Rusted Wheel

Yes, the times are a’changin’ and it seems that the world is ready for it. Ready, willing and able, I guess, for most. Do I need to point out the details here or can you figure things out a bit? Yeah, I knew you could.
In previous writings (on another blog), I’ve written about change. How change can be easy, painful, forceful, loose, un-noticed and slapped in our faces like an angry lover hell bent on getting their frustrations across. It is a part of nature as well as the cosmos and the spiritual that I think cannot be reckoned with in any way possible. It has to be accepted, no matter what the obstacles or circumstances.
There. That is enough about that.

Serendipity had called me that Friday afternoon as I sat at my desk anticipating the weekend – I felt the need to float through the next two days even though I had a plan here and there. I could not shake the fact that I had not seen most of my friends for quite sometime. The situation at work was becoming precarious and the stress left behind it was starting to take its toll on me. Nights of insomnia, days away from the gym, slow-moving days at my desk trying to keep my sanity intact while my supervisor spent most of his time scrounging up work for me. When I got home that Friday night I opted to visit with my friends at the watering hole we called a 2nd home. I left my apartment still shaking off the day’s stress and walked right into my crowd; their smiling faces were comforting. It was the perfect prelude to my weekend, as Eric and I had plans the next night.
I looked up from a conversation I was having with a friend and saw D glide across the bar to and from the rest room. I haven’t seen him in months, not since we saw each other in the rest room where genuine smiles and enthusiastic greetings were exchanged between us.
Later on that Friday evening, I stood outside with a friend chatting loosely about where the night would take him. D came out, patted our mutual friend on the shoulder, looked through me and continued to walk home. I guess a few months can change one’s perception of a peculiar relationship. I thought we were on mutual territory, but…yeah. Anyway, our mutual friend quickly glanced between us and continued on with what he was saying. I spent the rest of the evening with other friends before walking home with my beloved iPod Shuffle coming to terms that D and I will probably never be friends or acquaintances or nothing more than two bodies occupying the same venue who once found each other interesting enough to project nothing more than the will – and choice – to ignore each other.
Saturday morning. I slept in as much as possible, trying to catch up on the sleep I had lost the week before. I was looking forward to my date with Eric, as we had run into each other a few times and chatted on the phone once or twice which had brought us to another chance at going out.
I jumped out of bed and dressed for the gym. During my trek over to Broadway, I noticed groups of people walking towards the park with signs that made statements about hate and gay and marriage. I stood on a corner in a calm daze as they passed by me.
I can’t go to the gym…not today.
“Hey, what time does the march start?” I called out.
“One thirty,” one of them said to me.
I turned around and went back to my apartment where I changed into a pair of jeans and t-shirt. I grabbed my digital camera and my camcorder and walked briskly to Volunteer Park. It was the day that the entire world was marching in unison in support of gay marriage. How could I turn my back on a peaceful demonstration of something I strongly believed in? Once I entered the park, I began to record footage of hundreds…uh, no, I believe the final count was in the thousands. Anyway, I got footage of thousands of people – gay and straight – who stood in full support of equality. As I recorded the event while standing by with some friends I flashed to a moment quite sometime ago when the thought of meeting someone and falling in love was still fresh in my head…or was it my dreams? Anyway, I always pictured a moment when I would look him in the eye, take his hand and ask him to marry me. I thought it was possible…
The rally and the march were inspiring. I thought about writing about it, but was confident that the polished one-shot video I’d taken tell its own story on my You Tube site. I had a few hours before my date with Eric and proceeded to clean my apartment, watch an episode of the 4th season of Melrose Place and, finally, take a shower.
I met Eric in front of his apartment building and we walked down to the theatre. Just as before, he bought the tickets and I bought the refreshments. The movie was funnier than I thought and a good time was had. Eric seems to be bugged by the fact that I am a chivalrous guy. “I have to break you of that habit,” he said.
“Get over yourself,” I told him as I held the door open for him as we entered a bar, noticing his disapproval.
We took turns buying rounds. I met some of his friends – nice people with honest opinions and some good laughs in them.
At one point Eric and I took a break and went to have a smoke. Our conversation turned towards dating, and I had a question for him: why do guys in Seattle try to pull you in and once you show interest they do everything they can to push you back? (note: its just not a seattle thing, but i’ve seen it more prevalent up here than any other city i’ve lived in). Eric delivered some editorial that would have sounded more natural coming out of Sarah Palin’s mouth.
“I’m not looking to date,” he said.
“Neither am I. I just want to have some fun.” I said.
In jest – as a cover – we argued both the fuck buddy and friends with benefit scenarios before it hit me: this was a Dear John date. I smiled at him. All is okay, is what my wink meant and my actions throughout the night carried one statement to Eric: I’m not taking this personally.
Sometime before the booze began to set in, Eric brought up an ex-trainer from our gym that has since become a porn star. I told him about my encounters with the handsome but attitude-ridden hunk before it hit me: we had talked about him before. At length, just as we were doing.
“Are you, like, into him?” I asked.
A quick no was sputtered, and I knew then that I never had a chance with Eric. That morning when we lightly held onto each other and spent the day together was a gesture towards friendship.
Drunk, but still coherent, I walked Eric back to his apartment (one just can’t take the southern gentleman out of me…even when i’m hammered). Somehow the conversation turned towards attraction. I admitted that I found him attractive. He stood before me (i admit that i can’t remember the expression on his face). “Go on, go home,” I told him. I turned around, balancing myself on a foot, and started walking home. I remembered that I had brought my iPod with me and floated home on the fumes of scotch and songs of love, loss and celebration of being alive.
The next morning through a haze of a headache and dehydration, I was surprised that I did not feel sorry for myself. Nor did I feel that that curse had returned to haunt me. I did not feel that I was unlucky at love and seduction. I got rejected, and whether it was the first time or the thousandth time, I just could not find it inside of myself to react to it. I didn't even concentrate on the possibility of it being a racial thing.
I called Eric up and left a message on his voicemail that I had a good time, he had some very good friends and, right after a senseless joke about a blowjob, I told him that I hoped I had found a movie buddy.
I doubt if I will ever hear from Eric again, maybe except when we run into each other at the Pub. And that’s fine, one way or the other. I don’t think we will ever go the movies together again. We might have a nice conversation while having a cigarette one night out, and that will be nice.

I don’t know how to close this. It could be with a remark that will be read as either cynical or as a life-affecting moment of change or I can just close it with an idea of how to now spend my ideas. Nope. All of that is an ending, and life is as open as the Alaskan wilderness. Since the weekend has ended, one of my recent favorite songs has been charging through my mind: ‘Easily Said’ by Living In Question.
“Left with no place to turn, I’m leaving here…”