Thursday, December 26, 2002

A sound I hadn't heard in a long time, just a few minutes ago I heard the call of a mourning dove. If I thought about it, I would have maintained my frown, but instinctively, a smile grew wide on my face. It's call lasted only a few minutes, but it reminded me of watching the pair on my window sill last spring; the eggs, and then the chick, and the pair taking turns feeding it. That chapter ended badly, the chick gone one morning, clearly fallen or god-knows-what from the crow that had been lurking. A few weeks later, I saw the pair again, cooing, courting, whatever it is they do. Their sounds beautiful, yet sad. More importantly to me, they seem to have no choice. Yes, I'm trying to tie this in to my own sorry sad attempts at courting, and it doesn't quite fit, but give me a break, I'm on my first cup of coffee.

Christmas Eve. Tuesday morning, I woke up, coffee, feeling sorry for myself, as I hadn't made plans for the holiday - but had two errands to run, to two different post offices. The first one had a box of cookies from a very good pal, and I thought to stop off at work and share. Yes, it would be my excuse to drop in on my day off, during the day when Eyebrow Man might possibly could sorta be there. I passed the restaurant on my way to the other post office, noting there was no telltale white midsized truck in the vicinity, and did the long-line at the Post Office on Xmas Eve thing on 14th st. On my way back down Ave A, I think I see a white truck, parked right in front of the restaurant, kinda blocking the bus stop. Now, since my little obsession has started, I've learned that there are approximately 15 mid-sized white trucks on any given block in Manhattan at any given time, so with that in mind, I kept peddling faster anyway. As I crossed the intersecting street, there, I see HIM climbing into the driver's side of the truck. Peddling even faster, I hear the engine rumble, pull up just at the door, with my front wheel sorta blocking the front of the truck. When he sees me, he unrolls the window, a big beautiful smile.

"HEY DADDY!" he exclaims. Wow. So he really did call me "daddy" a few weeks back when I thought I had imagined it! We talk briefly, enough for me to find that he needs to park the truck somewhere legally, but will be back, and I tell him I'm stopping in for a few minutes, and will see him inside. Gosh, it seemed like a long time before he returned, but I open the box of cookies, pass them around, and wait in the take-out area. When he comes in, I first direct him to the cookies on the counter, then we talk a bit. I ask what he's doing that night, he says "no plans" but turns and asks me the same question. I say something about "grabbing some two-4-one beers, feeling sorry for myself" but I smile as I say it, trying to make fun of myself. He asks where, I tell him The Phoenix, and while he doesn't seem to recognize the name, he says something along the lines of it sounding cool. I tell him he should come, and then I head behind the counter to look for something to write on. As I find a yellow-sticky pad, he asks what time I plan on getting there. He grimaces at the hour (midnight) but I write down my name and phone number, hand it to him, and say "make sure you call me later, it'll be fun." I pack up my stuff, and he puts out his paw for me to manhandle, and we shake. "Talk to you later" I say to him, then turn to the other 2 coworkers and say HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

I sailed home, of course, mood lifted immensely. I did laundry (clean sheets), cleaned up around the apartment, and just waited to hear. I felt good about being a bit more aggressive, clearer that I'd like to spend time together. But as afternoon turned into evening, and evening into night, no phone call. I still went out, on the off chance that he might just go without calling, but nope. I had even bought an answering machine earlier in the day, something I had put off doing for weeks, but thought "gee, don't want to miss the call if I'm down in the laundry room."

Since Tuesday night, my moods have swung widely - but mostly in the lower ranges - feeling foolish; feeling stupid for getting my hopes up, depending on some stranger to lift my spirits and provide a few hours or more of joy. And then feeling bad for feeling bad, that old Christmas "there are billions of others who are less fortunate than you" bit; it works well on me. It's totally true, but of course, isn't much consolation (which of course it shouldn't be). The frustrating part is that there is no answer; if not Eyebrow Man, it will be someone else again someday. Someone I will look at and know - it's him. And the anxieties of wondering if that feeling will be mutual, if that curiosity and hunger will go anywhere. It eats me up, drives me mad, I can't stop wondering.

I've been thinking a lot about hands, and lips, lately. Body parts that can never be adequately displayed in any porno scenario, but probably the most important body parts there are. Cliche' for the more usual fantasies involving body parts, but the old saying about it being "what you do with it" is indeed what counts. Because it's the use of them, the touch of his warm hand on your shoulder, the gentle feeling of his lips on the back of your neck, the kisses you give to his dark eyelids - soft, reassuring, ....... yeah, I'm stuck on this guy for a while, I guess. I haven't even seen his lips, they are so buried under that 'stache! It's driving me crazy, and I only hope that the good crazy can help compensate for some of this frustrating, annoying, all-consuming please-lord-give-me-a-lobotomy bad crazy.