Portrait of William
Lesley L. Smith
Things were just getting good with my boyfriend, Noah, and me when I heard a moan. And it wasn’t either of us.
“Wait, what was that?” I asked.
He stopped. “What, Jacob?”
“Sorry, but I heard something.”
“Ohhhhhh.” The sound was over by the window.
We both peered across the room lit only by the streetlight outside. My new apartment was huge, the entire attic of an old house on The Hill. I’d set up one end as a studio, and a bunch of paintings were already drying. Trying to figure out my own style, I’d been copying the work of the greats. Mona Lisa’s smile was particularly tricky.
Noah separated himself from me and turned on the lights. “I don’t see anything.”
I got off the bed and stood up.
“Ohhhhhhh...”
From the direction of the latest moan, I could just about make out a blurry figure.
Noah came around the bed. “What the hell?” He started walking towards it.
It was in the shape of a man but was misty and see-through. “What is it?”
“Ohhhhh.”
Noah turned around to face me. “It’s a ghost, dumbass.”
Ghosts were real? No. That was crazy. “What? No. Whoa.” I couldn’t believe it.
“Hey!” He rushed it, whatever it was, and it disappeared.
Turning around, he knocked one of my easels.
“Careful! Some of those are still wet!”
“Oh, don’t be such a pussy.” He ran back to the bed and jumped on it. “That was awesome!”
I sat on the bed. I didn’t know what that thing was, but I knew Noah was pissing me off. “Don’t call me a pussy. We talked about that. Or a dumbass. And you didn’t need to tackle that thing. You always try to tackle everything.” Noah was a football player.
“I thought that was one of the things you liked about me.” He smirked as he flexed, showing off his bicep.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Do you want to screw, or what?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yeah.”
#
I woke first in the morning. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated Noah’s face, making him look like an angel, beard stubble and all. He acted all macho, but he had a sweet side, too. He was the first guy I’d been with who liked cuddling as much as I did.
I smiled. It finally happened: I was in love.
He opened his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You were watching me sleep again. I told you not to do that.” He sat up. “It’s creepy.”
“Sorry.” I paused. “Noah, I have to tell you something. I ...” Love you. I couldn’t say it.
“I have to tell you something, too.” He pulled the coverlet up, covering his fine pecs. “That’s it. I’m out. We need to break up.”
The floor dropped to the basement. “What?” This wasn’t happening.
“Yeah, you’re just ...too much for me.”
I knew what that meant. “Too gay, you mean?”
“Well, yeah, with your polite language and painting and doing art on your computer, all that shit. Basically.”
“But opposites attract.”
He leaned over the floor, searching for his pants. “Maybe so, but they have a tough time staying together.”
“You’re just afraid your friends on the team will find out you’re gay!”
He got out of the covers and pulled on his pants. “No. They all know I’m gay.” He grabbed his shirt and started putting it on. “Jacob, we have nothing in common. I’m into sports and partying, and you’re into art and, I don’t know, staying home.”
He walked to the door, turning to face me before opening it. “Besides, you don’t even know a ghost when you see one.”
I didn’t love him. I hated him. “Well, screw you!” Ha. So much for so-called polite language. He didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I threw my shoe after him, but it missed.
#
After class, back in my apartment, I googled my new address and ‘death.’ Sure enough, some poor guy, a sophomore, hung himself here in the attic in the 1950s. I wished I’d known that before I signed the lease. Shouldn’t they have to tell a person stuff like that?
I stared at the grainy scanned photo from the newspaper. Could he be the ghost? The picture quality was too poor to tell. I still could hardly believe I might have seen an actual real ghost.
I went over to my studio and uncovered ‘Portrait of Noah.’ It was supposed to be his birthday present. Somehow, it captured his essence, both his strength and his sweetness. Now, I wasn’t so sure I loved him. How do you differentiate love and lust?
I sighed. I should paint over it, but it was the best thing I’d ever done.
“That’s that guy Noah isn’t it?” a faint voice said.
I jumped and looked around. “What?”
“It’s good.”
I didn’t see anything but some haze. “Who’s there?”
“You can hear me?”
I focused on the misty spot next to me where the voice seemed to be coming from. “What, who are you?”
The wisp of smoke took on a six-foot-tall man-shaped form. And what a nice form it was, broad shoulders, solid chest. “You can hear me! I’m William.” He seemed to solidify more.
“Uh, hi, William,” I said. “I’m Jacob.” This was just freaky.
“I know.” He was almost as solid as a real person now. He had a nice swimmer’s build like me. “I’ve been watching you.”
Huh. Turned out Noah was right—that was creepy. “Maybe don’t do that in the future.”
“I’m lonely,” he said. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it’s been a long time. Alone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, William,” I said. Was I actually sitting here talking to a ghost? Surreal. And if this was the guy from the paper, he’d killed himself, poor guy. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk?”
