MY WALL-BREAKER

I know I’ve spoken of solitude and wall-building a lot. Some old habits just die hard, even when they actually should perish. I know this one has stemmed from how reality’s been treating me.

            And I know that I shouldn’t keep holding on to that excuse too, but I really can’t stop that. It’s been my armour in the world.

            I guess only through my writings, some people can really ‘see’ me. Like what I often tell them, I write better than I talk. I sound more coherent this way.

            On the first day that we met, Tony B. told Mark that I was also a freelance writer. Mark had seemed genuinely amazed, as if I were J.K. Rowling or something.(Ha-ha. Yeah, right.)

            When he asked me if I owned a blog, I simply gave him the link. I normally don’t do that to people, especially the ones I’ve just met. It usually takes a while before I decide something like that…very, very carefully.

            Somehow, I’d sensed something about Mark that I could trust. And I was right.

            Last Monday night, I went hanging out with some of the boys from work after office hours. It was rather unusual for me, but Tom had invited me over. It was his last night in Jakarta before his three-month holiday in Bali. (Grrh, I miss that place!)

            We had pizza and beer at “Pizza e Birra” in Setiabudi One. (They had beers, I just had water.) I shared some spicy, beef salami pizza with Tom because none of us had been that hungry.

            Who else were that that night? Aside from Tom’s roommates at the boarding house nearby (they were Dutch, I guess, because one of them – a young brunet named Martin – spoke Dutch to Mark later on), there were Patrick and Mark. Stu showed up with Dean, the guy I sometimes come across at parties and other gatherings. (Stu used to work with us.)

            I only remember bits and pieces from the rest of the lads that night. Discussing literature and book-publishing business with Tom. (He used to be a proofreader and editor for books about wars.) Stu told everyone that he’d just broken up with his girlfriend and decided to start going back to doing his serious diet and workout program.

            I don’t remember how it all started, really. Stu and Dean had left early, because they had to start work in the morning. Patrick had been sitting next to me before he decided to move to sit with Martin (who was in front of me). They’d shared a pack of cigarettes and started smoking.

            Then Mark moved to sit next to me, so I was sitting between him and Tom.

            At first, the only thing I could recall was talk about me being a blogger and having online friends. Mark had listened intently and looked unusually serious.

            Then it got to the point when the subject turned to…’Red’. I haven’t thought of him in years and wondered why I had.

            It’s not like I still have feelings for him or anything. (I’ve moved on anyway.) It’s just…God, I don’t know. I still lack faith in love and all that jazz after that. (Thank you, reality!)

            Sometimes I hate it when people can read me all too well and easily.

            When Mark wondered why I’d called myself ‘the romantically-challenged skeptic’, I heaved a sigh. Bad timing, lad. I felt a familiar, sickening lump in my throat. Something warm started weighing in my eyes.

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%;font-family:"Arial","sans-serif"”>            “Okay, we can talk about this,” I finally gave in. All the while I had to keep my face half-shielded from the other guys while facing him. “But if you see something in my eyes, do me a favour, okay? Just pretend it’s from the smoke or the cold I have now.”

            Actually, I could tell that if I’d asked him not to push me on this awful topic, he would’ve understood and backed off. However, Mark’s blue-green eyes had radiated warm, genuine concern that night. You know, kind eyes that invite you to talk. Trusting eyes.

            So I did. He’d gotten the wrong idea that I was still hung up on Red, just like most people. I told him it was just my lack of faith after all that had happened. Since then, love has felt like nothing more than just an illusion to me.

            “But why?”

            “I don’t know how to be a girlfriend.” I shrugged. “I know how to be friends with guys, though, but that’s just as far as I can get.”

            He grew serious and thoughtful, more concerned than ever.

            “You think you’re the only one feeling that way?” he asked me, but then shook his head. “I know some girls I’m friends with who feel the way you do too.”

