Page 53 of Exquisite Things

“Let us through. Please let us through.” A mother holds her toddler in her arms. Pleads with the police to let her across

a barricade. My eyes land on the fear in the toddler’s eyes. Too young to make sense of the flames. Of the cries. Of the police

wielding their weapons against the neighborhood faces the toddler has grown up with. The same people she sees dancing on the

street. Browsing the market for fresh produce. Her community is now a war zone.

Wilde’s poem swirls around in my brain: For they starve the little frightened child. Till it weeps both night and day. And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool.

And gibe the old and gray. And some grow mad, and all grow bad. And none a word may say. Wilde. Our imperfect icon. He warned us all the way back then. We can’t let them scourge and flog us this time. We must not

let them win again.

Lily is waiting for me by the front door as I turn onto Chaucer Street. She pulls me in. Locks the door. “They diverted the

number two. That’s when I knew.”

In the living area: Maud with fire in her eyes. Oliver with sadness in his.

“They don’t divert a bus for no reason. They’re preparing for war. Against us.” Lily pulls a machete out of the front closet.

I hear myself gasp. “Lily, what is that? Is that a... a machete ?”

She laughs. “Who do you take me for? It’s from the prop shop. Anyone breaks in, it might scare them off.”

Maud leaps up. Approaches Lily. “There’s history happening out there. The community is finally rising up. And you want us

to stay locked in here with a fake machete to protect us. What happened to living true ?”

Lily’s eyes flicker with heartbreak. “This is different. The gloves are off. I have to protect you.”

Maud raises her voice loud. Like she wants her voice to travel through the neighborhood. A call to arms. “The people rising

up aren’t afraid and neither am I.”

Lily shakes her head. “Let’s see how things look when the sun comes up tomorrow. Today, we’re not leaving this house. My home.

My rules.”

We spend the day hiding. Lily seats us in front of the television. We rewatch Mahogany . We don’t speak the quotes aloud this time. Don’t laugh at the most over-the-top moments. We simply sit in silence. We watch

Valley of the Dolls . The sound of fighting can be heard over Diana Ross and Susan Hayward. We all fall asleep in the living area. Lily with the

prop machete by her side. I get the sense no one wants to sleep alone.

Saturday morning. Crust in my eyes and near my mouth. My head on Oliver’s lap. Changeling paws at me. Fights me for the limited

real estate of Oliver’s body. The sound of the radio stirs me awake: Good morning, you’re listening to BBC Radio London. Riots erupted in Brixton yesterday after the stabbing of Michael Bailey.

The neighborhood was—

Lily turns the radio off when she sees me enter the kitchen. She’s making the same breakfast she made for me on the day she

saved me from the same police attacking us now. I can hear her voice from that day traveling to me: Eat your breakfast. Porridge and—

“Banana fritters.” Lily smiles as she stirs the porridge. Next to her: a piece of paper with scribbled notes on it.

“Rich in fiber and potassium. It’ll give you energy for the day ahead.” I stand by her side. “That’s what you said when you made this for me the day we met.”

“Amazing how you remember such trivial things.”

“Meeting you is the least trivial thing that’s ever happened to me.” I smile. “You saved me.”

She smiles too. “Still trying.”

I pick up the paper. “What’s this?”

She tries to snatch it away. I resist. I decode her messy handwriting. There’s a list of places: the Blitz. Pearl’s. Chaucer.

Lily Pond. Queen’s Walk. National Theatre. A list of people: Archie. Azalea. Poppy. Blossom. Bram. Maud. Oliver. I feel my

heart beat. “Is this... are these instructions for...”

“My memorial. Yes.”

I want to tear the paper up. To burn it. Make her immortal. “How can you— What I mean is— Well...”

Her jaw tenses. “I won’t live forever, you know. And with everything going on... Well, it’s hard not to think of our mortality

at times like this, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. Of course I don’t. I can’t bring myself to lie. Not to Lily. “This is morbid. You’ve listed friends who are

older than you who won’t be around for your memorial. You— You’ll live a long time. I know you will.” I wave the paper in

the air anxiously. I want—I need her to never die.

She snatches it back successfully. “I plan on going first. I have no interest in watching my chosen family die. Just promise

me one thing.”

“What?”

“I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered in the Thames. I need to rest in water. And I don’t care if it’s illegal

to throw ashes in the river when I go. You find a way.”

I manage to cough out an “okay.” Then I change the subject. Anything is better than talking about her death. “Sounds quiet out there.” I peek out the window. I can see Railton Road in the distance. Some debris from yesterday. But no battle.

