Izzy, my dear, simmer down. Yes, you're dying, but, more importantly, you're going to get to have 'the sex' with Denny..forever. The sex, Izzy, ...lots and lots of the Denny sex. Let's try and get a grip on things shall we? Priorities? Ever heard of them?
Mr. Mustang rolls his eyes from the corner of the room. "Oh shit" he says in his disgusted, dismissive-OMG-how-retarded-tone.
If you only knew Mr. Mustang, if you only knew. I'm infatuated with Denny, because I love you. He has your deep voice, and your full lips. All stubbly and manly and shrugging your thick fingered hands into your jeans pockets. All leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually over your white t-shirt. Vibrating unintentional rugged, broad-shouldered energy into the room. Calm about it though.
Have I ever told you my dear? What did it for me? In the beginning? Surely. But I guess the question I'm really trying to ask in a way that won't offend you is this: Do you remember me telling you this? Like most events of our past I wonder if you remember. Did this conversation happen on a day you were wasted? Is it a blur? Or a surreal, moving moment? I want desperately to sift through your files. Peer inside just for little while and review what you've got stored up there. Dammit. Which parts were real for you? Which parts do you remember? Which do you try and forget. If you don't remember and I do ...what, then was it? Was it real? Never mind - I'll just tell you again. Like with the rest of our lives, we'll just start over. Relive it through my recollection,.
I was out. I was out in my white, collared, button-down shirt. My "damn-your-butt-looks-good-in-those" jeans, my hair down, straightened. The Rainbow Room was packed. It's low ceilings looked like they were being pushed upwards by the dense cloud of smoke. Generations of names were scribbled on every inch of the plywood walls. Mine was in the back corner where the band was playing. Written when I was eighteen. Such an odd mix in there. I scanned the room for my friends. No luck. I was there to hear Brian's band. Unfortunately, Brian was playing already and I didn't want to sit alone. To appear alone. The truth hurts. I saw you sitting in the corner w/ a couple of people who were also w/ the band. I took a deep breath and came to say hi. I sat there pretending to be focused on the band. Smiling at Brian, raising my glass sometimes. You sat there doing the same. I thought back to that first time we met a year or two earlier. You sitting at my kitchen table, my mom at the stove fixing lunch for you and my step dad. Me stumbling downstairs, barely awake, walking in and becoming acutely aware of myself. Embarrassed. No make-up, bed head, t-shirt and boxers. . . Everyone knowing how late I slept. I was angry no one woke me up, heard me coming and told me y'all were there. You looked thoroughly amused as you shoved fork after fork of peas and cornbread into your mouth. I knew your story. You knew mine. Two broken people - recently broken. Pain still fresh. I recognized it in you and it comforted me somehow. I thought about calling you a few times back then - seeing if you wanted to do something. Those days it hurt to be around normal people. Only my kind would do.
But I didn't it was too much...just too much. Too sticky.
I thought of these things as I sat there making loud small talk w/ you. You seemed so relaxed. I wondered about that. The night stretched on. I remember driving across the street a couple of times to purchase 1/2 pints of Jim Beam. How many? I wonder. It seems weird to think of those days doesn't it? I'm such a lightweight now huh? The Rainbow Room only served Beer and wine and I didn't care for either. I remember playing Pat Green's "Wave on Wave" on the juke box in between sets. We were in a smoky sardine can, maneuvering around pool tables and bar stools. Squeezing in and out of the tiny bathroom w/ the uneven slope. More black sharpie graffiti. I vaguely remember someone driving me across the street to Po'Boys at closing time. Was that you? Or Brian? Po'boys where everything continued. Endings and beginnings. And then, somewhere in the blurry, smoky night there was shift. My attention, no longer divided but focused, zeroed in on you. As tipsy ushered in drunk I excitedly said "Let's dance!" Fortunately drunk hadn't made himself comfortable yet, because that would have sounded more like "Lezz danth"? But, by the time we actually did the dancing deed, drunk had stolen my sight. My memory sight anyway. I have no recollection of how you looked, what was said, what was playing. Only this: Your arms felt huge and powerful around my body. Moving seductively, teasingly up against you to the music.
One can only hope said music fit the way I was dancing. And one can deduct from later experience that you were dancing however I was dancing,..letting me lead..lol You're a good man Mr. Mustang, you're a good man with a clear understanding and acceptance of your woman.
You've told me that I kissed you then, kissed you like there was nothing else in the world to do. That we just stood out there kissing. But, sadly, I don't remember that. It's a big black swirly hole that stole it from me. Here's the important part though. Somewhere in all that, I remember a deep, growly, rugged "mmmmm" sound. That's it. Just that one little sound rumbling up out of of your throat.
See Mr. Mustang, that was what did it. It undid all consideration. It was a declaration of enjoyment, of possession.. eons of testosterone howled into the night. Request wrestling demand. "mmmm" That little "mmmmm" fueled my thoughts, my fantasies, my focus for weeks afterwards. It ruled my concentration. It scared the shit out of me, and tempted me. It lured me towards something that nearly did me in before. Something that should have sent me screaming in fear, now called my name seductively, incessantly. . . It became my constant companion. And it stays with me still. It tells me to kiss you in the dark and have your babies. It tells me to trust you and love you.
See Mr. Mustang, there's a lot you could learn from Denny and Izzy. Actually, there's a lot you could learn from my attraction to them. You could learn so much about me by studying what fascinates me. Asking yourself why these things catch my attention. You roll your eyes at this. And I stop short. I remember you're a husband now. You think you know all there is to know. In the next room Comfort and Condescension are stabbing Mystery to death and we change the channel. We ignore her screams. Click.
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