feng_shui_house

Frozen

It probably won't get me arrested. There isn't actually anything illegal about standing frozen in place in Grand Central Station, along with two hundred other people. And if it does, fighting the charges will be amusing. I haven't had a good fight in years- people look at me and they know better than to get in my way.

I hadn't thought of any interesting pose. Not like the couple locked in a motionless kiss, or the man who'd dropped his briefcase at 2:30 when we all froze, letting the papers flutter in an explosion of white around his feet, stirred by passers-by.

So I'm just standing there, mind racing and eyes locked ahead as if I'm looking for a friend in the crowd. Looking for a friend locked in time.

And then he walks towards me.

I know him, and I don't know him. I swear I can feel hairs rising at the back of my neck.

He's just an ordinary man, neatly combed dark brown hair, brown eyes, average build, wearing a dark gray business suit and carrying a black briefcase. The suit is well-fitted- probably expensive, but I never bother about clothes, so I don't know. His skin is city pale and his pace is city swift. Things to do, people to see. He's too deep in his thoughts to even notice the frozen people, automatically side-stepping the kissing couple with a politely murmured word.

I want, more than anything, to grab his shoulders and shake him. Maybe I want to kiss him. Or to punch him. I can't tell. I only know he makes me alive in ways that high-steel construction has never done.

But if I move, I'll spoil things. It's absurd. I'm not being paid, there's no earth-shaking importance behind the event. It isn't even a social protest. Just... something I'd promised I'd do.

I've always done what I swore I'd do, no matter what. No matter what it cost me. No matter who it hurt. I can see the huge station clock. Three minutes to go. Three minutes at the pace he's walking, he'll be lost in the crowd. I'll never find him again. Never. I don't move, but I can feel the blood rushing like tides, first flushing and then paling in my face. Standing still is the hardest thing I've ever done. I've always been swift and sure of my aims.

I swore I'd do it.

He comes closer. He's going to pass me. I can't even move my eyes to watch him. I don't move. I don't make a sound.

But he stops abruptly, briefcase swinging with his arrested momentum. He looks around, puzzled, head held high with an instinctive elegance. From here I can see his nostrils widen, and the pupils in his eyes dilate, darkening them even further. He turns further and meets my eyes. He goes even paler, and I think he'll faint. My muscles tense to steel, refusing to step forward, even at the cost of seeing him go down in front of me, trampled by the crowd.

His eyes harden and he stands in front of me. He looks into my eyes, and then swiftly glances around, seeing the other frozen people for the first time. He speaks. His voice is rough velvet. "I know you." He puts down his briefcase, reaches up and takes off my hard hat, casually dropping it to the floor. He puts his hand in my hair. I swore I'd not move. He smiles. "You know me." The answer is in my eyes.

Still holding my hair, he kisses me, not like the sweet girl and boy holding their kiss for the game of it, but swift and hard. Hard, so hard I feel his teeth against my lips, taste his breath and the coffee he must have drunk only a few minutes ago. Then he releases me, and steps back, slapping me hard against the face in the same motion.

"Bastard," he says quietly, before flashing his white, white teeth, picking up his briefcase and striding rapidly from the concourse. Two minutes to go.

It's the longest two minutes of my life, as I try and fail to remember how I know him, how he knows me. How the hell he knows I'm gay- I know damn well I don't look it. Did I get drunk and fuck him and forget him? How could I forget someone like that? How the hell could I ever even meet someone like that? He's not the type to walk the high steel, and I've never been in a high-class office. He sure wouldn't go to any of the clubs I sometimes visit- he'd be eaten alive... or maybe not. Under that sleek exterior, he could be tough... I sensed that. He certainly wasn't afraid of me, just... angry.

The clock finally clicks over to 2:35 and we resume our interrupted activities. The lovers' embrace ends. The scattered papers are gathered. I bend down to pick up my hat. Something white inside the hat catches my eye. A business card. With an address.

Should I accept the invitation? I put the card in my pocket and walk out of Grand Central, one more man in the crowd. I wonder. Did I swear a promise to him and break it?

(More info on Frozen Grand Central here.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

alinewrites.livejournal.com

Excellent, awesome, wonderful... The "frozen" thing, the kiss, the slapping - I love it. The toughness. The shock.
You know this screams for more, don't you?