EMOTIONAL GEAR-STRIPPING
By Paul Jacek

This hug was lasting too long.

The man was shorter than I, smaller framed.  Looking over the top of his head, I marveled at the Japanese lanterns hung in the trees, and the tables with candles.  A warm summer evening, I was at a chic garden party celebrating a documentary for Showtime that I had been interviewed for.

As I was being introduced to the small man, he exclaimed, “I know him”, and slammed his body into mine.

I have good manners, generally. He was deep into my chest, and mumbled, “how nice”.

This hug is lasting way too long.

My next thought was, “Get off me!”

He finally leaned back, “You don’t know who I am, do you?

I HATE coy games.

I have gotten to the age I’m lucky if I remember what I’ve had for breakfast.  As I have aged, I have discovered a new personal game; I play with myself called, “What’s this room?”

The bath and the kitchen are a dead give-away, less distinct is the living room and the hallway.

I whisper to myself, “Here we are, we have arrived, what are we doing here?”

So, for someone to say, “You don’t know who I am” is instantly annoying. 

I smiled broadly, “No, I sure don’t”

He smiled, “I remember you, very well”

Then, through a haze, like an ancient beaded curtain, a memory. Sweet, really, those blue, blue eyes….

“Matt?” I whispered.

“YES” he grinned.

We had dated 26 years ago.

Then, we were young, so young.  He was just 18 years old, and we met at work.  A summer job for him, he was THE newly crowned Hula Hoop Champion of the world!!  A title he still holds into this Millennium.
He has made it his career!

Matt was a cute kid.  A thatch of white blond hair, big expressive blue eyes, and a slightly off-kilter grin that suggested mischief in the making.

I was an “older man” of 21.  Worldly, I thought, I’d been to college, and had owned my own mobile home.

I began to remember our first evening.  An after-work party.  Lots of people crammed into an apartment, loud, and lots of beer.

He invited me to his apartment.  I remember trying to negotiate the narrow alleyway back to his apartment, a converted garage in Belmont Shore, California.

A warm summer evening, I remember looking at the endless sky above us, filled with hope and possibility, like new love.

The room was large enough for a mattress. Who needs anything else? 

Passion happened.

I smiled, as I remembered the scramble the next morning to find underwear, and to race to work.

We dated, it seemed for a awhile, over two months, which at that age, is a long time.

Something happened, I don’t remember what, we stopped seeing each other.

Wasn’t he seeing someone else as well? I couldn’t get a hold of that memory…

Matt grinned again, I smiled back.

At a garden party, with good music and good food, we talked.

Matt looks like Joel Grey now.

He asked, “Don’t you think we should have dinner?”

“Sure” I replied.

We had dinner last Monday night.  A charming restaurant.  I kept stealing glances at Matt’s face.  I was studying him.

Occasionally, I found him looking at me.

He has deep laugh lines now, and crow’s feet that come into play when he smiles that devilish smile.

His personality is still fresh and sweet, and I enjoyed the time.

He invited me back to his apartment.  That had changed as well.
A spacious 3-bedroom affair.  One of the bedrooms is devoted to Matt’s amazing collection of Mary Poppins memorabilia. Third largest, I believe in the world.  Tea sets, umbrellas, and dolls. Lots and lots of dolls. The room was ringed with life-sized “Mary’s” in various dress.
Practically perfect in everyway.

Seated on a futon settee, Matt showed me several treasures. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, as hundreds of glass eyes recorded our every move.

Last time we had been in a similar position, Ronald Reagan was in the White House.  We spent the weekend of Princess Diana’s wedding together.

She’s gone too.

My mind spun past all the event in these past years.  The Challenger explosion, the fall of the Berlin Wall, Desert Storm.  The jobs I have had, the people, the romances…

We were getting a bit more intimate…. closer and closer…kissing.

The past loomed large and began to crowd into the room.

The last time Matt moved his hand through my hair, I HAD HAIR.

My vanity was getting the best of me.

I had to go, I had to get up and leave.  I stood up, and mumbled some apology….

The years, the people, and the hopes, the broken dreams…all washed over me.

When we met, I looked like Shaun Cassidy, now I look like an Amish farmer.

I don’t come off well in this story.  I am more vain, and embarrassed by my life than I like.

The promise of youth.  The world of all possibilities seems to have narrowed.

I haven’t’ returned his call…