Blackout

Hi, my name is Cal.

WINSTON: Care for another drink?
ME: I always care, Winston. Always.

Winston buys me drinks.

Drinks.
Clothes.
Trips to the Bahamas.

You know, stuff like that.

In exchange, I hang out with him. Winston enjoys the company of younger men.

Let's get something straight though--I don't sleep with him.

I mean, I guess at some point I might have to in order to keep the gravy train on the tracks, and I'll wrestle with the moral implications of that when the time comes, but for now all I need to do is stand next to him at clubs, get dirty looks from boys who wish they had it as sweet as I do, and let him get me drunk.

These are all things I can do.

Winston and I were at Bowie's--closing the place down--when I started to feel sick.

WINSTON: What's wrong?
ME: I didn't eat today.
WINSTON: So then you shouldn't be sick.
ME: Ugh, I think I have to throw up.

The feeling came, then went, then came back again. Thankfully, it was time to leave anyway.

Winston got my coat and I hobbled outside. I sat down on the sidewalk outside the club and put my head between my knees.

Something was telling me someone had put a little extra extra in my drink. My vision was blurring and I couldn't seem to focus on any single thought.

That might be why I didn't look up until after I heard the noise.

It was almost like in a movie--an older movie, a cheesy 70's movie--when they do a flashback and they purposefully make the whole screen look out of focus except for what they want you to see. It was like I was only seeing what I had to, or I guess less than that since what I saw wasn't that helpful, and everything else was just hazy.

I saw Ben--up on the hood of a car--a car that had clearly just run into him.

Then he fell off the side of the car and into the road. The car took off.

I stood up, felt dizzy, started to call out "Help" and instead fell right into Winston's waiting arms.

WINSTON: I think you're going to stay at my place tonight, kiddo.

I tried to say "No," that a guy I knew was lying in the road where another car could come along and run him over, but no words were coming out.

ME: Can't...I have to...
WINSTON: Ssshh, don't worry. I'll take care of my little boy.

He practically carried me away, and all I could think of was that car. Despite the fact that I couldn't see the person driving it, I had the distinct feeling that I knew whoever it was.

And then I blacked out completely.