Here We Come A-Wassailing

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

“2005? My sympathies.” That had nothing at all to do with conditions at Hammel the two years after he (Simon) had graduated and everything with the broader state of the world four years later. Cyrus and his other half, as the Class of 2003, graduated from college in 2007, when the economy had slowed a bit but there remained consistency in the job market and career expectations. The Class of 2005 graduated from college in 2009, eight months after the the global economic meltdown had sent the markets spiraling towards 4,000, entire industries disappeared in the blink of an eye along with pensions, social safety net, and the home values that had been levered for decades towards retirement and student success.

Two years later, and it was possible that his other half wouldn’t have secured their teaching position in the first place. They were lucky, and neither Ettinger brother lost sight of this when compared with their peers.

Yet, that brief glimmer of socioeconomic sympathetic solidarity fluttered away as Kevin explained his history with the choir, stretching back to his time as a Hammel student. A longer association than Cyrus had expected, far longer than anything he or Simon had managed during a similar time period. “That speaks highly of the choir. Between that and James, I might have to pick up season tickets. Do you have a spring performance?”

Spring was Easter, but Cyrus’s understanding of that holiday was that it straddled the line between somber and joyous, with sectarian differences he couldn’t begin to fathom and had little interest in sussing out regardless.

The mention of two other unknown men earned a quick shake of Cyrus’s head, followed by blue eyes lighting up at the mention of cranberry duff. “I haven’t yet. Are they tenors too?” This last question was directed towards James, as Cyrus turned his eye, blue eyes meeting brown in subtle inquiry.

[James Fawcett]

Kevin shrugged his shoulders at the sympathy, wings lifting so that they nearly smacked into a woman walking behind him.

“It’s all right. I’ve been working from home for this tech support company, answering calls. My partner helped out while I was trying to find work. They went home early or I’d introduce you.”

At the question about Linus and Eugene James nodded. “Them and Dean are the only tenors left,” he confirmed, pointing with his plate towards two older men, one barely reaching five five but dapper with a neatly trimmed gray beard. The other was a more average height and walked with the aid of a cane.

“Wanna say hi now or wait until you’ve tried their duff?”

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

"I understand. I keep non-traditional hours too." A true statement, not merely the elaborate web spun about his "work" as a life coach.

The use of the word “partner” followed by gender neutral pronouns did not escape Cyrus’s notice, just as he took stock of the fact that Linus and Eugene baked together and were addressed in the same breath, as though their names were inexorably linked like William and Mary in Virginia or the twin nations of Trinidad and Tobago in the Caribbean. His friend had not exaggerated when referring to this church as affirming. At first Cyrus had thought that he believed this only contrasted with the oppressive homophobia of his childhood faith, the conclusion that they must be affirming if they did not spout eternal damnation and rant for hours about Sodom and same-sex marriage from the pulpit.

Instead, the lion’s share of their choir’s tenor section was some flavor of LGBT, which spoke highly of the church’s community.

His gaze followed the direction of James’s finger, settling on an elderly couple that he had noticed when they sang despite his primary focus remaining on James throughout the performance. Out of their decorative robes, they vaguely resembled his grandfather. The thought softened his smile and he held back from approaching only because it would be rude to break away from his escort without warning.

“Let’s say hello now.” He lowered his voice to speak in James’s ear. “That way, we can always take it to go.”

[James Fawcett]

James nodded and gave Kevin an awkward wave before darting beneath his wings to head towards the two oldest members of the choir. He wasn't aware of the circumstances regarding their coming out or getting together and imagined (incorrectly) that they'd been together since young adulthood, the same way as his parents and grandparents and the other heterosexual relationships he'd seen held up as the standard.

He was a little envious of that type of romance, as out of reach for him as it had always been.

He dodged around the soprano soloist and her (non singing) sisters before arriving at Linus and Eugene. Another awkward wave, this time in greeting, before he gestured towards Cyrus. "Uhhh, hey, Eugene, Linus, I wanted you to meet my friend, Cyrus."

The older men turned in unison, appraising the newcomer through dark eyes.

"Cyrus?" The shorter of the pair craned his neck to look up, holding one hand out to grab one of Cyrus's. "It's a pleasure. I'm Eugene Missal."

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Cyrus offered Kevin a parting compliment on his performance coupled with a “Merry Christmas” as he circled around him rather than try to duck under his wingspan. That struck him as a breach of etiquette, something he never would have tried during his halcyon days at Hammel let alone during a party held in an unfamiliar church filled with mixed meta and baseline attendees. If only the hosts of Fox and Friends could see him now, this liberal Northern gay Jew electing not to say “Happy Holidays.”

Cyrus Ettinger single-handedly ending the War on Christmas.

Exchanging smiles with one of the women who remained nameless to him while keeping up with James, intent on not losing his friend among the crowd cheerfully conversing and chewing cookies.

Until he came to a halt beside James and the older couple. As soon as they spun around, he was struck by intense enthusiasm and the deep, simmering love of the two men for one another, warming his heart.

What he enjoyed most about time spent in the company of couples.

One hand was snatched up by the shorter man introduced as Eugene, and the empath sandwiched his with his left. “The pleasure’s all mine. And might I compliment you on your suit? I admire a man with a sense of style.”

[James Fawcett]

Eugene beamed widely at Cyrus, stepping back so that the younger man could take in the full ensemble, from the pale suit, almost a cream color but evoking something more akin to gold, to the navy shirt beneath and the gold and navy tie it wasn't festive but it was certainly striking.

