What about kismet? - 2. Something Beautiful: Stop, look & stalking.

Chapter 2:

Something Beautiful: Stop, look & stalking.

“It’s good to find new activities that would entertain you. It just goes to show how boring your life is.”

Has it ever occurred to you that sometimes things happened for a reason, or some innate instinct grabs you then pummels you to the ground to unleash a divine revelation? That does not happen to me; never did - until one time wherein I was minding my own business.

I had sat at one of the park’s benches, consoling myself about an idea of mine that sprung in mind. While I observed the beautiful scenery that decked in front of me, and being thankful that I had wasted ten minutes of my life by doing nothing and just observing what might be - peace and serenity enveloped in this tiny place called Mac Dandy Park. When a profound revelation occurred to me that I was indeed wasting my time, simply by doing nothing.

For the past couple of months now, I have fancied this small-secluded park in the outskirts of the suburbs. At around four or five pm in the afternoon every Sunday, I would leave my car at my apartment’s driveway and walk five blocks to get to the park.

It was no mystery for me that anyone would be attracted to a place where few people visited such exclusive piece of land that had amassed such natural beauty. A stream between a narrow bridge that enclosed the walkway as flowers and grassy patches welcomed you to a scenic view, was something I liked spending the end of my Sundays with...away from all disturbances, which does not involve the hustles and bustles of city life.

It was those types of places where you would appreciate almost everything just by doing nothing, and seemingly just by enjoying the stunning beauty of the place where the park was situated.

I accidentally discovered the small piece of haven, when I went astray from the directions as instructed to me by a friend of mine I had met in graduate school, who lived in White Plains all his life. I emailed him when I recently moved back to New York last Christmas and asked him the whereabouts of places that would deem accessible to me, like the nearest malls, stores, restaurants, etc.

Allana would not be much of a help if ever I were to ask her of important landmarks that are imperative for a person to familiarize oneself who just moved into a new town. Mainly because she moved to White Plains six months after I moved here.

She practically invited herself to live near me, once I opened my mouth and surmised that Mr. Caligula, the old hearty man who occupied the next-door unit was leaving to move to Florida and live with his grandkids; she said to me “This is a sign that I should quit my boring job”.

I wondered what Ryan, her boyfriend of seven years, would have said at that time, however, she referenced him as someone in her life that would go wherever she went and would do anything for the sake of their relationship – much to the likeness of a slave – she probably thinks she is Cleopatra, the more promiscuous version.

Moving to a different town and quitting one’s job is a life-altering plan that one has to contemplate with such consideration. But I guessed for her, if that involved being with her best friend after not having been able to see me for 3 years when I went to graduate school, having jumped onto such decision was a clear resolute for her.

I dissuaded her cause to quit her job, and move near me, but knowing her shrewd efforts were impeccable, and was very determined to relocate, that even for the likes of me, her supposed best friend, I had to submit to the idea that she would become a next-door neighbor rather than someone who lives in Manhattan. She did immediately find a job after she resigned, and Ryan eventually moved in to a condominium unit near Riverside Lofts after 3 months.

One fine Saturday morning despite the guided instructions of my friend, knowing myself to which I would be a lost cause in terms of following directions, I got diverted in my hopes to locate the nearest shopping market.

Albeit my trepidations to my idiosyncrasies for my lack of following directions, I accidentally happened to snag a look on my car’s side mirror and my eyes widened when I saw the entrance to this Victorian-esque park in the middle of nowhere, named Mac Dandy Park.

The name sounded like it came from old mother goose’s nursery rhymes, but leaving out the amusing juxtaposition; it was nothing more but a marvel that I have found an elusive place of comfort like this.

For the first few weeks, I went on and observed the people that visited the park. Of course, I scanned the area of probable psychopaths that might have roamed the vicinity.

The last park I frequently passed by, there was an old lady who dragged a shopping cart while she cusses every form of profanity to anyone she happened to pass by. Moreover, she happened to throw, one late morning, probably the most disgusting bottled liquid ever to have been thrown at my newly ironed shirt, while I had been walking through the park going to graduate school.

You really cannot hold any grudges for individuals whom you know needed psychological intervention. I did say a few interesting things to her, after the bottle-throwing incident like, “Is this piss-water?”

The only apology I got from her was a loud scream stating that I was a philistine and a creaton, while she raised her middle finger as she strutted her way out of the situation.

If ever Mac Dandy Park had a psychotic old lady who just got loose from the loony bin, and preferred inflicting trauma to her unweary victims, I would have probably made a pass to this place even if it meant forgetting that I have found somewhere where I could sit still and think.

The second week I visited the park, there was this boy who was chasing wild birds across the fountain near the grassy pathway. I presumed that the boy was with her busy mother having chitchats with her friends.

The boy wore this blue Jersey cap, loose printed shirt and shorts with skid marks that seemed natural as an integral part of the design, probably from being a hyperactive running machine that tripped as often as he could.

