I am who I am...the offspring of an intriguing union between two souls. I am a living portrait, a visual representation of the human family--I am You.
I am who I am...a fully formatted, functioning, breathing being with ideas, views, opinions, wants, needs...still trying to discover and capture within myself the ethereal human qualities of love, passion, happiness, lust.
I am who I am...but there are so many layers of me which, should you try to interpret them, would be an enterprise doomed to failure.
I am who I am...a contrary being filled with ironies; a battlefield within and without myself; ever evolving on my travels upon life's curious route. Taught at an early age to carve a life out for myself I've found rather, that life has carved me out...a human portrait, a representation ofyou.
I am one part of a whole among our exotic human tribe. I am who I am...a living, human portrait, a visual representation of you.
We had just come in from dinner downtown, happy to leave the usual Friday night mid-town Manhattan traffic congestion behind us, when Garth who had
complained of being attacked by his stomach, had run up the steps, two at a time, with break neck speed for the bathroom.
We had been going out for only four months and this was my first time in his apart-ment. I tried to make myself at home downstairs as I waited for him, and went into the kitchen in search of drinking glasses and something to drink. I opened one of the two cupboards above the shinny aluminum sink, and was struck by how neatly arranged all the canned items inside were. The next cupboard contained the drinking glasses, and I poured beers and took them into the livingroom. Everything was spotless and I tried not to leave anything messy or out of place, thinking how cool it was to be dating a neat freak.
I sunk down into the lumpy leather-looking sofa, inhaling the puff of leathery air and dust that spewed out through the invisible pores. Curling my legs into the sofa, I sipped my beer in silence until the glass was half empty and then glanced at my watch. It was eight forty five. Garth had been up there for almost thirty minutes. What the hell was he doing? It was then that I really got worried and decided to go check on him.
Secretly, I couldn't wait to see what his bedroom was like. I could imagine how neat it was, with nothing out of place. I hurried up the steps calling, "Garth,! Garth are you okay?" No answer.
I had reached the top of the stairs and walked down the short hallway to my right and pushed the door open. I had stepped into his bedroom and was shocked. The room reeked of the scent of cigarette smoke and vomit. Empty beer bottles were scattered all over the floor against the far right corner of the room.
A queen sized bed occupied the far left, and was strewn all over with clothes but something else caught my eyes, which sent a shiver up my spine and stopped my voice from uttering another word. Unsure
of what I'd seen, I edged closer to the bed, all the while looking over my shoulders for I felt as if I was being watched.
A woman whose face I could not see, for she had the covers drawn all the way up with her head was buried into them, lay fast asleep on the bed. I could see the form of her huge breasts and slender body under the covers, and her jet-black hair was strewn over the pillow with parts of it covering her face. "Shit!" I whispered. What the hell has Garth gotten me into? and where the hell is he anyway?
The thought of finding him distracted me from the woman for awhile, and I tiptoed on the carpet in the direction of the bathroom door a few steps away from the bed. Garth, still dressed in his blue jeans and white dressy shirt, was lying on the bathroom floor in the fetal position with his hands clutching his chest. His face swam in a pool of his own vomit.
