Say You Will

I was looking for some papers in my shoe boxes files when I came across some old fotos of when I used to live in Atlanta. I sat down and thought about how incredible life was over a decade ago, when I lived in Atlanta, not even old enough to buy beer.

It was first time I ever lived on my own in the big city, and Atlanta left quite an impression on me; it set a high standard that I've used to compare other cities. It spoiled me in that I thought all clubs close at 4am, downtown was trendy and hip, and the trains were clean and efficient. I didn't have any family near me as the closest relatives were (and still are) on the West Coast--and it was fantastic! I did, however, have a great group of friends. One in particular was my closest and most exciting at the time. I shall call her Dee.

I first met Dee at work, when she gave me a ride home after we were done for the day. Dee was only a few years older than I; in fact, she's the one who usually got us the alcohol on our group outings. A true Southern belle, she was not only beautiful and smart, she had a fiery spirit and a wicked sense of humor that endeared her to me. When I met her, she was dating men. Within a month, she decided to try dating women. Though I was not a novice (nor an expert) on human relations when I first moved to Atlanta, hanging out with Dee left me feeling like I had lost my virginity all over again.

With so much freedom for the first time, I was reckless and having Dee around made life exciting. She took me to my first hip bar in midtown. I remember thinking, man, these are some totally hot babes in this joint! I was loving it. I fondly recall within the first 5 minutes of walking in the door, this short, sexy brunette with a bob strutted over to me and said, "Hi, I want to take you home and f*ck you til I pass out from exhaustion and gravity is the only thing keeping my ankles behind my ears! Wanna go home with me?"

Well, if I was cool, I'd've taken that drunk strumpet's offer and banged her like a drum in a marching band competition! Alas, I was so young and naive and could only respond with, "I'm here with somebody," nodding towards Dee, who was taking in the situation with a wicked smile.

Drunk strumpet looked Dee up and down before turning to me to say, "She can come, too."

"Honey, that's something I intend on doing, over and over again!", replied Dee.

At this point, my jaw dropped open and drunk strumpet took it as an invitation to probe my mouth with her tongue like a miner digging for gold. Then two women, one portly and the other tall, moved in and tried to remove drunk strumpet from her oral exploration of my mouth. They apologized profusely, saying that their friend, drunk strumpet, had too much to drink and wasn't normally so forward. Drunk strumpet then cupped my crotch and said,"You taste delicious!", before her friends hauled her out the door. Thus, the tone was set for my adventures with Dee.

Over the the next few months, Dee and I started to do more daring and exciting things. We started a friendly competition to see who could pick up the most babes; then it somehow involved picking up the same babes, but that's another story. A few times, we hung out with Dee's drug dealing gay brother and his court of queens and jesters. I found myself in the underground club scene, dancing all hours of the night and running from the cops when they raided house parties or raves in unoccupied office buildings and warehouses. I remember reading the society pages to plan which parties to crash, and getting dressed up to mingle among the self important, using fake names and pedigree. I also remember calling in at work with a family death so we could drive down to Florida for Spring Break and use fake identities to party with the college kids. I had told my boss that my grandmother has passed away--I just didn't tell her that Grandmother passed away long before I was born ;)

Dee eventually settled down with a woman, a sexy accountant with long, beautiful legs. They met at the Pride Parade--the first one I had ever attended. Dee decided to go back to school and become a chef. She all ready cooked great Southern cuisine, but she wanted to become a pastry chef. Eventually, life began to draw us into separate directions. I decided that maybe I should try a career change and go to college as well. Long before I left Atlanta, though, Dee and I were sitting on the rooftop of her 8 story building, drinking tequila sunrises, after a long night of club hopping, waiting for the sun to come up. We talked about the future, which was something we rarely did as we were live in the moment kind of people then. That was an omen I did not recognize of how we were becoming mature, more responsible adults.

Dee said she wanted to have children. I asked her what the sexy accountant thought about kids. Dee said they both discussed it, and it was something they both wanted in ten years or so. I suppose it's only natural for some women to want children. She also said that they wanted me to be the father. I did not hesitate to say yes; though, I could blame it on the alcohol, I really did mean it. Dee was that important to me. She still is. In some ways, I guess I was in love with her, a strange kind of love, but love nonetheless. It's getting close to that time when I promised Dee that I would do my part to help her have kids. The only thing is, time has made me a little unsure. I don't doubt Dee's parenting skills; she would make a fantastic parent. I don't doubt that I want to make her happy; I intend to do what I can to make her dreams come true. What I do doubt is my ability to cope with not being a father but rather a sperm donor.

I still will give Dee what she wants if she asks for it. It's just going to be really hard to think that I will not have the usual dad responsibilities. As much as I enjoy identifying myself as a modern, independent man, I guess I'm also a little bit old fashioned when it comes to having kids. I haven't spoken to Dee in months. In fact, we usually communicate with the a couple of emails, the birthday and holiday cards, and the rare phone calls when we actually manage to sit down and chat for hours. It's those few phone calls that let me know that we still have that connection, as we are able to pick up our conversation where we last left it and talk about everything and nothing at all.

Dee is still with sexy accountant. Though, she has yet to mention kids at all this year. She's busy with her catering company, and life's great. I confess that a part of me hopes that she's forgotten about our conversation and she won't ask me about our arrangement. I doubt it, though. At the time, we talked about doing it naturally, but I'm not sure if that's the right way to go. While I would still do Dee in a NY minute, I do have concerns about how her partner would feel about all of this, even if we all have a significant history. I guess I'll just cross that bridge when I come to it.

I had forgotten the papers I was looking for in the first place. I still haven't found them. I'd like to think that maybe by finding those pics, the universe is trying to tell me something: Get rid of the damn shoe boxes and get a real file cabinet, you bastard!