September

September I was just bending over to tie the laces on my running shoes when I heard a sound behind me. I looked up and saw the finest ass and legs in a pair of spandex shorts that I have ever seen run past me. As a healthy gay American man, I followed him. It had been some time since I had done any running, in fact, it had been more than two years and I started quite stiff and awkward. Looking ahead, I could not keep my eyes off him. His broad tan shoulders tapered down to slim hips and full muscular thighs. He was running at an easy gait, a light jog, heading for the beach. There were no clouds in the sky, and a light breeze was coming in from the ocean. It was a perfect afternoon to jog, especially with Mr. Spandex in front of me. From where I had started, the beach was about eight blocks. From there you could go in either direction and follow the ocean for miles. I was in no condition to go for a long run but, I was curious to see where he was going. I saw that I had fallen way behind him as he was more than two blocks ahead so I picked up speed. When he came to the intersection where the highway crossed, he stopped moving but kept running in place while looking at his watch. He looked both ways, then crossed the road. When I reached the intersection, there was no traffic so I too, ran across the road. As I had assumed, he was heading for the beach. A quick jump down a short flight of steps, then about ten yards brought me to the hard packed sand. As I came to the steps, I saw him turn left and start running at full speed. I was not in great shape, but I was not going to let him out of my sight. Therefore I jumped down the steps, and a little twinge in my knee told me that I was going to regret that in the morning. I turned left and ran as hard as my forty-nine-year-old body would allow. I did not see him ahead of me. I hoped that he would go the six blocks to the edge of 1

town, then head away from the beach to take me back home. I hated the fact that tomorrow I was going to hurt for nothing. I slowed down when I reached the end of the beach. I looked all around and found no sight of him. I decided that it was fun while it lasted, but it was time to go home. Feeling dejected, I kicked at the sand and started up a small hill toward home. When I approached the other side of the hill, there he was standing at the intersection. When he saw me approaching, he looked at his watch. "If you are going to chase me, you are going to have to have to do a better job than that," he challenged, looking at his watch. I stopped in front of him, taken aback; I did not know how to respond. He smiled and the corners of his hazel eyes crinkled. His thick eyelashes looked like he was wearing mascara. I felt immediately at ease. He held out his hand and said. "Hi, my name is George." I took his hand, "Chester," I replied. "Chester? "My name is Chester, but everyone calls me Chick." "Chick?" "Yeah, it seems that I was born with a full head of yellow hair, and I looked like a baby chicken." As I said this, I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. "Nice to meet you, Chick," he smiled still holding onto my hand. The light turned green, and we slowly ran across the highway and down the street. On our way, we gave each other an extremely brief history of ourselves. I had lived in the town for more than fourteen years. He had been here for five. I told him that I had started out as 2

a hairdresser and massage therapist, but now I was the director of a very large spa on Miami Beach, called "The Spa". He was a recruiter for Miami Dade Fire and Rescue. I would find out later that he spelled his name Jorge, like the Latin version, but he preferred the English pronunciation. Since George had been my grandfather's name, I obliged. We came to the end of the street and rounded the curve to the right when I slowed down. "Why are you stopping?" George asked. "This is where I live," I answered. "You're kidding," he snickered, "I live at the end of the street. On the corner actually". I could not believe my good luck. Not only did I find a handsome man to go running with, but he was almost my next-door neighbor too. Maybe something else could come of this. "Can we do this again?" he inquired. "S-s-sure,” I stuttered, “but I need to tell you that I am a little rusty. I have not done this for quite awhile. In fact, I will be in pain for a few days. I'll see you later, okay?" "I'll make certain of that, Chick," he confirmed with a wink and ran down the street toward his house. I stood on the curb and watched as his image became smaller and smaller. The “boys” met me at the door with such exuberance that anyone would have thought that I’d been gone for days. The boys were Thom and Jerry, both red standard poodles. "Easy boys," I warned, "Let’s go out." I let them out the back door as I went into the bathroom. I took off my sweaty clothes and jumped 3

