Times Squared - August 1, 2009

"I’m just getting off the elevator. It’s 32-07, right?”

“Yah. I walked to the door and looked through the peephole into the corridor as I ended the call. He was two steps away when I turned the latch and pulled.

“It’s so humid out there.” Was he more animated than he’d been that morning? He moved into the room as I shut the door behind him and followed. “I love this hotel.” He was looking onto Times Square below. The floor-to-ceiling windows glowed with moving lights.

He turned from the windows, moving to where I stood in front of the sofa. He set his iPod and billfold on the coffee table then put an arm around my waist and pulled me into a kiss. I closed my eyes for a second and let myself feel a memory that he didn’t.

When he stopped kissing me, he smiled and pulled on the collar of my white shirt. “That was nice.” I didn’t speak. His fingers moved from my collar to the buttons that ran along the front of my shirt. He pulled gently at the first three. I wasn’t looking at him and he paused to pull my glance into his. He curled one corner of his mouth into a grin and kissed me quickly.


* * * * * *


Train 2251 departed Penn Station in New York at noon. I’d walked the ten or so blocks along 7th Avenue from my hotel. Each step was another opportunity to turn around, to pretend that I wasn’t exploding with thoughts of my past and what I would find in Philadelphia.

I stood on the cracked concrete outside the train station. There was a teenage couple leaning against a low wall. I couldn’t tell if one of them was leaving. He leaned into her for a kiss, pausing to gently brush aside the strands of hair that played in the city breeze. I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, the train delivered its passengers to Philadelphia. The air was sticky and thick outside 30th Street Station. I climbed into the back of a dark blue cab. “Eighteen thirty-five Arch Street, please.” The driver muttered a response and maneuvered the taxi into light Saturday traffic.

The city was hazy with early afternoon on the first day of August. I leaned into the seat and wondered how random life is. Atlanta, Chicago, St. Louis, Pensacola… Philadelphia. It was a strange city for Tyler to tell me goodbye.


* * * * * *


"You can pay for that back here.” The guy behind the counter was around my height, thin with dark blonde hair and an easy smile. I swooned a little.

“Thanks.” I crossed to the back of the store where he was positioned behind a small counter.

Rainbows & Triangles is a gay bookstore on 8th Avenue in Chelsea. The owner is a trippy bear with a goatee and fantastic taste in music. The front part of the store is dedicated to carrying out the mission implied by the name of the place. The walls and shelves are lined with pride stickers, patches, candles, flags, underwear, candy and so on. The main counter is along the north wall of the shop and there were two cubs engaged in a serious conversation with the silver daddy at the register.

I rested the book I’d selected on the counter. The clerk was now bent over behind the counter searching for something in a box that looked like it had been recently delivered. His voice was muffled, “Sorry… just a sec.”

“No worries,” I replied. His t-shirt was coming up his back exposing smooth, (not overly) tan skin. There was a small mole just above his waistline to the left of his spine. I wondered if he’d had it checked out.

As I was contemplating his possible melanoma, he rose suddenly with an armful of plastic bags. He’d caught me looking at him and he flashed a knowing grin. “Find what you wanted?”

“Yep.” I was noticeably casual.

He picked up the book and flipped it over to the back. “Band Fags!” the name of the book. “He’s been in here.” I looked to my right with puzzled eyebrows, not following.

He placed the book on the counter, opened the back cover and pointed to the author’s photograph. “The author. Frank Anthony whatever.” He closed the book and handed it to me. “He’s been in here before.”

“Really.” I said because I didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t read the author before but I liked the declarative tone of title. It was solid and definitive; both qualities appealed to me that morning.


* * * * * *


He walked back to the windows and pulled the sheer curtains closed on the city. My voice was nervous when it sounded, “Do you want something to drink?” I crossed to a table in the corner of the room. “I have water.”

“Out of the tap is fine. The bottled stuff’s expensive.” He’d stepped out of his sandals.

