Meet Cigar Boy

Okay.

Dig.

It's Wednesday, so that means that church. So after my latte and the Times at Starbucks, I head over. Nice little service. Always gets my head together.

During the mass, right after communion, I put my head in my hands, quiet my mind, and just spend some time with God.

Now, I rarely make requests, but tonight, in a weak moment perhaps, I made a request: "Just let me meet him. Just let me meet him."

I felt sort of sheepish about it.

Church was over. I chatted with the priest, and headed out. The evening sun was streaming through the clouds. I took the long way back to my car. I came around the corner, through the parking lot behind the bookstore, and there he was. Cigar Boy.

He was with a small group of other kids. One of whom, luckily, I knew. Our local punk rocker. After punk rock boy and I hailed each other, I sidled over to hang and chat. Keeping my eyes on Cigar Boy.

Not too far into the blah-blah-blah, Cigar Boy made it clear that he was queer. And I just couldn't help but notice how totally adorable he is.

But how to procede? It was a little awkward. A bunch of teenagers standing around talking, and up strolls this old guy. (Although one of the girls admired my tattoo. Cool.) And then, I ended up talking to Cigar Boy. We chatted.

He was telling me that--now get this--how sometimes he just wanted to break away. As in, from the human race. Because he thought that if he could just strip all of it away, he'd be left with something pure and true.

Okay, I knew exactly what he was talking aobut. I totally did. I used to have thoughts like that. I filled up journals mulling things like that.

I told him a story from one of the books I read on Shamanism. About a young man who was spending some time with shaman at a retreat center in the mountains. Every night, the man had a dream. He dreamt that he was running uphill at top speed on a hiking trail near where they were all staying. As he got higher and higher, he started to panic, because he knew that at the top of the trail was a cliff. And he knew that when he reached the top, he'd run right off the cliff. His panick would grow greater and greater, and just before he reached the top, he'd wake up, sweating and afraid. He told the shaman about the dream.

"The next time you have this dream," the shaman replied, keep running. Go off the cliff."

The young man did, right out into space, flying.

When he woke up, he realized something. He was in medical school, but he didn't want to be a doctor. His father wanted him to be a doctor. And that's why he was in med school. He decided right then and there that he had to quit med school.

He told the shaman about his decision. The shaman explained What It All Meant. "At least once in your life, you've got to kill yourself. The person you are when you're starting out in your life is your attempt to live up to the expectations of others. But it's not you. And the only way out is to kill that person."

Cigar Boy was impressed. And obviously nervous. Fidgety. I made sure there was lots of eye contact coming from me. And a warm, admiring smile.

So. We're off to the races, huh?

Well, not quite. I've been hunting him for three weeks, so no telling when he'll next show up. And then there's the hard cold fact that I'm an old guy. Eeeeeewwww!

And there's one other thing. He dropped a total bomb: "The other day, in homeroom..."

Homeroom!

Aaaaaaaaaaagghhhh!!!

Either he's repeated several grades, or he hasn't graduated from high school.

Now when I was graduated from high school in 1983 (at least five years before Cigar Boy was born), I had been eighteen for eight months. And, the age of consent in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is sixteen.

But c'mon. I can only imagine that his parents would be something less than thrilled. I mean, they're probably my age.

But still.

Cigar boy was so sweet when we were talking. Looking up at me. This great half smile he has. And cigar boy has these beautiful gray eyes. I would sure like to be the guy that makes Cigar Boy feel good. Feel good about himself. About his life. His future. Himself.

*gasp* But what if he wants to take me to the prom? That would make the local papers for sure.

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