December 1997

I have to do this. I have to take a moment and write. They are here. Luis and Luis. They are in the house, my grandmother's house. I wish I could foresee what is to happen tonight and the nights to come. I wish there were a flagrant aura about every person disclosing every intention, every motive.
Is everything I pick up in my periphery accurate or just my imagination? I couldn't have Brandon, but I can have two Luises, though fear prevails. Not a moral fear- a physiological reality.
They are here. What will I do? Submit to passion or to level headedness?
What I envy I ultimately destroy.
Like a violent dance of birds of prey Luis and Luis shattered my illusions. The ideal connection I assumed the two of them shared is actually a bond rooted in animosity. I had to ask them to leave the house but outside in the rain they fought, physically wrestling in my driveway. Hitting! I could hear jackets rustling, shoes skidding, someone's breath escaping in heated plumes into the night air. I stood near the door stunned, grieving in the midst of such immediate anguish and violence.
Luis tried to stop it all, but Luis II was enmeshed in jealous madness. He spoke evenly but from the bottom of his throat, menacingly in Spanish. I could not understand what they said. But finally, after I threatened to call the police, they got into their car and drove off.
It is over for me- any contact with men, all men!
Alone again. Happy again.
Spent the day being torn between forgiveness and resentment. Though I'd resolved to forget the entire incident, violent images of the night before continued to resurface, inspiring deep fear. But I received Luis with a smile at work, offered him warmth and shelter, knowing he was most likely embarrassed about the night before.
'No need to be uncomfortable with me, Luis.'
We bit each other playfully when no one was looking, Luis' firm little body pressed against mine.
All the while Luis II's punch haunted me. He is crazy, angry, unstable. He'd gone to the bathroom. Luis and I were seated on the sofa. I had kissed him. Innocently. It was not meant to be a secret. Luis II returned to find us still kissing; I had thought he would join us. Instead he'd punched Luis on the side of the head, the force of the punch knocking the wind out of both of us. Luis had looked jolted, shocked, and placed his hand on his jaw.
Once outside the two had fought like cocks. Two boys, not men. Lovers throwing punches. Luis II abusive. Luis scant in comparison.
The fear I feel of the Luises is coupled with certain eroticism; eroticism in possessiveness and possession. Aggression. Dominance. A psychological hold. Things unhealthy in reality, but strangely titillating in fantasy. Things animalistic, inhuman, instinctual. Suffering the pleasure.
Luis II is the machismo archetype while Luis is the typical Mexican wife- at least in the relationship. I don't ever want to be the Assyrian woman to anyone- servile, subordinate, unappreciated. Property. Accessory.
I have just returned from romance. My eyes, my ass, all my muscles tell it. A night in San Francisco with Luis. Just the two of us. I feel differently about myself having been protective of Luis in the city, caring for him, paying, speaking English for us- a language not entirely our own.
It's not easy for me to form attachments. He's not mine. I am not his. With him I will not be entirely taken, nor possessed. This is only frivolous. Romantic nonetheless. Romance without neediness. I keep in mind that Luis is not here to make or break me. My happiness does not lie in his hands!
We met where we usually part- at the downtown Novato bus depot, and eloped to San Francisco.
The day was cold but sunny. We got off the bus as soon as it had pulled off of Golden Gate and climbed down precarious paths to the beach below. To the sea. Now the bridge towered over us, stretched well beyond our feet. We could smell the salt as we dodged the tide. We climbed to a perfect stone ledge and watched barges pass lazily. The wind whipped at us and it threw my hair about. It ran through the tall grass that surrounded us. We kissed.
The ocean.
The hills.
Golden Gate.
A roaring.
And Luis in my arms.
Kisses were tender, then violent. We spoke little. Caresses.
I wondered if Luis had been there before since he seemed to know his way about the trails. I am still so naïve that I never would have imagined that our place of assignation was a million other lovers' refuge… until I found incense in the dirt.
The sky overwhelmed us. Our kisses heavenly. I placed my frozen fingers under Luis' shirt, against his soft brown skin, and he howled.
