Soulparking

Monday, 20 October 2014

I remembered looking out onto the dance floor in Manila, watching those intoxicated and those gyrating to the music and then looking back to us slumping, watching in a daze on our VIP couches and chairs. 

We looked a bit out of place:  A virgin genius girl who reminded me of a younger version of Jeanie’s mother, a super model who doesn’t know she is one and settles to date an older Singaporean man who won’t give her his full name, a nursing student who gave it up to work for a NGO to balance the karma in the world who has her fingers interlocked with her first ever boyfriend and he himself who looks like a younger Enrique Iglesias, and finally a writer who reminds me of my younger self – so full of power of prose – believing he has the ability to change the world – the only difference is that he’s gay, and dating another man who is intimidated by his abilities. 

That’s when Jeanie saw me looking over our motley crew and she did her best to whisper into my ear over the booming of the base and electronic beats, “They love you.”

I turned to look at Jeanie, her forehead sweaty (as usual), her big round black framed glasses pushed high on the bridge of her nose, and her big white smile set against her brown skin.  She leaned forward and gave me a peck on the lips. 

I looked back at the group and they smiled back.

Jeanie reached over and grabbed my hand and put it on her bare leg.  She pushed it snug and held on to it.

Other people might look at me and say I am having a mid-life crisis.  They might ask, Why would I ever consider this group of scholars, writers, healers, gay, straight, and virgins – my new normal?

 “He has lost it,” others would begin.  But that’s other people’s stories. 

After forty years, my story was finally – truly – beginning. 

---

I was changing my flight via my MacBook Pro to leave later on Monday so I would have time to talk to her.  That’s when I saw the Facebook message going through the app that had been inadvertently turned on.   It read, “Roberto says: Leave him! Get the hell out of there!”

The next message, “He is right here.  He is on the computer.”

I stopped looking for flights and turned to see her on the balcony – with the white glow of her phone illuminating her face.  Her face was determined and she was busily typing away. 

I stopped and stood. 

Then slowly I went to approach her as an autumn Hong Kong breeze pushed through the apartment.

“Did you tell Roberto about us?”

She said nothing.

“Why Roberto?  Isn’t he married?  What does his wife think about him giving advice to a Thai woman to leave her boyfriend?”

She looked shocked.  “How do you know?”

“It’s coming on the computer as you are chatting with him.”

We both went silent and just then there was a hoot of a taxi’s cab horn on the street below.

“I just needed someone to talk to you.”

I nodded but added, “But why Roberto?”

“They are a couple and they have been together for ten years.  I needed someone to talk about us or I would explode.”

I cleared my throat.  “Well I agree with Roberto, leave, get the fuck out.”

Then I turned and went back to the Mac. I quickly signed onto Facebook and created a group chat – adding Roberto, his wife April, and her.  “Thanks for the advice Roberto.  I agree with you. She said get out.  I am glad she has a friend like you to tell her this.  And does April mind you talking to another woman on Facebook about giving up on a relationship?”

I paused over the keys.

“Very typical of a banker.”

That’s when Facebook told me that Roberto was typing something back.  “Don’t be cruel.” It finally said.

She came over and sat near to me as I was on Facebook.  “Don’t get angry with them.”

I was quick to answer, “I am not mad.  I agree – you need to talk to someone.”

“They are a loving couple – and I am not just talking to Roberto. I am talking to both of them.”

I went back to Facebook to check the chat, “I see no messages from April.  I just see Roberto chatting.”

“He would never cheat on her.”

I nodded. “I agree. But he would humiliate her on stage – when he does his standup comedy.  One promise I made you years ago when I went on stage – we talked about his comedy. How horrible it was to April – or how she would sit in the audience and be made fun of as the ‘wife’ that I would never embarrass you about our relationship – or humiliate you with words to make others laugh.”

She pushed out a big laugh. “Really?  You talk about your black girlfriend and her weave!  You talk about you running water in the sink so I don’t hear you taking a poop – but instead you say it’s me!”

“I never tell you to shut the fuck up.   Or make jokes about our sex life.  And during the comedy festival, I changed my set so your children wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“You humiliate me all the time by your standup comedy!”

I paused.  “Well no more.  I am telling you now that you are free.”  I went back to the computer and started searching for a hotel.  “I am leaving now.  You don’t have to walk out and leave. “ 

I found a hotel near the airport. And I knew I didn’t have to leave – I could stay in my home.  But I didn’t want to linger and have a fight explode into a full on war.

I looked at the Facebook chat and typed finally, “Thank you for being friends with her.  She might need a friend to talk to.  I am leaving so she has all the time to talk now.”

—

On the airport express heading to the airport, I sent a Gmail to Roberto. 

“The job I was applying for – was I did think briefly about stopping the travel – focus on us – try to repair us.  I wanted to thank you for your recommendation to get me considered at the bank.

“But now – it doesn’t matter – and as you can see – everything has happened.

“Thank you for your recommendation.” And I hit send and just then my battery on my mobile phone died.

—

The next morning, in the line of the Starbucks at the airport, I heard a German father talking to his son over the phone.  I didn’t understand his German fluently but could tell he was asking about his school he was going to that day.  Where was mommy?  He told his son three times that he missed him.  Finally, it seemed his son lost interested in the conversation and I heard his father start to say good bye.  “Ich liebe dich,” he said.   

When I heard his father say, “I love you,” I began to cry but hide it under my black frame glasses.  

God bless the Mainland Chinese, one of them broke in front of me in line and pretended they didn’t see me.

I put my hand on his shoulder, “Sir, the line is back here,” and I pointed.  The Chinese man shrugged his shoulders.

“Sir, I said the line is back here!” and I squeezed his shoulder.

The man grunted and said something in Chinese and moved out of line. 

My anger had replaced my sadness.