Chapter 3 #2
“You are. And frat bros are not exactly my type, to be honest,” he said as we passed a young man weaving silk scarves.
“There’s always an element of loyalty and exclusion that goes hand in hand with fraternities.
We talk about secret societies, but if you look at any of the major universities in our country, you have elite clubs in plain sight.
Regardless of their politics and beliefs, they learn early to cover for each other, and then they just keep doing it. ”
“Bel is different,” I said. “We’re more a commune than a fraternity in that sense.”
“Good to know,” Harrison said, and I thought he meant it. “Let’s split a little and waste a bit more time. Emma’s got yoga in an hour, so she should pass through soon if she means to come at all.”
“You’re not sure she will?” I asked. “And you know her schedule?”
“She’s very organized,” Harrison said in a passing manner. “And no, I’m not sure anymore. This is her favorite thing. She wouldn’t miss it. Unless something happened. Should I call her? I should call her.”
I grabbed his forearm. Whoa. Firm. “Do not call her, man. Are you crazy? You haven’t spoken in two months.”
The concern was rooted deep in his eyes. Even his mustache drooped a little as the corners of his lips dragged down. “It’s strange.”
“Maybe she double-booked,” I said. “The last thing you want is to call her, reveal you’re virtually stalking her, and be a creep who makes a fuss with zero evidence.”
Harrison pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, then inhaled through his nose. “I’m not stalking. I’m only arranging accidental run-ins.”
“I’ll leave that to the jury of your peers to decide,” I said. “But you are not calling your ex because she didn’t show up to a Sunday market.”
Harrison nodded. I was confident enough that the moment of danger had passed, so I nudged him in one direction while I walked in the other.
When we reunited some twenty minutes later, we strolled around again, chatting with sellers and making an appearance.
Quite a few knew Harrison from one place or another, either by name or by appearance.
Harrison studied film at Elmwood U, so he spent a lot of time among the artists and artisans.
This meant he spent a lot of his evenings in bars, doing some very niche pub quizzes, buying rounds of drinks for penniless bohemians, listening to poetry slams, or just doing bad karaoke.
Zero-budget plays in abandoned warehouses, makeshift musicals with three instruments accompanying four actors, or indie film festivals with three people in the audience were also a big part of Harrison’s life.
This was all useful stuff for a boyfriend.
It informed my character. It made me wonder, what sort of guy would fall for Harrison?
He was a contradiction all around, refined and polished and so deeply intelligent that it was borderline performative, but he was also a lover of chaos and imperfections, chipped mugs and broken plates and noseless statues and spilled ink.
By the time we walked out of the warehouse and onto the street again, the sun was making its way down the sky, and the air was spring warm. “That was fun. I think half the city will know we’re a couple by sunset.”
“We sure spread the news around,” Harrison agreed. “Only Emma never hangs out in the underground, and I doubt your friends will come across my mime friend anytime soon.”
“If they do, I doubt they’ll understand what he’s trying to tell them,” I said.
Harrison laughed. “I dread to imagine it.”
I made a rude gesture with both hands.
“Are all straight men obsessed with penises?” he asked.
I gave it a short thought. “We often go to war because of them.”
“That might be the truest thing that was ever said,” Harrison said. “It reminds me of Dr. Strangelove and the whole dick-measuring contest of the Cold War.”
“I haven’t seen it,” I said.
Harrison shot me a devastated look. “I don’t think we can be together, Taylor.”
I reached for my breaking, crumbling heart, distraught.
Harrison bumped into me with his shoulder. We went to the subway together and got out at the same stop, just off campus, where Harrison said he would take a stroll back to his place.
I tucked my hands into my pockets and nodded. “Let me know when you want to try again. I fed my gossiping friends just enough to make them salivate.”
“That is an image I will carry to my grave. Thanks for that.” We shared a laugh, and I began to turn away. “Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Here, I got you a keepsake.”
I turned back to him and looked down at his hand. In it lay a figurine of a stork standing on one leg. “Really?” I asked, my voice pitched a lot higher than I would like to admit. “I never got anything on a first date.”
“I’m sure that’s not exactly true,” Harrison said.
“Who’s obsessed now?” I asked, picking up the stork from his hand. Soft skin, smooth. He was an artist, alright. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for taking the time for this,” he said.
I wanted to tell him it was my pleasure, that going to weird places for the first time in my life was the fuel for stories that I needed. But I didn’t. Harrison was already turning away from me, walking down the street, as I stood and watched the figurine in my hand.
Huh. That felt good.