Revision of story #1

Stumbling up stairs in a subway station in Hoboken trying to escape what it is I do not know. I don’t know where I am and am scared of what might not be, thinking of other times past when I played games with my computer and exposed myself to people half a world away, my mind naked to be judged and thrown away or used in any way imaginable. They always needed me, I thought, but now, for the first time, I wonder if I’ve done the right thing. Never before have I traveled so far to risk so much, never taken the chance of shattering so many illusions and with nowhere to go. Three hours on a train, a hike across the city, one more subway carrying me into unknown territory. I sigh, and remember that it’s not appearances that count; as always, we share one mind and I take it further. It is hot and sweaty and I climb up those stairs, stumbling once again and smash my hip on a turnstile. Red plaid flannel, black cords, and a hat, I know what to look for. I don’t know what to do if that is David behind me and wonder how to deal, this stranger I see just doesn’t feel right. When I lose sight of him I am both scared and confused and in a small way relieved. If it’s not him, good, but what if it is and he is just running away from me? It’s not David, just someone dressed like him. The sunset over Manhattan eases my weary soul as I watch the kids on skateboards, doing the same tricks I did all those years ago. David. The two of us laugh, talk, we drink beer and eat sprouts in the village, I see the club or hotel where G.G. Allin died. When I think of David’s poems and soft voice on the telephone screaming out the anger we both know, and see his body before me, I am glad to spend a week with him. This is what matters most right now, that I will always have a friend who knows what it is to be me, I just hope that he doesn’t forget. Already, he has been hardened to life in the city, the concrete, the pavement, the seeming lack of hopes and dreams. It’s enough just to survive. I see the bloodstains on his wall, memories of a pain he will never forget, I don’t know why he did it but it almost enhances his beauty. I appreciate my time here, I want to be close to him always. So we held hands in the park and he teased me about brain damage, I’ll never know who truly cares, I just want to be free. Both happy to go and sad to leave him, I know that our friendship may never be the same. They rarely are. Walking six blocks in city heat, dodging hell and traffic with a backpack and one large army bag, I cry and drink water and lace my boots tighter, sparing change for those more desperate than I. I can do this. Saved by a cigarette for one fleeting moment, I make the trip homeward. Confused and alone, I know what it is to be young.