Soulparking

I walked out of the Urban Chic Hotel onto Long Street and nearly got knocked down by the wind boomeranging off of Table Mountain and gusting into the City Bowl District. I had nowhere to go but I know I needed to be somewhere. And I thought walking down Long Street that something would present itself.

And as I was walking looking in the windows of the bars and lounges – my Blackberry vibrated and it was Tracy. “Where are you? Let’s have a drink. Meet you at Long Street Café in 30 minutes.”

I replied back “OK.”

My Blackberry vibrated again, “But I cannot stay long. Just one drink.”

“Practice self-control then.” I typed back and made my way to Long Street Café.

I found a bar stool unoccupied looking on the street and when the waitress came up smiling and flirting – I ordered a mojito.

Minutes later while I was picking mint leaves out of my teeth, Tracy appeared beside me with her big toothy grin. “Whatup brother!” And I nearly fell off my stool trying to lean out and hug her.

“Whatup!” I said loudly.

The waitress showed up to stand behind her.

“You want to order something?” I asked.

“I want to smoke first. Let’s go to the smoking area and I can order.” Tracy turned to the waitress, “Is that okay if we go to the smoking section?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

And we made a move and found leather chairs in front of the big windows on the smoking side. She looked at my drink. “What did you order?”

“Mojito.” I said.

She looked up at the waitress. “Me too please.”

Then when the waitress disappeared and both of us were comfortable in our chairs she leaned over and squeezed my kneecap. “So how are you doing dude?”

“I am good. I needed this trip.”

“How have your comedy shows been?” she asked.

“Fantastic. Great audiences. Good reaction. It’s been a blast.” And she smiled with me and she was excited because I was excited. “How about you? You dating anyone?” I said point blank.

She shook her head. “No. And I prefer that. I am liking being single. I am focusing on me.”

“God, you sound healthy.”

“I am. Well, I think I am.” And she winked.

“What does that mean?”

“Well being single is good,” she paused and then added slowly, “Every day except Sunday nights. That’s when you want to snuggle, watch movies, have sex, and fall asleep in someone’s arms.”

I laughed not in spite but I understood what she meant. I agreed Sunday nights are the loneliest night for single people. “That’s universal. Everyone in the world feels the same way. Its like you are almost tempted to go through all your ex’s and call them – just to see if you can get someone, anyone to come over so you are not alone on Sunday night.”

“I had a buddy I could call there for awhile. Something just casual. But he wanted something more. So I had to kick him to the curb.”

The waitress returned to us and brought her cocktail. Tracy didn’t let it land on the table she grabbed the glass while it was in the waitress’s hand. The waitress asked if we wanted anything else. We both said no.

“Let’s toast,” I said.

“Yes, to the international fear of Sunday nights!” And we toasted in the red, orange light of a South African sunset.

I spent most of Saturday night trying to be the matchmaker between my Counselor and Deepak the night after my TakeOut Comedy Singapore debut. And all of us were like we had been friends all our lives.

We had been out all night – drinking buckets of beers at Hooters as the cute waitress Apple flirted with me and personally signed a Hooters calendar with, “To Jackson, the funniest guy I know, Love Apple”; to going to get our dance on at Social Club until two rude New Yorkers grabbed the ass of one of my Counselors friends and it took everything I could to not punch them – but instead I walked back to my hotel to cool down; and then later reuniting with everyone and heading to Deepak’s penthouse and watching the latest season of Entourage until 5 am. But then my Counselor announced she was tired and asked if I would share a cab with her.

I agreed.

And when the cab deposited her at her place she leaned back in the cab and asked me if I wanted to come up to debrief about the evening. I was exhausted but nodded.

I plopped on the couch as she put on MTV Singapore.

“So what do you think?” she asked point blank.

“About Deepak?”

“Of course dude.”

“Well I have been trying to introduce both of you to one another for two years now. I wanted to make sure my two best friends became best friends.”

“Yeah he is cool. But you know me, I am in no rush. I love being single.” And then she bit her lip. “And I am afraid I might be a little direct for a man to handle.”

“I like you being direct. No bullshit.”

She put her hands flat on the table where she was sitting in front of me. “You want a bottled water or something?”

I shook my head. “No. I am okay. I am not going to be here for very long. I am exhausted.”

We both got distracted by a song playing on Singapore MTV entitled, “F*ck you!” by a female artist. “I love this song!” My counselor announced and we watched the video – as the video was shot from the point of view of the woman artist who would take people and things and stretch them with the fingers of her hand.

Then when the song was over and a commercial came on, my Counselor turned back to me. “I love being single except for one day.”

When my Counselor said this I smiled knowing what she was going to say next, “You mean Sundays?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yeah! How did you know?”

“I just had this conversation in Cape Town. Single people hate Sundays – especially Sunday nights.”

“Yeah, you just want to snuggle and lay around naked.” And she smiled coyly.

“Yeah I call Sundays sex days. And waking up late on Sunday mornings and having a brunch mid-afternoon.” I gave a sidways grin. “It seems that this is international. Everybody around the world has the same hatred for lonely Sundays.”

“I had a booty buddy I could call…”

I laughed loudly.

“What?” my Counselor asked surprised.

“How do you girls find these booty buddies? It seems that there are two similarities between all single women on Sundays – there is someone they can call for a little boom, boom, pow.”

“You know you got someone to call too.”

I looked at her and gave no emotion. “No, I don’t.”

“You serious?”

“It’s harder for men.”

My Counselor smiled. “I guess women have the power of the Vee-Jay-Jay.” And on reflex her eyes looked down as if she was looking at her own crotch. We laughed.

The Pawn Bar and Restaurant was in Wan Chai and I rarely visited Wan Chai – if at all – especially on Sundays. But I needed a chance to talk.

Rain had finally arrived and the city was quiet and wet. So I braved the weather and took a taxi.

In a show of rarity, I was early and the waiter led me to a table and took my order. I ordered the typical mojito and seeing that I was alone the waiter brought me the Sunday newspaper to read.

So I read by flickering candlelight on my table.

When my drink arrived, I sucked mint leaves through my straw and found myself picking them out of my teeth. My Blackberry vibrated. “I will be there in 5 minutes. Mary” it read.

I guess five minutes passed quickly and suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Hey!” Mary said.

“Hey!” And I stood up to hug her hello.

“Sorry I went ahead and ordered something.”

She waved it away. “Don’t worry.” And she turned to the waiter asking for another menu. He was ahead of her and held it out for her.

“You mind if we move to somewhere more comfortable?” Mary asked me.

“Of course not.” And I stood and grabbed my drink.

Then she and I moved throughout the dimly lit bar looking for somewhere more snug. Finally she decided on a spot and I agreed with her and we took two seats facing each other.

“So how has your Sunday been?” I asked just trying to start up conversation.

She shrugged. “Not a good day. Just wanted to talk to someone.”

I nodded. “I know what you mean.” And I took a sip of my drink. “Actually there is a fear of Sunday nights by all single people around the Earth.”

She laughed. “You should make that one of your bits.”

“What? Single people not being afraid of dying or being alone, but being afraid of Sunday nights?”

“Yeah, when you are single – Mondays actually look good because you have something to keep your mind occupied when you are at work. But Sundays – can be like death.”

“And you are haunted by ghosts of broken relationships past.”

Mary laughed as the waiter brought her drink. “Yeah, that would be a good bit.”

“To badly paraphrase and rip off Hemingway, so say the truest thing?”

She raised her glass and we toasted without words. “That’s amazing how you are not ashamed to say you are lonely. I sometimes feel I should be ashamed.”

“Why? This is a city of seven million people – and when you are alone – in the wet markets or in the IFC Mall – I sometimes feel like I don’t exist. And I feel utterly, completely alone. Especially when I see the other couples laughing, talking, holding hands, or arms locked around each other.”

“Its not like people don’t love us.”

“But you need someone present you know?” I said and she gave a confused look. “I want someone who aggressively engages in my life. Love is not some love bubble that floats up from your emotions like a fart in a bath tub.” Mary snickered. “Love is about someone who volunteers to witness your life – despite all the shit that is going on in theirs.”

“Funny how you used fart in the same sentence as you did describing the significance of love.”

“Like for like,” I said.

“And love for love,” she said and held out her glass and we clinked.

