"I'll see you later. Maybe we can talk more about doing a joint lecture after we go to the conference."
"Sure, Alan. Talk to you later. And thanks for the book. I'll take a look at it and tell you what I think." I waved goodbye to my colleague, Alan, and headed to the quad between the academic buildings. Now that Spring has arrived, it's nice to take a break between classes and sit outside. I brought a notebook and pencil so I could put in some writing time on my new book. I found my favorite spot--a bench in the midst of a stand of small trees. From there, I can see the entire campus going by, while remaining hidden from view. It's the perfect place to think.
After my ticking watch and a relentlessly blank piece of paper mocked me yet again, I decided that my hideaway was the perfect place for daydreaming, too. I closed the notebook with the realization that no words would be flowing onto the page today. Instead of fighting it, I let my mind wander while I watched the students coming and going--each one involved in their own personal dramas. "Can they see mine?" I wondered. As it so often does, when left to its own devices, my mind roamed towards thoughts of Michael--my partner, my lover, my friend, and so much more that words can't describe. I should be more articulate about it. I'm a writer, after all. But when I think of him, words sometimes fail me.
Sometimes my thoughts are pleasant memories of our first meeting, and all the subsequent firsts: the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, the firsttime we fought, and the first time we made up.
Once in a while, the thoughts become darker and more frightening, as if my mind was screaming at me to "Wake up and face reality!" The 'lasts' outline themselves in my dreams: the last time we'll kiss, the last time we'll make love, the last time we'll fight, the last time we'll make up,
...and the last time we'll look on each other on this earth.
A glance at Michael's infectious smile, the feel of his warm, energetic spirit, and a laugh from deep within his joyful soul, all wrapped in sexy little body, can chase away the darkness like a star-filled sky brightens the night. The darkness remains, but its frightening power is transformed into something beautiful.
There are also times when my thoughts aren't of firsts and lasts, but of everything in between --all that has been, all that is now, and all that could be. Yearning is a word I've heard and spoken and written, but never felt to my depths, like I do now. I yearn to make every moment with Michael stretch to infinity.
I yearn for the times we argue about the inconsequentialities because arguing about toilet paper up versus toilet paper down tickles me. It's so normal that it hurts if I think about it too much. Every moment of normal should be savored like fine wine and treasured like gold. Every moment of normal is a shield against the abnormal to come.
I yearn for the times we fight about the important things. The emotions left cut and bleeding on the floor, remind me of life and why it's worth waking up every day and being thankful for another breath, another sunrise, another opportunity. Even if it's painful, at least I can feel it. The alternative--not to feel, not to bleed, not to be--sucks, to put it bluntly.
We always make up, sooner or later. We retreat to our respective corners, lick our wounds, and meet back in the middle, stronger than ever, battle-worn, but ready to reconcile because that has always been the sweetest part--the knowledge that we can take a licking and keep going. We're drawn back to each other again and again. He comes to me and charms me into submission. I go to him and try my best to devastate him with my need.
I yearn for our moments of laughter to become the longest, deepest laugh we've ever shared. When the inevitable arrives--when there are minutes, hours, days, and weeks filled with pain, suffering, tears, and dying--we can look back on the memory of laughter, hold it close, and remind ourselves why we're still here and why it was worth it.
When we make love, I yearn to stay connected until the other side of time, buried in a warmth that bathes me with its loving glow, surrounded by a tangible love that holds me up when I want to fall, pulls me along when I want to stop, spins me in every way possible when I'm tempted to stand still and let the world pass me by. I yearn for every tug and whirl with a passion that could be overwhelming--should be overwhelming--but instead, makes me feel like I've finally come home.
The best and worst of the thoughts are in my dreams--sleeping dreams, waking dreams, daydreams that describe a life that could have existed in a different universe. They're dreams that chase me when I forget about "the now" and dare to look forward to the "could be" or "could have been." Those fantasies should have been my right, if fate hadn't had a different plan for me. The dream future has taken on its own reality--its own pulse. It breathes in and out when my mind takes a break from reality.
Ben is so centered. He's so wise. He's so accepting/peaceful/together.
I know what people think. I WANT them to think it--usually. But sometimes I don't. Sometimes, I yearn to let the secret Ben out of hiding.
Centered? Yes, but sometimes off-kilter. Many times, I'm trying to find my balance in a world that will betray me--that has already betrayed me. In a body that will betray me and rob me of the one thing that's fully my own--my life.
Wise? Maybe, but baffled into stupidity by the path that led me to this point. I'm confused and looking for the answers to the ultimate question: "Why me?" There will never be an answer, so I rail in ignorance.
Accepting? Hardly. I've learned to bury the fight deep enough so it can't consume every waking moment. Deep down, I'm screaming in rejection of my shortened time here--not with the loudest voice or the strongest will. At best, I can win a battle or two and delay the predetermined outcome.
Peaceful? Sometimes. Especially since Michael. There is everything that came before, and then there was Michael and everything that came after. Together? I don't know. Every moment spent with Michael has been heaven, even when hell tries to intrude. Sometimes I wake up at night and pull him closer into my arms, where I can feel him, smell him, and see him through the pitch darkness of our room. That's when I feel together. That's when everything feels...right.
I have them all believing in that other Ben, thinking that he's the real deal. Even Michael fell for the act at first. And he was the first victim when the idol fell off its pedestal and kicked him with its feet of clay. For the first time since I had achieved a fragile sense of peace, I had felt terror rip through me. Even more than the doom with which the doctor had blessed my head--on the day that I was supposed to be celebrating one more year of life, ironically--the fear that I had crushed an opportunity--maybe THE opportunity--frightened me to the core. That trip to Michael's apartment hd rushed by in a blur. My words of apology and explanation hadn't been as difficult as I thought they would be. It was the waiting that had been hell. Those few seconds had stretched interminably. It was one of the few times that I wished could have been over faster. Then suddenly, it was. Michael was holding me. Michael was loving me--every saintly/human, peaceful/chaotic, centered/dizzy, wise/foolish bit of me.
And so the dreams had started.
We found a cure. It's over.
We made a mistake. You're negative.
Happy birthday, honey. I can't believe it's been ten years, thirty years, fifty years.
When did we both get so old?
"Hey, handsome. Why are you hiding?"
I looked up, the dream disintegrating in tiny shards of silver. There he was, as if my mind had conjured him with the power of thought. "What are you doing here, Michael?" I didn't really care about the answer. I wanted to grab him and smother him with kisses, to lay him down in the grass and make love to him until we were both exhausted, to pull him into my dream and make it come true. My mind fragmented with all the possibilities and I felt a tightness in my chest, a pounding of my heart.
He sat next to me and pulled me down for a kiss before answering. His hand rested on the back of my neck, grounding me. "Things were a little slow at the store, so I thought I'd surprise you for lunch. You're a hard man to find."
"How DID you find me? You can't see the bench from the quad. No one can ever find me here." I drank in his presence, touched his face to make sure that he was real. Shook at the incredible texture of love made flesh against my fingers.
He smiled with a brilliance that lit every dark corner of the world and a secretive sparkle in his eyes that clutched at my heart every time. "I guess nobody knows you like I do."
There's a place that I travel
When I want to roam
And nobody knows it but meThe roads don't go there
And the signs stay home
And nobody knows it but meIt's far far away
And way, way afar
It's over the moon and the seaAnd whenever you're going
That's wherever you are
And nobody knows it but me