Untitled

Cleveland 1985


                Life isn't fair. Sean often thought this to himself as he patrolled some of the meanest streets Cleveland

had to offer with his partner Rick. Life just isn't fair. He saw the ugliness every day, all the innocent victims just

trying to get through the day, only to end up kicked in the kidneys for no good reason. Some things he witnessed

he knew he'd never forget, like the memory he carried of a sweet little girl caught in the crossfire of a couple of

urban cowboys. He and Rick had been first on the scene to find her small lifeless body sprawled out on the

sidewalk in front of one of the many corner stores that dotted the urban landscape, blood pooling from a single

shot to the head, sullying the intricate and lovingly done braids that framed her little round face, a snack

size bag of potato chips and bottle of pop next to her. Her after school snack. This was a hard image to shake.



                  He tried hard not to get jaded, but man, sometimes it was hard not to be when you saw the same

crazy shit day in, day out. All that changed were the names and the faces. "Hate the game, not the player." That

was the official motto of the drug boys, pimps, whores and hustlers he ran into out there. And you know what?

Sometimes he almost agreed with them. It was the Wild West out there on the streets. How can you tell a young

man with no education, no money, usually no daddy, sometimes no mother even, that it's wrong to hustle, sling a

little dope? But then he would remember that little girl, and then he would remember what made him do it, why he

tried to clean up the mess.



                Yeah, life just isn't fair. But sometimes, Sean noted to himself, this meant that the exact opposite thing

could happen: You could stumble blindly upon something rare and beautiful when you could not have expected it

less. This happened to him on a drizzly April day while he was just checking out the beat with Rick, so to speak.

He walked into their usual gas station for a pack of Camels and a cup of joe and instead of Mo, the swarthy

middle-aged owner usually perched behind the counter, he sees Sammy. For a brief moment he called to Sean's

mind a vampire from an old movie-  flashing dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a quick smile that revealed sharp

white teeth. He even had a pronounced widow's peak, but Sean had never seen a vampire portrayed with a thick,

messy ponytail like Sammy wore. He was about Sean's age, mid- twenties, slight of build and wiry. Sean couldn't

help but notice that he was also pretty hirsute. His thin forearms were covered in black fur and he could see the

thick hair jutting out of the top of the white undershirt that lay beneath the colorful short- sleeved shirt he was

wearing, left casually unbuttoned. The hair seemed to stretch up to his Adam's apple. Sean's complexion was

ruddy, his closely cropped hair best described as a dirty blonde, his chest close to hairless. It kind of bothered

him sometimes.



                Years later he would remember all this, the day it all changed. He would recall the woodsy smell of

incense burning, a weak attempt to mask, he later learned, the strong smell of what Sammy referred to as kif,

even though in reality it was just your basic run- of- the- mill weed and not the sublime hashish Sammy had cut

his teeth on back in his homeland. He recalled the acrid scent of strong coffee brewing, the earthy smell of the

light rain as it fell. He could almost hear the dulcet tones of the Arabic music playing in the background, lilting,

ethereal music he would grow to love. He would remember the hoots and hollers of the pack of young black guys

hanging out in front of the pay phone outside, just bullshitting, killing time. He would especially remember the first

time their hands touched as Sammy pushed the twenty away at the register, saying, "On the house, my friend.

On the house". The way his cheeks burned as he let his hand linger for just a few seconds too long. But Sammy

made no effort to move his hand either and when Sean looked up, he was smiling demurely at him, a flirty little

smile. He managed to mumble an inquiry about Mo's whereabouts, discovering that he was overseas for the next

month. Sammy was a nephew, it turned out, and was just helping out for a while. "Do you come here everyday?"

was his question to Sean. I sure as hell will now, he thought to himself. I will now. But it was what transpired in the

next few seconds that sealed his fate, one little gesture that drove home the realization that the life he'd been living

was no more.



                Sean pocketed his smokes and proceeded out of the station, quite aware he was being watched

and, if truth be told, feeling pretty confident. He wasn't particularly tall or muscular, actually leaned toward the

stockier side, but he was solidly built and broad shouldered and had been told he cut a mean figure in his

pressed uniform and polished black shoes. He stepped out of the poorly lit business, squinting in the emerging

sunlight, before quickly turning back to catch a glimpse of Sammy from behind, shoulders raising just slightly in

time with his quickly snapping fingers, head bobbing, his steps light and bouncy on his bare feet. Sean would

later learn of Sammy's aversion to the notion of anything covering his feet, whether it be shoes, socks, or even

just a sheet at night. He insisted to Sean that he felt "suffocated" if not barefoot. Sean thought this was odd and

tried in vain to explain to Sammy what a "hillbilly" was, the only types of people he'd ever seen running shoeless

around the streets of Cleveland, and more importantly, why he didn't want to be labeled as such, but it was

pointless. Sammy just laughed and responded that hillbillies sounded like a fun bunch of people to know, what

with all the drinking and hollering and fighting that Sean described to him so vividly. But it didn't take long for

Sean to just accept the fact that, weather permitting, he would be seeing Sammy's long, skinny toes on display

whenever and wherever possible. And the truth was, Sammy's feet were soft and smooth and not bad to look at,

at least as far as feet were concerned. It could have been a lot worse, Sean had to concede. But all this was

to come later.



                He watched as Sammy disappeared into the station's back room, unaware that his little dance of joy

had been observed. It was, hands down, the most awkwardly charming display Sean had ever witnessed. And

he knew it was because Sammy had felt it, too, that same shock wave, same spark of electricity between them.