into the shower. The hot spray felt great on my body. I could not keep the image of George’s body out of my mind. The way his ample butt moved from side to side when he ran. The way he looked me in the eye as he talked to me. His dark hair was cut very short, but you could see the flecks of grey beginning to appear. I also noticed that he had little or no body hair. I didn't know if he shaved it off or whether he was naturally hairless. I, on the other hand, had true European roots, I was covered in blonde hair, most of it gray. I could thank my father for that. What got me the most was how he held onto my hand when he introduced himself to me. It was warm and firm and I felt like he was never going to let go. Picturing him in nothing but tight spandex shorts, running shoes, and covered in sweat, I had an erection; my first in a long time. "Well, Chickie, old boy," I thought, looking down, “looks like you are not dead after all." It had been two years since Ed had passed away, and I felt like I had been living someone else’s life. I got up in the morning and walked the dogs. I went to work, came home, walked the dogs, and ate dinner. I sat in front of the television with my good friend, Jack Daniels. I fell asleep. Like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day” I did it all over again the next day. Ed and I had been together for over twenty years. I had always told him jokingly that I had given him my youth. We had a wonderful life together. Like most gay couples we met in a bar, I knew that we would be spending a lot of time out or entertaining, and we did host plenty of parties. Ed had grown up on Miami Beach but found his way to DC. Six months later we met, and it was love at first sight. We invited his parents, Aurora and Albert, to come and visit with us in DC. Ed had come out to his parents when he was a teenager. The only thing that his Cuban parents said to him was that the lifestyle that he had 4

chosen for himself would leave him a lonely old man. "Mom," Ed said to his mother, holding her tiny hands in his, "remember when you said I would be lonely? I want you to meet the man that won't let that happen." Aurora smiled, walked across the room, and kissed me on the cheek. That is when I became a member of Ed's family. We would travel often to Miami Beach, usually to party but also to visit with his folks. One day sitting on the beach, it was a most particularly beautiful day, and with my defenses down I declared," I could live here." "I'm glad you said that," Ed responded, putting his arms around me, "because I want to go home." And so we did. The move had been easy as moves go. The day was beautiful and sunny. A tall blonde woman in a smart pink Channel suit rang our doorbell. She was from a company called,” Moving is a Drag." She was all business. It turned out to be our friend Thomas in drag. He made a checklist of all the important things that we needed, like ball gowns, high heels, bird seed tits and, of course, vodka. We sold everything that we wanted to sell and whatever did not fit in the moving van, we left on the curb in front of the house. Our lesbian friend, Sandi, was in charge of loading the van. She told us where to place everything, and we did what we were told. Let me explain. Sandi is a big girl and when she tells you to do something you just do it! We had three young helpers what were referred to as "The Nazi Hookers." Don't ask me how they got that name but, that is what they were called. She told them to go upstairs and take their clothes off, bend over, and stick their asses toward the camera. She wanted a picture to show us that they had worked their asses off for us. Sandi had the van packed perfectly so that there was no extra space for anything. To get the van door to close, we had to take the dirt out of the vacuum cleaner. Once the door was shut and locked, we were off, never to look back. 5

We found a fixer-upper that I am still fixing up in a sleepy little town called Sea Breeze. We affectionately refer to it as "Mayberry by the Sea." With the ocean on the east side and the intra-coastal waterway on the other, it is completely surrounded by water. It is located just north of Miami Beach but, it could be a million miles away. Over the years all of Miami Beach has been called South Beach by the rich and trendy, but only the part that is south of fifth street is truly South Beach. Every now and then, you will see, very early in the morning, someone pulled over for speeding by two or three police cars, and you know that they have been at the clubs on the beach by their clothes or lack of clothing. We have a saying here, “How many Sea Breeze police does it take to write a ticket?” The answer,” All of them.” Occasionally, someone will be arrested for shoplifting from the local grocery store, or a couple of young people will be picked up for drinking and fooling around on the beach late at night, but, for the most part, Sea Breeze is a quiet town and people enjoy living here. We liked it as soon as we arrived. Each house is different from its neighbor, and some have been renovated beautifully. Walking the dogs or riding your bike, there is always someone to wave hello or to stop and have a chit chat. Driving home from work, crossing the bridge, and heading into Sea Breeze, the ocean is on your left and the bay is on your right. They are both are brilliant emerald green, and no matter how horrible your day has been, one look at the water and all your problems are gone. The first few years in Florida were heartbreaking. First we lost Thomas to HIV/AIDS. He is who we named our dog after. Thomas was tall, blonde and beautiful. Dressed as a man or a woman, he could turn many heads. There was Jorge, the pediatrician. He was so handsome that women told him they would have a baby so that he could be their doctor. He would pronounce his name every which way. Sometimes it would be George, the conventional way, or like Jorge, which sounds like hore-hay. Best of all, "whore-gay, because as he would say, “ I'm a whore and I'm gay." They found him dead on 6

