Bourbon and Ray-Bans

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the room I now found myself in. The only lights in the space were those directly underneath each picture. Everything else was clouded in darkness. The second thing I noticed was the lack of people. There was, in fact, no one else in the gallery besides me. I immediately turned around to exit the room but found the door was locked. I was trapped. No amount of banging helped me.

“Your balls are mine, Flanery!!” I turned back around to face whatever it was he’d brought me all this way to see.

The first lit thing I came upon was a much larger version of Mingus’s weird heart painting I recalled from Norman’s apartment. In the center, the word ‘HER’ had been added. Since this was not a photograph, I assumed ‘HER’ was the title of his show. I didn’t want to see anymore. I could just imagine how many ‘HER’s I was about to encounter. If this was some kind of kinky porn practical joke I seriously was going to cut off Flanery’s prized jewels and feed them to Trix.

As I walked around the gallery, I quickly realized this was no joke. Every single picture - in all shapes and sizes, black and white, full color, and some even rendered in paint - had something in common. And that something was me. Some were just candid shots of me over the past few years. Others - close-ups of my face, my hands, an eye, my mouth, my toes - felt more personal. I saw every inch of me, inside and out, on those walls. I’d had no clue he’d even taken them. He nearly always had a camera in his hands, sure, but this was something else entirely. There was even one of me crying in my car after our first on-screen kiss.

Seeing me as he saw me, I knew. It had never been about Helena or Cecilia. Andy and all the others had been right. These weren’t the pictures of a friend, not even a best friend. This is what someone saw when they were looking at something - at someone - they loved.

The largest picture and the one in the middle of the back wall - the center of the show - was the only photo I could actually remember being taken. We had been in San Diego at the time and out walking on the beach as the sun set. We hadn’t been alone. Sarah and Laurie were somewhere nearby and Norman had been taking pictures of us all. In this one, I was looking straight at his camera - no, that wasn't true - I had been looking straight at him and grinning like the lovesick fool I had always been, still was, and hoped to forever be. And for the first time in my entire life, I looked at the girl in that picture - at myself - and thought how beautiful she was. He’d given me that gift, which made me love him even more.

I don’t know how long I sat there crying and staring at that picture. And then smiling like a madwoman and staring at that picture, but eventually I heard the gallery door open and close. I knew it was him without turning around. He walked over and sat down next to me. We turned to look at each other at the same time. Both of us smiling.

“You’re a total fucking peeper creeper, you know that?” He laughed softly and wiped away one of my tears with this thumb. Before he could pull his hand away, I grabbed it, kissed his palm, and held on for dear life. He scooted closer and wrapped himself around me. I leaned into his back and we both sat staring at the picture.

“I’m not good with words, B. So I told you the only way I knew how.” He started kissing my neck and I stopped having any sort of coherent thoughts. He kissed his way to my ear and finally told me what I’d waited over four years to hear.

“You’re all I see. No matter where I am; no matter who I’m with. You’re the only one with me all the time. Eyes opened; eyes closed. Doesn’t fucking matter. I love you. Only you.”

And he proceeded to love me with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth - with his whole body - right there on that floor, in that gallery, in that city for the next several hours.

It was worth the wait.

THE END!!