“It’s okay,” I said, turning the cap off of a bottle of Evian. I pulled a handful of ice from the bucket I’d filled thirty minutes earlier. They clinked loudly as they bounced into a glass tumbler. The water cracked the frozen cubes as it rushed to the bottom of the glass to consume the coldness of the ice. I handed him the glass and felt the charged warmth of his fingers as they brushed mine.

I listened to the sounds of his body consuming the water; watched the movement of his throat as it gulped. The room was still with silent sounds of intimacy. The unnoticeable became vibrant with the brushing sounds of skin against fabric, mouth against glass and the humming city beneath us.

He finished his drink and set the glass on the table. Straightening, he removed his watch. It was green rubber, meant for running. His yellow t-shirt came off next. I turned toward the one lamp that was lighting the room. “Do you mind if I turn off the lamp?”

“That’s fine,” he shrugged. It was all so careless.

My fingers were cold. They struggled for a second under the shade before I remembered that the light switch was on the base of the lamp. I flicked it off before turning to face him. The room was blue with the illumination of the streets of Manhattan. He stood in the middle of it, twenty-two and living.


* * * * * *


“Yes?”

“Hey, this is John. I’m in the lobby.”

“Great. I’ll be right down.”

The building was beautiful. The exterior was brick and stone, a memory of the way that cities were built before they became disposable. Inside, the marble was light and polished, with shining fixtures and wood fittings. I stood just past the elevators and tried to check e-mail on my phone. My fingers were too cold to manipulate the tiny keys.

I heard the elevator doors open and I looked up. Dave hadn’t changed much. He was still beautiful with olive skin and gleaming black hair that curled slightly at the ends. He spotted me with a smile and I noticed there were a few more lines along his eyes than there had been seven years ago.

“John!” He was on me with a hug. I closed my eyes and smelled Atlanta and Brian and Tyler and happiness. Pulling back, he kept his hands clasped on my shoulders in a fraternal kind of posture. It fit. He and my cousin had felt more like brothers to me for years.

His eyes searched mine; mine his. “It’s good to see you.” He hadn’t stopped smiling.

I felt a sudden, uncontrollable surge of emotion and memory. I inhaled deeply before speaking, trying to keep myself contained. “You look great, Dave. Really, just… you look…” I felt myself falling, trembling and coming apart. Tears were forming and I was struggling to stop the heated streams that fought to break from wells in my eyes.

Dave didn’t falter. “Let’s go upstairs.” He pulled me into the elevator like a wounded patient under the care of a physician.

He pushed the button for the twelfth floor and seconds later the doors closed. “I’m so sorry, Dave.” I was embarrassed and sloppy with him. “I started a few months ago,” I explained with a glance of shame and bewilderment, “and I can’t stop. Anything. Anything sets this off.”

He enclosed me in another hug. “Hey, it’s okay, John.” My face was pressed into the space where his shoulder and neck meet. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.” The time, the distance didn’t matter.


* * * * * *


I shook my head, “No worries.” Hadn’t I already said that? “Go ahead.”

He smiled cutely. “Cool. I’ll just be a second.”

While he was assisting the guy at the computer, I noticed the music that was playing. The song had just changed from Melissa Manchester to Dionne Warwick’s I’ll Never Love This Way Again. I smiled at the image it brought to mind of a drag queen I’d seen perform the song at a club in Portland. It’s a torch song that still calls to the most hopeful of sequined chanteuses. I sang along quietly as I glanced through a trade magazine on the counter.

“You like that?” The young clerk had returned. He’d forgone his position on the other side of the counter to lean against it next to me.

I’m sure I blushed. My pigment declares every emotion I posses. “It’s a great song.” I admitted with an apologetic glance.

“Hmm. This CD’s a new one.” He turned to lean his back against the counter facing the opposite direction toward the front of the store. He pointed at the owner with a nod. “He makes his own mixes and plays them over and over and over.” His head and eyes had rolled in-time with his speech to drive the point home.

