Echo

So at Daisy’s wedding, I realized I have so many cousins. I tried to add them up in my head, but I lost count. So I’m going to make a list:

Mom’s side (2 brothers, 2 sisters):
Mike
Suzie
Ching-Wen
Linda
Jason
Bohr
Binh
Ray
Edison
Jonathan

Dad’s side (2 brothers, 1 sister, 2 half-brothers, 2 half-sisters):
Miranda
Albert
P
Sammy
Sharon
Julia
Stephanie
Joanna
Ray
Anna
Heather
Ryan
Howie
Justin
other Ryan
Daisy
Danny
Joey
Yvonne
Gilbert
Linda
Mier
Steven

2nd cousins:
Austin
Alicia
Devin
Tyler
Brandon
Avery
Grayson

I’m probably forgetting some people. Add in the cool people who married into the family (Gilbert, Albert, Justin, Judy, Gina, Janelle) and family gatherings are usually giant parties.

I’m the 2nd oldest on my mom’s side (Mike is the oldest but he grew up in Taiwan, so all my cousins in the US looked to me as the oldest). 3rd oldest on my dad’s side. Many of my cousins on my dad’s side are by marriage through my dad’s older brother’s wife (5 sisters). They’re all tight, so we’re close to them, too. None of the cousins on my mom’s side has kids, and only Suzie has been married (and divorced. Rumor is she’s got a secret relationship with an Italian guy much older than her with a daughter).

I always wished for an older brother. Or more siblings. It’s kind of isolating having only one sibling, and as much as I love my one sibling, it can be lonely because Michael can be such an enigma. But I do realize that maybe I was compensated, because having all these cousins is kind of like having a lot of siblings who just happened to grow up in different homes. Whatever little squabbles people have, overall, we’re a loud, happy family, and we support each other. Though beware the devilish streak. My family has a way of goading people into drinking games and getting them shitfaced. Particularly my dad and my cousin Albert. If you see them approach with a bottle and a gleam in their eye, beware.

Man down!

you know what the thing is? i’ve always been nice to my uncle. i always forget that there’s been any bad history, unless he does something in the present that enflames all those feelings again. i can always make him laugh, and accept that he thinks of me as “crazy” as a win because at least he doesn’t think of me as “dangerous” anymore, and that’s how i disarm the distrust. and i’ve always hoped that he and my dad could put the grudge away and at least be civil towards each other. at least be able to be in the same room. i usually cook the whole thanksgiving spread and we have a big banquet party at our house, but since i was in amsterdam working cannabis cup during thanksgiving last year, i cooked the christmas spread instead. i personally called up my uncle and invited him, but it turned out he was secretly having surgery to remove a tumor in his throat that night, so the whole family couldn’t come. i even offered to pack up food so they could have a homecooked meal at the hospital. so he can never say i haven’t had good will towards him. well, he probably does say it, but for him to believe it would be kind of delusional.

but sometimes, people don’t see people, or individual efforts. they see sides. like sometimes, i can tell when my mom and dad are fighting about something to do with work, because i’ll talk to my dad and he’ll just get mad at me for some vague or inappropriate reason just to say, “you’re just like your mother.” it used to be terrorizing when i was younger, to be at the receiving end of this irrational and hot, hot anger, but now i know, he’s just projecting his anger at her on me. And because he assumes i’m usually on her side, he’s angry at me, too. it doesn’t come from lack of love. it comes from lack of trust. lack of clear perspective on the situation.

i know i’m guilty of it, too. i have a rivalry with a cousin. but he’s close with my dad. and whenever he does something that i perceive as him clearly trying to provoke me, my dad always stands up for him, and then i angrily lash out at my dad, because i feel like he should be on my side.

humans.

we’re such powerful, immense beings. yet all it takes is the smallest, pettiest things to bring out our flaws.

but it’s this contradiction, the great potential and the great imperfections that define humanness. the best we can do, is do the best we can.

tell me…do you want me for me, or do you want me because you’re determined to prove you can catch me?

all the world asks of you is for you to be you.

Crossroads–rent out my place in LA or not.

I talked to a realtor who said I can get minimum $3700 a month for renting the whole place out, which would cover the mortgage and other costs, but it would mean Brian would have to move out, and I would be giving up the only place that’s ever felt like a home to me to strangers. But on the other hand, I’m paying a lot of money for a place where I’m not living, a place that’s also my most valuable asset. Right now, it’s my safety net, my place of retreat, but it’s costing me money when it could be making me money.

