What about kismet? - 3. The Power of Convergence: Timing is everything

Chapter 3:

The Power of Convergence: Timing is everything

“Some people get the best of what they want in life...I wonder if those people exist.”

At Friday’s meeting, Michael told me I should write a cover story about the dragonfly and damselfly project of the Department of National Conservation here in New York. He said that Magda, the girl who got knocked up by the guy working above our office’s floor, filed for maternity leave, a day before he was about to give her this feature article.

I am not that proficient in writing feature articles, but he insisted that I take it. Michael somehow thought that I have every time in the world only because I am a part-timer.

“You’re not curing cancer on your spare time Luke. You’d better do this instead of teaming up with Betsy in writing that article about the new study involving a dog’s feces ability to control warts. Unless you’re keen on reuniting with your ex-girlfriend...”

“Nothing happened the night after the party Michael. I have been telling everyone that she tried putting Rohypnol on my drink but instead drank it herself. I had to drive her home because she was so passed out and drunk.”

“I know she’s delusional as they come but - just messing with you. So which one is it? I don’t have time all day Luke. Work with her or get this fucking article done!”

Betsy was this girl at the office. You know those weird ones that strike you as someone who would have a hidden shrine of you in her room, with candles that seethed around your cutout photo, while she yodelled some mystic Tibetan chants of seduction.

I kept on telling her I am gay, but she was on denial and told me that I just have not felt the loving of a “real woman”, and that she found me complicated and alluring. I do not see anything more real than she does though. I was bending over the lines that she was an imagination or a garish nightmare perhaps.

That is why I begged Michael to let me do my work in my apartment. Well, Michael cannot do anything since Betsy’s dad was Michael’s brother, and his brother was keen on getting his daughter married before the almighty power finally closes down her fallopian tubes. I do not see the logic why anyone would prefer her to a bucket of chicken wings. I assumed their abundance of lucid intervals ran in the family.

Anyhow, since that incident where she hacked my office computer and accidentally deleted most of my month’s write-up, because she wanted me to add her Facebook account, Michael got infuriated and allowed me to do my writing away from her niece’s psychotic tendencies.

So here I am sitting in my apartment having a writer’s block, while I stare at my laptop screen, being distracted by Allana’s constant bickering and snide comments to whatever movie she is watching. She decided to spend today’s afternoon watching DVD’s at my place.

“Could you please remind me why I let you in here?” I say to her.

“Cause you gave me your spare key, and your apartment’s nicer than mine. Duh!”

“Fair enough.” I then say to her in an ardent way, not wanting to prolong her babble while I focus on my writing.

I suddenly hear someone shouting, “Babe, are you there?” coming from Allana’s apartment next door. I figure it would be Ryan. She told to me that they would be having lunch at that new upper class Italian restaurant I was bragging about last week called Scampis.

I had dinner there with a lesbian friend of mine, Macy, who emailed me that she was stopping by over New York on her way to a convention in DC.

Therefore, I decided to show her around the city for a day since she has not been to White Plains. It was funny that she knew more of the newer places here in this city than me. It was probably because her phone is one of those new savvy gadgets that lets you surf the internet, lets you be your own park ranger with its built-in GPS device that could track the living daylights out of anything living or non-living even to the remotest obscurities in this planet. She had always been that way even when we were in college, so attuned to technology that through the internet, it would be the medium for us to have even known each other.

I probably am exaggerating a bit but her cell phone could well as be a pocket-sized bounty hunter, due to all these latest technology brewing around the market in this generation.

Moreover, my lack of knowledge on the latest current trends in technology, recent worldwide events, or even the local knowledge to find a place to dine only showed that I barely get out that much, even if having lived here for more than a year in White Plains.

The restaurant served this fantastic pizza called Pizza Amaretto where the pancetta was soaked in Amaretto wine, and it gave off this very scrumptious almond-like aroma; topped with basil and parmigiano - reggiano layered in tomato paste. I told myself that if I were a pizza, that pizza would totally represent me – direct, simple, and complicated only if you let yourself wander off in its various layers of flavours and taste.

When you think about it, it would be the best way to highlight the marketable aspect in terms of selling yourself, which is to contrast your personality to a morsel of pizza.

That description should go in a personal ad for a dating site like, gaysgalore.com that Allana made me join, because she thought that I was not broadening my horizons in my search of men. Not that I was even considering to meet men in some vulgar and tawdry dating website or had even thought that I was ready to be on the dating scene again.

I would probably get a personal message from a bunch of perverts with words like “I’ll top you over with my own cheese and you can splatter your tomato juices all over my hot crust layer of dough-y goodness. Mmmm!” or let me say if it were to be a less disgusting guy he would probably message me with, “If you’re a pizza then I’m a ravioli. Cause baby, I’m meaty and bite sized as it should be on the inside, and especially melts in your mouth on the outside.” – well gross, maybe not a pizza.

After hearing her boyfriend calling her name – which she considers not her boyfriend but in reality is her boyfriend; Alana sneaks outside the door and surprises Ryan.

“I’m not ready yet. Give me an hour at least. Please?” says Allana as she runs towards the bathroom.

“But babe, we’re going to miss our reservation.” Ryan says anxiously.

“30 minutes! Promise it won’t take that long.”

“Okay okay. I have Luke to amuse me anyway. Hey Luke.”

