Picture I Stole from My Lover
(story supplement)

by Stefan Kiesbye

He laughed all the way, said how glad he was to be with me again. I had handcuffed him and drove us to Washington D.C. to see the Van Gogh exhibition. Greg had wanted to go, he had wanted to go with me.

I bought him a huge plastic bone, the Intercostal Clavicle, and outside the café where he had agreed to meet me, I kidnapped him like Katherine Hepburn kidnaps Cary Grant in “Bringing up Baby.” I wore a fake leopard’s fur coat I had bought second-hand. In Washington, I chained myself to him.

We didn’t get tickets and Greg said it was so me, to do ‘all this crap’ just to come up short. Then we got one ticket for fifty bucks but I hadn’t enough money to buy a second one. I would have given it to him, I really would have, but I didn’t have to. We went to the information and customer service booth. “My friend has a terminal disease,” I said, “I want him to have this experience. We’re from out of town, and this might be his last chance.” All the while, we kept our hands behind us in order not to let them see the handcuffs. And they gave us the ticket. For free.

He laughed and laughed as we went through the museum. He took me in his free arm and kissed my ear and neck and whispered, “Yes I do. I do have an illness. I have you.”

We asked a tourist to take our picture in front of the White House. Even when I offered to take off the handcuffs, Greg wouldn’t have it. We went handcuffed through Washington the whole day, and in the end our wrists were sore and aching.

Greg has his head on my shoulder and is wearing the fur coat around his shoulders. I look frightened, but that’s because of the cold. It was two weeks before Christmas, and we made plans for going to Disney World for New Year’s. I was so happy to have him back.