by Tristan Wilde
It’s often said that there is a fine line between love and hate. In the world of dating, the idea of finding that special someone with whom we hope to eventually fall in love can easily eclipse any of the negative attributes found in our potential suitors. First dates and first kisses fill us with giddiness, instead of fear. Conversations are often thick with enthusiasm, not veiled threats. However, the more we get to know a person, the more we see their true nature. And sometimes, in that poignant realization, we discover that the person we thought we could love is nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Diego weaves his car in and out of the downtown corridor that makes up the Jet City. We pass Macy’s, Nordstrom, and Westlake Center—all closed this late in the evening. The downtown traffic is light at this hour, with the exception of midnight movie-goers walking back to garages housing their vehicles. It’s the calm before the storm. It’s the break for drivers before the bars close. In two more hours, the streets will be practically gridlocked with drunken groups planning after hours house parties.
All sounds within the vehicle are mute. I try to ignore the nervous silence as I peer out the window and watch the buildings we anxiously pass. For a moment, my mind is transported to the sidewalks along the streets that are the heart of this city. Although I live twenty minutes north of downtown, there’s something about the area that quickens my heart and makes me giddy. I imagine what it would be like to be in the center of it all, to live on the top floor of a building among the high-rises. To live near the water, posh restaurants, and be at the crux of downtown life.
My daydream is interrupted by Diego squeezing my hand, and I reacquaint myself with the reality that has become the current dilemma in my dating life: Diego. While I know that he has fallen for me, Efrain is the one who has captured my feelings. In fact, I’m falling as hard for Efrain as Diego is for me. That said, I know I must break this to Diego. I’m sure he’s not going to agree with my decision. After all, nobody ever likes being told that the feelings they have for another aren’t mutual.
With the hesitation of our inevitable talk mounting, a few minutes pass before we finally arrive in Lower Queen Anne and reach Diego’s apartment.
After following Diego through the front door and shutting it behind me, the first thing he does is turn around and approach me with open arms. His embrace is like that of a child hugging his mother before going to bed. His chin is on my shoulder as he continues to cling to me and rock me in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
I grab Diego’s shoulders and gently guide him away from me so that I can stare into those chocolate-colored irises I once adored. “We have to talk.”
“I know I’ve been coming off as an asshole lately, but—“
I cut him off before he has a chance to continue justifying his recent actions. No more excuses. “This isn’t going to work out, Diego.”
“What do you mean? We just hit a bump in the road is all.” His eyes immediately well with tears and his lower lip quivers.
Imaginary strings pull at my heart. I almost feel bad for him, almost want to give in. No, I tell myself, I have to put an end to this. And as much as I don’t want the words to come out as harsh and insensitive, I have to be real with Diego. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”
Within seconds, Diego’s features transform. He quickly wipes away his half-fallen tears. His once saddened eyes grow wild and pierce into mine. His frown changes into a forced smile. “Are you kidding me?” Diego’s sobbing has been replaced by a tone both crisp and serious. Before me is Hyde. Jekyll has left the building.
“I’m not kidding,” I assure him. “I don’t think it’s healthy for either of us to continue seeing each another. We’re two completely different types of people.”
“And after all I’ve done for you.” His voice is monotone as his squinting eyes target me.
There it is...the kicker, the trump card of all trump cards. Sure, Diego rescued me on a night in which I’d fallen victim to an asshole who’d drugged me. As a result, I had almost fallen into a street of oncoming traffic and, thankfully, Diego was there to save me. For that, I admire him and always will. However, that Diego and the Diego in front of me are not the same. Since being around him, the true colors of Diego have stood out. Of course, I accredit the reveal of the true Diego to my “three-date rule.” That said, how does aiding a person to safety equate to a forced love (or relationship, for that matter)? Sure, I had feelings for Diego at one time. But his true self emerged, one of which I want no part.
Can the kindness of strangers result without debt?
“I’m thankful for you getting me through that night. But we’re totally different.” Butterflies swarm in my stomach as Diego studies me. I decide to lay it all out, a map of my world. “I like to go out with friends to the club. It might not be every weekend, but I enjoy the atmosphere. As much as I enjoy home-cooked meals, I also love going out to a romantic, candlelit dinner. My life, or lifestyle, is no secret. I’ve been there, done that, and got the t-shirt. You refuse to go out in public with me, whether it’s a restaurant or just having drinks at a bar. You and I are on two separate playing fields.” And here it is, the final sentence that, albeit harsh, is the only thing I can say to make him understand the finality of us. “I have feelings for another guy.”
Silence smothers the room as Diego’s sharp stare pierces through me. Then, “This is a fucking joke, right? Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I am very serious.”
“What other guy?”
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you understand I can no longer date you.”
“You’re a piece of shit.”
“Okay. I’m done now.” I pull out my cell to call a cab.
“Are you calling your new man?”