It arouses him most to eat my ass.
He tried to penetrate me, but the rock was too hard beneath us, the wind wild. We sipped wine instead.
We took a trail into the wooded area, paused occasionally to kiss.
Kisses.
Dampness beneath our feet.
Todo lo verde.
More than once I uttered: Me gusta el mar.
We happened upon the cement ruins of coastal defense fortifications where it finally occurred to me that we were smack-dab in the middle of cruising grounds for gay men. Lone figures stood with their hands in their pockets, leaning, waiting.
One of these men smiled at us as we approached.
"Mi amigo," Luis said, smiling. The man's name was Tom and he undressed Luis with his eyes that contained something untrustworthy. His smile seemed more like a sneer as when a lion appears to be smiling, but is actually panting after a kill.
Tom asked us to join him in a corner, in the shadow. Luis declined. Tom only grinned perversely the entire time, even as I extended my hand and introduced myself… like a normal person, a gentleman.
"Luis has a beautiful penis. Have you seen it?" Tom said suddenly.
'Yes, it is!' I declared defiantly, wanting to smash his teeth in.
Instead, I awkwardly translated between the two.
Silently I hated myself for having exited the shelter of solitude, placing myself in this ignoble setting. I hated Tom. I even hated Luis now.
When Tom made another advance I could not help it and said smartly, 'Our generation is different than yours. We don't resort to unsafe and desperate measures in the name of sexual expression. We want to stay healthy.'
I walked away. Luis followed and threw his arms about me and dragged laughingly behind me. He asked if I was angry. I said I was.
I was thinking how selfish we are as men. How opposed to emotion, teetering always in the direction of the physical. I was thinking then just how little I meant to Luis, that I was only one more male figure to him, anonymous, disposable.
I told Luis I feared him and all men. I admitted that I do not trust men and that I am most concerned with my health.
'I don't know where you've been…' I said against my better judgment and felt suddenly lighter like I had just unburdened myself of ten thousand confessions. As soon as I had addressed my dysfunction and phobia I felt something obstinate melt away inside myself.
We took another bus further into the city.
We traipsed on Market Street.
The illusion that I was Luis' guardian persisted as long as I continued to pay for our adventure.
In an old-fashioned toy store I conversed with two Iranian men. With each turn it seemed I was speaking a different language: Farsi, English, Spanish.
We went to The Metro, a bar overlooking a busy intersection in the Castro. A single votive on the round tabletop illuminated our faces as we sipped our beers. I lighted a cigarette. We had what I would define as our very first real conversation. Utilizing a dictionary we talked about Mexico, Luis' family, his childhood and upbringing. We also talked about Luis II losing both his parents at a very young age, his fear of abandonment, which explained his possessiveness. Luis' face grew crestfallen while he talked about this, circuitously admitting that leaving Luis II would be almost impossible, unbearable. I felt for him, for both of them. In the light of the small candle we seemed to be glowing, understanding each other through a single dictionary, which we passed back and forth, and our gestures.
We decided to spend the night in the city. Together…
'Es romantico…'
Occasionally we reached over the beers, the candle, the small round table, and kissed. Our hands brushed with passion's pressure.
I asked the cocktail waiter if he could recommend a nearby hotel where we might stay. He suggested a bed and breakfast in the neighborhood. Then he flew away, but soon returned, "I called them and they have a vacancy!"
I was touched that he would take the time to help us. I shook his hand. The romance felt contagious, inspiring others.
Luis was charming, though I find charm alarming. Frightening. Suspicious. And to overcome my phobia I complemented Luis on his charm, attained a measure of lightheartedness after doing this. Luis said he loved the things I said to him in Spanish, that they were beautiful.
When we left The Metro I felt like I was leaving behind my own reservations, fears, and other realities.
We got a room and tumbled, showered, slept, woke again, kissed, laughing, laughing, laughing. After Luis fucked me he fell at my side and repeatedly muttered, "No. No. No."
'Que?' I asked him worriedly.
He said he was disappointed because he had come too soon.
