Week Six - Complication vs. Situation

Week 6 – Journal #1

Complication versus Situation

Marcus hadn't been this excited in a long time. He was finally going to be able to marry Carl, his long time partner of 10 years. They had stayed together against all odds; through all the arguments, all the fights and all the lovemaking in between. Finally, it was legal to get married in the state of California.

Marcus hurried across the busy city street, proudly holding the tuxedo he had just picked up from the cleaner's. Carl was going to be so impressed when he saw it. He had gotten special stitching done to the right lapel, combining the initials of both their first names. He was almost glowing as he made his way up the stairs of their brownstone apartment, his tall figure exuding happiness and confidence.

At the front door, he threw the plastic-sheathed tuxedo over his left arm and dug out his key with the other. Carl was going to be so surprised that he'd gotten home early. He wanted to take him out for a picnic in the park before their relatives started arriving that evening. Carl had taken the day off to get the place ready for their guests.

Marcus opened the door, and bent down to grab the mail that had been shoved through the mail slot beside the door. As he stood, he cocked his ear. What was that sound? Probably Carl was upstairs cleaning things up. He quickly went through the mail; a bill from the caterer, a bill from the florist, a letter from his grandmother, probably saying she wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding, and the latest People magazine.

Marcus laid the mail on the table beside the door, and started taking the stairs in front of him two at a time. He slowed, however, when he heard what sounded like moaning coming from the bedroom, and stopped altogether at the top of the landing when he heard the bedsprings creaking. What the - ?

He was frozen in place. Suddenly he felt as if the blood had drained from his entire body.
He slowly started walking toward the bedroom. The tuxedo and the keys that he had been holding dropped to the floor, the sound upsetting the stillness in the hallway.

The moaning stopped all at once and Marcus placed his hand on the doorknob. Did he really want to turn it? Nothing could be happening on the other side of this door, right? He was just hearing things.

Marcus slowly turned the knob, and pushed. As the door swung open, the door to the bathroom inside slammed shut. Carl jumped out of the bed, wrapping his well-toned, caramel-colored body hastily in the comforter.

“Ah, hey, honey,” he started. “What - ?”

“Carl,” Marcus said, trying to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed very short. “Carl, what the hell's going on?”

“Marcus, baby, nothing's going on,” he said, smiling freakishly.

“Carl, you promised,” Marcus said dully.

“Baby, let's go downstairs and talk. You look like you need to sit down,” Carl said, stumbling over the comforter towards Marcus and the bedroom door.

“What - is - going - on?”

“Baby, calm down. You're overreacting,” said Carl, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder.

Marcus looked hard at Carl, not believing that they could be going through this again. Carl had promised that he wouldn't cheat on him again. Well, it looked like once a cheat, always a cheat. Marcus ripped Carl's hand away from his shoulder and walked straight to the bathroom door.

“Whoever is in there, you can come out now!,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the door.

“Marcus! Come on, man. Calm down. Let's go downstairs.”

“COME OUT NOW!” Marcus said.

After a minute, the door slowly opened and Marcus felt like his entire body had just been shocked with a zillion jolts of electricity. His brother, Marlon, stood before him looking up into his eyes and didn't say a word. He stood there in Carl's bathrobe, looking like a little boy who'd just gotten caught by his father wearing his mother's dress. Marlon, who he'd taken care of and protected when they were kids; taught him how to ride his bike, tie his shoes, hold his fork.

Behind him, Marcus could hear Carl mumbling something, but his head was filled with such a mass rushing of thoughts that all he could focus on was his brother's eyes. “I can't....I...I can't believe it.” He slowly backed away, finally coming into contact with the bed and sitting clumsily.

“Marcus,” Marlon finally spoke. “Dude, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know it's no excuse but ....”

Marcus turned to look at Carl, who was standing sheepishly looking out into the hallway, as if wanting to make a mad dash for it.

“Carl, I don't get it, and I guess I never will.” Marcus sat for a minute, looking from Carl to Marlon and back again. Nobody said a word.

Marcus eventually pulled himself off of the bed. He looked at Marlon from head to toe, and turned toward Carl. Pulling the ring that Carl had just given him the night before from his finger, he walked toward him slowly. In one snake-like movement, Marcus's hand was across Carl's face. The crack echoed through the silent room, and then all was still again.

Marcus tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.