The left side of his face pulled upward, “Still, it could be worse.” Moving behind me to resume his post at the register he patted my forearm, “It could be country.”

Goosebumps appeared on the skin he’d touched. “Sounds like a trip.”

“He has his moments.” He cocked his head, shifting gears. “Where you from?”

I grinned, “What if I told you I’m a local.”

“Really?”

I chuckled, “No. I’m from Missouri.”

“Missouri?” He smiled, “Like Kansas?”

I laughed, “Something like that.”

“That’s cool, I guess.”

“You guess?”

He was ringing up my book. “Yah, you know like farm boys and stuff. It’s sixteen forty-seven.” I handed him my debit card. “I’m from L.A., so I never really got to see much outside of city and beach.”

“How long have you been in New York?” I asked.

“I came here for school. I just graduated NYU in May.” He swiped my card and handed it back to me.

“Congratulations,” I responded putting my card back into my pocket.

“Thanks.” He started to put the book into a bag.

“ I don’t need a bag.”

“Cool.” He paused and leaned against the counter. “When are you going back to Missouri?”


* * * * * *


Dave’s apartment was clean and cool. I was standing along a large window with a wide view of the city beyond. It was all so full of movement and energy. So many stories, experiences and feelings; I saw in my mind a tiny thread spinning into a glowing chord with no end.

“Here you go. No ice.” He handed me a glass of cold water.

“Thanks.” I took a long drink. The room was quiet and light. I set the glass on a coaster on top of a stone cube and crossed to an imposing book shelf. “Is this your…?” I examined a framed photograph of Dave and a fare-skinned man in front of the Duomo in Milan.

“Partner.” He finished the sentence for me. “That’s Reed.”

“Reed?” I moved to sit next to him on a long, tweed sofa.

He pulled one leg under himself and turned to face me. “We’ve been together almost four years.”

“He lives here?”

Dave smiled, “Most of the time. He’s an auditor of KPMG. He travels.”

“Are you still traveling for work?” I asked.

He shook his head, “Not as much. When I do, it usually means there’s a problem on construction or I’m being called in to help the pitch on a big project. What about you? Last I heard, you were working for Sprint.”

I raised my eyebrows at the reminder of how much the details of life have changed; mine and his. I used to know Dave. I used to play Nintendo games with him and Brian in Kansas City. We used to laugh at Daisy Duke’s cleavage and hang out at Oak Park Mall before it became massive.

“Uh, no. I left Sprint in late 2002. I’m at MU now. It’s good.” I wanted to change the subject; get to the point before he could respond with polite chat. I looked away. “So do you still have it?” It was abrupt, my statement and the change in mood.

Dave’s smile faded into something more serious. He stood and left the room without a word. I leaned forward clasping my hands and resting my elbows on my knees to steady them. Several moments later, Dave returned and sat next to me In the same position. In his hands was a small envelope. The corners were bent, but the handwriting that had spelled my name across the front was unmistakably Tyler’s. With two fingers, Dave extended the envelope to me. I took it from him and turned it in my hands feeling the cool paper and the weight of its sealed contents.

The tears were back. I tried to speak but it came out as a whisper. “Thanks.” He rested a hand on my knee and I fell apart into him. “Oh, fuck,” I choked out. Dave moved his hand and pulled me into him with his arm. “This shouldn’t matter anymore.”

To his credit, Dave was silent. He squeezed me close and let me melt. After a couple of minutes, I stood up and breathed. “My life is so completely unidentifiable from what it was – who I was then.” The tears weren’t stopping, but I was managing to keep them contained within their deep pools. I crossed to the window and looked out, refusing my own reflection. “I’m trying to fix myself and I don’t really remember what I was before I was broken.” I wiped the water from my eyes quickly. “I hate this.”

