Backseat Devil

Month: March, 2013

Chapter 14 – Fly Away

His last day in Houston and he sat at the first leg of Terminal C hearing his parents and the twins chattering about the upcoming Kingdom Hall building plans.  It all faded into a low grumble of nonexistent emotion about a nonexistent future in his soon to be nonexistent present, as many of the conversations had become in the past month with the absence of David.

In the subsequent weeks after the party he saw Ollie a few more times.  New Orleans was a blast.  He first showed up with a whole new set of clothes and a new cap, looking stunningly dapper with his freshly shaved angular jaw and ready-to-rape piercing blue eyes.  After their third encounter, he told the young escort that he was leaving to New York.

Ollie took it hard, and gave James a remarkably simple and sentimental gift that James kept private… and was currently on his person as he is a nervous flyer.  Being with him was the closest I’ve ever been to flying, so if the plane goes down, maybe I will have a chance?  He isn’t superstitious, but all kinds of rules are bent when it comes to air travel.  For a young escort who had absolutely nothing to his name, he gave the only thing he had to spare, and to James it was the most important gift he received during his entire departure tour.

The workers at Feathers (and later at the Gold Room) gave him a fantastic farewell party.  Ozzy was particularly concerned about the situation but was  supportive, giving him a scarf sure to spruce up any ‘dull church outfit’.  Billy occupied the night with last minute lighting design changes to his almost finished play, what looked to be a rather dark masterpiece of this young, straight, muscle jock theater director.  Brit and Derrick sat with him the next day at House of Pies, and even China Doll sitting a few tables over in her thick Chinese accent had to scream her goodbye to the entire restaurant… ending in grand applause for someone everyone eating didn’t know.

He spends a month with his ‘nose to the grindstone’ in order to prep himself for the goody godly goodiness that lays ahead.  He thinks he has everything out of his system, except Ollie, or… even worse… what Ollie represented.   He comes to grips with the fact that this was a luxury that straight people go through and this was not something he, as a homosexual was ever going to experience while serving in the Organization.  This was a fact that cuts him deeply.

He is at his core soft and sensitive.  The hard-working douche exterior is a facade used to keep people at bay and prevent anyone from asking too many questions.  Even if questions are asked, he has no problem taking the lie down to the very core of his sole in order to keep up the appearance of the Golden Child he was bred to be.  But the reality was that he is skinless and exposed at all times causing him to cry often at night, and he finally found strength in other people… people who are just like him… people who didn’t think he was better than them, people who humble him because of their strength and next to them he feels the ‘completeness’ that everyone on the straight side keeps talking about… sometimes sexually, sometimes in a bar fight, sometimes just sitting around with a straight friend watching gay porn trying to design lighting cues for a staged production he will never see.  All these people are condemned by Jehovah (or at least by his servants) and they were the same people that made his soul leap from the weak comfortableness in lying to everyone he knows to the integrity and honesty of a structure like is seen in his father that he so often admired.

Maybe we all need to take different paths to be the best people we can be?

It was conversation that doesn’t lead anywhere with David.  There is only one path.  The path is through Jehovah.  If you get there through another way, that mean’s you’ve got Satan’s “angel of light” shit going for you.  You know this.

I know this, but I’ve never… FELT… it… this… whatever.

It is easier to change the subject than to discuss it as neither person knew what it is there was to discuss.  Feeling everything the Organization told them to be as ‘good Christians’ by stepping away from their dogma and surrounding oneself with the energy of the world isn’t exactly an easy discussion to have, much less justify.

The grand time of enjoying the world is now over and everything he learned would be put to good use… even if he wasn’t sure what ‘good’ was anymore.  It seemed absurd that a person like his molester can continually rape him and still progress in the organization without admitting anything to the elders (of which, he eventually became), and yet those that embrace who they are as sexual beings are considered so ugly in the face of Jehovah that they are only listened to through a thick spiritual demon-proof plexiglass cylinder that surrounds the Witness but keeps out the heavenly-offensive sinner.