the floor of his apartment the day after his thirty-ninth birthday. I think that some gay men never want to get old. Albert and Jorge had been living together for a while before Jorge died. They both had a thing for each other when we all lived in DC, but neither one acted on it. Jorge said he was a whore and Albert did not like it, so he moved out. Albert was diagnosed with stomach cancer. The surgeons cut him from breastbone to navel to find the cancer. He healed nicely, and I told him the scar looked kind of sexy. He liked that. Our hopes were crushed when the cancer returned and Albert died sometime after his fortieth birthday. His family, who never spoke to him because of his lifestyle, descended on him like a flock of vultures. They would not let us see him and thought is was best for him to leave the beach and move back to Philadelphia in the middle of the winter. Eddie and I clung to each other for support. "Don't ever leave me,' I pleaded. "I won't," he promised. In DC I was a hairstylist and facialist. When I came to Miami, I found out that I could become a massage therapist in six months. After working in a salon for over twenty years, I found that I was tired of all the drama in the salon setting so I started looking for something more challenging. The opportunity arose. A large spa with a great reputation was built on Miami Beach. I submitted my resume and was hired, not as a technician but as a manager. My job was to create the format that everyone was to follow. I was to hire the staff and watch over the daily organization. Since I had plenty of experience in skin care and massage, I would be required to perform these services if a technician were unavailable or sick. I worked nine to five Monday through Friday and occasionally, I would even go in for a few hours on Saturday. The best part was that I could get a massage or facial anytime for free. That was especially crucial when Ed was sick. 7

We had gone to Greece for a cruise and tour. While we were there, I first noticed that Ed did not have the energy he normally had. "You go ahead, I'll catch up," he would say out of breath. On our trip back home, his feet and legs were so swollen that he had to take off his shoes. The plane was half full and he put his feet up on the chair back in front of him. After we landed, he could barely walk. Then months later my family was visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday. "Ed really has put on a lot of weight since I last saw him," my mother said. I knew she meant it out of concern. "And he always seems tired," she added. She was right. Ed would awaken at eight in the morning and would be asleep on the sofa two hours later. "If you don't call your doctor soon, I will call him for you," I demanded, pointing my finger at him. "I will, I will," Ed whispered, "I promise." After the holidays my cell phone rang at work, I noticed that it was Ed calling. "Hello," sounding as cheerful as possible. "What in the hell did you tell my doctor?" he had never raised his voice to me. "Eddie, don't yell at me,” my heart sank. “I told you that if you didn't call your doctor I would." "Well he wants me in his office ASAP," 8

"And that means when?" I asked. "Tomorrow." Then he hung up. When I got home from work the following evening, Ed's car was in the driveway. "Honey, I'm home," I sang. "In the bedroom," was Ed's sour reply. When I came into the room, the question that was on my lips was gone. Ed was wearing a twenty-four hour heart monitor. It looked like a harness connected to a small battery pack. Stick on electrodes covered his chest and back. "I failed my stress test," he confessed. "I go back tomorrow so the doctor can run diagnostics on this thing." "Then what?" I asked sitting down next to him on the bed.. "I don't know." We had these beautiful Japanese goldfish that swam in a twenty-five gallon aquarium in the hallway. They had to be kept out of the sunlight because algae would take over the tank. On this particular morning one of the fish did not look so good. "I don't think he'll make it through the day," Ed commented. "Too bad," I added. "Come on boy, you can make it." "Bye, Daddy," I said to Ed as I kissed him.” I love you." "I love you more," he answered back. 9

"Good,” as was our usual routine. Later that day my cell phone rang at work. I saw that it was from Ed and even though it had been a hectic day, I answered the call. "Yes, what is it?" I asked trying to be funny. "Are you sitting down?" Ed asked. "If you are calling to tell me that the fish has died, I'm sorry, but I am very busy here!" "Please sit down." His tone scared me. "Eddie, what is it, honey?" "I'm in the hospital." When I arrived at the hospital and saw him in the bed, my heart sank. My big beautiful and strong husband looked like a little old man. "The pacemaker in not working. My heart disease is too far gone. The doctors want me to have a transplant and I said no." I walked over to the side of the bed and took his hand. He placed my hand on the side of his face. "I don't want to live like that." "What else can we do?" I whispered. "Pray." I do not remember much about the memorial because I was numb. I rented a red Mustang convertible, my iPod playing, " Never can say Goodbye," by Jimmey Summerville. Playing it as loudly as 10

