Justin was looking forward to hearing from Brian this evening with great expectations. He was hoping that his lover had enjoyed the wet and slippery shower game he had invented yesterday as much as the blond himself had and he was eager to get the other man’s verdict. He was too excited to sit while he waited, though, and was instead pacing (or skipping, as some observers might more accurately describe it) back and forth in front of the mailboxes in the lobby. Finally, unable to wait any longer, he pulled a small, ruled notepad from his cargo pants’ pocket and scribbled a quick note.

-Brian – How’d it go last night? Did you enjoy my new game? So, what was your final score? I got to TEN before my knees started shaking so much I kind of collapsed. Tell me! Justin.

When no response came after almost ten more minutes, the young man began to wonder if Brian hadn’t made it tonight for some reason. Just when he was about to give up and return dejectedly to the loft, he heard the ‘clank’ and saw the usual flash of creamy paper as Brian’s response materialized in the box.

-Sorry, Justin. I didn’t get to play your game last night. I went to an Art Show at the GLC instead. B.

-Damn. I really wanted to get your input – I think we may need to adjust the rules a bit to take into account the couple of times I lost the bar of soap. You were supposed to have played too and then we could have compared scores. I guess we’ll just have to go again tonight and I say that I should get to add last night’s points to my new score. I’m so gonna win now! J.

-Justin, I met someone last night at the GLC. B.

Justin’s good mood was instantly crushed. Brian had met someone. Was he saying he . . . what? Maybe that he didn’t want to be with Justin any more? Justin had no idea how to respond. He was stunned. Before he had any chance to think anything more, though, there was another ‘clank’.

-Justin, I met someone very IMPORTANT. Didn’t you tell me YOU were in a show at the Center once? Do you remember that night? B.

-Yeah, of course. It was my first real professional show. I sold my first drawing that night. Why? J.

Justin was really not following where Brian was going with this. He was still reeling from the man’s announcement that he’d met someone. Had Brian met some new hot young artist at some art show? Justin was devastated. He didn’t want to even think about his life without Brian in it – even if the older man’s presence was only felt through his letters. Had Brian found someone else?

-You don’t remember. B.

Brian’s terse response brought Justin’s reeling thoughts to a screeching halt. What was Brian asking? The young artist thought back to that night – the thrill of being in his first professional show, the feeling of acceptance both for his art and from being at the Center itself, the comments from admiring art lovers – it had been such an amazing night. But he didn’t think that was what Brian was asking him to remember.

Going back through the events of that night again in his head, looking for some clue as to what was going on with Brian, a light suddenly dawned on him. ‘Fuck!’ Justin realized Brian wasn’t referring to the events at the show – he was reminding Justin of the events that happened after the show. His hands were trembling as he picked up his pen to respond.

-That night – the night of the show – I met someone, too. I met a man and we left together . . . Fuck! That couldn’t have been . . . ? My God! It was! It was you! Brian, I didn’t remember. I’m so sorry. I remember leaving the show. We walked to the park together. We were sitting on the bench, kissing. And then he/you/WE made love under that huge willow tree. How could I have not remembered it was you? I know you never did tell me your name that night, but still. It was one of the most wonderful nights of my life. It was my first time – Brian you were my first. How could I have forgotten it was you? J.

Brian was overjoyed that Justin had finally remembered, regardless of why the memory had been lost for so long. They were both so excited. The paper flew back and forth across time as they shared their memories of that special night with each other. Then a disturbing thought occurred to Justin, and gave him pause.

-Brian, once we’d met, back in 1999 – once we’d made love – why didn’t I ever see you again? I don’t remember ever seeing you after that night. Did you/do you not want to be with me again? J.

-I don’t know why we don’t see each other again, Justin. I can’t know why we don’t meet again in the future – my future, that is. You have to know, though, that it isn’t because I don’t want to be with you. I still want you so bad it hurts. Even though we were just together last night. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, Justin. I want you. Fuck – I need you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s true. I don’t know what could happen to make me stop feeling this way or what’s possibly going to keep me away from you. You have to know that, right? B.

-This whole thing is so fucked. You know THAT, right? J.

-Yeah. I know. It’s definitely fucked – and not in a positive, life-affirming way, either. B.

For a long time after that, both men simply sat in the lobby of their loft, each in the same place but in separate times, unable to reach the other. They both sat and thought and tried to understand what was happening to them.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

(October 3, 2001 – 11:30 pm)

Justin had finally said goodnight to Brian and returned to the loft. His thoughts and emotions were churning - unsettled. Why hadn’t he remembered being with Brian? Why? The question kept repeating in his brain.

Justin walked into the kitchen, pulled open the fridge and grabbed a cold bottle of water. He cracked open the bottle and took a large swig, feeling the cool liquid sliding down his throat. After standing there for several more minutes, still at a loss, he shook his head in disgust and made up his mind to just forget the enigma for now.

Thinking that perhaps a shower would relax him enough to allow him to get some sleep tonight, he started to empty his pockets – placing his wallet and keys on the counter – and unsnapped the cowry shell bracelet from his wrist, laying it down next to the other items. For some reason, his eyes were drawn down to the bracelet again. While he was looking at the shells, an image of Brian, wearing the same shell bracelet, suddenly flashed into his mind. The image wasn’t clear and the man’s surroundings were obscured, but the gleaming cowry shells were in perfect focus. Did the image have something to do with that night at the GLC? Why else would he be seeing it now? Justin tried to grab on to that memory – he wanted to figure out why this particular image had come to him. The picture wouldn’t stay, though – it almost immediately began to fade. The harder Justin tried to recall that mental image, the dimmer it became.

And, as the image turned to grey and then to black, Justin dropped the half-full bottle of water and watched as it fell to the floor, bounced once and then toppled over, draining the water across the hardwood flooring. Justin felt his heart begin to race and his breathing grow ragged. He felt an unbearable sense of loss. The overwhelming fear, the panic, the terror – of what, he didn’t know – rushed up and inundated him. He dropped to his knees in the puddle of cold water – unable to stand, unable to utter a sound. As his vision started to narrow to a pinprick, he pulled his knees tightly against his chest, huddling in a small heap on the wet floor and leaning against the kitchen island. Justin gave in then to the panic and resigned himself to wait until the attack had run its course. He didn’t really have any other choice.