Chapter Four
Dalton cradled a beer in one hand and passionately gestured with the other. Most of the patrons had left the main area and there were performers dotting the length of the bar, some of them leaning over to glance at him who returned the gaze with amusement.
“I just want to become an art teacher who includes the queer movement every step of the way. Queer artists, Latin artists, people of color – everybody who was completely ignored over the years,” he explained.
He was losing his breath. This conversation was taking over every molecule in his body, causing it to vibrate with utter joy.
“I agree. That's why I became an art history professor. It's my passion to teach people and encourage their involvement in the arts,” Ethan returned.
“That's amazing. I want to do that. And you're so young. When did you start?”
Ethan smiled and played with his drink. “Early. Hellishly early. I graduated high school way ahead of my peers and immediately jumped into college. I didn't stop until I had my doctorate.”
“Incredible.” Dalton twirled his beer about. “So, you're not much older than me, huh?”
“Not by much, no. You're, what, twenty-something?”
“Twenty-three.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows. “And what age group would you teach?”
“High school. Those are the important formative years that determine how you maneuver through the world. If I can just encourage one queer kid to become an artist, I've done my job.”
“You want to populate the world with artists, do you?”
Dalton laughed and spun his beer around on the counter. “You bet your ass I do.”
The two laughed together and turned to the mirrors behind the bar. It was distracting to see Ethan's reflection there. Dalton couldn't help but glance in that direction every time the man moved. And those eyes were so much more interesting in this mixed lighting with reds and greens enhancing that splotch of blue that had heatedly captured his attention in the office.
“You know, I hope this isn't overstepping my boundaries,” Dalton stated.
“What's that?”
“Your eyes. There's blue in them. I'm sure you know, but I notice little details like that all the time. It fascinates me.”
Ethan turned to him and bumped his knee. The gesture was simple, but effectively caused the fumbling student to flush red.
“Yeah?” Ethan asked.
“I mean, yeah.”
Silence. A beat where he took a sip of his green drink. The liquid briefly illuminated his chin as he drank and returned to its normal tan color when the drink disappeared.
“Just the way it looks. It's kind of deceiving, you having brown eyes,” Dalton continued.
“That's my father's side for you,” Ethan chuckled. “And thanks. I don't often have people who notice that. All the more reason you're a great artist.”
Dalton flushed again. “I don't know about great artist.”
“Oh, come on. You do better contouring your face than most of my female students. And the way you carry yourself is completely different than your everyday appearance. I literally thought you were a woman approaching me. That's transformation. That's art.”
A silent look of hope crossed his features that reflected back at him in the mirror. He had looked away, and not out of pure embarrassment. It was pride. His ego was soaring up through the clouds at this very moment, a combination of a kind man's words and a little bit of beer. It was his first and only beer, and he was still sipping it, having been too occupied by the conversation to really worry about the drink.
“That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he whispered.
The surrounding sound of music and booze and intermittent laughter filled the spaces in between them as Dalton continued staring at the mirror. He watched Ethan. He watched those hands. Creative hands, likely, with a flair for the alternative art world that included people not-so-fit for the common standards of society.
Deep down, Dalton felt a hearty giggle surfacing, a sort of testament to his amusement and happiness at finding someone as passionate about art, queer lives, and education as him. The giggle surfaced. He quickly covered his mouth and gripped his beer.
“Is it really? I figure an attractive man like you could get compliments any time. As you or as your queen,” Ethan stated.
Dalton turned with curiosity. “What?”
“I mean, you're handsome. Who wouldn't be nice to you?”
“That denotes a certain privilege, doesn't it? That people are nice to me for superficial reasons?”
Ethan grinned. “And you're intelligent. You think differently.”
“I mean...” Dalton let the giggle take over his words and he huddled over his beer. He felt sort of elated, a bit flushed, very warm in the lower half of his body, and a strong urge to reach over toward his professor.
But that wasn't right. Wasn't art filled with interesting decisions? Maybe he should just go for it, take a chance. Anything could happen.
“Hey, shot in the dark. Do you want to come by my apartment for a drink? I have some paintings there you might like.”
Ethan smiled warmly and glanced down again, those hazel-brown eyes drinking in the status of the ground below their feet. He met Dalton's eyes confidently.
“That would be great. I just need to—”
The phone on the counter buzzed. Ethan snatched it up quickly and raised a hand while he moved away toward the front door.
Dalton couldn't help it. A sinking feeling took over the warmth and he felt like he was growing cold. The aching feeling that typically returned to him in the early hours of morning while painting struck suddenly, causing him to huddle over his beer once more. He waited patiently and watched the mirror.
After tossing his beer, Ethan came back into view.
“Listen, my mother isn't doing very well. I need to go to the hospital to see her,” he explained.
“Oh, God, I'm sorry to hear that,” Dalton whispered.
Ethan shook his head. “She's been like this for weeks, but it looks like she's taken a turn. I really just have to...”
His eyes were hooked to his drink. As he raised it up to drink it down, Dalton reached out to touch the worried professor's shoulder.
“Hey, I can drive you. I've only had this one beer,” he offered.
Ethan shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, that's fine.”
He looked horrible. His demeanor had completely changed, going from sheer enjoyment of their conversation to completely stoic. The emotions had mostly drained from him, including some of the color of his face. His usual tan skin had paled slightly. Or maybe that was the trick of the light.
“Great, let's get a water to-go and we'll head that way.”