Rick's Flight

(continued)

By T. Richard Williams

8.

Rick stood at the doorway of his darkened guest room. Sayeed seemed asleep.

Well, he thinks. Your fantasy is fulfilled. You've got him in your bed. Except in this version, there's no love making.

From the first time he saw him, Rick's felt more than a twinge of attraction. Then they started to talk, and it turned out the guy was here on a five-year student visa that was about to expire, that he was trying to find a way to stay. He'd dropped out of school and was now working at Starbucks here on Long Island. In the meantime, Rick went every morning before work — even though it was out of his way — to say hello. That led to sharing Sayeed's break time in the parking lot, talking about music, politics, art. Then Rick got the idea to invite him over when he was showing a movie to some friends. One thing after another, more movie nights, even a few trips to Manhattan to museums and once to the New York Philharmonic.

Rick saw his initial lust transform into genuine feelings of friendship for this — kid. He's just a kid, he'd say to himself. I'm 24 years older than he is, for Christ's sake.
But that didn't seem to matter to Sayeed. He seemed to look forward to their times together. He began text-messaging Rick from time to time, started bringing him books, even bought him a present — a really nice Calvin Klein cologne collection — for Christmas.

The attraction was still there.

So was the love.

Sayeed must have sensed him. He stirred. "Hi."

"Hi."

Rick sat down on the bed.

"Thank you." Did he hear a crack in Sayeed's voice?

"For what?"

"For this. For letting me stay the night. For being a friend."

"Because I love you." Rick was surprised by how deeply he felt the words.

"I know."

"I mean as a friend." He felt self-conscious.

Sayeed put his hand on Rick's arm. "Believe me, if I weren't straight, or if it simply were a matter of choice, I'd love to be with you." He squeezed a little. "In that way, I mean."

Rick let the words register. He even feels his heart race for a moment, but all he could say was, "Really?"

"Yes."

In the dim light, they looked at each other. Rick bent down and rested his head on Sayeed's chest. He finally understood why people started dancing or breaking into song in a Broadway show. "Then I'm glad were friends."

"Me, too." Then he said again: "I'm scared."

"Me, too."

"I spoke with my brother before. I'm leaving Saturday evening. Maybe 7 or 7:30. I forget. It'll be on the ticket when I print it out."

"You can print it here."

"No. I'll do it somewhere else. I don't want to do anything that gets you in trouble."

Rick lifted his head. "Well, I think I've stepped over that line already. Maybe. Who knows?"

"Who knows?"

"So. Definitely London, huh?"

"Yeah, London."

Rick sat up and put his hand over Sayeed's heart and let out a deep breath.

Sayeed rested his hand on top of Rick's. "Today I'm taking the train to my cousin in Manhattan. I'll leave from there."

"When do you have to go?"

Sayeed pulled his cell from under the pillow and squinted at the display. "A couple of hours."

"I'll let you sleep till then. I'll wake you a half hour or so before. Enough time?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Rick got up slowly and walked out of the room.

That's when he decided to book his own flight.

He wasn't exactly sure why, though for one second he thought: Why am I obsessed with him? But he let that thought dissolve.

Does he expect to meet up with his friend in London?

But the thoughts returned. What am I doing? How the hell do I explain this? To anyone? To myself? Are you trying to be a hero? Are you trying to make sure he stays safe? Are you — what? Are you afraid of being alone? What the fuck are you trying to do?

He sat in front of the monitor, pulling up flight information. To Dublin first, then to London.

He realized it was not a choice. He laughed at his thought: I cannot not do this.