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“Then start with, ‘What the hell?'”
Thinking for a second, he said, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Seriously, Claude, what are you doing here?”
“Well, as I remember, you agreed to have me as your date for this event. Did you think I was just gonna forget about that?”
“Stop it, Claude. Tell me, what you’re doing here?”
“Making a grand romantic gesture?” he asked apprehensively.
“But you left me. No explanation. No warning. You just left.”
“Yeah,” he said, embarrassed.
“Where’d you go?”
“To have a hard conversation.”
“I see. And what was that hard conversation about?”
“About why I keep leaving you,” he said humbly.
I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. Nervously, I asked,
“And why is that?”
“It’s something called generational trauma.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when someone experiences something bad, and they teach their child how to react to it and they teach their child, and they teach their child. It’s a black thing.”
“As the gay son of a toxic-male father, I can tell you, that’s not just a black thing.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded.
“Okay, so why are you here?”
“I’m here to fight for you. Or, more precisely, to fight myself for you. And I want you to know that I will continue to fight until I have you. And I get that I keep disappearing on you. And that you might not want to forgive me for it. But, I’m here. And I will keep coming back… at least until you learn to better secure your doors.”
“So, you’re planning on stalking me. Is that it?”
Claude bobbled his head. “Maybe with a little breaking and entering.”
“Is that a black thing, too?”
He stared at me and then burst into laughter.
“After saying that, you better be planning on forgiving me.”
I smiled.
“Like I could ever stay mad at you. Haven’t you realized I have issues?”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about it.”
Disarmed, I walked over to the love of my life and wrapped my arms around him.
