Blue Christmas

All day I have been feeling a bit odd, on edge and short with people, and I realized why as I drove to the gym, only to find it closed (how shocking!) at 9 pm on Christmas eve....so I came up with plan B and took myself on a short tour of this tiny capital city on this Atlantic island, ocean locked but for a thin finger stretching out to touch the mainland...I realized that I am, indeed, with my family, but there are members missing. Members I have shared this season with for a decade, but are no longer really my family..were they ever my family?

I would answer that "yes"... they were my chosen family, now un-chosen (if that is a word)- estranged...ex.....a choice that I am content with and yet I feel the empty space where they used to be. Oh, I see them from time to time, and I could have them around me more, but I am trying to make the break..trying to explore different parts of this life, trying to find my way. Without them. And that is the hard part.

The letting go.

It's a choice I made 10 months ago. I do not regret it, but I do feel the loneliness well up inside me at times.

Times like this.

I hope they are happy and together.

Merry Christmas.

Let's review...

The dust has settled....so much has changed over the past months that I hardly know where to begin.

Should I start with the bet I made with myself?
Or perhaps with...
...that kiss?
... an invitation left scrawled on a flyer?
... a ride out to rocks and waves?
... disappointment?
... distraction?
...a phone call made beneath the town clock?
...the lending of a leather jacket and the listening to my gut?
... my first visit to Egypt?
... the first lesson in a 90 day course?
...the discussion groups?
...the private becoming public (but not for a year or so.....)?
...running into that beautiful woman outside the drugstore?
...exercising self-control....ish?
...discovering what might matter?
...forgiving?
...the final ride?
...holding her for a long time, letting go, and then not looking back?

There is more...more to recount, and more to come.
I have to organize it in my brain.

Whew.

..after the storm.

The tender boy steps out into morning- around him the sounds of the city rattle and roar. The streets are damp and the air is mild, milder than usual for this time of year, soft as he is feeling.
He has just left the beautiful boy sleeping for the last time- the last time until the next time, and he does not know when that will be.

His heart is not heavy with sorrow; he is certain that their paths will cross again...it is a sweet sadness that he feels wrapped around him- he is sad bacause his companion is going far away, sad because he will not be able to hear his laughter or see his open smiling face in front of him, sad because he will not feel his strong compact body next to his, on top of his, intertwined, hands laced together and holding fast...he is sad because he is losing his friend, but not forever.

Rewind to earlier the previous evening..the beautiful boy, all heavy boots and black jeans, leather jacket and wallet chain, takes his hand and looks into the tender boy's eyes. The tender boy smiles, then notices that his friend is crying. He pulls him close and strokes his soft dark head..the beautiful boy speaks in a whisper "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry....."; he leans hard into the tender boy, his arms wrapping tightly around his body. He sniffles and looks up and wipes his eyes with the dark blue handkerchief he keeps in his left hind pocket. The tender boy holds him and lets him speak his heart, then reveals his own.

"You are silk and steel, and golden in your core..remember that...remember what I say to you....remember you are loved, remember you are forgiven."

There were times when the beautiful boy was sharp, cutting the tender boy- circumstances were difficult- the tender boy knew this- all was forgiven in the moment, but the beautiful boy struggles with his mistakes. They gnaw at him like a stray dog on a chance bone discovered while scavenging..they weigh on him like so many stones in his pockets, making his steps heavier than, perhaps, they need to be. The tender boy knows this. He places his chin on the beautiful boy's shoulder, turns his head to kiss his cheek, and lets him cry. His tears wash away the distance between them.

The tender boy thinks back to longer days and knows that he is different than he was before they met, before chance and circumstance brought them together...he is so glad that everything transpired as it did...and he will make mistakes, he will continue to learn- he will become a better boy- his journey has begun in earnest.

...chchchchchanges..........

David Bowie's Let's Dance album was the first I ever bought with my own hard-earned cash- I made it working in a barn, cleaning the lesson horse's stalls and tack. It wasn't really work to me, because I was one of those horse crazy girls that you read about.

I loved the way the music made me feel...I loved the suit that David was wearing...I loved his hair, flopping rakishly over one eye...I loved the fact that I could listen to it over and over and over. I still get nostalgic when I hear a cut off of that album.

