jaylar
Bryan at home was even more magnificent than Bryan at the office.
We cooked, talked, argued in a witty bitchy manner, remixed the furniture, as a few of Bryan’s pieces went perfectly with my decor.
We were the perfect couple, as if all our lives we were looking for that other half.
Never in my life had I met someone who knew me so well, nor that I truly knew.
Bryan had moved in Monday night. I had virtually cleared the calendar so we could have a weekend. No. Let me be clear, I assumed we would have the weekend, so insured there was nothing for me to do, go, be.
Bryan left my house about eight on Friday and did not return until Sunday.
I was frantic by eleven, thinking something happened to him, ready to call the police, but recalled something he had shared with me.
We had been talking about ‘bags’ from the waist pouch to the knapsack and he had said;
“When I plan to spend a week end I have this fantastic baby blue shoulder bag which looks like one you’d carry a computer in. In case it doesn’t happen, I won’t look stupid dragging a suitcase or knapsack.”
Seeing that bag missing from his things, I sat down, feeling a twisted form of betrayal.
Bryan was a grown man, a grown gay man, not my child, my spouse or my sibling. As any young gay man, he went out Friday Night with his ‘visiting bag’. Whether he had a date or was hoping to get lucky, it was none of my business.
