ROMANTIC BULLSHIT
Justin
Brian hates the new sport jacket Mom bought me, I could tell immediately when I
modeled it for him. He thinks he’s this great stone-face but he’s not. He won’t
say anything bad, he knows I get defensive about my mother, but he won’t lie and
pretend he likes it. He doesn't like my new shirt either, but I really do, I
picked it out myself. He can't stand that I don't button my sleeves, but buttons
are so uncool. Since he thinks he is the epitome of Cool, I don't tell him that,
instead I let him pick out a tie for me to wear to the recital.
I wasn't quite ready when Lindsay and Mel arrived, I was still brushing my hair.
I could hear them shouting at Brian over the loud music. He turned up the volume
the second he heard the elevator coming; for some reason he didn't want to talk
to them. They were berating him for not doing anything for my birthday. I don't
care about that, I wish they'd leave him alone. Brian doesn't do birthdays, he
explained it. I see what he means about it being silly to celebrate just being
born. I sort of still would like to but it’s not really important. Well, it’s
important for kids, but once you’re grown up it’s not necessary any more.
Brian comes over to tie my tie. I can do it myself of course but I enjoy him
doing it. He jokes that my dad should have taught me, and since he hates my dad
I don’t correct him. Dad did teach me, many years ago. But any activity that
gets Brian touching me is fine and when he finishes he even gives me a forehead
kiss, like I’m a good little boy. We share a look and I know he’s reminding me
of the trick we brought home last week who wanted to pretend to be my daddy.
Brian held the guy down on the bed and told me to spank him. I ruined everything
by laughing, the guy got mad and pulled away from Brian, grabbed his clothes and
left. Then we had fantastic just-us sex, which is way better to me than sharing
anyway.
Lindsay hangs back while Mel and I go out the door, and I’m sure she’s harassing
him some more. It’s kind of embarrassing, I don’t need anybody speaking up for
me, but I don’t say anything when we get in the car, in fact I’m kind of
excited, I’ve never been to a recital before. Brian said I’d probably be bored
to death but I wasn’t. Not at all. The guy – his name’s Ethan Gold – is an
incredibly talented violinist. The program said he’d been playing since the age
of four. There was something about him – the passionate way he played, the tilt
of his head, the dramatic movement of his arm on the bow – that grabbed my
attention and made me fumble in my pocket for a pencil.
I drew several sketches of him on my program during the recital, and when I went
up afterward to introduce myself, he grabbed the program and said he really
liked my sketches. He said he wanted to use them for his next CD cover. When he
found out it was my birthday, he gave me one of his CDs that he’d made himself.
I wanted to talk to him some more, but a guy came over to interrupt so I went to
look for Linds and Mel. They took me to Vanelli’s for an ice cream sundae. I got
hot fudge, my favorite, and I laughed when Lindsay pulled a candle out of her
purse, stuck it in the ice cream and lit it. They made me blow it out and said
to make a wish. I’ve had the same wish for almost two years so I didn’t need a
lot of time to think. Suddenly I felt sad, making the same wish I had made last
year. Maybe it was an omen. Maybe it meant my wish would never come true.
Brian
Lindsay ripped into me for not celebrating Justin’s birthday. I loathe
birthdays, I always have. Not that we celebrated them in my family of course,
but other people get really carried away, all because you were born on the same
day as a million others. I’d already given Justin my blistering anti-birthday
speech a few days ago, and he totally agreed with me. Well, he said he did, and
if he didn’t, he should have told me so.
Would he tell me? Well, that’s his responsibility. I’ve pushed him often enough
to be assertive about what he wants. If he wanted a big party or something, he
should have said so.
Justin used to argue with me all the time, but we’ve reached a point where we
agree about most everything. He’s always ready to go along with me, whether it’s
out to dinner or a night at the baths. The kid’s a natural sex phenom, just like
me. He’s always up for a trick and he picks half the guys we bring home. There’s
been a few times that I’ve caught a strange look on his face when we’re fucking
some guy – like maybe he’s bored or at least, not really into it. It made me
wonder if maybe he wasn’t so hot for it as I thought. I could ask him, but
really, it’s his own responsibility to speak up.
And if he wasn’t up for it – then what? Would I stop bringing tricks back to the
loft? Fuck no.
I tried to settle back into my research – I was checking out art in a design
reference book, but Linds had planted one of her fucking seeds in my brain, the
kind of seed that starts sprouting and sending out branches till you’ve got
fucking leaves growing out your ears. She’d said something about celebrating the
fact that Justin was alive and well, after the events of the past year.