“You boys behave! I can hear you talking about me while I’m in the shower.” Allana yells as she closes the bathroom door.

I then beg to Ryan, “Please do take her out of here, she’s making a mess of my place and your girlfriend‘s making a ruckus that I can’t concentrate on this article.”

“She’s not my girlfriend bro. We’re just friends. Stop bluffing with me Luke, like she hasn’t told you or you don't even know.” He explains

“I know all about that and I have my eyes on you two.” I say to him as I show him a sardonic look of dismay at their ridiculous arrangement.

“You better be careful Luke, if she hears you saying that she’s my girlfriend. She’ll have a fit.”

“I know you like the idea. You kids.” I then turn my back away from him and rotate my chair to my laptop to start focusing on what to write.

With the two lovebirds gone, I am finally able to concentrate. After twenty minutes of noticing, that the silence is deafening my ears. I then fall short on what to think and what to write about my first article due next week entitled ‘The Pygmaea Galatea: The Long lost sibling of Pegasus’ and decided not bother continuing the article that Michael had just assigned me to finish.

I look at the wall clock and see the time, 4:26 pm. I go outside to observe the weather if it would rain, since the clouds are darkening the shades of the remaining sunlight. I head on to my closet and change to an Yves Saint Laurent white trench coat, a Louis Vuitton black pants, and an Alexander McQueen cardigan and shirt.

I stare in the mirror and discern my attire to be too opulent. ‘I am not going to attend a MET gala with my mother for crying out loud, I am going to the park for fuck’s sake.’ I whisper to myself.

Therefore, I then change to a more comfortable wear, neglecting the clothes that my mother sent me last Christmas, as her apology for missing every holiday we could have spent together. I doubt these ostentatious clothing would give any day some justice, it is obviously too depressing to wear on a cloudy afternoon.

A simple shirt, jeans and some comfortable black boots might do the trick, topped with a trench coat I bought on a thrift store.

When I arrive at the park, it was startling to see Joe comfortably sitting at my usual bench and is oblivious to my arrival as he stares aimlessly towards the stream in front of us. I notice a folded newspaper under his rear. I am hesitant to approach our commonplace until he finally sees me from a foot’s distance.

“Can I have a proper seat now?” he says softly while turning his head towards me.

“You are already sitting. Why ask my permission?”

I glower at him as I take a seat on my usual spot. He grins then says, “Just asking. I don’t want to irritate you this time.”

“To irritate you...? I should be the one trying my best not to annoy you. You could beat me to a pulp if you preferred to be that belligerent type who goes into a caustic rampage. You seem to look like the part, very much so.” I glance at his expression while trying not to wince at his reaction.

“And now I’m being judged. You crack me up.”

He then gives his infamous howling laugh that roars across the park. I then relax myself, as he seems unaffected by my pragmatic approach. After seeing him calm down from his previous uproar, I then say to him while showing a sincere smile, “I notice that you’re seriously taking precautions this time. The newspaper fold is a nice touch.”

“Of course, you can’t blame me. I had to buy another set of jogging pants since that one was ruined. I really liked that pair...,” he says. A glum look then enters his face after mentioning his ruined pants. “...I’m going to really miss that pair.” He adds.

I am not an exuberant person by being a prick and becoming judicious if he feels some kind of attachment to a pair of black jogging pants, however, it surely makes me feel remorseful that I am responsible for such disaster.

I could have just told him about the gum and he would not have moved himself further in his seating – if I was not such a twat about my sling bag – while worrying that his sweat would leave marks.

Hence, I suddenly think of lightening the mood a bit. The only outlandish thing I could possibly do at this moment is to my best impression of Johnny Depp’s accent in Alice in Wonderland, just to make my conscience a little less guilty by making a mock of myself.

He does look gloomy, morose even. So performing some theater acting would do the trick whilst making an apology that will ease the tension – well in my case, the nervousness of making me look stupider coined from a very stupid idea.

I do not have enough practice since I last played Hamlet at my high school’s theater department. However, I am sure that this is atonement for a sin hoping to would exonerate by my act of stupidity – another one of those it-does-not-make-any-sense momentum in life.

I heave in large amounts of air then say, “My apologies for my lackadaisical judgment and my deficiency in acquiring proper sobriety. I have come to a resolute that I should have acted more civilized and cultured in matters of the human etiquette in suitable conversations, and my preceding nature is much to anyone’s disposal to be considered simply too brutish. My behavior was undoubtedly less desirable by anyone who would wish to be treated as such. You have acted with such reserve and gallantry that I admire your patience and resilience to my bickering wits. In the light of all reason, I should have declared my insights about your jogging pants, which I have brought to its demise and ruin, and besmirched in the name of artificial coloring, mister who-ever-you-are. I curse the day that science and its convoluted theories had discovered and made use of synthetic gum products and artificial dyes. Therefore, much to my discontent...I should have notified you earlier. However, to all that was lost and all that had been gained, my actions are frivolous for when I did not inform you – that your arse...just got owned by a piece of gum, BOO YAH!” I chuckle then properly say to him, “Deep apologies mister.”