I usually make the practical decision, which tells me to rent it out and if I want to go back to LA, to just rent a studio or something. But more likely than not, this means I won’t go back to LA anytime soon if I don’t have my home anymore. I was never that into LA. I was mostly into my actual home, which was one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever found. I talked to my mom today and she thinks I should hang on to it. She said to talk to Brian about upping his rent so that I can get the barebones costs covered, because end of the day, he’s like family and we’ve been living together for so long, that if I decide to go back, it’ll be really hard to find a roommate that I get along so well with. But then I’ve always wondered if we use our relationship as a crutch…that as long as we’re living together, we won’t start the lives we should be starting with actual partners. We’re inhibiting each other because it’s so easy for us to continue the way we are…common law partners in a sexless relationship, bonded by our love of making fun of other people as a way to mask our own underlying loneliness.

Secretly, I think this would be my ideal–rent out my place to people who want it furnished so I don’t actually have to move the furniture. Hopefully these people actually pay their rent and pay it on time (my mom worries about nightmare stories she hears where people stop paying, and in the months it takes to go through the eviction process, you end up losing more money than you made overall). Put the extra money into paying down the principle on the mortgage so I can own it sooner. In a few years, when I’ve done the things I want to do and hopefully have by my side the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with, we’ll have a very nice place in a very nice area of LA as an option to live. If not, I’ll have a strong piece of investment property. But seriously, that place has some of the best energy in LA.

I don’t know. I’ve been living there since it was built. It has my energy and only my energy, and everyone who’s been there has commented on how great the energy is. That place is as much me, as I am a part of it. Like I said, it’s the only place I’ve ever found that really felt like a home to me. The only problem I have in LA is I get kind of lonely down there because my family and closest friends are in the bay area, while it’s more superficial acquaintances in LA.

God, this is hard. It’s hard because it’s both a practical decision as well as an emotional one.

One of the girls on the team yesterday went down with a knee injury in the first half. She’d torn her ACL in her left knee and had surgery on it years ago. Last night, she went down scrambling for a rebound and said she’d felt the right one “pop.” Anyone who has had an ACL injury knows that a pop is dangerous news. She sent out an email today saying she found out it’s an ACL tear. Bad news. Worst case scenario. Cecelia and I had sat out with her when she went down, helping her to the sidelines and getting her leg propped up. Cecelia’s had 2 knee surgeries and I’ve had 5, and apparently this girl’s had 1. Basketball’s really rough on women’s knees because we have wider hips which angle our femurs inwards, making the knee ligaments susceptible to injury, particularly torn ACL’s and meniscuses. I used to be the high-jumping rebounder/shot-blocker, but when you get up that high, you have to come down and often, you come down on someone’s foot. Or someone knocks you in the air and you land wrong. After all the surgeries, the compromise I made with myself was that I wouldn’t get aggressive under the basket, or jump for rebounds. Nowadays, the ball goes up and I get out of the way, even though my favorite things are soaring for rebounds and blocks. I stay close to the ground. But last night, to fill the void left by her, and because my shots weren’t falling, I was going for the blocks and rebounds, driving to the basket straight at defenders. It felt great to be playing aggressively and in the air again, but I knew every time I landed safely, that I was lucky.

I don’t know…hurt my knee and my time in Seattle’s done. Instantly. Plus, ACL’s a hard surgery. You basically have to relearn how to walk.

Maybe it’s not worth it, Julia. Think about it.

who needs a 10-lb bag of carrots?

apparently i do.

my cousin told me that her dad thinks i’m rude because i call my mom by her first name. she said he’s always telling her that i’m a bad influence. i laughed and said, i’m probably a bad influence, but not for that reason. i told her that her dad always thought lowly of me. she said she remembers being a little kid at our house, and a fight erupting between her dad and i that resulted in me locking myself in the bathroom. yeah, i remembered that one. it was because i’d already announced i was going to michigan, and that day at a large family get together, he found out i got into berkeley. then he said loudly to the room, “oh, i just thought julia wasn’t smart enough to get into any good schools. if she got into berkeley, then she’s selfish for choosing to go so far away from the family.” i was pretty angry. for him saying such a dickish thing, and also for him trying to humiliate me in front of the family.

i’ve brought up to my mom before that my uncle (her younger brother) is constantly belittling me and being rude to me, and she always tells me not to take it personally…that he just insults me because he sees me as the product of my father and it’s a result of his animosity towards my dad. to not take it personally because it’s not about me but my dad, as if that excuses it or makes it okay.