(We had picked up free condoms from a clinic we had passed earlier in the day.)
We lay in silence, breathing. When I touched Luis in the night he responded by turning under my hand, undulating beneath my caress. He was so responsive I could not let him go. And enjoyed him all night long.
His ass is beautiful. Round. Brown. Small. Soft. I came on it.
Every time I came I laughed out loud.
In the morning we slept contentedly.
When we awoke I opened a window that overlooked the early morning street that was bustling, and marveled. Just marveled.
So much commotion. Noise. Movement. I missed Chicago.
The bus ride back to Marin was mellow. Luis placed his elbow on my shoulder. My hand rested on his thigh. We're in America, I thought to myself. We can do this. I pressed my leg against his as we looked out the window while the bus crossed Golden Gate Bridge. The bay shimmering in the morning light. Hills. Skyscrapers in the distance. The day beginning. Our tryst ending. He pressed back.
I returned to life.
Stolen kisses at work.
As much as I desire him I am not being obsessive, and feel free, strong, romantic. I am enjoying this liberation greatly. Living without the need to find myself in his desire for me.
Liberated.
I cut my hair off. I shed old skin. Become a new man. Jackie says each time I go somewhere I return changed. I say it's all the feelings I am subjected to out there… in the world. They reshape me.
Luis loves the short hair. He says I look like a different person. I feel beautiful.
Luay is gone…
Deterioration. Exhaustion. I tried to be a lover, a student of Spanish, a good employee, and a million other things.
Luay. Luay.
Last night in San Rafael, in the rain, sheltered beneath a highway overpass, Luis and I kissed. Tenderness trickled down our lips. When we pulled away he looked at me with desire. Cars raced along the drenched highway. Luis touched me. We were about to burst with longing. I took his delicious penis into my mouth. Luis rubbed my hair while I suckled on him, caressed my face, my mouth. I looked up and much to my delight found him watching me. His penis is so shaped that I can take it down my throat.
On the bus we joked and burst into laughter.
'El sabor a sus besos está en mi boca,' I said to him, placing my hand tenderly on his cheek.
At work I have been deeply frustrated with Janet and George who act like teenagers, disappearing, not helping, not working. And when I become angry Luis calms me. He suggests that the entire atmosphere at the grill is disrupted and in disarray when I'm upset. I promise him not to let things get to me. He smiles. Nowadays he sings while he dresses the skewers. I encourage it.
Have given George my notice at the grill. My time there has come to an end. I am no good anymore. It's time. Yet I feel as though I am deserting George.
And Luis.
Work has been hectic what with all the holiday shoppers, and Luis and I have barely found a moment alone. When I did finally get him all to myself I confessed to him, 'Te quiero.'
"Yo tambien."
His voice echoes inside my head even as I write. I want my Luis. His kisses. Our tumbling.
Luis has told me that he could not stop thinking about me last night. All night he said I ran through his head. I was elated by this admission. On our ride home he touched my hand with a tenderness I have never known. He speaks a language I do not know, and yet I understand him fully. Moving along a dark, desolate highway, we kiss.
I stormed out of work leaving Luis behind, leaving George, Janet, Juan, Caesar.
Leaving.
Leaving.
I fled from a destructive atmosphere. There were explosions of rage inside me, but the explosives were implanted by others. This was by no means a mere petulant, dramatic exit; it has been in the works for some time. There were hints of my gradual breakdown, which I tried to fight but to no avail. Emotions rule me. The intellect is powerless.
Such bitterness and anger when I am no good at being angry. I do not know how to live successfully with anger. So, when temper is placed in me I burn, I rage like fire. These conflagrations reach the firmament, hauntingly beautiful, as a warning to those who are caught with matches in their hand.
George and Janet do not smoke, why then the matches, why the paraphernalia?
On the bus I fell into my seat. The man next to me was jostled. He flashed me a look of disapproval. I said to him, "I didn't mean to startled you. It's just that you've spread out too much!" I couldn't believe myself.
