xX... forgive the long absence, won't you? ...xX

I can't stop staring at him.

He's got charcoal eyes and a thin face like a playing card.

From where I'm sitting I can see him staring, not at me, but straight ahead. It's comforting to observe un noticed. Perhaps even without care. When he laughs at a joke his whole face lights up.

The play is rather boring, so I spend most of my time looking at him.

I don't stand at the end. No one does. Instead, we clap politely and think of the millions of things undone while we languished away, awash in words.

words. words. words. jesus fucking christ on a cross.

"That was crap," he says to me when we can stop being polite.

I pass him on the stairs. We exchange glances. Possibly, it's "meaningful". Possibly I think he has a great ass.

We take a cab home. It's bitter cold out, the wind is rather amateur acupuncture. The night is not safe for two gay boys, no matter the inconspicuousness of their dress.

The cab rocks back and forth. The radio plays Christian alt-rock quietly in the background.

I think about his coat. His shoes. His hair. His lips. The small glimpse of Calvin Klein I got when we passed each other in the Bar line. I think about this:

"Hi" I would say, having gathered courage from Lord-knows-where, "Enjoy the show?"

He would say nothing for a while, perhaps he would smile knowingly and look down at his shoe laces.

"It was a tad boring."

No apology in his voice.

"I could do with a cup of coffee."

We would go to a coffee shop and sit for hours talking about:

-Stew (the rocker, not the food)

-Stew (the food, not the rocker)

-Michael Cunningham novels

-dinner plates in funky shapes

-how tulips are the most beautiful

-Lorca's "American" poems

-Manchester U.
-Jake Gyllenhaal

I will feel like I know him better than I have ever known anyone.

We will not stop talking. Not for three hours. The hairy Greek who owns the diner (as all diners are owned by them) will kick us out and he will sit in the park and continue our discourse on the merits of the circus. It will not matter that we are two gay boys and that the city is dangerous at night. We will be in our own little bubble.

I will get his number.

He will tell me his name is -----.

I will not sleep, even when you ask me what is wrong and make me warm milk with honey and not even ask where I've been.

I will wait and wait and wait and wait for him to call.

I will sneak out to meet him when he does, I will not know why I hide him from you but I will. Perhaps because I know the enormity of it all.

I will spend the night at his plate and we will lay on his couch, eating chinese food, and make out. His mouth will be warm and soft and everything I dreamed your mouth should be.

When we sleep together, I will not want the end. I will savor everything.

"We're going to have to be clandestine, my dear," he will whisper into my ear when he returns and puts on boxers.

We will be clandestine.

You will check my texts and find out.

You will cry.

Surprisingly, it won't hurt at all. You will move out. I will not feel any need to reminisce or mourn your loss. He will move in.

First we will just go on a weekend.

Then to Iceland, to see where the earth is still new.

We will buy a cottage together.

Adopt a dog.

Buy china.

I will invest everything in him.

When, in twenty years, he simply leaves one day without saying goodbye,

I will break and destroy every gift he gave me.

I will cry.

For

Forty

Days

And

Forty

Nights.

Somehow, I will pick up the pieces.

Somehow I will move on.

But none of that happens.

"Boring show, eh Dean?" You say to me.

I look up from my thumbs.

Into your dark eyes and pale freckled skin and soft hair and soft baggy sweater.

"The set was pretty," I say.

I move to you and finger your collar.

You smile at me and pretend to be very interested in the program all the sudden,

"I vote on a musical next week."

"Don't leave me," I whisper into your ear.

After I say that, I realize I mean it.

I realize I am so terribly afraid of that moment.

I'm so terribly afraid of having to go on without sleeping with my arm around you.

You look surprised.

"What on earth, Dean darling?"

I realize I am so thankful.

I realize,

["All the words I want to say to you"

And it is not enough.

xX... WON'T YOU REVIEW, DARLINGS? ...xX