this whole thing…is bullshit.

but i like my cousins. we take care of each other. at least the rivalries of our parents have not affected our relationships. my cousin was sympathetic about the way her dad talks shit about me, and knows it’s not reflective of who i am. she’s always looked up to me, since she was a little kid. she was telling me our aunt (my mom and her dad’s younger sister) is always critical of her, telling her she needs to lose weight, etc., so she hates being around our aunt. maybe it’s just chinese families. maybe it’s just the nature of family. you take the good with the bad. it’s the price you pay for having the benefits of a clan.

holy shit, today’s an 11/11/11. that means i’m out tonight.

the shortest distance between two points is the truth.

first of all, i sucked today. went 2 for 7 and missed the shots i should have made. it was all psychological. every time i was open and took the shot, i would have a sudden worry that my teammates think i’m selfish for not passing, even though i started the game with 2 assists. i’m my own worst enemy. i have this specific issue about people thinking i’m selfish, and sometimes, it takes me away from me at my best. at least i had 4 blocks, which made up for it. i love blocking shots. and the refs love me. me and the bruthas. they love witty, athletic girls. but i was really irritated with my play overall. we lost by two in the final seconds. if i had made at least two of those shots…

i think this is why i don’t play organized sports. it ends up consuming me. and then i go so far out into intensity that i end up sacrificing my body and getting hurt. this was always a problem. my intensity would be fine if i were playing college or pro, but there’s no point in putting myself at risk when it’s purely recreational. after the game, i was thinking about how i could improve, and went to the gym directly from the game to work on conditioning. i take sports seriously as though i’m trying to go pro, when really, i just want to keep improving. i want to be really good. i get so down after a mediocre or bad game. but this isn’t going anywhere. so what’s the point of me being so obsessive about it? but it’s like i can’t stop myself. anything i put my mind on, i get so passionate.

and now another night where i can’t sleep. this is torture.

ooooh, march/april 2010 is lit up.

i always sleep with my guns when you’re gone…

-shivaree

i just want someone to come home to, someone i can fall asleep with his arms around me, my head pressed against his chest as the rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me safely into sleep.

it’s been a long time since i’ve really been able to sleep. every angle of every minute, feels like, searching, seeking, waiting. discovering new things and saving them, to share with him. but i come home, and he’s not here. just echoes…and the night.

and then that struggle, to finally jump over that dark chasm into a sleep world that holds not sanctuary and repose, but more cryptic strangers in a forest offering clues to finding him if i just give them something in return. and i always do.

people always say i’m single-minded when it comes to purpose. and this purpose has drawn me so far out that perhaps i am closer to home than when i started. i always believed home was a person for me, a place existing in the space between two people connected beyond time.

i’m so tired. i can feel my insides buckling. maybe the time has come to stop searching for home. maybe it’s time that home comes searching for me.

“So what’s your situation?” I ask him. He had a comfortable energy, brotherly. We were huddled together with our arms and shoulders touching–whether for warmth or conspiracy, the moment felt safe.

“Oh,” he laughs. “It’s complicated. Basically, I’m choosing between these two girls. I like them both a lot but they’re very different.”

“Well, maybe it’s not about these girls themselves. Maybe you’re triangulating something.”

He laughs nervously. “Nooo,” he said. “I’m definitely not trying to create a triangle.”

I realize he’s thinking I’m talking about threesomes or a love triangle.

“What I mean is, there are probably things you like in one girl that the other doesn’t have, and things you like in the other that aren’t present in the first. If all these things were present in one girl, she would be the perfect girl for you. So maybe neither girl is the one, but you’re using both of them to compare against each other to figure out the One.”

“Definitely,” he said. “To have both sides would be ideal, but they’re so contradictory I can’t see how they could be the same person. One girl, she’s hot, she wants me to spoil her with expensive things, she’s demanding and she’s really sexually aggressive. Then there’s the other girl. She’s amazing. She’s kind, she’s sweet, she takes care of me…she’s an incredible chef, and people just fall in love with her within like 5 seconds of meeting her. She’s the kind of girl that you set loose in a room and watch people fall for her, and you’re a better person in the eyes of other people, just because you’re the one who brought her.”

“And you don’t believe that one girl can be both?”

“No, not really. I mean, maybe, but…not really.”

I look into his eyes. I have an idea what this is about.

“How’s the sex?”

He looks taken aback and immediately embarrassed like he can’t believe I asked him that. But I know he’s going to tell me. People always tell me. Because it’s important to answering the question he’s really asking me.

