February 14, 2009

How long has it been? A decade? Longer? Just how long has it been since we last embraced? Since we last saw each other? Since we last kissed, ever so gently, and then ever so enthusiastically? How long has it been since we were boyfriends? Has it been too long? Or just long enough? Can I tell you something this Valentine’s Day?

I remember when we first met. Do you? Was it the party at Stephen’s condo? Or was it with your friend at Gen X? Remember? I do. I like this memory. Do you? I remember meeting each other’s friends for the first time. Do you? You were the local guy. I was the transplanted Midwesterner, with a degree from Brown, living at the nexus of downtown and the East Side. What brought us together? Was it fate, really? Was it pure physical attraction? Perhaps it was both. Maybe it was never intended that we meet. Maybe it was a random act of … kindness? of love? Nevertheless, we did meet. And kiss. And embrace. And then we dated. Remember?

I remember waiting for you on Thayer Street. You drove in to meet me. I was practically home already. I can’t remember exactly what we had planned. Can you? Was it a movie at the Avon? Or a Number 9 pocket at D’Angelo’s? Or were we going to try one of the new places? No, wait! It was a sandwich at Meeting Street. Maybe not, though. I remember holding your hand. Yes, we held hands. Remember?

I held your hand walking down Thayer Street and through the Brown campus. I gave you the tour. Not the generic one, but the personal, intimate tour, given by someone familiar with the rhythms of the buildings and their histories. Remember? The hidden trees? The benches tucked away in privacy? Marcus Aurelius? The famous “chair of applied relaxation?” I showed you the dorms I lived in. We didn’t go in of course. Someone else lived there now. I showed you my heart. You showed me yours. Remember?

I remember the first night you stayed over. And the many nights afterward. Do you? We never really went to your house. You didn’t live alone. I remember the first meal you cooked for me. Do you? I remember the night we first made love – when we went all the way. Do you? I’m sure you do. How would we forget things like that? We don’t. They are always with us. I remember it like it was yesterday. Remember?

I’m older now. So are you. I’m not a out of control club kid anymore - up and down the East Coast, partying with all the hot bois, dancing at Mirabar, going to drag shows, and sleeping around. I’m not the young political activist, throwing fundraisers, marching in pride parades, name-dropping in my monthly column, taking pictures with mayors, senators, and drag queens. You were never the political activist. But I was. You were never the club kid. But I was. Remember?

I know you’re with someone else now, but you remain special to me anyway. Can we be friends now, after all these years? Can we be intimate friends? Is that possible? Is it wise? Aren’t we more than friends already? Haven’t we been that way for a while? We still like each other. Don’t we? It’s funny. This reminds me of our relationship. All those questions. All those elusive answers. Never knowing what to do, really. Never knowing what the future was to hold. You wanted stability. I wanted freedom. We wanted each other. And we still do. Don’t’ we? That’s the way I remember it. I know I was the one who ended it. Prematurely, now that I think about it. Remember?

So, where do we go from here? Some more emails? Some more calls or texts? A message on facebook or myspace? Where do we want this to go? Could it be like before - but without the breakup? Could it be? Should it be? I just can’t decide. Can you? Neither of are really old enough to remember Mamma Cass, but you know the lyrics, don’t you? Remember?

“I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear
Just saying this
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me”

That’s the easy answer, all these years later. Longing. Lingering. Leave our worries behind. Dream of me. Just a little dream. Dream of me? I dream of you. Will you be my valentine?

The writer is a fan of politics, drag queens, the East Side, and all things gay. A former Providence resident, he hosted the first political fundraiser in Rhode Island to feature a drag performance, co-founded the RI Same-Sex Marriage PAC in 1996, wrote "A Queer Perspective" for Providence Monthly 3 years, and has contributed to Options over the years. He is a mortgage banker by day and has founded an lgbtqqi community center in his hometown of Joplin, MO. Or you can choose any of the pix on myspace at www.myspace.com/leemcdaniel