A Horse Named Sorrow

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66 17 Jimmy had got­ ten a job ­ through Sam and Julie, those same ­ friends who ­ snatched him away from me after the bath. Good thing too be­ cause he’d get in­ su­ rance even­ tu­ ally, but not for six ­ months, at which point we’d also learn it ­ didn’t cover ­ pre-existing con­ di­ tions. So much for that. Well, he got paid at least. He ­ worked at the blood bank, as a ware­ house man. Funny Jimmy. Dark Jimmy. A vam­ pire at the blood bank. He was the ware­ house man, ­ shipped the blood all ­ around. “You ever drop it, Jimmy?” “Yeah, and it ­ bounces.” His lit­ tle grin. “Never ­ breaks?” “Nah, the bags are thick and rub­ bery.” “Do you get to drink for free like I do at the cof­ fee shop?” “No, but I smear it all over my face when I’m angry—what do you think?” Jimmy would get tired of my ­ caffeine-blitzed chat­ ter after work, es­ pe­ cially if he ­ wasn’t feel­ ing well. And I ­ talked on and on while I­ opened mail, ­ folded ­ clothes, lis­ tened to phone mes­ sages, throw­ ing out my ­ doubts and anx­ ie­ ties and talk­ ing my end­ less non­ sense. Some­ times he’d grab me—and ­ squeeze, and ­ squeeze, until it was like all the caf­ feine went right out of me, and then we were kiss­ ing, and our ­ clothes were being ­ pulled by the other, and we were naked, our eager cocks pok­ ing at each other, the dark hair ­ around his cock as black as his ­ chin’s, and me mut­ ter­ ing, “Jimmy, Jimmy, oh fuck, Jimmy.” 67 “Shame,” and he’d look me in the eye. And then he held his fin­ ger to his mouth, “shhhh.” It’s like he ­ fucked the mad­ ness right out of me. “I ­ fuckin’ love you, Jimmy.” “Oh yeah?” Dead­ pan Jimmy. And I’d ­ squeeze him back, hop­ ing to ­ squeeze out of him what ran­ through his blood. And some­ times I con­ vinced my­ self that I was doing just that. Sex magic—and I ­ thought of my semen as a heal­ ing balm when it jet­ ted out of my cock and onto his chest. And I ­ rubbed it ­ around all over his ­ lovely long pale chest and pro­ nounced clav­ i­ cles like it was Vicks Va­ poRub, lying with him, kiss­ ing him, tell­ ing him he was my new fa­ vor­ ite thing. “What’s the old one?” “Well, they come and go, you know?” “So you don’t re­ mem­ ber?” “Well, prob­ ably this lit­ tle girl, Eus­ ta­ cia.” He ­ looked at me, brows fur­ rowed. “She’s one of the kids I tutor.” He nod­ ded. “So, what? Am I like her?” I had to think about that. “Come to think of it, yeah. Sorta.” “Hmm, this ­ should be inter­ est­ ing. She’s what?—eight?” “Yeah. She’s cute and she likes me. Maybe it’s as sim­ ple as that.” “Ah, give me a lit­ tle more than that, Shame.” “Uh, she’s Chi­ nese, has this ­ really cool, long silky black hair that­ shines.” “Well, I’m not Chi­ nese and my hair is blond.” “You dye it,” I cor­ rected him. “Same roots? I don’t know, Jimmy— shit, you make me want to smile and cry all at the same time. How’s that?” “Hmm. Bet­ ter. ­ What’s her sad part? I know mine.” He ­ didn’t want my pity, so I ­ checked it. “I don’t know her that well. She’s a kid. I mean, it’s sad to be a kid. It’s not easy, or care­ free and fun like peo­ ple think and ­ choose to re­ mem­ ber it. Kids are . . .” But I ­ didn’t 68 say it. I was think­ ing “pow­ er­ less.” He ­ didn’t want my pity. “It’s noth­ ing spe­ cific, Jimmy. I think when you love some­ body ­ that’s just how it feels. A lit­ tle sad. I mean, we’re all ­ fucked ul­ ti­ mately.” “Vul­ ner­ able, right?” “Yeah, sure, ­ that’s a good word for it.” “I’m not a kid, Shame. You don’t have to take care of me.” “Jimmy,” and I ran my hand ­ through...