I refuse to reply to Diego’s sarcasm as I attempt to search the Internet on my phone for the number of a cab service. Without warning, my cell is snatched from my hand. I immediately look up and meet Diego’s wild gaze.
“I asked you a fucking question!” The sound of his voice echoes from behind me.
“Diego, give me back my phone.” I try to remain calm, regardless of the churning in the pit of my stomach.
Diego continues to stare at me, awaiting a reply to his jealous query.
One more time. “Give. Me. Back. My. Phone.”
Before I have a chance to object, Diego raises my phone high above his head and smashes it to the floor. “There’s your goddamn phone!”
I snag the cell off the hardwood floor and instantly discover that the screen is completely shattered and the display is bleeding blue and black. “You’re a fucking psycho,” I say as I briskly walk away.
Before I have a chance to open the front door and exit, my arm is tugged from behind. I pivot my body to Diego’s tight grip on my forearm. We’re face to face and, for a moment, I remember the last time we were this close. I remember how, only a couple weeks back, I gave in to those soft lips during a romantic dinner right there in his dining room. But now, Diego confronts me with sharp features and wild eyes. No words. Only silence. Oh yes, I remember this look from a person I once called my partner for seven years. No need to second guess it. I will always take such a look at face value (literally). I escaped it then and I’ll escape it now.
One of the many things I’d learned from the self-defense classes taken years previous is that once you are placed in the position of being a victim, you only have a fleeting moment to take all scenarios into account before reacting. It’s not necessarily the best thing to act upon initial instinct. Thus, I have two attacks I can go with. One is physical, leading to an aggressive series of twists and turns that will ultimately have Diego pinned against a wall with my hand around his throat and my knee in his gut. However, I have no clue as to what Diego is capable of. Should this turn into a brawl, the neighbors could easily contact the police and we would both end up in jail. The second option is to go with a mental attack. And since I know that Diego’s pride and joy is his job as a general manager, I feel this is the right way to go. Not to mention, given his constant unwillingness to be seen with me in public (romantically), I have a feeling he is still “in the closet.” The latter half will seal the deal.
I begin; my voice is calm and authoritative. I’m not fucking anymore. “Diego, you have three seconds to let go of my arm or you will not like the consequences. One...”
“What are you going to do, Tristan? You think you can fuck me up?”
“Two...”
“Or what? What?” he roars.
“Once I call out ‘three,’ feel free to make your choice. Be sure it’s a good one, Diego. Whether you want to beat the shit out of me or not is up to you. That’s a very strange way for a person to act toward somebody he claims he cares for so much. Anyway, I will make it a point to visit your manager first thing tomorrow morning and explain how his star employee is facing charges for assaulting me...your lover.”
I don’t even have to count to three. Instantly, his savage squint falls tame and fills with tears. At the same time, his jaw goes slack and he releases his grip on me. My plan worked. In a flash, the once feral Diego has now turned into a pained and frightened Diego.
“It’s over,” I say as I walk out of his apartment and shut the door. A thud ignites from behind me. Whether Diego punched or kicked the door, I do not know. I do not care. Diego is now in the past, both figuratively and literally.
I walk through the quiet neighborhoods of Lower Queen Anne. There isn’t much traffic, and you can almost hear the night. I am at peace. I am loved by this city (and even by some of its residents, albeit obsessively). Although I’m still not too familiar with this district of the Jet City, I use the Space Needle as my guide to get me back to a main street. I stop a block away from the monument that towers over me and am mesmerized by the gleaming lights alongside the structure.
I’m taken aback and reminisce about the first time I had seen the Space Needle up close and personal. It was on a night that I was stuck in the city with a dead cell phone and no wallet. That was the night I met Wes. I wonder what ever happened to that boy. He was such a beautiful, intelligent, and charming young man. Ah, to dream the dream of a dreamer!
I snap from my reverie and continue two more blocks. I reach Mercer Street and realize I am heading in the right direction. After two minutes of walking a small stretch of Mercer, I see an oncoming cab. I hail it down and jump in, en route to my home back in North Seattle.
A new day begins as I wake with a smile. Perhaps it’s the weight of Diego off my shoulders. Perhaps it’s the excitement of knowing Efrain will be receiving the flowers I’m having delivered to his work. I’m certain it is both. Nonetheless, the first order of business is to replace my cell phone.
After putting in a couple hours of work on my latest novel and quaffing down several cups of coffee, I quickly shower and head out the door to the nearest AT&T store. I arrive the minute the store opens and am greeted by a salesman that I can’t help but deem a “total hottie.” Yes, I just used that immature term. In my defense, his eyes are emerald pools in which I can easily drown; his thick hair is disheveled, yet stylistic; his brown skin appears soft and ever-so inviting, and his physique is obviously chiseled beneath his form-fitting clothing. Then there’s his smile. Okay, wait. I’m here for a phone, not a phone number. And my feelings for Efrain are very strong. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?