I assumed the boy’s mother to be, in the pack of those hissing and garrulous bunch of women, to be the one who wore a blue camisole that went well with the kid’s overall attire.

If the kid hosted some unwarranted skid marks, the mother bore some unwanted cellulites in the wrong areas that seemed unlikely for anyone to wear a camisole, seeing that it was not her best body part to have paraded around a bunch of strangers.

I was settled in my bench and found it to be an interesting spot to call it my very own shrine of nothingness. I did probably spend an hour or more, just sitting at that bench, until my stomach would signal me the need to eat.

I usually observed just about everything that went around the park. The specific bench that I chose was at the side benches where not much people visited the area, which is at the south-western part of the park. It was a very comfortable place, to sit and do nothing as what I had planned to do most of the time – sit still, enjoy and be entertained at the view.

The boy started chasing the birds and went to my section. He kept on chasing the wild birds until our eyes met and I started glaring at him. I could not figure out if he got the message to leave me alone and piss off, as he just kept on staring back at me as a sign that I was invading his territory. After a couple of minutes, I got tired and said to him,

“What are you staring at kid? Have you not seen a stranger before?”

He just shuddered and said in his high-pitched tone “Mister, you look like you’re gonna mug me?” I hesitated and noticed the look in his eyes with tears swelling up that I understood, for which I looked menacing to the child.

“I’m not going to mug you, I’m here doing nothing yet you accuse me of possibly mugging you. What is your problem kid?” I snorted back at him. He then started crying and his mother approached him as she pulled him near her.

The only thing I heard after she consoled her traumatized son; she was telling him that I was a creepy bad man. I found it interesting though, because the only thing I did was have a stare-a-thon contest with the child, and the mother thought I was going to kill them with spite.

It was then that I found out, when I saw my reflection on the silver thermos that I brought with me, which I instinctively put water in case I got thirsty, that I have not shaved and looked like a serial killer with the facial hair I was sporting. Paired with the black trench coat I wore, brown beanie cap, dilapidated rubber shoes, and a silver thermos that might have suggested it was filled with liquor.

When I had a glance at myself coming from the reflection that bounced off from the shiny silver thermos, I looked like a degenerate who goes amok after dark.

The following week, I took off the coat and anything that would have resembled me being a paedophile or a mass murderer and got me a new pair of comfortable sandals, a clear water jug, and shaved my growing facial hair.

I was sporting an enticing fresh look that still said “leave me alone” but not so much on the “I’m a killer” vibe.

Interesting enough, there was a woman who suddenly was giving hints and throwing flirtatious signals at me, which was the same woman who took away her child from a possible so-called child offender a week ago – that which is I.

She then started talking to me in some vain effort to strike a decent and sensible conversation. It was amazing that she would consider me a future daddy of her future offspring, by making a pathetic opening cliché like “Is that seat taken?” I gladly obliged to move my perfectly relaxed sitting position to provide her a seat, and accommodate her flirting since I knew it would be for naught.

She tried asking me these weird questions, much like when people converse in small talk, but more seductive on the tone of her words – a drunk Irish women perhaps.

I found out her name was Evelyn and her kid’s name was Tod. In a span of ten minutes of her prattling about things involving her life, she had five years of her life summarized as, “I’m a divorced single woman with child who’s single and ready to mingle.”

After a few minutes of relentless signals, just to make her shut up while I administered a silent treatment phase from the awkward conversation, my patience was up to its limits.

To no avail, it looked like she was delusional from her efforts to making me listen to her drivel about things I was barely miding. Then when it came to the part where she was giving remarks of which restaurant was romantic to have dinner, I said to her in an earnest way that - “I’m gay!”

She scurried along the moment she heard the part where there was no future with her – like seriously...not even in a million years.

In the following weeks, I had successfully implanted myself in that comfy park bench by having observed almost anything that moved. It took me a couple of weeks more to establish myself at Mac Dandy Park, as the homo who wanted to be left alone; thanks to Evelyn and her group of babbling cronies.

There have been some of those people, who more often than not, felt my company, or the presence that I was there, alive and breathing apparently. Some asked for requests or favors I could not simply refuse, since they were being pushy or I was left in the position to just go with the flow.

When I think about it, I should have carried a stun gun or a peppermint spray in case someone pestered me with his or her random insipid favors.

For example, this nice sweet old lady wanted me to hold her purse as she tried searching the insides of her dowdy matronly hand bag. I scratched my head when the little old lady’s unkempt handbag was a Channel Paillette flap bag. Assuming that she could afford a $6,000 handbag, handing me her purse seemed the rational thing to do if she was planning to donate her stuff to some accidental stranger she just met.

She did exude an overly grandiose image with all her dangling pearls, faux-fur coat and the overall feel that I had just met the Queen Mother of England. Along the lines of curiosity, I thought of mugging her and probably thought to sell her bag in e-bay for some good bucks.