Damn Lindsay Goody-two-shoes Peterson.
Okay, I grumbled to myself, maybe she was right. Who cares about turning
nineteen, it’s just a number, it’s not even a significant birthday like eighteen
or twenty-one or fucking thirty. But maybe Linds had a point about celebrating
Justin surviving the past year, surviving the bashing and all the shit with his
dad and his school. The struggle he’s had with his weak hand and the pressure he
felt about earning his own way with that fucking go-go boy fiasco. Maybe that
deserves some recognition after all.
Too late for a party or taking him out to dinner, that’s so mundane and boring
anyway. What kind of last-minute present could I give him, something to really
knock his socks off?
I start wandering around, picking things up and putting them down again. I pause
at Justin’s table – marveling that it’s become ‘Justin’s table’ instead of my
dinner table – where his computer sits, where his piles of books and drawings
are spread out in a mess that I’m always forcing myself to ignore. He needs this
space. I asked him to live with me and he needs his own space, so I have to put
up with it. I glance at the table top, I don’t want to start riffling through
his things or flipping through his books. I know he keeps a journal, but I’d
never read it, it’s private. I’m just trying to get an idea for a last-minute
present.
On top of one pile of papers is a photograph of a Calvin Klein underwear model.
Justin’s always ripping pictures of this guy out of my magazines, it’s really
annoying to be reading a story in the john and suddenly find a page missing. But
Justin’s definitely got the hots for this guy. I’ve no idea why, he’s kind of
thin with long hair and a wide mouth. Hmm.
I log on to my computer and sit down at the desk, bringing up a few websites
with rentboy ads. After only ten or fifteen minutes browsing, I find a photo of
a guy who looks like Justin’s underwear model. Or close enough. He’s got a local
phone number, and when I call, amazingly he’s available for a house call this
afternoon. We haggle a little over the price; I don’t care what he charges but I
don’t need to get ripped off either. I give him the address and tell him to be
here about an hour before I expect Justin to get home. I want to inspect the
goods first. Not ‘sample,’ just inspect, be sure he’s clean enough, hot enough
for Justin.
Turns out the guy is not that good-looking but he has a hot body. I’m starting
to feel a little excitement, thinking about Justin’s reaction to finding this
guy in my bed. Our bed. Our bed. I have to try and fucking remember to stop
saying My Bed, My Loft, My Kitchen, Justin told me it makes him feel like this
is not his home too.
Suddenly I remember the box Justin’s new sport jacket was in, there was a big
red bow. . . Luckily the ribbon and bow are tucked inside the empty box that
Justin has put in the garbage. I arrange the guy on my bed – on our bed – naked
and looking passably hot, and arrange the red bow over his cock and balls. We
smile at each other, he winks at me; and I’m anticipating Justin’s reaction to
his birthday gift. He’s going to be so surprised.
Now I need to find something to do to look busy when Justin gets home – he
should be here soon. I remember noticing that the backs on two of the new
barstools are loose. Grabbing a screwdriver and ratchet from the junk drawer, I
get busy working on the chairs, and I’m just finishing one of them when I hear
the elevator ascending. I race over to the bedroom steps to make sure Justin’s
present is awake – he is, and he winks at me again. Christ I hate people who
wink. Then I’m back at the counter, working on the chair, acting casual and
bored when Justin slides back the door and enters the loft. He looks about
twelve years old in that hideous jacket his mom picked out.
Justin
I was excited to tell Brian about the recital but he wasn’t really interested. I
put Ethan’s CD on right away, I was sure if Brian heard it he’d be impressed. He
was fixing the backs of two of the barstools, they were loose. I probably should
tell him that Daph and I had a barstool race the last time she was over. I need
to call her soon, we’re kind of drifting apart. Brian says that’s normal when
you grow up and go to different schools, but I really miss her sometimes.
Brian’s not showing the least bit of interest in Ethan’s incredible music and I
feel very disappointed. He’s busy with the chairs and I wander back to the CD
player, close my eyes and imagine I’m once again in the audience watching Ethan
passionately playing the violin, when suddenly Brian grabs me from behind, he’s
covering my eyes with one hand and his warm breath tickles my ear as he murmurs,
“Are you ready for another birthday treat?”
