Page 61 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

“Don’t you get it?” He rolls his eyes, like he can’t believe the level of my stupidity. “I had the hots for you, dummy.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” I’m so surprised, I’m tempted to bark a laugh. But he’s serious, and I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “But you don’t recognize me. You don’t remember.” His eyes shine like two pure jewels in the semidarkness of the room.

I let some time pass returning his intense look. I’m in a hotel room in the middle of the night with a hunk so hot I struggle to keep my lust at bay, and now he’s telling me he crushed on me twenty years ago. Judging from his long silence, there’s more, and it’s difficult for him to talk about. I wait, having completely sobered up.

He speaks up after a moment of twining his fingers. “What if I say we went to a party once, at a friend’s house. In April 2003 or something. His parents were out.”

I rack my brain. A party? There were several at the time, but at a friend’s house? “What was his name?”

“Alex, I think. We were all a bit wasted. At least, I was high enough to get up the courage to talk to you when I stood in line for the bathroom and suddenly you came along.”

Alex, my garage band drummer... Images come back to me. Of beer, loud music—it must’ve been Pantera or System of a Down—everybody thrashing and head-banging and growling their hearts out. The place was a mess. I can’t believe his parents dared to leave the house to a bunch of dickheads.

Speaking of which. Another memory hits me. “I was so pissed, I tried to drink from an uncorked bottle.” I chuckle.

“So, you remember?”

“Yeah, sorta. But it was a rock metal party. Why would you be there if you were a nice boy attending dance class?”

He ignores the tease. “’Cause some pals wanted to go. And I knew you’d be there. So when you came to the bathroom and there was just you and me left in line, I asked you if you wanted to hang with me.”

“Hang, like...?”

“Hang, like go out with me. Like, date.”

I swallow. He’d asked me out. It must’ve taken a lot of courage. “And?”

“You really don’t remember that part?”

“Dude, there were so many people, and I was drunk out of my wits. How could I—”

“You laughed and then you said...” He pinches his lips.

“What? What did I say?”

His hesitation tells me it had to be bad.

Aw, shit. Now I see it. Me laughing at the face of some guy in a hallway. Was it him? I’d thought he was a little weird. Effeminate. I’d needed to pee bad, and he’d stood before me in the line. I’d just wanted him out of my way—like today, when he stopped my car—so when he’d suggested something totally insane, I’d used scorn to get rid of him. I’d spat, “I’m not a fucking fag,” then shoved him out of my way snickering and gone to the bathroom. Never saw him again, and I know why now.

How could I forget about this incident? And Jesus, how could I bully him in such a nasty manner? Poor guy... An ache spreads in my chest. Of guilt, of remorse. My view troubles. I look down at my hands. Man, this breaks me. I never meant to hurt anyone.

The mattress moves. He sits beside me and puts light fingers on my arm. “You okay?”

“I remember,” I grunt.

“Oh.” Just that, no comment.

“But I don’t understand how I was able to behave like that. It’s not in my blood. I resent the notion of bullying.”

“You were drunk, pal.”

Don’t make excuses for me.

I guess I was high on myself, maybe I wanted to be cool and impress my friends. But such despicable behavior is unforgivable nonetheless. I peek at him, eyes stinging. “I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what else to say to make it right.”

He smiles. “It’s okay.”

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