Coffee burnout, takeoff G force and 36 hours without sleep – by the time the plane leveled off, Justin had already discovered full recline.  Brian stood, yanked pillows and blankets from the overhead then folded their suit jackets away.

“Here,” he tossed a pillow on Justin’s lap, set one on his own headrest, sat and stripped the plastic off a blanket while Justin settled into a pillow.

The Flight Attendant stooped beside Brian.  “Would you like a cocktail?”

Brian turned to Justin, eyes closed, chest in slow rise and fall. “Maybe later.”  After she nodded and moved on, he fluttered the blanket over Justin, resisted a kiss and wondered how the fuck anybody could sleep on an airplane.

It was the last clear thought he had.

Until a dream that he was falling sent his stomach into his throat and startled him awake. A doorbell chime.  Then somebody’s TV playing “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve encountered some light chop, so we’d like you to keep your seatbelts fastened.  We’ll be back to clear sailing in a few minutes.”

Justin’s eyes sprang open at the same time and he found himself staring at Brian’s eyes in a mutual where-the-fuck-ARE-we moment before reality dawned.

The Flight Attendant stopped beside Brian.  “Mr. Wang?”

“She KNOWS you?” Justin grinned, got Brian’s haughty raised brows before Brian looked at the Attendant.

“It’s Mr. Kinney,” he corrected.  Guess they found us.

“Oh.  Mr. Kinney,” she smiled stiffly, scanned a roster in her hand, tried to stay blasé professional.  “And Mr…” she looked at Justin.

“Taylor,” Justin raised his seatback, pushed the blanket aside and stretched to a stand, leaned close to Brian, “I have to take a walk.”

Brian saw him look both ways, “Up front,” watched Justin head for the lavs then casually eyed the Attendant, writing.

She coolly finished adding their names. “Have you decided what you’d like for dinner?”

“Can you run through the choices again?” Good.  We stay.

Refreshed and more awake, Justin walked back, glanced at a half-filled cabin.  Mostly businessmen asleep or decked in audio headsets while tapping laptops.  An older hetero couple dressed like Debbie.  He casually glanced out the windows.  One then another.  Crossed past a refreshment table and continued up Brian’s side, checking the view.

At their row, he straddled Brian’s outstretched legs and gasped when Brian ran a hand up his inner thigh.  “Perv,” he bat Brian’s hand, stepped over and sank into his seat, serious look.  “Brian, we’re flying over water.  I don’t remember any big lakes in Colorado.”

Brian had his own serious issue.  A standard waking response undaunted by inhospitable surroundings.  Justin’s approach and landing didn’t help.  “Wanna take another walk?”

Justin was more into his wristwatch.  “We must’ve slept five hours.”

“What?” Brian straightened, gripped Justin’s offered wrist as Justin stopped the Attendant with a full cocktail tray and coming up his aisle.

“Excuse me.  What time are we landing?”

“We should be in Hilo in about four more hours,” she set two pineapple-décor napkins on their consol, topped them with glasses of pink juice.

“Hawaii,” Justin stared to confirm.

She nodded at Justin’s brightening eyes and Brian’s frozen half smile then hurried back to the galley.

Justin shifted to lean close, rubbed Brian’s shoulder and didn’t care who the fuck was watching.  “Brian.  You planned this, didn’t you?”

Snarky wry, “No I didn’t.  We’re on the wrong goddamned flight.”

“You’re kidding.”

Brian sank back in his seat, stared at the overhead bin.  “And I was just about to compliment RegionAir for having guava juice.”

Justin glanced at another Flight Attendant adding to the front table.  “Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

“So they can politely drop us off?  Did you notice any aircraft carriers down there?”

Justin glowed an optimistic, “We’re going to Hawaii.”

Brian squirmed, pulled a wallet from his back pocket and fished out two squares of paper, held them up to Justin.

Justin read the large DEN and breathed out, “Our luggage checks.”

“We’re going to Hawaii with seventy dollars in cash and a Gold Card running on fumes.”

“Let’s hope condoms are cheap,” Justin whispered.  THAT ought to cheer you up.

Brian’s face relaxed.  “I’ve got that part covered.  Just don’t let my briefcase out of your sight.  I have to take a walk.”  He slid out, started up the aisle, glanced through windows - lot of fucking water out there – and contemplated their next move.  If nothing else, it downed his momentum enough to be able to piss.