“Now you’re getting me to talk about something way more personal than anything you’ve talked about,” he said. He’d been leaning against the bar standing up, but now he takes a seat like he needs to be sitting down to talk about this.

“Well, with the girl who’s sweet and caring…” He hesitates.

“It’s not very good, is it?”

I say it more as a statement than a question.

“No,” he admits. “But it’s not because of…like, anything…it’s just…we don’t have chemistry. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” I said.

“It’s not that it’s bad, but you want to be with someone you have chemistry with. Where you just wake up in the morning and your first thought is how badly you want to fuck this person, if for no other reason than they’re who they are and they’re right next to you, and all you can think about is how badly you want them. Does this make sense?”

I’m laughing. He looks at me like he’s worried he’s revealed too much, but I’m laughing because I’ve got the picture.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” I said. “Trust me. I’m with you on this.”

I think about my best relationship with the nicest guy–people couldn’t believe how sweet and thoughtful he was. And I thought he was great. Yet…he worked at night, so most nights I would dick around, doing my thing, but as soon as he called to say he was on his way home, I knew I had 15 to 20 minutes to get in bed and be asleep, so I wouldn’t have to sleep with him when he got home. In terms of day to day compatibility, he was my best relationship. But you have to have deep passion for each other. You need to not be able to keep your hands off each other. And when the sexual tension fades (or takes a backseat) as it eventually does with all relationships, that passion for each other will drive you to find other ways of wanting to get inside each other, grow with each other, discover new things about each other. Passion intertwines you. Makes you believe in each other. You have to always have passion. And it has to be such a force in your life, that you can’t see your life without having this person by your side, and you don’t want to live a life where they’re not there to share it. Like two magnets who are always looking for any and every way to join together, every morning becomes a new challenge, a new inspiration, a new blessing for what you have, what you make, what you’ll become.

Yes, I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“I don’t think you need to worry,” I say. “Maybe neither of these girls is your girl, but I promise you, that woman you’re looking for with both these sides definitely exists. You’re just in the process of defining what you want.”

“You’re that sure?”

I look him dead in the eye.

“Trust me. She exists.”

Dude. My calves are like rocks. 3rd game of the season tomorrow. We’re underdogs by 7 points.

sometimes, when you tell a story, you stand at a crossroad of what you want to illuminate. whichever angle you choose will cast a different light, thus changing its meaning. I feel like I’m at a crossroad.

I’m starting to see something here. The legacy of fathers who are ambivalent about their sons. The legacy of someone who has used words to hurt and diminish. Watch how some people choose their words very carefully.

Observation

Seattle does a lot of following. Nothing too overt, but they keep you on their radar while pretending they don’t notice you.Is it just their (awkward and cautious) social style, or is all following of women by strange men across the boards alarming? Then, to toss more angles into the debate, I happened to find this wikipedia article:

Lone Wolf (Trait):

A lone wolf is a wolf that lives by itself rather than with others as part of a pack. Lone wolves are typically old specimens driven from their pack or young adults in search of new territory. Instead of openly challenging the leadership of the pack leaders, most young wolves between the ages of 1 and 4 years leave their family in order to search for a pack of their own. Some wolves will simply remain lone wolves; as such, lone wolves are usually stronger, more aggressive and far more dangerous than the average wolf that is a member of a pack. They have difficulty hunting, as wolves’ favorite prey are large ungulates, and it is nearly impossible for a wolf to bring one down by itself (hunting on their own can be done, as lone wolves are naturally stronger and some specialize in hunting moose on their own). Instead, they will hunt smaller animals and scavenge. Sometimes, a lone wolf will find another lone wolf of the opposite sex, and the two will start a new pack.

I wonder if I’m drawing lone wolves out of the woodwork...

Are you a young, virile wolf between 1 and 4 years old? Are you looking to start a new pack with a sexy lone wolf of the opposite sex? Come find me, by the ungulates…waiting breathlessly for your cooperation.

A Conversation about a Conversation

Last night I dreamed of being on a cruise where Elvis Costello was performing, except Elvis Costello was Joan Rivers. She was dancing in a flamenco dress and did a duet with her daughter and my mom leaned over and said, “This isn’t very good.”