But the man was nice enough and when his leg rested against mine I found myself comforted by the unintentional touch. He must've been someone's grandfather, reading. And at that time and place he became my only source of warmth and human connection. When the bus pulled into the downtown Novato terminal we pleasantly bid each other farewell.
Although it was cold outside I opted to walk the rest of the way home. My anger kept me warm enough, if not burning. On a particularly dark street I passed a cute young girl who wore a funky hat.
To her I said, 'Who needs a car, ha?'
She seemed to giggle and responded confidently, "For sure!"
I felt that I had then successfully extricated myself from the dark street, from an even darker mood, and placed myself in the thoughts of the girl, in her mind. Anywhere but here. Escaping the immediacy of my world into the thoughts of a stranger where I might not see, nor hear my emotions.
I have been feeling weak because I have been living storms, not life. I feel weak because while others seem to be dancing to the tempo of life I flounder. I feel weak because I have had to respond to so many emotions and sensations in such a short span of time. I have been too tactile, sentient, accepting all brushes, every lashing of the last few heavenly days…
My lips are sore from kisses. Luis and I lied to everyone and escaped together. We walked across Golden Gate, suspended by laughter, hanging our heads over the railing and becoming dizzier than we actually felt. San Francisco shimmered in the light of the morning sun- a city rising, falling, rising, falling.
Breathing.
Sighing.
We climbed down into the woods in Marin, to the water's edge. I dipped my bare feet in the sea and my tongue in Luis. And understood for the first time in my life what young love might mean.
And romance.
My lips ache.
Though the two of us laughed uncontrollably I felt a certain degree of guilt for having lied to George and others. But he wills dishonesty and deserves it. He is a good man but frustrates me with his stupidity, narrow-mindedness. And makes it easy for me to betray him. When I'd walked out of work he had called the family and asked, "What's wrong with Emil? Why is he upset?" I resented him for getting them involved.
I lay my body next to Luis on a patch of overgrown grass on the pebble beach. The bridge stretched away from us, reminding me that great distance exists between myself and the life and love I desire. The sun shone. Barges passed. Jets marked the sky with fading white lines.
Blue.
There were a million and two kisses.
Laughter.
Luis was especially boyish. After all, we had had to lie, to risk, behave mischievously just to be together for those few wonderful hours in the sun. The desire for each other felt that strong, that intent.
But today I found myself faultfinding. Do I do this in self-defense? Do I like him that much?
What am I up to?
Whenever I fade he asks what it is I am thinking, and if I'm sad, or angry. He calms me. He beckons me out of crossness and invites me to joy and kisses.
I kissed him. I twisted his nipples while he jerked himself off out in the open, on the deserted beach, in the sun. He is uncut, dark, long, and slanted.
He came.
Walking back to the main road we found ourselves within a cluster of a slender kind of tree that rose straight into the atmosphere. The grass beneath our step was bright green and soft. We walked on pillows. Here I lay on my back and Luis lay automatically on top of me. He kissed my neck, licked my chin, breathed heavily into my ear. I listened to the silence of the woods and his breath, and heard my name. We paused and stared into each other, smiled, and ate each other.
We growled playfully, moaned, hugged, squeezed, rolled, stood, twisted, stopped, swayed, resumed. We were adrift.
I held him against me in the silence and when I looked up at the trees I was reminded again of distance. Nature said, "This too is temporary."
I gave him my coat to wear, but after a few steps he insisted I take it back. I wouldn't. I literally had to be firm about it. It seems he does not own warm clothes, a single coat. He wore my sweater and my coat, so I called him Emiliano. That is what he calls me… endearingly.
Back in civilization I held him without shame. At first he was uncomfortable with this, but I assured him that as gay men we were safe in Marin.
Luis smiled, the city dancing in the distance behind him.
Now in bed I can still feel the mark of his mouth on my lips that continue to throb. I still hear his voice. We were there, in the woods, alone. It did happen. It was not a dream. Kisses.
Our desperation for each other.
The bridge.
The ocean.
Language.
Things we cannot discuss.
The mystery.
Our silences.
Our laughter.
