Steve loped down the hall of an upscale apartment in Provincetown,
his tail sweeping the floor as he went. He straightened picture frames
with his front hooves and head, while, unbeknownst to him, his
back end inadvertently knocked over lamps, tables, and poked holes in the
walls with his six-foot long serrated spikes.
Steve wanted everything to be perfect for his and Rex's
anniversary dinner. Their relationship had been off kilter ever
since “the incident,” and this would be an opportunity to launch a fresh
start.
Then again, Steve wondered if he would ever be able to trust Rex
again. The image of Rex and that woman had been
seared into his brain: the way he had tossed her around like a rag doll only
reminded Steve of their own personal shortcomings in the bedroom.
It was also a side of Rex that he had never seen before. The
fact that he could defy his own natural instincts merely to inflict pain on Steve
was truly frightening. A part of Steve had gone extinct
that night, and he knew that he would never be the same again.
He was placing fresh flowers in a vase in the bedroom when he
heard the front door open and close, followed by a mumbled greeting from
Rex. In that moment, he wanted to drop the vase, rush into the
den, and throw his hooves around his lover, but then he heard the sound of
the television, and he knew that Rex would be sprawled out on the
couch--probably crushing it--and for the next thirty minutes he would vegetate
in front of the evening news. His first words would almost certainly
be, “What’s for dinner?”
(Rex took it for granted that Steve would have prepared something,
and yes, Steve had trapped a rather succulent goat that morning, and then let
it run loose in the back of the apartment, just the way Rex liked. Rex
would fool himself into thinking he was a mighty hunter, but would he even
bother to compliment Steve on his hard work? Doubtful. No,
he would scarf down the entire goat in a single bite and then ask if they had
any horse or donkey.)
Steve’s mood deflated. Rather than rushing into Rex’s
tiny forearms, he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
Ten minutes later, he cautiously ventured to the front of the
apartment. As he neared the living room, he heard the sound of
hushed voices. Who was Rex talking to? He quickened
his step, causing the apartment to shake violently as he thundered into
the living room.
Rex was facing the window. He turned when he heard
Steve approach, a guilty smile affixed to his face.
“Steve, Baby!” He said, trying to guard the window with
his massive bulk.
Steve tilted his head and caught a glimpse of a pterodactyl on the
fire escape.
“Who’s that?” Steve asked. “Rex, who are you talking
to?”
The pterodactyl squawked, “Call me,” and then flew away.
Rex’s smile cracked and faded. “It’s no one, Babe. Just
the building inspector.”
“Why does he want you to call him?”
It was then that Rex’s green eyes narrowed into that look of pure
reptilian hatred that frightened Steve so. “I can’t win with you,
Steve. No matter what I do, you’re never going to trust me.”
“I just want to know why that stupid bird on the fire
escape asked you to call him. I think I’m entitled to an answer.”
“Don’t worry, Steve,” Rex said, his roar dripping with
sarcasm. “I wasn’t going to make out with him like a diplodocus at a
dinner party if that’s what you were thinking."
Steve recoiled. “When are you going to stop throwing
that in my face. I was drunk. I never would have
given Terrance a second glance in the sober light of day.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
Steve rolled his eyes and affected mock laughter. “Oh
my God.”
“Yes, oh your God. Oh your God.” Rex paced the living
room like he was stalking a kill.
Steve’s eyes began to water. “I don’t know what I did
to make you hate me so much.”
“Oh, don’t start this again,” Rex said in a dismissive
tone. “You’re so damned manipulative when you do this.”
Steve sobbed. “I’m sorry if my pain antagonizes you.”
“You know what, Steve? You stay here and play the
victim. I’ve got better things to do.” He stormed toward
the door, tearing clumps out of the carpet with his claws.
“Go on then. Run off to your slutty
pterodactyl. See if I care.”
“Bah,” said the tyrannosaur. He took a swipe at the air
with his tiny forearm, and then he was gone.
As the door slammed shut, Steve collapsed in a heap on the floor
and shook with grief. He had planned the evening so
carefully. How had it come to this?
Slowly, he became aware of a voice in the room. It was a human’s
voice. A male human’s voice. He looked up at the
television and saw that it was tuned to a 24-hour news channel. A
pundit was railing against gay marriage.
“Marriage is supposed to be between a man and a
woman. It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” said the talking
head.
“Or Rex and Steve,” thought the dinosaur ghost.
“My bible defines marriage as being between one man and at least
one woman. We can’t go changing that now. We can’t go
redefining words willy nilly. It will confuse the children. And
when you get married, the preacher is supposed to say, ‘I now pronounce you man
and wife,’ not 'man and man.' What does that even
mean? They’re already men! It doesn’t change
anything. See? It renders the whole ceremony
meaningless.”
Steve felt a flash of anger. He reached out and stomped
the remote control, smashing it into a thousand tiny pieces. The
talking head continued to drone on and on with ever more fallacious
arguments. Finally, Steve could take it no
more. His roar shook the complex.
