Nothing But a Piece of Juicy Fruit

I decided to go to Steve's place of work today. I got on the subway and walked down Spadina to College Street. I knew what I was doing was wrong. The little voice in my head kept telling me to stop and turn around immediately. But I didn't listen. I couldn't help myself. I had to know.

As if ignoring my instincts weren't bad enough, I was even sent a sign from the heavens. I was trucking down College Street, destination in sight, when I crossed paths with the Shrink. He was the first person I bedded after the Ex and, while I didn't fall for him or anything, I deluded myself at the time that there was a chance we would date. When he never returned my phone call, I was baffled, though I got over it quickly (for more on the Shrink, see February's A Moral Gray Area.)

We said hello as we passed each other and continued on our respective ways. I thought "this is a warning. Abort mission immediately." It was like the cosmos was trying to tell me, just like I had with the Shrink, that I have been misreading Steve's intentions all along: "Remember this guy, Brad? Remember he was so interested in you and then it abruptly stopped? Haven't you learned anything?"

No, cosmos, it appears that I have not.

After waiting for a crowd of at least fifteen people to file out of the restaurant, I head inside. I don't see Steve at first, but then catch a glimpse of him around the corner. I ask the woman at the bar if I can just sit anywhere and I do. Steve is clearing a table as I sit down. Then he sees me.

"Bradley!"

(Not, for the record, my name - it's simply "Brad" - but I let others use it as a term of endearment for me if I like how it sounds when they say it. Which is rare.)

Okay, I think, he doesn't seem upset I'm here. Maybe I've been driving myself crazy for nothing.

"Hey," I say.

He tells me they just had a big rush and that he'll be with me when he can. The girl from the bar comes over with a menu. When she returns to take my order, I realize Steve will not be my server. It becomes readily apparent that he's avoiding me. I pull the book I'm reading out of my bag and make an effort to concentrate on the words in front of me. Steve comes by and says something about how they have a lot of dishes and rushes off again.

Right. Dishes. I sip my coffee and turn a page. I should never have come here.

My tomato and cheese sandwich with coleslaw arrives. It's quite tasty, actually. If nothing else, at least I'm getting a good meal out of this.

The CD playing in the restaurant is changed. It's Annie. At whose concert Steve and I met. This can't be a coincidence. Is this his way of saying "I'm sorry I haven't called you, remember how great it was the night we met?" Or is he trying to tell me, as Annie sings on the album's opening song, "you think you're chocolate but you're chewing gum." As in, you tasted great for a while, but the flavour has disappeared and now I'm spitting you out.

Steve reappears midway through my sandwich and ask me how my gig went on the weekend. I tell him it was a smashing success, which doesn't suprise him. "Not really my scene, though. Too many fags for me."

I tell him I know, it's not a big deal that he didn't come. Which it isn't. He told me all along he wouldn't be going. Yet his comment is interesting to me. Is he hinting at what he perceives the differences between us to be, that we are from two different worlds or something? Am I too gay for him? It doesn't really fit, based on the things we've done together.

"Well, I'm at work," he says, stating the obvious, "so I can't really talk here..."

This is it. The moment.

"... but we should talk."

He looks me right in the eye, gives me a bit of a squint as he says this.

Right then, I know. In that one glance, I can see everything that he will eventually say to me flash across his eyes. It's not me, it's him. He thought I was what he wanted but it's just not happening. I can see that something has happened with him in the past few days that has nothing to do with me that is going to terminate this relationship. He's slept with someone for sure, possibly he's reconnected with an ex. The details, every one of which I want to know, of course, being the obsessive freak I am, aren't really important.

He tells me he's done work at five and then going to the gym, asks if I'm free. I tell him yes, he can just give me a ring when he's done at the gym and we can meet. The unspoken tension is palpable.

He goes back to work. I finish up my meal, put my book away, and pay the bill. I thank the woman who served me on the way out and give Steve a "I'll talk to you later?" He nods. I give a curt wave and get the hell out of there.

I feel sick. I could see this coming all along, but I feel like bursting into tears anyway. As I suspected would happen during my long, thoughtful walk back downtown after this most disastrous mission, it is now 6.35pm and he has not called me. It's over.

I am nothing but a piece of gum.