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I had plenty to look forward to in experimenting with taking nudes of myself and whichever of my friends might agree to pose. I figured Robert was a definite yes, and I wanted to take photos of him with Barry. Nothing pornographic. Gay love, two men naked and unashamed. Something that could go in a gallery or on their bedroom wall.
Minty might pose for me, and maybe even Windy. I didn’t know about Antonio, but I’d be curious what he looked like under all the plaid and flannel he’d taken to wearing lately. A new Nirvana fan, he’d embraced grunge.
I shut the filing cabinet drawer.
And that was it. I could always come back for more stuff if I needed to. This wasn’t goodbye. It was just see-you-later. I’d be back next Wednesday for the promised dinner.
I carried my portfolio, the box of my things, and the suitcase down the stairs, stepping over the ghosts of me and Adam there, and into the hallway where I remembered Daniel smiling over my Disney World pose and heart-shaped glasses.
I stopped by the kitchen and glanced toward the corner where Harry’s dog bed used to lie and smiled at the counter where I’d banged my head over my crush on a “straight boy.”
The same counter where I’d held Daniel’s hand while making the most stressful phone call of my life. Speaking of… I turned my head. On the wall was the phone I’d waited beside in agony, and called Daniel from in excitement, and listened in surprise as Adam, across the world, had jerked off thinking of me.
I shook my head. That last seemed so long ago. Another lifetime. Another person.
Backing out of the kitchen, I passed through the living room where I’d played on the floor with my childhood friends’ Strawberry Shortcake dolls. Where I’d opened presents every Christmas Eve. Where I’d sat beside Mom while she’d marked up her manuscripts as I’d watched TV.
Would this ever be my home again? Or was I leaving it behind the way I’d left Harry, and Adam, and Strawberry Shortcake in the past? The way I’d left Leslie and my most horrible mistakes?
Was this growing up?
I stood in the doorway, listening to the loud clacking of my mom’s word processor from behind her office door, hearing my dad start to sing a Gaelic hymn from their bedroom down the hall.
I closed my eyes and collected the moment like a living photograph.
Locking the door behind me, I stepped out into the cold December light.
In the driveway, I put my suitcase into the trunk and the box tapes and trinkets into the passenger seat of the Volvo. As I backed out down the drive, I turned on the radio. A university DJ announced the next song was a personal favorite. The song began. I smiled and aimed my car toward my new love and my new home.
Windchimes. Robert Smith’s voice.
Pictures of you.
THE END
