Chapter Two #2
He stares at his scanner-chip for a moment, breathes deeply and aims for the salsa bowl, and just as suddenly switches modes.
“What are you supposed to do next?”
“It’s in the book.” I motion toward the book which is still in his hand.
He flips the front cover open and I watch his eyes travel around the page, tracking at first and then twitchy, like he’s trying to read beyond the words.
“This is about an app,” he says, pointing. The instructions on the title page indicate that I’m intended to download an app, and then wait for more instructions.
“Yeah,” I say, lowering my eyes. “That’s why I wanted to tell you because it’s taking a digital turn which feels suspicious.”
“I see what you mean,” he says, studying the sloppy blue writing further. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
I’m not sure how to answer. I really want to see where this takes me, but I also would like to not be found face-down in a ditch somewhere, naked. “I’ve given it some thought. I want to run it by you.”
“Okay, go on,” he says with a hand motion and grabs for another chip.
I grab one too, even though I’m about to say a bunch of stuff. I just hold it and wave it around mildly as I talk: “I keep asking myself, why doesn’t my secret admirer just communicate through email, or a text, or a DM or something. I think there are ways to do all of those things anonymously.”
“That’s a good question.”
I hesitate, like I’m afraid to think aloud. “I think it’s because she’s not a creepy stalker. I think my secret admirer wants me to let her know that I’m interested in being contacted. It’s like I’m sending a message back by actually downloading the app.”
Martin stares at me a long while, something painful at first and then a smile, before finally turning away.
I look away too. I think I might be so driven by this adventure, that I’m losing touch with reality. I try to express this: “Does that make sense, or am I losing my mind?” I look back at him.
His smile is mixed with, I can’t tell what. “That makes a lot of sense. You’re probably right. It’s your adventure, you get to choose what to do, and you’re not being tricked or manipulated.”
I find myself gasping. “Yes, exactly.” The chip I’ve been holding snaps between my teeth.
I get a warm feeling in my chest that counterpoints the salt of the chip.
I feel like a weight has been lifted. “That’s why I needed your help.
I wasn’t sure I was thinking straight. I’ve never done this before. ”
“Well,” he sighs, “You should download the app. Once you do, what next?”
I look back at the cover page. It doesn’t say. I slump back in my chair, which wobbles on the uneven terra cotta tiles. “I think… wait,” I sigh.
“I think you’re right,” he says and smiles, carefully lifting another chip out of the salsa bowl.
When our meal comes, I’m slightly comforted.
Every time we come to El Chaco’s I always order the same thing and it always comes the same way.
Today is no different. Martin always orders something he’s never had before, which I think would eventually become difficult at a Mexican restaurant, but it appears he’s succeeded exceptionally as his plate arrives with an entire fish, complete with eyeballs and scales.
I vacillate between horrified and inspired, even experiencing a pang of jealousy until he asks, “Would you like to try some?” when inspiration fully gives way to horror and I’m glad to be back with my comfortable, predictable, faceless burrito.
I think Martin laughs at me under his breath, but I don’t care. I’m laughing too, on the inside.
I’m glad to be eating with Martin and trust his advice even with the extra set of eyeballs watching us from his plate. It might even be possible that I forget about the stolen book on the table and just enjoy life as-is for a moment.
After paying, we thank the waitress on the way out and head for the parking lot, which is growing dark in the dwindling daylight.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Martin asks quietly, not making eye contact as we walk.
“Sure.” I respond without thinking.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
I look at Martin, wondering where this is going. “Anything. Ask.”
“Why have I never seen you with anyone? I never hear you talk about people you’re interested in,” he says softly.
I kind of chuckle a little, which causes him to lurch slightly. I point at him and say, “I could say the same about you!” I’m still chuckling. I think he wanted this to be a serious conversation, but I’m not seeing it that way.
“I, um,” he stammers, “Well…”
“No, it’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’ll answer the question.
” I turn to him and smile. “I don’t really know the answer to that.
It’s just my life.” We arrive at my truck and stand near the tailgate.
It’s nearly dark and the nearby intersection murmurs, the passing headlights sweeping across us in slow intervals.
