Beyond the Curtain

The rain beat down on the roof in a staccato rhythm that was almost soothing. Like nature’s lullaby. Scott sat in his comfy chair by the living room window, staring out at the gray day. The rain looked like a silver curtain, undulating as if a troupe of performers jostled backstage, readying to step out and begin the show.

Strange, fanciful notion, but Scott’s head was full of strange, fanciful notions. That had been one of the things Edward always said he loved most about him. The imagination that wouldn’t quit. Scott had dared to imagine that he and Edward would have years together.

As opposed to the one they got.

Where was Edward now? Scott had never been able to buy into the images of angels on clouds, streets of gold, wings and haloes. And yet he also didn’t like to think that Edward had simply gone nowhere, slipped into the void, into utter oblivion. The notion that all the beautiful qualities that had made Edward so special had simply ceased to exist was too much for Scott to bear.

So he employed that imagination of his to come up with an idea of heaven that would work for Edward. Some place filled with antiques and live theater and laughter. Lots of laughter. Classic movies always playing somewhere with no admission price. Yes, that was a heaven Edward could spend eternity in.

Maybe such a place existed. Perhaps even on the other side of the silver curtain outside. That close, yet that far. Edward could even be one of the ones causing the curtain to ripple, trying to find the break so he could slip back through.

The day wore on, but Scott did not move. He remained at the window, watching the rain. Watching the curtain. Hoping it would part and he would see a familiar face at least one more time.

MG Allan is a queer writer who tells queer stories, and he believes queer stories can be as “universal” as any others.

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