Tester

I always act (act) like I can’t hurt men because
men don’t care, especially not men, because
masculinity has never offered me evidence
of hurt. Of course, I know that this is not
true, but where is the model? I think hurt
looks like your friend’s dad inviting you for
ice cream at 7:00 in the evening and its already
cold out. You all stand there with your
hands in your pockets in some public garden
on the East River. You remember the dream
you had when you were seventeen that he
was coming on to you. It’s only upsetting because
it’s a little real. My reply to these rigid
representations is another apology.
In Rijeka we realized we couldn’t get across the border into Italy so
we looked for a place to sleep. There was a bar at the top of the
hill, no one there spoke English other than a man in his late forties
who said he was from L.A. He was in Croatia with the Navy, he said
his favorite city was Dubrovnik. He was sitting in front of a fig tree,
smoking and pretending to read the newspaper. I didn’t notice
him when we sat down but when I came out of the bathroom they
were already talking. He tried to dissuade us from hitchhiking and
offered us money, which we didn’t accept. That night we slept next
to the pier, near a smaller bar, in a playground between a ping
pong table and a tree with keys and pocket knives between our fingers.
It rained hard. In the morning, the American national anthem
was playing from one of the ships.
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