            Is that a good thing? I silently wondered. But before I started, he went on:

            “It all comes natural. It’s not something that you can plan.When it happens, it happens.”

            My dear God, don’t I know that already? Don’t we all??

            It’s so bloody frustrating when people still get the wrong idea about you. You’re not desperate; you’re just deadly skeptical. Most of the time feeling numb, though.

            “It’s me, actually,” I told him. “I just don’t have the faith in it anymore.”

            “Why?”

            I sighed again. I tried not to blink, but a tear had already trickled down my cheek anyway. Damn it. Oh, whatever. I met his now sad gaze.

            “I thought he was really serious at first, until I introduced him to my best friend,” I finally admitted. “When we first met online, he’d just broken up with his fiancee while I was heartbroken and lonely. Perhaps I was more like a rebound.”

            “And that has made you feel worthless.” Mark looked even sadder and more concerned now. More tears trickled down my cheeks. (Thank God the lights were pretty dim in the room – and the other guys were busy talking to each other and not paying attention to us.)

            Oh, Mark. Why did you have to use that word? But he held my cold hand under the table. His was warm. Suddenly, he reminded me of my hazel-eyed, brotherly best friend T.

            “Hey,” he said. Now he looked guilty. I gave him an ironic smile and nudged his elbow.

            “Hey, don’t feel bad, okay?” I assured him. Then I pointed at my eyes. “Besides, I’ve already asked you to pretend that these have come out because of the smoke or the cold I have.”

<p class=”MsoNormal” style=”text-align:justify”>            Mark laughed and I grinned sheepishly. Then he gestured at the napkin on the table.

            “Then wipe the cold.”

            I did. After that I joked: “I have to keep facing you now, because Tom is used to seeing me as the always cheerful type. I don’t want to start scaring him now, so let’s just keep it that way, okay?”

            We both laughed this time. Then he said something that had almost brought more tears to my eyes…again:

            “I don’t know you very well yet, but I can tell that you’re special. You’re talented. Someday soon, someone’s going to feel very lucky for being with you.”

            Awww…:’(

            It’s one of those things that cheer you up and sadden you at the same time. Why can’t you hear that from a single guy you like and who likes you too? Not your gay friend – or your sweet, straight friend who’s no longer available. (Yikes!)

            It’s not that I’m being ungrateful about them, but…it’s like having your parents tell you how beautiful you are – even when you feel ugliest. You know what I mean, right? They say those sweet words to you because they’re your GOOD FRIENDS, not some guys crazily in love with you. They care, but it feels different.

            “She’s so lucky to have you, you know that?” I blurted out and he blushed. (Yes, I could tell that he did, even under the dim lights.) Then we started talking about him and his fiancee Tiara, and about how he was getting on with her family. When I guessed that he’d got more female friends than male friends, he grinned and nodded. He said girls had different sense of humour than guys and he found that interesting and fun. Cool.

            When Tom said it was already 10:30 pm and he had to return to the boarding house to pack up his stuff, I realized that I’d missed my last bus and had to hire a motorcycle taxi to get me home. Oh, well.

            I turned to Mark and held his hand again. He held mine back and we both exchanged understanding smiles. I said: “Thank you.”

            “Thank you too,” he replied earnestly. Then, at a loss for words, I hugged him before turning to Tom. I took out my wallet.

            “Hey, Tommy. How much do I owe you?”

            “It’s alright.” The towering redhead smiled at me. “It’s on me.”

            “Thank you.” Still filled with joy – more of bliss, I suppose – I hugged him too. “Have a safe trip, buddy. Have fun.”

            “You too. Look after yourself, okay?”

            I reached my hand out across the table and took Patrick’s hand briefly as he offered his. Remembering our rather rough start last year, I found myself feeling grateful that he and I had finally started getting along too.

            Since that night, I’ve learned that Mark isn’t just a colleague at work. He is a friend – and a really good one. I hope everything works out well for him and his fiancee, really. All good guys deserve that kind of joy.

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            R.