You Don't Know Me At All

See, there's this guy. Close your eyes and try to see him if you can.
It won't be easy: he's nondescript, physically average in almost every way. He's about six feet tall, but the way he holds his shoulders when he stands, very square, and the straight-backed way he walks makes him appear taller. People think that he's taller, anyway. You'd have to look at him closely to realize that he's not, and nobody does that very much. Maybe it's his coloring; his neutral-colored hair which fails to be definitively blond or brown, or the not-ethnic but not-alabaster tone of his skin. It could be his voice, not deep or high tenor but decidedly unmusical, almost hoarse. When he speaks his words have that embarrassing quality of one's own recorded voice. Perhaps it has more to do with his manner, which is quietly assured without being confident or aggressive. Whatever it is, he is utterly forgettable. Try to remember him and he fades like a dream upon waking. Most people don't even look at him even as they're interacting with him. They've already pasted a mental image of someone they already know over him based on some slight resemblance. Ask them to describe him later and they'll find themselves describing the person he reminds them of instead. This is our hero.
In that awkward time of year when summer should be over but refuses to go and let autumn take the stage, this man is walking down the street in a large midwest city. His scuffed and beaten sneakers, once very expensive, occasionally drag and grate against the concrete of the sidewalk. He is not graceful, but he does not stumble or fall. If he were to pass by someone known to him they might greet him, thereby giving us his name, but nobody knows him here. He is not out for exercise but rather has his own mission, which presently leads him (and us) to a large brick building, once a factory, that now marks the edge of a pocket of extreme urban decay in a sea of otherwise unremarkable suburbs. This area was once full of industrious activity, back when steel was king of this city. Now it is the home of those who make their living and economy outside the legally drawn limits. This is where his mission takes him, and so we must follow.
Across the street from the brick building stands an even larger abandoned factory. In its recessed doorway lounge several young men who are clearly up to no good, and might not even recognize a good motive were it presented to them. They stir and stiffen as the man approaches, and when he has drawn close enough, the tallest and thinnest of the three speaks.
"Hey mister," he says with mock civility, "You got a cigarette you could spare me?"
The nondescript man's cheeks hollow briefly; this, you see, is how he smiles. "Smoking is bad for you," he says, and suddenly all three youths are standing at alert.
"You a cop?" One of the other boys asks, but the tall one tells him to shut up.
"I'm not, in fact, a policeman," the plain man tells them. "I'm just a guy. I'm looking for someone you might have seen recently."
"Yeah?" The lead boy has gathered his meager courage enough to sound aggressive. "What's that to us?"
The man reaches slowly into his pocket and extracts a picture. It's a Christmas scene, the decorated tree clear in the background. In the foreground stands the plain man with his arm around another, younger man. "I need to find him very badly," the plain man says, indicating the younger man in the picture. "If you can help me, I can help you." His hand dips again into his pocket and comes up with a baggie knotted at the corner to contain a white substance. "What do you say?"
The three boys gather around and study the picture. "Holy cow!" One whispers, and the plain man and his two compatriots regard him with interest. "That's the guy who's staying with Arnie," the exclaimer mutters. "I seen him there this morning."
"Arnie's the one who lives over the Coach and Four bar on Triskett street?" the plain man asks pleasantly, but in such a way that they know he's already sure he's right.
The leader once again tells his subordinate to shut up. "Arnie ain't gonna like that, y'know," he tells the exclaimer. "You telling people his business and all."
"Why not let me worry about that?" the plain man suggests, and tosses the baggie up in the air. The lead boy snatches it so quickly that it seems to have vanished by magic. "Thanks for your help, gentlemen," he says, and turns back in the direction he came from.
Watching him go, the youngest of the boys, silent up til now, says: "Think we oughta try to roll him?"
"Nope," the leader says decisively. "That dude's packing, I'll bet you money. Besides," he tosses the baggie up in the air himself and catches it again, "we got better things to do."
A moment later, the deserted doorway is once again vacant and undisturbed.

