08.28.03 - 9:59

lordy lordy. the first time i saw him i was walking past the bus stop by our house and he was waiting for the bus, shivering. the wind gets cold here; the secret to the city is layers and more layers and sometimes a hat. he didn't know and i didn't tell him. the next time i saw him was at the grocery store where he was in the express lane with more than 15 items and a credit card in his hand. i could feel the line of people behind him growing impatient, angry, but then he turned around and smiled and the sincerity of that smile disarmed them and they forgot to be mad. the cashier told him that they didn't accept credit cards in this lane, no, no debit cards either, but you can write a check. he didn't have a checkbook and finally the cashier gave in to the sparkle in his eyes and found a magical way to swipe his credit card. no one in the line noticed because they were still frozen by that smile, a smile that was so real. then i didn't see him for quite a while, months, maybe even a couple of years. i might have even forgotten him; i'm not sure. but then i walked into the bar and there he was, pouring drinks and charming customers and filling up the tip jar in a way that the other bartenders could never equal. god, what is it about him? i ordered tonic with a lime and he leaned over the bar and asked vodka tonic? and i said, no, no, tonight i'm just drinking plain tonic...with limes, lots of limes. and he said, well, that's perfectly fine, but you know, art is so much easier when the edges blur. he turned away to fix my drink before i could ask him what he was talking about and when he turned to me with my tonic the moment had passed and it was too late. i thanked him and put too much money in his tip jar, just like everybody else. i watched the customers sitting at the bar, mesmerized by this golden child floating before them, this amazing being that they were fortunate enough to see, standing there, right before their very eyes. and not just that, he was fixing their drinks! it doesn't get better than this. except when it does. the music got quieter and quieter, slowly so no one noticed. most everyone was a little buzzed at this point and they probably wouldn't have noticed if they'd just turned it off, silence all at once. but it wasn't like that and that doesn't matter anyway. when the woman in the brown skirt finished her cocktail and turned to ask for another, he wasn't there anymore. in his place was a pale skinned girl, fragile, with beautiful black hair and green eyes. irish. the woman (in the skirt) tried not to look upset but she'd been drinking and the disappointment was written all over her face. oh, and no one missed it, either. they all had that same look, the searching, pleading look, and here was this girl who didn't offer any answers, only questions, what would you like to drink, what kind of vodka, neat or on the rocks, salt or no salt, no problem. so the sort of magical experience they'd had with the boy had disappeared and it made all of them less special, people at a bar, making transactions, ordering drinks, getting sloppy, getting ugly, getting mean. it wasn't her fault (the irish girl). there's no way she could have competed. he was nice enough to share his tips with the other bartenders, as he made about five times as much as they did on their best day. so she didn't mind that most of the blurry faces at the bar forgot to tip because they were so stunned to see her instead of him. i don't know where he went that night. no one does. the last time i saw him he was standing on the stage behind a microphone, guitar slung across his shoulder. i didn't expect to see him there, but if you've learned one thing by this point, it's that he was completely unpredictable. you would see him everywhere for weeks and then suddenly he would disappear and surface months later as if nothing had ever happened. no one ever asked. they were too awestruck. anyway, like i said, he was up on stage and i watched him adjust the mic and i thought, i've never seen a more attentive audience and he's only setting up. and then the first chords (beautiful, of course), minor, plaintive. and then his voice! you expect me to say angelic but that wouldn't come close to describing the sounds that flowed from his lips. not a high, pure tenor like we'd all expected, but a warm alto, rich and just a bit gravelly, a voice you could hold on to. i knew a couple of people who were in charge of getting the setlist written down but after the show no one had written a word. they were all just too transfixed on this boy, this one boy and his guitar, the beauty of it. it was ok. we were all too happy to care after what we'd seen, heard, felt. he stood on the stage for a bit, giving the audience what they wanted. and then he smiled shyly (and did he blush? i think i saw him blush!) and did a stiff sort of half-bow before he shuffled off the stage. there was screaming and hollering and clapping and stomping but we all knew he wasn't coming back out. and i don't know for sure what anyone else was thinking, but i knew i'd never see him again. i don't know where that beautiful boy is now, but i do know that he was too beautiful for this world, this ugly, grey, broken world. i wouldn't be surprised if he's left us forever. it's been years and no word from of him, no sightings, no rumors, no anything. i slept hard the night i finally let him go, and i saw him behind my eyelids, beckoning me with a frown on his face. it's not all beautiful, he told me, there's always ugliness, always pain. and he lifted his shirt to show me the bloody hole where his heart should have been. i didn't know what to say and i stood there shocked as he let the shirt fall, covering the gruesome wound. my god, where's your heart, i asked, horrified. how can you possibly live without it? he smiled a secret smile that i couldn't interpret and answered, i don't, my dear. where did my heart go? i gave it to you. i gave it to the drunks who spent all night bellied up to the bar. i gave it to the beautiful people who watched me sing. i gave it to the checker at the grocery store. i gave and gave and finally there was nothing left. and now i'm here, he said, and really, it's lovely. i do miss all of you, but i know this ended the way it was supposed to end. i didn't know how to respond, and as i stood there, mute (with confusion? fear? disbelief?), he faded into stripes of color that began to swirl around each other until all i could see were pinwheels of these muted colors. and then, suddenly, the colors went bright, electric, and one of the doors in my mind opened. so i stepped inside, of course.

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