Page 143 of Two Marlboros

A head filled with dreams

(?Sarah McLachlan - I will remember you)

That Tuesday evening there was a nice breeze at Greenacre Park, where Alan had given me an appointment. I climbed the short flight of steps leading up to the park, in front of which was a small clearing with about twenty small tables and as many honey locusts providing shade, but there was still no sign of him. I then sat down on one of the stone benches placed on the perimeter of the clearing, at the side of the large waterfall that dominated that place and let the roar of the water on the granite erase any outside din.

Sitting in front of me there was a group of friends, intent on laughing and joking along with a few drinks; to my right, however, there were two people who were undoubtedly on their first date, because he was saying something to her and she was giggling all the time, her eyes downcast, embarrassed. As soon as he approached her or wrapped his arm around her, she would stiffen for a moment, only to let go the next. They were sweet and tender.

I looked up at the steps and saw Alan coming toward me. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and beige pants, which by now I could call a classic for him, and which exuded his being precise, framed, and level-headed - just what I would need at that moment.

I got up from the bench and walked over to him to greet him.

“Hi. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, don’t worry.”

We looked into each other’s eyes, with that hint of awkwardness that creeps between two people who had the same level of intimacy as we did. He smiled occasionally, then lost himself staring a little at the tables, a little at the waterfall with vacant eyes; it was a matter of seconds, nothing more, but it felt weird.

“Shall we go get something?” I asked, and he nodded. We arrived at the bar counter, but Alan seemed distant, and I speculated that he was a tad embarrassed. After all, we hadn’t really cleared the air yet, and it was likely that he didn’t know how to act, even though I had stopped being angry with him for quite a while.

We both grabbed a Coke and a couple of napkins and sat down at one of the free tables next to each other. Once the drinks were put down, I didn’t quite know what to say, and the sound of the water, instead of relaxing me, made the fact that we weren’t talking to each other stand out even more. He, on the other hand, did not seem bothered by our silence; he was lost in some thought of his own, which may have been about Steve, or guilt toward Oliver because of Steve. He looked at the drink but without drinking it, and every now and then he seemed to want to say something, but in the end, nothing came out.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

He pulled his lips to one side and tapped his fingers on his glass for a few moments. When he stopped, he sighed and looked up at me.

“I was a jerk. I’m really sorry about what happened.”

I rested my lips on the straw and took a sip of Coke. “Whatever, I was a jerk too. But I’m not mad at you anymore, don’t worry.”

I looked up at him and smiled, and the moment he did the same I felt again that sense of intimate understanding that sometimes came between us. For no real reason, I shiftedmy gaze to the couples sitting at the other tables. They were laughing and joking as if they had known each other all their lives, and I wondered if he and I, seen from the outside, were also giving the same impression.

I went back to listening to the sound of the streams of water crashing on the granite, and if just before it had seemed to me that they were enhancing our silence, now it almost seemed that they were framing it.

“I really like this place; how did you discover it?” I asked.

Alan finished taking a sip of Coke. “A friend told me about it. She often comes here to relax and a few months ago she brought me here too.”

He took some more of his soda, and I did likewise. His face seemed more relaxed, and his expression made me realize that our little squabble was filed away permanently.

“I find it incredible that there is such a place in Manhattan,” he continued. “Do you hear it? There are no outside noises. Crazy.”

“It’s true, and the waterfall is beautiful, I could look at it for hours.”

I was mesmerized by the water cascading down that towering granite wall, hitting the stones, and leaking into the pool below, in a cycle that knew no pause. I went back to look at Alan, who had his eyes on me, but the quickness with which he looked away made me think that perhaps he had been staring at me the whole time I had been looking at the waterfall. He didn’t say anything, but merely drank some more Coke, and so did I.

“Look,” I whispered, and we went back to looking into each other’s eyes. There was something in the way he looked at me that made my stomach twist.

“Yes.”

I thought back to the last two little words in the text he had sent me a few days earlier, and that gulp of Coke stayed as ifstuck in my throat. My cheeks were on fire. “Did you really miss me?”

He smiled and looked away, grabbed the straw, and began to move it around inside the glass.I miss you, he had written.

“I did,” he replied, and lifted his gaze to me only after a few seconds. “I really missed yourcigarette anxiety.”

I tapped him softly on the wrist and chuckled. “Dumbass.”

I had an idiotic grin on my face, and so did Alan. Neither of us seemed to want to get rid of it, even in the moments when our gazes crossed. Alan rested an elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, and instinctively I did the same, in a position perhaps a little too intrusive for two who considered themselves just friends. Again, I wondered how people at the tables would define us just by looking at us.

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