Brian away, Justin did a fly-by at the front table, gathered a few snacks and noticed an approval smile from the lady half of the Debbie couple.  Must be a grandma thing – watching people get enough to eat.  He headed back, disposed of his haul and had just reclaimed his seat when their Attendant stopped beside him, fancy tray in her hand.  “Sorry,” he smiled and awkwardly looked around.

“Here,” she flipped up his armrest, lifted and unfolded a table across his lap, set his tray.  “I’ll be back with Mr. Kinney’s,” and she disappeared again.

Brian returned with a few snacks, slid his briefcase out. “This may have to hold us between meals.” He opened the case, saw the stash already there, added his items, shut them away and side-eyed Justin’s clever grin.  Then he sat and deftly drew out his table for his arriving tray.

Justin picked a white asparagus spear from his salad and held it up to Brian.  “Wanna eat mine?”

“Behave.”

“Can I eat yours?”

Brian gripped Justin’s collar, pulled him close and seductively whispered, “There’s nothing more I’d like to eat than your hot little ass right before I shove my throbbing dick into it.” He let go, watched Justin wince and tug at his crotch as he resettled.  “Now have we learned that it’s not a good idea to tease on airplanes?”

“No.  We learned that if you’re gonna do it, do it better than the other guy.”

Brian didn’t share the drawback.  Just discreetly rearranged the napkin on his lap.

After dinner and a couple hours from Hilo.  A little drowsy, a little buzzed on Chivas.

Justin, holding half of a magazine page in one hand, picked a green apple off the front table, eyed their travel mates in various stages of slumber.  He hiked back to his seat, saw Brian reading the inflight magazine and snatched it away.  “Nothing work related.  We’re on vacation.  Here.”  He pushed their scotches aside, set his torn page on the consol then knelt to open Brian’s briefcase.

Brian took the page and jeered the header.  Aphrodite.  “A dyke rag?  My, you ARE getting bored.”

Justin removed a sheet of lined paper and pens, closed the apple away and plopped back into his seat.  “It’s a questionnaire.  I thought we could answer it.”  He creased and tore the paper, laid half on Brian’s thigh.

Brian read the first question, turned the sheet over.  Fucking lipstick ad. “Where’s the rest?”

“I just took the questions. There’re only twelve.  And it’s one-to-five strongly disagree to strongly agree.  You don’t even have to think much.” Justin watched Brian lean forward to discard it, grabbed his arm.  “Oh come on.  It’ll be fun.”

Brian read out loud, “ ‘I sometimes chat to strangers when standing in a supermarket or bank queue’?” cocked his head at Justin.  “What’s the point?”  I’ll bet a shrink did this.

“The point is…” Justin leaned close with a flirty blink, “…we talk.”

“And we’ll be totally honest?”

Justin soured at the implication, took the sheet back and grumbled, “Forget it.  I just thought it’d be an interesting thing to do.”  Be honest about how we feel.  But it’ll always be a guessing game with you, won’t it?

Brian grabbed the sheet and placed it back on the console. “Okay…if YOU answer the way you think I would, and I’ll do the same.  That way we’ll HAVE to be honest.”  Can’t believe I’m doing this.  Must be the stale air.

“Sure,” Justin nodded, big smile.  “I can do that in ten minutes.”

“You know me that well?  All I need is five,” Brian grinned.  “You’re more obvious.”

After fifteen minutes of knit brows, shifting eyes, chin or neck or forehead rubbing, Brian DID finish first, sat back.  “Still stuck on the supermarket one?”

Justin cleared his throat and wrote a last number.  “I rated you one on that.  You’d turn on the body language, but you wouldn’t say anything.  So what’d you rate ME?”

Brian held his answers next to the questionnaire.  “Five.  Anybody who’d lean on a lamppost at a sex Club and talk to a stranger -”

“Try two,” Justin’s lips thinned.  “You were the exception.  Was I right about YOU?” he held his answers next to Brian’s.

“Yeah.  I usually do business and leave,” Brian was equally flat.  “My life is not just one big back room,” he mumbled as he read another answer.  “You rated me five on ‘I often listen to my inner voice’?”

“You do things on your own terms,” Justin stated.

“I listen to you at about a three,” Brian corrected. 

Justin frowned when he read Brian’s answer.  “Why’d you rate me a one?”

“I think you listen to a lot of people before you form an opinion.  Which is probably a wise thing to do.”  He watched Justin’s mouth twist to one side.  “Do you see the problem with words?  They’re all open to misinterpretation.”

“The problem with misinterpretation is you don’t realize it until you talk about it.”  Justin held a smirk, knew he scored a point when Brian’s eyes locked to the side.

Brian conceded with a cocky, “Care to go on now?”

