Page 7 of Spread Your Wings
“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Bad break-up before you left?”
“Dear Sammy letter this morning.”
“Dear Sammy?” Mustafa frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“We call it a ‘Dear John’ letter when someone dumps you through the mail, or post.”
“Except you are Sammy,” Mustafa said with another chuckle. “Now I understand.”
“The letter was postmarked the tenth, so he sent it before I even left, saying he was moving in with someone else.”
Mustafa nodded. “So, you needed the test. How long for the results?”
“Next Friday, the twenty-eighth.” A full ten days, the doctor had said. The wait seemed impossible.
“Uncle Vasily will bring you the results.” Mustafa patted his knee. “No questions asked.”
“What if I need a doctor?” Sammy leaned back against the bench. The snow swirled around the fountain in the afternoon light. Growing up in Georgia, Sammy had never seen snow until his first winter at Yale. He still didn’t care for the cold, but he enjoyed the quiet beauty. He hoped this wouldn’t be his last winter.
“Then he will bring the doctor. He is the best with these things. He will know what to do.”
Sammy needed someone who knew what to do. He was halfway around the world from his mom, his only support. Even if he called her, he had no way to explain how he’d gotten himself into this mess.
The ride back to the hotel was warmer, but still quiet. Mustafa shifted and steered on auto-pilot. His eyes were unfocused. Sammy watched the city lights come on one by one as they drove through the twilight.
Mustafa dropped him at the front of the hotel with a smile and a wave. “Try not to think about it,” he said.
“Easier said than done.”
Mustafa nodded. “I bartend tomorrow night. If nothing else, I can give you a special drink to help you sleep.”
“There’s a special drink?”
“Tell me your favorite drink, and I’ll make it for you until you pass out.”
“If you do that, I’ll lose my job.”
Mustafa laughed. “Well. We will find out tomorrow.”
Sammy wanted to feel happy about his new friendship, but all he felt was numb. He zipped his jacket to his chin and walked toward the main entrance through the accumulating snow. The air felt colder, now that he was alone.
If nothing else, Mustafa gave Sammy a reason to get out of bed while he waited for his test results. Granted, Mustafa gave him ample cause to stay in bed, too. Every time Sammy tried to jack off, he remembered Gavin, and the looming uncertainty of death. Despite half-hearted attempts, he couldn’t come.
He took the elevator to the main floor the next night, exhausted from lack of sleep. It had been another haggard day of interviewing people on the streets. Nicole had gotten on his last nerve. She’d asked a Catholic woman why she was helping her Muslim neighbor with her groceries.
“She is my friend, my neighbor.”
“But she’s Muslim. Aren’t you worried?”
“I am worried. She has no family nearby. I’m helping her.”
“But…”
“Nicole, shut up already,” Sammy had said, his fists balled at his sides.
“I’m getting to the heart of the story.”
“You’re putting your own spin on the story. There’s a difference.”