He says in amazement, “Wow! I’m trumped. I don’t know if I should comment on the accent, or the fact that what you said was brain-fuck. The shocker is that I didn’t know you were capable of laughing.” as he says in his usual mocking tone while boisterously laughing alongside with me. He then took a second to say, “Thanks that was really cool. And please stop calling me mister, I feel so old.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you must do to lessen your years and existence in this world.” another chuckle soon follows from our moment of amusement.

Minutes have passed before any of us say anything to complement our earlier barrage of comical insults. Until he opened his mouth and says, “Oh yeah!” then he takes out the khakis from his bag that I gave him a week ago, and then he hands it to me.

“Are you fine with that? I included it in my laundry so it’s kinda clean, if that’s okay. I don’t like the feeling of being lent something and not returning it in mint condition.”

“Uhm...you didn’t have to. I am used to my things smelling like mothballs. Thanks.” My mouth stretches to a smile, as a simple sign of my gratitude.

“I was just waiting to give it back. Now that you’re here, I...I better start running.”

“It was nice to have met you. See you around then. By the way, how precise of you to think that I would be here...” I then say in wonderment.

“I know you’ll be here.” He glances back at me with a smile as he starts running.

I was calculating where to insert the part, “Hey, I ripped your business card to shreds, which you unconventionally put inside my bag you psycho!” earlier in our conversation.

A direct approach would probably sound a little insulting and confrontational for him. However, I am itching to ask him why he left it inside my bag. Theorizing that it was intentionally placed there not by mistake; I reckon that it is be better if he explains it to me if ever we get to see each other again. I do not want him cooked up on the notion that I have been thinking about it the whole week – for which I have.

When he is nowhere in sight, I tear up a piece of paper from my small notebook. Words like: pants, running, gum, fitness center, Fisher Avenue, and some random thoughts that have been circling around my mind for days, became the main composition of words I am dabbling in the paper.

Twenty minutes have passed until I notice Joe’s gym bag under the bench.

After lurching forward to get the piece of paper that the wind accidentally blew from my lap. Curiosity is running through my head, so I approach the black gym bag and lifts it beside me. I observe its probable contents (and no, I did not open it. I just looked at it) and starts wondering if he left it on purpose or just forgot about it.

My fingers were about to grab the top handle of his bag and return it, when I feel someone’s finger patting my back and to my surprise, it is Joe's.

My eyes widen when he seems anxious to what I am doing when he asks me, “Oh, what’s this?”

He picks up the piece of paper beside me, which gets me worrying. I become confused as to where should I be rattled within the situation. With him, noticing that I moved his bag, or him, looking at what I wrote in that paper that he took a hold of in a minute’s time.

I stand up and tries to shake it from his hold. However, he is taller than I am so I decided it is futile. I feel like an idiot just standing there as he read its contents.

“Can I have that back?” I plead as he burrows his eyes further to what he is reading.

“Oh! This is...” he frowns, as his statement seems to infer upon my sanity.

I am prodding him as he continues to analyze on the words that I have written when I say to him, “That is why, just give it to me. That is just rubbish...” then I whisper away from his direction, “...frigging thief.”

He stops reading, his eyes widen in surprise then he exclaims, “You’re kidding me right, I see you touching my bag and you call me a thief. Unbelievable!”

“I...I was not...Hey I did not touch your things! I just moved your bag that is all. Why did you leave it here anyway?” I then say in reply as my defensive attempts to detract his attention from reading further to what I wrote in that torn paper, it makes the situation worse than it is for he still keeps on reading.

“Could you please stop looking at that? By the way, you are no saint either. You put that business card inside my bag without even telling me.” I then protest as he focuses his glare upon me.

The word business card stops him from probing any further to its contents. He then sits beside me and puts the piece of paper on my lap.

“Hey, I was screaming aloud that afternoon and I told you that I inserted something inside one of the pockets of yer bag. But you seemed to be in a rush that you probably didn’t hear me. And...” he then takes a pause and says “...I only placed it there since you weren’t so open to proper introductions. I just thought it would be a fun way of introducing my self – that’s all.”

“You are not serious are you? That is your way of introducing yourself to someone. Well, to each their own shenanigans I guess.” I inhale and feel a pang of relief and regret about bringing it up that at least he has given me some light to the incident.

I think it is a good thing that his explanation is not out of the ordinary, because I am expecting his explanation to be more on the lines of “it’s because I’m stalking you” or “because I want you to call me about our latest Gym Package and newest Spa offers!” His reason sounds more like the rational thing to say, and what normally what a straight man will do – make it all seem like a joke.

Although I am hoping he had put it simply as “I did it because I like you so call me *wink* *wink*” his explanation makes sure that he is only having fun. And there goes a part of my ego, putting up an “I’m an idiot” sign on my forehead.

At that moment on, I threw away my hunch of the possibility that he might be gay, because for me, the right thing is not to expect and give undeserving judgment based on my crooked thinking. Since I think everyone’s gay anyway to a certain degree; my lack of proper rationale sometimes takes a hold of me.

The fact remains is that he is the typical all around jock and the fulfillment of every gay man’s fantasies – a truth that all gay men desire for which I do not invest on my own follies. Besides, he is not my type even if he turns out to be gay.

You could say that I am not a keen fan of perfection, I would rather accept those imperfections then work my through what that person is all about. I have had crushes all my life, and he does not even measure to my standards. You well could assume that although his general physique is intimidating by far, his attitude is the one that irks my guts to the gullet of my core being.