The time is gone.  With each page from Ollie… His time is gone.

This will never be repeated.

The heartbreak comes from saying farewell to ‘Honest James’ and the people who helped him understand his own psychology through their gracious sharing of their sociology and style.  His Witness  going-away party is about as emotionless as struggling through a heavily one-sided and disconnected surreal foreign  movie.  The effects are nice, but the lack of interest is not going to be compensated with shredded meat tacos or Tejano music.  Everyone is there from all over Texas – the history of James until now – a happy and lighthearted “This is Your Life” muted and in black and white.  And with each new attendee, he only sees the blind and the innocent.

There is such legitimate honesty in their truth but their truth is less than 1/1000th of what the world actually was as a composite entity.  The laughter and congratulations, the emotional outpouring of support and happiness are misplaced against the real loss of what is lost in the longing that he had to just stay stationary and learn… learn everything there was to learn about people in the deepest corners of the world making their way through the day with addiction and tolerance, substance and coping skills, or blissful avoidance and smiles.  He wants to walk where others walked and run in paths unclaimed, run so hard that the arrogant condescension of the religion he was attached to would drown in the backdraft and dissipate it’s judgmental flames into it’s own honest consistency of thin smoke and ash.

The plane is boarding… or so he is told.  Suddenly all eyes are on him.

He tries to be witty.

He tries to play it off.

Waaait!

Loud clumping footsteps of overused Doc Martins are coming closer with a very out-of-breath white boy dressed in blue polo shirt running to catch everyone at the gate.  He slows down to catch his breath as the other guy in a blue polo shirt meets him out of earshot of the others, speaking only into the pupils of the other.

I can’t believe  you came.

I know.  Normally I wouldn’t.  You know… not the cool thing to do.

Well this is the nicest not-cool thing ever.

I know.  

They embrace in a way that speaks a conversation of loss and pain, hellfire of loneliness and confusion, abandonment, and paths slightly turning into different, seemingly opposite directions.  It was a touch which teared up in the heart and snaked its way into the eyes meaning that this one person will have to be the last person he embraces with any reality as the countdown from now until full weeping was a minimal five minutes, maybe six at best.

Don’t… go crazy up there.

I promise nothing.

Well, at least don’t die.

Least of all, I cannot remotely promise that.

I know.

The soft whispers release the embrace and the two similarly dressed guys separated and were careful not to look each other in the eyes.

Half-hugs to the twins under the guise of needed to get to the parents.

Half-hugs to the family under the guise of being late to board the plane.

Where is David going?  You girls want to go eat?

Yeah, we could use the company.

Call David.

Don’t.  

You sure?

Yeah. 

Goodbye, Son.  Call us when you get there.

I will.

He boards his plane.  Window seat.  He sees a big green truck in the parking lot just sitting there.

When the captain gives the signal, James leaves his window seat for the laboratory.

He screams in pain.  It is a pain he has never felt before.

From the tiny toilet in the back of a 757, he immediately begins construction on a structure to avoid ever feeling such loss ever again.  Loss as a whole… people, life, sex, love, hope, honestly, and faith… it was all so fragile and beautiful.  Most of all it’s all integrated together in a finely woven silk sheet of energy threads and if one anchor fails, the entire fabric unravels… and with one lift off, it was all unraveling.  It is impossible to cope with on the flight without causing more scars than were already going to be carried with him for the rest of his life.

I guess I had a heart after all.

Back at the seat he broke out the fake ID he had purchased in his last trip to New York while 42nd street was still in its seedy state. He is legally over 21 now, so he doesn’t need it anymore, but… still… for old time’s sake.

Jack and Coke, please. 

I.D. please?

Certainly.

Oh. You’re heading home.

So I am told.

Here you go. Let me know if you need another.

Thank you.

He places a bracelet on his seat tray.