He could hardly allow himself to believe it, but he knew it was a fact. The undeniable truth. He, Sean Doyle, had

inspired that. A scrappy Irish Catholic boy from Cleveland's east side who still lived with his widowed mother in

the same small, tidy bungalow he grew up in, the youngest of five siblings, all about a year apart, and the only

one still single, much to the family's collective chagrin. He knew he could be a bit rough around the edges at

times, and he was sometimes frustrated by what he saw as his inability to express his feelings articulately. But

he felt it too, the same excitement as Sammy. He would have skipped to the fucking car like a little girl if Rick

wasn't already in it, waiting impatiently for him. "What the fuck took you so long?" Rick demanded as he slid

into the patrol car. "And why are you smiling like a fuckin' retard?".

"Drive, Rick. Just drive."   
       
     

              He visited the gas station every night for the next month, except after the first few times he decided to

wait until after his shift was over so he could come in alone, still under the guise of buying Camels. In reality,

he was a pretty light smoker, half a pack a day tops, unless he was drinking, of course, so he was accumulating

quite a collection of unsmoked cigarette packs, but he didn't mind. The smokes were his "in" and after the first

couple of visits he was pleased to see that Sammy had his pack ready for him, packed and waiting on the counter

next to the register. He could feel Sammy's gaze follow him as he worked his way around the gas station's tiny

quarters, checking out the various drinks and snacks for sale at grossly inflated prices, intently perusing the

shelves as motorists wandered in and out. On one particularly warm evening he managed to time it perfectly, so

that his visit took place just a few minutes before midnight. Closing time at GAS USA. "Officer Doyle", Sammy

sang to him in a mock authoritative tone as he turned the lock on the front door and then flipped the sign to the

"Closed" side, doing his best imitation of an annoyed checker at the Pick-n-Pay.  "Please make your final

selections and bring them to the register." He was smiling widely at him, white teeth shining. Sean was to later

learn to his utter amazement that Sammy had never been to a dentist. I guess my people are blessed with good

teeth, was his rather nonchalant explanation. Raised in a country with virtually no dentists to speak of, and whose

unofficial national beverage was a mint tea that at times was almost all sugar, no tea, this was an understatement.

Sean would soon meet Sammy's younger brother Hasan and it was almost the same face looking back at him,

what with that big wide smile and gleaming white teeth. But all that was to come later as well.



                  Right at this moment in time, in a cramped little mini-mart in the heart of ghetto Cleveland, Sean

approached this man, a virtual stranger, and proceeded to do something so uncharacteristically bold, so out of

line with his usual demeanor that in retrospect he was astounded he actually had the balls to do it. In one fell

swoop his hand was on the back of Sammy's head, not roughly enough to hurt but definitely forceful enough to

make his point, and before this action had even completely registered with the other man he brought Sammy's

mouth to his and proceeded to give him a wet, full on, open mouthed kiss that in reality probably lasted all of ten

seconds but felt like it went on forever. No words were exchanged as Sean lifted Sammy up right off his feet and

placed him gently on the low counter next to the register, positioning himself between this dark stranger's open

legs, thrilled to feel them wrap easily around his waist. Sammy was holding him close and Sean was holding on

to him so tightly in return he was almost afraid he might hurt him, but he just couldn't help himself. He clung to

Sammy as if his very life depended on it. Which in a way, it did. He could feel Sammy's heart beating loudly as

he pressed his face into his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the thin undershirt, savoring the slightly musky

scent of his cafe au lait skin. He could feel Sammy's mouth on the top of his head, his breath warm and soft.

It wasn't until he felt the dampness on the fabric, saw the small moist rivulets appearing, that he realized he was

softly crying into Sammy's chest.



                Sean was honest enough to realize these weren't tears of joy, although he felt a lightness, a burden

being lifted, from almost the first moment he met Sammy, to be sure. But the tears were coming from somewhere

else deep inside of him, a place that he tried to wish away, tried to pray away, even tried to fuck away sometimes

with a few nameless, faceless badge bunnies and the occasional nice girl from the neighborhood who had the

misfortune of thinking she could possibly be "the one". He was young, polite, pretty easy on the eyes. He was

also a cop, which for reasons he never could quite decipher made him doubly appealing to some. He was

considered a good catch and mothers just loved him. But he was also a fucking coward, living a lie, and now

he was crying tears of relief because it was finally over. No more shame and denial, no more anonymous blow

jobs in johns of gay bars and seedy sex shops that reeked of cum and desperation, with men he never wanted

to set eyes on again once the act was complete. That part of his life was over and it was a beautiful realization.

He looked at this dusky outlander and he knew it was destiny that brought them together. He always thought

"love at first sight" was a crock of shit, and the rational, no- nonsense part of him still found it hard to believe

you could love someone when you knew practically nothing about him. But Sean knew what he felt when he saw

Sammy. It might not have been love, more like the seed of love, but it was real and it was exquisite. They clung 

together, fully clothed, no words spoken, eyes closed, until Sean eventually composed himself a bit. He pulled

away slowly before he finally spoke. "Will you be with me?".



                Sean would think back to this moment many times over the years and would sometimes wonder why

he had chosen that turn of phrase. "Be with me." So vague and obscure, and so easily open to so many different

interpretations. But Sammy didn't even ask any questions, needed no more clarification from this American cop

with the strong shoulders, a slightly bowlegged gait, and most importantly, the saddest, softest baby blue eyes

he'd ever seen. He answered very quietly. "Yes, I'll be with you." And with that, Sean gave him another kiss, this

one much more respectable, all softness and light. He then stepped out into the warm night air, fully secure in the

knowledge that he would be seeing Sammy the next evening, and the evening after that, and so on and so forth,

because he just could not imagine not seeing him.