Against the Wall
The voice came over the loudspeaker, “Southwest Airlines Flight 23 nonstop service to Dallas, now boarding all passengers with priority seating.” I gasped for what I was sure would be the last breath of air that I shared in the same room with Javi. He looked into my eyes apologetically. I knew that it was truly over this time, that Javi had made his decision, and that he was convinced the journey on which he was embarking when he boarded this plane was one that was necessary to both of our lives.
As he hugged me one last time, I found myself no longer able to contain my tears which only an hour ago were so easily masked with anger. We had given a good go of it, our relationship. I had loved Javi more than I had ever loved anyone. Still do, despite what I’m about to tell you, as a matter of fact.
We had met as so many do, in a bar, in one of the shady corners of Little Rock. I believe it was my 24th birthday. It was a night filled with ecstasy, booze, and drag queens. I was standing against the wall, admiring the art of female impersonation, when he walked passed in his black leather coat, his boyfriend leading him by the hand. Javi looked back at me with a gorgeous smile and our eyes met.
I watched the two of them as they walked across the grand expanse of the Athena Showroom, graciously nodding at what seemed like everyone they passed. They appeared to know everyone, not like me. I knew no one there, except my roommate, who last I knew was buried in a cloud of smoke somewhere in the techno room. Javi leaned against the wall opposite me as his boyfriend approached the bar for their drinks. I was sure our eyes met again.
After the last number by Dominique Sanchez, the legendary matriarch of the showroom, I exited the door closest me for the techno room to find my roommate. I quickly located her red hair, the red glow in the dark ring around her neck, and the lollipop in her mouth. She was dancing with a beautiful girl I knew she had just met. I found myself again against the wall admiring my roommate’s uncanny ability to meet and become so comfortable with someone in almost any environment. I couldn’t do this; I had always been a loner.
I remember watching sweaty bodies pass by me for what seemed like hours. I was approached by a couple of what I considered at the time undesirables: older men who wanted to make me their trophy. Now, I love being a trophy for an older man. But then, I shrugged them off one by one. Perhaps this was why I found myself so alone.
And then it happened. I felt the cool touch of leather on the naked skin of my arm, which was exposed by the sleeveless t-shirt I was wearing. I turned around and looked into his eyes. Javi was there. From that point until now, he had hardly left my side.
We had been through so much heartache. I learned about my disease, Human Immuno Deficiency Virus, in a certified letter at the post office. “We regret that we are unable to approve your application for life insurance as your lab results indicate the presence of the HIV virus. We strongly recommend that you consult your physician.”
We made love and we fought. We cared for one another and we hated one another. But most importantly, we needed one another. Javi was not legal in this country and his life was so hard. He only wanted to be someone who was recognized for more than his gorgeous looks.
And now, here we were. We were saying goodbye. The recession had taken my job. Mental illness had taken most of my sanity. Javi couldn’t get a job, legally. He couldn’t take it anymore, and deep inside I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t like the person I had become either.
I remember taking one last breath of the air freshened by Javi’s Diesel cologne. He kissed me on the cheek. I felt his stubble dry my tears as he pulled away and walked to the ramp. He turned and our eyes met once again. He promised that he would send money to help me. He had clients, good ones. He knew this was the only way to take care of the both of us in a country that overwhelmingly detested his existence. I knew that he really still loved me.
I get money orders to help pay the phone bills, the electricity, and the mortgage. I hear his voice once in a while in a phone call from Chicago, New York, Nashville, or DC. He’s there to be a date to a swanky party, a one hour companion to a business traveler in a hotel room, or a release for a lonely politician who dares not be himself.
I realize that Javi isn’t coming home now. Some months the money comes, and some months it doesn’t. Even on these months, I make due. Nonetheless, Javi’s eyes are always in my dreams. I am awakened when I hear him speaking Spanish in my sleep as if he still lies next to me in our bed. Javi’s gone now but my love for him will always remain. I see the sky beginning to light through the blinds. I roll back over in my bed, pulling the down comforter closer to my body, and utter the words, “Buena suerte, Javier. Te quiero.” (Good luck, Javier. I love you.)
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