(continued,...) Our sixteen hour date finally came to an end. Grant walked me to the front steps of his apartment, gave me a kiss good bye and closed the door. I inhaled the brisk Autumn air, turned to the side of the stairs and threw up in the bushes. After five bottles of wine, this reaction did not seem peculiar. Yet, I could see the vague shadows of a pattern beginning to form. I would soon come to realize the wine had nothing to do with it. I was love sick. Grant and I didn't see each other for the next couple of weeks. Much to my dismay, he had been dodging my advances and blocking my passes better than any pro football team. I was just about to call him when the phone rang. It was Grant. He was in a dreadful predicament. His hair dryer had just burned out and he had a job interview in a few hours and couldn't possibly go there with flat hair. It wasn't the "I want you , I need you, I can't live without you" I was hoping for but it was a start. I grabbed my blow drier and pirouetted out the door like Jan Brady on her way to the orthodontist to have her braces removed. Grant instinctively knew no matter what the problem was, he could depend on me to run to his aid. If he said his faucet was dripping, I would have hauled Hoover Dam to his apartment. Within a few short minutes, I was sitting in a chair in Grant's kitchen. I sat drinking hot tea and making light conversation as he proceeded to style his hair with the sort of modus operandi of a table cook at Benihana's. He then ventured into the bedroom to get dressed. "You can come in," he offered. "It's not like you've never seen me naked before." As much as I wanted to dash in there and tackle him on the bed, I couldn't. Instead, I got up from the kitchen table, calmly walked into the bathroom and threw up in the sink. By the time he was dressed, I was again sitting at the table as though nothing had happened. "You feeling okay? You look a little pale," he said handing the blow dryer to me. "I'm fine, " I lied. Something was causing my stomach to schedule more lift offs than Nasa. I turned to face Grant and felt another rumble start up. According to my calculations, I had about two minutes before the next Apollo shuttle blasted off. I glanced at my watch. "Will you look at the time. You're going to be late for your interview." Grant walked me to the front door and disappeared back into his apartment. I turned to my left and threw up into the bushes. From that day forward, every time I left Grant's apartment, he would shut the door behind me and I would barf over the front stair railing. This was the most pathetic display of affection I had ever heard of. It wasn't the sort of thing I felt I could share and what more could I say other than, "You make me sick"? Diana Ross and the Supremes were telling the world Love Is Like An Itching In My Heart. My heart didn't itch. It was bulimic. At long last I finally understood how Mary the parrot felt. It was my mating season. This problematic condition was more than enough to kill the mood. Within a few short weeks, it had also killed off several large bushes in front of Grant's apartment. The world was caught in a time of change. A change in season. A change in the weather. A change in Grant. Grant sat me down. "I can't see you anymore," he explained. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I took Grant's hand and softly asked, "Glaucoma?" Grant hesitated for a moment. "This has nothing to do with my eyes," he said. I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God! There for a while I thought it was something serious." "I am being serious. I've decided to go straight." "You're going to become a heterosexual?" I winced in disbelief. "And just how do you intend to accomplish this, pop open a Budweiser, scratch your crotch and turn on a football game?" "No. I just won't date guys anymore." The sarcasm left my voice. "Grant, being straight or gay is not a conscious decision. It's not like waking up one day and deciding to become a Presbyterian. Why on earth would you want to force yourself into becoming something you're not?" A sadness filled his eyes. "It's just too difficult to be gay." I knew exactly what he meant. "Being gay isn't easy," I confessed. "But it's even harder to lie to yourself. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to anyone else." "You do understand, don't you?" Of course I understood. I had single handedly accomplished what society, religion and psychotherapists have been attempting for centuries. I was the cure for homosexuality. Two months of dating me and I could send Quentin Crisp bolting into the nearest Ace Hardware store to buy power tools. "Actually? No, I don't understand, but if that's what you feel you have to do, then by all means do it." "We can still be friends," he smiled. I shook my head. "I can't do that." I left Grant's apartment for the last time. It felt as though some scoundrel had reached into my soul and strapped a hand grenade to it. It exploded and left me in ruins. Every imaginable emotion was wounded and bleeding like a battalion of tiny soldiers. The only good thing to come out of this mass of human destruction was the slight chance that the bushes by Grant's front door might grow back. Winter arrived with a steel glove that year. An arctic snap had descended during the holiday season and placed the entire state into suspended animation. Christmas passed like a woman in mourning and the New Year sat in front of me with the unwanted burden of an abandoned baby. Brenda and Rikk had left for a night of heavy celebrating. Our happy abode was showing undeniable signs of civil unrest and out of respect, I had decided to spend the evening alone. Grant and I had lost contact with one another over the past three months and I really didn't feel much like partying. The aftermath of our disastrous affair had left me about as exciting as a pasta salad. I had just turned off the living room light and started down the hallway towards the bedroom when the doorbell rang. Passing by the kitchen, I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. The last thing I needed was some joyous group with plastic top hats and tiaras to stop by and validate how pathetically miserable I was. I reached for the door knob. " One hour into the New Year and it already sucks," I mumbled. For some strange reason, people have a tendency to buy into the delusion that simply because three hundred sixty-five days have passed and it is now time to hang up a new calendar, this will, by some means of divine intervention, alter the course of their life. Suddenly, love will descend from the heavens, fate will bring that long awaited promotion, war and hunger will become a thing of the past and that troublesome acne problem will finally clear up . In the end, we are all a bit disappointed when it becomes evident that it is just another year of dealing with the same tired old issues from the previous year. I had heard it said; It is not true that life is one damn thing after another - it is one damn thing over and over. I didn't care one way or the other. Harsh as it may sound, change takes a great deal of determination and effort. I barely had the energy to change a roll of toilet paper. This point seemed more than obvious as soon as I opened the front door. Standing at the top of the stairs was Grant. His sapphire eyes peeked through a scattered curtain of falling snowflakes. Softly lit beneath the yellow glow of the porch light, it looked as though he was being decorated with stardust. I hesitated for a moment, stunned by the sheer romance of seeing him again. "This certainly is a pleasant surprise," I finally managed to say. "I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd come over and wish you a happy New Year. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." "Not at all, " I said stepping back from the entrance. "Come on in." Grant stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "It's kinda dark in here," he whispered. I turned on a small table lamp. "Actually, I was just on my way to bed," I confessed. Grant smiled. "Good. Then we have something in common." "What's that?" Grant wrapped his arms around me. "I was hoping to spend the night with you." I felt myself begin to melt as that familiar fever overtook my thoughts and desires. I put my hand against his chest and pushed myself away. "The last time we spoke, you were planning on going straight." Grant removed his winter jacket. "I've learned a few things since then." My attitude towards the New Year instantly lifted. I wanted to belt out a quick chorus of Everything's Coming Up Roses. Deep down, I always was a sucker for happy endings. As I led Grant down the hallway towards the bedroom, our bodies began to blend together. A tremor of excitement ran up my spine as I felt his hands fill with passion and begin to explore my warm flesh. Grant's fingers curled behind my neck and drew me towards him. His thirsty kisses attempted to feed from my mouth as though I was a cup of sweet nectar. My head started to spin. He pulled my hips forward until I could feel the hunger of his loins fill with desire. I reached down and momentarily caressed the strained material of his pants before unfastening his belt. Grant had my shirt pulled off my shoulders and playfully nipped and tugged at my nipples with his teeth as we rounded the corner into the bedroom. The mattress eased beneath our weight as the length of his body descended upon me. A soft chime cut through the darkness. I paused. "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?" Grant breathed into my ear. "It sounded like a doorbell," I said with a tone of curiosity. As if on cue, the bell rang a second time. Grant obviously heard it that time and lifted his head. "It's probably Cindy." "Cindy? Cindy who?" "My fiance." "I pushed Grant off the bed. "Your what?" I shouted. "We got engaged tonight." I took a deep