Wednesday, October 04, 2000

Roger that

Every once in a great while, the fates conspire to bring the disparate lines of your life into confluence and freak you the hell out.

Today, for example. I'm walking down the D concourse at the airport, having just said goodbye to a man with whom I would like very much to have sex.

As I pass a bar packed with baseball fans reveling in the Cardinals' victory, I am called to and waved over by the last man with whom I had sex. He invites me to join him for a drink and, to take a seat with him, I must ask the man at the adjoining table to move his valise so I can reach the chair.

When that man turns around to oblige, we stare at each other with that "you-got-your-chocolate-in-my-peanut-butter no-you-got-your-peanut-butter-on-my-chocolate" look for a long, long moment.

And that's how I ran into Roger--the very first man with whom I had sex--for the first time in 15 years. The last time we were together, I had a 26 inch waist and still believed in a time called forever. I'll get a chance to see him again in two weeks: dinner, conversation and an awkward opportunity to be 16 years old again.