Title lyric from "You Don't Know Me" by Ben Folds Five (featuring Regina Spektor)

Ben Folds - You Don't Know Me (featuring Regina Spektor) (Offici - The most amazing videos are a click away

I Got Too Much Life, Flowing Through My Veins, Going To Waste

Sometimes it's really hard to write.
Not that it's hard to parse reality into words; I can't seem to stop doing that most of the time, even when I try. My mind just ticks on and on, always trying to more accurately and deftly capture my experience in those funny verbal/text signals we call language.
No, my trouble lies somewhere else.
In every story, there's this point. You start out in the same way every time: there's this place, there's this person or people, this is the situation those people or that place exist inside. Here they are, now care about them. That's all well and good. It's the point where we shift from the general to the particular that the trouble slips in. This is who they are, this is where they are... and now, this is what happens. As a writer, you have to believe in what happens to your characters. Your situation has to evolve in way that is natural and symmetrical to you - but the catch is, it has to seem real and natural enough to someone reading that they believe it too. It's that point, where the description of who and where ends and what happens next begins, that the devil enters through the details.
I really love to write. It actually feels good to slip into another reality, even one confined entirely within your head. I have become a better writer just by constantly trying to better grasp and convey what I see and hear; but now, I want to overcome that biggest hurdle of all. I want to write what others will not only want to read, but to return to again and again. I want to write the words that will make people angry, make people laugh, make them sad... Maybe even weep for joy. I know it's a lot to want. So many people try and fail; a lot of people - not so brave, but maybe wise - would say that it's better never to try at all.
But I'm going to try anyway. What have I got to lose? My time is short enough, I want to do all I can with it.
So here goes....

Title lyric from "Feel" by Robbie Williams.

A New Version Of The Old Scene

I have less than nothing to say.
It's hot for the first time all summer. Everyone around me groans about how cold and rainy it's been and mutters darkly about global warming. I LOVE it. I am happiest hiding in the dark like a slug under a flat rock, so this entire cool rainy summer has been marvelous to me. The minute it went over eighty degrees I started to suffer. I mentioned this to my daughter, who remarked right back that I'm the one talking about running off to a warmer climate when in fact I love the cold and the winter. That made me feel funny, half sad and half bitter. I do love the north, I do love the Pennsylvania hills, and I miss being there. I want to go back. I can't. Plus it's hot here right now and everything's slightly gritty and everyone on the street is wearing jeans and t-shirts while they look cool and collected and I'm a sweaty irritable mess in shorts and a wifebeater. Maybe it's hot flashes; who knows, maybe mentalpause is sneaking up on me at last.
I was sitting with my guy just watching some random show we downloaded - Nurse Jackie, I think, or Breaking Bad, we're huge fans of both - when I looked over at him and was struck by how beautiful his profile is, how very well drawn his features are... And I felt this huge surge of love for him that frightened me. Usually we are pretty copacetic; we both go along at our own pace, we turn to each other for the things that we need and the rest of the time pursue the trains of thought in our own heads. It reminded me how lucky I am to have him, and so as a sort of offering to the fates or spirits or gods (none of which I really believe in, mind you) I intervened in the love life of two people I barely know because they were being stupid and I could do it without cost or obligation. They were grateful, just as I was grateful to be with such an all-around wonderful guy, and so I paid back karma in its own coin. I feel pretty good about that.
The other day I got an email from a young doctor I knew from back in the days when I was an administrator in a medical school. She was peripherally involved in my care when I was in treatment for the cancer and she was curious (and concerned) about how I've been doing lately. I told her that I'm fine, and that I do have all of the longterm symptoms they described but still feel really pretty great in spite of them. She offered to see me, free of charge, if I wanted to come to the city where she practices. I've given it some thought and decided against it; I don't need a long trip for just a diagnostic, however free. Even if it was bad news, what could I do about it right now? Nothing. So I will not worry. I feel good, and I'm sticking with that.
Or I would, if it wasn't so blasted hot. Canada sounds pretty good to me right now. Tornwordo, will you smuggle me across the border?

Title lyric from "Ragdoll" by Aerosmith.