Nevertheless, being the Good Samaritan that I was, I helped her instead for I would have been deviating from the purpose of my futility if I became a monster who robbed rich old women, which required much effort on my part that I could not expend freely. Besides, she really was sweet and nice, too sweet if you asked me.

I held her purse for a good twenty minutes or so. I was rolling my eyes when she told me she must have left her mirror at home (nice, I just wasted twenty minutes of my life holding someone’s purse). I did not bother to ask the question of what she would be doing with a mirror in a park, since I do not intend to snoop from an old woman’s daily activities.

I remembered a certain quirk women tend to do almost anywhere in the planet, and that was to apply make-up every chance they could get.

I had too much of nothingness to envelope myself for all considerations so I paused for a second, stared at her face then reached to firmly place the purse in her palm. She was about to take it from my grasp when she mentioned out an outrageous idea that spelled, ‘You look like my son.’

I did not react when she finally took her purse, and placed it inside her overtly expensive handbag. She gave out an old lady smile, as she walked past me - which either nudged that warm feeling or that creepy sensation you get after watching a horror flick with brooms and cauldrons involved.

There was also an incident that I remembered when someone molested my sweatshirt when it got scratched considerably. I seriously felt something poke my back and I was swatting the annoying feeling like some fly nested on my shoulders.

Suddenly, a perky voice beckoned my attention that directed me to the whispering sound that said “Excuse me?” which came from a person who snuck up behind me. When I angled my head to look where it came from, I saw a group of three girls on their twenties who idly stared at me.

I had seated myself and sprawled comfortably when the Power puff Girls mismatch happened to have disturbed me. The girl, who earlier was poking my shoulders, paced back a few inches when she noticed my pretentious smile, which then triggered a series of giggling from their group.

Her female friend brushed her aside and lectured her on proper manners in terms of disturbing someone who wanted to be left alone, as if there was a right mode of conduct in doing such.

“Excuse me; can you take a photo of us three, if you don’t mind? We’re from the city and we want a photo complete with the three of us.” said the girl who after lectured her friend, then approached me.

I tried my best to show a convincing smile and gave a nod to the unweary group as they giggled and gawked at me as if I am some crush they had been secretly stalking. I told them hastily, while pretending I had other things to do beside sit in that bench,

“So where do you guys want to have your picture taken. Do you want...?”

One of the girl from the bunch of possible stalkers interrupted me, as I was about to ask them where they wanted to have their picture taken. She then told me, “Uhm, can... you... uhm, have a photo with us? We’re not like creeping you out or anything? Like you’re just so cute like seriously – oh em geee!”

I would have preferred gorgeous instead of cute, as a main description of myself, but their given inflections had sufficed my subconscious knowing they were trying to lift my alter ego, the self-centered one.

To cut it short, since I wanted them to leave me alone, notwithstanding the excruciating girly noises they had been making, I agreed to their bargain of having one photo taken.

At that time, I felt like my testosterone levels were at their peak and I was seemingly attracting the wrong sex. It felt a little good to have some rowdy girls wanting to have your photo taken; it was a little flattering, slightly daunting or just plain disturbing.

Although it is scary to have your photo being shot nowadays and later having seen it plastered on the internet by some random crazed girl. On the other hand, finding out that you have a fake account in one of those social networking sites, hosted by some rabid teen or malicious stranger, with a different name who happened to have more friends than your real account is plain degrading.

The three girls looked decent enough not to exploit my photo, as I hoped they refrained from doing.

The girl who interrupted me sat on my left side, and then quickly took my arm as she lifted it to her shoulders, without a care in the world that she just took some stranger’s arm and placed it unto her own. I just gave in a heavy sigh of irritation to this girl who thought I was her boyfriend all of a sudden.

One of the girls stood in front of us, a few meters away as she held their digital camera in place. Out of nowhere, the girl who poked my shoulders earlier, sat herself on the right side of the bench, as she snuggled on my right arm.

I was on the verge of grabbing their heads and banging it together, but I kept my cool. The girl who was about to take our photo readied us and said,

“Okay guys one...two...”

Without further ado, as she was on the count of three, something made a loud swishing noise. The girl on my right was moving too much from trying to seat comfortably that her rubber shoes jostled my clear water bottle. It flew on the ground with its contents emptied and spilled all over my shoes and around my crotch area.

As the girl who was holding the digital camera said “Three!” I lurched forward and hoisted myself from the mess that the troublesome girl had made. I ended up in a standing position while looking at my crotch area, while the water dripped from it.

With the two girls on my left and right who stared shockingly, and shrieked at my saturated crotch, the blinding flash from the camera made proof that I was a perverted dick who preyed on young female victims.

After the mess, the girls made their apologies, were on their way as they sprinted as fast as I could look at my dripping crotch, and soiled shoes. I decided it was time to go home after that catastrophe. It was an uneasy feeling knowing your crotch was soaked in water.

