Emotional Boys 2000

38

A.N. Halloween is best holiday. Period.

Time streamed through a incredibly fast tunnel as if it didn't even happen at all. Through all the crying, the intense therapy sessions, the cleaning of wounds and the endless counting of numbers, I've found myself well into the month of October. Specifically October thirtieth, the night before Halloween.

Harris, dressed in the black and gold stripped tie, accompanied with a pinstripe black suit from Valentino, is trying to pull off the look of Jordan Belfort from the Wolf of Wall Street. So he's essentially just dressed up as a stock broker... which is... you know, his job already. So in my opinion: dumb, lazy idea that he's foolish to be upset about people not being unable to guess.

"Is it a sad thing to do to buy your own candy on Halloween? I don't have kids to steal from!" He offers the question over the loud, corny music of the Monster Mash, fingers attacking at the packaging of an Oh Henry bar, making me roll my eyes at him.

"Just go to one of those crazy Halloween parties tomorrow night like the rest of us and have the candy there!" I tell him, flipping my lighter open and watching it engulf the end of my cigar in flames for a moment.

I'm not a smoker particularly, but I've come to enjoy the occasional cigar from time to time. Cigar, not cigarette... there's just an art form to having a really fucking nice cigar. Tonight I'll be enjoying one from Montecristo... yep, things have been a bit different since Marshall and I have parted ways...

I started to get used to life without him again, as it once was before his presence ever formed in my life and heart. I've come to a form of peace about the whole situation, and though everything has become a lot less painful as of late, it doesn't change the fact that it doesn't count as growth. Doesn't count as a reason to reach out to Marshall and tell him I'm ready. I'm not and I definitely don't think he is either.

When April rolled around, I had turned on my tv one night after getting off work, completely disinterested in actually paying attention to the news. However, this wasn't a luxury I was afforded, screen flashing large words encapsulating the death or Proof. The death of Deshaun. The death of someone so integrally important to Marshall, yet someone I barely took the time to know. I could barely register the moment as images of him with Marshall appeared on screen, making me want to rip my stomach out just at the thought of what Marshall was feeling.

After that, he canceled his tour, and he disappeared from the public eye incredibly quickly.

I never reached out, him never to me, as it's what we agreed, but I felt there was this particular kind of disturbing etching in the background of my mind, telling me something absolutely horrible was going to happen... or is happening.

I've grown to distance myself from it, barely caring for the feeling anymore. I told myself that Marshall is a strong guy and he can make his way through it, so it's a waste of my mental energy to worry too much.

"What's with the dress, you supposed to be something?" I hear Adams ask me, pulling me completely out of my long trail of thoughts, seemingly endless without intervention.

"Not particularly, I'm dressed as a woman or more specifically maybe myself, because the other three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year I'm parading around as a man" I chuckle, taking a long drag from the pricy Dominican cigar, tasting the notes of cedar and maybe even something like buttered toast mingling with the very present hint of cashew, earth, and white pepper.

I've found myself more spontaneous and... I guess happy lately. I guess it can be useful to have a therapist, huh? Who would have thought?

There are certain things he's said that I've kept near and dear to my heart, as if mantras in some way.