I know he is a nice person, but this one does not have the slightest ounce of sophistication entrenched in his bones that equals to that of a sensible human being. He is marred, spoiled, blemished, tarnished, mottled, flawed, imperfect... (ohhh...mary-mother-joseph-and-the-holy-trinity, I think I may actually like him).

His eyes focus on me then he says, “So we’re even now?” He opens his humungous right palm then forcefully shakes my right hand. I hesitate for a moment until I show him a firm smile to signify a truce as I give my reply.

“Yes, we are even.”

“So what’s with those words you wrote down in that paper? Were you that desperate of hunting me where I’m working, or did you hire a private investigator to get some info about this creepy fella right here who keeps on bothering you?”

“Do not worry about it. I am not that type of person. I was just wondering why I got someone’s business card out of nowhere. I was just surprised, that is all.”

He faintly says “Oh, okay.” then he stretched his arms and becomes relieve.

“So you always go here alone? I always see you staring at something. I thought you’re some nut-job having a kick for eavesdropping on everyone else.”

Before I answer his question, I dart my eyes at the stream. I point towards the gentle water current, and then say to him “See that?”, as the water serenely carves its way through the stone bedding.

“What about it? That doesn’t answer anything.”

“You know how we contradict ourselves, that body of water seems to withstand its own contradictions and because it is a paradox of its own nature – it flows with continuity. That is the reason why I go here. Unless you prefer the need for further explanation and a 10-page essay about the complexities of contradiction, then ask and you shall receive. For the record, I prefer being alone if you noticed.”

“Ugh, no...I’m not requiring you to exert effort on my stupid question. But, that’s deep men. I betcha you’re one of those people eh, them thinkers.”

He falls silent for a minute then says, “I think better go now.” He is about to stand and leave when a sudden urge, a need for me to say 'don’t leave yet' came rushing but falters at the tip of my mouth.

When he sees that I am like a tree stump unable to react, he says, “I’m just joking. I’m not that rude ye’ know.” then he starts laughing then continues, “I just wanted to see your reaction when you said something that made my brain hurt. I think my brain cells just died of natural causes since you came – and I’m starting to get a headache now.

I give him a pretentious smile to cover up the only plausible reason of why I come here, for which to his amusement seemed humorous.

“I am also kidding so do not fret about my bullshit.” I say to him.

“I didn’t know that philosophical people still exist in this age and timeline. You’re one of those smart ones aren’t cha – the last few remaining smart ones that actually has sense. Not that I’m saying that you’re a geek or...” He smiles.

That previous urge came crawling again for me to say something profound, like a need to explain a forgotten nature of mine, a need to explain myself to him without any pretentions or fabrications. An urge for him to know that part of me, that I am not as cold as I am now or as jaded and cynical as I what he sees me to be.

However, as I decide to let him see a broken mirror image of me, just to let myself feel human again, I utter something different.

“...if you want to leave, it is okay.” I say to him as I cautiously stare in his brooding eyes while I slowly shift my gaze at the setting sun, feeling embarrassed, and awkward.

He did not know what to say, I feel like a complete idiot saying something so tactful, so unwarranted – even to myself - that all I want is to vanish from his sight.

It feels like something hit me in the head when he looks away. The deciding factor is when I see him patting his fingers. I am simply waiting for the seconds until he runs away or walks out from this uncomfortable scenario.

I then say to him “I better go...” just to save my remaining dignity from that embarrassing psycho babble. He gently grabs my arm as I am about to walk away then he said,

“Give me a piece of paper...”

I instruct his stare to the insides of my trench coat, and he seemingly gets the message. It feels uncomfortable when he starts searching the outside pockets of my trench coat, as he takes out my small notebook and tears a page from it, as he searches for a pen in his bag.

He then starts to write on it while I try to catch a glimpse of what he is writing, but he makes sure that I would then be able to read it after he finishes. Therefore, I immediately open the folded note when he places it back inside my pocket. The note says, “You have a gum stuck on your shoe!”

I frown at his silly attempt of entertaining himself and voice out to him, “Really?” then I frustratingly added, “Because I assure you, that is not funny.”

“Stop being an asshole, and just lighten up. Geeze, I’m kidding. Damn, are you always like this, like so serious? A while ago, you could win an Oscar for your acting performance, and now you’re shifting into this robotic persona. Can you just take it easy...geezuz!”

He sounds cynical with a hint of conviction that I am being a difficult and to my astonishment, I have become more of a prick. I give him an apologetic reply, “I know, crap. My apologies, I could not help it.” and then fake a smile for my lack of emotional understanding for his simple nuances.

“I really have to go.” I then add, just to prevent myself from saying things that might give him any idea that I am really an insensitive douchebag.

“You didn’t read what I wrote in the back of the paper did you?” He insinuates.

I take out the folded note, starts looking at the back portion, and I notice a written text that says,“Your metaphor sucks. Flowing water is a sign of serenity, not confusion! Go back to school.”

I smile to reciprocate his nice gesture as I say, “Thanks.”

He then says, “Well, you go if you have to. I’ll just look at yer stream for the time being and contradict myself, as you told me.” He stares into the horizon while glancing on my direction.

I say to him rhetorically with a fervent smile, “You do that.”

I then start to walk a few paces after getting my things until I hear him mention a sullen invitation.