Our momentum.
The synchronization.
I had thought to myself: Luis you are a kissing machine. Chuckling. He had asked why I was laughing.
'Nada.'
I've agreed to stick around at the grill and help George out for a while longer. It is not easy, but it has to be done. Tonight Luis and I walked to the bus stop after work. We waited and talked. Suddenly Luis II pulled up in his little gray car. I was disappointed. I always look forward to sitting next to Luis on the bus while others snooze, rubbing his hand, stealing kisses. I did not want to get into the car, be near Luis II who terrifies me, but Luis insisted and I did not want to be rude in case Luis II had an intention to forgive and forget. I got in with a dread that made my heart race. The language barrier made things more awkward, but I forced out the words, 'Como estas, Luis?' He followed with a perfunctory, "Bien, y tu?" Sounding very much like an amateur actor delivering a trite phrase. 'Cansado,' I said out loud… Tired of you, tired of George, tired of myself trying to hold on to things that cannot be held.
I offered him gum. He took one. A promise of peace?
I am to be resented. I am a threat. How can I want his acceptance?
I wanted out of the car, out of the air of distrust and resentment. I wanted freedom. I wanted to be alone.
When I think of Luis II, his anger, his fear of abandonment, I want nothing to do with Luis. With wanting him and near-loving him…
I wanted out of the car because earlier at work Luis had hugged and held me, buried his face into my shoulder, placed his mouth into my neck. Now he sat like the good little wife next to Luis II, crazy Luis II.
Dormitorio azul. Even here I am dizzied by Luis, though he is elsewhere.
Silliness!
Is he my first love?
It is difficult for me to take from people, to even accept favors from them.
Sometimes I want to hide from the Luis experience though I have not wholly surrendered. He is hidden behind barriers of sorts. Mainly by the ones in my head!
Tonight we sat in a movie theater and clasped hands. Warmth. Warmth I take with me to the cold places I go in my mind, on the street. Like the Band-Aid in my wallet; always prepared for an accident, anticipating the worst.
Sitting next to him in the dark theater, not really watching the movie, and feeling his warm softness near me, I thought: How nice to have someone. And wanted to spend the entire night caressing him, fondling him, playing with him. Nothing else. Just to know I have him to myself.
I like Luis so much I don't care anymore who knows it. Not Jackie, not George, not anyone!
And I swear it- I expect nothing in return!
Two nights in a row I have awakened from sleep with the sense that Luis is somewhere in the house and I must go to him.
He speaks with his mother and niece who live in Mexico. They urge him to return home, they miss him. He looks so sad, so homesick. It breaks my heart.
I want to buy him something warm for Christmas- a sweater, a coat. When I tell mother that Luis does not own a warm article of clothing she becomes saddened and accompanies me to the department store.
While we are shopping I tell mother the news that Luay has died. She gasps, "No!" then I tell her the cause, and she is quiet.
Christmas cards arrive in the mail; one even from Gary- the bartender at The Brave Bull in Modesto. Remember him?
Still sometimes I want to forget Luis- pretend none of it ever happened and carry on with my little life, my solitary endeavors.
Christmas Eve. Luis has just left our home. I relish his smell on my skin. This is unique. Usually I am repulsed by the man after sex. I think I may love Luis soon if this persists.
At Casa De Maria mother set a beautiful dinner table with candles and delicious foods. Luis was so nervous he kept dropping things. I laughed at him. This seemed to put him at ease a bit.
After coffee mother allowed me the use of her car and Luis and I came back to the house, looking forward to an entire night together, and waking up together.
But our cuddling and kisses were soon disrupted by an unexpected call from Luis II who was supposed to be out of town visiting relatives. I found this terribly unsettling and understood then that Luis II's jealousy and possessiveness are perhaps larger than I'd cared to acknowledge. I silently resented Luis for not having anticipated Luis II's last-minute change of plans.
Luis II's voice on the other end of the line sent shivers up my spine. He sounded so cold, so angry.