After explaining the dilemma of my unusable phone (the CliffsNotes version that is), Mr. AT&T Total Hottie makes the start of my day even better by telling me that I can upgrade to the latest smartphone at no additional charge and ten dollars more a month. Such a charmer...and a good salesman, of course. Minutes later, he’s taking a new phone out of its fancy packaging and transferring all my data, contacts, and photos to the new cell (I internally laugh, wondering if he’s looking at any of the pictures).
It takes less than forty-five minutes before my business is done and I’m walking out the door with my new, improved cell phone. Not two minutes later, the phone rings with the most annoying default ringtone I’ve ever heard. It’s a series of bells chiming in the key of the company’s logo song. Even Mr. AT&T Total Hottie can’t sell me on this! Upon looking at the display, my heart skips a beat as I see Efrain’s name as the caller.
“Hi,” I anxiously answer.
“There you are! Have you been in total writing mode or what?”
“Huh?”
“I figured you were firing away under deadline because you hadn’t answered any of my texts.”
“Oh. My phone met its death when I got home last night. I accidentally dropped it from my balcony,” I lie. “I literally just had it replaced.”
“Ah,” he says. “Well, thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to do that, but it was very nice of you.”
My heart skips another beat. “I’ve had a lot of fun spending time with you.”
“Well, the girls at work are jealous,” he laughs.
“Haha! What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m a bit tired after last night’s club outing with you. But, I don’t have any plans after work.”
“Wanna keep it low-key, maybe kick it at your place and watch a movie?”
“Sure. Want me to pick you up?”
“That works,” I agree.
“OK. I’ll see you around seven.”
“Looking forward to it! I’ll see you soon.” I hang up with Efrain and hope for the day to go by quicker than ever so that I can see him this evening.
Of course, the day goes by slowly. In the hours between Efrain’s arrival, I make more headway with the writing of my latest novel and catch-up with a couple of friends back in Phoenix with whom I haven’t spoken in weeks.
Finally, seven o’clock comes. As always, Efrain arrives on time. We grab some Chinese take-out on the way back to his place and are soon sitting on his living room couch as we prepare to watch a movie.
Efrain lets me choose the movie. Being a lover of horror, I decide on Clive Barker’s Candyman. Though I’ve seen the movie several times, it’s been a few years. Not to mention, Efrain has never seen it. The fact that he doesn’t second guess my choice is a quality that draws me closer to him. He trusts me.
The opening credits begin as Efrain turns off the light on the end table and takes off his shirt. He pulls me close and I rest my head upon his sculpted chest. I’m listening to both the score of the movie and Efrain’s heartbeat. Although we’re watching a horror movie, I can’t help but smile.
Halfway through the movie, my ear is tickled by Efrain’s lips. He tries to mimic a line from the film with a deep and serious tone to his voice. “I hear you’re looking for Candyman, bitch.” We erupt into laughter.
I lift my head from his chest, grin as I look into his eyes, and begin channeling lyrics from a Christina Aguilera song. “He’s a one stop shop with a real big uh; he’s a sweet-talkin’, sugar-coated candyman.”
“Silly!” Efrain laughs.
Side note here: It doesn’t matter whether you’re familiar with either Barker’s movie or Aguilera’s music, the point is the playfulness Efrain and I share. It’s that moment in which laughter and good times creates a synchronicity of both mind and body.
Our playfulness leads to deep kissing. Soon, Efrain stands up, puts the movie on pause, and offers me his hand. He pulls me off the couch and leads me to the bedroom. In the darkness, beneath the falling leaves that adorn the bedroom walls, we make love.
It can be difficult to distinguish the fine line between love and hate. None of us can predict the future. We never know if the person with whom we’re growing close is a devil in disguise or an angel that is heaven sent. In the dating world, it takes time for a person to reveal their true nature. All we can do is learn from the consequences of our choices and hope that every decision we make furthers us on our journey toward finding “the one.”
In the wee morning hours, I jolt from my sleep to the annoying ringtone of my cell phone. My eyes slowly adjust to Diego’s name displayed on screen. I immediately hit the “reject” feature. Several seconds later, Diego sends a text. ‘I am so sorry,’ it reads. Another text follows. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. Please forgive me.’
Efrain awakens from the ringtones blowing up my cell. “Who’s calling you?” he asks, half-asleep.
“A drunk friend,” I lie.
“Do you need to call them?”
“They’re fine. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” That said, I power off my phone.
Efrain wraps his arm around me and pulls my back to his chest. “I love you,” I say.
“I know you do, Tristan. Good night.”
I close my eyes knowing that there is only one man in my life, one person who has won me over. I fall asleep in Efrain’s arms and dream of our future.
______________
Tristan Wilde is the serial columnist of Jet City Boy Culture and the author of the forthcoming novel AURORA BOYS. Visit him on the web at www.TristanWilde.com
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