King Perry by Edmond Manning

can feel more of him drip over my knuckles.
    Wow, that worked well.
    A few minutes later, another door clangs open and shut. Perry whimpers, daring to make sound. The nameless guard should roam outside for another fifty-five minutes, checking smaller buildings and walking the winding trails. Now would be a good time to leave.
    Easing myself out from behind, I turn and face him, allowing him to lean back against the wall. He wheezes as I pull him close to me.
    “Prison break. You in?”
    He makes no reply, but his head nods against my shoulder.
    I am so fucking happy right now because I finally get to say those words. I have always dreamed of bringing a man I love to Alcatraz as part of his King Weekend. Tonight, that dream is realized. Poor Perry. His nightmare is a years-long fantasy of mine. He is my Alcatraz King!
    Focus up. I need to hear his voice to make sure he has returned.
    “Dude,” I say, adding a sense of urgency. “Escape from Alcatraz. You in?”
    Now that I’ve teased him for using the word dude , I should start using it. That ought to drive him a little nuts.
    “Yes,” he says, the word sounding crumbly. “Yes, please.”
    “This might go easier if you pull up your jeans.”
    I give him space and soon I hear the distinctive jingling of a belt buckle. Every prisoner in Alcatraz knows that sound. Perry takes my hand, and I navigate us around the door. When we reach the moonlit galley, we rub our sore eyes in irritation and appreciation.
    I kiss him deeply, and he kisses back. Perry’s so excited by what happened that right now he can’t be angry. It’s like a magician who rips up your twenty-dollar bill, but the trick is so cool you say, “Wow, do it again.”
    Does Perry know what happened just now? Does he understand? Probably not yet.
    I take a few moments to fix the flooring so that no one else will see which piece I’ve altered. Tomorrow’s tourists may tug at this door bolt hard as they want. It won’t budge.
    I’m so fucking happy; I will always love this amazing night.
    Perry wobbles around me while I work, occasionally walking down the galley but staying close. He’s a dog off leash, eager to race away but somehow reluctant to stray. I look up once to find him grinning at me, that same shit-eating grin I used on him at the art gallery on Tuesday.
    God, he’s handsome, smiling like that. I lunge to kiss him, and he responds with equal intensity.
    He wanders behind me, a human helium balloon tethered by my right hand. I walk him to the exterior door that leads to the yard. Perry follows willingly, still drunk.
    “Nevada, stop. Let’s put on our ski masks.”
    There’s no reason; we won’t encounter the guard for a while. I just think it would be more exciting to escape from Alcatraz wearing ski masks.
    I get out the tools to fix the exterior door and pause to study him.
    In his ski mask, he nods.
    It only takes a moment to make this work right again. I should change out those screws, though, get some new ones and blacken them up. Next trip.
    I nod at Perry when I finish, and we join hands. It’s fucking hilarious to do this without words. Where’s Sean Connery when you need him?
    My heart soaring, I lead Perry down the metal staircase with its spider web shadows. Speaking right now seems pointless because the ocean shrieks at the top of its lungs. I’m not sure the ocean has lungs. But each individual wave must have its own unique name, and each wave insists on introducing itself at once. The sound is deafening.
    Obviously, we’re still adjusting.
    Perry and I hold hands as we sprint across the moonlit prison yard and descend the stone stairs, lower and lower, further and further, stone stairs, stone stairs, stone stairs, until 106 steps later we reach the Roman safe house.
    Perry moves with catlike energy. The ocean regains its normal cacophony, a word I frequently use in association with an ocean. Cacophony. Good word. I wonder how soon I can talk to him about word stuff