A Hug on Williams Street

     He saw me downtown one sunny afternoon and followed me back to Connie’s house where I was staying. He pulled up beside me and squealed his tires on the street, thinking it was impressing me, laid a black mark several feet long.
     He yelled, “Hey! You trying to get away from me?”
     I said, “Why would I want to get away from a handsome devil like you? I just didn’t recognize you.”
     He was about 5’ 8” thin, wiry, good-looking in a rough sort of way, with piercing brown Sagittarius eyes that could cut through any crap.
     I really didn’t recognize him at first – he’d let his hair grow out, had a new beard and was thinner – but he was still the handsome, macho, hyper, belligerent banty rooster who occasionally pursued me.
     We sat on Connie’s porch and made small talk for awhile. Then he said, “I need to talk to Jon.”
     “Sorry. I can’t tell you where he is. He has someone new and doesn’t want to see you.”
     “Do you know why I need to talk to him?”
     “Yes. Jon already knows. We all do.”
     His eyes darted around. He put his hands in his pockets, shifted around on his feet, weighed his words.
     “It’s true. I am.” He looked at me intensely, watching for my reaction.
He started walking toward his car. I followed. The words poured out:      “I’m surprised you didn’t run away. Aren’t you afraid of me now? You wouldn’t believe the fuckin’ shit people say, what they do. My girlfriend’s family won’t let me stay at their house anymore; her brother won’t teach me karate anymore and I’ve been taking from him for two years! None of my friends will have anything to do with me. No one wants to even touch me anymore! Are you afraid of me? It makes me so goddamn mad! I don’t want to doe. I’m only 33 goddamn years old? The nurse showed me a film of what’s going to happen to me – I’ll get these big goddamn purple sores, I’ll look like a skeleton … I feel fine now! I just can’t believe it. I used a condom every time. Why couldn’t they have done the same for me? I don’t even know who gave it to me. But I want to kill someone. So I like to have sex with guys. Do I have to die because of it? I’m embarrassed to even be talking about it.”
     His anger filled the air. His pain was tangible. There were no words that could make things better. He paced in the street, still watching my reactions, edging closer and closer to his car, waiting for rejection, getting ready for his escape.
     I finally managed, “I liked you when I first met you and that is not going to change. Don’t be embarrassed to be human…” I offered him my hand.
     I saw a tear on his arrogant macho face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He took my hand, then threw his arms around me, pressed against me in a ferocious bear hug. I wrapped my arms around him and hed him as tight as I could. With his head against my chst, my face buried in his hair, I stood there in the middle of the street holding him as words continued to elude me, as if just holding him could cure him; as if I could squeeze the virus right out of him; as if I was stronger than death.
     I murmured, “I wish there was something I could do .. I don’t know what to say … Come back and see me, okay?”
     Wiping tears from his eyes, he smiled and said, “Okay.”
     Minutes later he was peeling out of there like a maniac, a wild animal in pain, desperate to escape from himself.

 

Judgment Day

once, in the middle of a
rowdy motel room encounter
with a very flexible guy named Bob
and a bottle of Jim Beam,
i remembered
what the preacher shouted,
red-faced,
at the top of his lungs
in the Baptist church
of my childhood:

“on judgment day, YOU will
stand before Gawd & every person
who ever lived on earth,
including YOUR family & friends,
and YOUR life will be replayed
on a giant screen in front of YOU
like a MOVIE for ALL to see…!”

i stop.
Flash a big smile,
wave to the camera,
say, “Hi mom!”

 
from michael's
new book

cosmic children