Like saying goodbye.
Like letting go of all you hold close to you.
Like watching your life float by before your eyes.
I feel as though I�m walking around in a perpetual fog. I�ve felt this way for 74 hours and 36 minutes. Because that�s how long ago I dropped him off at the airport to fly home without me.
As I sit here on my couch, staring outside into the beautiful Californian day, I wonder why I didn�t go with him when he asked me too. Why I didn�t jump at the chance to spend an extra few weeks with my boyfriend.
Oh, that�s right. My need to establish my career.
If I had known it would hurt this much to live without him, I never would�ve let him go. Or, rather, I would�ve gone with him.
Even raining, miserable Glasgow sounds better than this metaphorical chest wound I�m suffering from.
I could operate so independently when I knew he was here, waiting at home for me, with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. But now, that he�s on a plane or in Scotland, I don�t know what to do. I don�t have that beautiful man to come home to.
So I don�t go out. I haven�t ventured outside, even to the backyard since I got home from the airport.
I have no need to revel in the beauty of the weather, or to keep up with current events. Because if my Billy�s isn�t here to tease me about watching cartoons or to discuss the war in Iraq, it just isn�t worth it.
I got up off the couch and made my way through my house, ending up in the kitchen, standing in front of the refrigerator.
My eyes scanned the contents half-heartedly, my mind more intent on compression the depressing thoughts.
I was about to close the door when I came across something, something that doesn�t usually belong in a refrigerator.
My hands snatched the folded up piece of paper that was leaning against a half-eaten jar of olives and I smiled.
My name was scrawled on the facing flap of the blue-lined paper in Billy�s handwriting.
I grabbed a bottle of water and took the letter and sat down at the kitchen table.
I unfolded the paper gently, as if it were porcelain and began to read:
Dear Dom,
I know what you�re thinking. Why would I leave a letter for you in the fridge, instead of just giving it to you?
I don�t know, call me crazy, but I was feeling spontaneous.
I know by now that you�re regretting your decision not to come with me. And don�t try to deny it, because I know it�s true.
But do you know what? I�m proud of you. I know that you�re aching to get on a plane to come and see me, and I know that you�re finding it hard to function without me. You�ve asked yourself a few times where your clean underwear is, haven�t you?
It�s in the hamper, by the way.
I don�t really know why I�ve even written this letter. I�ve professed my love to you verbally, and um, physically, many times before I left, but for some reason, I found myself sitting down at the table and writing this.
I love you, Dominic. I really do. I can say it a million times, and still, it won�t describe just how deep my feelings are. You�re my sun and my earth. My wind and my rain. You don�t know how special you are.
Oh look, now I�m crying. I don�t know why I�m leaving, Dom, to go home to Glasgow. I want to be here with you. I want to give us more of a chance. But I know in my heart I have to go home. I�ve missed it so much, and now, after everything has died down, I have to go.
I hope you understand. This isn�t about you, or us. Everything is perfect. This is just something I need to do.
But believe me when I say, I�ll carry you in my heart. And I suppose, separation can only be a good thing, right?
All my love,
Billy.
I wiped at my eyes and folded the paper back up, my throat hoarse and my eyes burning.
How I loved him.
It took all of my strength not to jump out of my chair and grab the phone, punching in those oh-so familiar cell-phone numbers. But I didn�t. I couldn�t.
A knock sounded at the door.
�Come in,� I called morosely, tucking the letter into my pocket and swiped at my eyes once more before Orlando appeared in the doorway.
�You look like shit,� he commented, moving through the kitchen, snagging a shiny red apple from the fruit bowl.
�And you, as always, look gay,� I responded, taking in his outfit. �How any man could think a pale pink blouse would look good is beyond reasoning.�
�Then maybe you should have it,� Orlando said curtly, punctuating his quip by taking a sound bite out of his apple.
I ignored him and took a swig from my bottle of water.
�How are you holding up, anyway?� he asked me, hiking himself up onto my marble bench top.
�Did Elijah send you to play martyr today?�
He shook his head. �No, I was worried. Hadn�t heard from you, so I thought I�d check up on you.�
�Oh Orlando, you�re so sweet!�
He frowned. �Whatever.�
I sighed and dumped my water bottle in the sink before pacing the kitchen restlessly.
�How�s Bill?�
I shrugged. �Over an ocean, in Scotland, who knows?�
�You haven�t called him?�
�We decided I probably shouldn�t. Give him time to settle in and stuff.�
Orlando nodded and chewed thoughtfully on his apple. I knew that look. He was thinking.
�What?� I demanded, watching him wearily.
�Nothing,� he responded.
�No, what?� I demanded again, becoming suspicious.
�Nothing, it�s just that�when have you ever obeyed a rule like that?�
I shrugged. �I�m doing it for Billy.�
�You love him, don�t you?�
I stopped my pacing and looked over at my friend. �Yeah. More than life.�
�See, that�s what dreams are made of,� Orlando pointed out, nibbling on the core of the apple. �I can�t wait to have what you guys have.�
�Yeah well, being separated by an ocean doesn�t seem to factor into the dream-like state we were once operating in,� I pointed out sardonically.
�It�s not permanent, man,� Orlando said. �Nothing stopping you from jumping the next plane.�
�Can�t do that.�
�Why not?�
I fished the letter Billy had written out of my pocket and handed it to him. He opened it up and began to read.
I paced as Orlando read, making noises like �hmmm� and �ohhh� as he pored over the letter.
He suddenly folded it up and held it back out. �That�s beautiful.�
I took it from him and put it back in my pocket. �I know. But what do I do?�
�Woah, you can�t ask me that!� Orlando protested, throwing the apple core into the bin with a smooth motion.
�Why not? You�re my friend!�
�Look, man. I�m not good with advice, whatever I say will inevitably fuck something up.�
�But�I need help!�
�Not from me, you don�t. Remember that time I told Elijah to ask out that girl in the bar in Wellington? And then she ended up robbing him?�
A smile crept onto my lips at the memory. �Yeah.�
�Then really, no contest. You don�t want advice from me.�
I sighed. �But you�re all I got!�
Orlando got down from the counter. �Go see Viggo, the wise one.�
I mulled his suggestion over. �You think?�
He gave me a funny look. �Didn�t I just suggest it?�
I rolled my eyes and began pushing him towards the door. �Ok then, get out. I need to pack a bag, then I have a long drive ahead of me.�
