Not So Free Hugs

A few weeks ago, I made a bad decision... again. My ex-long distance "boyfriend" called me.

"Core!" he yelled in his best impression of my mother who he's never met. "What are you doing next week?"

"School and work, same as usual... Why?"

"I'm gonna be in Boston Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday."

I almost spit out my coffee. "What? Really?"

"Yeah, I have this thing for school, and I'm visiting my friends at Northeastern. I was hoping we could hang out."

I was over the moon. I missed him. And I was seriously lacking in the "Male Attention Department," due to a particularly dramatic incident involving my getting dumped for someone who lives overseas. But I'm not here to judge people's life decisions (It's funny 'cause I'm lying. I'm totally here to judge people's life decisions).

Fate has a funny way of working. We decided on Monday afternoon to hang out, and I told him I'd make my way to Boston as soon as my classes were over. That's when an e-mail came through on my BlackBerry:

"From: RJohnson1
To: Screen and Teleplay Class
Subject: Class on Monday is Canceled

Please have Exercise 4 done for Wednesday."

I knew this was meant to be, and that e-mail was proof. First thing in the morning, I drove into Boston to meet up with the boy who had me head over heels in like last summer. I couldn't help but remember all our late night conversations. How we'd fall asleep on the phone together... My 20th Birthday when he called to sing "Happy Birthday" to me at midnight... And how he was the first (and to this day, only) boy to ever tell me he likes me.

My heart was racing and my head was swimming. Sadly, my internal organs get more exercise than I do.

Anyway, I saw him across the Barney's in Copley Square. It was kind of weird... but exhilarating at the same time. He helped me try on clothes I couldn't afford, and it was a grand old time!

The $575.00 pea coat I loved still haunts me to this day, however.

After walking and talking for what seemed like forever (and we could have gone on longer), we set up at the Starbucks in the mall. He pulled his sketchbook out of his notebook and showed me his designs. Sure, a gay fashion major isn't the most original college archetype, but please bear with me.

As the pages flipped, we moved closer and closer to each other. Absentmindedly (at least, that's what I tell myself to help me sleep better at night), I rested my hand on his chair. Taking the physical cues, he started brushing my hand here and there. But it wasn't in that "I'm stroking your hand to be cute" way, it was more like, "I'm wiping the dirt off your hand. You're welcome."

"...Am I in your way or something?" I asked.

"N-no," he hesistated. "I just wanted to hold your hand, that's all."

I laughed. "So why didn't you just say so? It's me, I'm not gonna be weird about it."

We locked hands and it felt right. Like how it used to be.

That's when a tall, skinny, homeless black man appeared in a basketball jersey (who resembled Snoop Dogg) and sat down with two frumpy white women at the next table.

"UH, EXCUSE ME, LADIES. CAN I SIT MY ASS HURRR?"

The two fat chicks looked at each other and nodded without a word in response. I couldn't help but laugh. That's when Bruce scolded me.

"Corey, quiet," he laughed and cracked a joke about Snoop Dogg busting a cap in my ass.

I find that laughing together is a deciding factor in a friendship. If your sense of humor is compatible with someone else's, you're meant to be. He smiled at me and we kissed.

...That's when the old man at the other adjacent table saw us, and stared wide-eyed in disgust.

"Bruce, look! That old man is so disgusted!"

"Whatever, Corey, he can deal."

"Oh, no, I'm not saying it's bad that we offended him. I think it's HILARIOUS." Bruce shook his head and laughed. A reaction I often get to anything I do.

From there, we continued our adventure on the streets of Boston. Turning onto Newbury Street, a large, homeless black man had a cardboard sign attached to his front and screamed and waved his arms ahead of us. Not wanting to get killed or molested, I averted my attention from him and gestured for Bruce to do the same.

...It was no use.

The homeless man caught us staring and said, "Look! I love these kinds of guys!" (Read: The Queers). I looked up at him with that "Deer in the Headlights" look and tried to keep walking. But he continued, "Come on! You're not afraid of black guys, are ya?!"

That was a challenge. I had two options. Ignore him and awkwardly run away... or speak to this man and not have him think I'm a racist. As a guilt-ridden, bleeding heart liberal, I chose the latter.

"Hi there."

"Hey, guys! I need some money for the retah-ded chilluns!" he announced. In order to get him out of our hair, I handed him a five-dollar bill. Bruce opened his wallet, too and rooted for change. "Yeah, yeah, five dollars from both of you would be good. I GOT CHANGE." Bruce handed over the money and the homeless man looked at us, touched by our generosity.

A few seconds later, I found myself engaged in a group hug with the boy I liked and a smelly, homeless person.

"Okay, bye," I said to the man as I pushed the boy down the street.

"...Corey, what just happened?"

"We just paid five dollars each for a hug from a homeless man."

"...Why?"

I put my arm around his shoulder. "You need to know something... This kind of stuff just happens to me. And I can't do anything about it."

The funny part? He never called me after that. But that was the best five dollar hug I've ever had.