It's the little things that remain.

The big memories - the vivid, the bright and the painful.

They can be pushed down, filed away, dampened with booze, drugs and pretence.

But it's the little things that remain.

The click of rosary beads on a cold winter's morning.
The whisper of air past my face as I ducked another blow from my father's fists.
The condensation on the shower wall the day of my sexual awakening
The dusty smell of the nylon curtains in Mikey's room that day when we almost...
The feel of my 'mom' Debbie's arms hugging me at my high school graduation
The way Lindsay giggled the first time I kissed her.
The sound of appreciation the first time I walked into Babylon.
The light glancing off Marty Ryder's tie pin the day I landed my first account.
The lightness of Gus's eyelashes that first time I held him.
The distance between the outside wall and the window to Justin's hospital room.

And then there's the tricks.

Everyone thinks I don't remember the names of every man I've been with.

They are right. In many cases, I didn't ask and lord knows, they all blur into one. But I recall little things.

The murmur of a soft southern accent calling me 'Honeychile'.
The guttural groans of a Frenchman who taught me much about french kissing.
The delightful sacrilege of licking my way across an elaborate crucifixion tattoo.
The hot whispers of lust in my ear.
The scent of cum in the crisp night air.
The tickle of goatee against my groin
The texture of an Armani suit as I removed the trick's clothes.
The rasp of towelling against aroused flesh.
The slick of sweat on skin...each one so different.
The squeak of bare bum on a glass desk.
The softness of Justin's touch.

Justin...

There are no little things with Justin. Everything is big, bright, vivid and memorable. No matter how much I try it's...he's still there.

The scent, the touch, the presence, the sound and the all.

Standing under that street light
Running through the hospital
Shyly lecturing *me* on safe sex
That 'sunshine' smile
His enthusiasm for life
Determination in the face of adversity
The sweetness of his kiss
The joy on his face as we danced at his prom....
Everything remains and everything pains.

He came by last Tuesday morning, to pick up his stuff. I had planned not to be there, but the timing was off.

I watched him bag and tag his gear and silently leave.

Neither of us spoke. Not even about the weather.

Everything remains and everything pains.

Once upon a time I had this trick...I don't remember his name and little of his appearance. But he was big and he was buff and he was from New Zealand. We fucked long and hard and enjoyably through the night and the next morning I even let him make me breakfast.

As he pottered about the kitchen he sang to himself - snatches of this and that. Some I knew, and one I didn't recognise. I assumed it was music he heard in his homeland.

That half hummed, half mumbled tune has been plaguing me for days.

The trick never sang the whole lyrics and I only caught the chorus, but it's slamming me like nothing else.

-----------------------------------

Sally-Ann

MusicNote: Like Brian, the song quoted is something I only half heard many many years ago. The plaintive chorus stuck in my mind and has bugged me for years. About 6 months ago I was idly browsing the bargain table at a local variety store and picked up a compliation cd of hits of 'Kiwi' (ie New Zealand) hits of the 80s. And there at #9 was 'Forever Tuesday Morning' by The Mockers.