He toasts a goodbye, a thank you, appreciation for what was, and for what will never be. He thinks he can barely see the lights of Houston dying in the background haze and he wanted to thank each bulb… the collection of them, the wires linking them, the designers and the engineers who created the visual, the installers, and the maintenence people who flip the switch to light the night for those like himself, sailors on the dark rivers of asphalt and mischief. For the nicity of everyone, the function of their society… above and underground… working together, Thank you. To the gay brothers and sisters who have the courage to be themselves, out, and humane to each other, Thank you. For taking on a stray cat and keeping him safe while he learned void of scars or trauma (except those left on his clients), Thank you.

For allowing him to see the true nature of who he is, Thank you for the rest of my life.

He places the bracelet back in his pocket. It was too much to get to specific people just yet.

Ma’am? I’m going to need one more.

Of course,

When exercising the muscle of hope, one must always be prepared when hitting “the wall”.  It was one of the last lessons he was learning… how forcing something not ready to manifest itself could be made worse with the lubrication of drugs and alcohol.

Did you want me to make it a double, sir?

No. Just the one. And a water. I have a long evening ahead still.

A long evening tonight, the rest if his life tomorrow.

James P. Perez © 2013

Chapter 13 – The First

Through the years of puberty and adolescence he felt he was missing out on a greater emotional consciousness. Guys would talk about women with such longing that seemed to border on seasickness-like continuity.  If they were Witnesses they couldn’t wait for the day of their marriage for what the evening will bring.  The world is different in many ways, but all religious fundamentalists across the platform think straight sex before marriage is a grievous (albeit natural and thus forgivable) sin.  The “wicked” world assigned many generalities to sex, but the two most common were either yet another distraction of  avoidance, or a spiritual-like reverence.

The straight guys at Feathers talked about their women with substantial and weighty fragility and honor as if sex is one of the most delicate dance interactions between two humans that could lead to new levels of appreciation, or spin the dynamic into treachery.  The payback of such a strong return originating from something so delicate means going into a sexual situation requires an adult application of forethought.  This is different than the almost disrespectful eagerness that comes from some men who wait until their wedding night.  Any person with a strong sexual maturity in the straight world came with a remarkable knowledge-base of humanity in general.  There is a noticeable pattern that straight men who had sex regularly have no real objection to gay couples getting married.

He previously assumed all worldly men were ravishing hard-ons of discrepancies, the opposite of those who were blessed by having Jehovah God in their lives making them strong enough to wipe every evil thought from one’s being.  As he is a miserable failure on this, he then developed a two-prong problem:  Not only does Jehovah not love him enough to make his path of coping easier, he did not love Jehovah enough in order to properly convince his God to help.

1 Corinthians chapter 7:9 says, “But if they cannot exercise self-control, they should marry. For it is better to marry than to burn with passion.” (ESV, 2001).  It was a scripture that never made sense to him.  Who would burn with so much passion that Paul… anti-woman, anti-gay, anti-fun, big-stick-carrying possible friend of Dorothy Paul, would even have to admit that sometimes two people’s energy are so intertwined, getting married would be LESS of a distraction?  He had never found anyone of this sort of arousal, especially not in women.

He had been having sex within the boundaries of his set rules, with a few minor exceptions due to the idea that the situation just ‘aesthetically’ called for alteration in the plan to take advantage of… opportunities.  He is having fun and learning, but at no time has he been so inflamed with passion the result would be a burning sensation in the chest or a longing to have a person closer to him than was physically possible.  He had certainly seen more than enough people burn with passion for him, but it was hardly anything he would return in feeling or desire.  Some people he had a fondness for, but mostly there was an aesthetic additive to the mix and less from-the-gut-to-the-heart-and-by-pass-the-mind electrical explosion, the path of which… some people have described as “a fire in the chest”.

