The car hop brought the hamburgers-limp, sodden monuments to the high art of American frying. Mike took his and looked suspiciously inside it. Then he took an enormous bite and started chewing noisily. The Cokes tasted like disinfectant. I took a bite of my hamburger and a big blob of juice ran out into my hand.

Mike looked different now after five years. He was wearing his hair longer. He was still beautiful. He was still heavily-muscled, still dark and young and perfect. I chewed the hamburger and tried to swallow, but my stomach was so leaden that it was hard to do. So many sad, terrible memories came back at the sight of Mike that I wanted to do something to make them stop. I wanted to scream and smash my fist through the windshield. I wanted to jump on him and kiss him and love him and hug him right in front of the car hop and everybody. I wondered if-underneath those tight-fitting clothes-his body still looked the same. I couldn't really recall how it did look. But I remembered it as perfect. That was the tragedy. There was nothing imperfect about him that I could use as a stabilizing point and thus preserve my sanity.

Oh, I wanted Mike again. I wanted to be swallowed up by those arms. I wanted to be kissed. Mike had never kissed me, even back then. There had been nothing five years ago but sex. But now that Mike realized he was gay there was even less possibility of it. I knew that Mike would never touch me again. I knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it was killing me. "You know," I said, putting the hamburger down on the dashboard, "My heart is waltzing, just like in the movies. But it's a slow . . . dead . . . heavy waltz."

He looked at me.

"That sounds trite doesn't it? But I can't help being maudlin. I remember everything about you. I'm still in love with you." (It was killing me, saying this.) "I never got over you."

"I . what?"

"I want you still," I said. "I want you again."

Unable to stand it any longer, I reached across and put my hand on his thigh. Touching it, feeling it, grasping it, dear God, for my very life. I couldn't," he said, moving his leg. "It's unthinkable. Sex is for a lover, or for someone you'll never see again."

"But...

I took my hand away. We looked at each other for a long time. "And I'm neither," I said. "I'm not your lover. And that's the truth." Mike looked about, then wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, then rearranged the disarray on the serving tray the car hop had attached to

the window.

"You're the most intelligent person I've ever known," Mike said, looking away from me.

"But I'm ugly," I said.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Well . . . don't torture yourself by talking like that."

"What do you care?"

"Richard, I . . . I can't help it if I don't love you."

When he said that he turned and looked at me. Oh, he was so beautiful-

like a little boy. His face was drawn into a frown, and he looked as though

he were going to cry. I wanted to cry, myself. I wanted to fall into his arms

22