skirt, my pointy boots, my army raincoat. . .my energy in the morning. They don’t like my one- woman show to rival Lily and Bette, that helps me break the monotony of juggling bits and bytes. They say I have. . . an attitude problem. You’re teaching me how to love myself. You’re teaching me how to bloom, sweet friend. But they kill flowers in the mainstream. When I finally looked up again, I think Max had tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back in a second.” he said. And he came back 0 guess I was a little bit in love with Max. He looked humble. Sweet. Sad. I never knew why he was so sad. And I never really noticed him growing skinnier. with two cups of coffee and a hot apple- pie. “It’s on me. For your first poem.” “You like it?” “Yeah, I like it. So you just weren’t meant to live on this planet were you, Kiddo?” How did he know? How did he always know what I felt? “So what happened this time?” I gulped. He wasn’t going to let me slide. “Well, they said the A-word.... ” He choked on his coffee. “They said the A-word?” he sputtered, laughing. “You mean they said ass?” “No. They said appropriate. They said my clothes weren’t appropriate for the workplace. Why do there have to be so many rules, Max? Why is everything always appropriate or inappropriate? I punched those numbers fast as anyone, blue nails or not.” Max let me spill it. He was laughing, tears rolling down his face. But I know he wasn’t laughing at me. He was always on my Side. n o n e had lots of those sessions, I I I I I I me and Max. And it wasn’t al- \ v / ways when I was on downtime, x/xz He made everything seem warm and cozy in the world. The Mac with its cheap Muzak. My crummy little apartment off Broadway. My boring-as- sed job. “Your’re a special person, Kiddo,” he said to me one day. “Treat yourself so.” And he tousled my hair and left me to my journal. I was high for the rest of the week. Then he didn’t show up. I stopped at the Unemployment Office ready to give him an earful of sass. He was on sick leave, they said. Calling the next day, and the next, I needed him to glow at me. I wanted to tell him about the class I signed up for, my new girlfriend, and the new job. “Max, I’m makin’ it!” I’d tell him and he’d hug me. “Is Martin back from sick leave yet?” His name felt funny in my mouth. They started to recognize my voice. “Are you family?” they wanted to know. “No, just a friend. .. ” They wouldn’t give me his number or his address and I couldn’t find him in the book. Maybe I was just too scared. It was in the cafeteria at City College a couple of months later that I finally found out what happened to him. Memorial services will be held for Martin de Jong who died last night at Swedish Hospital without waking from a month-long coma, the little clip in the Gay News began. That was my Max. He died of AIDS. t’s taken me a long time to stop being mad at Max. For not telling me. And for not saying goodbye. I haven’t been to the Mac since Max. And I didn’t go to the service. I still like hanging-out solo, but a lot of times Carolyn comes with me now. We drink espressos at the B & O, or on Broadway somewhere, and write or do our English assignments. And we build each other up. Sometimes I just feel like crying for no reason.... She’s not Max. (finally realized maybe he did say goodbye. Maybe he said it the only way he knew how. And I finally decided I had to say goodbye to Max. I skipped class today and hopped the Metro to Rainier Valley. It was a gorgeous hot day. Everybody was out on the streets. Our corner table was free. “Say, Max!” I said, pitching my voice low. < emorial services will be held for Martin de Jong who died last night at Swedish Hospital without waking from a month-long coma, the little dip in the Gay News began. That was my Max. I know he was there. “Say, Max. . .wanna hear a poem I wrote?” I knew he’d want to. He was glowing. Sure Kiddo, he would have said gently. “Okay, Max. Here goes. Max? I’m sorry it took me so long to come around. Okay? Okay here goes..." The clerk languished. The Muzak covered my voice. I’ve defied time and space to bring you to this velvet place warmed and moist from my breathing. Everything about you is gentle, peaceful, alive. You’re a special person, I whisper to myself. Treat yourself so. I wipe the dampness from my cheek against the pillow and burrow into its flannel softness. You leave twin raspberry kisses near the corners of my eyes and I sleep. In the morning you’re gone. But where your lips touched my cheeks is the first bloom of roses. “Say, Max?” I whispered when I was done. “I brought you some flowers. Bye, Max. I love you.” I left a handful of violets in my empty coffee cup to wilt in the sun. Bernadette van Joolen is a writer living in Seattle. This is her first story in CSQ. The Pander Bros, are artists living in Portland. They are currently preparing for a screen project, Forbidden City. Their last work in CSQ was Gisternacht. Hawthorne Auto Clinic,Inc. Mechanical service and repair of import HAPPY HARVEST G R 6 C E R S I and domestic cars and light trucks FIAT and Peugeot specialists appointments P 4 o 3 rt 0 la 7 n d S. , E O . H re a g w o t n h o 9 r 7 n 2 e 15 234-2119 Hip Foods For Healthy People Blue Butterfly Clothes, blankets, rugs, jewelry &other handicrafts from—Peru, Guatemala, Mexico and a little bit of India. Import & Trading Co. 2010 S.E. Division • Portland, OR 97202 (503) 238-6639 Ifyou really want a second opinion... y PORTLAND NATUROPATHIC U CLINIC 255-7355 11231 SE MARKET PORTLAND, OREGON Z/ The Teaching Clinic of the National College of Naturopathic Medicine. 28 Clinton St. Quarterly—Spring, 1988
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy NTc4NTAz