In the Dark

I really don’t care that you look different in the dark.

I know you think I do. Or rather, you think that I must. Who couldn’t?

But I don’t.

I love the you inside you. And I love the outside in all its shades, in all its conditions and secrets and promises.

That is, after all, supposed to be the deal.

You feel the same way about me, right?

#

“Well, it’s different. You can at least say you’re normal?”

“Hey!”

“Not in an insulting way. But… you fit in. You’re… acceptable.”

“Thin ice, buddy. I’m way more than normal. And if anybody thinks I’m acceptable it’s only because they’re not paying attention.”

“It’s not the same. Come on, you know it’s not the same… and if people did know…”

“Well, it’s not as if I’m going to tell them.”

#

Sometimes I think you’re right. Sometimes I think you’re wrong.

Oh, I suppose, really, you are right. It’s just sad. It’s just this terrible indictment on humanity that they could be scared away by a little deformity, a little difference, a hint of magic.

What a pack of unbelievable wusses. Because I like you just the way you are. I take you just the way I find you. Whether it’s the you I find by day: the pale-haired young man in a bluish shirt and grey chinos, with such a mild, welcoming, honest face that it’s hard to imagine anyone not liking him. There’s something about you that’s handsome enough – though maybe not Greek-God or Italian-Lover gorgeous – but more than that, trustworthy, comforting, and yet still decisive, still enticing. I love the grey of your eyes, the little ridge just above your nose, I like the cross-cut at the bottom of your chin, that makes you look chiseled without looking blocky.

I remember when I saw you first, leaning out of that ice-cream truck. It would be disingenuous to say that I precisely fell in love, but there was definitely something there. There was a spark. There was a reason I went straight over there and ordered up an ice-cream cone. There was a reason that as soon as I’d finished that ice-cream cone I went right back over there are ordered a sundae.

“Coming right up tomorrow,” you told me cheerfully.

It was a Saturday. That’s how I first learnt you were funny.

#

I get your reluctance now, though, you know, it nearly cost you a girlfriend?

You liked me. We hit it off. Our conversation sparkled. But you knew, sooner or later, I was going to see you after dark.

Our first date was in broad daylight. Skating and lunch.

You told me you didn’t really do movies. I get why, now.

But I was persistent. Because when I know what I want I know what I want. And it was you.

You wondered if you could tell me anything. If you could show me anything.

I told you that of course you could.

I was still surprised, on that lonely beach, as we watched the sun set. As I watched your face set. I wasn’t expecting to see the way your skin dappled and dimpled, or the glow that came into your eyes, the way your ears grew – almost animal – and the way your bones morphed beneath your skin.

You thought I was going to scream and run. But I didn’t, did I? There was a part of me that nearly screamed – I’ll admit it – and the first question I wanted to blurt out was “what are you?!” but I could see, even then, when your eyes were literally glowing like candle flames in a soft shade of carnelian, that you were still really you. There was no question of that. So, I asked you instead, “how do you do that?”

You told me: “This is me. What I’m like inside. All my family. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

As if I could think for half of a second you would actually hurt me!

That’s why I kissed those tall, fox-like ears; those lips that had long, curved teeth curling over them; the skin that felt almost scaly; your altered chin and cheeks. I kissed them all to prove to you that they didn’t matter at all.

#

“There’s nobody like you,” you tell me as we walk along the street after dark. You have a hoodie that you can pull quickly over your head should anyone approach. But it’s late at night on a Wednesday – or should I say early on a Thursday? – and nobody passes us by.

“Oh, I expect there is.”

“No. Really. Nobody else would have accepted me this readily.”

“People could surprise you.”  But people have an ugly side. I can see why he wouldn’t want to risk it. And it makes me feel special just to know that he took this chance on me, and only me.

“I’ll marry you one day,” you say. And I know you mean it.

The first time you asked me, you asked me, “Would you rather have sex with the lights on?”

I snapped off the table-side light and pretty much jumped on you. I was mauling you with my lips. I couldn’t wait to get your clothes off – what was it like under there with the lights off? The only thing I said to you that night before we got down to it was, “don’t worry, we all look a little bit different in the dark.”

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work