By the way, who won?—

I got my baby back Super Bowl Sunday. RomiE, my baby, called me over to hang out, we had spent that prior Saturday together gunning down egg rolls and fried rice and he “claimed” he had so much fun Saturday that he wanted to continue the weekend and hang out again Sunday... I agreed. He had his little brothers car so we met up, grabbed a little lunch/dinner/coulda been breakfast, picked up a few movies and went back to his place. We’re sitting on his bed an ere goes that awkward silence that happens when there’s so much needing to be said but no one if anyone has the guts or gall enough to say it so to fill that awkward void of silence both parties just start yammering about dust bunnies and toe jam, much like this

—Yeah…so how many did you say you saw?

—‘Bout a billion of ‘em.

—You don’t say. A billion, huh?—them is a lot of dust bunnies. Did ya’ count ‘em all yur’self?

—Yeah. But hows 'bout that toe-jam?!

Literally he’s talking to me all about how many rhinestones it takes to sew something Prada and I’m talking about how great it is to be bulimic, neither of which were interesting…and we’re just rambling on, an on, an much to do about nothing until he sits up.

He tells me he wants me back. Matter of fact he reads me chapter twelve of B Boy Blues and says, Ken, my house isn’t a home without you; says he hasn’t been the same since I’ve been gone: he’s lost sleep, late to work, irritable… and that's when he gave me my invitation back home.

We celebrated our first Valentines Day this year. I got him a Buil-a-Bear and he gave a me a key to the apartment. Part of me is thinking: Wow...it hasn't sunk in yet. The other part is grinning a mouth full of false white... I'm home, you guys! I'm finally home!