Justin read with a quiet tone.  “This one. ‘I nearly always expect good things to happen to me in the future’.” He turned a serious eye on Brian.  “Why’d you rate me a five?”

“Was I that far off?” Brian raised a brow, got a silent shrug.  “You’ve always had a defined goal.  To be an artist.” He watched Justin rub a palm over one eye, a clue to drowsiness settling on both of them.  “Don’t you still want that for yourself?”  Brian reached over, reclined Justin’s seat, watched him settle back then lowered his own to match.

“Sure I wanna succeed for myself.” He thought deeper and stared off. “Maybe a little for my Dad.  Even though things are different now, I can’t forget how much he did for us…for me.  Pushing me to stand up for myself, always being there…” he stopped to quell a distant ache.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Brian said as much to himself, “Pop was gone more than he was home, but when he WAS around....” he filled in a sarcastic snort.  Maybe it was the comfortable seat, or engine lull, or altitude on alcohol or lack of distraction that turned memories to words.  “I learned how to fix a door hinge, a leaky faucet.” His lips curled in a silent laugh.  “The fuck if Claire remembers who taught her how to make a sandwich, and got her up for school when Mom was too hungover to do it.”  Then his lids drifted halfway down darkened eyes.  “I got my first job at thirteen, paid some of the bills when Pop overdid a Friday night.  Didn’t fucking care if they knew or not.  It was one less thing they had to fight about.  That’s all I wanted out of it.”

Justin swallowed, turned his head, “Were you ever a kid?”

Brian recovered with a deceptive wide smile, “Every chance I get.  Mikey and I had some great adventures back then.”

“Mikey didn’t have a father.”

“Something we had in common.”

“I don’t think he made it his responsibility to hold his family together.”

“He didn’t HAVE to,” Brian stared off.  “He wasn’t the reason why they split.” Meaning changed when he saw Justin’s downcast eyes.  “And you weren’t the reason either.”

Justin edged closer, kept his tone low. “I wasn’t rehashing the divorce.  I didn’t have any more power over my parents’ split than YOU had over yours staying together.  But what you said…” Careful.  This could blow up.  “…I think I understand a little more about why you act like you do…sometimes.  But it makes me wonder if…” Jesus.  What.

Brian abruptly ended the session.  “I’ll take a rain check on any more discussion.”  I think I know where you’re going.  Don’t.  Fucking don’t.  Not here.  Not now.

Justin read Brian’s withdrawal. “Okay,” he whispered, collected the papers, slowly folded them.  He slid to the floor, maneuvered around Brian’s footrest for the briefcase when that footrest went down.  “I can get it,” Justin looked up, saw Brian eying the papers.  I’m not giving up on this. “You said a rain check.”

“And I meant it.”  Brian dropped onto his knees, took the papers from Justin’s hand and put them in a file pocket, shut the case.  I just can’t do this now.  Then he briefly kissed Justin’s lips.  In First Class.  With a Flight Attendant passing.  He saw her glance off with a little grin, Justin’s head swivel.  “She’s seen it before.” 

Justin smiled relief, more over Brian’s return than the stewardess. “We’d better get back in our seats.  Anymore meaning, and they WILL throw us off the plane.”

After they resettled, the Attendant came by and passed out small zippered cases.

Justin foraged through his, held up a folded toothbrush.  “One less thing we’ll have to buy. There’s a razor in here, too,” he dug around, “And shaving cream.”

“Second only to kitchen cleanser.  But we can always pick up what we need.  I didn’t guarantee that room in Denver, so the plastic’s still good.”  Brian reclined and considered the next move.  “We’ll also have to rent a car and find a hotel.”

“If you ask ME, I’d say let THEM find us a hotel.  THEY’RE the ones who put us on the wrong airplane.  My Dad was bumped off an oversold flight once, got stuck in St. Louis and missed his meeting.  He said the airline picked up the tab for everything.  Including meals.”

“I doubt he was on a free ticket,” Brian reminded.  “However…” he thought more seriously about Justin’s rant, smile rising, mind in motion.

Hilo Airport.

Leaving Brian on a phone at RegionAir’s tiny ticket counter, Justin wandered to a nearby shop window and studied its display of shells, jade, sharks’ teeth and coral trinkets - designs carved with such intricate detail.  He looked at and flexed his weak right hand.  If I wanted to, I could have done that easy.  Before.

Business deal closing, Brian saw Justin at the shop.  That look of fascination over someone’s creativity, the darker realization that his own was still compromised.

A tropical dressed, lei-adorned Lady Supervisor interrupted, “Is there anything else we can do to help you?”

