Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 01:34:20 -0400
From: Larry Daryl <nartoff@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Pursuit of a Genuine Smile, Chapter 1

The Pursuit of a Genuine Smile, Chapter 1

"Dammit!"

It was the second time that night Chris had cursed on account of yogurt-goat
milk yogurt, to be precise-and the force of the curse greatly exceeded the
appropriate amount of anger anyone should ever display at a dairy product.

The first time had been back at home just over an hour ago.  Chris had
purchased a container of goat milk yogurt a few weeks earlier, but the date
was still good and he hadn't yet opened it.  The craving for it came on with
an unnatural force, and when he found a patch of mold the size of a quarter
floating on top, he lost it.  That shit was just expensive enough for it to
seem like a tragedy; it was too expensive just to rot in his fridge,
untouched.  Mark never would have let it go bad like that.

When the thought came to him, he had sworn so loudly and swung his arm with
such vigor that someone watching the scene would have thought he was trying
to kill a goat hiding in the corner of the kitchen.  There was no goat, but
enough liquid remained in the container to shatter the picture frame by the
stove.

Seeing the photo of him and Mark behind shattered glass with thick creamy
yogurt leaking down it placated his anger quickly, if momentarily.  It was
the only picture of the two of them he kept on display.  They had taken a
cooking class together on their last vacation, and in the photo they were
tasting a curry sauce prepared under the direction of the head chef at the
Oriental Bangkok Hotel.  It was one of those perfect moments you can
disappear into, and he liked looking at it on the rare instances when he did
any serious cooking, whenever that had last happened.

And there it was now, shattered and grotesquely violated by yogurt.  It was
a pretty metaphor, although Chris didn't care to figure out exactly what it
represented.  Ignoring the walls, which were displaying their own white
battle scars, he reached for the fridge, resigning to settle for plain soy
yogurt.  That was also bad, of course.  There was no edible yogurt in the
house, and that simple fact was infuriating.

He slammed the door shut and used the momentum to propel himself out of the
kitchen, out of the house, and into the car.  He was getting goat milk
yogurt, dammit, even if it meant wasting a quarter-tank of gas to get to the
store that carried it.  All reason had left him when the picture of Mark
shattered, and he was behaving with the rationality of a four-year-old in
the midst of a temper tantrum.

An hour later he was at the specialty food store that always carried the
stuff, staring at the week-old expiration date on the single container they
had on the shelf.  He just wanted some goat milk yogurt.  Why should it be
so impossibly difficult tonight?

His anger caught the attention of another shopper just a few feet away.
"Did you hurt yourself?"  The question and the voice asking it were
surprisingly gentle, given the broad frame and strong figure of the guy.
There wasn't the slightest hint of sarcasm, just a genuine concern that some
crouched down stranger had bumped his head or twisted his back while
standing up.

"No, it's... it's a week old.  Don't ask."  Chris couldn't help but chuckle
at himself.  He was getting all worked up over yogurt, and no yogurt-no
matter how special-merited this behavior.  "Thanks for asking, though."

Before he shuffled off, he caught the smile the stranger flashed at him.  It
was innocent and happy, and the deep brown eyes had the softness of the
first puppy your dad brought home when you were a kid.

The kind quality of the smile stayed with Chris as he wandered around the
store.  It wasn't hard for him to be distracted when he was here; the appeal
of preparing food had all but died with Mark, and he ignored anything that
wasn't necessary.  He just didn't have his rhythm anymore, and his attempts
at cooking alone were awkward and unsuccessful.  How many parties had the
two of them cooked for, preparing the perfect amount of food every time?
And yet Chris couldn't get the knack of making only enough for himself.  The
leftovers just depressed him.

A few aisles away from the dairy section where he had first seen that smile,
it came to mind again.  He was drawn to it.  It was a unique and wholly new
sensation, and he hoped he would cross paths with the man one more time, but
he left the store seeing neither the handsome smile nor a single item of
food worth buying.  The trip was wasted.

He called Justin on his way home, hoping his brother would be up for a beer
tonight.  Fortunately, Justin seemed glad for an excuse to meet up for a
Guinness at their favorite bar.  It was an English style pub, quiet enough
on weekday evenings that they could talk and enjoy a well-poured pint.

"You look a bit out of it tonight.  What's up?"  They were on their second
beer, and Justin had stopped himself in the middle of describing his eldest
daughter's dance recital.

"Nothing.  Why?"

"I dunno.  I can't tell if you're happy or sad or just bored with my parent
blabber," Justin said, not sounding impatient.

"Sorry.  I don't know what it is, but I saw someone tonight..."

"About time!" Justin exclaimed, cutting him off.  "You're too young to be a
widower for life.  Where did you meet him, or do I not want to ask?"

"No, no, I didn't even meet him.  He just smiled at me," Chris said.

"So... some guy smiled at you and now you're off on cloud nine?"

Chris shook his head and paused to take a long drink from his Guinness
before responding.  "It was just some guy that smiled at me at the store,
but I can't get it out of my head.  I don't know why.  It's like, for the
first time since M..." he caught himself on the muffled M and shook his head
again.  "It's been a long time since I've wanted to get to know someone
else."

"Chris, I know you like to keep your private stuff away from the family, but
have you gotten laid since Mark died?  It's been over a year and that kind
of backup could kill a guy," Justin said.

"Yes, I've had sex."  Chris stared down at his stout.

"What, like just once?" Justin asked.

Chris drew in a breath, looking up at his brother with a strange face before
taking another sip of beer.

"I don't want to know, do I?" Justin said.

"Probably not."  For the second time this evening, Chris laughed in spite of
himself.  He was open with his family, but not that open.

The laugh broke the serious mood that had fallen upon them, and they
finished up their pints and left.  When he was driving home, Chris felt a
wave of affection for his brother.  Justin had been the first to find out he
was gay and had been remarkably cool about it.  Still, Chris didn't want to
tell him how much he had screwed around in the past year.

Chris loved sex, and the death of his partner had not destroyed that.  He
almost blushed thinking about the things he had done.  There was no boredom
in their bedroom when Mark was alive, but some of the adventures of last
year made him feel like a professional man whore.  Stuff that he thought was
only done in porn films turned out to be quite real, indeed.  He still had a
scar from the time...

It was just sex, though.  He never felt any kind of attachment for the guys
he brought home and that made everything okay.  Mark wouldn't want for him
to shut down and be miserable, yet Chris couldn't allow for the possibility
that someone might get close to him.  That would be a betrayal of Mark's
love.

Dropping his keys on the kitchen table, his heart sank: there was yogurt
everywhere and the walls had a sickly slime where the viscous liquid had
oozed down to the counter.

"Dammit!"

*****

This is my first story, and I plan on it getting sexier in future chapters.
I would appreciate any feedback: nartoff@hotmail.com.  Thanks for reading!