I can’t fucking believe it! Oh my God, I KNEW Brian was just bullshitting about
birthdays! I can hardly catch my breath, I throw myself into his arms and give
him a loud smacking kiss. “Where is it?” I demand, pulling away to glance around
the loft, my heart pounding with excitement. But he’s on me again from behind,
covering my eyes and holding me tight. He’s walking me across the floor – then
up the bedroom steps. There must be a surprise package waiting for me on the
bed!
Brian raises his hand off my eyes and I feel the happy smile freeze on my face.
There’s a guy, a naked guy, in the middle of our bed, grinning up at me. He has
a big red bow on his cock.
For a moment I can’t move. I can’t fucking move. It’s like one of the nightmares
I used to have, when I’d be paralyzed, helpless to move away, to get away from
something I couldn’t bear to face. And at first I can’t bear to face the reality
of Brian’s surprise. A hustler, Brian got me a hustler for my birthday. I’m
trying to keep smiling, and I’m trying to breathe, and I’m trying to think of
what to say to Brian, when all I want to do is rip myself out of his arms and go
running out of the loft.
Grow the fuck up! I scream silently at myself. Brian’s explaining that this guy
looks like my underwear model. In a way he does. He has the long hair, the wide
smile. Brian’s telling me to unwrap my present, so I reach down and take hold of
the end of the red ribbon. I’ve seen this ribbon before. Yeah, it was on the
present from my mom, on the box with my new jacket. Somehow that bothers me and
I’m fixated for a moment, staring at the red ribbon in my hand. Model-hustler
gestures to me, so I kneel down on the bed, and make myself turn around and give
Brian a big smile. He did it for me, I remind myself; he did it for me and I
want to look happy.
Brian likes to watch, which is fine, I like Brian to watch me fuck other guys.
I’m not shy about it, and once I get into it with model-guy, I’m enjoying
myself. Well who wouldn’t enjoy himself, fucking a good-looking guy while your
boyfriend watches. Soon I realize that Brian is waiting for me to ask him to
join us – he never barges in or takes over, he always waits to be asked. And I
want him to join us, so I gesture to him, and he smiles and pulls off his
clothes and slides onto the bed beside me. We kiss, and Brian whisper-asks me
what I want him to do.
Of course I want him to fuck me, and soon model-guy is at the head of the bed,
leaning back on the wall. I’m lying on top of him, my back against his chest,
and he plays with my nipples while Brian goes down on me. I reach toward the
condom bowl, and model-guy picks one up, opens it and hands it to me, and as
soon as Brian raises his head, I hold out the condom and breathe, “Fuck me,
Brian.” With a quick laugh Brian sits up, kneels in front of me so I can slip
the condom on his dick. He pulls my legs out straight and raises them to his
shoulders, and then I lose myself inside the incredible, almost unbearable
pleasure of a long and slow and intense Brian-fuck.
Brian
The hustler was a mistake. I sensed it immediately when I took my hand off
Justin’s eyes and told him to look at his present.
Actually, I knew it was a mistake as soon as I grabbed Justin and whispered that
I had a birthday treat for him. He whipped around and threw himself into my
arms. “I knew you were just bullshitting about no presents!” he exulted and gave
me a big kiss. That’s when I knew I’d miscalculated.
Damn Justin. It’s all his fault. He should have told me he wanted to celebrate
his birthday. I’m always telling him to speak up, to ask for what he wants. And
he always does. I think he always does. He was honest about wanting to stay for
the wedding, why couldn’t he be honest about wanting to celebrate his birthday?
Shit. It’s all his fault.
I bluffed it out. I dragged him over to the bedroom, and showed off his
hustler-present like it was a new jeep fully loaded on the showroom floor. I saw
his shoulders slump, his whole body sort of cave in for a moment. Only for a
moment, then he caught himself mid-slump, and I nodded to myself when I saw him
straightening his shoulders. He was okay, it was going to be okay.
Justin pulled the ribbon off the guy’s cock and joined him on the bed. He turned
around and gave me a beaming smile. It was a fake smile, but I pretended not to
notice. When the guy pulled Justin forward and started to undress him, I felt
the vaguest twinge of something. Some sort of feeling that might have been
jealousy in a normal guy. But I don’t do jealousy, well not about sex. I like
sharing Justin, and he likes sharing me. We do it all the time.
Still, I waited till he asked me to join them. Once I joined him, we really got
into it, the other guy was merely a prop. That happens a lot actually, we bring
guys home but many times they’re almost superfluous. It’s fun and exciting to
have extra bodies in my bed – in our bed – but the best part is usually when
it’s me and Justin fucking and sucking each other into oblivion.
