I leaned back and allowed the soft sounds of the big jet's engines to carry me away from the stress of leaving my wife and daughter behind as I started a new job. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and I thought that I had been eliminated until one evening I received a call to return for another interview. The long and short of it was that they had a position to offer me, but it was halfway across the country. They would pay relocation expenses after ninety days, but I advised them that there would not be time to relocate my family prior to their requested start date. After some negotiations, they agreed to find me a studio close to the office for the first ninety days to allow us to find a house and make the necessary arrangements.
I laid it out for my wife and daughter and got mixed emotions. The daughter, of course, did not want to move and I didn't blame her, I mean she had lived there and gone to school there all of her sixteen years. My wife finally encouraged me to accept it because, as she said, we would be empty nesters in three or four years and the financial gains were too great to ignore.
So here I was, flying off to a new future without my family. I'd been to the new office twice and after a few dead ends, had found an executive studio fifteen minutes from the office that would do just fine until I decided which direction I would take in regards to my family. The cab dropped me off and he wished me good luck and I was off and running.
After about a month of inconsistent meals, and trying to adjust, I began to settle into somewhat of a routine. One evening, I wasn't up to fixing a TV dinner so I decided to go out. The area around the apartment is primarily a gay and lesbian area and most of the restaurants tended to be filled with the younger crowd. They were incredibly loud and crowded. I was also somewhat offended by some of the blatant affection that was exhibited there. Don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-gay at all, I just believe that the place for that is not in a restaurant or bar. I feel the same way of heterosexual activity in public. Kissing, hugging and fondling are just fine within limits. In fact, I love to watch a young couple that is so obviously in love.
There was one place a few blocks away where the crowd was older, less boisterous and more comfortable. It was a bar but they had excellent food and the music wasn't so loud. The two owners, Dennis and Archie, had made a point of introducing themselves and learning about me. In fact, they picked up the tab a couple of times. I found a table and worked on some notes while I waited for my food to arrive.
A short time later, a man came over, introduced himself as David Walters, and asked if he could sit down. I pushed my notes aside and motioned to the empty chair.
"Dennis suggested that I get to know you," he said. "I understand that you're a writer."
'I guess I'd be considered a rookie or something," I replied. "I'm not close to getting anything published."
"I just can't seem to get the hang of it," he said. "I get started, and after ten or twenty pages, I hit a brick wall."
"I have a couple of books that may help you if you're interested," I offered, "but it sounds as though you would do well to consider a short story, at least for the first few attempts. There are lots of reasons for hitting the wall. Once you identify the problem, then you know how to address it."
He bought my dinner and a glass of wine while we talked. He was in upper management with a manufacturer of computer related products. He also played piano at the bar occasionally just for relaxation. I asked if he could play something for me and I asked if he knew the Moonlight Sonata. He smiled and said that it was one of his favorites.
"They aren't crazy about it here," he said, "not many classical music buffs in this place. Would you care to hear it?"
"I'd love to," I replied, "I haven't got my music or video collection here yet and I miss hearing it in the evening."
The instant he started playing, there was a chorus of complaints from the customers but I stopped everything and sat there, enthralled. Eventually I got up and walked over to watch him play, his long slender fingers caressing the keys with effortless skill. He smiled up at me as he played, and I smiled back, but then I closed my eyes and allowed the sounds of the piece carry me away. I was snapped back to reality when he finished to a smattering of applause, most of it mine.
We went back and had a few drinks together before I had to call it an evening. As we enjoyed each other's company, he asked me if he could ask me a very personal question. I couldn't see the harm, since I didn't have to answer if I didn't want to.
"I know that you aren't gay," he said, "but Dennis was telling me about your one adventure into the world of homosexuality. I understand that your first was not a pleasant experience."
"I wish that I knew how to answer that without sounding naΓ―ve or stupid. You have to understand that I was quite young and inexperienced and I think that I was almost grateful that the rapist cared enough to take his time. couldn't understand why I didn't resist and why I wanted to see him again. It took several months with a bi-sexual couple to help me understand myself."
"Why didn't you stay with them?" he asked.
"They moved, and he was getting too aggressive anyway. He was looking for a bitch and I didn't want to be his bitch or anyone else's. I've never tried it since then. That's been over thirty years ago."
Over the course of the next week or so, we became very good friends. He would always play something for me and I would talk to him about his writing efforts.
It was time to renew the agreement for the studio and I couldn't decide what to do. We had decided not to move permanently but instead, I would find a larger apartment and when my daughter went off to college, we would look for a place here unless this job didn't work out. At my age of forty-five, I didn't want to look anymore if I could help it.
As I ate dinner one evening, I was flipping through the pages of an apartment listing when David joined me, as was our usual routine.
"Are you having any luck?" he asked.
"Not really," I replied, "I don't have time to go out apartment hunting but I guess that it's what I have to do. Maybe I'll take an afternoon just for that. I don't know when that will happen, but I'm not homeless, at least not yet."
We finished our meal and took our drinks to the piano bar. He played some of the light pop stuff that the customers liked and then he played one of Mozart's piano concertos. He sure knew how to push my buttons. He finished and I bought him a drink.
He was quiet for a moment and then he put his hand on mine, something that I don't remember him ever doing. "Rich," he said, "I have a thought." He put his hands together and put the fingers to his lips as if praying.
"I'm sure you do, Dave," I light-heartedly replied, "perhaps more than one."
He smiled. "Always a clown when you don't need one. I was wondering if you would take a ride with me?"