Therefore, I took off my sweatshirt, and luckily, I was wearing a singlet so I wrapped it around my waist to cover the evidence of a recent malady that equated to sheer embarrassment. When I was walking home, I could not help myself from smiling a bit - knowing it was fun being embarrassed for a while, and that feeling of being wanted was an emotion I barely felt since he came.

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In my weekly visits to the park, I carried with me a small notebook, where I dribbled my thoughts in case my vivid imagination ran wild in its wanderlust of ideas, which rarely happened. The only good idea I had was “We are what we eat...” which took a momentary pause after I got distracted while gawking at a charming couple who were holding hands.

In a sudden turn of events, a backlash of slapping entered the scene when the guy answered his phone, which interrupted their moment of bliss. The girl was very annoyed and nearly threw her boyfriend’s phone in the stream where usual lovey-dovey couples have their romantic escapades as they traversed the connecting bridge to the east and west part of the park, that symbolized the path to fidelity and nauseating endeavours of affection.

After the life altering concept I wrote down earlier, all went down to nothing; again, another effort wasted since I got swept off by the couple’s public display of their watchamacall’ it – emotions - right.

For the record, I blamed the couple that I witnessed arguing, having distracted me of my earlier consolidated idea that might be inspiring or just silly. To rationalize that statement, I comprehended that everyone already knew of the whole you-are-what-you-eat-concept, so I did not bother to illuminate a general notion. And besides, who would read it.

It seemed dull of me to write down some new age philosophy, in terms of food and its relationship to life and weight issues, and its long-term effect for one’s happiness. That maxim seemed the next step for me into writing a healthy cookbook diet or some guidelines on healthy eating.

It was questionable on my part that I would actually write something that involved good food since I lived on take-outs and chinese food.

Ah, the simple life of a single 28-year-old part-time writer, living in a rent-controlled apartment with her best friend sucking the life out of him to insanity, indeed a good life (I was referring to the rent-controlled part).

One of the reasons why I tried to escape the daunting city life and be in recluse to this peaceful place was to get away from Allana’s bickering and complaints to her relationship status.

Sometimes I think that girl has some relationship-bacteria lodged in her brains because every time she is in a relationship, she complained about whatever her boyfriend lacked. It was the same as a leech bleeding out about the lack of blood or food source. She is that kind of person who never got satisfied to whatever their partner offered to them.

She had been going out with this guy, Ryan, a former college acquaintance of mine, in an on and off relationship for 7 years now. They met back in our college days and she told me then that they were in an exclusive relationship where they could date other people. When she told me 3 years ago about their certain understanding, before I left the country to study abroad, I freaked out.

It was a new high for them to have had some form of consensus and be allowed to date other people. I do not know if those two needed to get an MRI scan or just get a shrink. Perplexing indeed, but you cannot contest the mindset of a woman who cannot even figure out what she wants in life. I told her that eventually, if Ryan snapped back to reality and she becomes stranded in her ideal world of one-night stands, and that boy would hear church bells, then she would be left as a bridesmaid to his future wedding.

She disregarded that possibility aside, and told me that it would never happen since Ryan is her fallback guy.

I thought the “fallback” concept was an exclusive thing to career planning, football, and synonymously used in the battlefield across warring nations. Never had it occurred to me that the concept would cross the criteria of relationships.

Did I say that she is the incarnate of a succubus, the bringer of doom to those who crosses her path? Thank goodness, she often meets straight men – mostly gay men who pretends to be straight.

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A week ago, I was jotting some words in a piece of paper, on my usual visit to Mac Dandy Park. I arrived early at around 3:30 pm in the afternoon and did not see the familiar crowd on that windy Sunday afternoon.

The only people I recognized were Evelyn and her peers of effusive single divorced women, the old couple who enjoyed breeze walking - together with their dog that could not catch up with them where they mostly dragged across the cobbled stone path.

The kids from the playground, and those who played Frisbee and sports related activities like chess – if you considered chess or scrabble a sport (let me Google it a bit), well maybe not scrabble.

There were new faces, a family of five who were having a fine picnic in the grassy areas of the park, couples who took their photos whom which I call “camwhores”, and a number of people jogging with and without the accompaniment of a four legged animal.

I saw this man holding a caged parakeet while his kids flocked at the amazing feats that the bird could perform as the owner tortured the winged creature. Astonishing as it seemed that a caged bird is the new trend nowadays in entertaining your loved ones, the horror.

I took a bird’s eye view of the things that were happening in front of me as I took a silent amusement to what I saw. In a split second of analyzing why I was staring in space like a lunatic, something confounded my senses.

Out of all the moments, it happened while I was looking at the ground thinking how I should have worn my rubber shoes instead of the strapped sandals that I hastily put on my feet that afternoon. Because of my recklessness, the nails around my feet had started chaffing (what can I say; I have sensitive toenails).

