Thanks Old Faggot – Part Three

photos by jack slomovits

Him: So can I ask you one more question?

Me: Sure.

Him: Why are you still so sad?

Me: What?

Him: You said that you broke up with this guy a few years ago…

Me: Right.

Him: Why are you still so sad about it?

Me: I’m not. It was the right thing to do. We were starting to inhibit each others personal growth.

Him: That seems like a broad reason.

Me: There were other reasons.

Him: What?

Me: We hadn’t had sex in over a year.

Him: Ouch.

Me: I knew you’d balk at that one.

Him: I’m a Dirty Old Faggot. Sex is important.

Me: Well we had gotten to the point where sex wasn’t important.

Him: Then I see why you ended it. Do you still think about him a lot?

Me: What? I dunno. Maybe. I guess so…

Him: Haha. So, yes.

Me: I still live in the apartment we shared together for seven years. I feel like I’m living with his ghost sometimes. I find myself talking to him, saying things in this baby-talk couple’s gibberish we used to speak to one another. Sometimes I literally ask him questions, even though he hasn’t lived there for three years.

Him: Like what?

Me: Uh…  Lemme think.


Me: Well… The other day I was washing my hair in the shower.

Him: Mmm. You in the shower. Good visual.

Me: Gross. Anyway I was washing my hair and my eyes were closed and I guess he popped into my head. Some memory of some previous happy moment – and all the sudden, out loud, I said ‘When you coming home buddy? I’m lonely.’


Me: And then I said ‘Oh. Right. You’re never coming back. Ever.’ But that part was quieter. More of a self admonishment… Like, as if to say, stop talking to yourself, stupid.


Him: Michael… Can I hug you?

Me: Sure.


Me: Get your hand off my ass. And thank  you. For the gesture. The hug was creepy but the gesture was nice…

Him: But. But. Hey.

Me: What?

Him: What if he did come back? You wouldn’t want that, right?

Me: No. Yes. I don’t know. We were really miserable toward the end of things, which was heartbreaking because we were so  kind to one another for such a long time.

Him: If you think you want him back…

Me: I don’t. I’m not sure there’s a ‘him’ to want back. We’re both so different now. The person I’m speaking to in the shower is literally his ghost.

Him: Oh, Michael.

Me: You know what’s really funny? Is how small everything gets…

Him: What do you mean?

Me: I used to have big fantasies about him. About buying a place together. Maybe owning a small business. Adopting a child. Big fantasies. About the life we would have together.

Him: Okay…

Me: And I still have them. But they keep getting smaller. Like, when we broke up, I would fantasize about me growing and changing and about him turning things around. Maybe he’d clean up his act and so would I…

Him: Go on.

Me: The fantasy gets smaller and smaller.

Him: What does it look like nowadays?

Me: I…  uh…

Him: You don’t have to say.

Me: I have a fantasy about him. We’re in the park. And we’re sitting on a bench next to each other. And I’m not even looking at him, because that’s how fragile things have gotten. Even in my fantasy. It’s so fragile that if I look at him and see him, reality might seep back in and destroy everything.

Him: Like that scene in The Hours where the room fills up with water.

Me: Yes! But the exact opposite, because it would be reality destroying the fantasy.

Him: Right. So you’re in the park?

Me: Yes. We’re in the park. Quiet. Sitting next to each other.

Him: And?

Me: And nothing. That’s the fantasy. We watch a little league kid’s soccer game and sit next to each other. And we’re quiet. And it’s peaceful. And perfect. That’s my fantasy about him, now. Just to spend a quiet moment with him in the park.

Him: Michael. May I say something?

Me: Okay.

Him: Maybe you’re not perfect, okay? But you’re not to blame for all of this.

Me: I did break his heart, pretty thoroughly.

Him: Right, but he must’ve had a hand in things.

Me: He certainly did.

Him: And just by saying what you said, just now, you’ve sort of proved that you’re a being that’s capable and deserving of great love. So listen to an Old Faggot, okay?

Me: Okay…

Him: Let that love find you. You deserve it.


Him: I have to go masturbate now. Those internet twinks aren’t going to objectify themselves…

Me: Okay. Bye…  Oh. Hey.

Him: What?

Me: Thanks, Old Faggot.

Him: You’re welcome…


Him: Jerk.