breath while attempting to digest the scope of the situation. "It's New Year's Eve, I'm in bed with a half naked man who just got engaged to be married and his fiance is ringing my doorbell." For some odd reason, vocalizing the circumstances didn't seem to clarify anything. "ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE?" I bellowed. "I wanted to spend the night with you." "Obviously you failed to clear this with your fiance because she just tracked you down through the snow. What is she, a Bloodhound?" Grant chuckled. "Of course not. We drove here together. She's been sitting in the car." "You brought your fiance to my place so you could spend the night with me? What was she suppose to do, take Polaroids?" "She thinks you're just a friend of mine." I rolled my eyes. "I can't believe you left her in the car. It's thirty degrees below zero out there! What were you thinking, you'd go out there in the morning and chip the ice off her?" The doorbell rang a third time. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples with quivering fingertips. For a split second, I actually convinced myself that this was nothing but a sick and demented sexual nightmare. I opened my eyes. Grant flashed a quick version of his million dollar smile. "Put your pants on," I droned. I stood up from the bed and shuffled towards the living room. The thin line between love and lunacy had completely disintegrated. Grasping the doorknob for support, I flung the door open. A shivering and highly perturbed woman stood in front of me. There was more heat generating from that girl than a blast furnace. It was like greeting The Bride Of Frankenstein during menopause. "You must be Cindy!' I exclaimed with a plastic grin. "Grant has told me so much about you!" I was a lousy liar. My words were as thin and transparent as a sheet of Glad Cling Wrap. Cindy gave me a dead stare. Illuminated by the porch light, I could see the snow gently fall around her. The winter backdrop seemed appropriate enough. I heard a small voice inside me howled in terror, "The Ice Queen!" In a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, I blurted, "I understand you and Grant got engaged to be married this evening!" "Yes we did," she snarled as she marched into the living room, stomping the snow off her spiked heeled shoes. "I think that's just wonderful." The tone of my voice was so full of syrup that I nearly threw myself into a diabetic coma. "Where's Grant?" Cindy asked, although it sounded less like a question and more like an accusation. I felt the ceiling cave in on me as I realized Grant had not come out of the bedroom yet. A fraction of a second later he appeared from the hallway adjusting an annoying bulge in his pants. I felt three birthdays pass. "Well, well,...this is such an unexpected surprise," I said, looking back and forth at the two of them. These were the first honest words to come out of my mouth. I motioned towards the pumpkin orange sofa. "Have a seat." Grant immediately dove for the overstuffed chair. I saw a red glare spark behind Cindy's eyes as she crash landed on the sofa. An uneasy silence chewed through the air like a mad dog biting it's own leg for sympathy. "I think this calls for a celebration," I suggested in a Beverly Hills hostess tone. I cut a sharp left turn towards the kitchen and gave Grant an evil stare. "I know I could certainly use a drink." Grants face lit up. "Sounds good to me." He leaned forward in the chair towards Cindy. "Want one?" "Fine," she huffed. Even in room temperature you could see her breath. I zipped into the kitchen like a greased pig at the Red River Valley Fair and began to pull bottles of vodka, rum and tequila from the cupboard. I had no idea what Grant and Cindy wanted to drink but I definitely needed all three. I lined up the glasses and uncapped the tequila as I heard Grant break the silence which had been resounding from the living room since my hasty departure. "He probably needs some help with the drinks." The echoed sound of footsteps approached from behind me. "What can I help you with?" Grant asked in a soft voice, placing his arms around my waist. "I'm fine!" I replied in a stern whisper. "Are you?" he asked, pressing his hips against the small of my back and planting delicate kisses on my neck. I went limp. "No, but this doesn't seem like a good time for a nervous breakdown." "Are you nervous?" he breathed. "I suppose things could be worse," I said with total lack of conviction. I felt Grants hands travel downwards between my legs. "Okay, maybe not much worse," I added. "How are those drinks coming?" the Ice Princess shouted from the other room. Grant tightened his grasp, "God, I want you." I was caught speechless. My mind clouded over as I desperately ransacked my brain in search of some ancient words of wisdom designed for a moment such as this. Naturally, there wasn't a one. Probably because this was not the sort of situation a person of great wisdom