I loved you, Gus

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Only a few more minutes. A few more. Then I
won't have to make a decision.

Warmly lighted in the next house, I see a game of poker through the
window. I see, with no trouble, three men all sitting with their beers
laughing. My living room is empty, save for the aloof Persian on the
back of the sofa and the tiny chittering rodent residing within my
insulation. I nervously tap my finger in time with the clock, in time
with the twitching of the cat's tail. I look out the window again.
They're still there. He is dead center, the others separated like the
Red sea, the four men framing, flaunting him. I wanted him-to talk, to
hold, to smell his hair. I wanted to walk the twenty feet in the
driving rain, to stand on the doorstep and knock, shivering, then to
say, "I'm looking for Gus." But they looked so happy-why would any
of
them especially him want me to come looking? They, he, wouldn't. So I
wasn't going to go over. They were too happy, too, too-I don't know.
But they didn't want to see me. So I wouldn't go. I looked at him,
wearing his prim French blue oxford, unbuttoned two down. He laughed,
showing his interestingly imperfect white grin. My heart ached knowing
how close he was, that it would take three minutes, maybe less, to go
over and be able to run my fingers through the raw black silk that was
his hair down to the blacker stubble along his jaw. He was
so-close.

They began discarding empty beer bottles, collecting their winnings. He
stood, smiling again. "I love you!" I cried from behind my white
organza curtains, "I love you!" I cried again. He didn't hear me. All
but one filed from the house, out into the drenching rain. Laughing and
joking, they each made their ways to their separate cars. My Gus pulled
from the curb first. My Gus pulled from the curb, right into a speeding
Dodge Ram.

My cat continued to thump her tail against the sofa, the rodent
scurried up into the ceiling, and the clock ticked by the minutes. I
sat still. I hadn't know him, never met him, never even knew what color
eyes he had. Now I never would. I whispered, past the organza and
beyond the rain "I loved you, Gus."