Just then, in real life, my phone rang, pulling me out of my dream, and it was my mother calling on her way to lunch, just to chat. We talked about the Warriors and how bad they are. Since it was already 2 in the afternoon by the time I rolled out of bed, I decided to try to get some work done. I realized it’s a 29 day. There weren’t any 29 days in Oct so this is good. This meant I would have to put myself out there tonight. I went and did some reading and writing at the usual cafe. Went to the gym and shot baskets, ran 3.5 miles and did half an hour on the elliptical while reading After the Quake by Haruki Murakami and the new collection of shorts from Stephen King.

Brian called and we talked about renting out the LA place. Told him I think we’ve gotten so comfortable with each other, we might be inhibiting each other’s ability to get some. The truth is that renting out the entire place would pay for my bills on that place as well as my rent here. I could live off of it if I gave it up as my primary home. But it would also strand me in Seattle.

I went out.

Went to one bar that’s around the corner. Found a seat in the shadows and watched people. A guy named Alex told me he sold “–hardware. Like lumber. As in Hard. Wood.” I asked him if it was hard for him to say that to a woman without giggling. They were going to another bar and I declined an invitation to go with them. I’d told him I’m a writer so this is technically me at work, so he let me go. Kissed the back of my hand as he left.

So did his friend.

From American men, that’s a first.

(The night did carry a motif of strangers being particularly interested in my hands)

I watched the crowd. Learned random other things. Like about the guys who jump on girls as soon as they walk in the door, before the girls have scoped the room to find what might be better. Jackals. Same as the guys who stand outside the women’s bathroom picking girls out of the stream. Girls don’t always notice how they set.

Here’s a quick douchebag checklist, if it helps. A guy is a douchebag if he:

1. Wears sunglasses indoors (Asshole)
2. Wears a scarf with a short sleeve shirt (Gay Tease)
3. Shapes his eyebrows (Narcissist)
4. Stands in a pack of other guys wearing the same untucked striped button-down shirt talking over each other while tightly huddled in a circle protecting their manhoods. (Cries After Sex)

Trust me.

I was thinking about my thoughts from last Saturday, regarding alpha pack leaders and if I just don’t engage with certain people because I’m shy or because there isn’t high probability for a desirable outcome. I’m starting to believe the reason is the latter. With most connections, particularly ones in contrived social settings, I feel like the effort to make a memorable connection isn’t possible or the possibility isn’t worth the effort. I’m a very purpose driven person. I don’t really do anything unless I can learn or achieve something from it, or I perceive the potential of a positive outcome. Thus, my impatience with small talk, unless it’s small talk with someone whose company I enjoy, then what I’m getting out of it isn’t derived from small talk, but from appreciation of the overall company. I don’t like wasting time or energy.

Another angle, when I was in LA, my friend Nick loaned me this book that categorizes people by their strengths. One of the strength archetypes was a maximizer, which is someone who has the ability and desire to bring out the most in people. I think the way I project potentials uses the maximizing principle. I look at any situation and project possible directions or if I can see it, outcomes. I’m good at looking at someone and seeing their highest potential, and I’m good at looking at situations and outcomes and seeing what are paths that would lead to the best, most desirable outcomes. But within the bounds of realism, sometimes the best possible outcome is not very interesting. Based on chemistry and individual personalities, sometimes two people really have nothing that brings them together or keeps them together. Other times, you feel a pull towards someone like there’s something there to explore. I usually stay back unless I meet people who really compel me, or who walk right into my path.

I spent an hour in that place and while the crowd was interesting to watch, no one really compelled me to interact so I left to get food.

On my way, I walked by the Karma Lounge. I’ve never been in there but I heard the music when the door opened and it sounded interesting, so I went in. Ordered a drink. Told the bartender to surprise me. He gave me a martini that was fruity but not too sweet…an indeterminable flavor. But it wasn’t too strong which is perfect for me–drinks that are too strong I end up just holding for the length of the night. I have a 2 drink max when I’m people watching alone, because this really is work for me, and a drink in hand is part of fitting into the background (and also, it’s common sense for when I’m alone to not get staggering drunk).

I take in the crowd, and the only attractive guy in the room is a tall, stone-faced guy standing in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, the loyal type, but hard to reach. Then I notice his t-shirt, proclaimed in large, clear letters:

ALPHA-MAN

Oh, sneaky sneaky, universe. Setting out bait. Maybe a pre-Amsterdam me would have gone for it, but I’ve learned. Yes, this was a clear sign of synchronicity. But I smelled irony. Which also smells like pie in the face, or ego handed to you in a bowl of nuts. So I let the guy fall off my radar and committed to letting the night come to me.