“For now.” She releases heartbreak with each breath. Places a hand on my cheek. Her eyes land on Oliver and Maud. “If anything

were to happen to any of you, I would never forgive myself.”

Her eyes are misty. Her mouth tight with frustration. She seems to be aging in front of my very eyes. Her anxiety creates

new lines on her faces. Or accentuates the ones faintly beginning to appear. I feel an urge to tell her everything. To confess.

My father. My immortality. The truth of my history with Oliver. She deserves to know.

“Lily...” I wait for her to look at me. I feel weak in the knees when she does.

“Speak your mind, child.” The porridge is ready. She lets the fritters fry a little longer. Then prepares our bowls.

I ask: “Do you think all secrets must be shared?”

She puts the bowls down on the counter. “Not if we keep secrets to protect the people we love. Or to protect ourselves. Why

do you think I didn’t tell you about Alton? Because I loved you too much to burden you with something so horrible.”

“Right.”

“Secrets are your personal property. You may invite others into your home, but no one may trespass.” She glances out the window

now. Awaiting more violence. Pondering her mortality.

Right on cue, the sound of a firebomb. It scares Lily. Jolts Oliver and Maud awake. The moment for revelations has passed.

Lily keeps us locked in all day. She does everything she can to drown out the sound of the uprising outside.

Blasts vinyl from the record player. Invites us to play dress-up in her closet.

Demands Oliver distract us with live music.

But she can’t force joy. That’s one thing that must arise naturally.

She suggests more movies at night. Maud says she’s too tired to stay up.

Says she can’t sleep on the couch again.

“Crick in my neck. I’ll see you tomorrow. ”

“Go to your rooms. Tomorrow will be here soon enough. All this will end.” Lily says those last words like she wants to believe

them. Not like she actually does.

Oliver and I lie side by side. I can tell he’s in one of his dark moods.

“It was nice to hear you play music again.” I turn my head toward his. “You play so infrequently these days.”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“I love you.” I move my hand closer to his. My fingers brush against his.

“You don’t need to make me feel better.” He turns toward me. “Everyone doesn’t have to be happy and in love all the time.”

“I know that.”

“Our whole neighborhood is burning. Listen.” From Railton Road, the sound of petrol bombs. Police warnings. Powerful chants

of liberation. Desperate cries for help. “I knew it. I sensed it. You didn’t listen when I warned you.”

“What do you want me to say? That you were right?”

“It would be a start.”

“This isn’t happening because of us or some feeling you had.” I sit up. I can’t sleep. “It’s happening because people have

had enough of being treated like they’re subhuman.”

“Are we subhuman?”

“What?” I search his face for some sign of what he’s thinking. “Because we’re gay?”

“No!” He twirls his gorgeous locks of hair in his finger. Making little spirals. Then letting them fall. “Because we’re... immortal. It seems like a blessing on the face of it. But it’s not. It’s a prison of time.”

“This will pass. Things will get better. And then you’ll be happy you’re young again. That you get to experience each new

era with the energy of youth.”

“What if things don’t get better? I don’t want to be here for the apocalypse!” His eyes are full of dread. “I tried to reverse

it when we were apart. I bought as many copies of The Picture of Dorian Gray as I could find and burned them. Inhaled the fire. I sought out healers and psychics and witches. Anyone who might know some

secret way to end this.”

“I wish I could make this wish come true for you. I know it’s all my fault.”

“Yes it is.” He thinks for a moment. Turns to his side. “People long to be obscenely rich, famous, immortal. They think it

will give their lives meaning. Make them special. But all it does is isolate you. The majority of things people wish for are terrible. The happiest lives are the simplest lives.

Our lives are too complicated.”

“I’m sorry.” I spoon him. Clutch his body. Pull him as close as I can. “Maybe we can simplify our lives. Ignore the chaos

and just focus on each other.”

“Stop. Just stop.” He doesn’t say any more. He sweats in his sleep. There’s a restlessness to him that scares me.

He bolts up close to midnight. “What’s that?” He looks around our dark room.

“It’s just the fighting outside. Go back to bed.” I try to hold him.

He pushes me away. “No, it’s something else. It’s Maud.” He bolts out of bed. Drenched. Eyes ablaze. “It was her window.”

“I— You can’t hear her window—”

He throws pants and a shirt on frantically. “Not everyone experiences the world exactly as you do, Bram. My God, you have