His passion is art.  Art is his only creative indulgence-driven outlet he had for his emotions.  It is never going to amount to anything… it is ART.  No one in Jehovah’s Organization makes money on ART.  It is an argument he couldn’t win, and it is true, all the good art made Witnesses think too much… and one cannot spend brain energy on the opinions of a non-Witness artistic expression and their point of view on a world that is going to be destroyed at Armageddon.  Any stray from the End of Days “reality” is a moment where Satan can hijack one’s mind and heart, so what is the point in paying attention?  There is no point.  Painting will always be nothing more than an expensive hobby for him.

He related the passion of attacking the canvas with the way a newly married man would attack his new wife’s body for the first time she undressed for him, for them, for the sex they were about to enjoy. Relating it to creating a painting is as much intense zeal as he could give anything.  Art made him happy, but he never felt he had that layer of joy a straight guy has when fucking a woman for the first time.  That level of excitement and anticipation was still evasive to him.

It was evasive to him until the moment Ollie is sitting on his lap.

The entire day of waiting and daydreaming, the nervousness and playfulness, the dances between innocence and mischievousness, so young in their presentation but still carried enough strength so that the room filled with flickering light the moment the blue-eyed escort straddled his legs and relaxed the weight of his body on the thighs.  The world beyond the walls disappeared into frozen nothing, birds stopping in mid-air or the Third Ward stopping in mid-nothingness.  There was a candle-like glow emanating from between them… almost visible between the separation of the pale and tanned skins.

They move in closer but hold still, blue and hazel intensely focused on each other.  There is a foreign thumping coming from… near.  He wasn’t sure… it was…

Ollie’s heart.

He stopped to appreciate the reverberation, as if it was the first time he ever heard a heartbeat before… or even cared.  There is a moment where intelligence shuts off and the primal kicks in.  Then intelligence comes back and say “Hey, why don’t we work together on this?”  He noticed a lot of guys, gay or straight, never really get to the part of the conversation where evolution and the evolved work together in their process.  His mind bouncing between the two aspects of male humanity in a sexual situation was like bouncing between the Tasmanian Devil and a seasoned ballet dancer.

The kiss was known territory and yet it still hit with more punch than it did the first time.  The kisses earlier in the day were the only allowable forms of affection and interest… a tease of what may never happen.  The kiss now is the beginning of sensual discourse, a start, a diving board, a form of balancing and synchronizing the two energies so that they can coordinate and proceed as one.

The decade of the inability to relate to his straight counterparts finally came to an end.  Often he would ask himself Who would put themselves through all that pain? about people who met, fell in love, and got married in the time it takes an Olympian to clear the 100 meter dash. While watching the room’s reflection in the blue ocean of Ollie’s eyes he finally gets it.  If this is what a heart filled with passion felt like, he had two forms of releasing it into the universe:  Artwork, or sex.  Currently there is no canvas to be found, but there was a white inked hottie, and at that moment he attacked his companion in a way he has never attacked a stretched piece of canvas before, causing the lighting in the room to shift from a candle-lit glow to a vividly dramatic spotlight.

Once naked, they were attached, raw and a perfect fit.  The primal comes up again, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this” it seems to say.  He doesn’t know how he’s doing the things he’s doing, but he’s doing them… and he’s doing them well.  They roll around, laugh, and increase in momentum.  Brilliant and beautiful, both right there matching movement to movement as if they were longtime dance partners who knew each others steps as if they were his own.  The younger more experienced escort let himself go and would take control just long enough for James to catch his breath.  The power of energy bounced back and forth several times until James took final control.  The home stretch, the feeling of the inevitable.  He had felt it so many times but now it was a mix of awesome and “fucking-hell”.  Sex always had a well plotted story line with a beginning, middle, and end.  This time he didn’t want it to end.  Why should there even be an end?  He thought about ways to last longer.  Baseball.  Women. Grandma.  Ugh!  Nothing is helping!  For the first time he realized, when one is with someone they find impossibly sexy, the whole world becomes very sexy… even Grandma with her perfectly pressed hair and well moisturized skin and pinched-rouged cheeks.  If the world was sexy, then nothing will prevent what is going manifest according to the way these two incredible energies deem it.  It is an ignited primal instinc out of his control.