We lost track of time, and when I looked at the clock, it was almost seven –
when we were supposed to be at the party for Ben. I quickly got rid of the
hustler – gave him an extra hundred, though I’m not sure why. Justin and I
grabbed a quick shower and threw on our clothes, rushing down the stairs and
into the jeep. The streets were slick so I couldn’t speed as fast as I needed
to, and we were late arriving for the party. Luckily so was Ben. As it turned
out, once Ben got home the party fell apart anyway. Ben flew into a rage,
yelling at Michael and throwing everybody out of his place. Now there’s a man
who says what he wants.
Justin
It was really embarrassing at Ben's place, it turned out he didn't want a
birthday party and kicked everybody out. Michael was devastated, and when Brian
pulled me aside and said he was going to leave with Michael, I understood
perfectly. Brian is always there for Michael, and I didn't mind them leaving
together. Linds offered me a ride home but I wanted to walk, I needed time
alone.
It was not raining but the streets were wet and halos sparkled around the street
lights. Clouds hid the stars and made the night feel gloomy. Or maybe the gloom
was inside me. At first I thought it was because of Ben's anger at the party -
my reaction to seeing the happy excitement die out of Michael's eyes, replaced
with pain and anguish. He's a sensitive guy and he's always getting hurt.
Sometimes I think that's my problem also. I'm too sensitive, I let little things
bother me way too much. Brian's always telling me to be more selfish, to put
myself first, to do whatever I want to do, what's right for me. I just don't
always know any more what's right for me. Once I knew. I remember how I felt
last year, when I was pursuing Brian. I was so confident, which is almost funny
now, remembering. I pushed and pushed and pushed at him, till he finally gave up
and let me into his life. Now I'm there, I'm in the middle of his life, and it's
not what I expected. Somehow it's not enough.
Christ! Of course it's enough, it's more than enough, it's fantastic! Being
lovers with Brian, living with him, being close to him every single day,
sleeping in his bed (our bed), sharing meals and conversations - it's all I ever
dreamed of. All I ever wanted. So it has to be enough.
I knew from the very beginning that Brian wouldn't say he loved me. I kept
waiting and waiting but finally I realized he is not going to say it. I just
have to believe he does. I never used to doubt that, not for a moment. I'm not
sure why I doubt it now. The pissing incident was part of it, but only a small
part.
Brian's always after me to live in the real world, accept reality even when it's
bitter or leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I try to take his advice. Like
going with him to the baths. Like the constant tricking. It's not as if I don't
enjoy myself, usually I do. It's just that I would like something else for a
change. Time alone with Brian when he's not eyeballing every other guy in the
vicinity. Time spent alone, like Michael and Ben did the other night, just
staying home to cook dinner and watch a movie together.
Oh, we've done that, sometimes we do that. But more often Brian's dragging me
off to Babylon or Woody's. Not dragging me, it's always my decision; but if I
want to be with Brian, I have to go along with it. Go along with all the
tricking too. I used to think Brian was joking when he'd say, 'It's all about
sex.' Now I believe him. I'm starting to believe him. If it's really 'all about
sex' for Brian, then maybe I've been imagining that he loves me. Imagining that
I mean more to him than just a live-in fuck.
Maybe I've been blinded to reality because of the ways that Brian has been there
for me. He keeps insisting that his financial support means nothing to him,
since he has plenty of money. Brian always tells the truth, so maybe it does
mean nothing to him. I asked Melanie to make up some loan papers, I wanted it to
be legal that I was going to pay Brian back when I finish school. He was pissed,
he was majorly pissed at me for involving Melanie, but I insisted he sign the
papers anyway. Now he keeps saying I'm an investment that will pay off
dividends. I know he's joking, or anyway, I think I know he's joking. Maybe he's
not.
I can't even be sure that Brian took me in to live with him after the bashing
because he loves me. I remember thinking for a while that he only did it out of
guilt. Everybody thought he did it out of guilt about the bashing, even Michael
and Lindsay. Or maybe he did it out of pity. Pity! That's such a terrible
thought, I can hardly bear it. If only he would talk to me about it, talk about
the bashing and talk about why I'm living with him now. The only time we talked
about it, he said that he wanted to come home to me every night. At the time I
thought that meant he loves me. But maybe it's just because he likes me there to
fuck.
