dear larry

That night, in Dublin, you weren’t my first offer. Some guys we had been sitting with offered to take me golfing on the couple of days I had free after my sister left. I love golfing, and they were very nice guys. You were standing by yourself, no one around, in the middle of a busy bar. Or maybe, that’s how I saw you. The grin on your face was mysterious, and my sister spoke to you first, told me you claimed to be from Belgique. The accent wasn’t so far off, but when I tried to speak to you in French, the blank look on your face told me you were throwing me a load of blarney. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, intrigued, but not enough to digest why you’d try to pass yourself off as someone else. When I got back, you asked me if I liked to surf. Wondering why, I, of course couldn’t answer yes or no, had to answer a question with a question. Finally you asked me if I wanted to go surfing with you, the day after next. I just said yes.

When I tried to call the next day to arrange our meeting spot, I was really nervous. I felt like I was calling a boy for the first time, and even though you’d asked me, I didn’t know why. I had to call 4 times, and ask the guy at the front desk how to even dial, as I had no idea. I finally got through, and we planned to meet the next day.

Trinity College is a big place in the middle of busy Dublin, I saw you right away, tall with windswept hair and a smattering of freckles with those mischievous green eyes. You didn’t see me right away, so I followed you into the stone courtyard till you turned around and saw me standing in the middle, waiting for you. I followed you back to your car, and carried my own bag, even after you offered twice. Typical surfer boy, you were wearing flip flops, had a station wagon complete with a surf board inside and sand everywhere. The drive was four hours, and I had brought some roadies just in case. The countryside was beautiful as we drove across Ireland, and we even met some gypsies along the way (they were kind enough to wave back at us with their middle fingers). You told me about your family, and I told you about mine. The conversation was easy, and the ride went fast. When we got to Strandhill, that little beach town on the edge of the northwest coast, the sun was low, and it was windy but beautiful. We got out to walk on the sand barefoot, check out the surf, and then drove up to your friend’s cozy cottage.

You made me feel at home, you warned me about his big dog, offered me tea, and sat me down to smoke a joint, have a tea, and throw around some bullshit with your buddy. You arranged for a surf board and wetsuit for me and we drove out to the spot. Cows munching on grass bordering the rocky beach, I felt like I was in another world. The freezing water didn’t even faze me. I was surfing in Ireland in September with a gorgeous boy I had just met. It was fabulous. We each changed on either side of the car, and when I got back in, I was freezing. You touched my eyelashes, amazed at the power of waterproof mascara. And then you kissed me. Softly, it sent chills down my spine. I opened my eyes and saw yours closed.

We went for dinner and then met with some of your friends at a pub, where real Irish musicians were jamming together. I wanted more kisses and so did you. We both agreed we weren’t the PDA type of people, but we couldn’t help ourselves. After going back to your friend’s cottage, we sat around and smoked some more, but I was tuckered and went to bed. You automatically assumed we would share, and I’m glad for it. You cuddled up to me, holding me close, still chilled from surfing in the cold. We didn’t waste time, and I’m glad because it was one of the best nights of my life.

I had to leave the next day, quite early as I had planned to meet a girlfiend in Dublin and couldn’t reschedule. You begged me to stay the weekend, come out to a surf festival with you. It was the hardest 'no' of my life. I wanted to drop everything, stay with you, drive around finding surf spots, camping out where we could, smoking irish spliffs, living like gypsies, warm in your arms. But I had to go.

(to be continued….)