possible with the wind blowing even louder in my ears. As was planned, I took Ed’s ashes and dumped them, urn and all, off the Seven Mile Bridge near Key West. I sat there staring at the water for hours watching the sun paint beautiful watercolors into the sea until there was nothing but blackness and stars. When I returned to the house, the boys met me at the front door as usual. It was late, just before midnight, and I was exhausted from driving all day. When I entered the house and shut the door, the quiet was deafening. I let the dogs out and walked into the kitchen, and poured myself a large Jack Daniel’s over ice. Then I proceeded to the bedroom to change my clothes. I turned on the lamp on the bed side table. Next to the lamp was a picture of Ed that I had taken when we were visiting Paris twenty years before. He was so young with a head full of curly hair and a mustache. I sat on the edge of the bed. I drank down the contents of the glass in one gulp and slammed it on the table. “Why did you leave me?” I yelled at the photo. “I am so mad at you for leaving me all by myself. We were supposed to grow old together. You promised.” my voice became louder. “Now look at me I’m here to take care of this house and the dogs, and you are gone!” Tears of rage began boiling up inside of me. “I am so mad and hurt and alone... so fucking alone. I hate you! I hate you for doing this to us... to me!” With that I threw the picture across the room where it hit the wall and broke. Glass scattered all over the floor. I fell back on to the bed and cried. Steve and Susan, my brother and sister-in-law helped me get all of Ed's legal documents together. He left me well off. Not rich, by any stretch of the imagination, but comfortable. The house was paid for, and all I had to do was pay the utilities and the taxes. What good was it when I had no one to share it with. I found myself sinking slowly into a black hole. It would take me almost two years of hell before I gained control of my life. The next morning the alarm and the smell of coffee woke me at 11

five. As expected, I was sore but I didn’t care. There is a pain from being over worked or being stressed out. Then there is an ache from physical activity that reminds you that you are alive. I was alive and I was in a great mood. Maybe tonight I would run again. When I stood up, everything was stiff and I rethought running for a few days. I hobbled out of the bedroom to the den, where the dogs were still sleeping. "Come on boys, lets go," I orderedd opening the backdoor so they could go out. "Get a move on." Jerry got up first and was out the door. Thom was having a little trouble getting started. "What's wrong old man? Are you a little stiff ? Now I know how you feel this morning," I said to Thom as he slowly walked out the door. It had been some time since I got out of bed in a good mood and filled with so much positive energy. I felt like a different person. I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out the evaporated milk because that is what I like in my coffee. I poured myself a big cup, added the milk, and headed back to the bedroom to put on some clothes to walk the dogs. I stopped in front of a mirror and looked at myself. I was very disappointed. I had always been thin, but now I had a flabby paunch that hung over what used to be my waistline. "When did you get so old?" I asked my reflection. I stepped closer to the mirror. When did I start going grey? How did those tiny lines appear at the corner of my eyes? To hell with that, where did those dark circles come from? "We are going to have to do something about this," I declared, grabbing my soft stomach. Aches or no aches, I had a new running friend and I was determined to get my sorry ass in shape. I turned my backside to the mirror and agreed. Yes, my sorry ass indeed. 12

I changed into shorts, sneakers, and a long sleeved sweatshirt. The dogs were attached to leashes and out the door we went. I forgot how dark it was at five thirty in the morning. There were hardly any lights on in any of the houses we walked by. Even though both my dogs were the same breed, they could not be any different. Jerry, the youngest, was always in front, pulling me along. Thom had to sniff and pee on everything. I was constantly being pulled in two different directions, like a soft pretzel. I decided to take a different route than we had been taking for a while and ended up in front of the house that George said he lived in. I could see inside the house because the light was on, and I saw him go into the kitchen. "Looks like you are a morning person, too, George," I observed, walking by his house, not thinking why a single man would have three cars in his driveway. The people whom I work with are truly therapists. They knew exactly what to do for me the weeks and months after Ed's death. They gave me room when I needed it, and let me talk when I felt that there was no one to talk to. Best of all the massage and treatments that were prescribed kept me somewhat sane. I still did my daily routine at work and at home, but I felt like I was living someone else's life. I had gone to the gym, where I had a membership for a long time, thinking that would help my mental state, because it had helped me in the past. I would go through the motions of working out, then go downstairs to the locker room to take a long, hot shower. One morning I was not paying attention to the time. I was letting the spray hit me on the back of my neck and shoulders when a young man stepped into the shower with me. I could not remember his face, but he had an enormous erection. He turned me around to face the back of the shower and got down on his knees. I had only been with one man for over twenty years and, in fact, I know the exact time, twenty-two years and ten days. We had a small 13