A minute after I thought, 'Crap, I wore the wrong sandals' silence suddenly filled the air. All the while, this certain euphoria emerged as my head was pulled in a daze. A sudden change of wind entered the scene.

Albeit the leaves of the coming fall, brushed up against my blue sweater, which swirled in haphazard patterns like a catharsis of one’s longing; I lifted my head and stared at the horizon as some familiar smell shot through my senses.

I shivered in the gentle zephyr that ignited my nostrils of the chilly breeze as the smells of the greenery, people, and food, intoxicated my memories to something I had been accustomed in the past.

The last of the thriving abundance sprung to life with the greens, purples, reds, pinks, yellows, only to be decimated soon by the whites that would flourish the whole scenery in the coming months; which patterned the tones of pristine and hollows as it made way for winter.

The lights danced above me as the skies had put on a brilliant show of reds, pinks, and oranges as it filtered the bright blue radiance that once governed its earlier warmth - as the night waved to say goodbye to the sunshine. My head bobbled upwards to the skies that met the flock of geese that gathered in a v-formation. I closed my eyes and felt something blew past me.

Everything around me seemed as lively as it was cold to me. The colors around me had reminded me of something I craved and longed for.

Despite all the people who claimed that Mac Dandy Park identifies itself as the place where people mostly communed to spent time to bask in the sunlight of the day or enjoy the sombre moments of the night, solitude latched itself upon me to make a fool of what was to be my quiet time in that park.

It was loneliness, and it was evident in my stoical expression while I was gasping for air that I immediately shuddered in my own recluse.

I then pretended to write in a piece of paper, so that I would not notice anything that breathed, walked, or talked. And in that second as my eyes hid my lacrimation to something unexplained even to myself, I was content.

I was content that everything had fallen into its rightful place, that settling feeling that I have achieved something mediocre had risen. Yet the fact that I was content brought that shady feeling of despair that I was stuck in something I have chosen.

I had become a person who was satisfied to the patterns of everyday life. A life I settled into, and a life I dreamt to have, if only it had not been a cruel joke.

I took a breather from all the rush that the quintessential moment had brought to my knowledge. It seemed too much for me to handle. Knowing that my brain worked slowly when it came to pointing the obvious to me, having to elucidate something that required emotional intelligence is not my greatest of focal points.

I would rather have a sign that pointed to which direction I was to take instead of having a confusing instructional pad where to go. These moments were exactly the same when I found out I was gay. It was messy, heart wrenching, informative and plain conspicuous.

Not that finding out you were gay would be the same as finding out that you had finally admitted to yourself that you thought you were settling into a life you had dreamed and not turning out the life you thought you needed, was exactly the same.

I would have probably accepted the logical ruling of what my brain was saying to me, that I should have been contented and happy. However, it felt like some strategemical device to lure me away of what I was searching. I had no clue what it was though, but still I nurtured the presence of what was lacking.

I thought of calling someone whom I knew could help me. More like calling him whenever I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I took out my phone then scrolled to find the name Chris Heardly. I dialled his number, but no one was answering. I paused for a second and thought about the reasons why I had called my former world literature professor all of a sudden.

I did have a valid reason to call him anyway. I was panicking at the notion of settling in a life I consciously placed myself in order to evade, and forget a bitter memory. Just because I saw, a happy bunch of people, spending time with their loved ones, does not spell some psychological breakdown on my part.

Moreover, just because I knew I was longing for something I could never have again would be a reason to think of what I have had or what I could have had.

I thought for a second, what those years of searching and yearning for something relevant, had done to my system. There was a time when I thought that being in a relationship with someone would enlighten me of my needs and wants in life. And when you place those essential characteristics you have to a person, you lose yourself. Not knowing if you ever get it back, you just trust that someday it would return or be given back.

However for me, as I sat there wondering if asking for one thing, a simple thing, was asking again for another death sentence.

I reminded myself of why I sat in that specific bench, and on that specific place. I held tightly on that fact that doing nothing meant letting time pass, as it was and is supposed to be. Letting things be on their way and letting time exhaust itself of its purpose... and that defined my stay on that park.

I was simply moving my way through the course of life’s daily redundancies, as it should be, unnoticed and without effort. Because the more it seemed I was doing nothing, the easier it was to forget.

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From that grief stricken episode, I immediately lifted my spirit to think of something positive. For whatever reasons I had felt at that moment, it was no way to spoil a good afternoon, in the presence of beauty despite the disturbing noises that came from Evelyn’s mouth and her pack of wild rabid bitches – in contemplation to female dogs.

I glanced at the water trickling from the stream, and thought of the good things that have happened in my life so far.

In spite of everything, that was enough to make me smile at least. Then my thoughts suddenly drifted afloat of the moments where being happy was not staged or planned, and something that came natural; flashbacks of him surfaced.

His face,

His touch,

His smile,

His scent,

His kiss,

And his promise that lingered in my heart after all these years of wanting to forget his memory, just so that I could move on.