"A man of taste, I see. Linus indulges me here," He laughed, reaching behind him to pat the hand holding the cane. Linus offered a smile, but otherwise remained silent until his other half coaxed him with, "We're very fond of Mr. Fawcett now, aren't we, dear?"

"Oh, yes. We're always glad to have young people join up," Linus replied in an accent nearly as thick as James's. Another Southern refugee who had headed towards a friendlier climate as soon as he'd worked up the nerve to do so.

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Cyrus made a show of studying the ensemble, gaze raking over first the suit jacket to the collared shirt and tie, and then to the trousers and finally his polished shoes. In those few seconds, he managed to guess his inseam and his shoe size, filing them away as though they might ever prove useful rather than serving as a party trick in the unlikely situation that he otherwise found himself with nothing to add to a topic of conversation.

“Dressing well is a lost art.” One hand drifted to the neck of his sweater, wool soft and warm under his fingertips. A sentiment he only somewhat believed, certainly he took pride in his fashion sense and greatly enjoyed looking, but his intimate familiarity with Simon’s wardrobe - oversized hoodies, graphic tees, and faded bluejeans - removed any judgment from his sentiment. All manner of reasons existed why people no longer wore three-piece suits and spats when leaving the house.

“We have something else in common, then. I’m also very fond of him.” Cyrus coupled the sentiment with a smile over his shoulder at his friend, as genuine as the affection he felt for the younger man.

“And how long have you been with the choir?”

[James Fawcett]

James's face twitched into a smile at Cyrus's comment while his eyes sought the linoleum tile. It was interesting how the very sentiment he wanted to hear expressed could bring with it a wave of embarrassment and uncertainty, as if he couldn't entirely trust in his own senses when it came to something he wanted so much.

Or perhaps it was only declarations of affection he didn't trust, having seen how fragile those bonds could truly be when coming from people who ought to have cared more. (They cared, of course they cared, they said they cared. They repeated it over and over, a plea and a talisman over his objections. But it didn't always feel like their words aligned with how they really saw him.)

"I've been here oh...." Eugene squinted towards the ceiling in thought at Cyrus's question. "Four decades, now. Came out this way to help an aunt with her farm after my uncle passed, and loved it so much I stayed."

"Almost two for me," Linus added, linking arms with his partner as a knowing smile passed between them. There was more to their past than the simple trajectory of falling in love and making a life together that James thought was the right path towards partnership. The ideal way, the one that most closely mimicked the heterosexual marriage he was supposed to wind up in.

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

Were they not in a church in front of his peers, and were his friend not quite so skittish, Cyrus would reach beside him as he had during their trip to the corn maze, lacing their fingers together warmly, allowing affection to pass freely between them. However, he had no desire to embarrass James or send him skittering for the exit, leaving behind his cookies, his coat, and his dignity.

Cyrus’s face turned warm, peaceful. Finding love later in life remained an inspiration from which he derived both comfort and pleasure - not the fetishization of older gay couples that occurred in some online spaces but instead providing some hope. Not only for himself but for his other half who had long abandoned even daydreaming about a family of his own.

Someday perhaps.

“That’s wonderful. I’ve never been anywhere for nearly that long. Not just because I still have some growing to do.” Mentally, emotionally, he had not matured since his creation, but he was a thirty-four-year-old man, and between coming into being in pre-adolescence rather than infancy, and then shuttling between Hammel, Cleveland, Michigan, Massachusetts, and now Pilot Ridge again, he had never set down roots that deep.

“It’s also encouraging to find a church so welcoming. We were just talking to Kevin who said something similar about his experiences here.”

[James Fawcett]

"I remember when Kevin joined us," Eugene responded, seeking out the younger man in the crowd at the same time that Linus chimed in, "It's special here. I thought I'd have to leave the church forever."

James felt that sentiment keenly. Even this church didn't quite feel like home, not yet. But when home wasn't a place he could ever fully return to perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. He couldn't bring himself to speak any of that aloud, though, not even to someone like Linus, who clearly would understand how he felt. He certainly didn't know how to confide this sort of feeling in Cyrus as close as he felt to his friend. Somehow he feared that by speaking those feelings into existence he might make the breach insurmountable when he still half hoped he could repair things.

"Don't let us keep you," Eugene waved the pair away. "Go enjoy yourselves before the cookies are all gone."

[Simon and Cyrus Ettinger]

“Cherish it.” Such spaces were in short supply. The social and political climate of Pilot Ridge and Vermont more broadly often felt like an oasis, a bulwark against the atrocities committed by the federal government or the states outside of their region. His home state continued its race to the bottom, somehow intent on remaining neck and neck with Florida, Alabama, and Kansas.

What small respite one might find was invariably interrupted by news alerts, as smart phones allowed the Internet to encroach on their every waking moment. Connecting them to each other, yes, but also filling their minds with every inane comment, bigoted opinion, and cynical corporate bid for attention.

“It was good to meet you. Merry Christmas to you both.” Cyrus reached out his hand again and this time it lingered, so briefly, but the connection imbued his words with tangible warmth, spreading from his fingers to the heart.

Once, an acquaintance had called him addictive, and these moments underscored why. Less a man than an avatar of care and compassion.

His smile never dimmed throughout the exchange, and as his hand slid away, he turned his full brilliant attention on his friend. “We have duff to try and then I need to stuff some more cookies in my pocket to take home.”