celebration while Ed was in the hospital. I sneaked in a bottle of champagne into his room and we toasted out of plastic cups. The bed was in a sitting position, a small oxygen hose crossed over his face and circled over his ears. He looked at me and winked as if to say that everything was going to be all right. I walked into one of the massive buildings that was known as The Spa. There were three in all, and the complex spanned one whole city block on the beach. From my parking space in the underground lot, I took the elevator to the third floor that opened on to the lobby. It was two stories tall and designed in white and grey marble with a sea foam green, terrazzo floor. Large windows looked out onto the pool and ocean beyond. The treatment rooms and offices were off to the left. I walked down a warmly lit hallway with a cascading water wall. At the very end was my office. Soft music played through speakers that resembled rocks on the floor. The whole day everyone at work knew something was different about me and not just because I was walking stiff like the Frankenstein monster. I ran into one of the massage therapists, Greg, who had helped me through my rough time. He was in his mid thirties and like most men his age, he shaved his head and sported a goatee. He had a stocky build and big, strong hands. "Greg, you've got to help me," I pleaded. "What have you done?" he asked. "I hurt myself," I paused, then whispered, " running." "You, running?" "Don't sound so surprised," I imparted, "I think I'm back among the living." "Hallelujah!" 14

Greg was sexually ambiguous and never spoke of a girlfriend but always talked about the guys. It was not my job to ask questions about anyone's preference. I was out at work, and I thought everybody who was gay should feel comfortable to do the same. All I knew was that Greg was a master of massage and if anybody could get the kinks out, it would be him. "You know Chick, for a man who's almost fifty, you're not in bad shape," Greg snickered. "Thanks," I sighed. I was lying on my stomach on the massage table with my face in the face cradle. " I look like shit, but you don’t have to make it sound like the kiss of death." "You know what I mean. When was the last time you worked out?" he asked. "It's been awhile. The last time I went to the gym, some guy blew me in the shower." "Here?" Greg asked sounding a bit too interested. "No, not here." "Why don't you work out here? It's great, me and the guys use it all the time." "I never thought about using the gym here." "Chick, sometimes I wonder where your brain is. This place is right here and its free, but, I don't know if you will like it. I hear that the action in the shower is pretty nonexistent," he laughed. "Very funny, Greg. Just do your job... while you still have one." 15

"Yes, sir," he answered back and slapped me on my ass. Ever since meeting up with George I came home in a good mood. We met two or three times a week usually in the evening or the occasional Sunday morning. We would always meet in front of my house and run the exact course. After several weeks, I felt myself getting stronger, and the run became like second nature to me. As we ran we would talk about our jobs or the news and weather. We kept the subject matter very platonic. As usual the boys met me at the door with such enthusiasm that they almost knocked me down. "Okay, okay. Let me change and we'll go out." My uniform at work consisted of a polo shirt with the logo of the spa on the left breast. I had a choice of either black or khaki slacks and comfortable shoes, or what I liked to call dyke shoes. It was easy enough to change into shorts and running shoes. I would take the dogs for a walk then, if I was lucky, maybe George would come by and we could go for a run this evening. Since I had started running, I was a regular client of Greg's, seeing him at least twice a week. The boys peed on everything. Even though they had been on this path many times, they seemed to be experiencing lots of new smells. We came up the street and as we were passing George's house, I looked over to see if there was any action. I hoped that I was not going to be a stalker in my old age. I noticed a white sedan coming down the street towards the dogs and me. I pulled the boys up on the lawn to let the car pass when it came to a stop and the passenger window went down. "Chick!" It was George. "Do you want to go for a run?" 16

"Sure. I was kind of waiting for you," I shrugged. "That's nice. Let me put my stuff down and change, I will be right up. By the way, great dogs!" "Thanks." I forgot that I never introduced the boys to George. I pointed to the older dog. "This is Thom, and that one peeing on your shrub is Jerry. I needed to give them some quality time. See you soon." In no time at all, George was out in front of the house. I could tell he was full of pent up energy. He was running in place until I came outside. He again had on black spandex shorts, running shoes, and a black sport watch. "You ready?" he asked. "Sure," I said and off we went. Just like the times before, we ran to the beach. Once we hit the hard packed beach, we turned left and ran as hard as we could for six blocks. Four weeks ago, I would have been completely out of breath but this time, I even beat George to the end of the hard, packed sand. He smiled and slapped me on the back. We walked across the highway but jogged the rest of the way home easily. What used to take thirty minutes now took only twenty- two minutes from start to finish. 17