You Know You're Gonna Lose, You Never Win

So,we're at an amusement park. It's half rides, half water park; everyone's in their shorts and t-shirts and wifebeaters if they're not rocking the full-out speedos-and-hawaiian shirt combo. It's hot as Satan's asscrack, too, and almost that sweaty. Instead of mostly having a good time, all of the adults are either scratchy and irritable or half-drunk bordering on belligerent. Sound like a good time yet?
We're standing in line to get into the water rides when a woman I know slightly - to call her an acquaintance would be overstating it - comes up to us. She calls me by name -"Bigg, right?" and asks if we can help her. The partner and I cast each other that oh-crap-here-we-go look before I politely say "Maybe, what did you need?" Turns out her son, a spoiled little snot I could run over with a bus and feel only the vaguest twinge of remorse for later, is in the water half of the park and won't come out. She didn't buy a pass to the water park for herself because she 'looks like such a cow in a bathing suit and would probably have just gotten wet anyway' and now wants us to go in and get him. Now, we're talking about a kid I've seen all of twice; the only impression the kid really made on me was that he was a walking argument for eugenics... and possibly more responsible birth control decisions, but whatever. I mention that I might not recognize him, and she manages to look as hurt as possible before pointing and saying, "That's him, right THERE!"
We follow her dramatically pointing finger. She's pointing at a crowd of roughly one million children. All of them look like possible suspects.
"Just go, before he gets away!" she wails, and the next thing I know the partner is dragging me through the gate and into the water park. Never one to ditch a damsel in distress, I valiantly go in pursuit of the errant tyke with the trusty partner in tow. I hear his mother shout the kid's name behind us: "CHRISTOPHER!" So I start calling his name too, if at a slightly more civilized volume.
Finally one little darling looks up and says, "What?"
"Your mother wants you," I tell him, and seize his wrist. Ignoring his protests I drag him out of the water park. He's pretty much kicking and screaming. I am grimly determined. I dump him in front of his mother and say, "There you go."
Do I get a thank you? Of course not. She says, "That's not my kid."
As my partner and I are frozen in disbelief, a woman comes to the fence on the water park side behind us and shrieks "CHRISTOPHER! What are you dooooing!?" exactly as if the kid was voluntarily participating in a heroin deal. Naturally, we all turn and goggle at her in horror. How did this happen? "Give me my son back!" she shouts dramatically.
"Not until you give me MY baby back!" the slight acquaintance shouts dramatically back. She throws her arms around the bogus Christopher.
The other mother gives us all a disgusted look, marches over to the crowd of kids, looks it over like she's picking the ripest melon and grabs a kid pretty much at random. She marches him over to the gate, and guess what? OF COURSE IT'S THE RIGHT KID.
"Christopher!" slight acquaintance coos as he runs into her arms.
"Christopher!" the other mother coos as her ugly little ankle biter is returned from captivity.
Then, just to make the whole surreal experience complete, the TWO of them start cursing US. Exactly like it's our fault, right?
Some days you're the statue, and some days you're the pigeon. This was definitely a statue weekend.

Title lyric from "Your Momma Don't Dance & Your Daddy Don't Rock 'n' Roll" by Loggins and Messina, as performed by Poison.

If You Do Not Want To See Me Again, I Would Understand

Gay men are funny when they get together in groups. Straight people only pick up on the obvious stuff, the constant sexual tension, the abrupt attitudes, the sudden attractions. I get that; when I'm in a crowd of straight people it's there too, but upside down, backwards, inverse. I've spent some time studying the semiotics of straight mating displays - I even managed it successfully more than a few times, even if you only count the times that actually led to procreation. Believe me, gay people are just as left out and uncomfortable on straight mating grounds - it's just that since among gay men everybody is a potential partner, even if only for that second you reject him with an internal ew, gross. That doesn't change everything so radically, but it does make for a whole lot less chitchat and a whole bunch more long meaningful stares.
Of course, I have it easy. I have a much younger and ridiculously hot partner. (You've seen pictures by now, Lem. Back me up here.) I'm not afraid to flaunt that in the face of guys my age who would otherwise have been my logical suitors. Naturally this makes them a little scornful of our relationship, but it took me awhile to even see what I was really doing. Thing is, they'd be with him if they could - hell, when my own daughter told me she'd date him in a heartbeat if he was straight I knew just about everybody sees some of what I do in him - but they also miss that I don't suffer by comparison. On the contrary, I look much better as a potential mate with him already on my arm (and vice versa) than I would otherwise. Of course I feel good about myself because I've managed to attract a handsome partner... And while I don't believe I've allowed that let me make quite the ass of myself that I've seen some guys manage, I guess I have sinned in that regard.
So my Pride resolution for 2009 is to appreciate him more and worry about other people's reaction to us less. After all, we met a couple of our approximate ages a few nights ago during one of the local festivities, and they were quite happy to use the phrase 'daddy fetish' in public. We laughed rather rudely, I'm afraid - and then abruptly stopped when we saw their faces and realized they were serious. My beloved and I have never related to one another that way, in bed or otherwise, any jokes we like to make to the contrary notwithstanding.
On a less self absorbed note, I also recently came in contact with David's younger brother via the wonders of the Internet. He's my age. We shared a ton of our childhood's more religious moments. We were even vaguely friendly in high school, at least until I got a boyfriend and became the local weed dealer. To my great (and eventually pleasant) surprise, he's gay and out. We had a really nice chat. We laughed, we reminisced... And then we started talking about what we've been up to recently. He's single and seems rather like a player - sort of the way I always imagined David would be if he were less religious, except more saccharine and less perverse than I expected somehow. I allowed as how I was happily partnered, already have an anniversary under my belt... And then my beloved bounced up and slung his arm around me, and the brother's sly speculative smile sort of curdled. He watched us and made his pleasantries when I introduced them, but then asked one question before he excused himself and slipped away: "Um, HOW old are you?"
It was actually his reaction that inspired me to write this rambling ode to my evolving understanding of my own relationship and how it changes my relation to every other human being. That's what the great loves in our lives do, right? Those loves, they're worth what they cost us and any benefit they bring us is all bonus gravy. Or else they're not really a great love, I guess.
Anyway, my tappytapping of the keys is keeping him awake now, so I'll wrap this one up. To both of my remaining regular readers here, take care of yourselves and the ones you love.

