QUOTE
Jun 23, 2012 6:27 AM GMT
My very first week of college, before classes had even begun, my roommate (who turned out to be a colossal douchebag but I didn't know that yet) and I went to one of the university buildings where they showed recent-run movies for 50 cents in the auditorium. In those pre-VHS days, film societies were the main way to see movies other than in theaters, and Ann Arbor had seven or eight full-schedule film groups.So we bought our tickets and milled around, chatting as we waited for the doors to open, and we were approached by an older guy, all of 21.I was 16 at the time, though I didn't tell people that. He kind of joined in our conversation, then told me privately that he was a grad student who didn't know too many people yet, and would I like to catch a movie with him next week? He gave me his number.
So a couple days later I called him. We went to see "Claire's Knee" , a French film by Eric Rohmer, and then he invited me back to his place for coffee. I sort of knew what was up and I was both scared and intrigued. Sure enough, before the night was over he had me in his bed. Tim was an uber-geek, a physics student, smart but socially awkward, with a long, lean and terrifically defined body, which I now realize sort of set the standard of all the men I've been attracted to ever since.
I was never in love with him, and although there was no such term for it at the time, we became fuck buddies. We didn't get to meet all that often because we both had heavy courseloads and I was playing piano weekends in cocktail lounges to earn my way through school. But from September of 1973 through the early spring of 1974, we met when we could, for a movie or a bite, but always to end up screwing like bunnies.
Then one day after I hadn't seen him for almost two weeks I went to his apartment because he hadn't been answering his phone. The apartment was vacant. He was simply gone. I tried asking the neighbors but no one knew anything, or at least they weren't saying. So I gradually forgot about it over time.
I just learned tonight that he was murdered. I got the basic facts from google earlier and then found someone with his unusual last name on Facebook who turned out to be his older brother, who I emailed. He sent me a message and told me what happened. A guy had picked Tim up for sex, but then robbed and killed him.
Thirty eight years later and I have a horrible pit in my stomach, and I don't really know why.
Edit: I don't think I made this clear, reading it over: He was murdered back then, not recently. That's why his apartment was vacant.
