Steve's Diary

August 23, 2016

Dear Diary,

It's been the best two weeks of my life.

This is what I've been waiting for and now that it's finally here, I see that it was absolutely worth the wait. Every lonesome second of agony and every stressful minute of worry filling those sixty some-odd years brought us here- and there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

—————

The days were slow, never planned and always as perfect as they could be.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

I'd get up, let him sleep in - so long as I was able to sneak out of his snuggly hold without waking him - and make breakfast. He'd wake up, walk out of our room in only his underwear, comment on the heavenly smell of whatever I was cooking that morning, and sit at that old, rickety, painted white, wooden table in the nearly broken chairs mom insisted on keeping in the kitchen, to eat with me.

We'd talk about our dreams the previous night, as there wasn't much else to say, or perhaps discuss what we planned on potentially filling our day with in secrecy. We couldn't sneak out in a city like this and walk around, at least not during the day. It was far too risky right now.

So, for the time being, we'd clean our dishes with that old, full bottle of 1930s dish soap from under the sink, and maybe even have a soapy water fight in the kitchen before migrating over to the couch. And, by then, it would be barely 10:00am.

We'd have the whole day ahead of us to do close to nothing, so everything would be dragged out. We could watch one of the three channels available on the small black and white television kept on the stand across the way. Maybe, today, we would sit at the window and look down at the city people walking or rushing or talking, because at least that would be less boring than doing the whole lot of nothing we usually tended to do.

Not that it bothered me, though, or that I even minded one bit. I didn't, believe me. There was plenty to talk about in terms of past missions or experiences or... us and stories that start with 'remember when'. But that was redundant. At this point, sitting in silence, napping, or even looking at each other lovingly was better than that.

Today, though, Bucky decided to try something we hadn't tried in a few days.

As we sat on the couch, it felt like he was getting restless. He looked at me as if he was about to ask me something, but had just figured out the answer in his own mind anyway and didn't need to ask anymore.

He stood up and started rifling through one of the old drawers behind the couch against the wall next to the front door. I knew just then that he'd been looking for some of the old records we used to keep, seeing as it was our only hope of finding something melodic we both knew without tuning to the special oldies '40s on 4 channel that our ancient radio definitely didn't offer.

He approached the phonograph machine with a vinylite record case in hand. He removed the plastic from the needle and placed it on the table, moving to the record next as he removed the case and placed it on the table, too. Lining up the record, he then gently plopped the needle down on the middle of the back of what was, at the time, one of the first vinyls, as they're called today. We were lucky to have purchased them when they were rising in popularity and only 85¢.

Undeniable sounds of the '30s filled the air. It was Glenn Miller, and I could tell by the perfection and precision presented by his trumpet skills. I felt my eyes close as the needle hopped across grainy sections of the old, used vinylite- it added to the perfect moment I now found myself lost in with Bucky.

Sure, we looked like two big, straight gym rats... but, inside, we were just two skinny kids from Brooklyn who were simply out of our time.

He came over to me and extended his hand without a word. I took it, as I never planned on missing any other dances to which I was invited.

He yanked my from the cushions and into his arms. We positioned our bodies together as if to go at it slowly, but began to dance joyously and all around the room. We both couldn't help but smile as our joint pasts flooded around us in technicolor despite what we were now and everything we'd gone through.

Right now, we were just Bucky and Steve, those two punks always sneaking out and messing around the streets of Brooklyn no matter the time of day.

The music got louder and filled my ears, only making us dance faster. It felt so natural, too. And then the quiet part came up and we danced closer and slower and more intimately, making me want to kiss him between these four walls for the millionth time- but then, it picked up again and he was tossing me all around.

Suddenly, it was over and we stood there in silence as the last song on the album started in the background, neither of us really paying much mind to it as he pulled me closer to him at my waist and held me there.

I rested my arms at his shoulders and pulled at his neck so our lips would simply hover centimeters apart. The kiss, once it began, was so incredibly intimate and warm. It wasn't nearly as ravenous or carnal as the last one, despite both of our indisputable cravings for skin and sweat and sex.

It was slow on purpose, so that we might savor this moment of calm before whatever storm may be rolling by in the coming weeks.

Holding him there upon my lips made me fully realize that if we didn't lose each other yet, nothing can pull us apart.

—————

We went to bed early that night and simply laid awake together under the sheets with the window open and its curtains billowing in the soft almost-autumn, end of summer breeze.

The sounds of the city street below flooded in and the smells some might hate, but the both of us adore, drifted occasionally past. That warm, humid August air that clung to you like rain drops and felt almost chilly filtered in and out, bringing the sense of being outside among the dark air and speckled sky to life in the room.

I nearly had trouble sleeping due to the fact that I didn't want to miss a minute of this experience awake with him- that is, until I remembered we had the rest of our lives to do just the same thing if we truly wanted.

~ S. Rogers