FACTORY
Front
242: The Evil That Men Do
The
sunlight steals into my room, assaulting me with its luminescence and robbing
me of sleep. During its merciless attack on my hot skin, it wedges into the
slits of my eyes and pries them apart, only to blind them again with its
radiance. I close my eyes to shut out the light, but I can still see the red
glow penetrating through my eyelids. My hand travels upward to intersect the
trajectory of the sunbeam creating a momentary darkness, like a knight’s shield
blocking a dragon’s fiery breath.
Once
my eyes adjust to the brazen daylight, I begin to discern the familiar confines
of my room. My head buzzes with the incoherent memories of midnight’s dreams
and early morning thoughts. The fuzziness of my soft brain is like a plush toy
in some demented child’s hands, being squeezed and twisted with abandon. With
each squeeze, images from last night leap from my mind and dance before my
eyes. These images help me piece together yesterday’s events. I smile as I
remember I am not alone in my sleep-washed bed.
Last
night’s lover groans softly next to me and shifts his body closer. He lays his
raven-crested head against my shoulder, and I feel his warm breath exhale
softly across my chest. His hand, which had previously rested upon my knee, now
travels lazily up my leg, reaching and caressing my abdomen. His knee lifts and
comes to rest over my leg, creating a sudden rush of heat along my thigh.
I raise
my arm and swing it over, allowing him to rest his head on my chest as I caress
his upper arm. I lean down and kiss the top of his head, inadvertently smelling
the sweet chemical smell of his hair gel still going strong hours after its
application. The intermingled smell of it, along with the remnants of his
cologne, add another tantalizing piece to last night’s memories.
“Good
morning,” I whisper and squeeze his body tightly.
He
lets off a soft groan and lifts the bed sheet to cover himself a bit more.
I
look over at the digital time display on my stereo system and sigh in
disappointment. It’s way later than I thought.
“Jimmy,”
I shake his arm a bit. “Dude, we have to get up soon. I’m not sure when my
mom’s coming back home. And we can’t get caught like this.”
“I’m
tired,” he yawns. “Just give me five more minutes, please!”
I
consider the risk of being caught and I weigh it against how wonderful it feels
to be here in bed with Jimmy. Am I being too paranoid? I reason. Mom
probably won’t be home for a bit.
I
decide it’s worth the risk.
“Ok.
Relax a bit longer. But I have to go to the bathroom really quick. I’ll be
right back.”
I
hate having to slide his head off my chest. But my bladder works overtime in
the morning, perhaps a remnant of my childhood bed-wetting days. I know that if
I don’t get out of bed and urinate now, I risk a deluge nearly as horrible as
Noah’s. Looking at his beautiful body, I decide that is a risk I won’t take.
Entering
the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and nearly
scream. I have become a victim of that hideous affliction known as “Morning
Face”. I quickly do my business, wash up, brush my teeth, and fix my hair. I
even put on a spritz of cologne and deodorant for good measure.
I’m
glad he was too sleepy to open his eyes and see me like this!
My
business done in the commode, I return to the room and dive into the pool of
bedsheets beside him. We resume our prior position and hold each other for a
while, as the sunlight continues its invasion across my room.
“Hmm!
You smell good,” Jimmy says, waking up a bit.
“Oh,
thanks. Yes, I am one of those people whose body produces a natural fragrance,”
I reply, a note of smugness detectable in my voice.
“…That
smells like Escape by Calvin Klein?” he asks. “I don’t think so!”
We
both laugh a great and hearty laugh. Our laughter is cut off simultaneously by
twin yawns. This strange occurrence sets us off on another fit of laughter
which continues unabated for a while, until it tapers off.
“I
had a great time last night,” he says. “What was that band’s name? Front 242?”
“Yeah.
Did you like them?”
“Yes,”
he says, sitting up in the bed. “They were really good. And they were so
friendly! That guy; one of the two singers? He was nice to me. Did you know
he’s a painter? He was showing me prints of the work he does. He’s talented.”
“I
think they’ve used some of his paintings for the covers of their records too,” I
sit up next to him on the bed. My eyes glance nervously at the time on my
stereo and wonder when my mom is coming home.
“You
have all their records, right?” Jimmy asks.
“Of
course! Front 242 is one of my favorite bands ever. I have all their
tapes. As a matter of fact, this year alone they released two new albums and I
got advance copies of them too. That party last night was the record release
party for the newest one Evil Off.”
“I
thought it was something with numbers in it?” he asks.
“Well,
technically the album’s title is 05:22:09:12 Off, but the numbers are
coded corresponding to the alphabet. So, breaking the code we find the name of
the album is Evil Off. Nifty, huh? It’s the same case with their prior
album 06:21:03:11 Up Evil. The title of that one is Fuck Up Evil.”
“You
must have been really bored to figure that one out,” Jimmy deadpans.
“Just
call me the Sherlock Holmes of Industrial music!” I laugh. “Actually, I think I
read it somewhere. I’m not that clever. Anyway, the new album is really hot!
It’s one of the most unique things they’ve put out. They managed to combine
their older EBM style with the New Age-y experimental sound of their last two
albums. Then they added a dash of Techno and somehow it really works. The music
on Evil Off is aggressive, while at the same time haunting and accessible. They
even added female vocals to a couple of songs.”
“Yeah,
what I heard sounded great,” Jimmy said. “It made me feel like I was at a rave
or something.”
“I
could see that,” I agreed. “My favorite tracks are ‘Animal-Cage’, ‘Serial
Killers Don’t Kill Their Girlfriends’, ‘Skin’, and ‘Crushed’.
Those songs are prime examples of that melding of genres they did on this
album.”
“What
about that other record they did? Did you like that one?”
“Fuck
Up Evil? Yeah, it was good. It had some great tracks like ‘Religion’,
‘Crapage’, ‘Flag’, and ‘Mutilate’. But for the most part
the album sounded too mellow for me. I like this new one better. It’s much more
aggressive and hard-hitting. It is like a Front 242 for a new
generation. It’s wicked, evil, and even melancholic at times. This is a band
who has reached out to the future but has not forgotten its past. Evil Off
is Front 242’s best album since Front by Front. I’ll make you a
copy.”
“Great,”
he smiles. “Thanks for taking me last night. Great first date. I had fun.”
“No
problem. Thanks for coming with me.”
Jimmy
gives me a sideways glance and shakes his head. We both laugh.
At
that moment, we hear the front door being unlocked. My blood freezes.
“Shit!”
I whisper as I jump out of bed and scramble to find my clothes. “My mom’s home!”
“What
are we gonna do?” Jimmy asks while putting on his pants.
I
stop for a moment and ponder his question. I’ve been hiding too long. My mother
knows about my bisexuality, but she refuses to discuss it. It’s time I took a
stand and forced a confrontation. After that, things can only get better.
I
look at Jimmy in his half-naked glory and simply shake my head.
“Nothing,”
I say and grab his hand. I pull him in for a quick kiss.
“David?”
my mom’s voice drifts up from the hallway. “Are you home?”
“Yes,
Ma!” I call out. “I’m in my room!”
The
door opens and my mom stands there with a horrified look on her face. She drops
the bags she had been carrying and does the sign of the cross on herself.
“Hi, Mom”,
I say. “We gotta talk…”
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