Brian turned back, eyed her garb.  “Yeah.  There IS.”

Justin fought back his moment of self-consciousness and was about to sight out Brian when a flimsy ring dropped over his head.  He startled, touched the ruffled white plastic and spun his head back to see Brian’s smile.  “Where’d you get THIS?”

“The Hawaiian Welcoming Committee For Stowaways.”  Brian swung an arm around Justin’s shoulders and steered him to the sunny outdoors.  “Our car should be here in a few minutes.  And we have a room with an ocean view, compliments of Mr. Wang.”

“How’d you manage THAT?”

“I called RegionAir Sales.  They already knew what happened and booked us on tonight’s redeye for the West Coast.  But when I mentioned that they’ll probably end up paying for Mr. Wang’s guaranteed room -”

“Wonder who thought of THAT,” Justin squeezed Brian’s waist.

“- and car,  I suggested that WE use it.  Toward marketing research for a future campaign.”

“Did you hit them up for an expense account?”

Brian stopped outside on the curb.  “I had to make SOME concessions to get the extra night’s stay. Denver, Hilo…what’s the difference?  We’re already here.”

“So,” Justin chided, “When you said research, was that in reference to clubs, bars and au-naturel establishments?”

“If THAT’S all we plan to do, we could’ve stayed in Pittsburgh.”

Justin smiled his satisfaction at the same time a tiny blue hatchback pulled up in front of them and a young Hawaiian Guy jumped out.  “Mr. Kinney?”

“Right here,” Brian answered.

“Can I help with…” Guy looked around perplexed, “…your luggage?”

Brian eyed the size of the car. “Fortunately it’s heading back to Pittsburgh.”  He ignored Guy’s befuddled stare and fished out a couple dollars tip.

Justin saw Brian hesitate before he handed it over and acknowledged Guy’s sunny “Mahalo!” with a bare nod.  Like some disappointment that it wasn’t the ten or twenty he would’ve easily donated in the past without a thought.  To change stream, Justin opened the passenger door and grabbed a map off the dash. “Want me to be the navigator?”

“Why not?” Brian recovered, “It’s an island.  The worst we could do is end up right back here.”  He smiled at the quick tongue flick before Justin slid into his seat.

A few contortions and adjustments, roof brushing his hair, Brian finally settled in the driver’s seat. “This is a first. A car we can’t fuck in.”

“It’s also the first time we ever went away together,” Justin rubbed Brian’s thigh and got an unexpected kiss, side-glanced the blank stares of a nearby Golf Couple.  “I think we just freaked out two people from the Geritol set.”

“Who gives a fuck,” Brian kissed him again, softly added.  “We’re not on Liberty Avenue, but we’re still gay.  And nobody told them to look.”  Brian started the car.

“Speaking of Liberty Avenue,” Justin wrinkled a thought, “Shouldn’t we tell somebody where we are?”

The bedroom was night dark, two men lightly snoring, phone ringing.

Ben rolled over, snapped on a lamp, muttered, “Hello,” then tapped the cordless on Michael’s rustling shoulder.

“Wha…?  Oh,” Michael yawned, answered, “We’re early risers.  This better be good.”  Then his eyes sprang wide.  “You’re fucking WHERE?  Wait a minute,” he swung his legs down and sat up, scrounged his nightstand for a pad and pen.  “Go ahead.”

Ben wordlessly struggled up, slowly donned his sweat pants and tee shirt while listening to Michael’s -

“Well I KNEW you had to be out of the Loft for a few days, but isn’t that a little extreme?” he braced elbows on his thighs, free hand on his forehead.  “Yeah.  I will.  Bye.”  Michael twisted to hand the phone back to Ben.  “Where’re YOU going?”

“To get Brian?”

“Not unless you can bike across the Pacific,” Michael grumbled, crawled back under the covers.

“Michael, you’re not making any sense.”

“He and Justin are in Hawaii.”

“What’re they doing THERE?”

“Probably the same thing they do anywhere else.”  Michael displayed the notepad, “If you’re that interested, he left his number in case of an emergency,” set it on the nightstand, relaxed into his pillow and yawned.  “Ever since they got back together, nothing surprises me.  Go back to sleep.”  He turned on his side as Ben rejoined him, mumbled through a close-eyed smile, “They’re probably in some lush tropical paradise…”

A tiny blue hatchback sits in the sparsely occupied parking lot of an old two-story Hawaiian last outpost.

Song: “My Little Grass Shack” by Amy Hanaiali & Willie K

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