He won't talk about anything to do with the bashing, he's always telling me to
forget about it. I guess he's forgotten. Brian's not the only one who won't talk
about it - everybody wants to act like it never happened. Whenever I try to
bring it up, I get shushed. It makes me feel like it wasn't important, that I
shouldn't still be having these feelings of - oh, of fear and anxiety; that I
shouldn't still be looking over my shoulder when I'm in a dark place, I
shouldn't still be having dreams where I'm wandering around alone in the dark,
bleeding and crying. At least I don't wake up screaming any more. Usually I just
jerk awake and lie in the dark staring at the ceiling till my breathing gets
back to normal. Brian used to wake up when I had bad dreams, but he doesn't any
more. I'm glad, of course I'm glad; I don't need him to wake up and hang onto me
any more, I'm way past that. And I haven't told him that I'm still having the
dreams. Now that I'm back to normal, he might think it's silly. Brian has no
patience for weakness.
Finally I reach the loft and I'm sorry I walked home, I'm exhausted. I used to
have so much energy but sometimes I get really tired, maybe because I'm older
now. School isn't hard, but there's a billion hours of homework every week, and
my shifts at the diner aren't hard, I mostly enjoy being there with Deb and
talking to the regular customers. The go-go dancing was hard, I only did that a
few nights but usually I ended up almost falling down with exhaustion. Thank God
I don't have to do that anymore. Thank Brian, not God. Brian's been there for me
more than God ever was.
Brian
It's late when I get home, just ahead of the three o'clock curfew. It always
makes me smile when I catch myself glancing around for a clock, to be sure I'm
going to make the deadline. Imagine me having a deadline! Imagine me agreeing to
have a deadline.
Justin's asleep, and I try to be quiet so I don't wake him up. He's frowning and
his head is moving on the pillow, as if he's shaking his head, no-no-no. I stop
undressing and watch him, watch his face. He's dreaming, that's obvious, and
it's not a good dream. I hesitate, wondering whether to wake him up or not. He
seems pretty calm - it's not like those horrible dreams he used to have when he
first came to live with me. He'd wake up screaming and flailing his arms,
Christ, it was almost unbearable to see him so upset, so afraid. Thank God he
doesn't have nightmares anymore, he's put all that shit behind him. I don't know
what this dream's about, but it can't be too bad if it doesn't wake him up.
Suddenly Justin's eyes pop open and he sees me bending over him. Immediately he
jerks, his whole body jerks upright in the bed, and for a moment I think he's
going to scream. I just startled him, that's all. I sit on the edge of the bed
and lean over to kiss him. He grabs on to me and I can feel him shaking
slightly, so I kiss him again, and slip my arms around his shoulders, pull him
against me, and he sighs. He's okay.
I break the kiss and pull away slightly. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, you just surprised me is all. What time is it?" I pick up the clock
and show him: two forty-seven. "That's cutting it close."
"I was with Mikey," I feel compelled to tell him. Which is stupid, I don't need
to explain my whereabouts, that's not part of the agreement. Somehow I want to
tell him anyway.
"Is he okay? Does he know why Ben got so freaky at the party?" Justin sits up in
the bed, hooks his arms around his knees as I stand and finish getting
undressed.
“He’s okay.” Full stop. I don’t discuss Michael with Justin. Or Justin with
Michael.
Justin nods; he knows my rule. He watches me get undressed and holds up the
duvet so I can slip underneath and slide right into his open arms. He’s so warm,
it feels so good lying with my body pressed tight against his. I’m ready to kiss
him, but I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should ask about the hustler,
ask if he maybe didn’t like his present. But I don’t ask, because. . .because. .
.I don’t need to. Justin knows he can always be honest with me.
Justin
I’ve got a two hour break between classes on Monday afternoons, time for lunch
in the cafeteria, time for a walk to stretch my legs. Usually I wander around
the perimeter of the art studios of the advanced students, or stop by the
library to peruse the large-format volumes of art books. This Monday I take a
different route, not really paying attention to where I’m going.
I end up in the music building, wandering in the back hall by the practice
rooms. I’ve never been here before and I don’t know how I got here. In the
distance at the end of the hall I can hear violin music streaming through an
open door. I’m going that direction anyway so I wander over and peer inside.
It’s him. His back’s to the door and I hesitate a moment, start to turn and walk
away, but something holds me to the spot. Then he turns and looks at me.
