Chapter Text
Epilogue 1997
Oliver:
It’s now been ten years since our Passover trip to Italy. Time is so funny. The last two years of Elio’s undergraduate studies seemed to go on forever. I had become disillusioned with Columbia, the disciplinary trial really was a turning point for me and I never felt 100% comfortable there after that. I knew that no matter how much I published, or how popular a teacher I was, there would be no tenure offered. Some of the staff remained cold to me until I left. The waters had been muddied and my time there had to come to an end. Also, New York City was changing, it became prohibitively expensive, Elio and I couldn’t enjoy what the city had to offer because after food and rent we were pretty strapped.
Elio did indeed pursue the field of architectural history and although Columbia has one of the finest graduate departments in that field, he knew I needed to leave there.
When I applied and was offered a tenured track position at the University of California Berkeley Classics Department I jumped at the chance, but not before we made sure it would work for Elio as well. Elio originally thought he would be focusing on the history and relevance of world’s fairs and exhibition architecture, but being out in Berkeley, he discovered the amazing architecture of Bernard Maybeck. He immersed himself in studying the buildings and work of Maybeck and within a few years became a well-respected authority on the man, his work and his philosophy. His claim to fame, which basically cemented his doctoral thesis, was discovering a previously unknown work by the master, lost to written history but sitting neglected in a neighborhood in nearby Oakland. He has spent the last two years raising funds and designing a restoration plan for the building.
We have made an amazing life out here. We bought a small home on the hill above campus, built in 1911, it satisfies Elio’s love of old houses, but the renovation we did last year brought the kitchen and the master suite into the present day. I especially like the deck with the hot tub off of our bedroom where Elio and I can lounge in total privacy, cocooned in the Berkeley Hills with a view of San Francisco Bay.
My parents have retired to Florida, I try to go a few times a year. We have forged a decent relationship. Certain things still bother me, but I let it go much easier now, not dwelling on past hurts. I have made some good friends here too, joined a men’s group where we talk about our emotional life, our struggles, our victories. I am glad Berkeley is such a liberal and open place, and its’ proximity to San Francisco makes it ideal.
Annella and Samuel are here in Berkeley for the year. Samuel is a guest professor in my department and it has been a privilege to speak to him daily, sit in on his lectures and have coffee together at least twice a week. Elio and I are working on getting them here permanently but it is an uphill battle. Annella is working with one of the professors in the Art History department doing translations of original manuscripts needed for a book on Titian. I know they both love being so close to Elio. They have rented a little Spanish style bungalow right near campus. We often meet for Vietnamese Food at a place up the road.
My relationship with them has healed me so much. The unconditional love they have for their son has been extended to me, and next to my relationship with Elio, it is the greatest gift I have ever been given.
And Elio! What can I say about my beautiful Elio? Our relationship has intensified and become something I never even knew I could have. It’s loving, intellectual, supportive, filled with obscure facts, and sometimes just pure silliness. That overwhelming attraction we both fought so hard to ignore in the classroom has bloomed into a deeply sensual ongoing connection. There are times when I count the hours until I can be home again with him in my arms.
And time! That fickle bitch is speeding by, precious moments grabbed and held up to the light for closer examination, flashes I wish I could preserve forever gone in an instant.
I feel inadequate putting into words how much Elio means to me.
He is my life.
Elio:
Eight Years in Berkeley. I love it here. I love how close we are to best that California has to offer; an hour up to Point Reyes, 2O minutes to downtown San Francisco-a place where Oliver and I can hold hands and not even think twice about it. Even the San Francisco Symphony is amazing.
I love my work. I mean I get paid to research weird and arcane facts, how awesome is that? Berkeley turned out to be the best possible place for me to get my masters and doctorate. I found my life’s calling.
David and I are still in touch. He is a big deal in the music video world now, directing videos for huge artists, writing treatments, working all over the world. The last time we spoke, someone had approached him to direct a film. He liked the story a lot and he’s hoping it will happen. Half of what he takes meetings on never come to fruition but he loves the game. He’s even better looking and more charismatic ten years down the road, it’s sort of unfair.
David’s had his share of heartbreak though. He lost Pieter to AIDS in 1990. They were still in New York. I flew back for the memorial service. He really needed a friend, I stayed for a month, to help him regroup, to this day, he thanks me for it.
I still play the piano, for myself mostly and for Oliver who pretends that everything I play is perfect and magical.
On some level Oliver is still that preppie patrician god that I worshipped my sophomore year at Columbia. Often, more than I care to admit, I sneak into one of his large lectures and sit in the back. And just for a moment, I am a love struck student, fantasizing about my professor, thinking about what I would do to him given the opportunity. Ah but the reality is just that much sweeter, when his class is over and I skip down the stairs patiently waiting for the last student to leave, and kiss him firmly on the mouth while discreetly palming him. I can still embarrass him but secretly I know he loves it.
Who he has become and is still becoming amazes me. The man I loved back in New York was wonderful, the person he is now transcends all expectations. The miracle is, that he and I have grown together, not apart, as couples who meet so young often do.
It’s the luck of the universe, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Fin