I tried to sound normal, even cheery, saying, 'Sí, Luis está aquí. También mi familia.' I lied about my family being there because I did not want him to know that Luis and I were alone.
I handed the receiver to Luis who stood next to me in the kitchen. They talked for a few minutes and I could not understand what was said. Suddenly I was cold, biting my nails, trying to read Luis' face, waiting, shaking.
When Luis hung up I felt a great rift between us. We did not sit on the sofa together, but on separate chairs. My heart raced. I feared that Luis II was coming in a jealous rage to claim his property, and wrongfully blamed Luis for my fear, though I knew he had no control over his maladjusted lover.
But the coldness drove us to each other again. We kissed even more fervently this time. Our bodies latched onto each other by what felt like a supernatural force that was magnetic. No one could have unhinged us. And what occurred next is what I am willing to refer to as "making love".
On the sofa, in the immediacy of so many differing feelings, with hurried movements, emphatic thrusts, with Luis II controlling us from a distance, Luis and I fucked. I gave, I breathed, I moved, cringed, suffered, and rejoiced while Luis held my legs against his chest and pushed into me, pushing, pushing, pushing.
Unified. Triumphant. A feeling closest to love itself…
Outwardly we were lustful. Bodies. Fucking. But beneath this lay tenderness. You should have seen his posture, his face. Heard his orgasm.
This on Christmas Eve.
Driving him home, back to Luis II, I thought of Romeo and Juliet. It was so tragic that we could not sleep together.
I want to be with him. No repulsion. No sudden urge to flee, to wash, to hide. On the contrary, I want more.
We had laughed while coming.
We spent Christmas Day together, too. Again, we thought Luis II was gone, but again he called. This time I denied that Luis was with me.
'No. Él no está aquí,' I lied.
Luis admitted that he's attempted many times to break free but unsuccessfully. He said he is sure now that he will be returning to Mexico in January.
Luis II's insanity is taking Luis from me.
After the call Luis and I embraced like children. Gave and took kisses from each other. Purely. Mischievously.
We purposefully moved from room to room, kissing, because I felt the desperate need to spread the passion through the cold unoccupied rooms of three sexless, passionless women!
Again, we made love and lay afterwards entangled.
Resting.
Our cum drying slowly on our bodies.
Not hiding.
Not running.
Just the two of us. Not Luis II ever-present.
I ate Luis' ass.
Delicious.
Soft and warm.
It is not a pussy, but it makes him writhe. I took his penis into my throat. I licked his stomach, which is flat and dark. Hairless. I kissed his beautiful armpits. He laughed. I trimmed his pubic hair in the shower.
We had just dressed when the doorbell rang out. We knew who it was. Luis hid in a bedroom closet. Just then the phone rang. It was a friend from Modesto. I opened the front door with the receiver to my ear, comforted by the long-distance presence to whom I quickly explained the situation. I did not unlock the screen door. Luis II stood on the other side. He looked broken. Not dangerous. I almost felt sorry for him. But I lied again and told him Luis was not with me, and that I hadn't spoken to him, had no idea where he was. I felt my body shaking. He looked at me suspiciously. He stood there, did not move. He looked past me into the house. His eyes lighted up.
"Los zapatos de Luis!" he exclaimed triumphantly.
But he was mistaken. I had moved Luis' shoes from the door and hid them elsewhere in the house. I held up my own shoes.
'These are my shoes!' I declared, sounding a little more than smug.
Luis II hung his head. Thanked me softly and left.
I thought I would collapse. In my head Luis II is a monster, unpredictable. When in reality he might be as harmless as my own mother.
The rest of the evening Luis and I watched the Spanish channel, sprawled on pillows we'd thrown onto the floor. I tried to forget Luis II, but could not. Luis held me, squeezed tightly. He kissed me over and over. And made me promise I would visit him in Puerto Vallarta. Then he tickled me. We were carefree for an instant.
It was so nice.
I'm in a dream. I've forgotten my fears, my resolutions, my distaste for men, people, love. I've abandoned my irrational magnifying glass with which I view homoerotic sex and AIDS.
We cannot get enough.
