Page 68 of Two Marlboros

August the 11th: quite a date to remember, yes.

When he closed the door with a sharp thud, my nerves relaxed. I wanted to be alone, to think about what happened that afternoon.

Yeah, what happened, if not just a fuck?

I really felt like the protagonists of those teenage magazine love columns; that sucked.

I was willing to bet that such things would never happen to people who could tell who was in front of them immediately, who knew when to call it quits or how not to repeat the same mistakes twice. I wasn’t capable of that, so I always stumbled over the same obstacle and remained stuck where I started. I had no footholds, no one ready to tell me that I was making a mistake, that I needed to make different choices, to give me advice to see life in a different light.

I had no one. Alone, in the world, without guidance. I needed someone to tell me that everything was going to be alright, because I was not capable to say it myself, especially not after what had just happened. I picked up the phone and scrolled through the telephone book. I knew who I wanted to call.

I listened for the ringing not without some apprehension, because I had a feeling he would not answer, like in a nightmare where everything goes wrong; instead, he did shortly after.

“Nathan?”

It was enough for me to hear that veiled concern in his voice to feel better immediately.

“Am I disturbing you? Were you eating?”

“No, not yet. Tell me everything.”

I hesitated for a moment. “What are you doing tonight?”

It might have sounded like an interested question, but instead it appeared almost childish. I felt like the loser kid trying to get in with those a little less loser than him. I had thrown the question out there, hoping he would not turn me away.

“I’m actually free.”

A moment of silence followed, which I hoped would be filled by his invitation, which didn’t seem to come. I felt at the bottom of a ravine, muddy and trapped in the bog. I would have dug mynails in to climb back up a million times and slipped with each attempt.

“Do you want to see me?” he asked.

But Alan had a gift for always lowering a rope at the right time. Like parents offer a crutch and friends their shoulder.

“That would be great.”

I was sure I betrayed a few too many emotions, but talking to him made me almost feel sorry for those lonely souls at the bottom of the ravine, who had perhaps even stopped struggling. I was not alone: I had Alan, who was neither a parent, nor a friend, nor a lover. He was Alan, fine, but that was enough for me.

“Are you alright?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I was with Harvey, but he had to leave.”

“Ah. I’m sorry. You’re alone, then?”

“Yes.”

My gaze fell on Alan’s shirt, which I was clutching without even noticing.

“Unless you prefer your usual pizza delivery, I still have about 20 minutes before I eat. If you’d like.”

I was surprised that he didn’t make a direct invitation, as he always did for everything; but what really surprised me was that cascade of warmth that invaded my chest and the goofy smile that appeared on my face.

“I’ll get dressed,” and I stopped suddenly. He had understood for sure. After all, what was I worried about? He would have read it on my face. “I mean, I’ll come willingly.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting for you, then. See you later.”

We greeted each other enthusiastically, at least on my part.

I freed myself from the sheets, picked up my underwear, pants, and T-shirt, and hurriedly dressed. I went through thekitchen to get a mint before leaving the house and rushing to Alan’s.

---