It was 9:40 PM.
I stepped outside into the chilly night air for my final cigarette before retiring.
I fingered the top button of my long-sleeved shirt, and pulled up the collar to keep the coldness off the back of my neck. It was so cold, even the tree frogs were silent for the first time in weeks. Fall was here and browned oak leaves and myriads of dry pine needles covered the ground, shown only by the small light on the lamp post at the corner of the property, twenty-five feet away.
Not even a slight breeze rustled the dusty, musky carpet, a pleasant change from the grueling constant winds of the past four days.
I inhaled deeply of the smoke, held it briefly and released it, watching the plumes rise -- plumes not only from the tobacco, but also from the warmth of the breath forcing it out.
A lone wolf cried -- deep voiced and recognizable by its tremolo -- and was quickly joined by that of another, and then other voices, coyote voices both young and adult. A cacophony of tones growing louder and louder, more urgent and even fearful and terrifying; tones signifying hierarchical warnings or fightings, perhaps over a late night snack. Neighboring dogs joined in the symphony, from soprano to baritone.
And then a solitary gun shot.
A few final yelps and all was silent.
I sucked in another warm drag of smoke, tilted my head back, and offered the incense to the gods of the night. I looked into the blackness of the cloudless heavens and beheld the icy brilliance of millions of stars, usually not seen in a more polluted sky. I closed my eyes and drifted.
I was once again in the neighborhood family restaurant that my friend and I had just left an hour ago. And then I remembered.
Upon arriving, and waiting to be shown to our table, another couple was waiting to pay their bill before leaving. A young man, late twenties or early thirties, saw us come in. He glanced at me; I at him. Something stirred in my chest. His friend, an older man perhaps in his fifties or sixties, had turned his attention to the cashier. Were they father and son? Or was their relationship something else?
The young man looked away and then back at me. Was there just the very faint indication of a smile? Some sparkle in his eyes? I felt a guarded curve cross my lips. I fought to keep from allowing my breathing to become faster. I couldn't take my eyes off of HIM.
My partner, my lover, my companion, my ... friend ... and I have been together for more than four decades, with a decade difference in our ages, my being the younger. We've been monogamous now for more than twenty-three years, but he knows that my eyes still wander. I know he saw what was going on between the young man and me, though he hasn't, and probably won't, mention it.
I can't get the vision of his beautiful eyes, his charming smile, out of my head. I know we'll meet again.
The noise of silence assaulted my inner-ears, there on the front steps in the cold night air. I was hearing my own heartbeat, my own pulse. I took another drag and then extinguished the burning tobacco. I knew I had to write this down. I came inside and began.
The noise of silence continues and my heart beats fast ... once again.