The apartment was crowded and smelled like mildew, dust and bananas. A wooden bowl of over-ripened fruit in the middle of a 70s style kitchen table with orange-back chairs appeared to be glowing a soft light of pale yellow, as I sat staring at it from the couch, stoned out of my fucking mind.
"Tony," he said, his hand on my knee, "can we use your room?"
I figured a bedroom would be the best place to be, for the things I knew how to do, knew how to give, but he wasn't exactly looking for just that from me. I should have known, but didn't, probably because the pot was so strong, and my senses were off, but once he got me into the room, and we both lay upon a very worn comforter, he began to ask me question after question.
"Why do you do what you do?"
"How old are you?"
"Don't you feel dirty?"
"Don't you want more?"
I'd been asked all these questions before in my life, but somehow, coming from him, I wasn't capable of giving my straight-forward, rational, well thought out and long, firm answers. I answered in one word answers. "Just because." "Eighteen." "No." "I have everything I want or need."
"Are you happy?" he asked me.
"Yes, I am," I said, and that's when he kissed me.
And I thought, good, now we can just get these clothes off and stop all of this wondering, and we'll just have at it and we'll have a great time, and maybe we'll do this once in a while and that will be that.
But that wasn't that, and what happened wasn't having at it, it was having in it, having around and inside it, having lightly touched surfaces go so deep when, with such delicateness, you'd think it not logical.
And I could not stop touching his face with my hands. And I thought, man, that was some great pot, and that's the only reason I'm feeling any of this, most likely, just some really good pot, that's it, and that's ok, ride with it.
But hours later, outside on the stone wall that seems to mark the middle of Acushnet Avenue, yet usually ends up the end destination of cars, motorcycles, vans full of headbangers and concert groupies, dealers and whores... we talked, quietly, surrounded by the loudness of the city noise.
And it was peaceful. And the high was long gone. And I didn't want him to leave. And I wanted to just stay, to watch the sunrise. And so we did.
We drove to the beach and took pictures of seagulls and a sunrise that, when I look now at those pictures, not faded at all, I remember why so many choices were made back then, all those years ago, and I think it all made sense. Even when I didn't want it to make sense, when I didn't think I was ready, it just did and I was.
Posted by nft at January 21, 2006 09:27 PM