BILL

Time: the day before New years 1984.
Place: my friend M’s house in Colombo, Ohio.
One of M’s friends brings a boy named Bill. I’m immediately attracted. His eyes are very big and black – really black. He is talking to me, but I don’t understand much of what he says; he whispers or seems to go off track. I give up and bend my head and then I hear clearly: “I’m just talking loosely, you know, just as it comes!” I look up and I make an effort to follow him. His face is asymmetric when he talks: one side is lively; the other seems to want to stop him. As he turns his head he is like two persons – and one of them is a beauty. Then he laughs and his eyes twinkle and beauty invades his whole face. He says: “I was with this guy; he is a homo, but, you know, I am a turnabout; I cannot tell anybody off.”
Next day he is there again and he is more coherent and very sweet. M gives him a haircut and makes him shave, but, really, he seemed just as good to me before.
In the evening we dance together shoulder to shoulder, rolling back to back to the other shoulder. It’s New Years Eve and I know I could have him, but there is nowhere to go. When he leaves he hugs me twice. I love the losers that are sweet as worm eaten fruit.