Date: Thu, 7 Feb 2002 07:23:21 -0500 From: C. E. Jordan Subject: MY DENNIS - 12 .....Coda in Two Parts My Dennis Copyright c.e. jordan DENNIS 12: A WALK BY THE SEA The late afternoon is falling toward evening and the water is the color of weak tea. It keeps rushing away, but then races back toward us, foaming and licking at our bare feet. His fingers occasionally tighten around mine as if to say, 'I'm here...I'm here...I'll always be here...' I glance down at him and can't believe how beautiful he is. The late sun turns the water a liquid gold. My boy, all curls and large eyes, is just twelve heading for thirteen in a month or two. He's unusually quiet, but words seem beside the point today. The boy lets go of my hand and runs ahead for ten feet or so, then he trots back to me. His light brown body is sleek and perfect. Touched here and there by the sun...cheeks...breast...arm... belly...leg...he is becoming liquid gold like the water....like the sun itself. Oh, my little sungod. Oh...his hot dark eyes and curly hair. His body is bare except for the dark blue swimming trunks. He's holding out his arms to me and smiling. "Up." Is all he says. He wants to ride on my back. D is slender and light, so riding on my back is no problem. But my boy, agile as a monkey, climbs up even further, so now he's actually riding on my shoulders. Slim brown legs descend on either side of my head and his arms wrap around my neck. I can hear him humming contentedly...some tuneless, happy melody. As we walk quietly along the water's edge, D's wordless song weaves into the sighing breezes, and becomes part of the constant rush of the ocean. But my own racing blood almost deafens me because where the boy's crotch presses insistently against the back of my neck, I am suddenly aware of a small swelling hardness. I sigh and gently stroke those long slim legs coming down on either side of my head; it's a small acknowledgement of his sensual desire...of our mutual pleasure in each other's company. We are together this perfect day. There is only 'now', there is only beauty, perfection....and love. This is our long moment. He keeps humming into the void. And I keep walking. Right now there is no need for anything or anyone else. c.e.j ------------------------------------------------------------------------ DENNIS 12: CODA It's nearly 5:am and it's one of those nights.....sleep refuses to come....and the past rushes back on the cool night air. It's persistent, like some vague perfume....old desire interweaves with....memory. It's an exotic fugitive sensation. Should I let myself be drowned in this......this 'thing' I'm feeling? Perhaps I should just turn on the TV and try to lose my mind in the laughter, But, at this moment, I don't think I can take the Television's fake humor, or any news of the world's endless tragedy. Besides, it probably wouldn't keep me from remembering. You know, I can go for months without remembering. But occasionally, late at night like this....I can almost...almost feel the ghost of a touch...I can almost feel him again warm in my arms... is that puff of breath on my ear my imagination?....No, it's just the breeze from the window. It has been years since my young love and I actually touched. The boy is now a man and he has become a voice on the phone...an occasional six month surprise deep in the night. I don't know why he calls so late, at 3am...or 4....or even 5. He should be wrapped tight in his lady's arms dreaming of softness...of being safe...of a future stable and straight. But instead, every now and again, there is his voice on my phone wanting to know how I am doing or what I am doing. I remember not so long ago when that voice was so weightless it could be mistaken for a girl. As a kid whenever we were apart he called me a hundred times a day--at home, at school, the office, murmuring soft things in my ear--things he just had to tell me, nothing special, just just ordinary things, but in a voice made husky with desire. Yes, desire--always our subtext and tension even when he was a mere thin brown boy. But now, I listen very carefully to that voice on the phone. So different, yet in many ways the same. As he speaks to me, I notice the new quiet resonance, so deep...and confident as always. But do I detect something else there? Some familiar velvet undertone? No. I must be imagining it.................but.... ..........maybe...beneath the "What's up, how're you doin...'", phone chatter, is an unspoken acknowledgment of that 'thing' between us that refuses to go away; the thing which keeps me awake nights when I should be sleeping, and the thing which impels him to call when he should be in his lover's arms. On my end of the line, I am careful to keep my answers and my voice casual--normal. He can't hear my beating heart or see the stupid wet stream slipping from my eyes as I hang up the receiver. In the soft darkness of my room I can almost see the little phantom from another time, an exuberant shadow-boy, whose laughter once fell around me like refreshing rain....whose light touches could calm me, or excite me in equal measure.... Anyway, it's almost morning and here I am still typing away as if anyone cares about my dumb feelings. What has love got to do with it? I guess just about everything--and nothing.