Michael

I remember the night we met, snowing, a blizzard actually. It was the first big storm of the season and it was brutal. By eight o'clock that night the Mass Pike was closed. I was sixty miles from home - stranded. There was a Holiday Inn just off the exit ramp. I really had no choice but to stay there. Only sixty miles, normally an hours drive, but not with mother nature on the loose tonight. In those days I always kept a gym bag in my car with a change of clothes in it. They sent me everywhere and anywhere on a moment's notice. I did service calls all over New England. So I was all set for the night, credit card for the room, plenty of cash for the bar. A blizzard looks so nice when you are warm and safe inside. The place was full of people stranded like myself. We sort of had an impromptu party, a blizzard party, only we were all strangers there. His name was Michael. He worked for a company that made bar code readers. He was a techy like myself. He was very cute. He told me to call him Mike. He was drinking mixed drinks while I was drinking beer. We got along pretty well. He seemed to be straight, but at least he didn't want to talk about football. He must have been twenty six at the time. I was just about thirty, but I still had that boyish look that had stayed with me so long. He asked me my age, then refused to believe me. I guess that was my first clue, him asking my age, I mean, most guys don't ask other guys how old they are. Did I tell you he was cute ? Strikingly handsome might be better, more accurate, Michael was a knockout. About 5' 8" tall which made him just a bit shorter than me, blond hair in very tight little curls, blue eyes, a lean trim body without an ounce of fat. Strong, bony shoulders, slender arms, masculine elbows, a small build with bumps and edges here and there. Quite male. His voice was very deep, like he could have been an announcer or something. I could not decide if I liked seeing him or hearing him talk the most. He had a southern accent, born in Virginia. He had a perfect nose. Not long, not short, straight. His skin was smooth and very pale like so many blondes. He was very intelligent. He was sitting right next to me at the bar. We were drinking the night away, buying each other drinks, Company credit cards. Not the time or place when I was expecting anything at all like what was happening. I kept trying to get the conversation around to sex. I think he knew why and he was toying with me. The bartender kept leaving us alone. Mike was being playful. From what we could see outside, and what they were saying on the radio, this storm was going to last a day or two. Already the wind was creating huge drifts in the parking lot. We were joking about whose car would be buried first. It was like a surprise party arranged by the weatherman. I was enjoying being with him. Somehow he exuded sexuality from every pore. We decided to close the bar. It seems funny now to look back and realize that if it had not been for that storm we would have never met. Funny to think how different my life would have been, strange how they had sent me on this call, far outside my usual area. And he was there too! When I think of him it is hard not to cry. I miss his touch, his warm lips, his body warming me on those cold New England nights, his sweat in the summer, the way he would toss and turn at night in our bed. I wish I could bring him back for just one more day. I wish I had told him more often how important he was. The bar was closing. Mike asked me if I'd like to come to his room for a nightcap, he had a bottle in his suitcase. I accepted without hesitation. We bid goodnight to the few fellow partiers left in the room, left tips on the bar, and I followed him out to the lobby. I wondered what people thought seeing us leave together. I was not walking too well. In his room he kicked off his shoes and invited me to do the same. We could see the storm raging outside. The snow was moving more horizontally than anything else, true blizzard, drifts over 6 feet already, nobody was going anywhere. Warm in his room though, cozy, he was smiling at me. I took a shot of whiskey and it burnt right through me. He sat beside me on his bed and folded his legs yoga style. Mike was very limber, very much inside his body. A physical person, charming, full of life. I moved and our shoulders bumped. He looked at me and smiled again. I put my arm down on the bed to keep my balance because the room was moving. Suddenly his face was right in front of mine. I remember how smooth his face was, I remember the smell of whiskey on his breath. He kissed me and I just fell to pieces. Lying back now on his bed. His face the only thing I can see, wind wailing outside, shivers all up and down my spine, his lips pressing firmly against me. Michael had the softest lips, silky smooth skin, a warm, knowing and intimate smile. His hands unbuttoning my shirt. Now rubbing my tee shirt, warmth of friction through the cotton, dwelling here, then there, all over me, on top of me, kissing, hugging, licking my earlobes. Now I feel him tugging at my belt, he opens it, his hand up and down across the front of my jeans, feeling my hardness, me wanting him so. He unsnaps my jeans, fingers on my shorts now, still kissing me, pushing me down as if I could melt into his bed, and I wanted to. I told him not to stop. He didn't. That first night with Michael was so full of passion. After that it only increased. The next morning we made love again as the plows finished opening the parking lot. The storm had ended sooner than expected. The sun was out, wet spots on the blacktop, stains on Michaels sheets. It was time to drive home. We did the phone numbers thing, the promises to call. I had a happy sadness inside me when I walked out to my car. I felt sure I would never see him again. I was glad I had met him. In the dark the night before, flashes of light on the ceiling from the plows out on the highway, I had learned what a gentle and caring man Michael was. We had slept the whole night with his arm around me. So close in so little time. I knew I was going to miss him. They had another call for me to do on the way home. The sun was high and amazingly bright and warm. The roads were clear before noon. That one call became two and I finally got home at 6 PM that evening. I had a message on my answering machine. It was Michael !! What was I doing Friday night ? Would I like him to come over ? Michael was living with his parents. I had a huge apartment of my own. A whole floor of one of those triple deckers that New England is famous for. I called him back, no effort to hide the excitement in my voice. We made plans for dinner. I hung