Tonight

I burn every night in my dreams; only morning can set me free.
~MLE


This is not the worst moment of my life.

The worst moment of my life was when I finally had to admit to myself that it was too late for me to make a really meaningful bid for Sean's affections.

This moment, as I lie here in Sean's bed while he sleeps with my arms around him… this is quite possibly my second worst moment; knowing that this time it’s too soon .

I need to be patient. For starters, he's still grieving, and it's neither right nor fair of me to make my feelings known yet. Moreover, even if he were to respond favorably, I don't want him to make a decision of this nature in his current emotional state. I'm not playing around anymore, I'm too old for that. I'm looking for the real thing, and frankly, I'd rather not have Sean at all if he's going to leave me in six months when the next dangerously hot guy in a leather jacket catches his eye. I'm talking about rings and joint bank accounts and a serious emotional commitment. I know he's capable of it, he was true to Nick for nearly ten years.

The rub here is that I also know Sean too well. Well enough to understand that if anything real is ever going to happen between us it all has to be his idea. I need to make my presence known and stick around in his peripheral vision until he sees the trees not the forest.

The fact is, I've waited this long… I know I can wait a little longer.

But tonight…

God, tonight…

Maybe I overstepped my bounds this morning, I don’t know. I’m not sorry about it, though. I'm convinced that it had to be said, and that he wouldn't hear it if it came from anyone else. Sean, for his many, many, good qualities, is the most immature 30 year old man I have ever met, and the only reason for it is that he has never, as long as I've known him, needed to take care of himself. It was college on mom and dad, who continued to pay his rent for a full year or more after graduation, and then along came Nick.

I do have other regrets, however. I ought not to have expressed my dislike for Nick, for one thing. I lost some credibility with him as soon as it came out of my mouth. Not that what I said was at all inaccurate. I swallowed his presence for so many years because Sean was happy with him… most of the time. To his credit, Nick made Sean a priority everywhere else, if not always in bed. Sean wanted for nothing, he got Nick’s full attention when he really needed it, and Nick was genuinely affectionate and concerned about him. But the fact is, if you really love someone… if you string them along for ten years… they need to be enough for you. And even if they’re not entirely, you make them enough for you because they deserve that much. You don’t, ever, ever, ever put your health at risk… and you certainly do not lie to them for god knows how many years about HIV. I can’t understand it, I’ve tried.

Sorry… yes, I’m off my soap box. I really shouldn’t get started on Nick, I’ve got a ten-year cache of frustration.

My other regret is shoving Sean. I was just so… so… frustrated with him. To call me jealous… jealous after everything I…

He’s not entirely wrong, I know, but…

…

Sorry, I just needed to take a deep breath.

When I was growing up, shoving was a way of life. My father was an alcoholic with a sudden and hot temper, and he regularly saw fit to punish us with his fists. That man, much to my great discomfort, is most definitely in me. That hot flare of temper, the desire to throw a punch, or several of them... oh yes, I’ve felt him from time to time, particularly when I’m frustrated. I have worked hard at denying that impulse but occasionally it has gotten the better of me. And when Sean kissed me… it was as if… as if everything I’ve held back for ten years about him, about me… about Nick… it all rose to the surface at once and I wanted to shake him, and shake him hard. I wanted to say ‘You idiot! Look at me! You never had to look any further than right here…’

…

I would never, ever leave him at home in favor of another. Never. Believe me.

…

In any case it was wrong of me to put my hands on him in anger, and I wonder if he’ll ever understand what it means to me and how sorry I am about it. Perhaps it’s best that he never does.

For the moment though, none of that matters to him. He’s off in a wonderful sleepy Sean place… a dream place… probably eating chocolate or playing guitar or something… something unique to the youthful part of Sean that I love and admire… that innocent part that, despite HIV and death and grief, hasn’t really lost its rosey view. And I am fortunate that I am here to watch him.