Surface Tension, 2026

Oil and mixed media on panel
From the artist’s ongoing exploration of emotional depth and male intimacy

Excerpt from Repositioning

Day Nine

From Edward's Point of View

After dinner, the four of us went to the Commodore Club for a drink, said goodnight, and retired to our

respective cabins.

I sat alone in the snug, thinking about dinner and about how Jack had used my two big mistakes as markers in the timeline of our relationship.

He’d said it offhandedly—“the morning of your big fuck-ups”—like it was just another entry in the record. The words had landed softly, wrapped in camaraderie, laced with that crooked smile he wore when teasing. But they’d stayed with me. Obviously.

He wasn’t wrong. They were fuck-ups. One born from wallowing in my own self-pity. The other from my instinct to reward people without asking them first.

What struck me most wasn’t the jab. It was that he could say it without flinching. That we’d reached a level of trust where a wound could be acknowledged without being reopened.

That was new to me.

That was us, now.

Still… I made a silent vow in the quiet of the snug: no more “big fuck-ups.” And if there were to be any, let them be ours, together.

It all made me lonely for a certain mop-topped gentleman I knew. So I texted…

“What are you doing?”

“Reviewing my script.”

“Is it all there? Is everything good?”

“All good!”

“You want me to… track lines with you?”

“You dope. Run lines… that could be fun.”

“Come on down.”

“Okay.”

Three minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

“Hello,” I greeted.

“Good God, Edward!”

“What?”

“You took off your tuxedo and changed into a three-piece suit to lounge in your own private space?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

He indicated his own attire, shorts and a T-shirt with an exasperated expression.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

He huffed a breath. “It’s easy. You take off your tuxedo, you put on shorts and a T-shirt. It’s comfortable.”

“You look cold.”

“I am not cold.”

“Jack, you have to understand that I am comfortable this way.”

“Okay. Okay. I can bend. I’ll bend. I’ll try to get used to this… level of formality. I mean, it is gorgeous. You are absolutely beautiful. But I feel like I should be making your bed, or getting you a beverage, or maybe cleaning your pool.”

“Oh, stop it, Jack! It’s just clothing.”

“It’s camouflage!”

“What?”

“It’s armor! It’s deflection!”

“No, it’s not. It’s who I am.”

“It’s a reflection of who you are. Not who you are!”

“It hides the worst parts of me!”

“Okay! Okay! Now we’re getting somewhere!”

“We are?”

“Yes!”

There was a pause between us. I felt trapped.

“What are you feeling?” Jack asked.

I stood silent.

“It’s a simple question, Edward. What are you feeling?”

I took a few more moments to answer:

“Trapped.”

“Trapped how?”

“Like you want something from me I can’t give you.”

“I don’t want anything from you that you can’t give me. What I want from you, you can easily give me, Edward.”

“What’s that?”

“Truth. Your truth. I want you to show me who you are.”

“But….”

I paused, thinking of ways to get out of this conversation.

“But?” Jack repeated. “But what?”

“But I believe I’m doing that.”

He took my shoulders in his hands.

“Edward, what are the worst parts of yourself that you’re hiding beneath this armor? Because you keep talking like that’s all there is to you. And I’m tired of it.”

“What?”

“Just moments ago, you said that this suit hides the worst of you. What is the worst of you?”

“Jack…”

“God damn it, Edward, come here…” and he dragged me by the hand to the floor-length mirror. “Where are the worst parts of you?”

“Jack, I’m very uncomfortable with this.”

“I know you are, Edward. But I want to show you what I see. I am not uncomfortable with you. I don’t understand why you are. Let me show you what I see. Will you let me do that?”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t let me be! You’re being merciless!”

“Oh, buddy… If you don’t know by now…”

Jack stood me in front of the mirror, with him behind me, looking over my left shoulder. I couldn’t look at myself. Not like he wanted me to.

He started, “Now look at this head.”

“What?”

“No talking. I’m talking. You look. I talk. Now look at this beautiful head,” he continued, with me going numb. “This is a remarkably beautiful, well-formed skull, Edward. There is nothing to be ashamed of here. Bald men across the world would give their souls for a skull like this. And look at this skin.”

“What about my…”

“Shush!” and he grabbed my shoulders and shook me. He continued. “This skin is perfectly toned,” he said, catching me as I looked away. “Look at it.” And he gently brought my attention back to my face. “You have these gentle wrinkles that show that you have lived life, but they belie the damage that’s been done…here.” He touched my chest.

All the while he was gently touching me, guiding my eyes to where he wanted me to look. “And these eyes. Edward, how I adore these eyes. They tell me almost everything I need to know about you. But the other part needs to come from here.” And he gently reached down and placed his hand on my heart. And he kissed my neck very gently. I took a sharp, surprising breath of air. And let him continue.

He then began taking off my suit coat.

“No, Jack…”

“Stop talking, Edward!” he snapped. I flinched like a boy caught in the headmaster’s office and stood at attention.

Once he had placed my jacket neatly on the bed, he returned and began unbuttoning my vest. He took his time with each button. We stood in silence in front of the floor-length mirror as he undressed me from behind, his arms encircling me. Having placed the tie on the bed, he returned to my shirt. He said, “I must admit to you I am looking forward to seeing all your fur, Edward. I loved the tease I got the other day. It’s been on my mind quite a bit. I mean… a lot.” And another kiss. When he had unbuttoned the last button on my shirt, I started trembling. “Are you cold, Edward?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He took his hands to each side of my unbuttoned shirt and spread the shirt open.

“My God, Edward. How beautiful you are!” He stood frozen, just staring at me with a gentle smile. His chin rested on my shoulder. After a few moments, he sighed and took the shirt, folded it neatly and placed it on the bed. “Tell me what you see, Edward. Can you do that for me, please?”

“I don’t know.” I answered.

“Can you try? For me?”

“I see… an old man.”

“Is that all you see? Is that all there is to him?”

“What do you want from me, Jack? Just tell me what to say.”

“I want you to see more than just an old man, Edward!”

“But…”

“Oh, my God, Edward! If you say, ‘but that’s all I am,’ I will fucking leave and not come back.”

“Jack!”

“Edward!” he countered. “Tell me what is really there in that mirror!”

I stopped and looked. I thought through the age.

I saw the boy who tried to keep his brothers comfortable when their father became unhinged.

I saw the young man who sat beside his mother’s hospital bed because no one else would.

I saw the friend who talked Gianni off the edge during a particularly bad time with Antonio.

I saw the man who stood up to abuse in the only real relationship he’s ever had.

I saw the fool who tried to buy a better cabin because he didn’t know how else to say, ‘I like you.’

And I saw the man standing in the mirror… trying. 

For Jack.

No.

For me.

And I saw that none of those men were cruel.

None of them were… small.

None of them were… unworthy.

“I see…” I said, my voice shaking, “I see a man who tried.” And I thought instantly that I had never thanked him.

“Well,” Jack started. “That’s something, isn’t it?”