Mike, well Mikey, at the bookstore café. He looked really cute. We started talking. He’s sober now,” Tommy says, telling me the whole story. “He finally stopped drinking. I couldn’t believe it.”
“That’s great. I mean, that’s great that he finally stopped drinking, not that he got a DUI. So what happened? Did you guys just talk?” I say, between puffs of my Marlboro Light.
“Yeah, we talked. I was on my way to go hiking and well, I invited him along. We had a great time, as if we picked up where we left off. I just want to be his friend.”
“His friend? Hmm.”
“Like us. His friends tend to go to the bars, and Mikey doesn’t feel comfortable around them. Poor guy.” Tommy’s voice lifts as he talks about his former flame.
“Bueno, just be careful. I think it’s great that you want to support his sobriety, but you also fell in love with this guy last year. That can’t be easy, being friends with someone you still have feelings and an attraction for. This guy has a lot of issues to work out, chico.”
“I know. I just want to be there for him, that’s all. I’m not interested in dating him. It’s purely platonic. We always had a unique connection.”
I hear what Tommy is saying, but I don’t quite believe that he believes that he and Mikey can be just amigos. Their relationship sounded so unstable. I don’t want to see Tommy get hurt by being nice to this guy because he has such a soft spot in his heart for him.
“Bueno, just know that alcoholics usually relapse in their first year. Be careful, chico! Maybe I can finally meet Mr. Blue Eyes. We can take him to the Cuban restaurant in Jamaica Plain and show him some good Cuban food,” I offer. My cigarette is almost out. I should be getting back to the classroom.
“Good idea. He could use all the new friends he can get. I’ll mention it to him the next time I talk to him. Maybe we can all meet up this weekend.”
“Sounds like a plan, Tommy. I’m really happy for you. I know how much you missed hanging out with this guy. If having him around as a friend makes you happy, I am all for it.”
“Thanks. Listen, I have to get back to work. I’m writing a story about Boston’s first black female news anchor from the 1980s and how she just produced her first documentary about the genocide in Sudan. So I can’t talk much right now.”
“No hay problema. I need to get back to the classroom myself. We’ll talk later.”
“Adios!”
I head back to the classroom for more The Old Man and The Sea. As I enter through the doorway, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a text message from Marcello.
Oi, Carlos. Sorry about Saturday. I want 2 explain. Can we meet?
For now, my focus is my class. This gives me time to figure out whether I should respond to Mr. Brazil, even though I’m intrigued about what he has to say to me. I have a feeling that Mami wouldn’t approve of him in the same way she didn’t approve of Daniel. I can imagine her saying, “Carlito, he has a boyfriend, no?”
I’m not very good at picking boyfriends. I don’t look for relationships. They find me, and they’re usually the wrong ones.
4
Tommy
It was so good seeing you Sunday. Glad we had a chance to talk, cutie. Thanks for listening. Can’t wait for dinner tonight, Mikey writes in a text message.
I’m reading this as I work out on my gym’s elliptical machine. I’m one of those guys whose face is buried in a novel as I sweat and burn my calories away. (It’s the sweet potato casserole at Boston Market and all those chocolate chip cookies I devour for lunch.) The reading makes forty minutes of exercise feel like ten. I put my phone away and continue reading my latest book, We Disappear by Scott Heim. It’s a dark story about a crystal meth addict who returns to Kansas to help his mom as she battles cancer and some inner demons from her childhood. But right now, I wish the fat guy to my right with the really bad body odor would just disappear. I’m suffocating here.
As I pump up and struggle to breathe fresh air, my thoughts wander to my encounter with Mikey. I smile. He has really cleaned up his act. He seemed so at peace with himself as we talked at the bookstore. I also noticed the same serene glow during our little hiking excursion in the Blue Hills. My favorite part was when we sat at the top at the weather observatory and marveled at the city view and the scalding red sun as it began its descent.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been up here. This is a giant forest. Shrek-land, cutie,” Mikey said, as the view of the city unfolded before us to the north. Below, hilly acres of woodlands smeared the landscape with a sorbet of crimson and golden yellow leaves. Every now and then, the trees swayed as if waving us a greeting. The cool breeze lifted the front of Mikey’s straight hair.
“This is one of my favorite places. If something is on my mind or I get the Miami blues, I climb up here and enjoy the silence. You forget your troubles up here.”
“I can see why, Tommy. Thanks for letting me come with you,” Mikey said. Our shoulders kissed as our heads leaned over the granite perch. He stared at me longingly with those two bright-blue orbs, which had been trained on me throughout the hike. I can recall the instances: at the base of the observatory, halfway down the hill, in the parking lot next to the museum, and on the way back to the bookstore where I dropped Mikey off at his car. If the stare was more than five seconds, I veered away and pretended to fiddle with my iPod’s Gloria Estefan playlists. I looked away because I was afraid that Mikey might see the feelings that lingered in my heart.
“You’re always welcome to come. I usually drive out here on Sundays. You missed out on the snakes and coyotes today, though,” I said, our shoulders still touching.
“I’m sure they were hiding from you, Mr. Bad Ass Cubano, but I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I had a lot of fun with you. It was an adventure. Life is always an adventure with you, cutie.” Later on at the bookstore parking lot as Mikey climbed out of the Jeep, he smiled and shook my hand.
We exchanged numbers (I still had his programmed in my cell phone from the year before, but I didn’t tell him that).
“I’ll call ya, cutie.”
“Take care and drive safely, Mikey.”
“And watch out for the coyotes. I hear they hang around in Dorchester, too.”
“Only if you come and visit,” I teased.
And now I’m here, swaying left and right on the elliptical machine trying to stay trim for our dinner tonight. This is silly. I’m working out like a crazy mad man on the machine so that my Gap jeans will feel a little looser around the waist. This is dinner, not a date. But then why do I feel so excited, nervous, optimistic, euphoric, giddy, and fidgety at the same time? I’ve had this soft tingling sensation since Sunday when I first saw Mikey. I haven’t been able to stop grinning. Well, I usually smile a lot. I’m just smiling twice as much as usual. I need to stop this! We’re just friends or about to be friends. I know he needs a supportive sober friend. Seeing Mikey sparked feelings that were still simmering despite all that had happened.
I survive my wild cardio session and the bad-smelling gym rat (or rhino) to my right. I use my handy instant hand sanitizer to destroy any bad germs. I grab my red hoodie from the coat rack, wave good-bye to the salesgirls at the gym counter, and head back to my condo. The whole way, I’m thinking that I can’t wait for tonight.
It’s 7:45 p.m., and I’m at Copley Place Mall, a sprawling city shopping center that connects the Back Bay and South End neighborhoods. Shoppers stroll transparent sky bridges that connect the Prudential Tower with bustling Boylston Street and Huntington Avenue. The skywalks become a Bostonian’s best friend when the weather turns to a chilly 35 degrees, as it is tonight. You can bypass several city blocks by traveling through the hotels that lead to the mall by these elevated enclosed walkways. I remember this area fondly because two years