Coda 05 -Paris a to Z

could tell he was still apprehensive about facing the man whod spent so many nights in Jareds bed. It was a feeling I could relate to well. The thought of seeing Jon again had my stomach in knots. I felt I could have faced him on my own, but the idea of dealing with him and Angelo together was enough to make me sick. I felt like Id barely eaten in weeks.
    I turned to look at Angelo, sitting next to me, reading. His long black hair hid his face from me, and I resisted the urge to reach out and brush it aside. He didnt look at me, but he seemed to sense my eyes on him. He reached over and put his hand on mine, squeezing my fingers briefly before letting go to turn the page.
    The two years since Vegas had changed us. More importantly, theyd changed him. He was stronger now, and far more secure in our relationship than he had been back then. Still, I wasnt sure what to expect once we got to Paris. In Vegas, wed only had to see Jon once, at dinner, and then those few minutes the next day when he showed up to apologize. In Paris, wed be spending a week with him. I hoped Angelo would handle it better than last time.
    I hoped I would as well.
    “Matt, look at this,” Angelo suddenly said, handing his book across the aisle to Matt. “Its about your amazed moments! This guy had em too!”
    Matt looked down at the page, and his eyes widened in surprise. He flipped the book closed to look at the cover, and then looked over at Angelo, one eyebrow up. “Youre reading poetry ?”
    “Yeah. So what?” Ang asked, although he didnt look as confident about it as he sounded.
“Its poetry !”
Angelo sighed. “I know, man, but see, a few weeks ago, I was in that used book store in Boulder, and the guy had all his poetry books on sale for a dollar cause he said no one buys em—”
“Theres a reason for that you know,” Matt said, but Ang ignored him.
“And I never read any poetry before, so I thought, why the fuck not? So I asked the guy which one I should buy, cause I didnt want it to be too hard to understand, and he said this one.” He was talking faster now, and his cheeks were turning red. He and Matt were like brothers—they liked more than anything to give each other a hard time. But on some level, I knew Angelo longed for Matts approval too. “Just read the fuckin poem, Matt.”
Matt looked skeptical, but he opened the book to where his finger had marked the page. It must not have been very long because it only took him a minute to read it. He looked over at Angelo in confusion. “Youre saying Jareds a wild rose?”
“Im sayin hes your wild rose.”
Matt shook his head. “Angelo,” he said as he handed the book back across the aisle, “as soon as we get to Paris, Im buying you some porn.”
Angelo laughed as he took the book back. “As long as theres no chicks in it this time.”
“Amen to that,” Jared said from the other side of Matt.
I was as surprised as Matt to learn what Angelo was reading. And yet, it didnt surprise me a bit that he would decide to try something, simply because he never had before. “Do you like the poetry?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Some of it, I guess. I mean, some of it I still dont get. And this guy writes a lot bout God, so I dont like those so much. Theres some bout farmers, and theyre kinda lame. But Im startin to see why people dig it, too, cause sometimes you find ones that say things that maybe you want to say but cant, you know? Like, they say what your hearts thinkin.”
“Like the poem about Matts amazed moments?”
He nodded. “I found our poem, too, Zach.” He was blushing again, and I could see that look in his eyes asking me not to laugh at him. “Wanna see it?”
“Of course.”
He flipped to a page he had dog-eared and handed me the book. It was a poem called “The Country of Marriage.” I tried not to look dismayed at how long it was, and like he was reading my mind, Angelo said, “Not the whole thing. Just the part I marked.” He pointed to the fifth stanza, where he had highlighted the first several lines. “Thats what I would say to you, Zach,” he said quietly. “If I knew how.”
The first few lines made no sense to me—something about funds and being in the dark— but the part in the middle was clear. “„You are the known place to which the unknown is always leading me back,” I read, looking up at him. “She was his north too.”
I could see that he was relieved, both that I hadnt laughed and that I understood. “That parts you,”