| dewy decimal |
2003-10-12 - 10:42 a.m.
Twan doesn�t drive much and he�s riding shotgun, having exhausted ourselves at Fusions yet again on sprits and dance. My car, which was broken into last weekend, is quiet with the absence of a third CD player gone missing. The mood is not ok tonight because Twan is too tired and drunk to brush off the unrequited love that makes spaces in his body; vacancies where the jokes were soaring and I was tear-blinded.
�I think I love Tei, Dusty,� a straight, Tongan kid that is in a musical with Twan. There�s no cheer in his voice to help segue into any bathroom jokes, no light to find in the situation; a nodding in the dark. He looks outside of his window at the blur and moderate speed of fresh a.m. He doesn�t see any of it because I can sense that he�s looking inside himself for any kind of answer that might help him feel a little less alone.
�I know,� I say.
�Dusty did you know that everyone I�ve ever cared about has fallen for one of my friends. EVERY ONE! It�s never me Dusty.�
�I can�t believe that�s true Twan.�
�No Dusty, you don�t understand,� I do �I�m always falling in love but it�s never��
�We need to get out of here girl,� I say, turning to him, his black man�s Mohawk turned down as the streetlights pass through it and flashes in scattered instances on a defeated friend, who has never let me believe that I did not have every reason to believe in myself.
When we�re at the clubs, Twan will introduce himself to anyone that he finds remotely interesting, �Hey! I love your jacket! It�s fabulous! You�re welcome! What was your name? Twan. Twan Matthews��. Sometimes when he leaves the conversation I can see the shit-smeared smirks that escape those fuckers, turning Twan into a punch line. And I usually go up to them and bump them hard on the shoulder, ready to start some shit. A sense of urgency numbs my head and I�m thinking I�m gonna put these pig fuckers in check. But Twan just shakes it off, let�s out a holler and starts dancing with every muscle till the music goes silent in my head. To be black and gay in Hawaii, well I just cannot imagine Twan�s strength.
�Twan, we gotta just get the fuck outta here. Off this island.�
�I just don�t know why people can�t see me?�
I see you Twan. I feel the same a lot of times but I know that I have at least been in love. And it is a lonely night. The moon is propped up full and almost orange above the Waianae range, daring me to ask it questions. Usually it speaks back giving me my own answers.
And there are nights like these, I know, that even with your best friend in a compact car, you will spend the remnant of the night very much alone, haunted by the balmy, unsure space that stretches for miles that leads you across your living room, that leads you across an ocean.