• Mathura Hawley

proof 1

Updated: Aug 2, 2021


He put his big hands on my shoulders, and he felt strong. “You are a beautiful man,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me, very softly, in a way that didn’t match his black tank top and boots."

I pulled the car up to the curb outside my rented apartment on Caselli Avenue in San Francisco, and as I was getting my bags out of the trunk, a handsome construction worker in his late twenties walked by, smiled, and asked if I needed help. “In so many ways,” I laughed, and shook his hand as he introduced himself as Mike. He grabbed my biggest bag and carried it to the door for me. “What brings you here?” he asked. “I was married, but he left me in January and I’ve been crying for five months,” I told him, honestly. He shook his head. “Well, he’s an idiot,” Mike said. “I guess,” I said shyly. He put his big hands on my shoulders, and he felt strong. “You are a beautiful man,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me, very softly, in a way that didn’t match his black tank top and boots. “Have a good time this weekend, and if you’re ever not feeling handsome, give me a call.” He took my phone from my hand, put his number in, handed it back, and walked away. And I knew something had just changed, and that I was about to begin to remember who I was, once again.


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