“I’ve never found the right person. I dated some in college, had one long-term relationship that ended badly, and watched as other couples fell in love and got married, but I never did.
I just never clicked all that well with people and relationships never seemed like something I should force. ”
He looks at me, then turns and leans against the tailgate.
I continue, after a breath, “If you really want to know the truth, I think I’m just one of those people that think the right person is out there.
Like, one day I’ll meet that person and it will just happen, and it will be surprising and magical.
” I exhale slowly. “I probably sound pretty stupid, like I’m wishing for some crazy perfect fairy tale or something. ”
The traffic purrs at the intersection as the traffic light switches.
Looking at him, I say, “You’re the closest friend I have, so you know me pretty well. I feel like I have the ability to get along with anyone, but I don’t ever really click with most people. You’re the only person I think I’ve ever clicked with.”
I feel a surge of heat running up my neck. I’ve overstated, or misstated, or… “I mean, what I mean is…”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too,” he interrupts. “I guess I get it. Finding a relationship that just clicks is pretty rare.”
I rub the back of my neck to dissipate the heat, then slouch against the bumper. I notice Martin’s eyes are flickering against the strange yellow lights of the parking lot as they begin to come on.
“So what about you?” I’m serious about knowing and I hope my tone matches.
He lets out a hiss and laughs. “Where do I start?” His laugh is short and then he pauses a moment too long.
I wave my hand at him to stop. “You don’t need to answer that.
Everyone’s got their own thing, right? Let me ask you a different question: Would you follow a scavenger hunt if some secret admirer…
” I have to stop myself. I’m standing upright now, gesturing wildly.
“That is the dumbest term! We need to change it! I don’t have an admirer.
I’m not being admired. I’m banning that word from our vocabulary.
It’s my secret person. Hopefully they are a person! ”
Martin laughs.
“Would you follow a scavenger hunt like this?” I ask.
“From a secret person?” He smiles through his chuckling.
I nod.
“I think it’s different for me,” he says, shaking his head.
“What?”
“I guess the world works differently for me.” He shifts his weight and looks away. “The rules are different for gay men.”
I become a mouth breather and stare.
I’m floored by two things: The term. Martin is not a labels kind of person. And, what? His label has nothing to do with a secret person! “What are you talking about?” I demand.
“Well,” he starts. “There are different rules for gay men and how they meet and build relationships and get to know each other. It’s different.”
“You think a secret gay person would be any different than my secret, what, straight person?” I can’t believe he is actually thinking this!
“What if my secret person is gay?” I’m speaking without thinking, and Martin freezes.
We stare at each other for a moment. “I didn’t mean that,” I stop mid-thought. “I, just…”
He turns toward the truck and the overhead light illuminates his profile.
“I guess it’s safe to say that everybody has their hangups.
” His voice wavers, “I’ve got mine. You’ve got yours.
I’m sure your secret person has their own secret hangups, too.
We’re just people. Which is actually the reason I think I’m not with anyone.
I’m just people, and just haven’t found the right person yet. ”
“Me too.” I’m inspired by his resolution. “This seriously isn’t something that should be over-thought.”
“You just have to enjoy the moment, right?” He smiles a one-sided smile and looks at me.
“The moment. Right.” I notice he’s fidgeting with the pendant at the end of his gold necklace, it’s a small gold puzzle piece.
“I gotta tell you, Martin, I think you’re great and I think you should have a secret person too. A gay secret person. With gay secret person hangups.”
He laughs and looks at his shoes. “This conversation has taken a turn, but thanks,” he says. “I wonder where all these secret people live?”
“I’ll tell you,” I say, whispering and pulling close to him. “Come here.”
He distrustfully leans in.
I whisper loudly in his ear, “It’s a secret!”
He shoves me in the shoulder, pushing me away. I can’t stop laughing, which must be contagious because he’s laughing now, too. Our bouncing shadows wrestle on the asphalt beneath us.
After regaining myself, I tell him seriously: “You’re a great friend, Martin. I’m glad you and I have hangups together.”
He locks eyes with me. “Me too,” he says. “The friend part, not the hangup part.” He smiles. The moment flashes brightly in the passing headlights.