The “Bad” Boys

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

Last night I was doing some revision work on the book I have been writing for what feels like forever now when there is a knock at the door.

It’s Shane; he came to tell me that he would not be going to prison but that he was in fact on probation.  Was certainly happy to see him which must have been evident by the huge smile on my face, and he laughed before placing a kiss on my forehead, kind of surprised I was concerned about the situation.  Then he took my hand and we were walking though the woods, talking about how much fun we had at the Court.

While Shane rattled on about some of the tattoos he had been doing, my thoughts drifted to wonder what it is that draws me to people like him, or why I care so much.  It occurred to me many years ago that I have no control over what people choose to do with their lives; all I can do is offer my friendship, undying support and an unbiased ear.  No matter how hard I try not to become too emotionally invested, I already feel as though I am too involved with him.  This is my weakness and I tend to continually be hurt by it.

As we sat on a log smoking a joint, I entertained the thought of asking him to score for me.  There is no reason I wanted to get high or why it had to be with him, but I figured if I was going to be visiting familiar territory I might as well go to the extreme.  Perhaps it was the absence of Jon and the fact I stumbled around without him, trying to figure out what direction I should take while waiting for him to return.  This had left an emptiness I was trying to fill yet no matter how much I enjoyed myself, it just was not the same.

Shane was the storm that unexpectedly rolled in on a Summer afternoon when the skies are baby blue and there isn’t a cloud for miles; the classic car that rolls up beside you on the highway representing an iconic time in Americana and bringing a smile to your face to know it is in good hands; the giant wave that comes rushing on you as you stare out at the ocean and brace yourself as much as you can even though it knocks you off your feet and there is sand that winds up in the bottom of your bathing suit, your hair tangling in your face while salt water creeps up your nose.

His eyes sparkled when he looked at me, the slightest smile on his lips as he slowly exhaled smoke and kissed my hand.  Then he made an offer that caused me to chuckle, though there was no way he could have read my mind.  We sat doing lines all afternoon, watching birds and squirrels move through the trees, tiny fluttering wings dancing along tall grass and the sun warming our skin, beads of sweat forming along our tattoos.  When we weren’t consuming drugs we were exploring the boundaries of intimacy and finding ways to bring each other pleasure without actually having sex.

Shane walked me back to the house and said he would be out of town for a few days, as he had to travel up to Irvington for someone who wanted a tattoo.  As much as I wanted to ask when I would see him again, I played it as cool as I could and just wished him a safe journey.  He kissed me at the door and gave me one of his rings, stating that if he failed to return I would at least have something to remember him by.

All I can think about is how I would not be able to handle someone I care about dropping out of my life right now.  Though I said it before, it bears repeating that this whole situations reminds me of being with Jon.  Part of me knows better than to make a big deal out of hanging with someone I like to kiss, yet that does not stop me from having feelings for him.  That is not something I can shut off whenever I want to, but at the same time I could not suffer the pain of losing someone again.

My dreams have become a stream of strange, unusual, weird, bizarre and down right fucked up images about 90% of the time; it is that blissful 10% I don’t even remember I highly welcome yet rarely experience.  This morning was one of those dreams that falls into the larger percentile of generally unexplainable oddness.  Though the location is nondescript, I sure as hell knew who I was talking to.   Though for all intents and purposes the person looked very much like Jon, the tattoos and voice belonged to Shane.  Yea, that is pretty up there on the ranks of things that don’t make sense in my dreams.  For some reason I am standing on a box so I can look in his eyes as we talk, and that makes me laugh a little considering Jon is about a foot taller than I am, and Shane has several inches on me as well.   Through the threat of tears I tried my best to convince him not to go away, though I have no clue as to where he wanted to go or why.  My hands stroked his hair; it was soft and smelled like the ocean – I said that everything would be alright as long as he stayed with me.

That is pretty much where I lost the whole scene, and yet it has been sitting in my mind since I woke up.  Even though I keep telling myself it was just a dream, I question how much I really believe that.  How often do dreams reflect things that are going on in life?  For me, it seems to occur quite often.  What eats at me the most, is that my journal feels like the only outlet I have for whatever is going on inside my head, and I fill it with all these questions that no one – including myself – can answer.  The hardest part is having to deal with it on my own, since I don’t expect anyone to “get it” and I certainly am uncomfortable discussing it with anyone I know as they will probably ask questions I cannot answer.

Since I feel as though I have nowhere else to turn, I wind up internalizing too much and then either want to run from my feelings or find something to quiet them into submission.

There are errands I need to run tomorrow in order to get documents I need for work, the one thing that seems to be going well for me in terms of getting my life straight and building toward a future that includes moving on from my current situation.  It also serves as a distraction from daydreaming about Shane and his incredible kissing abilities.

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