Arlo #2
He leaned in closer, and I fought the urge to lean away.
Personal space was essential to me, but I could sense he was up to something.
I’d spent too many years with mischief makers like Milo and Mason not to know better than to put blood in the water when a shark might be circling.
Mitchell wasn’t as bad as Mason, or as lovably goofy as Milo, but he was close enough to wait and see what would come out of his mouth.
His eyes narrowed. “Okay...who do you find attractive?”
My mind flashed to a certain playboy with an irreverence for life and death before I stared back at him, keeping my expression neutral. “Are you interested? Is that why you’re trying to figure it out?”
“No,” he said, waving a finger at my face. “You’ve got a weird face...and have a dick.”
“How observant,” I said, resisting the urge to reach up and touch my face.
Specifically, it was my nose I wanted to cover.
That particular appendage had always attracted attention because it was noticeably too big for my face.
A narrow jaw and a pointed chin made for a rather striking, if odd, set of features for some people.
I wasn’t immune to being self-conscious; I was human, but I worked not to let my appearance bother me too much.
And I had to admit I had garnered enough attention over the years to know that, apparently, I was at least some people’s cup of tea.
“Though, as you pointed out, it is the twenty-first century, you cannot guarantee that I actually have a dick.”
“True...do you?”
“Are you really that curious?”
“See, the problem with you is, you are too reserved to stand up and whip it out. At the same time, I’ve known you long enough to know there’s always a chance the shit head that lives buried deep inside you could come out at any moment.
So there’s still a very good chance you might just stand up and whip your dick out. ”
“And I’m trying to decide if the possibility excites or disturbs you.”
“Yeahhhhh, that’s...still not giving me a good idea what’s in that head of yours. Please don’t whip your dick out. I can appreciate the looks of another guy, but they, especially their dicks, do next to nothing for me.”
“Next to nothing is not nothing.”
“I don’t like dicks, do you?”
I eyed him again, confused. “What is this sudden interest in my sexuality?”
“It’s more just trying to understand you. I’ve been working with you for a while, and I’ve never seen you talk to a guy or girl like you’re interested.”
“I’m typically dealing with the grieving when I’m here, Mitchell. That environment isn’t conducive to flirtation or finding a date.”
“Okay, good point. That would be creepy.”
“Quite.”
“But I’ve also never heard you talk about a boyfriend or girlfriend, or that you’ve gone on a date.”
“I don’t typically date,” I said with a shrug, turning away from the file because Mitchell wasn’t ready to let the subject drop, so I could get some work done. If I had learned anything from him in the past, indulging him for a while was sufficient to guarantee some peace and quiet later.
“Wow, bad experiences?”
“There have been a couple of bad ones, yes. I suppose you can’t date without a few bad stories. But no, that’s not the reason I don’t date. I just...typically don’t.”
“So if I were to find a girl...or guy for you?”
“No matchmaking. And since you keep coming back to the topic and are showing no signs of backing down, I don’t have a particular sex or gender expression that I find myself attracted to. It’s about the person, not the...packaging they come in.”
“Ohhh, so like...bi? Pan?”
“I’ve never found a label that suits me, so I stick to doing what I know.”
“This from the man who insists on making sure everything in the storage closets is organized and labeled.”
“Labels and organization are necessary in a workplace. It’s not necessary in one’s personal life.”
“Now see, that’s the sort of thing I didn’t know about you. I just figured you had your clothes organized by size and color.”
“Labels and organization are tools that can add a little order to the chaos of life, which is important for one’s professional life.
But it’s less important for the more nuanced and complicated things that come with being human.
One’s sexuality is one of those things. If there’s no neat and tidy label for it, why bother putting in the energy to create one? ”
“I don’t know, plenty of people do.”
“Perhaps they have too much time on their hands, or perhaps labeling themselves is of more importance to them than anything else. For me, it’s not important. I am what I am.”
“Even if it’s confusing for other people?”
