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.
(pause)
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.’
(pause)
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.
(pause)
Him: Michael… Can I hug you?
Me: Sure.
(pause)
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.
(pause)
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…
(pause)
Him: Jerk.
PIEFOLK 