Pi

There was that familiar click as the key revolved the mechanism and the door latch gave, it whispered warmth, coffee, a leather sofa, sexy chrome legs leading all the way up to the surround sound cinema display, and a kingsize leather framed bed. That day, the day that mattered more than any in his entire life, familiarity was suddenly out of focus. He walked like a phantom into his own, their, apartment and walked through their life, a black and white figure, visitor from another time come to a future he never thought would arrive. As he passed through the dining area, the past trailed after him, sticking to objects, formerly mundane, the detritus of a shared life now taking on relevance beyond purpose, slid behind, wrapping around his ankles with a heavy weight akin to reeds pulling a man down into murky waters. As his eyes caught site he lifted the silly little picture from the table that lay next to an opened envelope, tattooed with scribbles and doodles from a once busy mind. He smiled briefly, flirting with the absurdity of a stopped clock, changed, mechanism altered. He lifted the picture from the table, the glass cracked but beneath a thin coating of dust now. His eyes settled on the drawing in the frame and something deep inside sank like an elevator then came up again in a wave that threatened to consume him. It began to take away the strength that kept him upright and he began to slowly sink to his knees. Holding the frame before him he let the wave within rise and overtake him. The crying was like a pain that could not be expressed. He felt turned inside out, his voice felt disembodied, another sound in a room of wrapped silence. The picture. Jay was different to anyone he had ever met, he was the catwalk figure, a charming man, an intelligent conversation and a dangerous lover. Their love had grown as a curious ivy, the life they had twisted around one another like a sexual serpent. Though he saw in the dim light of their first, tangled, embrace something of an ephemeral creature in his lovers eyes, the spirit of an animal that could not be constrained, he took his pleasure with full knowledge of the poison hidden within. Instead he lived for the moments he knew were his, that smile across from the chessboard as the fire crackled behind them in the room against the steady clockwork pulse, the clink of wine glasses, the tap of cutlery in one of their cosy yet refined restaurants, even the way the light reflected off his glasses in the cinema, or his easy laughter left hanging with his breath amidst the cold winter snow. The picture. That was the occasion he came into the bedroom wearing a towel, he had been languishing in the bath, the room full of steam as always. He had joked that Jay belonged in the reptile house of the zoo, one of the glass eyed, exotic, cold blooded. Cold, was he cold? The picture. He had a magazine in his hand, it's pages damp from the steam. He stood there glistening, kissed by the water, that fine build, all tuned up and ready to go, a classic Harley, or a predator of the great plains. Yes, Jay was the hunter, whilst he was definitely the giselle, vulnerable, anticipating. "What?", he had asked in expectation of some flippant, easy, comment but this time Jay had thrown him. "I've been reading", he said, adjusting his glasses, only partly steamed, that always looked like they did on Clark Kent, somehow out of place, a contrived appendage intended to distract from perfection. "All about maths". He read those health magazines for the guides on the perfect six pack, the whiter smile and the way to reduce male pattern baldness, so this was something altogether new, "Really?", asked the Giselle, half lost in a sexual anticipation, half in a reverie concerning tomorrows shopping and social trips, sports, he so loved the weekends. "Yeah", he moved over to the bed pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again with one finger. He looked at the giselle, traced a line up the supple smooth legs to his naked hips, almost distracted, almost removed from his article for a moment. "It's amazing, especially this one", Jay spun the magazine round so he could see the picture of a symbol but the Giselle wasn't interested, not right now. A foot came up and over the magazine from behind and this time Jay followed it up to the torso, he smiled, shook his head and put down the magazine. The hunter had to strike as something took hold of his instincts, dazzled as always by his lovers irresistible vulnerability. Yet, triumphant as the seducer felt for working his charms once more, something in Jays eyes as they wrestled in the seek and play of love spoke of something he dared not pursue. The article. He sighed and searched for the meaning of the article now, desperately filtering what was left of his subconscious whilst row upon row of memories, stacked like books on shelves in a library, were burning up one by one quicker than he could think..The symbol. After the sweat, the frenetic labour and the quiet contemplating, two heartbeats fading back to normal, Jay had jammed the article in his face, made him read it whilst he paced the floor throwing back whisky from a fine crystal, the ice, he recalled, had distracted him as Jay whirled it around the glass like Dorothy's house caught in the twister. If only when he'd had the chance he had realised what the article alluded to. Something about that symbol 'Pi' and it's number being, what was it, an irrational number so that it doesn't repeat...flames leapt up now, licking the memories in the rows behind, enticing them to burn... It said numbers like these, like 'E', they are out in the darkness of mathematics, the pioneers of an unknown frontier...the shelves began to fall, crashing one into another exploding in a cavalcade of beautiful sparks, incinerating the walk in the park, the coffee shops, the Christmas dinner, the laughter of an unexpected downpour, words, crackling, half listened to he wished he'd heard...yet, these approximations of math can describe the universe itself, they are perceivably infinite...the last fragments of their past burned away, flickered and were gone and, almost without the strength to do so, he picked up the little picture. The symbol. The glass was covered with his tears which he now swept away with his hands. Though all else was enveloped by the firestorm strangely he remembered, he remembered the argument that had knocked it from the wall, that's why it was here, on the table still, a little crack on the glass, beneath which was Jay's drawing of the symbol. That stupid, annoying little symbol. Jay had taken it everywhere with him before hanging it on the wall, he had sat staring at it during those last trips to the theatre together, through nights with friends at a bar or at home, dinner with the parents, how embarrassing. It had become so irritating, he could feel his anger even now, why? Why had he been so irritated? Because it was rude, self indulgent, confusing and it left him feeling...alone. Now the smoke from disintegration of the past began to overwhelm him. He could no longer think straight, could no longer remember properly, everything seemed just out of reach, yet ultimately incalculable, fathoms beyond oblivion, twisting away, a slow motion thread tumbling into the darkness. Despair slipped over him like liquid mercury, washing out all sense of everything but an incredible awareness of his own presence, alone, firmly in the here and now. Each breath came after enormous pause from the last, each threatening to be the last sound he would ever hear. It reminded him. He crumpled up within himself and sat hopeless, wedged between a table leg and the book shelf, just staring at the symbol, as if searching for an answer, as if creating the equation for the first time might solve something, mean something, anything. Then he began to imagine, he thought of  all the numbers it represented, going on and on, off into the infinite, journeying out into endless space forever...and slowly, at last, by reward, understanding was measured out to him in mercy.

 By Mark