I’d overlook his dying, if only he’d stay.
Saturday, December 18th, 2010

Then he became just a memory once again, like a photograph tacked on that cluttered bulletin board in the back-hallway of my mind. “I’ll see you soon,” I said, and kissed the paper face.

He returned to me in a dream. He was alone driving a big car, and he was being playful. He made the car bend as he drove past so he could get a better look at me. In dreams anything can happen. He waved. He was always the first one to wave. I really liked that about him, he never let people just pass, un-acknowledged. He would always engage people he met with a wink or a nod. Or an affair.

Bobby made the pliable car do a side-step up onto the curb. He made a show of looking at me in the mirror. Then he climbed around inside the car like an unrestrained child, and hung out of a side window to wave at me some more, and smile.

His driving used to make me anxious; while his attention was on every detail of me, my attention was on every detail of the road, as if it mattered. I was always nervous and he was always reckless. And now I wish I stayed with him for the rest of the trip. He was small, and had a childlike frame, yet he was 28. I liked that. Also, he had a huge dick, so big it seemed to belong on a much bigger body, and I liked that, too. Bobby had long hair and looked like Rod Stewart, only Bobby was cute.

Of course in this dream he wasn’t just waving and driving on; he was out of the car and running back to say hello, and maybe give a hug and a kiss. Certainly a touch.

Another car stopped to say hello. It was Jay trying to interrupt with greetings profuse, only I postponed him. After all, I could see Jay whenever I wanted, but Bobby died a year ago. I kept my attention on Bobby.

I thought about saying, “You’re supposed to be dead!” But like most things I think about saying, it just didn’t come out. “Where were you?” is gently what came out. I meant where was he before he died; we never finished our affair and he never said goodbye. I was feeling some regret and maybe anger; mostly love. He just smiled that little-boy smile of his, and shrugged his shoulders. I didn’t ask again. I’d overlook his dying, if only he’d stay.

We strolled, me and my dead young lover, while Jay hovered nearby, patiently alive. We talked about nothing; it was just a visit. And when I realized he wasn’t really back, he became a photograph. “I’ll see you soon.” I kissed the paper face.

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