Basquiat and Brain Sex
When I got to the Nevins Ave. train stop at 3:30pm on Saturday afternoon, over 30 minutes late, disgruntled jaded by New York City’s MTA system, I was afraid that he wouldn’t be there. I was supposed to take the 4 train to Brooklyn, but there was construction on the railway so I had to go through my own special sort of hell to get to Brooklyn, to Nevins Ave. where I was supposed to meet GM, my date.
I met GM at a poetry reading back in December, met him through a friend. I was attracted to him immediately. The best thing is, he was from my country, and speaks like my father. I sometimes wondered if I would ever see him again—the cutie with the wide shoulders and even wider smile. Then, I saw him again at another poetry reading over a month ago—in fact it was the day after Rene and I broke up. Talk about timing. That night, we went to a bar after the poetry reading and talked and talked and talked until next thing we knew, we were the only two souls in the place besides the bartender and the army of bottles lining the shelves. We parted ways that night knowing that we had a connection, something that we could rub in between our fingers, something sweet, viscous, gritty and good for the skin.
About three weeks ago, I invited him here and I cooked us dinner. We ate and had all these plans to go see a movie but we just couldn’t seem to slide into our coats, or wrap nooses of warmth around our necks. It was like someone threw all of my shoes out the window. I couldn’t find them anywhere in my intentions. We ended up sitting on the couch and talking till about 2:30am. This always happens. When a relationship ends, I always end up meeting someone who contains, symbolizes, represents everything I’d been missing. Almost like a lesson from God. This guy is the epitome of what I was deprived of in my last relationship with Rene (bless him). GM is not a poet or an artist, in fact, he’s a bodybuilder. But, the machinations of his mind, his thought factory is completely disarming and tantalizes me. He challenges the hell out of me-- calls me out when I say something that sounds good but means nothing. He asks me questions that make me pause long and hard before I answer. His questions make me chew my own hair. We have openness about us, something like a field. We also weave our conversations with the affection of a grandmother’s quilt. Our conversations are warm with a lot of space to move around in. It was a really great night that left a wonderful impression on my skin.
We didn’t talk too much after that. I got really busy and he got sick. We didn’t talk for almost a week and a half. Then, he came to the poetry reading that I frequent but we didn’t get to talk at all; I was surrounded and hemmed up. I had an old lover in the place, a man that I absolutely adore. I was also kicking it with another guy that I have a little crush on, a cool guy that I’m really intrigued with. I was also entertaining two of my guy friends from out of town who stopped by to see me read. Before I knew it, the night was over and he had left. He didn’t even leave his scent behind. It was like he was never there.
We caught up later that week. He called me and we pretty much asked each other if we would be each other’s date on Saturday. We both wanted to see the Basquiat exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum and we both had each other in mind.
So, here I was, pulling up 30 minutes late, thinking, oh no, he doesn’t have a cell phone. What if he thinks I stood him up? What if what if what if? As soon as I got out of the train, there he was on the platform wearing a saavy pin-striped suit! He looked so delicious. I felt self conscious for a moment in my army green capris, white t-shirt, army green pumas, jean jacket, hair tied down with a green scarf. I looked like I was just going out grocery shopping. We fit perfectly.
He didn’t surprise me when he kissed me casually on the side of my lip. But, he did surprise me when he took my hand and held it with confidence and authority and didn’t let go for the rest of the day. I think we looked so yummy together walking through the wide, crowded halls of the Brooklyn Museum. Basquiat’s art was both unbearable and magnetic, grotesque beauty: from his black male heroes crowned with shining halos and crowns of thorns to his fascination of the human body, to his obsession with words, to his heroin-induced repetitiveness, to his x-ray like portraits of the esophagus and the heart. His art had such a strong presence—his eccentricity, his rage, his grief, that monster in his veins. As a spectator of this museum, I felt so blessed to be able to witness what someone left behind. It made me wonder what I will leave behind and if it will be anything of importance. I mean, is that what this thing is all about?
After Basquiat, GM and I went back into the city and devoured Thai food for dinner. Much talk and laughter. Then, we went uptown and went to see the movie Sin City. Pure entertainment; I was hooked from line one to line done. Then, we went to Dylan’s Candy Bar and had these ice cream mix things that we both didn’t like. Then we went to my place and talked until 3:00 in the morning.
Our dialogue is like the sky—endless—and our goodbye kiss was sweet, sexless, and short lived. When he left, I closed the door feeling like we’d spent the past 12 hours having sex, having sex all day: at the museum, on the 3 train, at the thai food place, in the movie theatre. Hmmm…so this is what a real date feels like.
posted by Silk Gazelle @ 1:28 AM
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