the boy on the bus

I drove across the bay to go see my sweet friend, Julian yesterday morning. He answered the door in house slippers and a Hawaiian caftan with a cigarette in his mouth and I knew the night before must have been rough. The final tip-off was the five-o'clock shadow on his head. He takes great pains to meticulously shave and shine up his beautiful, perfectly round bald black head and he looked like fuzzy shit.

"Baby, I have got a mother-fucker of a migraine, you want a beer?" he said, shuffling backwards and flinging his lighter onto the coffee table then flopping on the couch dramatically.

I scolded him for being all closed up in the dark house and smoking like a chimney and drinking beer at ten o'clock in the goddamn morning. Plus, he had a massive bunch of flowers for me to take to a fancy-schmancy event last night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and too many tropical flowers in a small space made me feel like barfing. So I had a beer too, bummed one of his Marlboro lights and curled up on the couch with him and listened to his tale of woe.

His lover, Stefan had just left to return to Amsterdam after a three week visit. Julian said it was a fucking miserable visit and he and Stefan are through.

"Do you know, I ccoked and cleaned and had that man here for three weeks and he never once took me out for dinner? He never opened his wallet for anything--not one time, then he had the audacity to bitch last night about all the money he spent coming over here when we were out having dinner with Shawn and Eddie," he huffed.

After all the gory detail, we layed there blowing smoke rings. Then Julian said he knew deep down it was over between them the last time he visited Stefan a few months ago, but he didn't want to face it. Now he wishes he had.

"There I was in Amsterdam, in AMSTERDAM, girl! I could have been fucking everything that walked. But no, no, I was trying to work it out. Anyway, one day I'm riding around on this bus doing some shopping and this beautiful man got on the bus. Well, we had eye contact, honey. And he very slowly slinked his way down the aisle (but not in a faggy way, very hot) and sat in the seat right behind me. After a few minutes I realized he was leaning forward and resting his arms across the back of my seat. Well, I turned around and his nose was touching mine--he was right here--(Julian held his hand up to his nose) I should have just grabbed him and kissed him, right there. I could tell he wanted me to. But I didn't."

I sighed and light another cigarette and then Julian said:

"He had black hair and the bluest eyes. I think about that boy every day. Every day."