Chapter Six #2
“Hold on. Stay right there,” he says and darts away, disappearing into the store like a gazelle. I watch him go. He appears again, breathing heavily, holding a black fedora with a small, white, rumpled feather sticking out of the band. “I saw this earlier.”
He stands before me and places it atop my head and then stands back, admiring. Something bold seizes me and I strike another magazine cover pose, but this time I can hold still.
He tucks one hand into the opposing armpit, grabs his chin with the other and heaves, “Wow.”
I can’t stop staring at his smile. He can’t stop staring at my, whatever he’s staring at. There’s a gleam in his eye I can’t decipher.
Suddenly, I find myself looking for my elbows, much like he had earlier.
“That’s a great look on you, Liam,” he finally says, blinking rapidly. It almost sounds like a confession.
I settle into trying to find my elbows, feeling strangely awkward and emboldened at the same time. I look up to find he’s still holding his chin with his hand, smiling.
He matches my gaze for what feels like eternity and then suddenly I can’t take the burning that’s rising up the back of my neck.
Turning away, I discover there is a full-length mirror that makes up the panel between our two fitting room cubicles.
I see myself in the mirror and can’t quite focus, so I pull the hanging ends of my sleeve together, holding the pieces as if I actually have cuff-links to secure them.
I see Martin in the mirror behind me and freeze.
He’s beaming and definitely not looking in the mirror, one hand still grasping his chin, the other still tucked in his armpit.
His eyes are searching the back of my shirt and I watch them travel up to the back of my neck, searching slowly, and then travel back down.
For what seems like forever, his eyes linger on, well, I guess my butt.
Is this really happening or am I just imagining it?
I instinctively shuffle and try to rub the heat away that’s building in my core.
With the sudden movement of my arm, his eyes flick to the mirror itself and we’re locking eyes in the awkward angles that happen when two people make eye-contact in a mirror but neither are actually looking at the same spot in the glass.
He’s frozen and his smile is sparkling, possibly growing.
The wonky geometry of the mirror-eye-contact feels surreal, like we’re not looking at our own reflection, but the strange image of the two of us in another dimension, another world, a different reality.
Maybe one where I don’t question the actual feeling I’m having in this particular universe.
The feeling that I never want to stop seeing the warmth of his smile.
The feeling that I wonder if it’s wrong to feel so grounded by Martin’s solid presence in my life, like the fedora he placed on my head completes me in some way, like something has finally clicked into place. I feel solid.
Or, at least, the version of me in the mirror does.
Breaking eye-contact again, I see myself in the reflection for who I really am.
My neck is burning, the cuff in my hand has begun to tremble, and the smile on my face has been replaced with something that resembles panic.
What am I thinking? What is happening to me?
I can’t look at this reality in the mirror anymore and flick my eyes back to mirror-Martin.
For a fraction of a second, the alternate universe flashes in the glass again as we make eye contact, and I strain to memorize his gleam, the flashing care in his smile, the awe in his eyes.
And then it’s gone. I turn to face him, the real him, and all I have is awkward questions, a million of them, for myself, that I can’t possibly answer.
So I don’t even try. I just avoid that world beyond the mirror and force myself to say, “Okay, your turn,” but I think I mostly say it to the floor, the floor in this dimension.
He slowly turns on his socked heel, makes his way to the door and I think I catch him stealing one last glance at me through the mirror.
I don’t know if I can trust what that mirror is showing me.
I can’t face it, avoiding the reflection at all costs, heading back into my cubicle and desperately latching the door in an attempt to separate myself from anything I might be wondering about the world in that mirror. I think it works.
We probably spend three hours trying on ridiculous outfits, laughing hysterically, and, quite honestly, pondering the assumptions we’ve made about ourselves.
Or, at least, I did. Some highlights of the day include the beachwear, matching floral shorts and button-up shirt that Martin modeled, a yellow-collared, black paisley zoot-suit blazer with nearly-matching yellow slacks that I wore so well, and a western-cut, pearl-button, plaid shirt with skin-tight jeans and complementary cowboy hat that Martin brought to life with a bow-legged swagger. I don’t know when I’ve laughed so much.
We bought nothing and tried to return everything to the racks so the clerks didn’t hate us later.
On the way to my truck, Martin notes: “We didn’t get any pictures.”
He’s right! It hadn’t occurred to me to even pull out my phone today.
Come to think of it, this whole day is just better without pictures.
I find myself saying: “Ichi-go Ichi-e” and smiling at Martin. He smiles back.
We have spent the day making something more enduring than photos. These are truly moments that are once in a lifetime, or however the saying goes. I feel a warm surge travel through my chest.
“What shall we eat?” I ask, climbing into the seat. Martin drops in the opposite seat.
“You pick. No wait. We should go somewhere we’ve never been before. Try something new, exotic,” he says, looking at me with wide-eyes and a flashing smile. “This is the best together-separate date I’ve ever been on.”
I look at him briefly, then throw the truck into reverse. His restaurant idea both electrifies and unnerves me. I’m usually happiest when embedded in a routine, doing something predictable and calm. But after the fun I’ve had today, I’m ready to bring on the adventure!
“How do you think it went with your secret person?” he asks.
After backing out of the spot and flipping into drive, I pull forward and realize: I had forgotten about my secret person entirely.
I feel oddly at peace with that.