An uncharacteristically brisk afternoon found me at a coffee bar located in the very center of the Forum Shops’ vast shopping terrain, where I shifted in between thought and observing the crowds maneuver past. Some moved at a hastened, determined pace, while others, likely tourists, appeared in no hurry to be anywhere, traveling with necks craned and eyes wide open. I imagined myself watching from the bleachers of a public ice rink where persons of varying experience levels gathered. A handful of them would stand out, circling the perimeter of the rink with a certain ease and grace evident in each movement. The majority of patrons, however, consisted of amateurs who would struggle to maintain any speed, direction, or even balance. They would refrain, and wisely so, from the outer loop, where they would only serve as a nuisance to the savvy skating elite.

He moved towards me cautiously, having just retrieved his beverage from the coffee bar kiosk. Whatever his intentions in approaching me, it seemed he hadn’t thought them entirely through. On two occasions, I noticed as he paused and wavered between continuing in his advance and resigning to the safety of one of the surrounding vacant tables. When, at last, he was close enough to speak, he didn’t. He nodded, and we studied each other momentarily. Rather amused, I turned my attention away from him to see if this might incite a greeting from the boy. It did.

“I saw you, a few nights ago,” he started. “You were at Baby’s for Tall Paul.”

“Yes, yes I was.” I thought back to, what was it, my second day in the city? I was drunk off liquor and the piercing sensation of novelty. I had gone alone to the event featuring Tall Paul and a handful of other DJ’s, and now, only days later, it seemed absurdly distant.

And this boy, whoever he was, I realized just then, had watched as I reflected on what little memory remained of the night. “Please, sit,” I invited, bringing myself back into the present. And with the same uncertain, almost reluctant manner that had finally delivered him to my table, he settled into the chair adjacent to me.

“I’m Josh.”

“Cameron,” he replied, offering another of his nods in lieu of a handshake.

Cameron looked more like a Paul or a Randy. More like he didn’t belong here, maybe in the same way that I didn’t. More like a stranger, never to be seen again. That I was sure of. Did we talk about the concert? Maybe we did… it was one of only two things we would have in common, at least that I could have knowledge of, for I would be correct in predicting that we would not encounter one another again. And now that I think of it, I’m not sure who would be to blame for that, and I don’t know that there is always a viable answer. Sometimes it’s just easier that way.

We were back at that dump of a motel just as soon as he was courageous enough to suggest it. Or, better said, allude to it. “Do you mind if I see your place?” he’d asked.

“It’s not much,” I forewarned, rather startled with his sudden candor, even if it was implicit. “My friend and I are holding up at this motel for the time being.”

He shrugged. “Beats this place, yeah?”

Melissa, for whatever reason, was not around. Funny, she’d never seen fit to leave in the middle of the afternoon before. Even this place had a pool, and you could typically find her down there during what she referred to as the “ultraviolet hours of eleven to three.” Perhaps the chill in the air on this particular day had provoked her to explore other activities. And her absence was seemingly fortunate, as it was… well, rather apparent why we had come here. I wondered what she would say if I told her that, from time to time, I depended on her to save me from myself. Had she been there to greet us, things might have gone differently. But, as the saying goes, if things were different, they wouldn’t be the same. And this would never be the same.

A violent surge ripped through my body as I watched his face vividly express the movements of my hips. There he was, taking the brunt of it all from below, and yet none of this had anything to do with him. It was the excitement… it was the fear… it was just a breath away from anger, though I wasn’t and I had no reason to be. And this boy, this boy called Cameron was a mere detail of whatever this had been. This display of disconnected passion, like for a few fleeting moments we could join together in the most intimate of acts without really knowing or caring about one another, wasn’t as it had been those other times. I wasn’t fulfilled and this wasn’t okay. We were no more than two strangers brushing shoulders along the sidewalk, only we had somehow become soiled in our own sperm and confusion.

He pulled the shower curtain back. I suppose I had neglected to bid him farewell. As I assembled some cordial form of ’goodbye’ in my mind, he stepped in the shower with me. And there we stood, our bodies entirely exposed, and yet no closer than we were when he had cautiously approached my table.

He slicked his hair back in the water. “I really don’t know what to say now,” he confessed.

I smiled. “Is there really anything more to be said?” I asked, though it was more a statement of fact.

I was still under the showerhead when I heard the door close.

 

© 2006 Josh Ivey - Contributor's Bio