2001-09-03 - 10:09 p.m.
Farewells and Unfinished Pleasures

Now nearly twenty-four hours on the other side of this stressful relocation, my excitement and enthusiasm now gradually unbridles, gathers inside my tired body.

I have made a wise move.

My last night there encapsulated much of the emotional flavor of these past two years. Dad came into town; he and I drove the big one-ton cube van here. J.C., Matt, Trevor, Joey and Nick helped load it up Friday night.

(Having made sure my double-header dildo was well-packed and out of sight, there were no embarrassing incidents this move. Joey, however, made a big deal about the space-age-looking plastic toilet plunger: waving it around in front of everybody including my father, he insisted it must be my dildoesque pogo stick.)

My house being empty, Dad and I slept at Matt and Trevor's that night. The plan all along had been that we boys would go out to the club for one last hurrah before I left town; I was unbelievably tuckered out, needing a decent night's sleep before Saturday's big drive with Dad, but forced myself to shower and get cleaned up for one last night out.

The club was packed; I was overwhelmed as soon as we walked in. Too many people; unbearably loud music. I could not cope, wanted to go back "home" immediately and crash.

I'm not a big fan of loud music at the best of times, but when I'm overtired it really fucks me up. I could not visit with Joey, Matt, etc. over the din. We were all standing in the middle of the crowded club; all I could think about was finding somewhere to sit. I found an empty booth on the slightly quieter fringe where I could try to collect myself.

And there was Erik across the way, looking gorgeous and delicate, smiling a big smile when he saw me. He walked up and leaned into me with a friendly, restrained hug. We chatted for approximately 90 seconds; I gave him my card with my new address, etc., knowing he would not keep in touch. Erik's smile betrayed a gradually increasing discomfort; "I've got to go do something," he finally said, "I'll be right back."

"Sounds good," I said, knowing he would not be.

He did not come right back, and that was okay. I'd made no attempt to get a hold of Erik before I left town; this brief goodbye reinforced my sense of closure. His eyes used to get all the way inside me; now, we are through.

As I watched folks mill about so raucously, I thought about the boundedness of affection. I saw many 'acquaintances' and one-night-stands wandering back and forth and was utterly unmotivated to say farewell to any of them. I thought about how many people there are whom I know but do not care much about.

For someone who is often neurotic about "seeming" nice and caring and loving, there is a counter-balancing deliciousness about watching people go by and thinking, "I won't miss you; I don't care about you; I hope I never see you again."

Then Joey came over and sat down. He could see how tired I was. His smile lit up the room as we agreed goodbyes were unnecessary. (He and his lover are moving to this same new city in November.)

This beautiful man's presence quelled my misanthropic mood. There are so many golden people in my life. Who do matter.

And then I saw him, talking to Matt across the room: Jon. Hadn't laid eyes on him since I sent the letter. Sara had told me he was irate about its contents. I had peacefully accepted that it would be a long while before I'd hear from Jon. Soon I saw Sara escort him out; she told me later she’d convinced him to go home since he was on the verge of passing out.

So that was that. I never thought the day would come that I'd leave without saying goodbye to him, that we'd inhabit the same public space without acknowledging one another. But it has come to that; since articulating my feelings about his downward-spiral, my anxiety about Jon has been replaced by a detached resolution.

Old friends can mean a lot, but longevity in any kind of relationship does not necessarily mean anything. I think of Joey and me, how our friendship has grown and changed and stretched us both over fourteen years; ours is a connectedness I value. And, sometimes, long-term relationships lose their aliveness; paying lip service to a dying bond is unhelpfully dishonest.

I made it very clear in my letter that it was up to Jon; I was not closing the door. He is furious about my perspective on his life and has made no attempt to express that to me. I guess what I did was put our friendship out of its misery; as I watched him sway through the club so charismatically Friday night, I was filled with relieved sadness.

Then Trevor and Matt and I danced. Who was dancing beside us but Mick and his lover. I couldn't fucking believe I had to deal with him, too, on my last night in town. (I stopped swimming about ten days' before, getting too busy with my packing and stuff, so I hadn't seen him for a while; by then, and by my choice, our interactions had dwindled down to quick, superficially-friendly acknowledgments in passing.)

Glimpsing Mick shaking his beautiful booty, I turned my back before he saw me. It was not resolved; I was not at peace; I have not finished licking those wounds. I turned my back on it all. Then Mick tapped me on the shoulder; I pretended to see him for the first time, rolling my eyes at Matt as Mick hugged me. Mick asked me when I was leaving, made a big inauthentic deal over this being my last night in town. I cut the conversation short, told him to take care and turned my back, again. I'd lost the mood to dance so I walked off.

I kept meeting the eyes of this moderately handsome guy; we'd both do double-takes, evincing confused glimmers of recognition. Who the hell was he? I could vaguely remember a pleasant conversation with him, but under what circumstances? Hmm...

And then there was this beautiful young Asian man with a perfect jawline, perched at a table and smiling at me every time I walked by. Did I have the energy for one last romp?

No.

Then Mick came up to me again, asked if I was excited about moving. We chatted for a few more minutes His eyes wanted something more than I was prepared to give, but I softened into a friendlier albeit still reserved gentleness as I wished him well and walked on, again.

I was talking to Joey and Matt when someone grabbed my ass then wrapped their arms around my tummy from behind. I turned around; it was J.C. He was slightly drunk; one of the few people I enjoy being around in that state.

Joey and I were talking and the fabulously-jawlined Asian came up and stood next to me. Winking as he walked away, Joey left me to my own devices. I stood there drooling over the young man's fresh face, the curvey outline of a most chewable butt rounding out his black slacks. He looked back at me every few minutes; sometimes with a friendly smile, at others, with a searching, evaluative indecision. I could not bring myself to talk to him; I was exhausted at the mere thought of the energy it would take to make something happen.

I left well enough alone, continuing to enjoy and acknowledge his attention.

Later I again walked by the guy I'd vaguely recognized. I tapped him on the shoulder. "How do I know you?" I bluntly asked.

"From the sauna at the gym," he said, shyly.

I laughed out loud. "Oh yeah, you're the teacher, right?" He was. Once I placed his face, I remembered all the details of our steamy little tryst. We had a pleasant little chat and he wished me well with my move. Our interaction made me smile, left a lovely aftertaste.

That smile bled into the next-and last-big experience of my night: watching J.C. from across the room. He was playing pool with some cute young boys I didn't know; he was vivacious and outgoing, radiating happy vibes. It wasn't just the beer in him. He has blossomed into a confident, comfortable-with-self young man; when I think back to how shut-down and shy he was when we first met, the transformation is amazing. It has been a delight to watch, to play some small part in.

The room lit up with his becoming; my zany heart swelled up as I reflected on love's uncomplicatedness.