“We should start a club of Sunday night haters,” I said.

“And call it what?”

I thought for a second. “The Secret Society of Sabbath Insufferables – triple S, eye?”

Mary wrinkled her nose. “Secret society naming is not your strong suit.”

“How about, ‘Fuck Sundays and All Those who are not Single Secret Society’?”

“Pass.” She said and we both laughed.

I had heard about the Cancer charity event through a friend at Fong Underground but I kept it in the back of my head – and didn’t dwell on it. But now after leaving Mary from the Pawn – I wanted another drink and I wanted to take another chance.

And I knew the chance I was going to take, my heart was already pounding the more I thought about it. And I knew who the chance might have me run into.

So I took the old tram that crisscrosses Central Hong Kong Island – and it deposited me two roads down from Lan Kwai Fong. I walked up the incline up to the steps to a lobby that sat inbetween the bars Insomnia and Volar then took the elevator to the third floor where the club Ashtray was.

The hallway was crowded with people already. I pushed inside but the second bar of Ashtray was half empty. I went with a purpose to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. When they gave it to me I found an empty table and stood alone. I sipped my wine afraid to look around and see who I thought I might see. Then I saw a digital camera flash – and by instinct – I turned to look.

And I saw her.

I went directly to the bar and asked the bartender, “Is the smoking balcony open?” And I leaned my head towards the closed balcony.

“Yeah man. Just push the door open.”

And as quickly as I could, I hurried outside to the balcony. The windows were open and the ashtray where the bar “Ashtray” got its name – already had ashes in it.

But I stood there and looked over the ledge looking down at Club 97 and peering into the darkened windows of the restaurant Post 97 asking myself, “What are you doing here? Why are you here?” And I gulped my white wine.

Then I watched the sidewalk and saw the bouncer in front of Club 97 see a rat scurry out of its hiding place. He moved quickly and tried to smash it with his boot – but the rat was too quick. And inside my head I cheered for the rat. “Hide buddy. Don’t let him hurt you,” I said softly.

And I felt vulnerable standing alone on this smoking balcony. And I knew there was only one way to get out of this place I had trapped myself – and that was through the out door – and I knew she couldn’t help but see me. And either she would ignore me again which would be like smashing me with her boot. Or worse yet I would look like a stalker.

Hell, was I a stalker? Or was I just stupid?

Or maybe I just wanted an answer. I wanted clarity. Or closure. Possibly all of the above.

I swallowed another mouthful of white wine.

Maybe I hadn’t seen her. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. It wouldn’t be the first time. I had been walking through Hong Kong on several occasions and had thought I saw her walking in front of me – only to find it was only a woman with the same hair coloring the same swagger – but then when she turned – it was an imposter.

Now I was like a trapped rat – stuck in my little overhang waiting for the bouncer to crush out his cigarette and I was going to make my mad dash to get back to safety.

I took down my final drink of wine. And then I sucked in a big breath. Then I hurried out of the smoking balcony. I deposited my empty wine glass at the bar and then I was nearly to the door when someone stood in my way.

“Hi,” she said.

I stood there – unbelieving she was talking to me. She was wearing a gorgeous, form fitting blue dress. Again, on reflex I lifted my fingers to touch hers but then caught myself and then shoved them into my jean pockets. “Hi,” I said echoing her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came because I know the lady who has Cancer and wanted to support the cause.”

“Yeah, she is also a friend of mine too.”

We were quiet and awkward.

“It’s good to see you,” she said. “What were you doing out on the balcony?”

I cleared my throat. “I was watching a rat.”

Her eyebrows wrinkled. “What? A rat?”

“Yeah, I was watching a rat that was trapped.”

She laughed. “Huh?”

I wasn’t making any sense. I had to leave quickly.

“Well, I need to go.” I said suddenly.

“Okay.” She said.

We didn’t touch or hug. We just seemed to agonizingly hover near one another and then I darted out the door. And standing in front of the elevator I pushed the down button six times. Finally, when the elevator door dinged and opened – like in an action movie – I threw myself inside and poked the door close button repeatedly until the doors slid shut.

And when the doors closed, I saw myself in the mirror reflection.

I saw a man who was afraid of Sunday nights.