I stood frozen for a second, until the cool breeze lulling my face was gentle enough to bring me back to reality.

How could I have remembered him after all time I had spent, wanting to forget him...was time not enough for me to finally accept the way things have become?

I crouched under the bench to reach the only thing that would put my mind at ease temporarily. It took me a couple of seconds when I got hold of the water bottle, until I managed to gain my bearings after remembering him. I opened the lid and drank its contents, just to shake off the image of something missed and coveted.

When I finally drove away that former hallucination, I felt the presence of another individual around the premises. I was astonished to see this stranger, who out of nowhere, sat beside me while he crushed my sling bag, as he sat there impervious without any regard of his surroundings.

He was heavily panting and out of breath.

I perceived him to have some resemblance to Bigfoot, who towered over me even while sitting. It was rude enough that he was crushing my bag without any warning whatsoever, let alone taking a seat on my beloved bench without some formalities by nature much to do with asking my permission.

I tried my best to see him through my peripheral vision but was still unable to take a proper glance at this enormous prick who randomly sat beside me. I thought I recognized him somewhere, not sure where though. Shortly, my memories of his presence came seething in, as my eyes started moving towards his face.

He was a man who particularly always sat on the far side of the benches, across from where we both were sitting at that moment. I traced my memories dating back to when and where I saw him; this behemoth of a striking figure.

As I recalled, he was sitting across a bench in the north-western part of the park when Tod, the miniature, running machine approached me. He also was jogging past us when Evelyn decided to speak with me on that icky afternoon. He was also sitting on the bench and reading a newspaper across me, when the old lady asked for some assistance.

Moreover, the final gritting flashback that I recalled was when I noticed that he was the only person who saw me with that water-bottle incident, where my crotch was soaked in water.

In addition, I confirmed my doubts when I remembered someone laughing from afar when that incident occurred. His presence alerted me to think that I was extremely oblivious to the people around me, since I barely noticed him who seemed to have always been present to every awkward moment I had in this park.

He was still gasping for air when I garnered the courage to make the slightest movement of putting down my water bottle. I decided that it was an urgent matter that needed some action on my behalf.

Instead of quenching my thirst and remembering about what I was incidentally, thinking about earlier; an identified problem surfaced in front me in the form of this uncouth man who disturbed my defined peace. I got disconcerted just thinking of how this inattentive stranger had seemingly dislodged my presence.

I furnished myself with the courage needed to confront the troll who had neglected me, little ol’ me - the homo who wants to be left alone.

I took a deep breath and exhaled until I managed to place my index finger on his broad muscular right shoulder, wondering if he would pummel me or suddenly turn green and morph.

I spoke out with gentle assertion as my eyes darted upon his actions as I said, “Excuse me? Do you mind? You’re crushing my bag.”

He then managed to catch his breath while he gently shook his head towards me, as he clenched his palms face down on his knees.

“I’m sorry *pants* but I just need to sit someplace and I saw a vacant seat right here so I took the chance and grabbed it *pants heavily.” He took in big gulps of air then apologized “Really sorry, am still catching my breath from all the running.”

“Out of all the available benches lined up for everyone in this park, it really had to be this one!” I said in reply, as I apprehensively gazed at him while I waited for his reaction.

After a minute gone by and him spacing out as he stared out to watch the children from the playground, I felt my left eye having slightly twitched when I said to him “Uhm...you’re still sitting on my bag. Can I at least have that back; I do not intend it to be coated with your sweat.”

He immediately moved his buttocks inches away from my bag then placed it on my lap. I sneered at him as he tried to make a follow-up apology that I was certainly in no mood in hearing of such excuses. His right hand tried to reach for a handshake as he thought of making a good impression.

“Nice to meet you, I’m...” To his surprise, my hand recoiled as he tried reaching for my right hand.

“Could you at least wipe off that perspiration from your hands? It is all clammy. I do not care about your personal hygiene. But please?” I said to him.

His facial expression changed from being surprised to exasperation that came from my snickered remark.

“Oh, touchy are we?” he jokingly said.

“Nope, just a germaphobe.” I retorted.

“I see. So it’s okay if I borrowed your towel before I shake your hands and introduce myself? You don’t happen to bring isopropyl alcohol with you eh...” he replied with hilarity as his grin widened with ease.

I was astounded by his complacent attitude for personal space and how brash he sounded by having said such a thing. My nerves shot to its limit, which followed a rhetorical sentiment that came from my enraged self.

“You actually think that just because you are sitting beside me, without having politely asked me if you could take a seat, would I give you the satisfaction of having to talk to me like we are some acquaintances now, more so as friends - frigging ridiculous!”

He was taken aback by my brief and short display of hostility as he said, “Whoa, too much coffee? I’m just kidding with you man.”

I replied to him in an informative way and gained my composure then said, “Much to your pleasure as it may be, but I do not drink coffee. You know what, if you prefer sitting here then just sit will you and shut up!”

