Coach Guy

London can be a big scary place sometimes, even when you've lived here for as long as I have. I think I'm trying to try and find a way to talk about something, anything really. But it's not always easy when you don't have a topic in mind…

 I'm looking at all the pictures of people I've loved and I find it hard to remember some of them. That's crazy. I genuinely loved them and now I don't even remember what for. But it comes back quickly when I think about it for a few minuets. Like this guy, Max. I met him on a long coach journey. I was coming from Glasgow, one of the best cities in the world, to London. So we were sitting next to each other for a long time. But the moment he walked onto the coach and looked around for a spare seat I was willing him to sit next to me. This seat. Here. Here. He wasn't even looking at me, he was looking for a seat by himself. But there weren't any left on the coach. Come on I won't bite... unless you like it. He looked down at me and said; 'Mind if I sit hear?' So that was the moment, rubbish right? That was the moment I fell in love. I didn't know anything about him at that point but at the same time I did. I could tell he was a very self conscious type of person from the way he looked around the coach. And he didn't make eye contact with me when he asked a direct question. To me that's instantly endearing, especially when I find a person hot. And he was hot, and well dressed. It almost made me think he had a girlfriend, but the stubble made me doubt that. He had a refined voice, which I couldn't quite place, I'm good with accents so that's surprising. Therefore I was very intrigued by him even though I knew stuff about him. I obviously told him he could sit.

'Where are you heading?' I asked. He looked a little startled, people don't often talk on coaches. 'London', he said, 'but then I'm not so sure.' Well now this was interesting. Because he had said something that was clearly baiting me into further conversation. 

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Well I don't know where I'm going to stay, cause my brother is having problems with his wife, and my sister only has a tiny sofa.' Youngest of three and not actually from London. Definitely the south of England though.

'Big families, you'd think they'd be more reliable but they never are.' He laughs at this.

'Tell me about it.' At this he goes into his backpack. Inside there's just a small blank canvas and a case of arty stuff. I love artists, they're always so ready to fall in love. Now you may think, Dave, how can you generalise like that. But hear me out. Artists want to be in love with something, and by artists I don't just mean people who draw. Musicians, writers, anyone creative. They love to be in love, or obsessed with something. Even if it’s pain. They don’t do things by half’s. I guess it stems from the attention they have to put into a piece or whatever. Max, although I didn't know his name at this point, was becoming this amazing person right in front of my eyes. I was in love with him, I loved what I assumed his life was, how he would react in certain situations, how he looked, everything. His hair was amazing. You know you get people who just have really great hair? He was one of those people. 'What have you been doing in Glasgow?' He asked me after a minuet or so. Now we had a two way dialogue, this was going well. 'Just visiting a friend who moved up here, I knew her in school and it's been ages since we saw each other.' Not a lie, but it'd also been ages since we'd slept together so we had to meet up really. 'That's cool, kinda been doing the same. I've not really got a home at the moment, so I'm dossing on people sofa's and spare rooms.' Oh My God just let me save you and make it all okay and we’ll cuddle and fuck and it’ll be amazing! - Was an approximate thought. 

'Sounds rough, how long you been at it?’

'Almost six months. I've been through so much of the country, and to be honest I don't know why I'm doing it. But once i've been somewhere for a few weeks I start to realise how much the people want me gone. So I move on and let them get back to normal.'

'And so London?'

'Yeah, it's kinda a last resort. I hate asking for stuff of my siblings but it's become necessary.' I think about telling him to come and stay with me and he can fall in love with me right back if he wants to and then everything will be okay... but I don’t. I don’t even know if he’s gay or not… I mean I had vague idea. Well clearly he is, I know that now, but not then okay. 

So we talked all the way to London. Oh lord how we talked. *Disclaimer: when I use the lords name, I am doing it because people in my family do and it’s a habit I’ve picked up, not because I’m deeply religious, quite the opposite in fact.* So, I found out all about him, and he found out whatever I thought he would like about me. I found out he was straight fairly quickly though, which was a downer. But (spoiler) he wasn’t 100% straight. By the time we got to London we’d exchanged numbers and were meeting for a casual drink. Not a date, in a boy meets person who is also of the same sexual persuasion as him, type situation it would be. But this isn’t. But I have friends, I know that seems totally unbelievable but there are a lot of people who won’t got for me, almost half the world, so I have friends. 

Anyway more importantly back to the really great hair that I can’t believe I haven’t tried to describe yet. Okay I feel like I’ve built it up to much. (Takes breath to calm self) He had long blond hair, but it was a total mess, like the only reason it was that long was because he couldn’t afford to get it cut. But it wasn’t curly or that frizzy, it was just a straight, dirty blond main of hair. Very clean for long hair on a guy, and usually he wears it tied back. Okay that doesn’t sound that great does it. Just imagine it tied up and all sexy while he’s got paint all over his chest and face at 1:39 in the morning. (Breaths again). So he was my friends, for a long time, it was truly heartbreaking. He got a place in London eventually and painted and we both got together a lot when he tried to sell his work. If he failed we'd get together and drink and bitch until 2:30am. If he succeeded we’d get together and drink and ‘paint the town red’, sorry, until… well not necessarily 2:30am but you get the idea. 

So about a year after I’d met him he called me, he was high as fuck and begging me to come over to look at one of his paintings. And me being me I went. London’s always fun by night anyway. So I went and saw his painting. I’m not going to describe it, because visual art is there to be observed, not described, it’s medium isn’t words. But it was good, very weird, but good. But then he kissed me, it was a weird kiss. Mainly because he starting crying after about 7 seconds in. We talked into the early hours about how he’d wanted to do that for ages and he’d never told anyone he had feelings for men as well as women. And he sobbed and sobbed. I remember sitting in his place until it was almost midday, when it started raining and we got into his bed, and we kissed again, and fell asleep fairly quickly. I remember taking him by the hand and leading him to his room.  

I want to add that as I’m writing this I just took a very deep sigh. Emotional venting like that at me, at the time it made me, not that I needed to, fall in love with him again. Writing this makes me want him back, makes me fall in love again. Makes me want him in my arms again, he was mine, and he loved me right back. He woke up long after me, groggy as hell but so happy so see me there. The light in his eyes, it was like I could see an actual light in there. We stayed in that bed, well that apartment, for three days. We made love, and I don’t often refer to sex like that, on the second. He cried afterwards. Again for a long time. When I left, and it was me who had to leave, burst that amazing little bubble he’d created, he painted. The work was amazing, I wanted to cry when I saw it. God I loved him. God I love him. 

Now’s the part I hate, the part where I end it. I want to leave it there, say we’re still together now and he still loves me. But that’s not what happened. You see, he’s from a die hard Christian family. Yeah I know. And when they found out… well they didn’t like it. I was living with him almost full time at that point, and we were happy. He’d got one of those arty lofts that you always see that artists have in the movies. Of course I wasn’t monogamous and it’d probably just been ruined by me getting bored of him or interested in someone else anyway… but when it happens this way... So they found out. His brother came over one morning, he had a key, and he walked in on us. Max begged him not to tell anyone, literally begged, and so did I. When his family disowned him he was heartbroken. He went round to his Mum’s to have her shut the door in his face over and over again. I’d come home and find him sitting with the lights off more often that not. His family made him choose. He’d always been close with them… always. He didn’t choose, but once they put the choice out there it ate him. He thought about it too much, he started to want what he didn’t have more than what he did. 

And so it tore us apart. Technically speaking I ended it. I didn’t see him for a long time, then he tracked me down, told me he wanted to run away with me, he’d made a massive mistake. And I went with him.