Dave stood behind me, but kept his distance. He didn’t’ speak. There was nothing to say.

“My family has shit on you, Dave.” A whisper, “I am so sorry.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t owe me that.”

“It’s just such a stupid mess. I’ve tried like hell to keep myself together; to keep moving away from this.” How had he done it? How had Dave recovered from Tyler and Brian and Atlanta? It seemed like it had never been my life, except for the hurt. The hurt was mine and I couldn’t remember what it felt like before.

His hand was warm on my back. I shivered at his touch. “I’m sorry, too.”

I turned to face him with a puzzled look, “For what?”

“I’m sorry for each of us, including Tyler. We deserved better.” I let him hold me. “You believe that?"


* * * * * *


“I’m headed to Philadelphia to see a friend this afternoon.”

He smiled with a crinkled expression that was young and so completely unfettered. “That’s cool, man. You driving down?”

I couldn’t help but smile back, “Taking the train, actually, and coming back tonight.”

He leaned forward resting his elbows on the counter across from me. “Have you been to View Bar?”

“Not this trip,” I responded knowingly.

“It seems like your scene.” He’d raised an eyebrow.

I laughed out loud, “What… is my scene?”

“You know… just kind of… laid back and relaxed.”

I winced. “I can pretty much assure you that most people who know me would not use either of those adjectives to describe me.”

He nudged my right hand on the counter with his fist before straightening back up. “Maybe you need to find new people to know you.” His hand extended toward mine, “I’m Michael.”

“John,” I said shaking his hand, “It’s good to meet you, Michael.”

He extracted his hand and still smiling, took a pen from beside the register and scribbled numbers onto a bookmark. “This is my cell.” He reached across the counter and slid the bookmark into my book. “If you get back into the city and want to hang out tonight or something.”


* * * * * *


I leaned against the window of the moving train. The glass was hot in the closing rays of the sun as it rested beyond the coast. My cold flesh consumed the heat wanting the trembling within me to subside. There were only a scattering of other passengers onboard.

I hadn’t spoken since I asked the cab driver to take me to the station in Philadelphia. The hollowness of my soul was familiar. It was the same emptiness of feeling, thought and direction that accompanies grief. It’s a complete removal from a life and universe that shattered hearts don’t often understand.

The letter was heavy in my hands. My head still against the window, I looked at it moving in my hands. I lifted it to my face and inhaled, wanting to find the familiar scent of sandalwood and Perry Ellis that I’d known for two years of impossible love. I wanted to hear the Mammas and the Papas and feel the movement of him against me. There was no scent, no music or Tyler, only more welling tears.

In a quick, unexpected movement, the letter was extracted from the envelope. My tears were unstoppable as I realized who had held the paper in my hand. I was suddenly twenty-three and the incalculable weight of the infinite was falling around me again. I leaned forward in the seat, curling into myself as tightly as I could and feeling the aloneness that surrounded me.


* * * * * *


“I didn’t bring any lube or anything.” He pulled the sheets and covers from their neat tucks and starched corners. They fell across the bench at the foot of the bed in a crumpled pile of expensive fabric, slightly worn and indistinguishable from what they’d been.

He crossed into the bathroom. “There’s good lotion in here, though.” He came out with a small, amber bottle and stood in front of the bed, in front of me. He tossed the bottle onto the bed and began removing clothes.

After pulling off my shirt and belt, he stopped to kiss me again. I exhaled when he stopped, missing the warmth of his skin against mine. My flesh rose in response to the sudden, familiar cold.

He rubbed his hands over my shoulders and arms. “You’re a good kisser.”

There was split-second, forever silence as Michael’s face, his voice became someone else’s. I whispered, “You’re so young.”

“Twenty-two.” He didn’t understand. “You’re not old, anyway. How old are you?”

I closed my eyes and tasted the hurt in my throat. “I’m ten years later.” Before he could respond, I pulled him into me and silenced him with my mouth.