I woke up today with the residue from last night. It was drenched in my breath. It disturbed my sleep. But most of all, it triggered my uncertainties.
Matt, the Chelsea Hotel guy, texted me a couple months ago saying he would come back here for a short visit. Being the typical him, “show me around” was what he said. I told him I wasn’t a tour guide nor had time to do so. From that moment, I had this anxiety saying that it wasn”t going to be a good idea. After all, it’d been 4 years.
But again, things have gone different. I wasn’t the naive guy that he met 4 years ago, whom he turned flushed with flirty comments. I wasn’t the guy that got out of the first ever real relationship with a male and left dry and aimless for months before he came along. I wasn’t the guy that was not yet familiar with the world of sexual contacts and predators. I broke hearts now, not let my heart get broken only.
It’s not a positive thing to say, or to take pride in, but it’s been the motto, the to-go attitude to protect that part of my younger self which I guess still lingers around the corner.
And again, things might have gone different. He might not be the same, reaching his 30s now. Self-indulgence was what I didn’t like about him. He would looked at his own reflection in the mirror, giving himself compliments, bragging about his hair, his muscles, his clothes and everything else. Sometimes I didn’t know if he was doing intentionally to make me unconformable. More cruelly, he made promises and yielded hope, of something that could develop, to me back then. Him right now might not be like that anymore.
So I decided to give it a go. I knew if I had said “No”, he might have thought that there was still feelings I’d got left for him. My plan was to show him that I was all calm and mature, not giving any thoughts about what happened in the past, and possibly score a bj or two and then just go, leaving him behind with the halfway satisfaction to deal with. Douchery, I know.
There were so many similarities that we encountered last night, which I took notice. I wasn’t sure about him though. We went on the same street, got the same drinks, passed by the same small lake outside my college. There was Michael Jackson playing somewhere. There were some friends of mine I happened to meet. I guess it created a certain background, with certain nostalgic feelings, paving way to what was about to happen.
And he wasn’t different. He put me off guard constantly by saying the exact same things. “Do you miss me?”, “Did you ask your student to wear a shirt that had my hometown name on it on purpose to welcome me?”, “Feel the muscle”, “Look at my hair, I’m fucking old now”, etc. There was a point that I had to stop in the middle of the way and asked him to tone it down, or I would get mad. “No more sentences with “I”,” I said.
The third factor that I could possibly break things down into was alcohol. I made a bet last night and lost. He was on the same team and helped, but rather with a controlling attitude. For the second bet, he refused since he was afraid of losing, which was a complete disappointment to me. It was a bet, just for fun, and he was supposed to support me there being my acquaintance. Anyway, he made fun of my drinking again, just like 4 years ago, which even pushed me further to drink more. And I hadn’t smoked like that for a long long time.
It all led to a verbal fight, in the open air, when we were the only one at the parking lot. He accused me of being “intimidating”, making him feel uncomfortable, making my OWN friends uncomfortable. I told him that he was a selfish brick that only cared about his being, fearing for his own life threaten sitting on a motorbike with a drunk guy so he would rather let me drive off alone under the influence. (That’s not what good friends do anyway, you shouldn’t let that person drive, or should help that person drive). I told him he didn’t have the right to project his opinion into the what was between my friends and I.
And for the goodness sake, he used memories as weapons against me. “You’re so different”, “we had lovely time back then” and so on. So I was the one who betrayed our past and failed? But again, what past was it Matt? Was there even a past? All that was there was him, being a visitor, going to places, having sex with people in places, and leaving the mess behind. Yes he was right. I did miss him for a while. I was fond of him for while since he was the only male companion that I had during that desperation period. I was in the hopeless cycle again after he left. I did write a song about him and did have a photo that one sneaky photographer took of us back then in my wallet. But I never saw, or tried to never see, what it was as something more than reality.
“But get me a cab,” he said. “You have to get me a cab”. See, that’s it. I couldn’t stand it, that ordering and self-centered logic. I decided to give him my helmet anyway, asking him to get on the bike and dropping him off at a taxi stand because that was what people, or kind people, would do to anybody. But again, I guess he mistook it as me trying to hold on to something. He even said that I might have known of his whereabouts already because of Facebook posts. Little did he know that even when I stayed friends with him on social media, I clicked on the “unfollow” mode a long time ago.
I did ask Hamiz and Damian in advance about this. What should I do? How should I act? Who should I be? They all say that I should just be my regular self, let my maturity rise above his. But somehow that simple task couldn’t be accomplished. I couldn’t even act regularly like when I was on a date with men. Where was the douche when I needed it? Where was my upper hand?
But then again, probably it could have just been me thinking and trying too hard. I couldn’t cope with the fact that Matt now looked better than before, his shape was fitter, his career was brighter and all, while I was on the other side of the hill. And I guess that part of me a few years ago was still looking for signs, from him, that indicated that he could be sentimental too, that he could show compassion, rather than the controlling, sassy and somehow sissy American bro attitude. After all, there was a night a few years back when he called, drunk, and was a bit jealous that I was dating someone. And there was a tear in his eyes when we said goodbye the last time. I didn’t know if that side existed and was in present when our fight reached its climax last night, to the point that he turned away and said “I was disappointed.” “You know what, you disappointed me too,” I told him, referring to not just the night but also all of it.
All I was sure from last night was, upon driving home, I saw in my own bike’s mirror that there were a few tears in my eyes.