And it was beautiful.

For the power of the passion he could not hold it in any longer and completed the intense live performance beyond art inside his companion while simultaneously slamming the blonde head into the wall as James stretched for the slightly-out-of-reach window sill over them in a final act of attempting to leverage stability for the exhaustive release.

Pause.

I’m sorry for that.

Damn.

Are you okay?

I am… just fine.  Thank you.  

Did you cum?

No, man.  I’m not going to cum tonight, but I definitely wanted you to.

You… are so fucking sexy.  I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer.

Man, I’m gonna have to try you out sometime when I’m not on drugs.

James responds with a kiss.  That, is going to be my favorite complement ever.  I promise.

Can we just lay here?  Ollie asks with a remarkably innocent delivery.

Of course.  James lays his head on his white skin covered with nothing more than a few tattoos and a rainbow bracelet on top an exposed mattress drenched in pleasure.  But we’ve been gone for over an hour.

Shit!  We should go.  We will cuddle later.

I’m holding you to that.

James needed to clean up a bit.  Ollie, in ardent joy, decided not to clean up… anything.  Both guys stood in the doorway of the restroom and kissed once more.   It was just as intense, but sad.  This kiss is a ending.

Arriving back at the party started with crossing the pregnant woman once again.

We’re back.

How are you holding up?

I’m fine.  But is it possible to get a glass of water?

Of course.  Is that pillow enough for you? 

If you can spare another that would be great. 

We’ll be right back.

I thought about going up there, but there’s just so much moaning.  So I just drank some from the faucet down here.

Do not go up there.  Jack would freak out if he knew there was a pregnant woman in his home.

At the top of the stairs he was glad to see the cute astronaut has made it free of the confusing perplexities of the kitchen’s diabolical puzzle of mixed drinks is now trying to tackle the inept failed mechanical engineering of the VCR to get the porn back up and running.  There are less people in the living room, but he’s not sure how many as the sight from the bedroom distracted him.

Jack was tied to the bed, right hand to the headboard and the left hand to the foot board, ass facing the hallway, and being tagged-teamed by Derrick, the skinny boy with full erection, Ben, and a cucumber.  Apparently there was a moment when everyone went flaccid and God’s vegetation had to take over.

Ollie was already in the room announcing our successful return.

Oh thank god.  Pack the pipe.  Quick.  It’s right in there with the… no, the other side.

James comes up behind Derrick who was standing beside Ben.  I didn’t spend your money. 

Dude, this is crazy.  He gets on the stuff and nothing is big enough.  And I’ve already came like, three times.  So has he.

It’s wild.  Ben says.  

By the way, your wife is doing fine.  I’m going to get her some water and hopefully find a pillow that doesn’t have lube on it.

Serious?  Thanks man!  Tell her I’m going to check on her in a sec.

It might be a little bit, he’s being reloaded.

Damn.

Wait, she told you we were married?

Yeah.

We’re not married.  We are going to get married.  I’m just… you know… trying to do the right thing.

James had no reaction except he wanted to hug Ben and tell him to run, run far far away.

That’s good of you.  Don’t worry about her, I’ll make sure she’s okay.

Thanks so much, man.

Derrick stops him.  Can you get me some water too?

What am I?  The fucking waitress?

You’re the only one with your clothes on and not covered in lube.

So make yourself useful.

Hey, I just make deliveries.  I’ve made my money for the night.  You two still have to keep working.

Ben gives him a half punch in the arm.  Dammit… and for another two weeks for the amount of shit you brought.

Sorry.  James rubs both guys shoulders and shakes his head.  No one will every believe this.  My first crack orgy and I’m the Mexican help.

Everyone laughs.

Jack perks up.  What are you laughing at?  Are you laughing at me?

No, we’re laughing at James.

Oh.  Then carry on.  Did you take any for yourself?

No, we had to go to a few places because of the amount, then we came straight back here.

Well take some for yourself.  There’s plenty.

