus. August.” Jack stared at me. “Then finally, to Augury. Oh, William Blake’s The Auguries of Innocence.”

“William who? And what the hell is an augury?”

“William Blake was a poet. He painted, too. The word augury means omen. Like a feeling of something to come. A presentiment, if you will.” He rose and patted my head, walking away. “So, are you going out to kick a ball tonight or not?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Jack stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “Well, I’ll be out tonight.”

“All right.”

He laughed. “You and your two-word-sentences.”

I shrugged.

Jack leaned his face against the doorway and smiled. His smile was so full of tenderness, that for a moment, he seemed to be himself with me, instead of hiding behind his usual flamboyant persona. “Before I go,” he said, “I’m gonna fix you dinner, okay? I don’t want those breeders outrunning you tonight.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

Jack hesitated a moment longer and then I knew he’d show me a glimpse of his true colors. I could feel it. See it in his eyes. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he said in a low voice. “All of it, Seb. It feels nice to have you close.”

Then of course he disappeared down the hall before I could say anything in return.

That was Jack all right.

The man could dish out one-liners faster than anyone, and cut people down to the bone with his wit and cultivated remarks, but when it came down to the simpler things, Jack could barely get a few words out. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been so bullied growing up—so ostracized—that as a result, Jack had created this persona, this almost cliché version of a character out of a sitcom, a cheesy sitcom at that.

I rarely had a chance to hear his real thoughts on anything.

Jack’s diva act took over everything.

Then again, I had my own baggage. For starters, my father was a pothead and I supported and enabled him, and I had little education and no real plans to better my situation.

I cleaned houses for a living, under the table, too. I didn’t have much going for me.

But Jack accepted all of it and never made me feel any less than important.

I stared at the living room doorway, listening to him banging pots in the kitchen.

Part of me wanted to stay home tonight and spend the evening making love to him, but if I did stay, we’d be that much closer, and then what?