He stood by the door of the train looking down at the screen of his phone. One glance at him and I Immediately I thought of Russ, whom I hadn’t thought of in decades. His slightly-better than scruffy beard and the shaggy hair that fell forward over the cliff that was his forehead was strikingly similar to the way that I remember Russ.
My friend Mark was attempting to date Russ when I first met him. Mark, in fact, brought him by the house one night – likely for a glass of wine. It’s what we did then. Russ preferred beer, however. I was happy to oblige.
When Mark grew tired of chasing Russ I stepped in. Simply offering the invitation brought Russ around again and again. Likely because I provided the beer.
Tall. Bold. Broad shouldered. Fair skinned. A hint of auburn in his hair. Just the slightest lilt of an accent from being raised in Alabama. Enough to make him seem unique compared to the local population – but only upon close inspection.
Russ and I made plans to spend a week in Hawaii but our travel plans went afoul by the time we reached San Francisco. It was either spend the night in San Francisco and wait for the next day’s flight or try to get to Los Angeles in time for a later departure.
In the thick of trying to determine what to do next, Russ became agitated. Panic stricken almost. Most of my energy was spent calming him down, which diminished the time I had to enact a plan.
We decided to scrap the trip and instead rent a car and drive to Palm Springs. It was already late in the evening but we made our way as far as Santa Cruz. Parked at the beach and searching paper maps under the dim light in the rental car, Russ stripped down to his briefs and made a dash into the ocean. In and out – washing away the anxiety, he emerged with a more practical mind and seemingly refreshed. We took a motel room not far, spending the night here.
In the morning we drove south, stopping in Pismo Beach – an odd little beach town that Russ loved. We had breakfast at a sea-side diner and then headed south with a stop in Thousand Oaks for a brief visit within his aunt and uncle.
A few hours later we were in Palm Springs. It was late afternoon. We found a hotel – one of the gay clothing optional resorts, of which there were many. The long drive combined with the short night prior led us to take a nap by the pool shortly after our arrival, an attempt also, to catch the last rays before the sun fell behind the mountains.
Russ’ fair skin, long limbs, and bikini briefs – the tiniest available and thus barely hiding his big dick, made him the center of attention at the pool but I don’t think he noticed. His unawareness of things, in general, made him that much more attractive.
Earlier in the day a phone call confirmed that my aunt would be home that evening – she and her husband lived in Palm Springs. I hadn’t told her that I’d come with someone and it wasn’t but a quick hello visit that was expected. No need to complicate things. Up from my lounge chair, I kissed Russ on the cheek and told him I’d be back in a couple hours. I made sure my affection toward Russ was visible to the eyes that were still upon us. I liked the way that felt – all those men watching me kiss my boyfriend prior to heading out.
Later that night Russ asked to use the car. He said that he wanted to stop by a friend’s house – someone that he’d known from another time. He said he’d stop by the liquor store on the way back so that we’d have booze for the next day.
He was gone for hours. Long into the night. I was worried about the rental car – not that I didn’t trust him with it, but still. Even more so, I was worried about “us”. His plans had seemed sudden, almost escapist.
Russ returned sometime around two o’clock a.m. He confessed to going to see an former boyfriend only after repeated questioning. I suspected there was more to the story, but left it at that.
The fact was that Russ was not my boyfriend. It was just an illusion to those around us. But mostly it was an illusion to me. I had thought that if I acted as if we were a couple long enough it would eventually become the truth. That patterns would become habits, and habits would become momentum, which in turn would become inertia.
Stored away in the back of my memory. The details hidden far away. Nearly forgotten until the man standing in front of me on the train who so closely resembled Russ brought the memories rushing back.
Minutes later I arrived at work after having taken a mental journey thousands of miles in the past.
Urban In-Fill 