My life was about to change in a way that I could not have imagined. At 7 p.m. on a Monday in September I had come to an adult education art class at the highschool in a windowless room furnished with long mobile tables and attached stools. The class was comprised of several other aspiring artists, some male, others female. At age 22 I was the youngest one there. No one else looked to be younger than 40.
My first painting in the class depicted a path through woodlands on a autumn day. I had drawn inspiration from scenes near my home which is barely a mile away from the school.
Sitting across from me and on my left was a strikingly handsome youthful man. Light-brown hair framed a diamond-shaped face. Just for a second my eyes held his blue eyes then shifted to his work. Meanwhile something stirred deep inside my soul.
Wait! What's happening here?
His partially complete painting depicted a winding country road. He was to add a traffic light just to help create a feeling of distance.
"Nice painting," I remarked.
He nodded, his full lips stretching into a dimpled smile.
"So is yours," he replied.
Anyway I resumed my work as did he.
At 8 o'clock the class took a break for coffee and donuts. As I sipped my coffee he resumed our earlier chat getting better acquainted.
He turns out to be a graduate of this same high school twenty years ago. Back then I was two. Though he's not married, I got the impression that he's not shy.
Having finished my acryllic painting minutes before end of class, I looked at his art work for one final time.
"I like it," I said.
"I like yours."
Back at home I settled into a chair in front of the television set and struck up a chat with my mom. A graphics artist by profession, she encouraged me to paint from a young age when I dabbled in art.
Week after week in my Monday night art class Michael and I enaged one another in chat, albeit briefly.
The fourth week of class, a cold night in October, found us taking a coffee break away from the others. Little did I know or even suspect that our budding friendship was growing into something more. His hand lingered on my arm just a bit too long. He pulled it away but not before it sent a chill up my spine.
His friendly demeanor, his soft voice, his sense of humor and his striking good looks combined to hold an allure. What was happening to me? Is this just a close friendship or is it something more than that?
An incident buried deep in the back of my mind came to the forefront that night as I came home from class. The onset of puberty had prompted me to make a sexual advance toward a friend and classmate named Billy West.
Having suddenly lost a friend over the incident, I began to show huge interest in girls. In other words, I behaved no differently than every other adolesecent boy.
Week five came around soon enough. Halfway through the session as we sipped coffee outside the art room Michael put the question to me.
"Do you feel like going for coffee Saturday morning. Say about 9 o'clock?"
Without thinking I said, "yes".
On Saturday morning I came inside a local Starbucks. Michael waved from a corner table. A minute later I slid into the seat across from him.
We chatted about everything and nothing: books, authors, tv shows, actors, movies, music. His foot touched my foot under the table. A second later I felt the touch again
We turned out to have very similar taste in music and reading. He talked about his high school days: school friends, teachers.
