Something About Sammy. Blaine Sims

steps, and hit the floor. As I’m skin and bone, my backsides’ collision with the hard surface hurt like hell. Sandra and the owner assisted me to my chair. Pain and soreness lasted weeks.

      An important game, I watched with intense focus as my Cowboys battled the Redskins. I bought him a shot. He was with his friends, and they were watching another game.

      He was on his phone. My team completed a critical first down and looked to score. As the quarterback dropped back to pass, someone called out my name. Seconds later, Flora screamed for my attention.

      I glanced over and Sammy had his shot raised.

      “Thank you,” he said.

      Incomplete pass. Next play, a loss of yards. Third and twenty-one. Pass, TOUCHDOWN! I heard Sammy cheer and out of the corner of my eye, saw his hands in the air.

      “Samuel thinks they scored a home run,” Flora deadpanned.

      Toward the end of the month, I eavesdropped and he mentioned to Flora, “I’m thinking of trying cocaine.”

      Burdened with discomfort at the thought, a weighty disheartening came upon me.

      In the following days, I walked on cloud nine, but one detail refused to rest right. With the blabbing to others and although convinced of his awareness, I never verbalized to him I found him attractive. For unknown reasons, the thought of telling him frightened me.

      Chapter Seven

      Thanksgiving Day, he spent the afternoon and better part of the evening at his mom’s

      As 8:00 pm rolled around, Jack and I lingered amongst a scattering of customers.

      “Hi guys,” he said, the voice unmistakable.

      “You’re late,” I said.

      Jack thought I was talking to him.

      “Yeah, I usually don’t stay to this hour,” Jack said.

      “I know. Spending time with family is nice, but boring after a while,” I added.

      My body warmed, with spaciousness in my heart, to spend even a brief time with my favorite person.

      The next day, Friday, November 23rd, it happened. He sat the proverbial two seats away. Time passed. My mouth opened to speak, but the words stayed within. I took a deep breath and tried again.

      “You know how I feel, but do you indeed know?” I said, pouring it out.

      No words came forth from his mouth, no noticeable reaction or comment. Without pause, he continued his game, present in body, but a thousand miles away. After paying my tab, I veered to the men’s room.

      When I returned, I stood behind him and massaged his back. It continued longer than in the past. The hushed words from his lips fell upon my ears.

      “Goodnight, Andrei,” he said.

      I didn’t stop.

      “I’d like to be able to do this longer sometime,” I said in passing.

      “Goodnight, Andrei,” he said again, this time in a pronounced voice.

      I departed. I didn’t sense having committed an unsuitable act or doing anything wrong. Hell, I massaged his back several times!

      The next day, he arrived with friends. No words or greetings were extended. I asked Allison to give him a shot, and she headed toward him.

      She returned.

      “He told me he will not accept anything from you anymore,” she said.

      Taken aback, I remained speechless. A few minutes later, June, a female friend, screamed.

      “Fuck him!” she said.

      She egged him on when he destroyed the amusement machine. She’s a vocal activist in the reform of marijuana laws to allow the recreational possession and use of any amount without restriction.

      A stocky and unctuous lady, I see her as a negative influence on Sammy. She exhibits boldness and strikes me as cold-hearted. The fact she's superficial and at times hostile is just the tip of the iceberg.

      That she is so connected with Sammy is a puzzle, as she’s forty-five years old. I don’t presume she gives a shit and the same sentiment holds about the majority of his clique. Except the $40 Doug contributed to get Sammy back in, the rest of his so-called friends scraped together a meager $60.

      I exited a short time after, dejected and confused.

      Sunday morning, I sent a private message.

      “I apologize,” I wrote “I never intended to cause you distress or humiliation or force you from your companions. Three months ago, you told me twice, ‘You can touch me, Andrei.’ I felt it acceptance and want.”

      “I'm sorry for the misconception and wish you could have conversed with me on Friday,” I added. “Despite the fact I'm despondent, I still care and will be here for you. I'm hoping we can remain friends. I'll back away. I still want to get you shots if OK.”

      “It's not an issue Andrei, sorry I didn't pass on sentiments prior, I locked up,” he replied. “I'm cheerful having you as a friend, and that’s all. See you soon.”

      “Thanks so much,” I wrote.

      That night, it appeared as if the incident hadn’t happened. He accepted a drink from me. All returned to normal (even Allison rolling her eyes). I salvaged the friendship, the critical element. Alas, it unraveled fast.

      I continued to talk to Allison, Jack, and Sandra. I didn’t discuss my attraction in his presence, but he was near when I spoke.

      He continued to sit by me if his friends weren't in, and we still exchanged the “Hi, Andrei” / “Hi Sammy” greetings and our goodnights. It lasted another week.

      On Monday, December 3^rd, he sat to my left. Sandra was to my right. Others lounged in close vicinity. Sandra and I discussed him.

      “Don’t come between Sammy and me,” I said, delivering the message: don't interfere in the friendship.

      I had no intention for it to become interpreted as romantic or sexual involvement. It didn't matter. Sammy gulped the rest of his beer.

      “That's it!” he hollered in an abrupt voice and stormed out.

      He hadn't paid his tab and didn't say goodbye to anyone.

      The next morning, I checked his Facebook page and discovered he unfriended and blocked me. I sent an email.

      “I'm sorry, Sammy.,” I began. “Nobody affected me in the manner in which you have, and I didn't know how to manage it.”

      “It's finished and I won't trouble you any longer,” I continued. “Much obliged for giving me the main satisfaction since I moved here. I want you to enjoy all life offers.”

      “You self-induced this onto yourself,” he responded. “Keep my name out of your mouth, or we’re going to have problems. You already slandered it. I won’t accept that. I’m sorry, but not in a million years. You did this to yourself. I refuse to accept any fault.”

      “I never blamed you,” I returned. “This was my fault. I'm sorry I hurt you.”

      Although I never slandered his name, and never spoke negative or derogatory statements to anyone, anywhere.

      “You don’t know what he’s been told,” Angel mentioned.

      I don’t delude myself into thinking it may have made things different, but regret I didn’t touch on this. The fact I didn’t know what bull crap he got fed by whom, but never slandered his name.

      An annoyance concerning his reaction and belief is he’s naïve to think others don’t talk about him. I’m referring to his so-called friends who gossip and state details of his conversations and antics.

      They