Page 65 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 35

the medium of his muscle. With Teddy, at the beginning, when
he was so young and tender, I thought I had surrendered, in
sweet, sweet surrender to love; but Teddy is a petulant manchild.
He maneuvered me into fathering him. Teddy is not grown up
enough, not adult enough, not man enough to fuck my soul.
I push on my sweet tooth of Death. Sitting on this plane, fly-
ing home, I know I will never see Kick again. He will become one
of those nights that on my Deathbed I will remember. Sometimes
perfect acts are better not repeated.
We lay in each other’s arms with the El Lay dawn already
coming in the windows. “Sleep well, my fellow worshiper,” he
said. He kissed me. “I know,” he whispered, “that you know what
we know.” I buried my face in his neck. He closed his eyes and
drifted off. His breath, his slow even breath, in sleep was sweet.
I can never thank Dan enough. Nor ever forgive him. Lying
last night folded in Kick’s huge arms, the thick hair of his chest
warm under my left palm, I memorized the moment I know
will never come again, and ached with the truth of Teddy still
to be dealt with on my return: our life together is an escalating
craziness like the speeding wild taxi drive to the plane. If I had
missed the flight, last night would never have happened. I know
I have to stop Teddy from keeping me from meeting other men.
Last night was proof of that. I’ll never forget lying in the tousled
sheets with Kick, him sleeping, me knowing, with my head on
his shoulder and my nose in his blond hair, the fact, the god
awful fucking fact that in a finite changing world, no ticket is
a round-trip fare. Life is a one-way ride through distraction to
oblivion. This man with these muscles in whose arms I felt so
shielded was a handsome, distracting way station on a journey I
know we all must make alone. I slept and tried to dream that I
might die before waking.

11

All I, Magnus Bishop, can say about that is: we all remember what we
need to remember. I picked Ryan up at SFO. Teddy stayed home with a
petulant headache. Just as well. Nothing steps on an ejected lover’s last line
like the galloping hoofbeats of his fast-approaching replacement.
“So how was Superman?” I asked.

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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