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Authors: Edited by Selena Kitt
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yourself."
"I
will," Spencer says, even though the homeless guy has already turned his
back and started away.
After a moment,
Spencer and Brad start walking again. Spencer's hand accidentally brushes the
back of Brad's as they go. Then Brad's hand touches Spencer's—and stays.
As they walk by the convenience store, Spencer glances in the window. Instead
of cartons of cigarettes and snack cakes and bags of chips, he sees the All-American
Boy-Next-Door walking through a sparkling haze of street and seasonal lights,
Tall-Dark-and-Sort-of-Okay-Looking at his side. Spencer's mouth curves up on
one side and the tall, dark-haired boy half-smiles back.
Their hands stay
touching even when they pass someone on the street. "Nice night for
it," the guy nods casually as they go by.
They don't say
anything. But yeah—it is.
About Mallory
Path
A dedicated daydreamer born in Manhattan, Mallory
Path now lives across the bay from San Francisco. Mal used to rage against
classification by pronouns, but has come to terms with that failure of language
and now answers to “he” or “she”-or, under the right conditions with the right
persons-”it.” She prefers hope to happiness, which is often reflected in her
fiction. When not writing gay love stories, Mal enjoys cuddling her hamsters,
napping, and planning fantasy vacations that she will never be able to afford.
Visitors to her website, A Lyrical Bent (http://mallorypath.com), are most
welcome.
CHRISTMAS IN PARADISE
By Phillip Sweeny
I did not think
I could endure another holiday season alone in the snow with jingling bells and
sweet smelling firs. Three years without Marie was enough. So at the age of
fifty, I decided to take my loneliness and go to paradise. I searched the
meeting calendar and found one. It looked like it might be informative. As a
bonus, it was in Hawaii and the Big Island certainly had its attractions, so I
took off with high expectations.
There was one
Christmas tree in the lobby of the resort, and it was an artificial one,
decorated with Hawaiian artifacts. I was glad, for the less brain stimulation I
had to endure, the better. Here and there, scattered among its branches, I
noticed a few token Christmas balls depicting winter scenes from the mainland. I
ignored them with a dedicated purpose, not wanting to be reminded of my pain
and loss.
Even though the
island temperature stayed between seventy and seventy-nine degrees, I could not
get Marie and the icy day out of my mind. Marie had been my one true love. We
had started out at sixteen. Neither one of us had ever known anyone else, but
three Christmas’s ago she had been taken away from me. I could still feel the
car sliding on the ice and hear her screams as we plowed headfirst into the
guardrail, flipping over and falling into the icy creek below. How I had
survived, and why, I’ll never know.
The flight
across the ocean was uneventful and the meeting was going well, but I was still
lonely. Perhaps I had made the wrong choice as I was still having trouble
sleeping. The last two nights I had awakened at three a.m., tossing and turning
so much. I felt like I was going crazy. I was getting sore. I had to do
something to get relief, so tonight I decided to avoid all the flopping about and
take a book to the lobby and read.
The only person
I saw as I walked through the lobby at two-thirty in the morning was the young
girl at the front desk. By her coloring and dress, she had to be Hawaiian. She
appeared to be about half my age. She smiled at me as I passed by her on my way
to the reading couch, which was in a corner next to the artificial tree.
“Having trouble
sleeping, sir?” she asked. She had a sweet smile and her lips were full and
red.
“Yes,” I
answered in a hoarse whisper, not looking for conversation.
“Nice pajamas,”
she said.
I looked down at
myself in surprise. I had worn a pair of blue operating room scrubs to sleep in
and had forgotten to change as I left the
"I
will," Spencer says, even though the homeless guy has already turned his
back and started away.
After a moment,
Spencer and Brad start walking again. Spencer's hand accidentally brushes the
back of Brad's as they go. Then Brad's hand touches Spencer's—and stays.
As they walk by the convenience store, Spencer glances in the window. Instead
of cartons of cigarettes and snack cakes and bags of chips, he sees the All-American
Boy-Next-Door walking through a sparkling haze of street and seasonal lights,
Tall-Dark-and-Sort-of-Okay-Looking at his side. Spencer's mouth curves up on
one side and the tall, dark-haired boy half-smiles back.
Their hands stay
touching even when they pass someone on the street. "Nice night for
it," the guy nods casually as they go by.
They don't say
anything. But yeah—it is.
About Mallory
Path
A dedicated daydreamer born in Manhattan, Mallory
Path now lives across the bay from San Francisco. Mal used to rage against
classification by pronouns, but has come to terms with that failure of language
and now answers to “he” or “she”-or, under the right conditions with the right
persons-”it.” She prefers hope to happiness, which is often reflected in her
fiction. When not writing gay love stories, Mal enjoys cuddling her hamsters,
napping, and planning fantasy vacations that she will never be able to afford.
Visitors to her website, A Lyrical Bent (http://mallorypath.com), are most
welcome.
CHRISTMAS IN PARADISE
By Phillip Sweeny
I did not think
I could endure another holiday season alone in the snow with jingling bells and
sweet smelling firs. Three years without Marie was enough. So at the age of
fifty, I decided to take my loneliness and go to paradise. I searched the
meeting calendar and found one. It looked like it might be informative. As a
bonus, it was in Hawaii and the Big Island certainly had its attractions, so I
took off with high expectations.
There was one
Christmas tree in the lobby of the resort, and it was an artificial one,
decorated with Hawaiian artifacts. I was glad, for the less brain stimulation I
had to endure, the better. Here and there, scattered among its branches, I
noticed a few token Christmas balls depicting winter scenes from the mainland. I
ignored them with a dedicated purpose, not wanting to be reminded of my pain
and loss.
Even though the
island temperature stayed between seventy and seventy-nine degrees, I could not
get Marie and the icy day out of my mind. Marie had been my one true love. We
had started out at sixteen. Neither one of us had ever known anyone else, but
three Christmas’s ago she had been taken away from me. I could still feel the
car sliding on the ice and hear her screams as we plowed headfirst into the
guardrail, flipping over and falling into the icy creek below. How I had
survived, and why, I’ll never know.
The flight
across the ocean was uneventful and the meeting was going well, but I was still
lonely. Perhaps I had made the wrong choice as I was still having trouble
sleeping. The last two nights I had awakened at three a.m., tossing and turning
so much. I felt like I was going crazy. I was getting sore. I had to do
something to get relief, so tonight I decided to avoid all the flopping about and
take a book to the lobby and read.
The only person
I saw as I walked through the lobby at two-thirty in the morning was the young
girl at the front desk. By her coloring and dress, she had to be Hawaiian. She
appeared to be about half my age. She smiled at me as I passed by her on my way
to the reading couch, which was in a corner next to the artificial tree.
“Having trouble
sleeping, sir?” she asked. She had a sweet smile and her lips were full and
red.
“Yes,” I
answered in a hoarse whisper, not looking for conversation.
“Nice pajamas,”
she said.
I looked down at
myself in surprise. I had worn a pair of blue operating room scrubs to sleep in
and had forgotten to change as I left the
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