Subject: High Rollers
Date: Saturday 7/22/06 2:23:00 AM
Buffalo, New York
A Gay Leather Bar
Hockey Finals, 2006
An old man approached me at the bar/said to me “you gotta tell him how much you love him” as I stared at the one man I couldn’t get if I tried, and this poor old man didn’t realize that I’ve told him how much I’ve loved him more than once and was always denied. The one who got away just couldn’t understand that when I said “I love you” it wasn’t a ploy to get in his pants, he couldn’t fathom that someone would love him for what he was because he operates on a different system.
The more drinks someone buys for him, the cooler he is. The more relationships he meddles with/the more breaks ups caused by him the more powerful he thinks he is. This high speed train wreck no where near slowing down and it’s sad because it’s not often that you can actually see yourself loosing more than just a friend.
The boy just didn’t seem to understand that I meant what I said/I only say what I mean: don’t seem to leave much room for interpretation when I say “I love you more than you can ever know” but he was in his own universe playing little boy games of cops and robbers:now hookers, tramps and thieves.
I was the friend for awhile, the reliable pal, the one you call when you need a shoulder to cry on and when you need to just let loose or to come and help out when you’re sick but you see the deal just happens to be that I wait for no one. I’m no one’s option. I’m the real deal, I’m the shit so as I faded away, the more I became unavailable the more he tried to reach out:kept getting these text messages:
“I miss you”
“I love you”
“when are we going to hang”
“baby where are you?”
But I didn’t get my hopes up, I took them for what they were worth: a ten cent way of saying “pay attention to me, please think you have a chance, buy me a drink and we’ll see” but the shame of it is, I don’t play that way, that just isn’t how I roll/I wasn’t raised a fool and I know when it’s time to pack my bags and move on.
So then I started getting actual calls on my phone that I’d just send to voice mail “hey, just wondering what you’re up to…yeah, me and my last boyfriend broke up…I have a new one…he’s rich, it’s soo cool…” and I know that in another few days I’ll get another message of the same. I don’t even listen to them, I just hit lucky number 7 and send ’em the the digital waste bin.
Every now and then, I answer my phone and he wants to know where I am and who I’m with and he grills me harder than my parents did in high school when I was in the west village learning how to shoot, play poker, drink and play politics with the boys and he tries so hard, so hard to reel me back in; but I won’t let him.
So on the last night that I was ever gunna see him, I was paying for my own drinks at the bar with my own cash as he was judging his own worth by the amount of men he could play to pay for the night. The older men who were paying to touch him were like The Sirens to me, singing out their dangerous song. These men hoping so desperately, as their hearts were aching, for one last chance:one last fuck to prove their worth/that they can still get the boy, these played out Casanovas who should be a glaring warning sign for the boy that I loved because their body language/their history is screaming “you’re going to become me…you’re going to grow old…you’re going to be sitting here at this bar, less than twenty miles from your home hoping for one last shag…”
So I waived a casual goodbye as I walked out the door, picked up my cell, called my travel agent and booked a trip out of dodge because the next time he called me and I answered I needed to be able to say “boyfriend? Not at 21 my friend…you never know what people you’re going to meet…” and hang up.
As I walked to my car I shrugged, no use in holding a torch for a boy who refuses to grow. My plane boards in a few months and I’ll be touching dirt in another country…and I don’t know when I’ll book my flight back home and I know I don’t speak the language of the men who will be all around me/one I’ve never studied but I think I’ll manage to communicate.
You have to understand, in the end, I’m the one who got away…shame is, I won’t be around when he comes to realize he lost the game.
I always win.