German awoke deliciously at eleven in the morning. It was the phone. The portable one he keeps on the bookshelf by his bed. The other, less portable yet still wireless, phone had already sounded twice and was ignored. This most recent ring could not be ignored, however, because the person calling was his boyfriend. It is never wise to ignore one’s boyfriend. Even if you yourself sometimes feel ignored.

German didn’t feel ignored for any obvious reason, but there were times he felt he deserved a bit more attention. Sometimes he actively sought this attention, others he just wished for it. Recently he had taken a picture of himself, standing naked in front of a full-length mirror. This had started as an act of self-hatred, taking close-ups of the body he often despised. However, as he stood in front of that rectangular reflection, he saw the image of a body he didn’t realize he possessed. Shoulders, chest, and stomach seemed a bit more defined then he imagined. And suddenly this photographic flagellation became adoration, or at least acceptance, and he posed for an image that he thought he could tolerate.

After many attempts he had a couple that he liked, and he decided to post them on his blog as a continuing series of self-portraits he had already made. This exposure made him a bit uncomfortable, because he knew that his boyfriend might take offense to the images. Although he rarely read German’s blog, there was a chance that he would see them and an even greater chance that he would get upset or jealous or something that may cause conflict. German knew this, and so had told him about the pictures. But despite the warning, he also took another precaution and doctored the photos to enhance their aesthetic impact, pairing them with the lyrics to one of his favorite Nina Simone songs: “Don’t let me be misunderstood.” This statement he thought would speak to his lover in a way that may trump past insecurities. Together the pictures and the words expressed something he hoped would make sense to others. Something he felt about himself and his creations. His view of his own life and how it was processed for the sake of artistic endeavors. However, it was rejected.

And with this failure to be understood by the boy who now was calling him he internalized the truth of the matter that he may live his life without certain validation. Cut off from full appreciation. He made perfect sense to himself, and figured that if people actually took the time to focus on the details and flush out the hidden meanings they too could appreciate his intricate composition.

But this was all background to his day to day experiences, and when the phone rang his eyes popped open and his mouth smiled and he sang out, “Good morning!”

German was in love, and this caused him to do many things. Enthusiastic hellos were just the tip of the iceberg, but they were delivered every morning when his boyfriend telephoned. German loved to hear his voice. He often squeaked and squealed during these conversations despite himself. And lately the telephone was their only avenue to talk since the boyfriend had moved away to study for a large test, so these moments became even more precious to him. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

It was pointed out to German that it was already past 11am and he probably shouldn’t still be in bed. This only made the pleasure of pillows increase while he stretched and yawned. He felt totally rested lying there talking on the phone, and he noticed the sun shining in through the blinds. Peace was total.

Unfortunately it was also short-lived. For upon hanging up the phone in his hand the one in the living room began to ring again and he was forced to rise and confront his immediate surroundings. And so his day began.

Dressing was easy that morning, and soon he was ready to leave the apartment and head off to the library. He had put on a black t-shirt with a picture of Rufus Wainwright on the front that his boyfriend had bought him. He wore a pair of jeans with a hole in the right knee that he had acquired from his sister’s ex-boyfriend while staying with him in New York. It seemed the ex had become literally too big for his britches and so he passed them on to German. His shoes were yellow and blue Pumas he had purchased one sunny day while visiting the city he now lived in. He wore the black and silver watch he’d bought after his house burned down on his left wrist, and on the right one was a silver bracelet meant to raise AIDS awareness. He also wore two rings, one bought for him by his Russian friend while the two were running around the city late one night and one he purchased for himself. The gifted ring featured an elk-like animal amongst wild brambles, and the one he bought for himself was engraved with the name of his lover. The external appearance of this outfit was definitely less than the sum of his memories of all the disparate parts. And yet the colors and styles matched perfectly as he caught his reflection in the window of an office building.

He was on his way to return an overdue book, a book that had never been read. German owned or borrowed many books that he left unread. He always flipped through them, however, and he did so with this one on his way to return it. The book discussed the importance of immediate impressions and the importance of our unconscious assumptions about the world. The section he flipped through discussed the dynamics of married couples and the patterns that they develop. There was a scientist in Seattle who had made a science of watching couples interact and deconstructing the subtext of their behavior to predict their longevity. German thought about his own relationship and its patterns. He soon forgot the book and began to compose a letter in his head to the boy he loved. He wanted to try and express every sensation he was experiencing at that moment, but before he could finish he arrived at the library and became distracted.

The weather was well-balanced with sunshine and breeze, and walking aimlessly along the sidewalk appealed to him immensely. Having completed his one task, German felt free to explore. The last several days had really caused him to appreciate the city he was preparing to leave and all of its external beauty. Just the night before he was on a rooftop at dusk and the buildings simply glowed and danced in the fading sunlight. It was a lovely skyline that was enhanced by the manicured trees scattered throughout the streets. He had been in ecstasy looking at the world around him, and he felt that now as he meandered down the street.

It was then that he stumbled upon the “Scholarly and Antiquarian” bookstore. There was nowhere he had to be so he decided to indulge in the delight of dusty classics and undiscovered minds. It was difficult to understand the organizational scheme of the shelves, so instead of trying he just looked for names that he recognized. One in particular jumped out at him, but for no obvious reason. Christopher Isherwood. A quick reading of the jacket explained that this man had pioneered semi-autobiographical writing and was also an influential gay writer. And the stories he wrote while living in Berlin had been the foundation for “Ca
baret”.

The perfection of all of this came crashing down upon the young man and he dizzily sorted it out. It had been his former teacher, the first Mr. Jones, who had once asked German to perform the role of the emcee in a local staging of “Cabaret”. And now to discover that the author responsible for the play was so similar to himself in both style and desire was almost too much. What had started as a lazy afternoon errand had become both the conception, birth, and formal schooling of my continually serendipitous anagrammatic alter-ego.

German returned quickly home to read his new book and piece together the happenings of his afternoon. So many impressions and so little time. Sitting at the computer and typing through his memories, he began to realize that he was a part of a multi-layered legacy, and there may be more to his past than even he had realized.