“Next time we see each other, I’ll bring my chess set and we’ll play chess, but only if you want to. I don’t want to impose. I just want to see if yer really a smart guy.”

He presses his nape then looks down, as he waits for my reply. I grit my teeth at the sight of me playing chess but still give him a smile to show that I am acknowledging his idea.

“I never learned how to play chess. But yeah, scrabble perhaps?”

“Crap, I suck at scrabble. Fine, scrabble then. I’ll just bring some food and let’s have some picnic if you want.”

“Picnic? That would be odd enough considered to be...I meant unusual but yeah...”

As the imaginary brick is thrown directly towards my forehead when I nearly utter the word gay, I feel the stereotype of someone hiding in the closet popping out of nowhere and kicking me in the groin.

“Fine I’ll bring some booze if you want it to be a guy’s thing. Who cares anyway, can’t two men have some afternoon brunch?”

I feel as if my balls had just filed for a complete separation to what he said. I guess he noticed I am gay, but by the looks of that double entendre – as he says, who cares anyway. I am sure Evelyn and her cronies will notice that I am with a guy playing scrabble and having brunch as they spread rumors about him and I.

“Hmm...That is a new concept. I may have just the need to try that.” I sa to him just to ponder on the idea that it is not a date; just two men slash friends conversing and eating in a park.

Slap me if you must, but what could be gayer than that situation. Except that he is straight and wants to spend some afternoon teatime with me. This man must really be messed up or some woman screwed him for life for him to be thinking of late afternoon brunches with a random dude het just met.

He says, “So does this mean we’re friends now?” while he rests his palms at the back of his head while he hunches himself comfortably on the bench. I smile and bid my farewell as I start walking.

“So, we’re friends now? Hey, just answer my question man.” He then asks curiously.

I nod in agreement to explain my thought, “I think an acquaintance is a more appropriate term to be used for next week’s setting. Who knows, you may never talk to me again once you find out that I have a brain the size of a walnut.”

He nods back as he says, “You could really use some help in that department, you know having that smart-ass thing going on for you. But I think I’ll have a negative impact on your IQ. I may teach you a thing or two about being a moron.”

As soon as I turn my back on him, sparks of lightning and thunder roar the skies and droplets of rain starts pouring. I hear him shout in my direction,

“Shit it’s starting to rain... Oh wait, I don’t know your name?”

I compliment his echo and say, “Luke, call me Luke.”

He starts to grab his bag as he shouts in my direction, “Later Luke...”

He then takes the folded newspaper he had been sitting on earlier and covers his head as he dashes to the other direction. He turns around as he shouts his name.

“I’m Joe!”

I shout back “I know! You gave me your business card, remember?” as I smile, then heads on our separate ways.

I nudge my trench coat to cover my head. I whisper to myself 'later' as I walk to exit the other way from where he is running. I pass by the bridge and glance down as water trickle from the stream. It flows faster but still calm and tranquil.

The sounds of the trickling water have given me a new meaning to my purpose here in Mac Dandy Park. It feels nice talking to him. However, and more so, it feels refreshing and alive, even if my favorite trench coat is soaking wet and is now ruined.

I stand there for another good thirty minutes, as I see the other people scramble their way to the park’s entrance to get out from the rain. Chaos and panic fill the scene, on the contrary, smiles and laughter fairly surrounds the people while struggling to get their things out of the rain.

Everyone seems happy, and for the first time in a very long time – I am smiling for a reason - despite the chaotic sequence that the rain had brought; I could not stop smiling.

Because I know, I would be playing scrabble next week with him. Moreover, two guys sitting on a bench, playing scrabble surely tops my list of activities to do with a straight guy; at least I have the slightest feeling that he knows I am gay. That idea would surely help dissipate the usual awkwardness straight people feel when they sense you are not playing on the same ball field.

I remember the piece of note he gave me, and reads it before I head out of the park. I carefully folded it in half then place it inside the hidden pocket within my trench coat to protect it from the rain. He is right with one thing about his hidden meaning in his short message – I could be happy if I choose to and maybe someday – I could start feeling something again. Until that time comes, I will wait...

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I was tying my shoelace when Allana made a stop to my unit. She invited me to join her spa appointment that afternoon at around 3:30 pm, which was conveniently located across their office. A friend of hers had recommended the business establishment, for it catered to high profile clientele, so to speak.

Therefore, she was enthusiastic to experience herself what the buzz was all about - too enthusiastic if you ask me. I was sensing something dubious and sneaky that she may have had formulated to get me to accompany her.

“Come on Luke, please! Just come with me. I’ll treat you to a luxurious day of relaxation. He gave me a coupon that gives us 50% discount on weekends. And he says it’s an exclusive thing that only celebrities get.” she insisted.

“Who is he? Is he your new boyfriend now?

I focused my eyes to her as she stared in another direction while she explained to me who her mysterious benefactor was.

“He’s a friend you jealous hetero-phobe. He’s... let’s say, Luke Skywalker’s future husband. He’s on the other side as well. You know...” She said with a giggle and a smile on her face followed by a large grin marked on her face.

“Oh God, you are pimping me out again. You know how I feel with blind dates and random meet ups with guys you just met. Besides hun, I cannot go with you I have other plans today. I am meeting a friend at the park.”