I articulated to him an important note as I added, “Do not talk. We are not friends. You just happen to sit beside me and that is that.”

“Okay, if you say so. Seriously man, you sound like my mom.”

He gave me a crooked smile, which made me realize that Bigfoot’s intentions was to mess with me as he made fun of this situation.

My hands signalled him to leave the premises and go in peace as an attempt to make him leave me to my preferred isolation as I said, “Can you just leave me alone? Please just...find another person to bother with!”

“You know what, I’m a good guy. Don’t need to be so touchy mister congeniality.” he said while slightly agitated.

I threw back a quick reply with distaste “Great, and now I have a title. What is next, a tiara and a sash?”

“So do you like your title and your new name? Well at least you have one...,” he said in a tone that changed more like a fervent regard for my attitude towards him.

He smoothed his face as he continued, “...you know what; you don’t even want to know my name. Don’t that sound like you’re the rude one?”

I grabbed my water bottle and drank to clear my throat then said to him “Not friends. *coughs*”

His light caramel eyes stared at me with tranquillity for exactly five seconds, until he said, “Hmm. Odd, and rather funny.” then he gave out a howling laugh that echoed all throughout the vicinity.

I felt conscious with him starting at me after he was finished with his outburst, just to affirm to my senses that he was not giving me that ‘Can I get your number’ look.

I then whispered to myself, ‘You are simply annoying.’ while being unsure if he heard me.

Silence became our mode of topic for a good couple of minutes. With nothing much to do, I started to look into his features when he decided to take a break from pestering me while he brushed his gaze into the dimming sun.

He was roughly a good 6 foot 4 or 6 foot 5, judging from his knees as it nearly reached his chest, when he sat on the tiny bench that we both were sitting. If I were to make an estimate, he would probably be in his late 20’s or early 30’s.

He had features to that of having a roman nose that perfectly went well with his thick straight eyebrows, chiselled jaw, high set cheekbones, almond set eyes, full set of lips, and those perfect set of teeth, medium-long wavy haircut and his slightly trimmed short boxed beard. His olive tan resembled to that of a Spanish soccer player that blended well with his features.

He had arms that could rip me in half, if he happened to have noticed me gulping down my saliva as I stared at his sweaty large arms, tempted to have a feel of it and scared to be felt by it at the same time.

To put it in a non-technical language, I was sitting beside a Roman Italian god whose body was like an Adonis and a face that said, “I’m lucky I’m not you”.

This is where I questioned the fairness in God for He seemed to have spent more time making this man who was sitting beside me; this stranger was simply too gorgeous for a mere mortal.

He had a mysterious aura that emanated from the way he would look at you. His light chocolate eyes set the brooding tone he resonated, yet lifted by his gentle and warm smile.

He had a magical thrust that pulled you towards him; a feeling that started the moment he spoke. His dark and steely voice seemed non-threatening, but at the same time calming and reassuring that he meant no harm.

He had this quaint air of confidence subtly imposed in his features. You would have felt certain wonderment towards him because you would assume he was too perfect - because I did. He was too perfect from anyone’s point of view.

In the language of fashion, he was wearing a grey wife beater and black jogging pants. It was fashionable if you were considering a few noticeable holes to what you were wearing, a part of the manufacturing flaw.

However, he did not reek of any disgusting body odor that might have sent me packing the minute he sat beside me. He smelled of musky wooden and juniper scent, which is not horrible I think, despite the fact that he was sweating profusely.

I think he was wearing those old people perfumes, the strong pungent ones that knock your sense of smell if you get a whiff of it. Despite his rancid choice of body cologne he paired up with his running activities, his smell was intoxicating – the smell of a real man.

As I was still observing the specimen a.k.a Bigfoot, I noticed some pinkish gooey marks in his backside – his ass.

I assumed that something accidentally stuck to his behind or the fabric in his jogging pants when he was doing his running earlier, so I had not bothered to question him or even told him of anything as payment for his immortal sin, for he was rude to have sat down on my bench without asking.

I did not want to start another conversation with that big yeti beside me anyway.

After five minutes of complete silence, he could not keep his mouth shut and had to say,“I may be annoying but at least I could relate.”

That was seriously a delayed reaction from what I said earlier. I may have thought highly of him for a second; five-minute late replies were never a sure way to impose your intellectual capacity. Having named him Bigfoot may have been too much.

I think the name Barney would have suited him, since I abhor that singing and dancing purple dinosaur who’s IQ could probably attest to that of a single celled amoeba.

As he broke that respected silence by his ridiculous backlash, I snapped and told him “In great reverence to anything that involves sanity, just leave me alone. If you will not shut up and stop bothering me then I shall take my leave and be out of your way.”

He got anxious as my temper rose to a new record. He leaned forward as his nostrils flared and inquisitively asked me while one of his eyebrows arched, “Wait! What do you mean? Are you always this malevolent being who has issues with – people?” He then sighed.