“Okay?” He flashed me a wan smile. It hinted that he might be hot if he wasn’t so gloomy. “I don’t think so.”
“You can tell me what happened.” I felt sorry for him.
“You seem like you’d understand.” He paused. “I hurt myself. People said I was bad, and I believed them.”
“Bad? How?” Was he a thief?
“I liked, you know...”
I leaned towards him. “You liked what?” Killing people? Mainlining heroin? Kicking puppies?
He shrugged. “You know. You had that bull in your bed.”
“Bull? What? Noah? No, Noah plays for the Buffs.”
But William’s expression said it all, from the crease in his forehead to his drawn lips. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He was embarrassed.
“Oh! Yeah, Noah’s my boyfriend. Or, I mean, he was my boyfriend. So, you’re gay? That’s why you did it?” I tried to pat his shoulder, but my hand passed right through him.
He nodded.
He looked so sad, he about broke my heart. “I’m sorry, buddy. You know you’re not—or you weren’t—a bad person, right? There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he said, “Do you think you could talk to me once in a while?”
Oh, yeah, we were stuck with each other unless one of us moved out, and I had a feeling he couldn’t. And I had a lease.
“I promise not to watch you,” he added.
“Sure,” I said. “I’d be honored to be your friend, William.”
#
William was a good roommate. I enjoyed telling him about my daily adventures on campus, and he seemed interested in hearing about them. Over the next several weeks, I taught William about twenty-first-century culture, and he taught me about the 1950s and what it was like to be a ghost.
One day when I came home from class, he was standing in the hall outside my door.
“William? What’s up? What are you doing out here? Why don’t you go inside?”
He turned to face me. “I’ve been trying. I can’t seem to manage it.”
“That sounds ...different.” He’d told me ghosts could easily pass through doors and walls. I unlocked the door and opened it up.
He followed me inside, and I closed the door behind us.
“What have you been up to?” I asked.
“I’ve been testing my limits. I ussd to be unable to leave the attic, but today I went all the way over to campus and strolled around.” We walked to my studio and sat on stools near my latest masterpiece, ‘Portrait of William.’
“I saw something interesting in one of the newspaper machines,” he said.
I reached for my palette and brush. “There are still newspaper machines on campus?” Now, that was surprising.
“It was an article about same-sex marriage.”
“Yeah?” I gazed at ‘Portrait of William.’ The eyes weren’t quite right; I hadn’t captured his unique essence, both haunted and hot. I sighed. I wished William himself were as substantial as his portrait. I wished he could feel about me the way I felt about him.
“Jacob?”
I looked from the painting to the real man—so to speak. He seemed worked up. “Yeah, what? Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“You led me to believe everything was fine and dandy with homosexuals in this era. Why did a caterer refuse to work for a gay couple?”
I felt myself flush. “Okay, everything’s not perfect yet, but I think it will be soon.” I’d told him all about the twenty-first century but maybe not all the bad things.
He didn’t answer me right away.
“I apologize if I misled you. I wasn’t trying to trick you. I was trying to protect you. You know, because of your past. Are we okay?” I wanted us to be okay.
“Yes, I guess you meant well.” He paused. “There was something else. It was weird. It was like some of the other students could see me.”
“That is weird.” Come to think of it, I couldn’t see through him at all right now. I put down my palette, reached out toward his knee, and patted.
I didn’t pass through. I patted a solid knee. “Whoa!” I dropped my brush and jumped up.
William jumped up. “Whoa!”
We stood next to each other, eye to eye, staring.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He reached his hand out and touched my chest.
I jumped back. “Whoa!”
William collapsed onto the stool.
On top of the stool.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
I pulled my stool right up next to him and sat down. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” I put my arm around him and rubbed his shoulder. He felt great. “You’re more than okay; you’re great!”
After a few minutes of rubbing, it felt awkward, so I stopped. “But, I don’t understand. What happened?”
“I got better?” he said.
“Whoa!” I asked. “How would that work?”
“I don’t know.”
We stared at each other for a few minutes. Could the portrait have brought him back? Could my love have brought him back?
“I have to tell you something, Jacob,” he finally said. “We’ve gotten tight over these last weeks. I appreciate your friendship, but I’m on the hook.” He gazed into my eyes. “I love you.”
“Whoa,” I said quietly. I really needed to stop saying that.
We leaned together, and our lips met. It felt like coming home; it felt like heaven.
“I love you, too,” I said.
We kissed again.
Afterward, I said, “This could be the beginning of a whole new life for you. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I want to be with you,” he said. “And I want to go back to school, get my degree and live my life, maybe get married someday.” He smiled at me.
Interesting, very interesting. I’d wanted to get married since I was a little boy, imagining my fiancé and me in matching tuxes. I smiled back. “In that case, you’ll need documents, starting with a birth certificate.”
I thought about all my art. “And I’m just the guy to make them for you.”
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