I rushed to get my sling bag on the couch then scrambled to the kitchen to grab the water bottle on the fridge.

“We don’t spend time together anymore you skank. Hold on, why are you so jumpy today? You’re seeing someone.” she pointed a finger at me, “I can see from that constipated look you have on your face that you’re hiding something.”

She flew from the couch and went to my direction towards the kitchen. I tried making myself busy as to avoid her incessant prying.

“Do you honestly think I am dating someone right now? Or even the thought of dating anyone would course through this frigid and enervated brain of mine? Have you forgotten about him?”

“Fine, sorry for mentioning but the fact that your dick might shrivel up soon and become a sun dried banana chip if THAT never gets used. I just want you to be OUT there Lukies. Is it my fault if your best friend only wants to know who you’re seeing or spending quality time with...” she then whispered “or sleeping with...” then said, “...not that I care or anything!”

She paused for a moment then started pinching my cheeks while speaking like a 3 year old. A certain thing she does whenever she wanted to lure me to do her bidding.

“But you just have to go with me, you chubbly wubbly. You can’t just leave me there; I’ll be bored and I’ll feel lonely without you!” She pinched my cheeks too hard until it turned plum red.

“That chubbly wubbly again, I am not fat...Bitch! And do I look like a baby sitter? You are not going to a plastic surgeon; you are going to a spa, what the heck!”

I softly smiled and gently pushed her away as she held my arm in an effort to stop me from leaving, then I placed the bottled water inside my bag alongside the items of goodies I crammed beforehand. I dashed outside the door and said,

“Sorry hun, really have to go. He might be there now.”

I heard her shouting “Oh my God, you conniving skanky bastard! You didn’t tell me you’re meeting a guy in a park. That sounds like a 70’s underground sitcom about how people were slowly eyeballing their ways to promiscuity. TELL!”

“It is just some random stranger challenging me to a game of scrabble. Oh, I almost forgot, lock the door dearest. Kisses!”

“How can you say he’s a stranger when your face looks that you’re just about to get your freak on? And scrabble? You don’t play scrabble! You fucking liar, come back here! You need some explaining to do.” I heard her shouting at my direction while I ran to save myself from explaining to her.

I am sitting on the bench and glancing at my watch, and see the time 4:07 pm. It has been an hour and a half as I wait for him to arrive, and still he is nowhere in sight. I came to the park earlier than usual, thinking he would be here before me.

I came to the point wherein I was making conjectures and felt it was necessary in order to calm me down - just to appease my worrying - such as the likelihood that he is abandoning this proposed activity.

Thinking if whether he was hit by a car, got run over by a truck, or had a sudden heart attack and was rushed to the emergency room, or presuming that he may have other plans to toil away for the rest of the day - beside waste a good Sunday afternoon with me.

Alternatively, the truth that he is just being rhetorical about intentionally wanting to see me again (quote and quote) as a friend, seems all too plausible.

It is not in my nature to have the tendency to get neurotic and frustrated whenever something not going according to plans. So I am sitting here, aimlessly panning myself as I wonder if he is serious, better at all, if this is simply some mischievous attempt for a good laugh.

“Better get back to what I do best.” I whisper to myself, not wanting to undermine the status of this undesirable predicament that I may have just been blown off.

As I am about to grab my small notebook, I see from a distance to my surprise, this large towering man holding a large picnic basket and a cooler while running towards me.

He says, “Am I late?” while he places the basket on the bench.

“Just in time.” are the words I say to him, as fashioned from a lie that becomes his consolation for he is here, present.

My curiosity emerges when I wonder what his plans are for us to do now that he is here. I do not think he has a set-list of activities, like musical chairs or a clown popping out of blue as means of some leisurely activity we could waste ourselves for today.

I also wonder what type of conversation we would be having. I assumed that asking him about his family background or his civil status, if he is married or has kids, would seem too personal. Although I do not see him wearing a wedding ring, the possibility of him married or engaged is out of the picture, unless he prefers not wearing it (I am suddenly sounding like a stalker, this is not a good sign).

I do not want to project to him that I am so inclined in picking up information about him, or have a conversation about things two individuals would do on their first date - except that this is not a date - of course not.

 

He is not some person I would vis-à-vis on a regular basis but a person of interest whom I can traverse topics that concerns matters of the mind. He is, for a more updated jargon to be used, a buddy, a bro (I am not sure what straight people call this term) or a man-friend.

 

He opens the basket and gives me a can of some German branded beer while he grabs another one for himself, alongside with two pieces of burgers in glad wrap.

He says, “The burger’s cold. I didn’t have time to put it on a microwave since I grilled it this morning. I'm praying you don't choke on it”

I then say to him “The flavors are great. Tastes like chicken burger.” as I take another bite.

Disappointment was obvious in his expression when he says, “It’s beef!”

I then stutter to find the words to say that it tastes good, if I am a canine mutt perhaps.

“I meant beef. Of course this is not made of chicken. Who does chicken burgers anyway, never had a chicken burger in my life.”

“You don’t need to lie, I’m no cook.” he says while observing me trying to gorge myself with his flavorless burger.

When I notice that he stops munching on his wonderful gourmet Alpo creation, due to my reprehensible comment that deserves some verbal lashing, it certainly makes me think that shutting up sometimes help.