Title lyric from "Jumper" by Third Eye Blind.

I Keep Thinking That It's Not Goodbye

My birthday is the day after tomorrow.
I won't cry you any rivers, I won't try to tell you how much I hate having birthdays and how sad it makes me to be another year older. I don't so much care for being over forty, true, but there ARE worse things in the world. I also wish that I could stay young forever - who doesn't? However, I know that nobody does or ever has stayed young for even a minute longer than the time allotted and so have chosen to deal with it in the most dignified manner of which I am capable - about the same dignified manner than toddlers have when protesting that they're not tired and don't want to go to bed.
It won't be so bad though. I feel wiser than I was. I'm ready for new things; I feel equipped by the things I've gone through to meet new challenges, maybe even to enjoy it. I'm not regretting the last few years even though they've been rough ones. Why would I? The alternative would be to have no more years in front of me, and that day comes soon enough for all of us. I'm in no rush.
So if on Thursday I should happen to cross your mind, please send me a good wish. I'll be sending them back to you, I promise.

Title lyric from "Graduation" by Vitamin C.

I Have No Choice But To Hear You

I watched a girl ride down the street on her bike today. It was cooler today than it has been, but she was still sweating for all she was worth as she worked her way up the slope between the reservoir and the cemetery. The sun was bright, but thin somehow; it glared off every surface, but it failed to warm the stiff breeze coming off the lake. I admired that girl's commitment... Or what I imagined to be her commitment: she could have been riding to work, riding to school, even riding home from a doctor's appointment at the hospital next to my apartment. What do I know?
I know that the days are getting shorter again, and that winter will come. I don't want to see another winter, ever. I want to escape to the land of always-summer, or at least to somewhere that it never snows. I don't want to wear a coat out in the snow. I don't want to drive in it. I don't want to shiver and blow on my frozen fingers when I carry something home from the store. I like walking most places I go. I don't want to stop that. That's what I know.
I know that I'm a lucky man, no matter what the obstacles I'm currently facing. I have someone wonderful in my life. He does things for me... I can't begin to explain. I have some really great friends who love me. I talk to my big kids online and on the phone all the time. I am not rejected or outcast; when people meet me, they tend to like me. I am personable because I am happy. I wasn't always that way, I was fat and awkward and painfully self-conscious. But because I finally had the guts to stand up and step out and take what I wanted because I knew that the time I had left in which to do so was running short. If I have any regrets, it's not that I did it, but that I waited so long. But even that isn't so much of a regret because I have my children. I didn't waste those years like a forgotten leisure suit at the back of the closet. I had a family, I had a life. And now that life's changed... A lot. I know that, too.
But I also know that the clock is ticking away and that midnight approaches. I must make things beautiful and right for my beloved now, and so I wish you all a fond goodnight.

Title lyric from "Head Over Feet" by Alanis Morissette.