Memory lies. Remember
that even if you forget everything else. Memory changes the shape
of a room; the colour of a car. Itís baggage, a bore.
Iím a surprise to
myself, every two minutes. Like the guy in that movie, you know
the one? My memoryís on a stopwatch. I get two minutes then itís
over and I start again.
So, Iím in this tattoo
parlour. The artistís a big guy, bearded, touches his nose when
he says heís never seen me before which means heís lying but
no-oneís perfect, right? Except maybe the guy in the waiting-room,
the one with the appointment after mine. Tall guy, dark, hard
as nails. He looks at me. I look at him. Two minutes later and
we do it all again, like we never looked in the first place.
Every timeís the first.
I can read body language
pretty well and this guy in the waiting-room? Heís not nervous.
Thereís this edgy vibe coming off him like heís wired except
heís not, I can tell. Heís sitting so still itís starting to
spook me until I forget why and then Iím back to square one.
Next thing I know
Iím in a washroom someplace and a tall dark guy walks in. Never
seen him before in my life. Heís got this edgy vibe. He comes
right up to the sink where Iím leaning, looking, trying to figure
out where the hell I am and ďAll right?Ē he says in this voice
like heís been sucking ice-cubes, cool.
I should probably
say around about now that Iím a smart guy. I mean, I have this
condition. Itís not amnesia. I canít make new memories, is all.
There was an accident, I got my skull smashed in, but I can remember
everything up until then, and I was smart. I earned good money,
So when I find myself
on my knees sucking off a total stranger in a room Iíve never
seen before itís not because Iím stupid. Iíve got my reasons,
I just canít remember what they are.
Heís got information,
or I need to buy him off, oróhe tastes good. I suck deeper and
feel his hands on my head, his hips tilting into me. He doesnít
make a sound.
Iím thinking, Iím
a fag, now?
I guess not. I mean,
if I was, I wouldnít be calling myself a fag, would I? Iíd be
a free-spirit, or something that sounds less like an insult you
hear just before you get your balls kicked in up a dark alley.
Have I done this before?
Your guess is as good as mine. I do okay though. The guy lets
out a long sigh like Iíve taken a weight off his mind, or the
world off his shoulders.
Damn. Iím on the floor
in a place Iíve never seen before, with a taste in my mouth likeó
I look up. Thereís
this guyóeyes like treacleóand because Iím down on the floor
and heís up there, I think heís going to kick me, so I roll away
and get upright as fast as I can only heís faster and next thing
I know heís pressing me into the wall and kissing me, his hand
all over my crotch.
Allow me to recap.
Iím in this place
I never been before with an arm that burns like itís seen too
much sun and a guyís tongue in my mouth. I mean really, seriously,
deeply, in my mouth.
Total stranger. Great
kisser. Iím thinking, I wonít even remember this ever happened,
which is a pretty depressing indictment of my life when you think
Iím buttoning my shirt
in front of a mirror. Thereís this guyótreacle eyes, slouchy
hipsówatching me, behind me. In case I know him, I smile. In
case I donít, I tense. But not much because I feel kind of relaxed,
ďAll right?Ē he says.
Iím figuring out how
to respond to that when my two minutes run out, and Iím back
where I started, staring at a stranger, wondering what Iím doing
here and why it feels so good.