I turned to him. Faced him squarely. I expressed to him my unwillingness to continue our fling as it is.
It's a very sad situation.
And yet, it's the most joyous thing… being with him.
With Luis I am sexy, sexual, a boy.
I said that unlike Luis II I am willing to let him go when the time comes, that I do not own him.
It's ironic that after all these years, after struggling so hard to define my sexuality and to come to terms with my fears regarding love, sex, and men time would give me Luis who belongs to something else, someone else, somewhere else.
He is leaving for Mexico. There is so much I want to say to him. But how? He confesses the same. Language mutes us when language should express us.
I want to hate him, blame him, find every fault I can with him so that I may cease traveling up this stairway to loving him. I am near love and love is always dangerous, not only for me but for the entire human population as I witness it. Everyone about me is constantly tripping over matters of love. Even the loveless! A part of me has made the decision to halt this hapless affair. And yet another part of me latches on tenaciously, knows what it wants no matter who, what, when, where, how.
And Luis II? My two feet stand on separate continents. I feel sorry for him, want to cry with him, and simultaneously I want him punished for his shortcomings; punished, erased.
Luay has taken my fear of AIDS with him. He has become my guardian. He whispers in my ear that I am not a doomed sinner, a repugnant fag, deserving of "it". He reassures me that I am wonderful as I am and that I must continue living despite AIDS. I cannot cage myself, my desire, my sexuality, my destiny.
Luay, you'll never know how much you have given me.
Tonight I am feverish. I have to remind myself that people get sick. It's normal to feel under the weather this time of year. I am not being punished by God!
I don't own anyone but myself.
I'm so angry with Luis. Yet I know he's not to blame. He did what any one of us would have done- he merely functioned by sensual instinct, by sexual selfishness. I can't hold him responsible for being human, boy, frivolous. I'm angry with myself though for going along, for liking him, for playing.
Soon he'll be leaving and I will miss him.
I knew all along that Luis II would be the great obstacle in our relationship, but I chose to disregard this bit of huge foreshadowing.
Oh, but I'm mad! Mad at me, mad at him, mad! Mad! Mad!
It's so hard to be grateful sometimes.
After all this I will retreat into my private little world, unwilling to participate in the foolish games of life, to feel with and for another…
I want to be rid of him!
In the car he took my hand and kissed it; nipped my finger. When we stopped he leaned in and kissed me, devouring my lips entirely.
I had told him that I do not want him to go, that his impending departure is making me deeply melancholic. There's so much more I need to communicate to him, but can't.
The words cannot translate what I am feeling.
Sunday morning. Sun. The yard glistens in the morning dew. Have had telephone conversations with friends, but not about Luis. I'm keeping this private.
I could love him if he were to stay. And I could let him go…
Have had fantasies of Luis II assaulting me, forcing kisses on me… raping me. Could it be? Does he fascinate me?
Why did the Luises allow me into their bed that night?
Does Luis, in a sense, enjoy Luis II's hold on him?
Does it make him feel wanted, loved?
Were they bored and needed a pawn in their midst to dramatize their dead relationship?
Either way, I think them both selfish and childish, resenting them for involving me into their dramas!
While attempting to discredit him, make a monster of him, I secretly rooted for him to prove me wrong, to redeem himself, and to win me over.
I try to sabotage him, to assume the world is cruel, uncaring. If not charming!
I play games…
I'm putting Luis aside tonight.
No more Luis.
Back to solitary musings.
Independence.
Identity.
I seem to have woken up to Luis encompassing every thought. The obsessive phase has begun. The torture.
Vivian just telephoned from Seattle where she has gone to confront her past, the rape, certain scenes, faces, and fears. One afternoon she thought she saw one of the two boys who raped her.
'Avoid them, Viv,' I advised her vehemently.
Confronting Seattle and the past is one thing. Confronting her perpetrators is quite another.