So I say to him, in my best impression of how to comfort someone’s cooking you just trashed,

“You are thinking about it too much Joe. But for the sake of having our first so called 5’O Clock brunch, in this late afternoon, it would be better if we start out with something good. Even if this shitty beer tastes like regurgitated vomit, it is good.” We both laugh afterwards.

“Do you still want to play scrabble?”

“Can I take a rain check on that?” I say to him.

“I was thinking the same...” he replies then following with “If you think about it; it’s unusual that a thirty-two year old six foot five large bearded man is playing board games with another guy in his thirties. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s just weird. We look like two really depressed guys. We could just talk if you want.”

My eyes flicker as I explain to him, “Just to clarify things, I am not on my thirties, I am only twenty eight. And yes, it does seem odd that two grown men are having a picnic this late hour, not so much on the board game, but the picnic is a dead giveaway.” while we both silently agree.

“Who cares if it’s this late, they’re not the one complaining on my cooking so what the fuck should they care. Oh sorry for the language... So I’m really older than you are. I only said that you’re in your thirties because I just wanted to make sure you’re not still in college or something. I don’t want some parent scolding me for being a bad influence on their kid. Damn! And with this beard, I really look like your dad.”

I take another gulp of the disgusting tasting beer then say, “Just to be fair since you did assume that I was still in college. I could be a professor and you could be the parent complaining that I flunked your kid, just to make the age issue fair and square.” as he chuckles at my scenario while he opens the basket to get a bag of chips.

Both of us sit there and talk about almost anything, since he is a loquacious storyteller that listening seemed enough. He reminisced about his high school days, wherein he was this jock who protects the feeble geeks in class or those oppressed ones in campus, and how he got a sprained ankle that cost him his future career in football.

He also talked about his hobbies, like basketball, ice hockey, and mainly sports related stuff. He also pinned out his opinions about city folks in White Plains and downtown Manhattan residents, about the movies he enjoys, his views on global warming, stock market, and recession.

He also tells the story about the time he backpacked in Europe for three months, and an episode when this small fishing boat capsized and hit him in the head that lead him unconscious for three days, while he worked part time in Vienna as a fishmonger. He also shared about his interest in learning to take cooking classes, about wanting to learn to play the guitar, and wanting to learn how to play tennis.

By the time he is thinking that he is talking too much, I notice that I do not have anything interesting to say that would peak his attention, or for him to think my life is amazing. When he tells his stories, he tells it with such clarity and conviction that every word that comes out from his mouth seems like a narration that is read from some children’s audio book.

Well, my life is not that interesting and he has some amazing stories that shows his passion and vigor for life, per se.

He then asks me, “You prefer speaking in one word or phrases?” I hesitate to reply, and then says “Sort of...”

“You’re not much of a talker aren’t cha?” his inquiry sounds more of a predilection about my lack of inter-personal skills.

“To tell you the truth, your stories are enough to make me quiescent and excogitate upon my life. You absolutely seem abundant of interesting things to say.” I say to him.

He notices that I stopped drinking, so he hands me my second can of beer from the cooler then he kiddingly says, “Ugh, human translation please. I don’t have a dictionary with me.”

“I meant that you make everything sound so interesting that all I could do is sit still and contemplate to every detail of your stories.”

“Nah, you’re thinking it too much. I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell, things to say, and highfalutin words to confuse me with. Even if you don’t share it with me, I know it’s there. You know those people that are calm, reserved, and slightly hostile, are the ones who have those interesting stories to share.”

“You barely know me.” I shrug.

“Sometimes, knowing that you’re here sitting beside me eating my crappy burgers, and listening to my own bullshit is enough to know you...”

I smile at him. Then a mild sensation comes forth to my head as another part of me wants to try to open up to him.

“What do you want to know about me?” I say to him.

“Anything...maybe your Social Services Number, Driver’s Licence Code, Health Insurance Number, or your Bank Account number would do.” He throws a laugh and looks at me with the gentlest of warmth; a precise look you give to someone whom you know is about to share some intimate details upon his life.

“Well, I...I know how to say the alphabet backwards at an extreme pace? I have been misdiagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome at age three, until they realized that I could finally talk at the age of five. I tried bungee jumping once and fainted while hanging upside down. I was an over achiever back in high school. Well, it was more like choosing to be one as a way to please the hell out of my own mother. I could write a poem and I could rap it for you if you pay me $1000. I love singing in the bathroom when no one is around. Ohh, I have a pet fish named Bernie. Hmm...what else, I’m ambidextrous. I used to play La Crosse and Cricket. There was a time where all I did for 6 months was play Xbox. What else did I miss...oh; I have a psychologically unstable twin sister who nearly tried to kill me once. Oh and lastly, I could sing the...”

I then notice that he is idly staring at me dumbfounded to what I have just said as he disrupts my speech, then he says in amazement, “You have a sister who nearly killed you? And you have a twin? This is sounding all too crazy now. For real?”

“Yeah, very much so. She tried stabbing me with a pencil right down on my left eye. I tried defending myself from her. My right arm tried to yank the pencil from her grip. Therefore, the pencil scraped off the skin right down to the...”