falls into. I was charting virgin soil somewhere between Ninnyhammer Hills and Dipshit Falls. Out of the confusion, two words rolled forward. Be prepared. It was the old Boy Scout motto. I grabbed the tequila bottle, poured a quick shot and slammed it down my throat. It may not have been what the founding fathers of the Boy Scouts had in mind when they first coined this little gem, but then I doubt they had anticipated one of their righteous young leaders of tomorrow would one day find himself playing sexual roulette with the future husband of Virginia Woolf. Grant put his lips to my ear. "Lets spend the night together." "You're seducing me in the kitchen." "I know." "You're engaged to be married." "I know." "Your fiance is sitting in my living room." "I know." "She's going to come in here dressed up like Norman Bates and stick a knife into my back." Grant stroked a hand across my stomach. "Follow me home." I turned around in astonishment. "What?" "I'll tell her that we're going to have a few drinks and talk, so you're coming over to my place." "You've got to be kidding!" Grant's face blurred as he leaned in to kiss the words from my mouth. Grant picked up a half made drink for himself and one for Cindy. He whispered, "Come home with me," one last time before going back into the living room. I downed another shot of tequila. My heart was pounding with an iron first inside my chest. Delirious with confusion, I set about in a heated argument with myself. "Should I stay? Should I go?" "Go!" "Stay." "Life is for the living." "You call suicide living?" "I want to go home with him." "Adulterer!" "He's not married." "Not yet, you mean!" "I think he loves me." "He just wants his dick sucked!" "I can do that." "You're not really going to follow him home are you?" "I know I shouldn't." "I will if you won't!" "You're gonna burn in Hell for this one." "I'm screwed." "If you're lucky." "Oh shut up!" I walked into the living room just in time to hear Grant tape together an explanation as to why I was following him home. Cindy's eyes narrowed. She didn't need to speak a single word. Her nasty expression lit up the room like a road flare. I had sunspots in front of my eyes. I knew what she meant. "Over...my...dead...body!" All at once, she smiled. "Okay, let's go." Then she snatched the car keys from Grant and roared, "I'LL DRIVE!" And that she did. Like Mario Andretti. It was the race between the tortoise and the hare. Unfortunately, Grant had moved recently so I didn't even know where the finish line was. One red light between us was all it took. Cindy ditched me faster than a leaking barrel of nuclear waste. A somber mood overtook me as I headed home. It was the worst New Year's Eve of my life. Inasmuch as we were all in the wrong, I somehow convinced myself that Cindy had committed the greatest wrongdoing within this seemingly endless list of offenses. Grant was simply confused and mentally unstable. I was a love-blinded idiot. Yet, unlike Grant and I, Cindy's motivations were not done out of ignorance. Hers were cold, ruthless and calculated. Had I been in her shoes, I would have done the exact same thing. The sour tone for the upcoming year had been set. I was not optimistic. In my opinion, optimism was highly over rated anyway. The line between being an optimist and a pessimist isn't exactly a chasm. A pessimist is a person who believes all people are basically rotten. An optimist is a person who believes all people are basically less rotten than they really are. It came as no big surprise when I later learned Grant and Cindy never did get married but they did remain good friends. Several months later, I ran into Grant at a party. He was seated alone at a small table, sipping on a rum and coke. A warm sadness welled up from inside me. I set my glass down beside him. "How have you been?" Grant looked up and flashed his perfect grin. "Things have been better but I'm doing all right." "That's good." "And you?" He looked different somehow. At first I guessed he had cut his hair, but it was more than that. It was as if he had lost something. I searched his face in hopes of finding what was missing. His blue eyes stared back at me. Whatever it was had left without a trace. It took me a while to realize he hadn't lost anything. I had. I didn't feel the least bit ill; my stomach didn't skip a beat. My heart failed to make the slightest flutter. Nothing remained but a brief glimpse of what we almost held and then let slip away. And then it was gone like the last flicker of a fire. I smiled back at him. "I'm doing well. You seeing anyone lately?" "Nope. You?" "Nah. I think my mating season is over." Grant gave me a quizzical look. I just shook my head. "Maybe we could get together sometime, " he said. "Maybe," I replied. But we both knew we wouldn't. The understanding stood between us as if to say; "For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: `It might have been"*. *Henry Greenleaf Whittier