Today I learned a hard fact- my life is changing in a big way very soon. I have no one to blame but myself; the choices I made. I had ample warning. I thought maybe I was doing enough to change the course of things, but I was wrong.

It could change for me in 2 weeks instead of 5, if I choose...I could set off on a different path., bid farewell and adieu to what is no longer mine....and I may. For now, though, I am going to be sad for a few hours, lick my wounds, go get some fuckin' exercise, and then make a plan. It's not the end of the world....it's just another chance to start.

What does that have to do with David Bowie? Nothing. Nothing at all.

...ongoing studies....

The tender boy lays on his side on a cold night in a hot room, his hands gentle on the back of the beautiful boy. They are wrapped in one another.
"You have a golden heart" he says.
"You cover it in layers of paper and cotton and wool and silk and leather, so that people will not see the light leaking out, but those who love you can see it..."
The beautiful boy smiles a small smile and pulls the tender boy closer....they remain, forehead to forehead, lips almost touching, sharing breath, for a long time. They are joined at the skin all the way to their feet...neither entertains the notion that the other belongs to him...they hold each other's hearts with open hands.
Soon they will be far away.
Soon things will be very different.
"What are you going to do next?" asks the beautiful boy.
The tender boy thinks a moment, and nods and grins.
"I am not sure yet..I will know when I am in the middle of it"

It is earlier in the night. The beautiful boy's eyes are wet- he shakes his head and looks into the tender boy's eyes....he shines before him, reaches out and dries his tears with a navy handkerchief. He tries to stop the flow, then gives in...the tender boy closes a hand over his, and says nothing. He knows why his friend is crying. He knows what he must leave behind, and he knows all too well the steep path he will travel. The tender boy has walked the road- he walks it still, further ahead, mind you, but if he looks back over his shoulder, he can see the beautiful boy, small and dark on the horizon. They will meet again- of this he is sure.

There is too much left to learn.

open hands

In a brief discussion with a dear friend yesterday, I said "I have learned not to hold on so tightly to things that were never mine in the first place"...she seemed to understand what I meant by that comment...probably because for a time, I was holding on far too tightly to something familiar to us both.

I am glad that I opened my hands.

I am glad I can share these things with her.

Back to the burning......

The tender boy wakes before his companion- swings his feet to the hardwood and pads quietly to the bathroom to shower, to change into his day-skin.....in the mirror he sees his own dark eyes staring back at him, content, a bit sad, a bit sleepy- eyes that see far too much, at times...the reflection of his own heart beating there... dark red and powerful- a heart that feels far too much, at times- but he makes no excuses or apologies- not any more.

The beautiful boy lays on his side, covered to the hips by the sheet, his wide smooth back- the back that, hours before, was under the tender boy's hands- tempting the boy back into bed, back into the beautiful boy's arms to lose himself for another short time in the sweet skin and soft eyes and smile- those cheekbones and that nose...strength in that face, and vulnerability....the tender boy walks to the corner and pulls on his jeans-undershirt-socks-boots....pauses to look back at the bed and grins to himself, because he knows this journey is not over yet....even though he can see the end- he knows that he is just beginning....

He moves to the door, pulling on his outer leathers, slinging his bag over his shoulder, picking up his helmet, then crosses the room back to the edge of the bed. The beautiful boy sighs and shifts and presses against him as the tender boy stretches out behind him, tracing the lines of his face-neck-shoulder-chest-ribs-waist-hip with his fingertips, just for a moment, just to feel him one more time before exiting this space where they share truths and secret stories.

The tender boy feels his heart fill up...not with sorrow or sadness, but with a love that knows it is not the only one, and also knows that what their two hearts share is theirs alone. Another lesson learned. He is thankful.

He strokes the beautiful boy from the top of his dark head to his barely covered hips; the beautiful boy's breathing is steady in sleep as the tender boy kisses him softly on the cheek, on his shoulder, in the middle of his back where the skin is so so soft; he pauses, lips lingering where he would rather remain, then he crosses the room, turns the deadbolt, and steps over the threshold into the morning light and another day.

His heart is a 30' bonfire, all oranges-reds-yellows and purple/blues, hot and crackling, dangerous and intense and wonderful- he is happy and he grins once more to himself because he knows that what he feels is real, and it hurts, and that it is not something to avoid, but to embrace. It marks him and he wears it well.