“Mitchell, several things about me confuse and irritate other people. That has been a fact of my life for as long as I can remember. My ill-defined sexuality will just be added to the list.”
Mitchell sighed, leaning back again and shaking his head. “You’re such a weird mix of, like, chill and...not chill.”
“That certainly added some clarity.”
“Okay, you might be hard to read, but I recognize sarcasm when I see it. Don’t make fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then get that little smirk off your face.”
“Just imagine,” I said, returning to the file and frowning. “You wouldn’t have to endure such torment if you hadn’t decided that our working hours were for you to try playing a prank on me. One that was doomed to fail.”
“I mean, I could have tried it on Elaine, but I’d be fucked either way.”
“You could consider not trying to prank anyone.”
“I could, yeah.”
“But you won’t.”
“I will not.” Mitchell watched me for a minute before snorting. “Is there any point in trying to get you to talk about your potential love life?”
“There is if you want to make one.”
“But you’re not going to tell me much, are you?”
“No.”
“Last partner?”
“Four years ago.”
“Man or woman?”
“Yes.”
“Ugh. How long did it last?”
I hesitated. “Long enough.”
Which I suppose was technically true, but ‘long enough’ could apply to any relationship.
One that lasted only a few months and ended badly had lasted long enough because it needed to end for both people involved.
It could also apply to a marriage that lasted over sixty years before one of them passed, long enough being a lifetime for them.
In this case, Nora and I had technically lasted long enough.
She was a spirited woman, headstrong and determined, all things I had admired about her.
At the same time, there was a thread of resentment toward the world, a strong sense of shame at the fact that she was a woman to the world but had grown up male, and she still held onto that bitterness.
She had been a little wild, freer than she ever believed she was, and had managed to make me feel comfortable as myself around her.
In the end, though, our lives had been too different to mesh.
I had always felt that she was trying to fill some hole inside with how voracious her appetite was for the new and exciting.
She always felt I was too stuck in my ways, refusing to interact with the world on anything but my own terms. She wanted to play and explore, and I was content to relax and witness.
It might have worked if we weren’t who we were.
The result was that Nora felt neglected, and I was left feeling constantly cornered.
The more she pushed, the more I dug my heels in and refused to move, and the more that incited her frustration and determination to keep pushing.
The arguments were ugly near the end, with neither of us willing to back down.
As it was, I didn’t think she would ever contact me again, and I could respect her decision.
So yes, ‘long enough’ fit just fine, though I suppose ‘too long’ was the other option. We might have saved both of us a lot of heartache and bitterness if we had been thinking clearly.
Relationships had always been...difficult for me.
Relationships required communication and understanding; the first, I strove to achieve but rarely managed.
I tried to communicate as best as possible, but there always seemed to be some.
..gap between myself and others—something missing from the connection.
As for understanding, again, that gap, that absence of.
..something, prevented understanding. People never understood me, and I could never quite get anyone to understand me.
There were exceptions, of course, as there were to any rule. So far, those exceptions existed only with my family. They did not understand me, and communication wasn’t the easiest at times, but they accepted me without question. They were the one reason I still had faith in something meaningful.
“Sometimes I feel if I were able to read your mind, I would have enough information to fill book after book,” Mitchell said with a laugh, cocking his head. “I can practically see the thoughts racing through that head of yours, but I don’t have any idea what they might be.”
“There are books’ worth of stories and information locked away in every person,” I told him with a snort. “I am nothing special in that regard.”
“Not me,” he said with a shrug. “I’m pretty much an open book.”
“An open book does not contain more or less information than a closed one. I’m sure you have stories to tell, even if you don’t think of it that way.”
“You’re so difficult,” he said with a laugh that I hoped was full of fondness. Mitchell and I may never become true friends, but it would be nice to know there were more people than just my family who could at least accept me as I was. “It’s part of your charm.”
“I notice people talk about my ‘charm’ in ways that are never quite complimentary,” I noted as I opened the file and looked it over.
“Everyone has their own charm, yours is just unique.”
“You’re not saying anything that disproves my point.”