“Do you mind if your partner smells bad?” is one of the questions that matched us at 89%. He answered, “Not as important as you may think.” Looking around the condo expertly manicured in a tetris of modern American style, I’m not so convinced. Easy-going isn’t one of his strengths. And yet he seems so relaxed. Perhaps that’s the independent wealth he gained from childhood tragedy. After all, that is why we forgive Batman for spending his wealth on narcissism instead of something useful. Sure, capricious vigilante justice looks like a good idea but do you know how many orphans we can feed with that same budget?

That’s a joke, naturally. I don’t care if orphans get fed. Personally, my independent wealth would go toward progression of art and creativity. Already, I spend my cash on local talent not yet marketed and maybe even short-lived. I don’t steal music on the internet, no matter how justified it feels. My theoretical “trust fund” is attached to the idea of my parents’ demise. Despite any divisive life choices, I have never and will never consider the death of my parents a beneficial thing. Whether there’s a financial association or not. I don’t ascribe to willful abandonment. None of us want to be alone, in life or death.

How I conduct my life now is more abstract than the original plan. I had grand expectations for my abilities and have suffered the same fall of every tragic hero. I’m not good enough for what I wanted and I’m too good for what wants me. Woody Allen’s Razor, if you will. Or the Upper-Middle Class Dilemma. Whatever you can relate to. The main reason I don’t sugar coat my opinions is that I have no desire to change perceptions, just broaden them.  I’m not wise, merely perceptive.

This summer stretched me out like an ambitious power-bottom. I came across someone from Memphis that not only knows my background but also knows me from that era. The tiny sweet spot after high school and before 9/11. The summer of bad decisions. I didn’t recognize him when I felt the first attraction and that’s the only reason I made a move. Acting on feeling is the status quo now. Discovering the connection, I initially consider the crisis averted because he still talks to me after knowing who I am. Little did I know the sociopathic outcome.

It’s like meeting someone that did time in prison with you. Just getting out, I believe I’ve met someone that can understand what I’ve overcome to get here. Instead of compassion or empathy, I’m met with disdain.  My newness alone is shunned, let alone the prejudice of being Southern. I met him with nothing but joy for his existence and a desire to maintain friendship. He kissed me, removed my top and then summarily rejected me with no explanation. We were contemporaries without malice, once. Why tease me now and then shut down. To be mean? To stay safe? Based on my research, I’ll never know.