up the phone and floated on a cloud the rest of that night. Three days until Friday, it would feel like a month. Friday at last, Thai food in Worcester, then we went to the gay bar in town, the only one, he had never been there. I had never walked in to that place before with someone at my side, it felt great. He turned a few heads too, people there were used to seeing me alone. Being with Michael, I was the happiest guy on Earth. Two months later Michael moved in with me. We never once had a fight in all of our time together. Not a mean word was spoken. It was love as love ought to be. He didn't really teach me to dance, he just got me to forget that I couldn't dance. He could make me relax too. I'd be sitting on the couch and he would park his little body next to me, leaning against me, one leg draped over one of mine, in that yoga thing he did. I would tickle him, or run my fingers through his hair. We watched TV together, laying side by side on my big couch, his arm around me or mine around him. His curls would tickle my face. Sometimes I cheated and watched him instead of the TV. He'd catch me staring and just look at me and smile. We went shopping together and pretended to fight over who would push the cart. We bought each other underwear and sometimes wore each others. Michael and I spent as much time together as we possibly could. When my job, or his, made one of us travel we were on the phone with each other every night, without fail. We had friends over. He met my sister and they hit it off immediately. All of my straight friends met him, and they saw us together, and I think they started to understand a bit about being gay. I'd see one of them somewhere and they would ask how Michael was right away. We had a few parties. Gay parties, couples in every room, we were popular with our friends because they could see the love that we shared. I could not have wanted anything else. I was fulfilled. In the spring we would go to the park together, and walk up into the woods, under the tall white oaks, and make love at night under the stars. Or we would take a ride out into the country where the pine trees surrounded the lake, and chase each other until we fell to the ground, laughing, out of breath. He was like a brother to me, as well as a lover. Everything was new, and fresh, and full of fun. Soon the summer breezes flowed through our lovers nest. The neighbors thought we were roommates and they left us alone. The landlord must have known though, he lived right below us. In those old houses you can hear someone above walking around room to room. Every night our footsteps ended in the same room. And the sounds we made at night. He must have known. He never said a word. Friday nights Michael liked to go to the club to dance and flirt and just socialize. I usually went with him and mostly watched him out on the floor. And I watched the other guys watching him. And quite honestly it felt frightfully good. And Michael always came home with me. And he was good to me. It was October now. Leaves all over the driveway. A cool day now and then and cold most every night. They say "beware the ides of March" but it was a Friday in October, October the 15th. I was tired from a tough week at work, Michael wanted to dance. "It's Friday night, let's go out." "No Michael, I'm too tired, you go out." So he went. And I went to bed. God how many times I've wished I had gone with Michael that night, I could have had a cup of coffee, I could have dragged myself. Maybe it wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I was there... In a dream I hear a banging sound far away. It's closer, out front, it's the door. Someone is yelling "Steve, get up!" But it is not a dream, it wakes me up. I drag myself out of bed and stumble out to the livingroom. It's Billy and Frank at the door, our friends from the club. We used to dance together. "Get dressed, Steve, hurry, there's trouble." "What trouble, where's Michael? Where is Michael?!" Billy put his hand on my right arm. "Steve, he's at the hospital, it's not good." I know I said "What happened ?" That's exactly what I said. That moment in time is stuck forever in my head, I can't make it go away. From a dream in the bed I shared with Michael, to a wide awake nightmare that no-one should ever have, all in just one minute. Billy made me sit down. Frank went to the bedroom to get my shoes. Our bedroom, Michael's and mine. I knew this could not be happening. I'll never forget the look on Billy's face. I see it every night when I try to go to sleep. Frank came back with a pair of Michael's sneakers, too big for me, I saw mine under the coffee table, I started to put them on. I had the silk boxer shorts on that Michael gave me for my birthday. I wanted him to come home and find me asleep in them, and I thought he would wake me up. Frank got me a pair of jeans. They were dirty, from the laundry basket, I tried to put them on over my sneakers before I realized that they were Michael's too. Billy was pacing back and forth, Frank was speaking very softly. "Steve, there was this gang of kids outside the club. Michael said he was going home to see how you were. He said you weren't feeling well. They jumped him Steve. They had a baseball bat. I think we should hurry." Michael, my Michael, someone had bashed him. "Is he OK ? Billy, is he OK? Frank, what is this? Just tell me if he is OK or not." The room was spinning. When I tried to get up my vision blacked out for a second. Frank grabbed me, he saw me teetering. The two of them had to almost carry me down to their car. The engine was still running. The heater was on. He was dead when we got to the hospital. They gave me a really hard time. I wasn't his next of kin. I explained to this one nurse and she talked to a doctor and they finally let me in. Thank God they let Billy in with me, he had to hold me up. Michael's head wasn't the right shape anymore, he was all bloody and his skin was the wrong color. They let me touch him for a second and then Billy got me out of there. The cops were bastards. They obviously didn't care. As far as they were concerned somebody deserved a medal. They never caught anybody. There was a funeral but I can't remember much of it. Billy was there, and my friends from work. My mother drove up from Maryland. I remember this priest saying Michael was a sinner. He was dead and they still wanted to hurt him. God forgives him, the guy was saying, forgives him for what ? Loving someone? But, you see, I still have Michael. He's here inside me now. He's in my heart and he always will be. But I have this one question, this one thing that still bothers me, I wish I could understand. Why won't they leave us alone ?