He slowly lowered his head closer, a few inches to my left shoulder, while he adjusted to soften his eyes, as he looked closer at me.

I noted to myself that the sooner I leave the better. I stood up and started gathering my things. He was staring at me while I was busy prepping my stuff, so I said, “Not talking...” when our eyes crossed paths. I avoided his side-glances as I continued putting my things inside my bag. His palms were tapping unto his knees as he babbled to himself.

“Okay, I better do another run before it gets dark.” He said as he stood up.

My forehead crinkled as I scowled at him in his attempt to make an exit.

“You do not dare leave when I intend to depart before you! At least give me the benefit of the doubt. That is the least you could do.”

He was about to stand up when he got startled to my unexpected statement.

He furrowed his eyes as he flashed his sight to take a good look at me and then asked me, “What do you mean...benefit of the doubt? Now you’re asking me favors? Ha! What did I thi time, your highness?”

He hurled a monotonic laugh, which I found annoying, as if to make his languid point. I was nearly finished with packing my things and told him “What I meant was, at least give me the chance to prove to you that I am a sensible human being who is concerned for my fellow men even though I have issues with you.”

My face started to relax and tried hard not to laugh.

“How so?” he said.

As I took the first few paces while I straddled my bag around my shoulders to my waist, I then turned around to face him. I took a halt, and then gazed at the cobbled pathway a meter away from the bench from where we were standing. I figured that it would be the politer way to entertain myself at the same time and inform him of my recent discovery in terms of his rear-arse-debacles.

I spoke gently and firmly as the breeze, which was now colder than before he had managed to stumble upon me earlier.

“You sat on a gum.”I said to him, and spoke of it like a secret with a beguiling confidence that marked the coming days ahead of me.

His eyes wandered around my face to see any hints, if I was a man of duplicity able to create such a lie or someone who was just concerned. Nevertheless, seeing the honest smile I contemplated to show him, he then asked me, “How’dya know I sat on a gum? I don’t like it when people make fun of me.”

I started to continue walking ahead near the narrow bridge, while my back met his face filled with uncertainty. I spoke as I continued walking.

“I remember now the reason why I never sat on that side of the bench. Someone always puts gum before I arrive. You did a courageous thing and saved my bag...so I thank you.”

I was waiting for a response from the complete stranger whom I may never see again as I waited for his initial reaction as he said,

“...What the!”

His face panicked as he struggled to look in his rear to search for the deposited gum stuck in his jogging pants.

I turned around and told him with sincerity “That is why it is better if I went on ahead. I know you are going to be busy after what I have told you. Do not worry; I left my spare khakis under the bench in case you want to change, if it fits you. However, I doubt that it would not. You do not need to return it by the way”

I gave him a mid-air salute and started walking faster. The last words I heard he said were “something” and “left”. The other words were hazy and parts too faint for me to have understood. I said to him while I kept on walking.

“Sorry, cannot hear you...have to go. Later.”

I took my last glimpse of him and saw him smiling. I was hoping he did not see me smiling back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I keep on looking at the side roads today while I am rushing to work. I only have a few hours of sleep due to Michael brimming me with questions with my report at 2:30 am in the morning, followed by Allana’s escapades last night that took a part of my sleep – not that I am complaining.

Some uncontrolled phenomenon is keeping my eyes busy as I search from left to right, a certain signage from an establishment. Thank goodness, I am not that drowsy for my eyes to deviate from the roads.

Multi-tasking seems to make my brain functional in case I lack sleep. Trying to look for the signage of a business establishment, while driving and worrying that I am running late for the meeting, and thinking of Michael’s screeching noises in the early morning, is keeping my brain perked up to stay awake.

I have been unsuccessful in finding the place that I am searching for inadvertently while being in a frantic manner. However, I did find a good parking spot; and when I check my watch I am only running five minutes late. I know Michael is probably getting his morning coffee; unless he sees my face, only will the onslaught begin.

I step out of the car, open my car’s trunk and search my sling bag amongst the stacks of mess just to find the business card. I immediately raise my hand to smack myself from seeing that the place I am looking for is in Fisher Avenue, roughly a good thirty minutes drive from my apartment. I manage to find a small print of the establishment’s location, when I was thoroughly scanning the card for some information that may be helpful.

Obviously, the Fitness & Wellness Center is in the other side of the town. Now that I see it, I was looking in the wrong places. I guess my search has to wait some other time - not to focus on it too much for I am pretty sure I will be seeing Bigfoot a.k.a. Joe this coming Sunday. I reckon that it will be interesting to strike up another conversation based on the events that transpired last week.

In a split second, I decide to tear to shreds the business card then say aloud to myself. “Who am I kidding and what am I thinking, he’s fucking straight!”

I put on a brave face and shake off the idea that I may have been thinking about the possibility of meeting him again. When I check my watch, I am already 15 minutes late, and so it goes...another one bites the dust.