roy, my joy boy

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i was 19, between high school and college, working as an assistant manager in a chain pizza restaurant in northwest houston [don't ask why--doesn't matter now].

four nights outta five, i ended up closing--miserable work, but i did it for almost a year--and usually at least two of those nights each week, roy was the one who closed with me.

lemme tell you about roy: 17-year-old part-timer--sweet kid, tight little body, smashed-up nose from too much football, loved me to death.

and every night we closed together--and i mean every fuckin' night--when we were done he'd challenge me to a rassle.

and i'd always say "ok," and we'd move the tables and chairs off the freshly-vacuumed carpet and go at it.

and i'm talkin' serious and sweaty all-out wrestling--i was bigger and stronger, but he was quicker and wirier. i was no athlete and had no idea what i was doing, but i went all-out anyway, and the chances of one of us pinning the other on any given night were pretty much 50/50.

either way, one of us would always end up on top, tense bodies grinding against each other, face-to-face, dripping sweat, and that's the way we would remain.

until i said--because it was always me--"that's it, roy--time to go."

at which point we'd release, get up, move the tables back, lock up and head out to my car.

and then i'd drive him home while he hummed along to whatever was on the radio, drop him off at his house and head home myself.

it was maybe fifteen years later i suddenly sat bolt-up from a deep sleep one night with the realization that, holy shit, i so coulda had him.