James leaves the room, finds a discarded pillow in the corners of the living room, and retrieves a plastic cup of water for the lying whore downstairs.  He doesn’t talk with her because of a non-existent pressing matter he must tend to.  Then he takes the time to straighten out the single-occupant living room, ending with starting the VCR for the young man so he can not focus on it and not stroke his not erect penis.  Might as well check the kitchen.

The kitchen wasn’t bad.  The cooler was left open.  Some tops to a few bottles were missing.  Nothing tragic.  Ollie comes in and gives him a kiss.  Stop being the maid!

James smiles.  I really want to see you again.

I really want to see you, too.

They did a hurried exchange of pager numbers using whatever scraps of paper they could find.  They talk for a bit more.  James doesn’t hear a single word or even knows what is coming out of his mouth.  There is a sharp, wonderful monotone constant in the ears that warmly numbs the skin and the brightness of the kitchen has been lowered in volume so that it is nothing more than a shadowy moot point.  Eventually they stop talking and just hug.  Enjoying the them.

I have a fantastic idea, is heard from the other room.  Ollie!

The two guys join the gathering crowd around a tall naked Jack freshly tweaked.

I am moving this party… to New Orleans. 

That’s my cue to go, James says.

I will pay for everyone’s ticket.  You don’t need to pack anything, we’re only going to be there for about two or three days.  We will get you new stuff there.  Who’s in?  You?  You?  James?  New Orleans. 

I can’t.  I have work.  Real work.  Not Feathers.

Real real work? 

Yes.  I have actual responsibility beyond all… this.

Good.  I’m not going to compete with real work.  Anyone else?  It better be legit.

I as well.  Derrick raises his hand.  I work with James.

So you both work at Feathers and you both do real work as well.

Derrick was making himself a Jehovah’s Witness and an Assembly Hall volunteer in one fragmented sentence.  It was hardly believable.  Jack doesn’t know the back story, but there was no way Derrick is going to pass for an office worker at a religious-based construction hierarchy.

I work in computer drafting, and he works with my father in the welding shop.  We all work for the same construction company.

You work… in a real welding shop?  HOT.  Okay, real work people must stay here in the real world.  Ollie, gather up… whats-his-name and the other guy.  Ben.  You coming?

Let me go ask my girl.

You have to ask permission?

Well, she’s pregnant and really far along. 

Okay, well if you need to use the phone, go ahead.

No, she’s just downstairs.

Wait.  WHAT?  There’s a pregnant woman… in my house??  Oh my… GOD!!

It was more ‘disgust’ than ‘freak out’.

Ollie walks up to James as Derrick gathers his clothes.  Are you sure you can’t come with us?  We will have a lot of time to ourselves.  Maybe even our own room?

I would love nothing more than an all-expense paid vacation with you.  But I cannot, under any circumstances, leave my job and family for three days.  I… am… truly sorry.

It’s okay, man.  I guess now I know just how much I really mean to you, he said in faux sulk.

What Ollie doesn’t know is how the fake nip bites harshly in James’s heart.  It is painful to pass up this opportunity.  What may outwardly seem like a casual easy “no” response to something so exciting actually inflated a tremendous battle between legions of religious foes, raging in violent war for decades… placed in time frame starting with Jack announcing his “wonderful idea” until this point.  The fake twist to how the events are interpreted were seemingly harmless to him, to the world, to reality, but to James it just confirms that the battle to support the religion of his youth came at a cost of his own true emotional understanding and humanity.  Understanding is not a cookie-cutter development, and his had been stunted by the weight of this religion.  Now he is seeing the glorious exquisiteness, and the depths of its pain.

Scriptures like 1 Corinthians 7:9 make sense… not just in male-female passion but in other non-sexual aspects.  The heart is a powerful engine and when it works well it is a juggernaut.  Jeremiah chapter 17: 9 says, “The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is?” (NLT, 2007).  The desperation of those wrapped in a religion trying to avoid the powerful emotions of the earth, the electricity of the contents, or the wonderment of its combined evolution seems more deceitful than opening one’s eyes and taking an inventory of the world around them before making such broad and naive decisions using a simplistic “either God or Satan” filing system for something it took the Universe billions of years to develop.

