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Title: Communicate! Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this
is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have
any insider info on either of these two actors. Complete: yes Communicate! It’s critically important that I make you
understand we’re not Brian and Justin. That’s the really salient fact
here. In fact, we’re nothing like Brian and Justin, particularly when
we’re dealing with each other. I know that’s gonna burst some bubbles, but
hey, tough luck, kiddies. One of the main ways, one of The Most
Important ways, we’re nothing like Brian and Justin is that we actually communicate
with each other. I mean like with words and voices and shit. You know, we talk.
Brian and Justin don’t talk; they just say, “Hey,” or “Later,” like it
carries so much more meaning than those two simple words. They look longingly
into each other’s eyes or they fall into heated embraces and kiss each other
raw or they just go right for the meat-n-potatoes and fuck one another
senseless. It works for them. But Randy and I don’t communicate that way, see? When we want to talk about a movie we’ve
both seen, we don’t spend ten minutes gazing at one another. When we want to
talk about politics, we don’t do it by mashing our mouths together and
slurping. And one thing we never ever do, under any circumstances, is discuss
War And Peace by fucking all night, you dig? I mean, ok, sometimes we use that sort of
truncated best friend language that doesn’t involve actual words, but even
that usually requires at least a mumble and some body language. Like if we have
to say, “Move your plump ass, please, you’re in my fucking way,” we do it
with a nudge and a grunt. If we have to say, “I can’t believe you’re
actually going to put that revolting yogurt in your mouth and swallow it,” we
do it with the universal “revolting yogurt” face-scrunch and a well timed,
“Ugh!” But for the most part, it’s, you know, words- nouns, verbs,
adjectives - and voices. Seriously, we’ve gone on this way since the
day we met and never once was there any of that ‘Brian and Justin
non-communication communication’ happening between Randy and I. Truthfully, we
like the sound of our own voices way too much for that. Okay, so we
don’t talk to other people a lot, that’s true- but it isn’t because we
don’t know how. It’s because… well, you know, we just don’t like
other people all that much. With one another, just between Randy and I, we
can’t stop fucking talking. That’s why it was so confusing when I looked
up one night and caught Randy staring at me. We were sitting in my living room
preparing to embark on a Lord Of The Rings movie marathon.
I was reading a pizza take-out menu and Randy was reading a Thai take-out
menu; shit, you’ve gotta have munchies when you marathon, right? So I was
about to launch into my speech about why pizza was preferable to pad-thai
noodles (like we haven’t had that argument a thousand times before)
when I realized that Randy was staring at me in this really intense way. It wasn’t, “You’ve got something stuck
to your chin, doofus,” staring. It wasn’t even, “I just had a great idea
for my new play, lemme tell ya what it is,” staring. It was more like, “Why
didn’t I ever notice before how brown your eyes are?” staring. Ok, it was
really less like actual staring and a lot more like gazing. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight
up. I swear it was like he was channeling Justin. I mean, I could feel
Justin in the room with us, looking through Randy’s eyes as if he was ogling
Brian. “Cut that out!” I barked, though I was
suddenly not entirely sure I really wanted him to and I found that pretty
fucking confusing, lemme tell ya! Justin vanished and Randy startled like I’d
touched him with a hot poker. He mumbled, “Sorry,” and went back to studying
the virtues of pad-thai noodles. I know he thought I didn’t notice because he
was hiding behind his menu, but he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath,
like he was trying to center himself or something. I’ve seen Bobby do it
enough times, usually while spouting some Far East crap about harmony, to know
that Randy was trying to find some. Harmony, I mean, not pad-thai. I felt sorry for him. Or I felt something
for him, I dunno, and I think it must have shown because when he looked back up
at me, all ready to convince me that noodles were superior to pizza, his eyes
met mine and suddenly went very wide and very blue and then he barked, “Cut
that out!” “Right!” I answered brightly, one deep
breath and three full beats later. “Pad-Thai it is!” Several weeks afterward, with nothing but
normal everyday nouns, verbs, and adjectives between Randy and I and not a
single bit of non-communication communication, we were all gathered for a full
cast read-through of that weeks’ script, during which neither Randy nor I had
much to do. Our lines were sparse so it was a good bet that while Randy and I
had communicated perfectly well for the last several weeks, Brian and Justin
were still saying little more than, “Hey,” and “Later.” With feeling. Growing bored, I stretched back in my chair,
my eyes raking the room listlessly. That’s when I saw it. Randy was sitting
across the table, staring at me over the top of his glasses. In that way.