Vivian, thank you for the call. Your excited, passionate speeches took me from broken-record thoughts of Luis and made me feel alive again. You reminded me that there are other people in my life. Vivian, I am yours for life. Call from anywhere, at any time. Tell me everything. Speak emphatically of excursions and ideas still hot on your mind. I am your brother…
Rode the bus into San Rafael knowing Luis would not be at the grill. I looked forward to a break from him. Rode dazedly with my flu keeping me uninvited company. When I got off the bus there was Luis, standing there.
I did not want this exchange.
We merely shook hands. My mouth was dry. My body aching. My heart racing. A mere cold closeted handshake.
Uncomfortable small talk.
He asked if I was still ill. I said yes.
I had decided earlier to be a mere boy through the rest of this affair, short in attention, unscathed at all costs.
Others dismounted the bus and walked on. Now we were alone.
I hugged him. I had to. The passion survives. I said I would wait with him for his bus, but moments later changed my mind. I wondered why he was headed into downtown San Rafael, and imagined him with another man, cheating on both Luis II and me. Silly, I know. But I've officially entered the silly phase.
I walked away from him, started toward work, but had a great urge to run back to him, to be with him. I even turned and looked back and was glad that he was not looking. I fought myself.
Naturalness has left me. Now I'm forming speculations, imagining scenarios, making plans and decisions.
I am in hell. Wishing I had not started what I cannot bear. I am not good at love, at sex, at relationships. Now I want him to want me, only me.
Now I feel as though my happiness does lie in his hands.
It does not!
Walking away I wanted to cry. Right there in public. I wanted to collapse to the wet earth and weep into the mud.
The truth is I cannot trust him, I cannot believe him. You see I have never trusted anyone. No one!
I assume he is a charmer, a player, a monster.
I do not trust him because that first night he wanted to fuck me without a condom. I do not trust him because he lies to Luis II. I do not trust him!
I would like to walk away from this journal tonight with a sense of relief, with self-assurance, with a comforted heart. I want to know people are good, that Luis is trustworthy, that he has no snake-ambitions. I want to know, somehow know that he, and all people, all men, possess goodness.
But I will never know…
I must decide tonight, right now, to cease creating this drama. It is all in my head. I have to understand that this is nothing more than a fling. I have to accept that I chose to play and that Luis is not here to measure my confidence against. He is not mine. I do not want him to myself. I had fun and will walk away strong and happy. I should not hold him responsible for crimes he has not committed.
Stop the reels in my head.
I am out of line, out of control.
Let him go.
Let it go.
Be a good sport.
Be sane. Be level.
Do not let fears gain control. Regain composure.
There are no other options.
Morning. I have myself back. I have discovered the cause of my dissatisfaction and feel a certain stable emancipation. I'm not alone. The entire world has been through this and will continue to experience heartbreak.
Love-uncertainty!
This is universal! Fear and doubt are normal. I am not a failure.
Afternoon. Broke down. Flirted. Kissed him. He said he noticed I wasn't on the bus last night. I asked how he knew this. He said he went to the downtown Novato depot to meet me. He said that he'd even gone to the grill to see me. I told him I didn't believe him. We laughed. I asked him not to go back to Mexico, to stay here. I was emphatic and could not believe my own behavior. Poetic. Romantic. We kissed. He devoured me.
So much for trying to forget him. I'm miserable. He will leave, but never entirely. I will suffer.
I want to be with him. More than that. I want time with him, words, experiences.
The tender things he said have left me colder, sadder. The way he looks at me, there is love in his eyes.
I've caught my own reflection in windows while with him. I've glimpsed the face of a sexy, happy young man.
Now consumed. Lost in him. Miserable.
Miserable because we cannot be together. Because we do not have freedom.
I hate him!!!
All about me there is now a film, a wall, a shield. Something that prevents my escape. Fetters that keep me trapped in this obsession. I want to step out of this mood, out of him, out of myself. I want so much my old life back, my old self. The Emil who traipsed about in solitary reflection, moved through the hours independently, free of amorous conflicts. I want my own life back- minus Luis!
This is why I detest being with men. I hate my own wanting.
New Year's Eve. I will leave him at the door of the new year. I will not take him with me into the days ahead.