Read Online A Horse Named Sorrow by Trebor Healey - Free Book Online

and grunts and giggles, the sexy smell of Jimmy’s sweat, the taste of cigarettes in his mouth, the sweet thought of living out good luck, and all the different textures of him: scruffy chin, slippery lips, the soft leather of his cock skin, the cold slippery yellow-rain-jacket feel of his back, the soft tender skin stretched tight on his belly, the thick, hard rubbery stiffness of his nipples, the endless cartographic texture of his balls and his rough hairy shins and bony feet, his shoulders like bald tennis balls—and I was a dog for them.
    We bobbed for apples.
    Jimmy pulled me up onto my feet after we’d slaked our thirst. “Come on, Shame, my turn.” And he handed me a condom and up inside him I went: the rollercoaster, and no one driving. Just two boys along for the ride—and then like the sun from behind a cloud, a flashing burst of warmth and light, and ooh-ahh, and a great vista appeared with a meadow laid out before us, which was him and me and the night we would spend together—and the dreams there, the moon and stars.

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    The wine country was beautiful and all that, and the redwoods too, but everything I saw wasn’t really itself, but just something that in some way reminded me of Jimmy. I suppose I looked for him—or couldn’t stop looking for him—and so I’d find him in things: the melancholy sound of a breeze, or the way a door slammed in a house a hundred yards back from the road that had just a hint of a Buffalo twang. And there were oak trees, of course, that gestured with their branches just like he did; granite stones in the golden oak-studded hills that shared cheekbones with him; rounded grassy slopes that looked like him sleeping under blankets; rivers dimpled and smiling and full of his words; clouds that were his thoughts, wind his breath. Once, courtesy of a creek, I even heard the sweet sound of him peeing in the filthy little bathroom on Guerrero Street. And sun-dappled that pissy creek was too, from the overhanging buckeyes—trees that were just like Jimmy because they lost all their leaves too soon and died mid-summer.
    And at night, the mummy sleeping bag, which held me like he had.

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    Lucky we were both so skinny because Jimmy and I had to sleep that first night together on Guerrero Street in his sleeping bag, which left no room for anything but an embrace. When his eyes opened, I told him he needed a bed, and that we should go out today and get one for him.
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” he said groggily, “how ‘bout we go get yours.”
    Eyebrows high, the question that was my face. “Sure,” I agreed, “let’s go.” But I was careful not to act too enthused. Horses scared easy, like deer, birds, and stray dogs.
    Moving by cab was not uncommon in San Francisco, and that’s just what we did. It was a transient city, after all, so no one had much stuff and they were constantly relocating, either due to the complicated evictions of scheming landlords dodging the strict tenants’-rights laws, or due to new lovers, irreconcilable differences with roommates, wanderlust propelling them to the far ends of the earth, or perhaps new jobs that necessitated more convenient commutes, which in San Francisco meant not more than ten blocks or so—or if further, then at least accessible via a direct bus or rail line.
    Not that it was ever simple.
    â€œYou gotta give thirty days, Shame.”
    I just looked at her.
    â€œIsn’t there someone?”
    â€œYou know anyone?—reliable?”
    Tanya was right, and while I was flaky and irresponsible, I wasn’t a jerk and wasn’t going to stick it to her. Besides, after the recent ACT UP meeting, I had a newfound respect and admiration for Tanya, as well as a sudden ability to forgive her for sending Jimmy packing, since I’d tracked him down and was now about to be living with him. I didn’t always like her style, but she was just