Blink by Rick R. Reed

Author:Rick R. Reed [Reed, Rick R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-01-07T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14: ANDY

I CATCH my reflection in the front doors of my condo building. The light’s hitting just so in the late afternoon so that the double doors morph into full-length mirrors. I pause for a minute, careful to make sure none of my neighbors are around to witness my vanity. The good I see: I’m still trim, thanks to my running regimen that’s been with me most of my adult life. My skin looks healthy and tan, even though that’s just my Italian heritage peeking through. My eyes are nice. The bad: the balding at the top of my head, the glasses that never seem to look quite right, making me appear owlish, the gray in my hair, and the little goatee on my chin, once a rich dark brown, now completely silver. I give myself a little smile and add my even white teeth to the plus column.

And then I turn away, knowing I’m nervous, scared, and more than a tad excited. While Chet, my guy from OkCupid, and I are just meeting for cocktails and it can’t properly be called a date, this is my first time out to meet a man socially in a long time. And a cute man! I hope he’s wearing the baseball cap. I hope he didn’t shave off the beard. I hope he’s nice.

I hope a lot of things as I pass through the wrought iron front gate and turn right to walk over to Clark Street on my way to the Morse Avenue ‘L’ stop. Here are just a few: that I’ll be able to think of enough to say, that I won’t sound like an idiot, that I won’t remind Chet of his dad, that I won’t seem effeminate. Even though I’m not, I grew up in an age where that was truly the stereotype, and for a long time I just had the idea in my head that all gay men were big sissies—not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of the bravest, strongest guys I know have been the drag queens. It takes strength and courage to be exactly who you are.

I hope I’ll be able to convey such ideas with the same eloquence as they appear in my thoughts. Too often, the mind/mouth connection gets screwed up, which is why I like writing so much. I can kind of practice what I’m going to say first.

And I can edit.

Real life does not afford much of an opportunity for editing.

I realize my thoughts are the psychic equivalent of babbling, and I know why—I’m nervous, more than anything else. I become aware of the sweat on the back of my neck even though it’s a cool evening, probably no more than sixty-five degrees. My heart is beating a bit faster than usual. My mouth is dry.

See, I haven’t been out in so long because I sort of gave up on dating a few years ago, after my last live-in relationship imploded. He was a big party animal

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