I look away, holding up the note again as an anchor for my listless eyes. “There’s another task. Another adventure if I’m up for it,” I tell him, softly.
“Are you up for it?” The words are clear and direct.
I look up from the note. “I am.”
Martin smiles back at me, an open-mouth smile expressing a joy that doesn’t seem to correspond to the words either of us have said. I try to match his smile, but can’t. His joy lingers for a long time before either of us speak.
“Well,” I say, folding the note, trying to tuck it back into the envelope until the torn edges stop me, “We should go. I’m starving.”
“Yeah,” Martin says, turning and grabbing the bag of recycling. “We should go. I have an idea of a new place to try.”
I latch the door behind us. Martin leads the way with the bag of recycling, and I can’t help but think that I’m the lucky one.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’ve read and re-read that penciled note again and again, trying to put some pieces together. The task reads, “Go be in a crowd.” That’s it. Something simple and open-ended.
What’s unusual is there’s no purpose or reason for “being in a crowd,” so I’m stuck in my head trying to piece together a line of logic where this task makes sense. What I’ve come up with is this: my secret guy just wants me to go and do and be, to put the jewelry store and all that behind us and just enjoy life. I’m also sensing that my new tasks are not meant to be done alone. After the pay-it-forward day, each task has involved other people, like the digital date and visit with Gregory, and in this case, a whole crowd of people. It makes me wonder just how much my secret person gets me, like he understands how the adventure has changed.
Despite being in a crowd, I can’t stop thinking about Martin. Partly because I’m still heartbroken about his mom. Partly because I can’t stop feeling his arms wrap around me or his chest against mine the last time we hugged. It makes my adventures with my secret person kind of blurry. I’m not sure what to expect from myself. Will everything I think and believe now be a surprise to me? I keep thinking what Martin might say. The answer to that is the obvious Japanese saying. I hear it echo in my head softly. In his voice, not mine.
I think it’s the perfect saying for a guy like Martin. And me. It’s not elegant. Or trendy. It’s almost ugly and imperfect. Butso real and true. So here I am, at the Bricktown Street Festival, treasuring the unrepeatable nature of this moment. One time. One moment. Yet, still thinking about Martin.
I force myself to think about my secret man. I’m here for the adventure with him. For him.
My plan is just to take it all in and see what comes of it.
It’s early in the night, so the street festival is just winding up, if that’s a thing. And the smells are amazing. Food trucks are parked at every intersection of the main drag, which has been converted into the bustle of the fair. Booths sell all kinds of things near the curb, while the shops and cafes behind them are bustling. The sun is just purpling through the sky, so the street lights and vendor booths sparkle in anticipation. I catch the aroma of kettle corn and maybe something cinnamon, but don’t see either.
I’ve wandered halfway down the fair, past booths that sell roses, or vegetables, or handmade things. Nothing really draws my attention until I see the puppies. A pet adoption group is here, with cute puppies and kittens as their trap to lure you into adopting. I’m caught. I’m drawn to a little spotted one, who immediately licks my fingers through the kennel door. I’m not very knowledgeable about dog breeds, but this one is certainly purebred adorable. It makes a soft sound and bounces his ears as he breathes, and keeps returning to lick my fingers.
“He likes you,” I hear a voice behind me. “Do you want to hold him?” The adoption lady is starting to open the cage.
“No, I, um,” I start. “I’m fine.”
“It’s no trouble. He needs you. He needs to be held,” she says, reaching in and grabbing him. She plops him in my arms, and he fits there naturally. “His name is Roger.”
I think I’m melting. I’m transported. Roger and I leave the universe together. He licks my face and nuzzles up under mychin and I scratch behind his ears. I treasure the unrepeatable nature of this moment for far too long, when a wash of people behind remind me where we are. I thank the kind adoption people and hand Roger back, feeling soft and alive, despite the crowd.
The fair is suddenly overwhelming. There’s no room to walk, the people are a crush. Making my way down the street through the crowd, I stop to buy a giant cone of kettle corn and wonder if it’s even too crowded to eat it in the street. It’s warm and sweet smelling, and I hug it like it’s Roger. I brush past couples and families, laughing at myself that I can’t even find a path. Bodies press in from all sides. It feels as if the throng is moving in a single direction, like they all have the same destination in mind. People holding food or flowers or bread or bags press against me as they pass. I try to make my way to the sidewalk where I hope for more space, when I hear my name being called.
“Liam.”
I turn, searching, looking. I recognize no one.
“Liam.” There’s waving. Two hands, over the crowd. “Liam, over here.”
It’s Martin.
I press my way through the crowd and he hugs me tight. I wrap my arms around his strong back and smack a cone of kettle corn on it. We’ve become a boulder in the stream, as people crush past us. I can hardly hear him speak. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
It’s difficult to hear. How can I possibly explain this? I don’t. “What are you doing here?” I say instead.
“James Durn. The guitarist.” I can barely make out his words through the din. “He’s playing tonight at The Center.”
That must be where all these people are going. I’m only nodding along.
“Do you want to come?” he presses. “You should come with me. He’s great.” I get the feeling that my answer needs to be quick, because Martin appears eager to dive back into the river and drift upstream. Like he’s missing an opportunity by standing here talking to me.