He interrupts me again then says, “Didn’t cha say that you were ambidextrous? How can you defend yourself with your right arm if you were nearly stabbed in your left eye? Isn’t it supposed to be that your left arm was versatile enough to protect your left eye since both arms are fully functional either way?” he then gives me a satirical look. “You’re kidding right. Tell me you’re kidding because I don’t see scars anywhere. Is this some sort of test to know if I'm really listening?”

“I am joshing about that part. I am pleased that you were indeed listening; very acute attention span.”

“Why are you telling me all these random things about yourself then insert some make-up story about some crazy twin sister?” He ponders while asking me.

“Because you were asking what was interesting in my life and those were the things that are considered to be interesting. I am a bit of a nerd, a freak and a liar by profession all in one... and I am not degrading myself just so you know. It is just that way how people identify you once they know the things or small facts you barely mind are the things that people tend to notice.” I shrug as my brows meet in chorus and tries to see his reaction.

“Hmm. You’re not a liar by choice, I think you’re a liar by profession. Does that sound accurate enough.”

“Close enough.” I reply to him as my cheeks lift to welcome a smile.

He takes a moment, and then he says to me “Can I ask you a question? I hope you don’t get offended or something like that...”

I gear myself towards his question concerning my sexuality. He may have noticed it the first day when we met so I start to prepare myself for his inquiry. Therefore, I then pretend to be carefree of what he may ask while disregarding the signs that it is be very personal coming from his dire expression.

He says, “How come you speak so formal sometimes? Not sometimes, but most of the time... you’re not gonna punch me now are yah.”

Surprise as I am, his question is somehow calming that he chose something I would not have expected he would ask. So I say in reply “Fascinating observation Joe. My friends’ do comment on that matter that on most conversations, I talk like as if I am in a declamation contest or reading the president's speech from the State of the Nation address. You could say it has been always like that due to my educational training that speaking in a formal context comes out naturally for me. I know I am peculiar sometimes or...mostly bizarre but once I loosen up I am not really like this.”

“We’re drinking beer and you tell me you haven’t loosen up yet?” he laughs then he adds, “You were kind of a snob the first time I bumped into you.”

“Do you not indicate that I have been mostly a douche bag the first time we had our rendezvous in this park?” I say to him while flicking my thumb in the can of beer where I inserted my finger.

“You were sort of an asshole, but you’re pretty okay now if you ask me. We all have our own defenses in terms of dealing with stress, and right now I know you just mean well.” He later adds, “I was also rude the first time – so sorry.”

“Everything is under the bridge now. I promise that I will not speak like I am reading words that came from my English term paper on John Donne.” I smile as I take out my small notebook while I write the words Speak more Casual.

As I was writing on the notebook, he then says “Oh I get what you do now. You’re a writer... figures. I don’t think the part where I said you were a liar by profession applies to being a writer. Unless colorizing your words is what you do best in the line of work you do... then I’m still right with my assessment.” I put back the small notebook inside my bag and said to him “Yeah, you got that right. I guess you are definitely smarter compared to I for having figured that out without me having told you.”

“Nah, I initially thought you’re a psychiatrist or a stage actor. But yeah, I’m definitely smarter than you.” We both look at each other then laugh away the rest of the hour as we drink and eat to what remains of the beer and the bag chips.

“You are a cool guy Joe.” I say to him as I set my gaze towards the stream.

He looks at me and says, “I concur but I still think that you are a much interesting guy than I am.”

“It is no contest. I think you are cool and you think I am interesting. It is what it is as it seems.”

“Yeah, let’s drink to that.” He lifts his beer and gulps down his drink in one go.

He pulls out a genuine smile as he stares at the setting sun. Both of us sit quietly as night-time soon arrives on this quiet place, this small haven. There are a few people still at the park when both of us decide it is time to pack our things and bid our farewells. I still have an early morning tomorrow, and I do not want Allana asking me questions about this affair of mine, an affair with a stranger that simply reminds me of him.

Our meeting is subtle, to which I never imagine is be enjoyable despite much hesitation on my part that he would turn out to be a possible friend and a good listener – to which he exactly is. The only thing that worries me which can complicate our brimming friendship is that if he turns out to be gay – that is utterly disastrous and without a doubt, catastrophic.

It will be certainly be awkward for me, since I sense the chemistry between us is so evident. Not speaking of the sexual aspect that you will normally find in a person you consider attractive, or simply someone you rather like but...

On the contrary, someone who you think you may share a bond with; some instinctive trust that binds you with that person is exactly the chemistry I am referring. In addition, I think, that is a commonality between friendships, and that is what ties Joe and I together.

Because after our first official meeting, I am sure that if ever my attraction gets in the way of the friendship or if he feels the same for me – if ever he is gay – then it will most certainly destroy that partnership that we share.

In addition, if you put it in the perspective of a heterosexual relationship, it is similar to that of a man who has a platonic relationship with a girl, to which is absolutely impossible to even exist if sexual attraction gets in the way or one finds the other to be attractive.

Therefore, for me to say that he ought to be straight, that is an idea or maybe a truth, which means that I prefer the friendship than the circumstance of him being remotely homosexual.

My background in relationships is too tumultuous for anyone to linger and stay for all considerations. I am not ready yet to embark on some palpable heartache or another journey, let alone be sucked-in and gravitate towards a possibility that may not even exist. And with Joe around, I would consider it a sin to use him if he is the only person in the world that would slowly make me forget about him, my dearest William.