A tall, clean black guy in wire-rimmed glasses slapped me on the back and asked me what my name was. I gave him a hard time for slapping me on the back as if I was his buddy and he wanted me to change the channel. He asked me questions about myself, politely enough but would kind of stare at me blank-eyed when I answered him, like I was speaking a different language. This in turn, made me more abstruse. Like he asked me where I was trying to go with my life, I said, “Wherever I’m going, I’m already here.” [blank stare. blink. blank stare]

He didn’t really get me, and I wasn’t shifting away from myself to accommodate him. I feel like if you keep your eyes open, you’ll recognize the chemistry when it’s real, but sometimes if you “help” the other person create it, you end up with something that’s not real. And right now, I’m more interested in talking to someone real than carrying on a polite meaningless conversation. I’m looking for something specific and it wasn’t this guy.

I wasn’t really talking so the guy just stood over me, looking at me while I pretended to be watching the TV. The bartender looked at him then at me, flashed me the universal look for “What’s up?” I shrugged and he looked at the guy, shaking his head. I noted the bartender kind of looks like Eric Dane from Grey’s Anatomy. Bird eyes that take in everything. My guess was he’s a Virgo or Scorp.

Finally, the dude asking me questions tells me that he’s not going to stand here all night asking me questions. Thanks, I said. So he shakes my hand, holding it tightly (but not ungently) without letting go while looking into my eyes, digging for something. I extract my hand politely. He moves through the crowd, disappears.

I’m listening to the music, pretending to be watching football clips on the muted TV, but I’m getting lost in thoughts. About poetry. About great depths. About words. About quests. About how sometimes the w
orld doesn’t allow you to say the things you want to say, so instead, you spout words of such exacting balance between denial and truth and substance and emptiness, that they come to not mean anything at all. And yet, they mean everything to you, because hidden between them is the reflection of something clutched close to your heart, something that lights your world. About how some things are real in the distance. And as long as you don’t touch them, they exist just as real as the midnight moon brushing waves against the sand.

I thought about snowflakes falling through my hands while my heart misses someone I can only see through the prism of ephemeral silence. Someone who’s not real in my world, yet I can’t let go of the belief that somewhere, exists a place where we can be real for each other. I thought about how, captured in a living moment inside this illusion of human life, there exists a connection between two people that has no explanation, only raw, unadulterated life. In this presence, in the bright ember of Now, I love him.

The song changed to Black Eyed Peas…I got a feeling…that tonight’s gonna be a good night.

I smiled with my entire being, laughing, tears welling in my eyes from the emotions coming through me. I remembered the first time I heard this song, I was on a rooftop deck in Vegas for Daisy’s bachelorette party, taking a break from all the girls and partying. I was just standing by myself against a rail and looking at a brilliant night sky in June, alone in a writhing giant body of people, feeling the world echoing inside me as everything inside me echoed back. I could almost hear a voice in the echoes, of someone I would someday recognize. I was incredibly peaceful and happy.

And here tonight…You’re going to cry at a bar, I said to myself but I didn’t care. In this moment, I felt so real, so powerful, so here. I felt my heart so full, and I gave into it, releasing it into space to wherever it belonged, which felt so far away it wrapped around the universe and came right back, silently taking the seat next to me.

A big marshmallow of a guy squeezed up to me and I immediately knew he was gay.

“How’s it going?” he asked with a big smile, like he was in on the secret.

I shook my head with a big grin, in ecstatic disbelief, and patted him on the arm like we were best friends.

“Excellent,” he said. “I have a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night.”

“Me too,” I said. We raised our glasses in a toast and like that, he was gone.

I was so lost in this feeling of completion within the music when I realized the bartender was waving his hand in front of my face. I snapped to attention and he laughed. He asked me if I wanted another drink. Sure, I said, without thinking about it. I was so happy in this moment. When we accept love for what it is, that’s when it reveals itself to us, and I accepted that. He mixed up the drink and slid it towards me.

“By the way, the guy in the window wearing the white shirt bought it for you,” he said.

I looked at him quizzically and he laughed. “I know, it must suck being you,” he said.

This is only the 2nd time I’ve ever been informed by a bartender that I’ve been bought a drink (the first was last month by the creepy man in black). Usually a guy will offer and I’ll politely decline. This is a sniper move. I’m a sniper…

When I looked over, I saw a brief flash of white, but no face–the guy had disappeared into the shadows. I kept glancing over to the window but it was empty. I scanned the crowd. No white. No eyes on me. I had no idea who this person was who’d reached out and tapped me.