That, “You look delicious when you stretch,” way. I looked down at my script
and blinked a few times in confusion because I was convinced it was an optical
illusion or that he was just fucking with me, but when I looked back up at him,
he was still staring- still gazing- at me. I searched his eyes, looking for signs of
Justin, but this time I found none. I slapped him with my most fierce scowl and
mouthed the words, “Cut that out!” I expected to see him jerk in surprise like
he’d done the last time he got to looking at me all warm and sexy-like but
instead he snorted laughter softly through his nose, blessed me with a small
smirk and turned back to his script. A shiver shot through me and I cursed him
silently for it. It was only a week later that things started
getting really weird. I was wandering aimlessly around the set,
waiting to be called for a scene and trying to stay out of everyone else’s
way. No one needed my attention for a while and I found my eyes returning again
and again to Randy, who was tucked placidly away in a corner of the set with a
book in his hands and his reading glasses perched on his nose. I started to think about how many times I’d
come across him in exactly that position since I’d known him. Seven A.M. I’d
stumble into the make-up trailer, bleary-eyed and jonesing for coffee, and
he’d be there, his legs drawn up in one of the chairs, waiting for the artist
to arrive. Lunchtimes I’d knock on his trailer door with a ham sandwich for me
and a yogurt for him (yeah, the universal face-scrunch is mine) and find him
coiled on a couch, smiling at me and holding another damned book. Or like today,
waiting to shoot a scene, he’d be nestled into a canvas chair away from all
the commotion and noise. It made me smile when I realized that I’d
never seen him reading laying flat out, before… never saw him strung across a
couch and coffee table or lounging between two chairs. Those were my
preferred positions. But he was always curled into himself, as if his books took
him to some warm, safe place where he needed nothing more than corrective lenses
and 2 square feet of space to exist happily. Randy yawned and closed his book gently, his
eyes roaming the set. He glanced in my direction, catching I don’t know what
on my face, but I dropped my eyes to the floor (no non-communication
communication going on here, buddy boy, nope) and intently pretended to stretch
imaginary kinks out my neck and back. I even tried hard not to notice the beat
up old Justin sneakers Randy was wearing when they ambled into my limited view. I really didn’t want to look up. I wanted to
pretend that I hadn’t gotten caught staring at him with even the slightest
hint of non-communication communication, but ignoring Randy wasn’t really an
option, either. I sighed like I was bored and raised my eyes to meet his. He was smiling; one of those heart breaking,
wide, encompasses his whole face and most of his upper body smiles. The kind
that makes every member of the cast and crew want to give him whatever he wants.
Including me. He snagged his index fingers in the belt loops
of my jeans, jerked me just slightly closer to him without appearing to do so
and murmured, “Cut that out!” so softly that I almost missed it. Then he
released me, let another knowing grin light up his face and sauntered away in
the direction of his trailer. His smile seared its way into my brain. That wasn’t Justin. And I sure as shit
wasn’t Brian. So whatever little game he was playing, it wasn’t going to
work on me. Not today. Nu-uh, not even close. Really. Wasn’t. Working. I drew in a shuddery breath and followed him.
Where was fucking War And Peace when you needed it? Shaking my head in a good imitation of
righteous anger, I stalked to Randy’s trailer, catching sight of him again as
he slipped inside. I was determined to put this whole Brian and Justin
non-communication communication thing to rest once and for all. We aren’t them
and nothing about them applies to us, are you getting me? I mean, I was all set
to be pissed and indignant and just cut that little fucker right down to size. I yanked open the door to his trailer, stepped
up into the threshold and shook my finger at him. Ignoring the devilish smile on
his lips and a look in his eyes that I might have mistaken for lust if I
wasn’t so intent on disabusing him of these silly Brian and Justin notions, I
shouted, “Ok now, really, cut that OUT!” It wasn’t until I had slammed his door
closed and was making my way back to the set on numb legs that it occurred to me
that my shouting had probably sounded more like pleading. My face flushed when I
realized that it was, in fact, all about the non-communication
communication. It was, “Please don’t make me feel this way,” and “Please
don’t hurt me if I feel this way,” and “Please understand that you make
something happen in me,” all rolled into one. And fuck me running if Randy didn’t get it,
too. I knew I was circling the drain. Later that night, I was trudging to my truck
through the snowy, cold parking lot when he caught up with me. I knew I would
ignore him; that I would get in my vehicle, turn the engine over and drive the
fuck home. Let him interpret THAT non-communication communication! And then he said that word, and infused it
with so much emotion and so much of himself, with no hint of Justin anywhere,
that my insides twisted and I turned around to see him standing behind me,
puffing out little clouds of breath in the night air. “Hey,” was the word he’d spoken so
softly and so meaningfully. I was undone. I grabbed handfuls of his expensive leather
jacket between my fingers and yanked him to me. This was totally unscripted and
I couldn’t find Brian in even my most hitched breath, so I crushed my mouth
hard against his. I think there was a little slurping, too. My fingers still hooked in his jacket and my
mouth still devouring his, I dragged him to the passenger’s side of my truck.
I released him long enough to open the door and push him inside. I slammed the
door shut and sprinted to the driver’s side, sliding in next to him, where the
slurping resumed. Neither of us told the other to cut it out. There were no
nouns, verbs or adjectives to encompass this. We were communicating perfectly,
now. Still later, somewhere close to dawn, while he
was moving over me and the pressure of him pushing relentlessly inside me built
until I was quaking and moaning and bucking against him, his eyes opened and
then I saw everything. All the non-communication communication he wanted me to
see. Love. Lust. Yearning. My future. And he didn’t need to say a word
anymore, and I didn’t either. As I was drifting off to sleep, sore and
exhausted and blissed, with the sun streaking in across our spent bodies, I made
peace with Brian and Justin. We aren’t them. We never will be and for that
we’re both grateful. But there’s something to be said for communicating with
your eyes, your lips, your hands, your breath, your bodies. And I respect them
for understanding that before I did. The
End
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