SON: Last Word I Looked Up, 7-28-08

Holding my cocktail in one hand, I stepped away from my current boyfriend. George had an audience, and he was going off on some obscure point in central African politics.

I had sat through enough of his diatribes, and, whereas I had once enjoyed playing along in this game, I had grown bored with the practice. George and I had been to Africa, but I always thought the far more interesting stories were the flight delays, the weird food, and the growing Americanization of the local cultures. He, meanwhile, picked up on minor points and then expounded on them with great affect to anyone who would listen.

And, since we were in a political crowd this evening, he pulled some minor occurrence about an election in Mali or Malawi or Madagascar -- no one would bother to check, and I don't even think he was keeping track at this point -- and used it as the basis for a massive speech on the faults of developing world Democracy.

He had no background in the topic, and he made up most of his facts, but he kept his audience. I watched the dark-skinned, blue-eyed twink who was gazing at George with lust. Oh boy.

It was my fault; I had let him get this bad. I had even played along, after he wowed me with enough of these yarns. I had bought into them when we were dating.

Five years later, the constant grandiloquence annoyed me. I could see right through it, and I had become familiar with the taste of his tales when they went off on fairy tale. Five years later, I found myself with a man who was far from the urbane and interesting man I believed I was dating, who was rather the bastard child of his own cleverness and the cocaine culture of short attention spans, superficiality, and instant gratification.

And, tonight, after a few cocktails, I was just over it. I left his circle of adoration and stepped out onto the balcony.

It was a cool night, and I sipped my rum and coke. I heard steps behind me.

"This is too much drama, even for you." I spun around, expecting George and not finding him.

"Well, I'm sorry, I hadn't intended on saying anything, I just needed a cigarette."

I back down from my fighter's stance. I had assumed it was George, following me out to have a "romantic moment." This would be the perfect set-up -- in front of the big windows so that everyone could see how devoted he was to his partner of years. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else..."

He inhaled and exhaled a lungful of smoke. "Apparently I am someone else." He smiled, extended his hand. "I'm Robert."

I took his hand and responded absentmindedly, "Paul." I kept my eyes over Robert's shoulder on George, who was pointing at the walls and gesticulating wildly with his right hand -- What the hell is he talking about now?I thought -- while his left arm was around the neck of that twink boy. "Cute," I dropped the word, and went back to leaning against the balcony rail, leaning forward on my elbows.

"I am, thanks for noticing."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not too interested in sarcasm this evening." I leaned forward heavily, my feet barely touching the ground as I put all of my weight on my elbows.

"That's OK," he said with a snort, pushing the bluish smoke out of his nostrils and towards me. "You'll forgive me if I'm not too interested in pretentious queens this evening." He flicked his cigarette over the rail, began to walk back inside, but stopped and said, "You don't know that guy, do you?"

He was pointing at George, who was huddled privately in a corner with the twink boy, speaking frantically and moving his hands. I felt a tinge of jealousy, and I wondered if I would be alone in bed that night while he ran off with some crowd to "look at the stars." I suppose you can see the stars when you're on your back, granted there's a skylight. "Yea... a little. Why?"

"I'm looking for a good word to describe him, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Phony? Fake? Pretentious? Bombastic..."

"Wait, isn't that a good thing... bombastic?"

"Um, no."

"Oh." Robert considered the scene inside, slowly rolling the word over his tongue. I could barely hear him whispering, "bombastic, bombastic," as if repeating the word would bring the definition to light. "You sure that's not a good thing -- I mean, maybe, subconsciously, you meant it as a compliment." He turned his head towards me. "Hm? Friend? Admirer? Jilted lover?"

"Something like that, but, if it does mean something good, that was not my intent."

He took a swing of the rest of his drink, made a face, and dumped the rest over the railing. "Not suitable for human consumption."

Distractedly: "What? My boyfriend?"

"No I meant the wine." He laughed. "Boyfriend -- 'something like that,' indeed. Too bad about the relationship. I have a great dictionary at home and we could have settled our debate. Besides, you seem far too interesting for him. All the same, good night." And, with that, he set his glass down on the edge and walked into the house and towards the exit.

I watched Robert go, and let my eyes linger on George. The two of them were too close, gazing a little too long at each other, touching each other just so, and I knew I would be alone, again. I made the decision that I was going to choose to be alone, at least tonight, and the next. And I knew that I was done with him.

I caught up with Robert on the front lawn. "Is it Webster's or American Heritage... your dictionary?"

He smiled, and I knew it would all be better.

---

"Who was that guy?" the blue eyed twink asked me -- what was his name? Javi? Bobby? Whatever. He had seen my gaze follow Paul out the door, chasing the trick I had sent in his direction. Finally, I though, he gets the cajones to leave. Paul had been fun for a while, but I had been bored with him. I thought he would have left me long ago, especially after that fiasco with the Latin body builder, but I had underestimated his lack of self-respect. It had taken months to finally get the boy to go. Now, the break up would be clean because Paul had found his wings. Very little mess.

I smiled and turned back to the twink. We'll go with Bobby. "No one, Bobby... no one important."

I wasn't corrected on the name; that was a good guess.