To: AnActua[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: The truth, finally
5 Oct 2022
I’m not telling you where I am
A few nights after your name appeared in my inbox, I knew I was going to return to New York. I was done pretending to be something I was not in order to please another person. That night we walked from the condo to Los Amigos because X. wanted to dance. I still couldn’t think straight for longer than sixteen minutes and he was starting to get bored of my distraction.
The heavy air in the club vibrated oozed sugar-sweet. Remembering it now and trying to tell you, our movements turn sluggish, a slight lag after thick resistance as we pushed through to the bar. Red tears of light suspend with a shredded bounce, fluid runs solid and the surface turns to plasma. In order to move forward I feel the need to destroy, or at least melt something down in my boil so I can mold these fragments towards a memory tint I can live with.
The jello shots came in those flimsy plastic cups like they do everywhere. The thing about Puerto Vallarta is that you can fool yourself into believing you’re exactly where you want to be. X. grabbed one but didn’t know what to do because he’d never had one before. I wanted to show him, slipped my tongue between my blue raspberry and plastic, tore apart and slid against. The gelatin had set too thick and refused to part cleanly – so much for being sweet and sexy. It was too loud to explain anything as I stuck my finger in and scooped the broken jello into my open mouth.
“Sometimes you just eat it,” I spoke too quietly. X. didn’t want the shot anyway, or this moment; his eyes wandered and shoulders lifted. He wanted to dance, he wanted everyone to see him dancing alone. I nodded up to the second-floor balcony and headed towards the floating staircase while he threw his uneaten serving into the nearest trash can. There was nothing left for us to show each other.
Do you ever forget to breathe for a few moments, until you start getting lightheaded and almost fall down before it hits you: Breath again? You know the moments after the fainting game that’s impossible to play alone. You always need somebody else to take your breath away. I fantasized your hands on my neck as I sat in the corner looking over the crowd of people. Under a strobing orange light that swayed out of time with the pulsing music, X. was nearly indistinguishable from the wobbling mass. I felt the empty want that usually comes right before the end of the night. The bodies squirmed against each other until I lost sight of the man I had loved. The only place I could go was home.
I don’t know why I need to tell you all of this. All I know is this urge towards connection, the desire to speak and be honest. You make me remember it’s possible and worth fighting for, again and again.
I booked a flight for the next day.
*Note: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this Vocal series are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Read Daddy Issue 6 here
Read Daddy Issue 8 here -- the final entry in this series!
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About the Creator
Hi! I'm a queer multimodal artist writing love poems in Seattle, one half of the art and poetry collective Eat Yr Manhood, and head curator of Stone Pacific Zine. Work in The Rumpus, Occulum, Peach Mag, dream boy book club, and others. :P
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