I’m feeling uncomfortable now, but I take a few steps inside the room anyway. He
offers me tea and I’m tempted because my mouth is dry, but I shake my head no.
He asks about my birthday, if I had a big party. I tell him my boyfriend doesn’t
believe in celebrating birthdays. He says, “That sucks,” so I assure him it
doesn’t matter, I didn’t really want a party anyway. Then he goes, “No, it sucks
that you have a boyfriend.”
My God, he’s flirting with me.
Ethan says what he’d do if I was his boyfriend. He’d bring me breakfast in bed,
and play his violin, and make love to me a hundred times. I turn it into a joke,
ask, “All that before lunch?” but he doesn’t laugh. Just looks me in the eye and
says, “Yes.”
I turn away, I need to go. I don’t have class for another hour, but I really,
really need to go. As I hurry down the hallway, I can hear Ethan begin playing
his violin again, and the lilting song of the violin strings fills my ears with
a haunting romantic melody. Two hours later, in life class, the song is still
repeating over and over inside my head, I can’t stop hearing that melody. And I
can’t stop thinking about Ethan Gold and his dark passionate eyes.
Brian said he’d be home late Monday, he promised to help Mel and Lindsay pick up
supplies at Home Depot, their friend Leda is remodeling the attic so Linds can
have a studio. Lindsay says when it’s done, I can come and work there with her
sometimes, which will be wonderful. I wish she taught at PIFA, I’d love to take
a class with her.
I can’t seem to settle down to my homework assignments. I pick up a book and
read a few pages, put it down again. I flip on the tv for about ten seconds, and
flip it off. Then I glance through some of my Rage sketches, and underneath them
I find Ethan’s CD. I pop it in and turn the volume up loud. The new barstools
are easy to push around the polished wooden floor. It’s almost like dancing. The
music is so moody, so hauntingly romantic, I hug the chair to my body and slide
around the floor, twirl around and around while I hug the warm leather cushion
of the chair. I’m not thinking of anything. I’m not thinking of anybody. I’m
especially not thinking about Ethan Gold or his dark, dark eyes and the curly
hair hugging his cheeks and his neck. I’m just lost inside the music swirling
round and round inside my head. Not thinking about anything, just dancing to the
music. Not thinking about anything at all.
Brian
Fuck Melanie and the horse she rode in on. Big mouth know-it-all, preaching to
me about what Justin wants, what Justin needs. Lesbians and their romantic
hetero crap. She says I should send Justin roses. Not fucking likely.
So it’s strange when I find myself stopped at the flower kiosk on Liberty
Avenue, staring at the bouquets of flowers.
I’d left my car at the loft and Lindsay picked me up so I could help the
munchers get construction supplies at Home Depot, and I’m enjoying my solitary
walk home through the dark early evening streets, the cool night air burning
inside my nose, the tips of my ears growing cold. I cross the street and stop
dead center in front of the flower stand. Something makes me reach out and pick
up a bunch of deep red roses, hold them to my nose to inhale their sweet
fragrance.
The flower seller interrupts my reverie, offers to wrap up the roses. No doubt
he is picturing me taking flowers home to the little woman. There is no fucking
little woman, there’s only a fucking little man, and he’s a gay man. We’re both
gay men, and Justin knows better than to expect any romantic bullshit from me.
Quickly I replace the bouquet and turn away, turn my back on the flowers and
romance and gestures of love and all that ridiculous God-damned shit.
It’s cold and I shove my empty hands into my pockets as I walk off down the
street toward home. Justin’s waiting for me. Maybe he’s fixed dinner, or maybe
he wants to order in a pizza or some sushi. I pick up my pace and cross the
street, in a few minutes I’ll be home.
When I enter the foyer, I can hear violin music drifting down the elevator
shaft. It's progressively louder as I climb the stairs and get closer to my
door. I'm already sick of listening to that CD, the classical melody sickly
sweet and sentimental. I'm tempted to pull it from the machine and send it
flying, like a frisbee, out the window.
I pause with my keys in hand; pause for just a moment, wondering what Justin
would do if I came through the door carrying a bouquet of roses. Would he throw
himself into my arms, like he did before I showed him his birthday present?
Would his eyes light up with surprise and happiness? Would he laugh out loud and
hug me tight, smother my face with his kisses?
Yeah. Yeah. I'll bet he would. Maybe sometime I’ll do that. Not tonight, but
sometime. After all, there’s no rush.
5/15/02