Once, when I worked at a bookstore, a male co-worker of mine had a crush on my then boyfriend. It was actually less a crush than an unsettling infatuation. It was actually less an unsettling infatuation than a constant and ever-radiating Nordic sun of awkwardness, beaming disconcertingly from the guy all the time. Soon, the boyfriend, and object of his misguided affection, decided to move to Germany and leave us all behind. This was(and this can't be overstated) best for everyone involved.
But before this could happen, the infatuated co-worker wanted to talk to me. Privately.He took me aside to a corner of the store (between gay erotica and Joseph Campbell)to tell me he would like to perform a special ceremony for the boyfriend before he left. And he would like to perform the ceremony for me to make sure I was comfortable with it.He lit a candle and read me the letter he wrote to my boyfriend about how much he loved him. And we are still there, mid-shift and wedged between Iron John and Tom of Finland and I don't know what to say. He has tears in his eyes.
"I think I have to go back to work," I say, because I'm just not sure what else there is to say.
