Les Garçons
So much has happened this week. I don't even know who I am anymore. There's a boy. There's a boy who felt me up in Cobb in December. Tonight I had to yell at him. Then when we met at Reynold's Club tonight he told me he was sorry for everything he had done and that he wanted us to be on good terms. Then, at the Shoreland he stood behind me and put his arms around my waist and told me he loves me. Then he dropped another bomb. Shit, I don't know what to think. There's another boy--a friend, one I've mentioned here--who I think increasingly that I like. After I dropped boy number one off at his dorm I walked home thinking about the two of them and Laurent. This year marks the first Christmas Laurent and I didn't call one another. Mom told me I should call him, but I didn't. As I rounded the corner of 55th and University I said outloud, "I love him." I stopped and tried to figure out who I was talking about. Was it the boy who watches me brush my hair? The one whose shoulder I touched on my way out the door, and who stopped me to say, "Thank you"? Is it the one who cupped my breasts and told me he was sorry for all the shit he'd done to me over the last quarter and a half, the one I walked home tonight? Or is it celui whose image graces my desk and my thoughts? Or even Phill, whose smiling ten-year-old face sits next Lo's seventeen-year-old smile next to my computer? I've been thinking about Phillip increasingly this year. I love him to death. My oldest friend. He was there when I was baptized. He was there through it all, and yet, through nothing. I feel like I've missed so much of his life. I started walking again, and from sheer habit, I glanced up at room 512's window. I always do that, and I'm not sure why. I rode the elevator up to Thompson and walked down two flights of stairs while I dialed a fourth boy's number. This one is one of the maybe two people I would call my closest friends. This one knows me better than I know myself, which I frankly find a bit frightening. This one expected me at a frat party that I wasn't going to go to. He understood. Of course he did.
I have the sudden urge to call Laurent. It's ten in the morning where he is. But, what would I say? "Lo, je t'aime"? I already told him that. I whispered that to him one night in July. That night lives in my mind in infamy. And if you know me well enough, you already know about that night.
I have the sudden urge to call Laurent. It's ten in the morning where he is. But, what would I say? "Lo, je t'aime"? I already told him that. I whispered that to him one night in July. That night lives in my mind in infamy. And if you know me well enough, you already know about that night.