Won't See You Again

Years ago when I was a young man on the edge of everything, I lived on Miami Beach. I knew a wonderful man called Stockert, and I fell in love with him in just one breath. So we never touched, but he made love to my mind in a thousand ways no one else ever has. The years dissappeared and much has gone by since then. But like a shadow, the ghost of your first love will never leave you until the day that you die. And he was mine.

I was some kind of vagrant singing the blues when I left him there-out there on the edge of the world with the weird, low skies that were never really black with night. I could not say goodbye, I knew I'd lose my cool. I kissed his cheek and said "I'll see you around." That night at 4 AM I packed up my red honda civic with a few things and made the fourteen hour drive back to the Lowcountry. I said a prayer to the wind, a pact of the blood: "Someday I'll see you again." And I fully believed it.

In those years since, I've thought of him frequently. Almost daily. I have looked forward to seeing him again. I never really doubted that I would. That I would see him again. I've addressed him in prayers and in thoughts. "Stockert, Stockert, Stockert;" his name became a rosary for me.

A few nights ago in my dreams, I was sitting on the floating dock of my family's house at Pawley's Island. My feet dangled in the water, and I knew that when night came it would glow with phosphoresence. It felt silky like that. Silky like it does when the water glows. Dream-hours passed in my contentment, and then the sky rent before me. It was as though a glowing zipper had opened before me in blinding light-and out stepped Chris Stockert onto that floating dock. The weight of his arrival caused little ripples in the water, little ripples in my heart.

He kissed me abruptly, almostly harshly. "I won't be seeing you again, J. I have to go-I'm going so far away that no one I have known will ever see me again. But I wanted to tell you that I love you."

Hot dream-tears flowed down my face as he stepped back into the sky. This time, as he left the dock, no ripples were made in the water from his departure. He became light, he became an orb of light-and went off at blinding speed into the sky. Gone.

I curled onto my side and wept violently. I felt like an amputee. Something of my soul left with him. The marsh grasses swayed hypnotically in the Lowcountry breeze. The salt smelled more astringent than ever, and the night fell.

I woke still crying with the certainty that he had died. Wherever that boy I love so much has gone, I have no doubt that I won't see him again-not now, not tomorrow, and probably not in the afterlife. He heard his call to duty, or to necessity-and there will be no more.

Chris Stockert, I want you to know-as you already do-that I have loved you immensely and that you will always hold a special place in my heart. If those wild winds ever do blow us back together, I've got a Blue Moon with your name on it. And I'll always remember the mossy, pond water green of your eyes. And I'll never forget your smell, your shape, your soul. You have...been the SUN for me.

Be well my beloved.