Beautiful Agony (A Tale Of Savage Love, Part I) Read Online Free PDF Page B

not he respond ed back to me.
    Even so, a fter I ’d opened myself up to possible disappointment and failure, after I’d sent him my picture and my plea, how long would I have to wait to find out if he ‘ liked what he saw’ ?  If he didn’t, would he simply remain silent?  Or would he bother to personally tell me to go ahead and fuck off?
    My palms were sweating pro fusely, and I wiped them off on my slacks .  W hat in the hell was wrong with me?  Why was I letting him get to me so much?   And just what was I going to say?  ‘ A word or two that is the real you. ’   Ah, Jesus.
    Before I could stop myself, stomach churning, I went into an old, old file.  Copying the words of the document, I hastily right-clicked and then posted them in to the body of the email.  It was a poem I had written years ago called Damage .  I had never shown it to anyone else before in my entire life.  It read:
     
     
    Burned out husk-
    still smolders.
    Shell-shocked flesh,
    hurts, blames, and
    screams…sometimes.
    Laughs.  Loves.  Lies.
    Why does it still sting
    when innocence dies?
    How can the same mistake
    Bite?
    Over and over;
    a poisonous snake,
    whose venom washes through me.
    Memories made dangerous
    and painful again,
    a collection of weeping scars.
    I push them out:
    a mottled, misshapen baby
    rotten inside.
    Rupturing,
    membranes spill
    the stuff of
    Lost Dreams,
    Haunting me,
    still.
     
     
     
    Quickly positioning my hands back over the keys, I typed, “ This is me .”  Then, before I could dismantle it further - pick apart my courage until nothing was even left - I hit send .   Brow sweating now, too , I felt a wash of relief flood throu gh me.  It was done.
    Oh, God .  It was done .  Sour anxiety suddenly roiled heavily within my stomach.  I t could be hours, days, weeks, months, or never , before I ever heard back.   And how could I have shown m y innermost, private work to a complete stranger?
    Disgusted with myself, I pushed away from the desk and went into the kitchen.  I opened the cabinet door and had just reached for the Jack when I heard the bell-sound from my computer.  Oh shit; I had mail .
    Surely it wasn’t from him.  N ot yet, anyway.  Still, I slammed the bottle down on to the counter top almost h ard enough to shatter it and practically sprinted back into the other room.  Before I had even made it all the way over to the desk, I could already s ee that the email was, indeed , from him.
    The subject line was completely blank, offering me no hint of what lay within.  With a shaky hand, I clicked on it.
    “ Meet me at Pudge and Druthers in one hour.  Wear red. ”
    Pudge and Druthers was a local bar on St. Mark’s Street – everybody knew it.  But how had he known I’d be able to meet him there inside of an hour?  Apparently he’d presumed that I lived in the heart of the Apple as well.   Or at least that I’d have the sense to email him back right away if I couldn’t make it and needed another hour or two .
    I looked at my watch.   I didn’t want to have to send that email requesting more time .
    ‘ Wear red ,’ he’d said.
    I had two choices here.  Go and meet him, and address my fears head-on – because let’s face it, he would demand absolute honesty from me, and a complete baring of an inner-self that I’d always tried hard to hide .  If nothing else, at the very least his email had absolutely indicated that .  Or, I could delete the account I’d set up, forget this whole venture, and take the safe way out.  Looking down at the fading scars near the bend of my elbow, I quickly made my decision.
    The clock was ticking.

I made it to Pudge and Druthers with just over three minutes to spare.  We were deep in the belly of winter, so outside it was already almost pitch , screaming -black.
    I wound thro ugh the congested restaurant side, pushing though the noisy throng and heading over towards the bar where I could only assume he would be.  And I was right.