I wish I could tell you I made the right decision. The brave decision. But lying in this diary to make myself look better would defeat the purpose.
I choked. My body was ready but my head was too busy running variables. What were the odds that he was taken? Straight? A something-religious that hates homosexuality? What were the odds that when he saw me he would be struck by that same lightning? That he wouldn’t reject me?
I was so busy worrying about bullshit that, before I knew it, the moment was gone. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again, talk to him again, or finally break this never-ending dry spell with anyone else after seeing him. I went to the bar for another round and as far as I knew, he popped back up to Olympus, never aware I existed at all.
The point of my shortest and least amusing diary entry on record is this. Don’t be like me. Don’t waste any more moments, because you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. You could walk away from a handsome possibility at a bar and get mugged in a parking lot. You just never know.
Introduce yourself and be willing to be rejected or embarrassed. Don’t worry about the mistakes you’ve made in the past so much that you make another in the present.
No more watching from the sidelines. “Or all through your life you may dream all alone.”
South Pacific again. Couldn’t resist.
Damn it, that’s got enough cheese in it to clog an artery, but it might be the best I can do skating a sugar high at three in the morning. I slip off my glasses to rub my temples, worrying about Carter’s reaction to reading this. Worrying about anyone’s reaction to reading this.
No one can ever read this.
I’m about to delete it when the phone beside me starts loudly singing about leaving on a jet plane. I slip my glasses back on and answer before it can wake Carter up. “Royal? Do you know what time it is?”
“Are we taking a quiz? I’m game. In what country?”
“That’s never not funny.”
“I agree. And I always know what time it is. But you work from home,” my brother continues unapologetically. “So it’s not like you can’t sleep in.”
“Is there a reason you’re calling so late I’ll need to sleep in?”
“There is. I got back in town an hour ago and checked my messages. There was one from your editor.”
Shit. I forgot I had Royal listed as my emergency contact. He’s a pilot living in New York City, so he got drafted due to proximity. “I’m sorry about that. Lawrence is a little reactionary. He had no reason to call you.”
“He said you had the shit beat out of you, JD. That sounds like a fairly serious reason.”
I sigh and carry my laptop over to Carter’s comfortable couch, settling in. “Please don’t spread that around. To anyone, Royal. You know I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“It wasn’t as bad as he made it sound.”
“It couldn’t be or you’d be breathing through a tube. Why’d a skinny guy like you get into a fight anyway?”
I’d always be skinny to Royal. My brother is basically the Samoan Hulk, and I have a feeling he’s the reason no one messed with me in high school. Except him. He messed with me all the time.
“Believe it or not, it was about a girl.”
He bursts out laughing. “No shit? Talk about things I wasn’t expecting you to say. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“No, I think that’s it. Still gay. Still fine.”
“If you say so.” I hear his acceptance, along with the sounds of a coffeemaker turning on. Coffee at this hour means he was overseas.
“Where were you this time, Marco Polo?”
“Iceland. It was beautiful. I took pictures. I also took a week of vacation days before flying back.”
“A whole week? Who was she?”
“I respect women too much to kiss and tell.” He laughs softly into the phone. “But they, buddy. The right question is who were they?”
Why am I not surprised?
“You give new meaning to the term friendly skies.”
“I’m living the dream,” his chuckle morphs into a yawn. “Hey, bro, I’m beat. Are you absolutely sure you’re good out there all by yourself? I have no problem coming down there to crack some skulls. I can call Dickie and Manwich and the three of us can fly out and scare the piss out of whoever decided to mess with you.”
Richard and Manuel? The last thing I want is to set those three loose in the city. The damage alone…“Hell no. Do not call them. I swear I’m good.”
“Spoilsport. Okay, fine, but we should pick a holiday soon and stick to it, yeah? When’s the last time the Dirty Dozen were under one roof?”