Hubris

I had a single New Year’s resolution this year – to enter the Sunday Star Times short story contest and thanks to Ritalin (more about that later) I managed to get an entry in at the very last moment. Surprisingly for such an incredibly niche in-jokey idea, I did not win. But here is that story for your enjoyment.

The bouncer is absolutely final in his declaration. “Nah mate, You can’t go in. It’s only for VIPs. Your roommate’s in there? A lot of people’s roommates are in there. No”.

The young man he’s denying looks desperate and prone to violence. I have been in this club for long enough to know how badly this could go, and I recognise enough of myself in him to want to save him. So I go over. 

“Hey,” I say, “it’s not going to work. You can’t go in there. It’s not for people like us. Come on, I’ve got you, let’s go talk”. I see the rage in his eyes settle into resignation as we move away from the entrance to the VIP section and take a seat at the bar, and remember exactly how that felt. Every inch of this proud beautiful man slumps. His calloused hands flail on the bar, and I offer him a cigarette to give him something to replace the reins he’s more used to.

It’s almost a whisper when he speaks at last. “Alex has cut his hair.” I know what he means. How dare Alex continue to exist without his love?  “Yeah, they do that,” I say, “you should have seen what Arch did once I had left”. My laugh is hollow, because all that anger and rage and yet still ultimately he chose fame instead of a forever with me? “You can call me Pat,” I say, “let’s get you a drink. You’re going to be here a while”.  

“My name is Hep,” he says, “and I know who you are,” he says, “we used to like… worship you two”. 

Two, us two, Arch and I, together always, ever since we were very young. So I guess I still don’t have an identity outside of his, no matter how much time has passed. People always saw Arch as the brightest star in the sky, but when we were alone he would call me his evening star as we entwined, limbs aching from a day of training. Our bodies were so alike that in his clothes people thought I was him and I can’t pretend that I didn’t like the feeling. I stood in his shadow willingly but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t cold when his light wasn’t focused on me.

“Yeah, I have a total weakness for arrogant dudes. It’s a bit of an Achilles heel for me”. He notices my wince and I see him fumbling for his next words. Poor Hep, because here there are no poets with spare stanzas to help him out. How to articulate the frustrations I know he carried all his life as he lived so close to the spotlight of the man, witness to all the accolades but left out of all the selfies with groupies? How to cope now when all the monuments to love mean nothing with his love in the VIP section without him? 

“He said I was a divine hero! I went everywhere with him. I put up with so much – that asshole Darius was always around, there were women too, I said nothing. And this is how he treats me now? Won’t let me into the VIP room? He didn’t even say goodbye.” 

Hep throws back his drink and gestures for another. I marvel to see my words, my thoughts, my feelings coming out of his mouth. How did we have such identical experiences so far apart? 

“He was just a stupid Nepo baby!” Hep half wails, “He wouldn’t have been anything without his dad”. And because I don’t have a reply to that, I lean forward and lick his tears. The salt taste crashes into me heavy with memories of ten years spent on a beach and my body shudders. I take Hep’s hand and lead him into the bathroom, where he spends his anger inside me. I don’t open my eyes as he calls Alex’s name because I know this all too well. It’s what I did the first hundred or thousand times after as well.

I try to take him in my arms, this damaged little bird, and kiss him though I know neither of us will taste what we really want. Any hopes that this will quiet him are dashed as he pushes me aside and angrily punches the wall. “ROOM MATES!” he spits in disgust, and storms back to the bar. 

Walking out of the bathroom, I don’t even bother looking in the direction of the VIP section as I used to, desperately hoping to see Arch emerge to summon me. Instead, I look towards the front door and the commotion coming from just outside, as the paparazzi call out the name of the young man entering. “Antinous! Antinous, over here” they cry, and he obliges, posing for pictures, but looking around distractedly. I know who he’s searching for and who he won’t find, but he catches Hep’s eye and there’s a spark of recognition there, a shiver as if his grave is being walked on. I’ll leave Antinous to Hep. I’ll keep watch on the next. There’s nothing else to do here but wait.