I got this text message Sunday afternoon. Country code +52. Mexico. Fu*cking Mexicans. It’s from Ramez,a former marketing intern, the guy who I slept with first, someone I’ve known for 9+ years, the person I’ve not heard from since May. WTF does he want?
I call. Of course I call. It’s what I do. At 31, Ramez is getting older but not any less needy. He stressed himself out at work, passed out, fell down and cracked his head open, spent the night in the hospital, got stiches. Unfortunately, I care about him. The night he crawled into bed, laid his head on my chest and told me he felt safe from the world with me, sighed and fell asleep, just melted my heart. I’m his comic book hero. He gets scared and when he’s scared, he calls me.
We spent an hour talking on the phone. After so many years, we fall easily into conversation. He playfully teases me about Chris and his young age. I tell him about my Chicago trip and he bitches that Mexicans living in the U.S. aren’t as cute as those in Mexico. Ramez toys with having me come visit him again, he wants to take me to the Living, a huge gay club in Mexico City.
I’m not sure what relationship I have with Ramez. He’s dad died many years ago. Sometimes I feel like a surogate parent talking to him. He needs someone older to talk to. I’ve always had a great deal of emotion for him, I’m investing in him and hope that one day he will recognize this. You can be friends forever.