Man of the Hour

I

Last night, I had a dream about you.

Already, that felt odd for me. As a personal rule, I never like to dwell on any of my dreams, or at the very least they never make any sense to begin with; that would be crossing the line into something superstitious. And you, you were the last thing I would ever dream of. There's so many things left unsaid between us. We haven't seen or spoken to each other in a year, but it was something I thought I had accepted and proceeded to bury in my mind.

So it came as a bit of a shock to me that I reimagined my old college cafeteria, a cursed place for me, as a retro futuristic diner from the 50's, complete with wall decals of old-school Cadillacs and Mustangs hung up the wall. The walls themselves were a swirl of gold and blue, gradiating out from darker to lighter shades of yellow and cerulean, as well as the whole scene: the checkered tablecloths, the salt and pepper shakers, the adverts, the wooden counter tops, and the art murals. I genuinely thought I would never see this place again, because if there's one place that knows all about failure, it's here. But if that wasn't enough, what truly surprised me was just around the corner.

I saw you again, standing as you were holding a tray of sausage links and biscuits with gravy by the lunch counters, looking at me in a way as if nothing ever happened between us. Even though you were 6 feet away, your outfit was still recognizable: some slick silver chains, a vintage Seattle SuperSonics pullover, fitted black sweatpants with graphic rose inlays sewn on the ankles, and an old, worn down pair of golden Converses (the low-tops). As I scanned you up and down, I couldn't believe it. That was the same attire you wore when we first met. The outfit was so mismatched in a way that circled back into sincerity, as if you shopped at a really cool thrift store from an upside down California. I couldn't fathom a style that only you can pull off, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I liked that about you.

And yet you managed to outshine it all. Your dark, tousled hair was a rugged, tangled mess that somehow came together; your almond brown eyes sparkled in the fluorescent lights, giving you a subtly mischievous glimmer; your strong nose, that thing you've always told me you hated, framed the rest of your face effortlessly; your soft, round lips, naturally pouty, coalesced into a crooked smile, and it still makes me chuckle thinking about it; your ears are just like mine: they protrude out into the wild like monkeys, and I feel that it is one part of your face that connects us together the most. Your structured cheekbones and jawline evoke those of royalty, almost signaling my lack of worth to bask in your presence. Your skin reminded me of alabaster, subtly tinged with a pinkish hue, as if you've just recently ran a mile. Your slightly bulky and muscular frame fills out the nooks and crannies of your outfit, hugging your body's curves in more ways than one. Your hands somehow gave it all away, tapping nervously on the tray of breakfast food you carried. All in all, you were just breathtaking to me. You were just a guy, yet you walked like a god among men. I remember. I remember so much.

Fuck. It's starting to hit me. My chest is swelling with guilt, and my body is becoming overwhelmed with emotion. I don't remember much from that day other than the fact that you caught me by surprise. You got me. And the fact that you didn't have to do that much infuriated me. Honest to god, who made it your mission to strike me down like this? Who told you to steal my heart like a bounty hunter without having to try at all? There's so many words I can say to you to take this moment back. God, I wish I could have said no to you. I wish I could take back everything I've ever done to get me to that moment. But at the same time, I've somehow subconsciously craved your presence, that seeing you in my dreams like this, I could just fall apart right now. I may have had my fleeting crushes and flings with other silly little men in my life, but you were the one that stopped me at my tracks. You looked at me and I felt the opposite of shame. For the first time in my life, I felt seen by someone, anyone, that cared or gave a damn about me other than my family.