Barry gets ditched and robbed in one night. When Cecil, the owner of the local gay bar Haven, offers assistance, Barry has no reason to trust the offer -- yet what blooms between the two men seems to transcend the poverty and degrading circumstances both confront every day.
Barry yearns for Cecil, but when he kisses him, the advance is rebuffed, and he's left to continue on in his dreary, humourless world, wondering if there will be anything more to his bleak existence.
A week later, the two meet again. Can they confront their differences and become more than strangers with good -- but sometimes misaligned -- intentions?
His truck smelled like cleaner, like the pine air freshener he had. It was so different than Jack's truck, I almost wanted to melt into the seats. I did melt into them. Softer than soft. Cecil was so different than Jack, I almost wanted to kiss him right then and there.
I sat up straight.
Almost.
I only wanted to embrace him out of relief. Yeah, I told myself. Out of some divine retribution I could help along. I could fall down in front of him and thank him with my mouth, instead of just words and words and more words that were only used to hurt.
"Here?" Cecil asked, gesturing to my shady apartment complex. "And you're going to be fine to get in? They didn’t --"
"I have my keys." I gestured to my belt. Cecil idled the car and looked at the keys, and I thought, lingered a second longer on what else was there. I felt something stir deep inside of me that hadn't been there before. That I hadn't felt before.
A beat passed. Then another.
"You sure you're going to be okay?" Cecil repeated.
I nodded, but quickly shook my head. Cecil turned towards me, and in that short interval before either one of us knew what was happening, I kissed him.
Short, fast -- but no less obvious. I kissed him. I ... just had to.
A strange sensation, kissing a man. His skin was rougher, sharper than I anticipated. He tasted like coffee and gum, and smelled like cigarettes he'd probably been smoking all night. I didn't mind because I was still smoking then, and would for another six months. Cecil didn't press back at first, still shocked by my actions. But when I put my hands on his jean-clad thighs, he shook his head.
"Hey, man," he said. "You're tired ... Strange night. And this is --"
"Barry," I said. I realized I'd not even given him my name. "I'm Barry."
"Well, it's nice to meet you more formally, Barry. But go home. Go inside to bed. And if you need me tomorrow," he said, and I swore I heard something more in his voice, "then call me at Haven. Here."
He reached into a pocket of his jeans and handed over a matchbook. "I can be a witness, remember?" His dark eyes seemed to tell me that it was all he would be. A witness.
I waited, but he wouldn't kiss me again.
And I didn’t have the wherewithal to do it twice.
