Before The Sunrise

OCTOBER

I pull my hood tighter over my head, protecting my face from the wind as I casually walk down the sidewalk in Upper Fells Point.

It's a familiar street, one I've been walking down all my life. If someone saw me here, they'd certainly recognize me. Exactly what I want to avoid.

By this hour, there's no one outside. The bars are still open on the harbor, but in the more residential area to the north, everyone seems to be asleep.

Except for me. I don't sleep.

Instead of resting, I drink coffee, study play designs, and go on endless runs and walks through Baltimore, my beloved home city.

Coffee, football, and Baltimore. The three loves of my life.

For the past eight months, though, I've had one more thing to bring a genuine smile to my face, even on nights like tonight, when the first three aren't enough.

I shove my left hand in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie and disgustingly wipe my nose with the sleeve of my right hand; October nights in Baltimore aren't exactly cold, but I wither when it gets below 60. I can't show up with snot dripping out of my nose.

The thought of him keeps my face warm against the winds coming in from the Bay. Even after all this time, butterflies flutter in my stomach as I cross the street to his weathered brick townhouse.

If I'm honest, there are more than a few sources of anxiety to choose from when it comes to our meetings.

With that in mind, I pull my hood down again, staring intently at the cracks in the sidewalk, counting down the steps to his door.

I wipe my nose again as I reach his front step, and I try my best to fix my hair from under my hood. He deserves my best. I smile at the two carved pumpkins on either side of the door; one of them looks curiously like Rosita, the puppet from Sesame Street.

I knock on the door softly, my knuckles barely grazing the wood.

When he opens the door, he laughs and says, "Aw, querido. My Salvadoran mother handles the cold better than you do, James. Get in here."

My smile widens. Keeping my head down as he closes the door, I close my eyes and inhale the familiar scent of his warm, quiet living room, immediately relaxed. Then I open my eyes and step toward my boy. I put my hands on his waist, lift my gaze to stare into his deep brown eyes, the only eyes I can bring myself to meet on some days.

Still as tentative as the first time, I thread my fingers into black hair. He touches my cheeks, his hands hot against my face, and he pushes my hood back. He nods silently, smiling, and I softly kiss him. Then I smile and speak first.

"Hi babe. How've you been?"

First chapter's a short one. A prelude.

I'm a musician before I'm a writer.

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x. Sky