Cam or

Cameron, I guess, is his name, But he said 'Cam' — so informal! I would not normally, that is .. I’m actually quite speechless. What I was trying to say was I would not normally speak of a young barista in a coffee shop, in such an obsessive way, especially since he is probably maybe 25 years old, and I am, well, aged. But can we forget that for a moment? We have stay-at-home orders for a month! And my understanding is -- anything goes? Isn’t that what Doug Ford said? That we can do anything we want as long as we follow the rules? And didn’t he also say that it was time to let loose, set ourselves free, take off all our clothes if necessary, run wild, and let the wind whip our privates in only the pleasantest way possible (i.e. consensually?) Well anyway there I was (by the way, these notes are for Samuel Delany) on my way for my afternoon coffee because, well, what else am I supposed to do — after all I can’t listen to Donizetti and write all day, can I? I put on a new shirt, for no one in particular, just in hopes that — well have you ever done that? Honestly, girls? (I suppose the men might have done it too) worn something in hope that you might meet someone you could wear it for? And whenever I go into this particular coffee shop (it’s named after a tree) I think of him, because he is a fantasy. But he is never there (‘I work weekends,’I think I heard him say) or he just doesn’t talk to me. And because of this I imagined he hated me. Why wouldn’t he? (For I am old, and lame.) He must be gay, he just must. I’m honestly not interested in them if they’re not; that kind of hopelessness is not my cup of tea (other kinds of hopelessness, however, are more my style). The reason I say he’s  gay is because he’s probably five foot five — small — but he’s not Napoleonic. Of course there are some short very Napoloeonic fags (one of my best friends is one). But if you see a short man who doesn’t mind at all being short, he’s probably gay. And the short ones do have a thing for me because I’m big -- that is, I’m six feet tall — but mainly just large, and I don’t mean fat, not now anyways -- but I have a very broad back. And as Iago says… it’s almost as if I am the 'beast with two backs’ -- all by myself, so to speak. My lover once remarked on my braod back, as did a random fellow I met in Vancouver. He was also short and very horny for it because it's massive (well it is, what can I say). And a massage therapist once decided to try and relax it, which means he was literally jumping on my back (‘It’s hard as a rock!’ he said) for quite awhile, but to no avail. Anyway, it is my fantasy — and that’s what this is now, a fantasy — you are in it— that he, Cam (Cameron) is attracted to me, because I am larger than him. Anyway, stranger things have happened. So I walk in and I’m waiting for my coffee and he is talking to a girl. Very irritating. Why would Cameron be talking to a girl? Why? She was obviously flirting with him, obviously desperate to get into his pants -- the pants that I should be in -- and he didn’t really seem interested in her, no, not the same way that he would soon be interested in me. Anyway she finally wandered away, reluctantly (a bit sadly, I thought — Sorry Girl, for horning in!).  And it was my turn and I stepped right up and ordered my latte with two artificial sweeteners. I noticed right away that he proceeded to put actual sugar in. But I didn’t mind, because he himself is natural sugar --  my Cam, my Cameron, boy. So now — the description. He is, as I say short -- a long torso with a low slung rear. He’s in fact all rear end — very much his appeal— a very slight, slim figure otherwise. Tattoos. Died blonde hair; the sweetest handsomest face. And then there is his personality; sweetness itself. I asked him if they would be open during the month-long stay-at-home and he said ‘Yes.’ I said that this particular lockdown (there seem to be so many!) seemed aimed at the big box stores, and so it wouldn’t affect my life at all because I could care less if God destroyed all big box stores in a fit of pique, or if the Jolly Green Gian stomped on them. But I actually didn’t say that, thank God, and he then cheerily said “Well the lockdowns haven’t affected me that much." At which point I decided to be ruthlessly honest with him because he is my little Cameron, my darling Cam, and alright I’ll say it, I'm in love . I told him that I was a very social person and that lockdowns are like death to me. Perhaps I didn’t use the word death. And suddenly Cameron changed, and I realized that he was that kind of person, agreeable, or else he was being agreeable to me because I’m devastatingly fascinating (which is true, because well,  Cameron might be able to see through my false 69 year old mask and actually see what’s inside?). Or — perhaps he was being agreeable because that’s what he is, sweet as sugar. I’m still not sure. But to me a lovely boy who finds me fascinating or is as sweet as sugar is —either way you look at it — something akin to ice cream. Suddenly he spilled: ‘Oh I’m a musician, I was out doing karaoke every night before, so I really miss it, like I mean I really miss it, it’s been really tough for me, but you know, you do the best you can.” Yes you do, Cameron, I mean Cam. This is an ode to Cam. On the way there I noticed a screaming hello hyacinth bush in full bloom and yellow tulips. Is that possible on the 7th of April? Or did I imagine them? Well after I met Cameron I realised the very yellow flowers were in honour of him. So I will go there, every day, and he won’t be there, or perhaps he will, and I will try and make conversation out of nothing, which means out of COVID-19, which is a vast nothing, a vast impenetrable unstoppable unexplainable irretrievable nothing, and I will say something — anything, just to hear him speak, to see his perky little tattooed arms move, to watch him turn around and —- well what is that I see there in my 'rear view' mirror! In my minds I? I am gone for Cam. Cameron gone. And  none of you can stop me. I will be dead soon -- if not from COVID-19, than from depression, or digression. Oh, have you heard? Digression. It’s lethal.