Niloc

He told me that he would ride the bus all day on the weekends. He rode the bus because he felt safe on the bus. He knew when he got home his mother would be drunk or passed out, he prayed she would be passed out in the house and not the front yard. 

He had a collection of postcards from his dad. 

Paris.

Canada.

Australia.

London. 

The same message:

"Hi, I miss you! I love you! Take care of your mom." 

It's hard to say if his dad knew the impact that the last statement had on his son. 

I guess we'll never know. 

He was a friend of a friend. When I saw him I knew I wanted him. He was shy and beautiful. We talked for hours. He was so quiet, I thought if I interrupted him he'd never talk again. So, I sat and listened to everything he said. He was gentle and kind. I wasn't ready for something so serious. I was immature and selfish. 

I was also an alcoholic. 

I would call and he would pick me up from wherever I was. He would pick me up from random houses, bars, parks and stores.

We would go back to his apartment. He would hold me while I cried about things I couldn’t articulate. He would remain quiet when I yelled and screamed at him. He would pick me up when I had fallen asleep on his doorstep. 

And then one day he said,

“I can’t keep watching you hurt yourself.”

I was so arrogant. I told him I only answered to myself. I told him a lot of stupid things. 

It was a year before I saw him again. We were at a friends house the other day and we laughed and joked, we had a few drinks and talked about movies and books and places we’ve been. And then he left suddenly and he seemed upset. After he was gone I asked a mutual friend, if he was ok. And our friend said, “He likes you. He’s happy you’re doing better. He just doesn’t trust you or himself around you.”

I smiled and nodded.  

I left after a few minutes and called him. He didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t expect he would.

I remember what it felt like to kiss him. He has these really long arms and soft skin that always felt a little clammy. Whenever he kissed me his lips would tremble. He has light brown hair with golden strands of blond hair, and when the sun hits it, it almost looks like he's glowing. 

On the drive home, I had a thought, "While I’m recovering from alcohol and drugs, he’s recovering from me." 

I cried all the way home, again.