stool next to the drum set in the corner. I ran my finger over a cymbal, checking for dust. Nope. He practiced.
“Yeah?” Max said. “Well that makes sense because she’s, like, a complete nut job. She used to go out with that guy who works
in reception, Eddie. Ummm-hmmmm. Ummmm-hmmmm.”
I watched him pace around the room. He checked his pockets for his cigarettes, found them on top of his dresser, got his lighter
from the bedside table, lit the cigarette, all with the phone tucked in the nook between his shoulder and his ear. His hair
was mussed, like he just woke up. His clothes were all Super Very Good. They hung on him like he was a hanger. I kept expecting
him to end the conversation, to tell his friend I was there. But he kept introducing one new topic after another. I had received
no kiss.
“Hey, whatever happened with those vinyls you were ordering for me?” he said. “No that’s cool. Thanks man. Not too much. Work’s
been killing me. Well, it doesn’t matter if I run the company. Heh, heh. Seriously. Hey, guess who I ran into the other day?”
He was now flipping through his records, maybe looking for something to put on the turntable. Yes, that’s what it was. He
put on a record. Badly Drawn Boy. Good choice. But he had to be kidding. Whenever I tried to talk to Max on the phone, he
acted like he hated it, like he had a million other things he needed to do. Now he was just chatting away.
“She’s good.”
I perked up.
“My mother loves you. You know it. Heh, heh …”
IS IT A LOVE CONNECTION?
A budding romance can be bliss, or it can make you want to sharpen your nails into fine points and claw out your own eyes.
Here, plot the course of your new romance.—B.F.
False alarm.
Finally, I heard signs of the end of the conversation: “Okay. Well then, I’ll catch you Thursday. Right, at Fred Sixty-Two.
Good French toast. Cool.”
He hung up, and I looked at him like,
Are you aware that I’ve been sitting here for four thousand years?
He said, “Don’t you look pretty.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
Later that night, I was back in Max’s arms. The show was amazing—turned out he knew the singer so we got to go backstage.
And then, after we got back to Max’s house, and after I put on his boxers (again), and after he took them off (again), I said
yes.
I just couldn’t wait anymore. And I was fairly certain the timing was right. We’d had a lovely evening—no awkward pauses,
no weird jokes about the other night. And being with him felt so
good
. He was tender, but not in a cheesy way. And passionate, but not in a forced way. When he held me, I felt like I could stay
there forever. Like I could lie there, starve to death, have the ravens come and pick my bones clean, and I’d be completely
fine with it.
After, Max said, “So I was thinking, B.” His breath near my ear gave me the shivers.
“Hit me.” I tried to nuzzle even closer.
“I was
thinking
…”
I held my breath.
He’s going to tell me it’s all going to be okay,
I thought.
That he’s not freaked out by the age difference
. Max rubbed his hand up and down my arm, fingers trailing …
“You were thinking,” I said.
“Yeah, I was thinking that maybe since that party on Friday won’t really get going till eleven we should stop in Koreatown
and play some video games.”
“What?”
“It’s on the way.” He paused and craned his neck to look at me. “You don’t like video games?”
I’ve owned every home system known to humanity, from Atari to Sega to PlayStation 2. But this was supposed to be the moment
when he told me how things were going to be. When our relationship would come into focus. When I’d get some sense of what
I could expect.
Maybe I should just bring it up myself?
I thought.
Point out that, since he was just inside me, maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about the arcade?
But then,
Don’t blow this. You’re not prepared to blow this
.
I
“Yeah?” Max said. “Well that makes sense because she’s, like, a complete nut job. She used to go out with that guy who works
in reception, Eddie. Ummm-hmmmm. Ummmm-hmmmm.”
I watched him pace around the room. He checked his pockets for his cigarettes, found them on top of his dresser, got his lighter
from the bedside table, lit the cigarette, all with the phone tucked in the nook between his shoulder and his ear. His hair
was mussed, like he just woke up. His clothes were all Super Very Good. They hung on him like he was a hanger. I kept expecting
him to end the conversation, to tell his friend I was there. But he kept introducing one new topic after another. I had received
no kiss.
“Hey, whatever happened with those vinyls you were ordering for me?” he said. “No that’s cool. Thanks man. Not too much. Work’s
been killing me. Well, it doesn’t matter if I run the company. Heh, heh. Seriously. Hey, guess who I ran into the other day?”
He was now flipping through his records, maybe looking for something to put on the turntable. Yes, that’s what it was. He
put on a record. Badly Drawn Boy. Good choice. But he had to be kidding. Whenever I tried to talk to Max on the phone, he
acted like he hated it, like he had a million other things he needed to do. Now he was just chatting away.
“She’s good.”
I perked up.
“My mother loves you. You know it. Heh, heh …”
IS IT A LOVE CONNECTION?
A budding romance can be bliss, or it can make you want to sharpen your nails into fine points and claw out your own eyes.
Here, plot the course of your new romance.—B.F.
False alarm.
Finally, I heard signs of the end of the conversation: “Okay. Well then, I’ll catch you Thursday. Right, at Fred Sixty-Two.
Good French toast. Cool.”
He hung up, and I looked at him like,
Are you aware that I’ve been sitting here for four thousand years?
He said, “Don’t you look pretty.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
Later that night, I was back in Max’s arms. The show was amazing—turned out he knew the singer so we got to go backstage.
And then, after we got back to Max’s house, and after I put on his boxers (again), and after he took them off (again), I said
yes.
I just couldn’t wait anymore. And I was fairly certain the timing was right. We’d had a lovely evening—no awkward pauses,
no weird jokes about the other night. And being with him felt so
good
. He was tender, but not in a cheesy way. And passionate, but not in a forced way. When he held me, I felt like I could stay
there forever. Like I could lie there, starve to death, have the ravens come and pick my bones clean, and I’d be completely
fine with it.
After, Max said, “So I was thinking, B.” His breath near my ear gave me the shivers.
“Hit me.” I tried to nuzzle even closer.
“I was
thinking
…”
I held my breath.
He’s going to tell me it’s all going to be okay,
I thought.
That he’s not freaked out by the age difference
. Max rubbed his hand up and down my arm, fingers trailing …
“You were thinking,” I said.
“Yeah, I was thinking that maybe since that party on Friday won’t really get going till eleven we should stop in Koreatown
and play some video games.”
“What?”
“It’s on the way.” He paused and craned his neck to look at me. “You don’t like video games?”
I’ve owned every home system known to humanity, from Atari to Sega to PlayStation 2. But this was supposed to be the moment
when he told me how things were going to be. When our relationship would come into focus. When I’d get some sense of what
I could expect.
Maybe I should just bring it up myself?
I thought.
Point out that, since he was just inside me, maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about the arcade?
But then,
Don’t blow this. You’re not prepared to blow this
.
I
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