#1 The Letter

Bowie laid in his bed, looking at the letter with intent. Her handwriting small and messy. The desire to write back gripped his chest like a cage. He felt trapped because if he wrote back then he knew it would be in vain. Sandy wanted him and he couldn't go back. It had been a long time since she wrote to him and he figured it wouldn't be the last. It still stung when he saw the letter mixed in with bills and advertisements. She had seen in the papers about his boss passing and sent condolences but, not without trying to tug at his heartstrings in the process. This time, Bowie was having a hard time fighting back the urge to return her a letter of his own. His eyes welled thinking of the heavy words in his mind. She knew just how to get to him and they both knew it. His pain heightened because he desperately wanted to hear from Maggie. The words that he wanted to receive were of a married woman. One he could never hope to have. He thought of the last time he saw Maggie. The funeral was solemn but, she was different. She came into the room, changed the music to something Mr. Bradley would have liked and sat down on the couch. She was beautiful, even in all black, her red lipstick both crass and classic. Bowie couldn't help watching her, wondering what it would be like to talk with her. After a time, he lost track of her and chose to find the restroom to relieve himself. The door was locked when he checked but it quickly opened and there she was, searching his face. She recognized him from before, though neither could determine when, exactly. They stood there, looking at each other's faces for a moment that extended just for them. She grabbed his shirt in the middle of his chest and pulled him into the bathroom. Bowie was unable to explain why he let her but, he found himself locked inside the small space with her, studying each other quietly. She spoke first and he didn't understand her. She said his name at last, finally able to place it. He half smiled at her, feeling drunk. He hadn't realized how much he had to drink until then. She moved closer to him and he watched her. She looked at different points of his face as he looked into her eyes. She grabbed his shirt again and he bent down to kiss her. Bowie wasn't the type to go after what he wanted. He was more equipped to just wait until they discovered him. Maggie was the type who knew whom she desired and stopped at nothing to let them know. Bowie didn't care that she was married, there's no way that Maggie didn't know her husband was gay. The marriage was a sham just for her aunt to have someone to leave the estate to and refused to admit her nephew was routing for a different team.

Maggie grabbed Bowie's hips and pulled him towards her. He touched her cheeks and they kissed for a time. Things heated up quickly, hands wandered, clothing unlatched and unbuckled. Someone knocked on the door and they stared at each other, both unable to move apart form each other. Faces only inches apart, breathing heavy in excitement, Bowie called out that the space was occupied. Maggie laughed and they kissed for a few moments more. Reality had set in but they did not want to part. Bowie buckled his pants, tucked in his shirt, all while kissing Maggie. He composed himself, kissed her one last time, biting her lip gently, then tucked himself back out of the bathroom. He left immediately. Unable to contain himself or what had just happened. He needed to go for a walk and think about what this had meant. He saw her a few times since then, but never alone. He longed for her but she was married, she needed to reach out to him if she wanted him, right? 

He read the letter again, then folded it and laid it on his nightstand. He closed his eyes but only saw Maggie. Why does he keep hearing from everyone else but, her? Weeks before, in a flash, he had decided that he would write to her instead. He rushed to his desk, feeling adventurous and opened his drawer for paper and a pencil. He stared at the paper, not sure of where to begin. He started with the obvious, he wanted to see her. He struggled with how to put it. Bowie wanted to say just the right thing, he didn't want her to have to figure out his feelings for herself. He wanted it to be clear. He set to work, writing his heart but, shielding it as well. Making sure the basic intention was there without being too vulnerable. He wanted her to feel safe and secure, to feel loved but, make sure he wasn't coming on too strong either. He sent the letter the next morning and still awaited a response. He wondered if it had gotten to her at all. Perhaps she was busy. Maybe she didn't read it yet. Or worse still, she may have read it and not felt anything for him at all. Bowie closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside. His longing and desire only faulted by his own imagination.