James’s heart wasn’t deceitful.  It had a grip on reality.  It acts more of a compass and the mind navigates according to the direction the heart’s true north is.  A pure heart points one way, a deceptive heart points another, and each mind works in unison in order to create steps to justify the heart’s projection.  A pure heart runs into fewer problems than those of deceptive intent as a pure heart tends to take into account the energy of the surrounding location before rotating into it’s final position.  Ollie was not a deceitful person, though he does do deceitful things.  James cannot judge with the current life he was leading.  So with an immense amount understanding of the young guy in front of him, James took the joke for what it was, and nothing more.

He still starts with a response of heartfelt anguish, Please don’t say… but realizes that is going to lead to tears… tears without context.  So he changes to accepting the joke with the method it was presented and responded with, When you get back, page me.  And if I don’t hear from you, I’m going to go to your apartment and knock on your door every day until you answer. Then you will see how much you mean to me.

Ollie smiles generously.  He doesn’t comprehend were that is coming from, but it was enough pointedly direct emotion that Ollie believed he is being told the truth.  James guesses he is someone who isn’t told the truth often.  It will be good too change that, he feels.

They kiss once more.

Ben heads off downstairs.  Derrick is dressed and is given his money.  Jack is on the phone to his travel agent, who he woke out of bed.  He waves to James and then waves for him to come back.  In a surprise show of human appreciation, he give James a big hug, says Thank you, and releases him to start yelling at the travel agent again.  James was now wearing the most lube he had on him all evening.

I need names and Social Security Numbers.  Write it down.  Ollie…

Getting pen and paper.

Derrick shakes his hand and walks downstairs.  A wave to Ollie.

Downstairs Ben and his girl are arguing.  James descends the final steps waving to both.  Thinks he should help.  Look, it’s a great opportunity.  Everything will be paid for.

Are you going?

No I can’t.  I have real work I have to get back to.

I would feel better if you were going.  

Look baby.  It’s only for two days.

And he got the money from tonight already.

That’s right!  Here.  Take… 900 bucks.

He’s not going to need it.

Yeah, take it all!  Gas, groceries, it’s all here.  Come on.  This guy is loaded.  So let’s cash in while he’s partying.  Plus he’s got some great shit.

Two days?

Baby, he said two or three.

Which is it?  Two or three because we have a doctor’s appointment on Friday.

For the baby?

(In unison) Yes.

He opens the door.  That baby?

(In unison)  Yes.

He pauses and gives his best impersonation of his mother that he could muster.  Don’t you think health and development issues like a doctor’s appointment is something the real father should be involved in?  Ben is already marrying you. Let him make some money to help with after the baby is born.

James quickly disappears out the door and closes it… and walks as fast as he could to the car.  Every mile he drove home brought a bigger and brighter smile.  The theater of the absurd, a very different genre of entertainment, but certainly not without its adventure and relatable information.

The lights on the drive home seem to sing.  There was music in his heart.  There was also pain.

Not pain now.  The pain to come.  But the pleasure now is too grand not to pause in gratitude.

So this is what this feels like?

He put aside Ollie for a moment to quietly pray for forgiveness to the years of straight guys he beat up for being weak of heart in getting over a girl or the scriptural tirades he would give if they decided to get married ‘too soon’.  Each and every level of heart burning made sense, from the cute child-like attempts for attention to the madness and ripping of worry that someone wouldn’t jump at a chance to get out of town and be alone for a few days.  All stations on all levels had all channels blaring different content, but once digested it was understood.  Yes, Ollie is going to hurt as it is a situation needing to be nipped in the butt.

Butt, (giggle).  He has such a cute butt.

Wow.  This is what awesome is.  This is really going to suck.

James P. Perez © 2013